"I'm back, Sam," Al announced, once again in Tommy's bedroom. "I told you I wouldn't be gone long."
         Sam looked as if he hadn't moved a muscle in the time Al had been gone.
         "What's wrong with you Sam?" Al asked. "Can you even see me?"
         Sam looked him eye to eye, indicating that he did see his holographic best friend.
         "You've got to talk to me, Buddy," Al coaxed. He centered his image so that he could see Sam face to face. Of course, this made his legs look as if they were embedded in the floor.
         Al waited. He could tell Sam wanted to say something from the way his eyes were shifting, but he wouldn't speak.
         This is Al. I can trust Al, Sam told himself. Unlike his eyes, his body remained motionless.
         "Let me tell you where you are," Al suggested hoping to find a way to get through to him. "You're going to get a kick out of this. You're in--"
         "Elk Ridge, Indiana," Sam whispered.
         "Yeah, that's right. The date is--"
         "February 19, 1962," Sam supplied.
         Al turned his head to the side just a bit. "Close--it's the 27th. And you're name is--"
         "Sam Beckett," he answered.
         "Well, yes and no. Your name is Sam Beckett, but the kid you leaped into is Tommy Whitfield. Do you know this kid?"
         Sam nodded. He and Tommy had started school together and been in the same class until he was promoted to a higher grade than his age group. He thought they were friends, but was not sure. He could not remember many things about his own life; remembering Tommy at all was unusual.
         "Where did you get the date?" Al asked. He walked aroud the the room to see if there was anything that would tell him why Sam was so upset. But he did not find anything suspicious. He also did not see a calendar or a newspaper and as far as he could tell Sam had not gotten out of bed. Yet, he was close to the right date.Whenever he had known the date before Al had told him, he was usually correct.
         Sam rolled from his side onto his back. When he did so, he revealed a large bruise on the right side of his face. "I want out of here, Al."
         "My god, Sam! What happened?" Al exclaimed. Sam's having a bruise meant that he had been in a fight since he had Leaped in. But for someone to have hit Sam, it meant that person thought the fight was with Tommy who was just a child.
         Sam touched his face, remembering his less than pleasant welcome home to Elk Ridge.
         "Tommy," that horrible voice called. Charles Whitfield stood in the doorway to his son's bedroom. He was a tall man, easily over six feet. He was wearing a long sleeve flannel shirt and overalls with knee-high rubber work boots. He was every bit the picture of a farmer. "You're going to be late for school."
         Sam jerked with the startle of hearing Whitfield's voice. His eyes widened with fear.
         "Boy, you sure are pale. You sick or something?" He approached his "son" and felt his forehead. Sam cringed at the touch. "You don't feel like you got fever, but you are clamy. Do you feeld bad today?" he asked.
         "Yes, Sir," Sam answered in a small, weak voice. He coughed to add validity to his claim. He did not want to go to school and face people he knew or risk running into his brother, or himself, for that matter.
         "Well, you better stay home today. I wouldn't want you to go to school and spread something around to the other kids. I've got to go into town, but I'll be back this afternoon. Will you be okay by yourself?"
         Sam nodded, almost choking on the knot in his throat.
         "All right, then, you feel better," he said as he left.
         Al watched the exchange with confusion, then empathetic fear, then anger. "What's going on here, Kid?"
         "Don't let him hurt me, Al. You've got to get me out of here," Sam plead.
         "I won't let him hurt you," Al promised. There was very little he could do as a hologram, but he would do anything he could to protect Sam. He wondered how much of the fear was Sam's and how much was left over from Tommy. Sometimes when Sam Leaped into someone who had gone through a trauma, the person left the trauma behind and Sam had to deal with it. Once the confusion had almost cost Sam his life.
         "Did that nozzle hit you?" Al asked, seething anger welled within him. He had little tolerance for any kind of injustice and less when a child was involved, and perhaps even less when his best friend was involved.
         Sam nodded. He felt overcome with shame, trying to say what he had to say to his guide. "Al, he... he would have done more."
         "More?" Al echoed. He definitely did not like the sound of this.
