QUANTUM BEAST: Lovers Leap

by Lee Kirkland

The last thing Sam remembered was Al, saying good-bye. Suddenly,Sam found himself in the act of shoving a heavy cardboard box onto ahigh shelf. The box wobbled and he struggled with it.

"Mark? Are you okay?" The voice, close by his elbow, made him turninstinctively. His attention wandered for a split-second too long,and the box slipped from his grasp and began to fall.

"Oh, boy!"

When his eyes opened again, it was to a small, bright, stainlesssteel and white tile room. Someone was shining a small light into hiseyes, and he flinched. His head pounded and he felt sick.

"Mark? Mark, can you hear me?" The man's voice was insistent, andSam blinked at him, trying to bring things into focus.

Mark. That must be me. "Uh, yeah, I think so," he said. His throatfelt dry and raspy. "What happened?"

"A box of books fell on you," the man replied, stepping back andslipping his penlight into the pocket of his pale green surgicaltop.

"Hospital?" Sam rasped, uncertainly.

"You were unconscious," the doctor answered. "Your friend calledthe paramedics, who brought you here."

"My friend?" Sam was still trying to catch up.

"She's waiting out in the hall," the doctor replied. "Can you tellme what day it is?"

Through his headache, Sam groped for facts that weren't there."Uh, no, I guess not."

The doctor frowned. "What's your name?"

Sam made an informed guess. "...Mark..."

The doctor nodded. "Last name?"

Sam had to shrug, and instantly regretted the movement.

"Who's president?"

Sam tried to think. "I don't know. What year is it?"

The doctor gazed at him in disbelief before continuing theexamination. "Vision blurred?"

"A little." "How many fingers?" The man waved a hand in front ofSam's nose.

"Two."

"Now?"

"Four."

"But you can't remember what day it is, or your last name."

"Uh, no."

Clearly, the doctor was concerned about concussion and possiblebrain damage, and Sam couldn't tell him that the reason he didn'tknow the date was because he'd just gotten here, and that he hadn'thad time to learn his last name.

"I'm going to admit you overnight for observation," the doctorsaid briskly. "You seem alert, so we'll hope this memory loss istemporary." He went to the door. "Miss? You can see him now."

A teenage girl entered timidly, as if unsure of her welcome. "Hi,Mark," she said softly.

She couldn't have been more than seventeen. Warm brown eyes smiledshyly, and she reached for his hand. There was something vaguelyfamiliar about her, but Sam couldn't put his finger on it.

"Hi."

She looked embarrassed. "Oh, Mark, I'm so sorry. I feelresponsible..."

"Responsible? Why?" Sam couldn't take his eyes off her.

"Because if it weren't for me and my problems, you wouldn't havebeen moving those books."

Sam rushed to reassure her. "No, please, it's not your fault."Despite his headache, he tried to smile. "I was careless, Iguess."

She smiled, and suddenly, instinctively, Sam knew her. "Teresa?"he asked, incredulous.

The doctor intervened. "Well, I see you still have some memory,"he said. "We're going to take you upstairs now, Mark, and aneurologist will look in on you there."

Of course, Sam thought. He's just an ER man. He glanced back atthe girl. It must be Teresa. She'd have said something if she wassomebody else.

He didn't know how he could suddenly be so certain; after all,Teresa Bruckner had been only four years old last time he'd seen her.He'd lost count of the leaps he'd made since saving her brotherKevin. That had been in 1981; judging Teresa's age now and countingswiftly, he figured he must be somewhere between 1992 and 1995.

It wasn't often he leaped in to see a familiar face, and hesqueezed Teresa's hand fondly. When the orderly came in with awheelchair to take him upstairs, she moved back out of the way, butonce he was settled into his room upstairs, she pulled a chair upnext to his bed and sat down.

"Is there someone I can call for you?" she asked. "Your family,friends?"

"No." Sam shook his head as far as he dared and smiled. "You'rehere."

To his astonishment, she blushed, ducking her head.

"Teresa, what's wrong?"

"Mark, we barely know each other." She frowned. "Don't youremember?"

"Uh, no, not really," he confessed, glad that the bump on the headwas good for something. "Tell me."

She blushed even more, and turned to stare out the window.

Sam sensed trouble. "Come on, Teresa. You can trust me."

"I know. I already did. Only, it's a hard story to tell..."

Sam stretched out a hand to touch hers. "Teresa?"

"My mom and I started fighting... my brother got kidnapped andalmost killed when I was little, and she's always been scared itwould happen again, to him or my sister or me. It wasn't so bad whenthey were home, but they're all grown up now. Kevin works at a bankin Phoenix and Susan just got married.

"My mom won't let me do anything! I'm sixteen, and I'm not allowedto go out unless I'm with a group, and she knows where I'm going andwhen I'll be back, and who I'll be with..."

"Sounds like sensible precautions to me," Sam offeredhesitantly.

"But she's paranoid, Mark! She follows me sometimes, and checks upon me! It's like she doesn't trust me, and I've never done anything!"Teresa's voice was rising. "I couldn't stand it anymore, so I stolemoney from her purse and bought a bus ticket to Philadelphia." Tearswere shining in her eyes. "My dad lives there now and I thought Icould live with him. He's married again, and he didn't want me!"

"Did he say that?" Sam asked gently.

She thought a moment, and shook her head. "No, but I could tell. Iwas in the way. One day I heard his wife talking, asking how muchlonger I'd be there... so that night, I took my things and left."

"I came here, but I didn't know anyone, and I didn't have verymuch money. When I met Damon, he said he'd take care of me, and Istayed at his place, but then..." her voice broke. "That's when youfound me."

She looked at him and tried to smile. "You know, Mark, at first Ithought you were like Damon... it scared me, and I didn't know whatto do. But you were so nice, and now I know you won't hurt me."

Despite his headache, Sam managed to grasp the implications of herstory. "Did this Damon hurt you?"

Swiftly she shook her head. "No! I wouldn't let him... I think itmade him mad." She shivered. "I didn't tell you before, but I saw himthis afternoon. I think he was following me."

*****

Vincent struck a match, touching its flame to a blackened candlewick. Another day was drawing to a close. The children were sleepingsafely in their beds; Catherine was near, and all was right with hisworld.

"Vincent? Can you hear me?"

The urgency in the voice made him whirl in alarm, growling. Thegrowl died in his throat, however, when he recognized theintruder.

"Albert?"

"Vincent, you can see me!" he said, sounding relieved. "We weren'tsure you'd be able to."

Vincent stepped forward. "I am glad to see you, Albert," he began,and reached to embrace his friend. To his shock, his hand went rightthrough the man's shoulder.

"I'm a hologram," Al reminded him quickly. "I need your help,Vincent. Sam's in trouble."

Vincent was instantly alert. He knew how much he owed to Al'sfriend Sam. "What is it?"

"We don't know. He Leaped. We had just enough time to get a fix ontoday, New York City, when we lost him! We've been trying for over anhour and can't get him back."

"Vincent? Are you all right?" Catherine's voice, soft withbewilderment and concern, made Vincent remember her presence in theroom and he glanced at her over his shoulder.

"Hey! Nice legs," Al commented, and Vincent spun back to face him.Catherine was dressed for bed and Al was eyeing her appreciatively.Vincent stepped in front of him, blocking his view; Al craned to seearound him.

"Vincent?" Catherine was clearly worried.

"Put a robe on, Catherine," he said briefly. She frowned, butmoved to do so without question. He turned back to Al, ruffled.

