7.13  ·  Last Call

The clock struck twelve-thirty, and the bartender announced last call, as Al sat reclined on a chair, his feet hoist up on another. Beside him, Sam had taken a seat, and together they were looking upon the crowd. The radio played the song by Billy Joel that Sam had performed the night after he’d returned.

Sherri, sitting across from her father, was engaged in conversation, while Maggie hovered. Will and John were standing closely, talking about something or other. The other version of Al – clad in the most handsome of clothes – was speaking with Quinn. Colin and Rembrandt shared a quiet moment at the bar.

“Won’t be long ’til I have to go, I guess,” Sam murmured.

Al sighed. “You’re really doing it, huh? Leaving for good?”

Sam gave him a resolute nod. He was smiling, but his eyes glimmered with emotion.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t visit once in a while, does it? I’m getting better at controlling this thing.”

Al reached out to his friend, and grabbed his hand. “If you don’t, I’m gonna try to find you anyway, so you’d better just save me the trouble.”

Sam squeezed his hand.

“Al, thanks for all the support you’ve given me. When I first leaped I hadn’t even considered what I would be putting you through, y’know? Having to be on call day and night, able to do nothing but watch all the stupid things I did.” He chuckled. “I thought I had it bad, but you had to put up with me. And you never complained.”

Al snorted. “Tell that to Beth.” He grinned, taking a cigar from his jacket pocket.

“Well, anyway,” Sam continued, “I just recently came to understand how tough it is to be the hologram, and I wanted to make it clear that I’m grateful to have had you there.”

That’s thoughtful.

“Sam, you’re gonna make me choke up,” Al said, as he lit the cigar. After taking a puff, he assessed his best friend, who he’d rarely seen this calm and self-assured. At least, not until recently. And he realised in that moment that Sam would be entirely fine on his own.

Can’t say it doesn’t hurt, but he don’t need me.

“What’ll you do now?” Sam asked.

“Guess I’ll hang up the handlink and retire, like my clone over there,” Al said, gesturing across the room to his double. “Quality time with the family, and all that cornball hokum.”

“Think you can give up those things, Al?” Sam said, pointing a finger at the cigar. “Every puff you take, I see minutes falling off your lifespan.”

Al looked sheepishly down at the smouldering cancer stick.

“Jeez, when you put it like that, it doesn’t seem worth it…” He stuck it between his teeth. “Then again…”

He breathed in some smoke, and gestured to the radio, quoting the song playing as the smoke curled out of his mouth: “Keep it to yourself, it’s my life.”

Sam sighed. “Yeah well, that’s what my Dad said. Just think about it.”

For anyone else, I probably wouldn’t.

“Sure thing,” he conceded. “But you’re, I dunno, psychic or something now, right? Will I quit?”

“Psychic, huh?” Sam smirked at him, and held out his hand like he was holding something round. “Magic 8 Ball, will Al ever give up smoking?”

He shook his hand, and gazed into his palm.

“Reply hazy, try again.” He winked at Al. “You know as well as I do that things aren’t set in stone. I’ll leave it in your capable hands.”

Damn, am I ever gonna miss this guy.

“Listen, Al…” Sam leaned forward on his chair. “Make sure Donna and Sammy Jo are taken care of, would you?”

“Are you kidding? ’Course I will! Not that they can’t take care of themselves. Both of ’em got bright futures still to come.”

“Yeah,” agreed Sam. “I think you’re right.”

Al took a drag on the stogie between his fingers, and an ash tray appeared beside him, held by Tom.

“Now that’s service,” Al said, tapping his ash into it before taking it out of his hand.

“Just wanted to save that God guy some sweeping,” Tom said, before looking at his brother. “Sam, I’m about to leave, and apparently nobody’s interested in joining me.”

Sam gazed up at him. “John and Quinn have been planning their exit from this place for months. They only needed you to get them here. Thank you for doing that, by the way.”

“How do you know all that?” Tom asked, bewildered.

“Just call him Miss Cleo,” said Al.

Sam stood, and hugged his brother. “Take care of Mom and Katie.”

“So it’s true, then,” said Tom, “we’re never gonna see you again?”

“Keep an eye on your emails,” Sam replied. “Maybe I’ll send a ‘hello’ once in a while. Might not be in order, though.”

“Fair enough,” Tom said, smiling. He strode to the bartender.

“If I walk out of here, is it gonna still be August eighth, 2003?”

“Nope.” The bartender gestured to the clock. “Past midnight. It’s the ninth now. Your car’s out there waiting for you; go right ahead.”

