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Disclaimer: This is a fan publication and does not intend to infringe on the copyrights of any property portrayed herein. Quantum Leap is the property of Donald Bellisario/Universal Studios. Dark Shadows is the property of Dan Curtis Productions. Nobody's making any money off this.
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A Dark Leap
By Cyberkat
"How many times will it be this way?
With your arms around the future,
And your back up against the past..."
--The Moody Blues (The Voice)
Blinding light…
A brilliant flare, blue-white on some inner spectrum. A psychic light, visible only to an attuned mind. Like a small nova, the quantum effect scorched over, around, through him—searing away the old identity, dawning on the new. Seemingly in the same instant, it was gone, and Dr. Sam Beckett merged mind and soul with his new body, his new identity.
A new Leap had begun.
Swallowing painfully, Sam opened his eyes. His first thought was that he (or rather his host) had been sick. He was lying on a bed surrounded by medical equipment, his body felt as if it had gone nine rounds with the heavyweight champ…And six pairs of concerned eyes were staring intently down at him.
Momentarily nonplussed, he stared back, wondering what to do. There were four women, two men—an awful lot of visitors for a sickroom. This couldn't be a hospital; no hospital he'd ever been in, anyway. This many nonessential people weren't tolerated in a patient's room, certainly not a patient who merited the amount of medical monitors clustered around his bed.
All of this flashed through his mind in an instant. Before he could do more than blink, one of the women—older than the others, her hair beginning to gray—rushed to gather him into her fierce embrace. "Victoria—Thank God!" she cried, holding him tightly. "Thank God…"
Oh, boy.
"Where am I?" The question was out before he could consider the wisdom of it. Fortunately, no one seemed to find it strange.
"You're safe, you're home," murmured the woman, cradling him even closer against her shoulder. Her arms tightened protectively around him.
A second woman, this one with her dark hair pulled severely back in a plait, bent over him. "You're at Collinwood, back in your own time."
Her words, obviously meant to reassure, froze his heart in his chest. His 'own time'? What did that mean? He bit back the question before it could slip past his lips. His eyes darted around the strangely crowded room—crowded with everyone, it seemed, but the one person he most wanted to see. Where was Al?
The sudden sting of a needle entering his arm snapped his attention back to the dark-haired woman. She held a spent syringe in one latex-gloved hand. She met his accusing glare with calm green eyes. "Just a mild sedative, Victoria."
Mild? His eyelids were already drooping.
Gently, the older woman eased Sam back onto the pillows. Her hand trembled as she brushed his cheek. "Rest now, dear. We'll talk about…everything…in the morning."
"Come, Elizabeth. Victoria needs her rest."
"Yes, of course." Reluctantly, Elizabeth allowed herself to be led away by the older of the two men. The two younger women followed. One had a dazed air about her, as if she wasn't entirely aware of where she was or what she was doing. Her companion helped her from the room.
Sam fought the effects of the sedative. He tried to focus on the dark-haired woman and the remaining man, a tall gentleman whose ascetic face seemed drawn in…fear? Sam wondered what he had to be afraid of…and if Sam should be worried about it, as well.
"Doctor…" Slowly, cautiously, the man approached. His dark gaze slid from Sam to the woman still standing beside the bed. "What have you given her?"
"Just what I said, Barnabas. A sedative." Her tone was reproachful. "She's been through quite an ordeal, I'm sure. Right now, rest is the best thing for Victoria, so I've given her something that will allow her some uninterrupted sleep."
She reached out and lightly brushed her fingertips across his sleeve. "Don't worry. She isn't going to say anything…dangerous. Not tonight. You have my word."
"She knows," he said with quiet despair. "I could see it in her eyes."
"We'll deal with that later." The doctor drew him from the room, leaving Sam alone to his losing battle with whatever drug she had so thoughtfully given him. As their conversation receded into the distance, so did Sam's perceptions. Warm darkness rose up to envelop him in cloying gray arms and he could do nothing but sink helplessly into its embrace.
His last clear thought as oblivion claimed him was that Al had better be...there when he...
...woke...
...up.
****
Muzzy headed and cotton-tongued, Sam awoke in a strange bed. There was nothing unusual about that, of course. Since he'd begun Leaping, he'd awoken in any number of strange beds. Some stranger than others…He lay still for a moment more, blinking as the memory of his arrival flooded back. He had lots of questions and no answers. In other words, a normal Leap. With a sigh, he sat up and squinted at his surroundings. Al was still nowhere in sight. Unfortunately, there was nothing unusual about that, either.
Well, he couldn't lie around here all day. Throwing back the blankets, Sam started up from the bed—and was astonished to find himself clad in a long dress of the type more normally associated with costume dramas. At first, he thought it might simply be an odd style of nightgown, heavy and elaborate. Closer inspection disproved the theory: it was a dress, with old-fashioned full skirts that fell below his ankles.
Curiouser and curiouser…
He'd certainly never felt more like Alice. But what rabbit hole had he tumbled down this time?