"She can't see me or hear me," Al said, abandoning his attempts tosee around Vincent's bulk. "I'm a hologram."

Catherine held the front of her long robe closed, regardingVincent strangely. "Who are you talking to? Albert's been asleep forhours."

He met her wondering eyes in despair. "Oh, Catherine, I can'tbegin to explain it to you..."

"I think you'll have to, Vincent," Al interrupted. "I think we'regoing to need her."

Vincent glanced from Catherine to Al and tried to imagine whathe'd think if he looked up and saw Catherine holding an animatedconversation with empty air. He sighed. "Catherine, please. I willexplain what I can in a moment..."

She nodded uncertainly and sat on the edge of the bed. Vincentturned back to Al.

"I have so many questions, I don't know where to begin. How is itthat I can see you, and Catherine cannot?"

Al shrugged. "I don't know exactly. Ziggy... you rememberZiggy?"

"A computer," Vincent answered.

"Right! Ziggy explained it once. People who can see me live in apure alpha state. They're into things like innocence and truth." Allooked down and punched a few buttons on his handlink. "And theybelieve in impossible things."

From where she perched tensely on the edge of the bed, biting herlip, Catherine watched Vincent looking down on someone who wasn'tthere. He tipped his head as if listening, and Catherine squeezed hereyes shut, unable to watch any longer. I wish there was a way to getword to Father... I don't know what to do. She stole another quickglance at Vincent, who was actually smiling. He seems so rational,she thought, feeling concerned and a bit slighted. I wish I knew whatwas happening.

No sooner had she formulated the thought than Vincent was turning,coming toward her. She tried to smile as he sat down beside her,taking her hands.

"Catherine, do you trust me?" His query was blunt, startling her,but her answer was prompt.

"Yes. You know I do."

He looked down at their joined hands. "Catherine, what I have totell you will sound very strange. I know how unbelievable it seems; Iwould not believe it myself if I had not lived it. Even so, itsometimes seems a fantastic dream."

"I'm listening."

"Catherine, do you believe in time travel?"

She stared, incredulous. "Do I what? Vincent..." He shook hishead. "I'm sorry, I phrased it badly. Do you believe in thepossibility of time travel? That in the future, technology might makesuch a thing possible?"

"Vincent, are you trying to tell me you've been talking withsomeone from the future?" She searched his eyes.

"Catherine, please. Let me do this my way."

She looked away, biting her lip. "All right. I'm not ascientist... but I'll concede that it might be possible."

"And if someone could actually travel through time, how might theydo it?"

She looked at him doubtfully. "Vincent..."

"Please."

She couldn't help a smile. "Well, what comes to mind is H.G.Wells's Time Machine." She shrugged.

"What if I told you that in the not too distant future, someonewill develop a method to travel through time, not in a machine, butthrough something that can best be described as Leaping?"

"I don't understand."

Vincent turned his head, as if listening to something, and noddedbriefly. "Catherine, what if this time traveler leaped from place toplace, and time to time? And that, during these Leaps, he temporarilyoccupied someone else's life?"

"Vincent, that's absurd!"

"No," he answered softly. "It's real."

"You're talking to someone from the future, who's leaping aroundfrom life to life?"

"The man I've been talking with is simply an observer. He is notreally here at all, but somehow, in a way I can't explain, his image,his brain waves, are able to transverse time and exist here, in thisroom."

She looked around, wide-eyed. "I don't see anything. Vincent,there's no one here!"

Reaching out, he touched her cheek. "Believe me, Catherine, I knowhow this sounds. Why do you think I've never told you?"

"Vincent, I want to believe you. I do! But how would you knowabout this time traveling? How can you be friends with someone fromthe future?"

Before he could answer, the door to their bedroom opened, and asmall boy, rumpled and blond, wearing blue pajamas and rubbing hiseyes, came in. "Mommy? I woke up," he said, crossing the floor toclimb into her lap. "There were noises."

She hugged him close, anchoring herself in the reality of hiswarm, sweet, little-boy smell. "Did you have a dream?"

"Uh-uh." He shook his head. "Just noises." He snuggled againsther. "Mommy?"

"Yes, Albert?"

He pointed. "Who's that man in the funny coat?"

She stiffened, staring at the empty space where her son waspointing. There was nothing there.

Vincent looked as surprised as she felt. "Albert, what do yousee?" he asked.

"A man," the child replied. "He has a blue coat with purple lightsand he's smoking acigar." He frowned and addressed the space sternly."Don't you know that's bad for you?"

"Oh, my God," Catherine whispered to herself. "He's real."

"How is this possible?" Vincent addressed the same empty patch ofair.

"Kids under five can see me. He's..." Al spent a moment figuring."...four, right?"

Vincent nodded and Al bent down to smile at the youngster. "Hi,there. What's your name?"

"Albert," the boy answered shyly, burrowing closer to his mother."What's yours?"

"Well, you know, that's a funny thing. My name's Albert, too."

Vincent looked at his son. "Albert, this is the man you were namedfor."

Catherine clutched at the child in her lap, hoping someone wouldpinch her and end this nightmare. "Vincent, how is this possible? Idon't understand what's happening."

Vincent saw the consternation in her eyes, and spoke to their sonagain. "Albert, do you suppose you could let Albert..." he paused,stumbling over the names.

"Vincent, I told you before. Just call me Al. It's easier."

"You could call me Al!" piped the little boy. The idea of a newname intrigued him.

"No fair," the bigger Al protested. "I said it first!"

The boy giggled. "Okay. You be Al. I'm Albert."

"Gotcha." Al held out a hand and Albert slapped at it, laughing inamazement when his hand went right through Al's.

Vincent tried again. "Albert, can you let Al take you back to bed?Your mother and I need to talk."

Catherine had been listening to all the parts of this conversationshe could hear, but Vincent's suggestion took her by surprise."Vincent, do you really think..." she protested faintly.

"Catherine, it will not be the first time I have trusted Alb... Alto keep Albert safe. He did not fail me before." Catherine relented,and let the boy off of her lap, repeating what had become a refrainon this very strange evening. "I don't understand."

"I'll try to explain. I promise." Vincent turned to his son."Albert, go with Al."

"Okay. 'Night, Daddy. 'Night, Mommy." He started out of the room."If I can see you but I can't touch you, does that mean you're anangel?" he asked his new friend.

"Well, not exactly," Al replied. "You see, it's like this, kid.Once there was this boy named Sam, and he lived on a farm inIndiana..."

The voices ended when little Albert pulled the door closed behindthem.

Vincent reached for Catherine, pulling her into his arms.

"Vincent, I'm worried. I don't know what's happening. What do yousee? What does Albert see? How can this man... this Al... knowyou?"

"He knows me... because one of the lives that has been changed bythis project... is yours."

"Mine? How?"

"Catherine, there was another reality, another timeline that onceexisted." His voice became very soft, and she strained to hear him."In that reality... you died." Unconsciously, he held hertighter.

"No, Vincent, you saved me. All those times..."

"I saved you, yes, many times. But there came a time when I wasunable to find you. And you died."

"Vincent, you've always found me, always! Even when our bond wasbroken, you came to me..." She broke off at the look in his eyes."Vincent?"

"The man who came to you in Gabriel's tower, who brought yousafely out... was not me."

"Vincent, I saw you! I touched you! You held me in your arms!"

He shook his head sadly. "All I know of that day is what Al wasable to tell me as it happened, and what you have told me since. Iwas not there."

She stared at him, trust warring with logic. Slowly, trust andlove began to overcome disbelief. "Then... who?"

