Chapter 1

Thursday, March 29, 1990

“I’ll see you back at the hotel then,” Sam replied.

Al turned to head toward Constitution Avenue to look for a cab while Sam started to cross 17^th Street heading toward the Washington Monument.  Al turned to look back to Sam and saw that the younger man was crossing the street with his head tucked down to keep the rain off of his face and his hands in his pockets.  In that position he was unable to see the car that came speeding around the corner headed right at him.

“Sam!” Al yelled out in warning.

Sam had partially turned toward Al when he heard his name yelled.  Unfortunately, Al’s warning shout didn’t come with enough time for Sam to get out of the way of oncoming car.

Al watched sickened as the car struck his friend; his body rolling up the hood of the car and striking the windshield with enough force to shatter it before rolling off to land in the street.  The car kept going without any hesitation but the maniacal laughter of the driver seemed to linger.

Al stood frozen to the spot for a second before running over to where his friend lay in the street praying the entire way that when he got there he’d find him still alive.  He came to a stop and knelt down next to the broken and twisted body of his best friend.  Reaching out a hand he rolled him over and sucked in a breath when he saw the dead, lifeless eyes.  Blood poured out from so many different wounds he didn’t know where to stanch the bleeding.  First he had to know, though, know if Sam was dead or alive.  He pressed trembling fingers to the cooling flesh of Sam’s neck moving them around seeking out the thrum of life but it was no longer there.  Throwing back his head he screamed his denial to the heavens.

Suddenly Sam jack-knifed into a sitting position.  The lifeless eyes sought out Al’s locking on them and drawing him in.  A bloodied hand lifted pointing at Al accusingly.  It’s your fault.  You were supposed to protect me but now I’m dead.  It’s all your fault.

Al could only stare in horror as the broken and dead body of his friend came to life accusing him of his death.  “It’s all your fault,” Sam said again.  “I’m dead because of you.”

Al tired to back away, to climb to his feet and run from the apparition but Sam raised one blood coated hand and grabbed him by the forearm and held him in place.  “It’s all your fault,” he hissed, “and I’ll never let you forget.  You promised.  YOU PROMISED!”

Al finally broke free and quickly climbed to his feet running as fast as he could but Sam was suddenly in front of him again.  His bloodied face twisted in a mask of accusation and hatred.  “It’s all your fault,” he hissed again as his hand jerked out lightening quick, again grabbing Al’s forearm and staining it with his blood.

With a quickly indrawn breath Al sat bolt upright in bed.  The same dream had been haunting him for over a week now since Sam had been released from the hospital.  Unconsciously he scrubbed his arm where the dream-Sam had grabbed at him before looking down at it.  He half expected to see a bloodied handprint there.

Slipping quietly from the bed he crossed the small space between his bed and Sam’s and looked down at the sleeping man.  He had to assure himself that Sam was still here and still alive and watched him breathe slowly.  Like he had the first night Sam was out of the hospital he knelt down by the bed watching the slow rise and fall of his chest while resisting the urge to reach out and touch Sam to assure himself that he was still warm with life.

As he knelt there just watching he got the feeling that something wasn’t right, that something was off somehow.  After a few more minutes he was finally able to put his finger on what it was.  Sam’s breathing didn’t sound right.  It had a slightly raspy quality to it that hadn’t been there the last week. Rising to his feet, Al chanced waking Sam and rested the palm of his hand on his forehead and frowned when he felt it warmer than it should be.

His touch was enough to wake Sam.

“Al?’ Sam asked blinking up at him blearily.  “What are you doing?”

“Your breathing sounded funny,” Al explained.  He neglected to mention anything about the dream.  “I think you might be coming down with something again, you’re kind of warm.”

“My breathing sounded funny?” Sam echoed back.  He was never at his sharpest when first woken up and tonight was no exception.

‘Yeah, kinda raspy.  I think it might be a good idea to get you checked out.”  Al was trying his best to keep calm even though all of his instincts were telling him to bodily pull Sam from the bed and get him to the closest hospital.

“You wanna go to a hospital or something ‘cause my breathing sounds raspy?  Are you nuts?”  The longer he was awake the more coherent Sam became and he was none too pleased with Al for waking him up.  “You woke me up for this?”

“I didn’t mean to wake you up, Sam,” Al tried to pacify him.  “You sounded funny when you were breathing and I wanted to check to see if you were feverish – which you are, by the way.  I didn’t intend for you to wake up but since you did maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to get you checked out.”