         "More," Sam repeated softly. For the first time since Al had been there, Sam pulled his arms out from under the covers. It was just enough to let Al know he was not wearing any kind of shirt.
         "That son of a bitch!" Al yelled. He repositioned himself so that he was standing beside the bed. "No wonder you've been so upset. And Tommy--the poor kid must think the bastard killed him or something. What's with that concerned father of the year routine he just pulled--" Al stopped his ranting, suddenly realizing what Sam had faced the night before.
         "You said 'would have done more.' He didn't--" Al shook his head slightly, so he would not have to fill in the rest of the blanks. Sam was not typically frightened by anyone. He had gotten rather good at adjusting to dangerous situations and tackling them for the sake of what was right. But Sam was definitely scared by this Leap.
         "No," Sam whispered. "Not last night."
         "What did happen?"
         "I Leaped in and he was there--on top of me, holding me down. I tried to get away and he hit me. I started screaming, so he hit me again, but the dogs started barking outside and it made him nervous or something because he left. If it hadn't been for the dogs, I don't know if I could have gotten away."
         Al closed his eyes, shaking his head. Maybe a bed was not such a good place to Leap into afterall. It seemed odd to him that Sam would react by screaming. He had a background in martial arts and could defend himself well. But, given Whitfield's advantage when the Leap occurred, perhaps screaming was the best option. It had worked anyway.
         "I can't stay here, Al." Sam sat up. Knowing Charles had left made him feel less ill-at-ease, less paralyzed. "I just can't."
         "What about Tommy?" Al asked. No one could accuse Sam Beckett of being selfish. He regulary risked life and limb to help strangers. Even before he was trapped in time, the kind hearted genius had always been helpful to those in need. If it had not been for Sam, Al probably never would have pulled himself from the snares of alcohol. Al had never quite understood why the kid had taken an interest in saving a bitter, rude, washed-up Naval officer from self-destruction. He was just grateful he had.
         Sam said nothing. How did he explain that he wanted nothing more than he wanted out? It was not that he did not want to help Tommy, but he not believe he could. And he certainly did not want to face Charles Whitfield again, ever.
         "He's a little boy with a prototypical sleezebag for a father and no mother. Sam, you're his only hope."
         "I know you're right. But..." he paused. "I'm afraid of him. I'm really, really afraid of him. He's too--he's too--I can't stop him." Sam wanted to say he was too powerful, but Al would not understand that. To Al, Charles was just a man. This situation was less threatening than others he had faced. Sam did not see it that way.
         "Of course you can stop him. Stopping bad guys is what you do best," Al encouraged. "I can't imagine what you went through when you Leaped in here, but no matter what, you're not eight years old. You're not a little kid like Tommy. You're probably just as strong, and undoubtably smarter than that man."
         "No I'm not," Sam looked down.
         "Sam, no one on this planet is smarter than you," the hologram chuckled. "No one's even close, not even me." His stab at humility was intended to evoke a smile, but it did not do the trick.
         "What do I have to do?" Sam asked, feeling very defeated. Al did not seem the least bit interested in his fears. He wanted out. He wanted to be anywhere but here. Yet, his fate was out of his control. What he wanted did not matter anymore and had not mattered for years. He had no choice. He could only do what Someone else wanted him to do.
         Al furrowed his brow. Something was still wrong with Sam. There was more to what had happened the night before, something Sam was not telling him. The Sam Beckett he knew would be the first to champion the cause of a child in danger. Al had not seen the spark of fighting for what is right in Sam this Leap. Instead, he seemed depressed and defeated. He had not even been excited about being home in Elk Ridge. He had not once mentioned seeing his family, something Al had expected to be a complication he would have to firmly warn him against.
         "I'm not sure exactly what you're here to do," Al admitted. "Tommy turned up missing a few days from now and a year later his father commits suicide or has an accident, no one was sure which. But you can't be here to save him just so he can live with an abusive father. I'll have Ziggy run some more scenarios."
         "You do that," Sam told him softly. The sooner he did what he had to do, the sooner he could Leap out. "What did you say the date was?"
         Al had already punched the code to open the Imaging Chamber door. "The 27th."
         Sam nodded without a word. The 27th was too late.