"His name is Dr. Sam Beckett. Al tells me he is the scientist whodesigned the time travel project, called Quantum Leap. I'm told he isa good man." He smiled at her. "Al says he treated you very carefullythat day."

"You... he... did," she answered slowly. "But then, Vincent, youare always gentle and careful with me." She looked up at him."Vincent, you quoted the inscription I wrote in the journal I gaveyou. Don't you remember? How could this Sam have known that?"

"Albert says he read some of my journals." He quelled herinstinctive protest. "Catherine, it was necessary. He needed to knowthings about me, so he could be me."

"Why? Why did he need to be you? Why didn't I know?"

"Catherine, what I can tell you is what Alb... Al's told me. Thistime travel experiment I spoke of... they've lost control of it. Alsays that now his friend Sam leaps through time, correcting thingsthat once went wrong. One of the things that went wrong was... yourdeath."

Catherine was very quiet, assimilating all she'd seen and heard inthe past few minutes. She couldn't help thinking about Alice Throughthe Looking Glass, when Alice tells the White Queen, '...one can'tbelieve impossible things,' and the Queen answers, 'Why, sometimesI've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.'

I'm Alice, and Vincent is the Queen, she thought. And even thoughthese things are impossible, I have to believe them, because he does,and he would never lie to me. And besides, Albert can see Al. It mustall be real.

"What happened to you?" she asked faintly.

"I went... into the future," he replied. "I spent two days there,knowing you were to die, and helpless to prevent it."

"Oh, Vincent." She hugged him, hard. "Why is Al here now? What'shappening?"

"I'm not sure," Vincent answered. "But if we ask him, I'm surehe'll tell us."

"Can he go downstairs?" she asked. "I'm not quite comfortableentertaining a strange man in my bedroom, especially one I can'tsee."

In the kitchen, Catherine made herself a cup of coffee; a pot oftea was brewing for Vincent. She still struggled with the idea of aguest she could neither see nor hear. Picking up a third mug, sheturned to Vincent, looking indecisive. "Would he like something?"

"Nah, tell her I'm fine," Al answered, taking a deep drag on hiscigar.

Vincent dutifully relayed the message; Catherine nodded and drewher chair closer to him.

Al, using Vincent as a conduit, explained the situation whileCatherine waited, listening patiently.

"Let me get this straight," she said at last. "Al can't locate Sambecause the connection between Sam and this computer has been brokenand the computer thinks that means a head injury?"

Vincent nodded.

"How do they know he's not dead?"

"They don't, not for certain," he said slowly, his expressiongrave. "But, Catherine, four years ago, when our connection waslost..."

"You didn't know if I was dead or alive, either."

He shook his head.

"Okay. Who am I looking for?" Catherine reached for a pen andpaper.

Vincent exchanged a long look with the empty chair beside him.

"What does he look like?" Catherine prompted.

"They don't know."

Catherine's eyebrows lifted. "Don't know?"

Vincent tried to explain. "Catherine, when Sam leaps, he takes onthe appearance of the person he's replacing."

Oh. Well, it did make a certain kind of twisted sense. "What abouton the other end? Can't Al go see what this person looks like?"

"Catherine, the person who is transported into the future takes onSam's appearance. It wouldn't help."

"Can't they ask him?"

This required comment from Al, and Vincent bent his head,listening. "Apparently not. Leaping affects the memory. All they knowfor certain is that he is a man and his name is Mark."

Catherine nodded acceptance; she had given up questioning the oddthings Vincent told her. Suddenly, though, something he'd said only amoment ago made itself fully understood. "Vincent? When this happenedto you... you looked like Sam?"

He nodded gravely. "For two days, the face that looked back at mefrom a mirror was not mine."

"What did you think? What did you do?"

He smiled. "Once I recovered from the shock, I wondered what youwould think. I wondered if you would like the way I looked."

She touched his hand reassuringly.

He looked as if he wanted to respond to her tenderness, butsomething else tugged at his attention. "Catherine, I'm sorry, but Alis very concerned about Sam. He wants to know how soon you can startlooking."

"Yes, of course." Vincent's reminder of their unseen visitor madeher self-conscious and she busied herself taking notes. "We don'tknow what he looks like, or how old he is, or even what color, am Iright?" She looked up to see Vincent's confirming nod and sighed."Great. All I need to do, in a city of over eight million, is find aman named Mark who has recently incurred ahead injury." Resignedlyshe reached for the phone.

By calling in a favor with one of the night operators at thecity's main computer banks, Catherine had gotten a list of recentpolice and ambulance calls where a man had been injured. Narrowing itto head injuries had taken longer, but it gave her a place to start.She had called local hospitals, inquiring about recent admissions,which left her with three names. It was not yet dawn when shefinished her phone calls and set out to find someone she wouldn'trecognize if she saw him.

"This is ridiculous," she muttered. "I can't believe I'm acting astour guide for a hologram."

"Yeah, well, this isn't my idea of a good time, either," Algrumbled, beside her.

She knew, in theory, at least, that he was there. In fact, thatwas her sole purpose; to lead Al to each possible Sam. Vincent hadtried to explain it, but since Al lacked a complete understanding,the explanation was less than adequate. To the best of Catherine'sunderstanding, the computer in the future, or Ziggy, as Vincentcalled it, could "center" Al on almost anyone through that person'sbrain wave pattern.

Still, it felt like an invasion. They're not reading my mind, shereminded herself grimly. It's just an identifying device, likefingerprints. Nothing more.

She pushed through the glass doors of the first hospital on herlist and went straight to information.

"I'm looking for a patient? Mark Fitzgerald?"

The volunteer behind the desk gave her the room number anddirections and Catherine went to the elevators. As she waited forone, she mulled over the name. Mark Fitzgerald, she thoughtpensively. It's familiar, but I can't quite place it.

A car arrived, and, stepping inside, she punched her floor. MaybeI've seen his name on something that's come across my desk, or I'vemet him at some time or another, she decided. Or maybe it's just acommon name, and it's reminding me of someone else.

The elevator groaned to a halt and she stepped out into thehallway. Mr. Fitzgerald's door was easily found and she paused for amoment, steeling herself, before she went inside.

And stared. "Mark?"

He stared back, and struggled to sit up. I know her, he thought,groping. Suddenly her name came to him. "Catherine?"

"Mark, what are you doing here? What happened?"

He began to explain the accident; neither of them saw or heard Al,who danced about in a frenzy, waving both hands. "Sam! Sam! Look atme! Sam!"

When Sam remained oblivious, Al turned his attention on the room'sfourth occupant, a teenaged girl. Might as well try to find out whatSam was here to do. He moved closer and punched some buttons on hishand-held computer link before giving the girl a secondglance;incredibly, he recognized her. "Hey, it's Teresa!" heexclaimed. "Look, Sam, it's little Teresa..."

A glance showed Sam deep in conversation with Catherine, and stillunaware of Al's presence. It was clear she knew him, or at least theperson he appeared to be. No telling how long it would be before sheremembered him. "Gushi!" he yelled. "Center me on Vincent!"

In the blink of an eye, he was gone, leaving Catherine andSam/Mark talking as Teresa looked on.

"They're going to release me this afternoon," Sam said. "Teresahas to keep an eye on me for a day or two - head injury, youknow."

"It's not serious?" Catherine asked.

Sam shook his head. Earlier he'd learned his last name and thedate; now he'd remembered not only Catherine's name, but who she was,and was trying to place her into Mark Fitzgerald's life, but it wasno use. What he knew of her just didn't fit.