Tom moved to the door, and turned for a final look.

“This has been a bizarre night. Goodbye, everyone…”

All at once, Al watched as John, Sam, Maggie and Sherri crossed to him. All but Sherri enclosed him in a tight group hug.

And finally, after the more affectionate three said their goodbyes, Sherri approached him.

“Catch you later, Pops,” she said, giving him a weak smile. Tom returned the look.

“Bye, Sherri,” he said, and turned to open the door. Before he proceeded, he looked back at her a final time. “I’m glad you chose your own path. You’re my hero.”

And then he was gone.

*          *          *

The last time Rembrandt had to make a decision this big, it had been a lot easier than this one. He’d been tantalisingly close to staying put on that world where he was a beloved superstar, only to have the rug pulled out from under him at the last minute by his double.

Now, he was facing another life-altering choice. Could he really rewind the clock to before the ’magg invasion, and carry on like the last five years had never happened? Or rather, have lived those years in a completely different way?

Colin had been the only one to really understand the choice he faced, and the two of them had spent a solid couple hours talking about it.

It wasn’t lost on him that the radio was now playing ‘Cry Like A Man.’

“Hey, it’s not like you can’t get to know me again after you’ve forgotten me,” Colin said, shrugging.

“You’ll be going back to Earth Prime?” Rembrandt asked.

“Of course!” Colin said. “Our parents are there, and they need to see I’m alright. But we’re going to stop in with our other parents first. That’s an appointment me and Quinn have been meaning to keep for the last twenty-five years.”

Rembrandt grinned. “Hope no mad scientist gets in the way of that this time around.”

“Don’t remind me,” said Colin with a cringe.

“Evening, Cryin’ Man,” said Sam, leaning against the bar. “I would ask if you’ve decided what you’re gonna do, but I get the feeling you’ve had your mind made up for a while, haven’t you?”

Yeah, guess he’s right.

Rembrandt eyed the genius doctor scientist who’d swept into their lives four years ago, making life a lot more interesting, and wondered if any part of his mind would recognise the guy once he walked out the door.

“I think it’s for the best,” he finally said.

Sam gave him a light pat on the back. “You deserve a chance at happiness.”

“I agree,” Quinn said, approaching the bar. “We’ve all seen how miserable you’ve been since we pulled you out of the ’magg cell. You don’t have to keep carrying that burden of something that no longer happened.”

He wrapped an arm around Remy’s shoulders. “Maybe we’ll even get to see your ’stache again.”

Rembrandt chuckled. “Q-ball, you can count on that.”

He glanced at the bartender. “All I gotta do is walk out the door? That’s it?”

The bartender nodded. “That’s it.”

He stood from his seat and faced the exit, as butterflies flitted around in his belly. He turned around, studying all the friends he was about to lose, and his eyes welled up.

“Ah, here come the waterworks,” he said, wiping at his eyes. “So long, y’all.”

Maggie rushed to him, eyes wide. “You’re going?”

Rembrandt nodded. “Yeah, Maggie. Wish I could say I’ll miss you, but there’s another Maggie through that door who’ll take your place, isn’t there?”

She gave him a tight hug. “Goodbye, Remy. Promise we’ll come visit some day and explain everything.”

“Damn right you will,” he said, laughing.

After exchanging hugs and final goodbyes with Quinn and Colin, Rembrandt peered out the window, at the San Fran street where Colin had once stumbled upon a strange little bar, opened the door, and stepped through.

He passed into the warm night air, stretching.

What a night, he thought, before realising that he couldn’t remember what he was doing here. He looked back, seeing a closed up bar.

Didn’t I just come from there?

Rembrandt shook his head, feeling a little confused. As he felt around for his cell phone to check the time, he felt something small and thin in his front pocket. A little paper umbrella. He looked at it curiously for a moment, then returned it to his pocket. He didn’t know why, but he wanted to keep it.

As he headed down the street, wondering why he didn’t remember what brought him here so late at night, he hummed a tune; an old Bill Withers song, ‘Lovely Day’.

He finally found his phone deep in an inner jacket pocket. He checked the time: 12:45 am, before noticing he had a voicemail.

He dialled the voicemail number and listened.

“Hey Remy!” came Wade’s voice. “Just wanted to invite you to a get-together tomorrow night at my place. Quinn and Maggie will be there. Even roped in the Professor this time. We haven’t all been together in a while, so I just thought it might be nice. Call me, okay?”

Sounds good, he thought, hanging up. It had been at least a year since he’d last seen Q-ball.

Oh boy, where’d all the time go?