He moved quietly to the door, the soft rustle of his muslin skirts loud in his ears. Distracted by the strange dress, he opened the door—and almost collided with the doctor who had so thoughtfully sedated him the night before. She regarded him with shrewd green eyes.
"Victoria…How are you feeling?"
"A…bit disoriented," he said. It seemed a safe enough answer. It was certainly true.
"Given the circumstances, that's certainly understandable," the doctor said. Her gaze flickered over his dress. "I expect you would like to freshen up in your own room."
Sam nodded, wondering why he hadn't been in his own room to begin with. The doctor steered him in what he had to assume was the proper direction and Sam, not having much choice in the matter, followed His companion slid another gaze at him, as if trying to decide whether or not to speak. Finally, she said, "Victoria, how much do you remember about…what happened?"
Sam didn't know what she was talking about, but he knew an out when it was handed to him. "Nothing much," he said, truthfully. "Almost nothing, in fact."
She seemed relieved, an odd reaction, he thought. She paused at what was presumably Victoria's bedroom door. "I want to see you later, Victoria, and give you a medical examination to make certain there are no lingering ill effects. If you should remember anything, anything at all, you must come to me at once."
She didn't wait for an answer, apparently certain the Victoria would obey without question. Sam frowned. Victoria might have no questions for the good doctor, but he wasn't Victoria. He had plenty of questions and no one to ask.
He retreated into the quiet stillness of Victoria's bedroom. It was large and pleasant, furnished with heavy ornate antiques. Curious, he hunted a mirror and found one in the dressing room connecting bed and bath. Standing before the full-length glass, he got his first real look at his host.
Huge in a wan, exhausted face, her brown eyes peered back at him from the glass. A cloud of brunette hair framed a delicate, heart-shaped face. He brushed his fingertips over one pale cheek, the clinical portion of his mind noting the dark circles shadowing her eyes. There was a weariness, a haunted quality about her, as if recent events had not been kind.
"Who are you?" he whispered. Not surprisingly, the reflection had no answer.
Neither did Sam—and Al still hadn't made an appearance. Sam glanced down at his strange attire. That at least, he could do something about.
A short time later, he emerged from the bathroom wrapped in an oversized terry robe he'd found hanging on the back of the door. A quick rummage in the closet turned up fresh clothing—modern clothing, he was relieved to see.
With a sigh for the necessity of grappling with feminine underpinnings, he dressed, pulling on comfortable faded jeans and a cable knit sweater. He slipped his feet into a pair of flats. He had no intention of subjecting himself to high heels unless threatened at gunpoint.
He wondered again about the dress. Why had Victoria been wearing it? None of the others had been in costume. Who were these people? What was he here to set right? It was all a part of the mystery, he supposed, but right now he'd prefer some answers.
Lost in thought, he wandered over to the dressing table. He was relieved to see a minimum of beauty paraphernalia; he hated make-up. He always found wearing it to be a degrading experience. With a shudder, he reached for a hairbrush.
It was then that he saw the music box nestled among the cosmetic pots and jars.
It was lovely: gold and silver, with a jeweled lid. If the stones were genuine, it was probably quite valuable, and something about it suggested antiquity. Carefully, he lifted the lid, liberating a delicate melody—a minuet, he thought. The music stirred something inside him, a sense memory buried deeply in his host body. Disturbed without knowing why, he replaced the lid, silencing the music. A welcome, if belated voice, interrupted his reverie.
"Sam?"
He spun around to confront the holographic representation of the Project Observer. Admiral Albert Calavicci was resplendent in shimmering fuschia and silver, tastefully accented with a genuine neon tie that flashed on and off as Sam watched, momentarily too stunned for words. He wasn't sure if Al was a sight for sore eyes—or merely an eyesore. But Sam was glad to see him.
"It's about time you got here," he griped. "Where have you been, anyway?"
Plucking a fresh cigar from one silver pocket, Al ignored the outburst and pretended to ogle Sam. At least, Sam hoped he was pretending. With Al, it was sometimes hard to tell.
"Not bad, Sam, if you don't mind my saying so."
"I do mind," Sam said firmly. "So cut it out and tell me what I'm here to do."
"Well…" Sticking the cigar in the corner of his mouth, Al consulted the glowing handlink. "You're in Collinsport, Maine. You work for the Collins family as a…A tut?" He paused to shake the mechanism, then gave it a vigorous whack. Lights danced across the multicolored surface. "Oh, tutor. A tutor for David Collins…and you are, ah, Victor? That can't be right."
Al administered another sound thumping to the handlink, a form of maintenance that left Sam wincing. Before Al could damage the device, or more likely his hand, Sam furnished the information himself. "Victoria."
"Right, right. Victoria, ah, Winters." The Observer stopped glaring at the tiny screen and flashed a triumphant smile. "You're Victoria Winters."
"I think we've established that," Sam said, impatiently. "My name is Victoria Winters. Great. Now, what year is it and why am I here?"