"You know, I thought your name was familiar when I came in," shewas saying. "I suppose I've heard your full name, but since mosthelpers are called only by their first names, you surprised me."

"Yes, I know," he agreed automatically. Helper, he mused tohimself. Where have I heard that term before?

"If you like, I'm sure we can find someone to take care of you fora few days," she offered.

Sam glanced at Teresa, who was politely trying to ignore them."No, that's all right. Teresa and I'll do fine together, won't we?"He shot the girl an encouraging glance and she gave him a small smilein return.

"All right. If you're sure. May I make a call?" Catherine askedhim. He nodded and she reached for the phone on his bedsidetable.

"Hello, Jamie? It's Catherine. Tell Vincent I don't know where Alis, but I've run across Mark Fitzgerald, you know, the helper who'san English teacher... What?"

Sam was listening, trying to pick up whatever information he couldand he saw Catherine's eyes widen in amazement. "He's what? Mark?"Involuntarily, she spun to stare at him. "Is he sure?"

In turning, she let the receiver move away from her ear, and Samcould hear a woman's voice, faintly. "Yes. Vincent says it'shim."

"All right. Thank you, Jamie." She cradled the phone and glancedtoward Teresa.

Sam took the hint. "Teresa? Could you walk down to the nurse'sstation and maybe get me some juice or something? Thanks."

The girl looked hurt as she left the room and Sam stifled theimpulse to call her back. Catherine obviously had something to tellhim and wanted privacy. He waited.

"Sam?" He started at the name, and she frowned uncertainly. "Youare Sam, aren't you?"

Recovering, he nodded cautiously. "How did you know? You can'tpossible recognize..."

She was already shaking her head, smiling in relief. "No. Icouldn't possibly." She eyed his short dark hair and neat beard. "Youdon't look in the least like you did last time I saw you."

"Vincent told you about me."

She nodded. "Last night. I didn't believe him."

"But you believe him now."

She nodded again. "I guess I have to. Not only can Vincent seeyour friend Al, so can our son Albert."

"They can see him? Both of them?"

"Pure alpha state, I'm told." She shrugged. "I don't understandit, Sam. I just believe. At least, I think I believe."

He tried a reassuring smile. "I didn't believe at first, either,"he confided. "It takes some convincing." He leaned forward. "You saidsomething about your son..."

"Albert. Named for your friend. Yes?"

"He's..." Sam faltered and started over. "Is he the baby..."

"When Vincent... you rescued me? Yes."

"I've always wondered... what does he look like?"

She looked briefly taken aback, and then fumbled in her purse fora picture. "Here. That's Albert. The baby is Samantha." She tiltedher head to look at him quizzically. "Named for you, I'd guess.Vincent insisted."

Sam felt a blush creeping up his cheeks and was grateful for thebeard. "Gosh. He's cute. They're both cute." He handed the pictureback. "Named your daughter for me, huh? And you actually named achild for Al? You must be crazy."

She looked surprised. "I haven't met him," she said. "I can't seehim, but I assume he was with me when I came in."

Sam felt the first stirring of consternation. "When you came in?You were by yourself. Al wasn't there!"

"I think he must have been," she argued gently. "When I calledhome, Jamie... she's a friend... told me Vincent said you were Sam.He couldn't know that unless Al told him, and Al couldn't know unlesshe was here to see you."

"But I didn't see him!" Sam almost wailed.

"I don't understand any of this, Sam. But I guess Al and somebodycalled Ziggy think your accident did something to your brainwaves sothey can't locate you. That's why Al came to Vincent."

Sam shook his head. "Al and Vincent. Now that's an unlikely pair."He sighed, thinking. "I have a mild concussion. It must have alteredmy brain wave pattern just enough so that Ziggy can't pick me up, andthat's why I can't see Al."

Catherine looked faintly troubled. "I think you'd better come homewith me," she said. "Vincent can act as interpreter so you can talkto Al."

"I can't leave Teresa," Sam said quickly.

Catherine glanced involuntarily toward the door. "Teresa? Why?She's not Mark's family..."

"No, I think they've just met," Sam agreed. "From what she says,anyway." He grinned. "She doesn't know it, but Al and I helped herbrother during an earlier Leap, and got to know Teresa quite well.She was four at the time, and could see both of us."

"Like Albert," Catherine said faintly.

"Like Albert," Sam confirmed. "Teresa and I are old friends. Andbesides, she may be the one I came to help. I don't want to losetrack of her until I talk with Al."

Catherine's hesitation was only momentary. "All right. We'll takeher with us."

In the cab, Teresa was quiet, almost sullen, and Sam wondered ifshe wasn't misconstruing Mark's relationship with Catherine, andfeeling that he, like her father, was willing to push her aside.Catherine noticed, too, and began to draw the girl out. By the timethey reached the modest brownstone on the Upper West Side, Teresa wassmiling; when the cab pulled over, she bounded out with all theenergy of youth.

"She's a runaway, isn't she?" Catherine asked Sam quietly as sheleaned forward to pay the driver.

He nodded. "Yeah."

There was no time for further conversation; Catherine led the wayup a flight of wide concrete steps and unlocked the front door.

"Come in," she invited. Inside, another woman, younger and blonderthan Catherine, turned to greet them. She smiled shyly.

"Jamie, you know Mark... this is his friend Teresa." Catherinemade the introductions swiftly, reminding Sam that he was supposed toknow this person.

"Hi, Jamie," he said awkwardly. At his elbow, Teresa nodded adiffident greeting.

"Hi," Jamie said, perfunctorily. She came closer to Catherine andbent her head, as if confiding a secret. Her voice was low, but Samcould just make out the words. "Catherine, I don't want to alarm you,but Vincent and Albert are both acting strangely... talking tosomeone who isn't there."

Catherine bit her lip to hide a smile. "I know, Jamie. Try not toworry. I think everything's going to be all right."

"Okay." Jamie seemed doubtful, but willing to accept Catherine'sreassurances for the moment.

A high-pitched shout came from a room beyond the stairs, and Jamieturned quickly to answer it, coming back a moment later with ablond-haired, blue-eyed toddler balanced on her hip. The little girlreached for Catherine, who took her from Jamie.

"Oh, what a precious little girl!" Teresa exclaimed, all shynessgone. "How old is she?"

"Eighteen months," Catherine replied.

"Is she yours?"

Catherine nodded.

"Oh, may I hold her?"

Catherine smiled. Babies had a universal charm, and her daughterwas no exception. "If she'll let you." Catherine bent her head to thechild's. "Do you want to go see Teresa?"

The little girl looked solemn, but allowed Teresa to take her.

"What's her name?"

Catherine darted a glance at Sam. "Samantha," she answered.

"Oh, that's pretty. Hi, Samantha!" Teresa was swiftly reduced tochattering baby talk, and it wasn't long before she'd coaxed a smilefrom the little girl.

Sam watched for a moment, and then caught Catherine's eye. Shenodded.

"Jamie, can you and Teresa stay here and watch Samantha for me?Mark and I need to go upstairs for a few minutes."

Jamie nodded instant understanding. "Sure, Catherine."

Absorbed in playing with Samantha, Teresa hardly noticed when Samfollowed Catherine up to the second floor. Voices came faintly frombehind a closed door and Catherine tapped lightly once before openingit.

Inside, a tall, imposing figure turned, and though they had nevermet, Sam recognized him instantly. Still, he couldn't help staring asVincent moved toward him.

"Sam. It has been a dream that one day we would meet."

Somehow, hearing Vincent's voice broke the spell, and Sam grinned."For me, too."

