A blinding blue light spread from Sam’s body. In an instant he had left behind the location of his last leap, after having whimsically saved a charming little puppy. For three days he and Al had assumed that his ‘mission’ was to rob a bank and snort cocaine through rolled up bills. But on his way to the heist, Sam had encountered a woman with a puppy in a tree. “I’ll save your puppy,” said Sam, thinking the puppy was a slice of ham – he had always called ham ‘puppy.’ Sam grabbed a long pole and swatted the puppy out of the tree. Before he could eat it, the woman stopped him and thanked him. Realizing the puppy was not a slice of ham, Sam smiled. “No problem, lady. I didn’t write Waiting for Godot for nothin’.” To his surprise, he jumped!
“OH SHIT,” said Sam, falling to the floor and doubling over in pain. He felt as though his very soul was being torn asunder. Jumps were always this painful. “I hate fuckin’ jumping. I hate time-travelling. My name is Sam Beckett, and I want out of here, to the year 1999, my home!”
Three faces hovered above him, floating white ovals in a horrid darkness. Through his pain-blurred vision he made out the face of his dead baby daughter.
“Dead baby?! Oh shit, I’ve died this time. I really have! But I won’t let any ghouls pull me into to hell! Die, you little pig shit fuckers! Hyaa!”
He pulled the switchblade from his belt and swung it open and into the faces of his attackers. The faces reeled back, screaming like banshees and disappearing into the darkness. Now that they were gone he didn’t move and didn’t realize that his arms and legs were now held immobile by unseen hands. He stared upward, wide-eyed and terror-stricken.
“Mr. Burton, you’re having another episode.”
“Please remain calm.”
There was a tiny sting in the side of his neck and suddenly he felt very sleepy. His eyelids drooped as he heard a familiar voice. “Don’t struggle, Sam.” He hadn’t seen his holographic friend appear, but he heard the few notes of music that accompanied his entrance through the white magic door that led to the future. “This is for your own good, Sam. You’re not dead, you’re just recovering from your last jump.”
Sam, blinded by fury, reacted like a wounded bear. He threw up his arms and freed himself from his captors. Knife still in hand, he leapt at the nearest individual. But a few steps away, suddenly a shot rang through the air. Al lowered the revolver. “I’m sorry, Sam, but this is for your own good.” Sam didn’t let up, and struggled to move toward his target. Al continued to fire shot after shot, riddling Sam’s body with holographic bullets. The unseen, holographic bullets caused blood to pour forth from Sam’s body. After six or seven shots, Sam was lying on the floor in a pool of blood. Finally calmed down, he took in his surroundings.
He was lying in the middle of a television set, with a camera trained directly on him. Recognizing the nature of the location perfectly, and plainly seeing his reflection in the mirror, he realized that he had leapt into Lavar Burton on the set of Reading Rainbow. With the camera still rolling, several studio handlers rushed toward Sam and began methodically placing large bandages over his wounds. Sam, not wanting to ruin the take, did the best he could to make light of the situation. “Uhh. We’ll be back next week with the final pages of today’s story... called...”; someone held a book up off-screen and Sam only frowned. “GET THAT SHIT AWAY FROM ME,” he screamed, burying his head in his hands and openly weeping.