Al's smile faded. "Ah, you see, Sam…."
Sam was getting that all-too-familiar sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. It looked like it was going to be one of those Leaps. He sighed. "Can you at least tell me the date?"
"It's March 10, 1991," Al supplied readily enough. And that was all he supplied.
Sam sighed, again. "So what do I have to set right?"
Silence from Al. A sudden suspicion clenched Sam's gut. "You don't know, do you?"
The Observer's sudden refusal to meet his gaze was all the confirmation Sam needed. He dropped his head into his hands and groaned. "You don't know. You have no earthly idea what it is that I'm supposed to do!"
"Not exactly, no," Al admitted, then hastily began making placating gestures. "I'm sure we'll come up with something, soon. It's just that—"
Sam thumped the dressing table with his fist. "I knew it!"
"We're trying, Sam. But there's something screwy about this family…about this whole damn place. We do know that it's called Collinwood." Al gestured helplessly with the handlink. "Ziggy's working on it, okay? Round the clock. But the probability fields keep shimmying like a go-go dancer's hips in an earthquake. Best guess is that it has something to do with Victoria."
Since Sam currently was Victoria, that seemed a safe bet. "I could've told you that," he groused, shaking his head. "What does she say about—"
A polite rap on the door silenced him in mid-question. Both he and the hologram turned as the door opened a crack and someone peered inside. Glad to have a task he could actually accomplish, Al called up the pertinent information. "That's Elizabeth Collins Stoddard. She owns this rock-pile and is the matriarch of the Collins clan."
"My dear, Julia told me you were awake," Elizabeth said, as she came into the room. "And I had to see for myself that you're all right."
Sensing her genuine concern, Sam gave her a reassuring smile. "I'm fine."
"Do you feel up to some breakfast? Mrs. Johnson has prepared a tray for you."
A second woman, in the prim black dress and no-nonsense bun of a domestic, came forward with a laden tray which she placed on the night stand beside the bed. "It's just tea, juice, toast and jam," she said. "If you want anything else, you just ask, Miss Winters."
"Thank you." Sam's stomach rumbled loudly and he grinned sheepishly. "I guess I'm hungry."
"I'm sure that's a good sign, dear." Elizabeth patted his arm lightly. "After you've eaten, be sure to see Dr. Hoffman. We mustn't take any chances with your health. Not when we've only just gotten you back."
"Of…course." A quick glance at Al assured Sam that the Observer was equally clueless.
Elizabeth continued, "Carolyn will continue to look after David until you've fully recovered. I don't want you to worry about a thing."
"Thank you, Mrs. Stoddard."
Surprise flickered in the woman's eyes. "I've asked you to call me 'Elizabeth', dear. There's no need to be so formal."
Caught off-guard, Sam stuttered, "I guess I…forgot, just for a moment."
The two women exchanged glances. "I suppose you're still a bit shaken," Elizabeth said hesitantly. She managed another smile. "Well, we'll leave you to your breakfast. Don't forget about Dr. Hoffman."
"I won't," Sam promised. Beside him, Al shuddered dramatically.
"Doctors," he said, with palpable distaste. "Nothing worse than doctors. Unless it's shrinks." He chewed thoughtfully on his cigar. "Of course, playing doctor is another kettle of fish. I remember this one time in Honolulu—"
With a last worried glance at Sam, the women departed, leaving him alone with the reminiscing Observer. Interrupting Al's lascivious recollection, Sam demanded, "What the heck is going on here, Al?"
Al tried, without much success, to look innocent. "What do you mean?"
"For starters, since when do doctors in 1991 make house calls?"
The handlink gave an electronic burp, drawing their attention. Al read the data, one eyebrow rising. "Apparently, she lives here at Collinwood."
Sam threw up his hands. "And that's not strange?"
"I told you." The cigar shifted from one corner of Al's mouth to the other. "Everything about this place is strange."
Finally heading the urgings of his stomach, Sam perched on the edge of the mattress and nibbled a toast triangle. "I appreciate your difficulties, Al. Now try to appreciate mine. Until I have some real idea of what's going on here, I'm flying blind. If I just blunder around, I could end up doing more harm than good."
"I know all that, Sam, but—"
A firm rap on the door interrupted him. Both men turned. The doctor entered, black bag in hand. She had apparently decided not to count on her patient coming to her. "You're eating. Good. " She crossed to the bed and set her bag on the coverlet. "Ready for your examination?"
"Uh, I guess so…."
She nodded briskly. "Let's have a look at you, then. I want to make certain there are no ill effects from the time travel."
Sam nearly bit his tongue. He heard raucous coughing and looked over to see Al brushing tobacco flakes from his lapels; he'd bitten through his cigar. Recovering, he gestured wildly with the remains of his stogie. "What did I tell you? Screwy!"
He took a closer look at Dr. Hoffman. "Nice gams, though. And great—"
Sam quelled him with a sour look.
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To be continued...