Vincent was silent a moment. "Mere words could never express how Ifeel... I will never forget what you have done for me."

There was no good answer for that, so Sam shrugged. To hissurprise, Vincent smiled as widely as his unusual features wouldallow and stepped forward to envelop him in a warm, brotherly hug.Sam hugged him back, and it was probably fortunate that he couldn'thear the disparaging comment offered by Al.

"Geez! Looks like a Kodak moment to me! Leave it to the two ofyou! A gorgeous woman in the room, and you hug each other! What awaste!" Arms wide, Al wandered in Catherine's direction,demonstrating.

Vincent turned his head, his expression offering a mild reproach,but little Albert was not so restrained. Giggling, he gave his ownversion. "Mommy, Al thinks you're pretty. He wants Daddy and Sam tohug you, and he wants to hug you, too."

Catherine clearly didn't know how to react and Vincent movedautomatically to protect her. "Al, as Catherine cannot see or hearyou, it is unfair to make remarks that might embarrass her."

Only mildly chastened, Al voiced a general apology, which Vincenttranslated more eloquently. Sam couldn't hear the whole exchangebecause his link with Al was still lost, but he recognized diplomacywhen he heard it, and besides, he knew Al too well.

Vincent touched his arm. "Sam, Catherine and I would like you tomeet our son, Albert."

Sam smiled at the engaging little boy, who greeted him with abright smile. "Hi!"

"Hi. Daddy said you would look like Mark, but you don't."

Sam paused. "How old are you, Albert? Four? Then, no, I guess Idon't look like Mark."

"Who does he see?" Catherine whispered to Vincent.

"He sees Sam," Vincent explained. "So do I."

In the background, Al was offering another rapid-fire explanationof the pure alpha state, which Vincent ignored by choice andCatherine and Sam ignored because they couldn't hear it. Only Albertwas interested.

"Could a dog see you?" he asked. "Or a cat? Or a bird? My friendMouse has a raccoon;could he see you?"

"Albert, I'm a little surprised that Mouse can't see me."

"Is Mouse your friend, too?" the little boy asked.

"Well, sort of," Al explained. "He probably doesn't rememberme."

Albert glanced at Sam and seemed to remember his manners. "This ismy friend Al," he said, pointing.

Sam looked where the boy indicated and shook his head. "I can'tsee Al," he said softly.

"You can't? Mommy can't, either. Or Jamie. Only me and Daddy andSammie." He giggled. "That's funny. Al has the same name as I do, andSammie's name is almost like yours."

Sam smiled. "That is funny."

Catherine interrupted, holding out her hand. "Come on, Albert.Let's go downstairs for awhile so Daddy can talk with Sam andAl."

"I want to stay," Albert objected. "I like Al. He's funny!"

Sam leaned close. "You know, Albert, I think you'd better do whatyour mother says right now. Your father and Al and I have some thingsto talk about."

"Oh, all right." Albert grumbled, but it was a token protest. Atthe door he turned for a parting comment. "Don't forget, Al, youpromised to teach me that lime poem later."

Catherine looked from Albert to Vincent. "Lime poem?" shequestioned.

Vincent turned to Al, who shrugged. "A limerick," heexplained.

Vincent drew himself up to his full height; his bearing wassuddenly imposing, and Al looked moderately cowed. "It's a differentone!" he defended himself.

Vincent was not appeased and Al capitulated gracelessly.

"Okay, okay, no limericks! How about a nursery rhyme?"

"Oh, boy," Sam sighed after Catherine and Albert left. "This isthe strangest leap yet." He turned to Vincent. "Does Al know why I'mhere?"

Vincent listened a moment. "Al asks if you know where Teresais?"

"Sure. She's downstairs, playing with the baby. Is she why I'mhere?"

Vincent listened. "Al says Ziggy tells him there is a good chancethat you are here to make Teresa go home." He paused. "May I ask whoTeresa is?"

Sam began to explain, but hadn't said more than a few words whenVincent raised his hands in protest. "Please. I can only hear one ofyou at a time."

Knowing better than to expect Al to yield the floor, Sam shut up,waiting patiently until Vincent's attitude indicated Al had stoppedspeaking.

"Is he done?"

Vincent nodded. "An incredible story. You are both certain thisTeresa is the same girl?"

Sam nodded. "I am."

Al's answer was apparently also affirmative, and Vincent smiled."You are crossing paths with many old friends on this leap."

Sam nodded agreement. "Al, what happens to Teresa if she stays inNew York?"

Al was a long time in answering; when he did, Vincent translatedslowly, with many pauses.

"He says there are many things that could happen to a young girlon the streets of New York..."

"He's stalling, Vincent. Make him tell you what Ziggy says."

Vincent tipped his head to the side. "He says Ziggy isn't certain.She works two jobs to support herself; at the perfume counter atHorne's Department Store, and nights as a waitress in a diner. Beyondthat, he doesn't know."

Sam sighed. "It isn't much. What am I supposed to fix?"

"Al says Ziggy doesn't know. He reminds you that he is only twoyears ahead of us, and there hasn't been time for Teresa's life tofully unfold."

"But it's trouble if she stays in New York, right?"

Vincent listened for a long time. "Al says it is. He says runningaway is not the answer for Teresa, that she has a family and shouldbe with them. He knows what life as a runaway is..."

Vincent paused and Sam filled in the blank. "Al was a runaway whenhe was a boy."

Vincent nodded understanding and continued. "Al cares for thisyoung woman very much. He truly fears for her."

Meanwhile, downstairs, Jamie had disappeared, Albert wanted asnack and little Samantha was getting fussy.

"What can I do?" Teresa asked, wanting to help.

"You can..." Catherine paused in the act of slicing an apple."...take Samantha upstairsand put her down for a nap. It's the seconddoor on the right."

"Okay." Teresa loved babies, and Samantha was an especiallyengaging little girl. Following Catherine's instructions, she foundthe baby's room and changed her diaper before tucking her into thecrib. Pulling the door closed, she leaned against it, waiting to hearif Samantha was going to sleep quietly, or was going to fuss.

Men's voices came to her through a closed door across the hall,but she ignored them until her own name filtered through herconcentration. Frowning, she moved closer to the other door. Sheheard her name again, and heard Mark say something about sending herhome. There were odd gaps in the conversation, and she couldn't makeout all the words, especially from the man who wasn't Mark, becausehis voice was too low, but it was soon clear that she was the subjectof this particular discussion.

Like most teenagers, Teresa felt perfectly capable of taking careof herself, and felt her temper rising. As the conversation beyondthe door continued, it added fuel to her fury. She didn't know thatCatherine had noticed her long absence and had come looking for her.Oblivious to Catherine's cry of protest, Teresa thrust the door openand burst into the room.

Sam whirled at the sound behind him. Teresa stood framed in theopen doorway, fury fading as panic and hysteria rose in her eyes.Vincent bowed his head and began to turn away;Teresa took aninvoluntary step back, bumping Catherine, who blocked her path.

Teresa spun away, giving a small, convulsive cry, flatteningherself against the wall. Slowly she realized that no one else wasalarmed, and her eyes sought Sam's. "Mark?" she quavered.

Sam spoke slowly, making sure she understood every word. "Teresa,this is my friend Vincent." He looked questioningly to Catherine, whonodded gravely. "He's Catherine's husband."

Vincent was still half-turned away from Teresa, and she stared athis profile in fascination. Sam thought he knew how Vincent felt; heremembered the horror on the faces of men he had subdued in thecourse of rescuing Catherine. One man had actually fainted at sightof him. It hadn't been a pleasant feeling.