“Al, it’s,” Sam leaned over to look at the alarm clock between the beds, “it’s 3:30 in the morning.  I don’t want to go anywhere but back to sleep which you should too.  You’re starting to imagine things.  I’m fine, there’s nothing wrong with me.”  Sam had no sooner voiced his denial before he started to cough.

“I don’t like the sound of that,” Al said.  “What if you’re coming down with pneumonia again?”

“This isn’t the first time I’ve coughed since I got out of the hospital,” Sam said trying to remain reasonable.  “Don’t start borrowing trouble that isn’t there.”

“I’m not borrowing trouble, Sam.  You’re right it’s not the first time you’ve coughed since you got out but it is the first time it’s sounded like a dog’s bark and it is the first time you’ve had a fever and it is the first time your breathing’s been raspy like this.”

Sam looked incredulously at Al in the dim light of the room.  “You’re just not gonna give this up, are you?  Fine,” he said throwing the blanket back and swinging his legs over the side of the bed.  “Let’s go to the hospital if it’s gonna make you happy and get it done and over with.  Let’s just sit there for hours on end so they can tell me nothing’s wrong.  You’re not gonna let me go back to sleep unless we do.  We just better be back in time to make our flight at 10:00 and I hope you know what hospital’s the closest to LAX because I have no clue.”

Five hours later the two of them walked out of the emergency department at UCLA Medical Center.  Tucked into Al’s pocket were prescriptions that needed to be filled.  He wasn’t happy when the emergency department doctor had confirmed his fears.  Sam didn’t have pneumonia but he did have a respiratory infection and if it wasn’t taken care of he’d be looking at another go round with pneumonia.  He’d been prescribed an antibiotic as well as an inhaler and cough suppressant.  The doctor had also given him an injection.

“It’s not my fault,” Al defended himself as he walked alongside Sam.  “Better we find out now when it’s not so bad than later when it’s something worse and you get stuck in the hospital.”

“Just drop it Al, ok.”  Sam stopped short and faced him.  “You just had to tell him we were flying out to Hawaii tomorrow…today, didn’t you?  You just couldn’t keep your mouth shut about that.”

“What?  I was supposed just let you get on that plane without knowing if it was putting you at risk?”

In addition to the prescriptions, when Al had asked if it would be safe for Sam to fly in the morning the doctor had unequivocally said no.  The antibiotics would need at least 24 hours to get into Sam’s system and start having any kind of an effect.  At first, considering Sam’s recent hospitalization, the doctor had wanted to admit him.  Sam had argued against that.  Instead the doctor had given him the prescriptions and put him on bed rest for the duration.

“Risk?  Come on, Al, I’m a doctor.  I think I’d know if there were any risks involved with flying, wouldn’t I?”

Al didn’t respond right away as he led the two of them to a waiting taxi.  He put out his hand for Sam’s cane while Sam got himself into the vehicle.  Once he’d shut the door on Sam’s side and circled around to the other side and got in and asked the driver to take them back to the airport Hilton did he finally answer Sam.  “Yeah, Sam, risk.  Like your lung collapsing again while we we’re in mid-air and you suffocating and dying.  It just didn’t seem like a good idea to me to bring a dead body home to your mother instead of her son.  Face it, Kid, right now you’re not the most reliable source when it comes to diagnosing yourself.”

Sam took a deep breath, or at least as deep as he could without setting off a coughing fit.  “Ok, Al.  I understand that but listen to me, I’ll give you a day of bed rest and that’s it.  Tomorrow morning I’m getting on a plane to Hawaii with or without you.”

One look at the determined set of Sam’s face and Al knew he’d do exactly what he said.  “Fine, Sam.  Once we get back I’ll make arrangements for a flight out tomorrow but your butt is in that bed all day today and you do everything I say or so help me, I’ll ship your ass back to the hospital myself.”

“Fine, Al. Whatever.”  Sam turned his face to the window effectively cutting off the conversation and anything else Al might have said and stayed that way until they arrived back at the hotel.

“When you’re done changing our flights,” Sam said once they were in the room, “don’t forget to call my mother and tell her you didn’t think it was a good idea for me to fly today and you find a way to tell her without worrying her.”  He leaned the cane up against the wall near the bed and sat down heavily on it toeing off his sneakers before lying down and pulling the blanket up.  “Since we’re not going anywhere I’m gonna see if I can catch up on the sleep you so kindly robbed me of.”

“Great,” Al muttered from his place near the door.  “This is going to be a fun day.”

He rummaged in his carryon and pulled out their flight information and sat down at the table with the phone to make all the necessary calls. He glanced back over to Sam but he’d rolled over so his back was to Al.  Sighing Al picked up the phone and started to dial.

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