"Didn't your mother ever teach you to knock?" Sam added. "If youhadn't barged in here..."

Teresa had found her voice at last, and seemed to take comfort notonly from Sam's introduction, but from the fact that Catherine hadpushed past her and was now beside Vincent, touching his arm andspeaking in a low voice.

"I'm sorry," Teresa said. "But you were talking about me."

"We mean you no harm, Teresa," Vincent said softly, withoutlooking at her. "We only wish to help."

"I can take care of myself," she said stonily. "I'm not achild."

"Don't let her, Sam," Al exhorted, forgetting Sam couldn't hearhim. "Make her go back."

Sam didn't need the advice. "You're only sixteen, Teresa. New Yorkis a difficult place to make it on your own."

"I can do it," she insisted.

"How?" Catherine asked quietly. "What will you do?"

"I'll get a job. I'll find a place to live... I have friends."

"Who?" Sam challenged.

Her pause was only momentary. "Damon," she answered.

It took him aback. "Damon? You said he tried..."

"Maybe I was wrong," she said. "Maybe he is my friend, after all.At least he listens to what I want!"

"Get a last name, Sam," Al advised. "We're willing to listen, too,Teresa," Sam said. "Believe it or not, we're your friends, all of us.We care what happens to you."

"Get a last name on this Damon," Al demanded indignantly. "SoZiggy can run a check on him."

"Teresa," Vincent interrupted gently. "Does your friend Damon havea last name?"

"Does he... sure he does. Newburgh. Damon Newburgh."

"Thanks, Vincent," Al muttered, punching buttons furiously. "Gladsomeone around here listens to me."

"Teresa, no one here will force you to do anything against yourwill," Catherine said. "But won't you take some time to listen to us,and think about what we have to say?"

"Please, Teresa," Sam added his voice. "We only want what's rightfor you."

Teresa gave in grudgingly. "Okay. A day or two. But you're notgoing to change my mind. I'm not going home."

"All right." Sam smiled in relief. They'd gotten over the firsthurdle, and could worry about the second one later.

"Where do I go?" Teresa asked. "Back to Mark's? Or do I stayhere?"

Catherine shook her head decisively. "Mark's place isn't a goodidea, and here isn't either, but Vincent knows of a secret placewhere you'll be safe."

Sam was amazed that Vincent and Catherine would trust Teresa withthe secret of the tunnels, but Catherine explained. "Vincent knowsshe can be trusted."

Sam went back to Mark's tiny apartment to get Teresa's things. Hedidn't notice the slight, dark youth who followed him when heleft.

Vincent had given him directions to the tunnel entrance nearestMark's apartment, and Sam stashed Teresa's backpack and sleeping bagwhile he searched. After only a few minutes, he found it, a rustyiron door set into crumbling brick in the basement of a nearbywarehouse; its hinges groaned a protest when he pulled it open. Heleft it ajar while he went to fetch Teresa's stuff.

Meanwhile, Vincent guided a subdued and silent Teresa into thedepths of the world Below. Catherine would follow after the baby wokefrom her nap.

"I'm sorry," Teresa said suddenly.

"For what?"

"For the way I acted; for barging in without knocking... and forstaring at you the way I did."

He made a brief, dismissive gesture with one hand. "It isforgotten."

"Not by me." She kicked at a loose stone on the tunnel floor."I'll bet Catherine didn't stare like that the first time she sawyou."

"No," he agreed; she was surprised to see he was smiling. "Shedidn't stare. She screamed, and threw something at me."

Teresa stopped dead in the passage. "Really?"

"I surprised her," he explained.

"Wow. I guess I don't feel so bad now. I'm sorry, and I won'tstare at you anymore."

"I know you won't. Teresa, tell me about your friend Damon."

"Like what?" she asked, suddenly defensive.

"Who is he?"

"He's just a boy I met; he helped me when I first came to NewYork."

"How did he help you?"

"I was almost out of money; he let me stay in his apartment for acouple of days. He was going to talk to somebody he knew about givingme a job."

"What happened?"

She was silent, studying the ground under her feet.

"Teresa?" he prompted.

"I'm not sure anymore," she confessed.

Vincent tactfully avoided noticing how her cheeks were flushedscarlet.

"We were just watching T.V. together," she went on softly. "And heput his arm around me, and after a while we started..."

"Becoming affectionate?" Vincent suggested diplomatically.

She nodded. "We were kissing, and he started touching me, and...and... I never felt that way before... it scared me, and I ranaway."

"Did Damon try to stop you?"

"No... yes... I mean, he yelled for me to come back, that he wassorry, but he didn't grab me or try to hold me or anything."

"Do you think he meant to hurt you?"

Slowly she shook her head. "I made myself think I did, so Iwouldn't feel so bad about running away, but I don't think soanymore."

"What kind of a person is Damon?"

She smiled. "He's quiet and gentle, except when he's mad. Then heyells. He works at a warehouse, unloading trucks, and sometimes hesings on the street corners. That's how I met him. He was singing,and I stopped to listen."

"He is a musician, then."

She shrugged. "He wants to be."

"And you, Teresa. What do you want?"

"I don't know, Vincent." She thought a minute. "I guess I want tofeel like I'm needed. I know my mom loves me, but she doesn't need mefor anything."

"And you believe you can find fulfillment by staying in NewYork?"

"I don't know. Maybe. I'd like to try."

"And what of your mother?"

"What about her?"

"I have a brother, Teresa. When he was fourteen, he ran away, andfor twenty years we didn't know if he was alive or dead."

"You think she's worried about me."

"What do you think?"

She nodded reluctantly. "I should tell her I'm okay, shouldn'tI?"

"I think it would ease her mind," Vincent agreed.

"But what will I do if she wants to come and get me?"

Vincent glanced at her. "Would that be so terrible?"

"I don't want to go back there, Vincent. There's nothing inScottsdale for me. I ran away for stupid reasons, but I think I'msupposed to be here now."

Vincent looked at her thoughtfully. "Perhaps you are. Here." Heled the way into a small chamber, dimly lit by soft gold and bluelight streaming through a stained glass window above the bed. "Thischamber is where I spent my childhood, and much of my adulthood," hesaid. "It is where Catherine gave birth to both of our children; itholds many memories, but I rarely use it anymore. You are welcome tosleep here while you decide what to do."

"Okay. Thank you." Teresa looked around uncertainly, and wasgrateful to hear footsteps in the passage outside.

A rather scruffy-looking young man entered first, smiling shyly atTeresa before addressing Vincent. "Brought Mark," he announced. Samcame in behind him.

"Thank you, Mouse," Vincent said gently. "This is Teresa; she'llbe staying Below for a few days."

"Hi," Teresa said, and Mouse blushed.

"Hi."

"I brought your stuff, Teresa," Sam said, dropping it onto thebed.

"Thank you."

There was a rough, sliding noise that only Vincent could hear, andAl stepped through a shimmering portal. "Hey, Vincent," he saidexpansively. "Place hasn't changed much, has it?"

Vincent looked at him, but didn't answer; Mouse probably wouldn'tnotice or care, but he didn't want to alarm Teresa.

Al didn't seem to mind; he was busy making a brief inspectiontour. "You have the neatest stuff, Vincent," he commented. He bent,admiring the glittering facets of a polished geode. "Hey, it's thatkid, what's-his-name!" Al snapped his fingers impatiently."Squirrel... Rat... Mouse! That's it. It's Mouse! Hi, Mouse!"Oblivious to Al's presence, Mouse was covertly watching Teresa.

"Al." Vincent spoke quietly, and as he'd suspected, Mouse didn'trespond. The girl frowned a little, but didn't seem absolutely sureshe'd heard anything. Sam heard, and raised his eyebrows in a silentquestion.

Al reacted with animated attention to the sound of his name."Vincent, we need to talk. Can you get Teresa and Mouse to take awalk somewhere?"

Vincent nodded briefly. "Mouse, Teresa has just arrived here anddoesn't know her way around yet. Would you show her how to find thebathing chambers, the dining hall, perhaps Father's library?"

Mouse flushed; if Vincent didn't know better, he'd think the youthwas developing a crush on Teresa.

"Okay, good, okay, fine," he mumbled, and scurried out. After afew seconds, he popped back in again. "Coming?" he inquired ofTeresa, and this time, with a backward wave for Sam and Vincent, shefollowed.

"Mouse will take good care of her," Vincent assured Sam.

"I know he will," Sam answered. "He took good care of me, bothtoday and before."

Vincent was momentarily startled; he had forgotten that Sam hadmet Mouse on his earlier leap.

"Come on, you guys," Al interrupted. "We've got work to do."

Vincent turned his attention to Al. "What have you learned?"

"Ziggy ran a check on this kid, Damon Newburgh," Al said, wavinghis cigar. "The kid's bad news. You can't let Teresa get mixed upwith him!"

Repeating Al's words for Sam's benefit had become almost automaticfor Vincent now, but Sam began to pace in frustration. Sam hadn'trealized how much of Al's communication was through expression andbody language.

"What kind of trouble, Al?" he asked.

Al punched some buttons. "Ziggy says that right now, this Newburghkid has been indicted for possession of illegal narcotics, and isawaiting trial." He looked up, his expression grim. "The policesuspect him of dealing, but don't have any proof."

"We can't let Teresa get mixed up with drugs," Sam said, more tohimself than anyone else. "I must be here to stop her."

Vincent spoke quietly. "When you spoke earlier of Teresa's future,Al, you made no mention of drugs."

"No," Al admitted reluctantly. "Ziggy's looked, and can't find anyevidence that she's tried any of that stuff."

"You also made no mention of Damon being part of her life,"Vincent continued.

Al pushed more buttons and slapped the side of his computer linkimpatiently. "Hurry up, Ziggy," he muttered. Finally the computercomplied and he perused the results, frowning. "Ziggy says Teresa andDamon don't seem to know each other," he announced at last. "Shedoesn't have a boyfriend; she has a kind of protector, afather-figure, I guess." He glanced at Sam. "Mark Fitzgerald."

"Yes," Vincent agreed. "Mark is a good man. He would not abandonher."

"Then I don't get it," Sam said. "If nothing really bad is goingto happen to Teresa in the next two years, what am I here to do?"

"You gotta make her go home, Sam," Al insisted. "If you don't,she's stuck in a dead-end life."

Vincent translated, and added his own thoughts. "There is nothinginherently wrong with menial work," he said. "Many of our helperssupport themselves in this way, and even much of the work here, in myworld, requires strong backs more than agile minds."

"She needs to go home," Al said stubbornly.

Sam rubbed his cheek thoughtfully. "Vincent, you sound like youthink Teresa should stay here. Why?"

Vincent lifted his shoulders in a microscopic shrug. "I am notcertain," he replied. "It is only a feeling I have. On our way down,she spoke of Damon. I believe she cares for him, and I wonder if itis not his destiny you are here to change."

Sam gazed at him, marveling. "Al, have Ziggy run a scenario onwhat happens to Damon if he and Teresa get back together."

Al opened his mouth, but closed it again when Sam continued.

"Vincent, tell him not to argue, just do it."

Vincent eyes were smiling as he complied. "Al, just do it."

"Okay, but it'll take a few minutes. Ziggy's kind of slow today."Grumbling under his breath, Al vanished.

Sam pulled at his ear. "Vincent, is there some kind of radioaround here?"

Vincent shook his head. "No. The rock walls prevent any signalsreaching us down here, so there is no reason to have a radio.Why?"

Sam rubbed the other ear. "I keep thinking I hear static, like aradio that isn't tuned. It comes in bursts, and it's been gettinglouder." He shrugged. "It's gone now. I must have imagined it."

Damon Newburgh had spent the past fifteen minutes alternatelycreeping along rock-walled corridors and flattening himself intoshadowed niches and side tunnels to avoid being seen. He had followedthe man he knew as Mark Fitzgerald into these tunnels, had watched asMark was joined by a short, blond man not much older than Damonhimself. The man seemed to act as a guide, leading Mark through averitable maze of twisting, intersecting passages. Damon had beenhard-pressed to keep them in sight without being spotted, andeventually he had lost them. By then, he was so far into the mazethat he knew he could never find his way out, but the passages herewere lit by candles and torches, flickering gently in niches and wallbrackets, so Damon knew there would be people. Still, he wasn't surewhat sort of community he'd stumbled into, and resolved to proceedwith caution.

He couldn't imagine what a respected English professor would bedoing in these tunnels, anyway. The few people Damon had seen from adistance had been strangely, almost medievally garbed; the wholeplace had an other-worldly air.

He peered carefully around a corner; the passage before him wasclear, and he slipped into it, proceeding silently toward an openingfarther down.

Beyond that opening was a large, multi-level chamber filled withcandlelight. Damon slipped inside and paused in the shadow cast by atall, glass-fronted wooden cabinet. Directly above him was a smoothwooden surface; footsteps scraping the wood indicated that there wasa second level here, and when he looked further, he could see thenarrow spiral staircase that led upward.

"I've never seen so many books outside a library," someone saidfrom above him. Teresa? he wondered, and ventured a step closer,looking up.

"You look at books," a young man's voice advised her. "Mouse hasthings to do. Back later!"

"Wait! Mouse!" Teresa tried to call back her guide, but he hadscurried away, using a passage that led directly from the loft inFather's chamber.

Damon was sure he recognized her voice, and, casting cautionaside, moved into the room until he could see her.

She moved to the railing, but didn't look down. "I wish I knewwhat to do." She spoke aloud, but Damon thought she was reallyspeaking to herself. She sounded wistful. "If I go home, I won't getto go anywhere, or do anything. I'll have to go back to school..."She sighed. "And Damon isn't there."

Damon had been listening, and started at the sound of his name.Teresa heard and looked down, searching the shadows.

"School isn't so bad," Damon said softly, not wanting to frightenher. "You need an education."

"Damon?" She sounded incredulous. "How did you get down here?"

He shrugged, feeling suddenly carefree. "You can't hide from me,Teresa. Not even down here."

She smiled and managed to look worried at the same time. "Thisplace is supposed to be secret. I don't know what will happen if theyfind you..."

He shrugged again. "What they don't know won't hurt 'em."

She bent over the railing as if trying to get closer, and he moveduntil he was directly beneath her.

"Why did you come?" she asked.

"For you," he said slowly. "Because I didn't know where you were,and I thought Mark Fitzgerald could take me to you."

"You were worried?"

He nodded. "Word on the street was that you were with him. When Iwent to his place and neither one of you was there, I didn't knowwhat to think. I waited, and when Mark came back, I followedhim."

"Oh, Damon, I'm sorry I ran away from you the way I did."

He spread his hands and grinned. "I'm sorry I came on so strong. Ishould have remembered you're just a kid."

"I'm not a kid," she retorted hotly. "I wish people would stopsaying that!"

"All right, all right, I'm sorry. You're not a kid, but you'reyoung, and I scared you. I apologize."

Placated, she smiled shyly and bit her lip. "Okay."

"Okay."

They stayed like that, Teresa leaning over the balcony rail andDamon craning up at her.

"Teresa," he said suddenly, smiling an odd, tender smile. "Did youknow you're beautiful with the candlelight in your hair and your eyesall dark and mysterious like that?"

She blushed and pulled back. "What? I'm not..."

"Yes, you are," he disagreed, and bounded up the spiral stair tothe point where its curve brought him closer to her, and leaned overthe banister. "You're very beautiful to me, Teresa," he said softly."I don't know why I never noticed it before."

She was staring at him with a mixture of longing and disbelief,and when he stretched out his hand, she reached with hers; theirfingers touched.

"I think," he said shakily, "that I might be falling in love withyou."

Teresa looked as uncertain as Damon felt. "I think I am, too," shewhispered. "Oh, Damon, this is scary."

"For me, too," he admitted. "Oh, Teresa, what are we going todo?"

Across the room, Sam and Vincent entered, searching for Teresa. Atsight of Damon, they stopped, exchanging anxious looks.

"It won't be easy," Teresa said, unaware they were being observed."We're young; we're from different worlds..."

Sam opened his mouth to speak; Vincent raised a hand to forestallhim and motioned to leave. Realizing they were eavesdropping, Samturned to follow. Abruptly, their path was blocked by Al.

"Hey! Who's that with Teresa?" he demanded, looking over theirshoulders. "Is it that Damon kid? Is this what you call taking careof her?"

Vincent began a placating gesture; Al ignored it and steppedforward, passing through them.

"You can't just leave her here with him," he continued, armswaving. "Look! He's kissing her, Sam! You have to stop him!"

"Al, get away from there! Don't watch..." Sam broke off and lookedaround wildly. "Al! I can hear you!"

"You can...? Vincent, he can hear me! Sam, that's great! How do Isound?"

"Loud," Sam said, flinching. "You don't have to shout. You're fullof static, but I can understand you."

"Can you see me?" To help, Al waved his arms theatrically. Samblinked and squinted toward the voice. "No," he admitted finally."Not yet. There's a sort of shimmer, though."

Al jabbed buttons frantically. "Ziggy says the fuzzy reception isbecause you still aren't over your concussion, but that you should beback to normal soon... Hey, Sam, we've got a fix on you again!"

"Good. Now, what about them?" Sam said, pointing to Damon andTeresa.

No longer oblivious to their audience, Damon and Teresa turned; atsight of Vincent, Damon pushed Teresa behind him protectively.

"It's all right, Damon," Teresa assured him quickly. "He won'thurt you. He's a friend."

None of them noticed Catherine bringing the children in throughthe entrance below the gallery until Albert flew across the chamber,shouting, "Hi, Al!"

Seizing Damon's hand, Teresa tugged him toward the spiralstaircase; he followed ambivalently. Catherine, carrying Samantha,moved toward the center of the chamber, where Sam and Vincent joinedher.

At the foot of the stairs, Damon paused doubtfully, aware that alleyes were on him. Teresa pulled at his hand, drawing him forward.

"This is Damon," she said. "Damon, this is Catherine and herlittle girl Samantha; you already know Mark; this is Vincent; andthis is Albert, Vincent and Catherine's son."

During the introductions, Catherine crossed to Vincent's side, andSamantha's little arms went out to her father, who reached for herautomatically.

Damon was still grappling with Albert being Vincent's son when thelittle boy piped up, "You forgot Al!"

Catherine put her hand over his mouth, shaking her headwarningly.

"Mommy, don't," he said indignantly, when she released him. "Iwant to talk."

"I know, sweetheart, but I don't think Teresa and her friend cansee Al."

"But it isn't polite not to introduce him, Mommy." His parentsexchanged amused glances over his head.

Teresa crouched down to Albert's level. "Is Al a friend no oneelse can see?" she asked.

Albert nodded. "Except Daddy can see him, too," he said.

"You know, when I was about your age, I had a friend that no onecould see, and his name was Al, too! I remember he used to wear thisreally yucky shirt and he could make dinosaurs appear in theair."

"No, he makes the Cheshire Cat appear," Albert disagreed. "And Ilike his purple shirt. It has shiny stuff on it."

"That's nice, Albert," she said, suddenly aware she was the centerof attention.

Rising slowly to her feet, her eyes met Sam's.

"Teresa..."

"Mark, before you say anything, I want you to know I've made mydecision. I'm staying here." Looping an arm through Damon's, shefaced Sam with determination.

"Teresa." Surprisingly, it was Damon who spoke. She turned to himand he put a hand on her shoulder. "I don't want you to go, but theywant what's best for you... and so do I."

Teresa touched his cheek. "The only one who knows what's best forme is me, and my future is here... with you."

"She's right," Al shouted to those who could hear him. "Vincentwas right! You're no there to help Teresa, you're here to help Damon,and by helping him, you help Teresa, too!" Controlling hisexcitement, Al consulted his computer link. "Before, Damon was goingto be a no-good drug dealer. Now Ziggy says there's an eighty-fourpercent chance that he's going to be able to make a living from hismusic, instead."

"What about Teresa?" Sam asked.

Al slapped the small plastic box impatiently. "Bingo!" he cried."Teresa lives with an old lady and helps her out. She goes to schooland works part time and her mom sends her some money, too. Damonstill works at the warehouse, but in two years he's going to sell asong to a record company." He pressed some more buttons. "And... heand Teresa get married!"

"So we did help her," Sam said.

"You helped both of them," Vincent observed quietly. "Findingsomeone to share a life with is no small thing." His glance movedswiftly to Catherine and back again. "Perhaps there is a little ofEros in you, Sam."

"Who?" Al demanded.

"Cupid, Al," Sam explained. "Why aren't I leaping?"

Al shrugged, an expansive gesture Sam couldn't see. "Don't know.Maybe because you can't see me yet, or maybe because we haven't saidgood-bye. Maybe you need to change your name to Dorothy and tap yourheels together three times."

Sam threw an exasperated look to where Al's voice had been, onlyto hear it emanating from another spot. Al had already begun hisgood-byes.

Sam turned to Damon and Teresa. "Take good care of her," headmonished Damon. "I'll be watching."

"I will," Damon promised.

He looked at Teresa. "You've grown up to be quite a young woman.Your mother would be proud of you." To her surprise, he hugged her.She responded warmly, but as he stepped back from her, she stiffened,looking past him.

Sam spun to look. Little Albert was in the act of exchanging adelighted high five with a ghostly shadow that was Al.

"Al?" Teresa's whisper, soft with wonder and disbelief, made Samspin back again. One hand was over her mouth; the other reachedforward, but when she saw him looking, she snatched it back.

"Teresa, what do you see?"

She shook her head. "Nothing. Nothing at all."

Unconvinced, Sam moved to stand before Vincent. "I'm glad wemet."

Vincent inclined his head in acknowledgment. "Perhaps we'll meetagain." Catherine waited with her hands on her son's shoulders, andSam looked up to see an almost-fully focused, clearly discernible Alonly inches away from her, leering.

"Quit it, Al," he instructed grimly. "I can see you."

Al turned. "You can? Sam, that's great...!"

Sam ignored him. By the way the air was beginning to buzz, hewould be leaping any second. He looked into Catherine's eyes as shesmiled at him. "Cath..."

He leaped.

As he opened his eyes, he found her still smiling at him."...erine," he finished, and stared in astonishment.

THE END