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ATTN: RDML Al Calavicci: Opening this letter before May 13th, 1997 will cause an irreversible tear in the space-time continuum. Don't do that. I mean it. Don't.
Al,
Going into the project, you and I both knew that this day could come—heaven knows I've had enough close calls these past few years. The full arrangements should be in the locked file cabinet in my office, second drawer down. You've got the key.
Tell Mr. Henderson to think of it as a new beginning, and not to be too hard on the face he'll be seeing in the mirror. See if Ziggy can help him get settled, and at least give him back his name. He deserves that much. Who knows? Maybe that's what I really came here to do—to give him a brighter future by giving up mine.
I wish I could tell you I had all the answers, that the Big Guy Upstairs finally shed a little light on whatever greater purpose He may have had for the project, for us, but I'm afraid all I have at the moment is more questions. Even more, I wish I could tell you how sorry I am.
I remember everything now. Maybe I remember too much. Either way, I remember that fancy universities might have taught me medicine, and quantum physics, and god only knows what else, but you're the one who taught me how to live. Realizing, here, everything life has put you through, before me or even because of me, I hope my death hasn't caused any more undue hardship. I'm sorry you had to be there to see it, but a selfish part of my heart is glad that even in a strange place, I didn't have to die alone.
Don't tell me how many laws of physics it breaks—I remember that, too—but I swear, for just a moment in that alleyway, I felt your hand brush mine. Maybe someday, a long, long, time from now, we'll have that chance again.
Don't mourn too long, Al, and don't even think about trying anything stupid with the accelerator. We both know firsthand that it doesn't work that way (no matter how many times I tried convincing myself otherwise—have I mentioned I'm sorry about that?). Besides, you still have work to do—the world still needs an angel on its shoulder, and I can't think of anyone who does it better.
Call me sentimental (you always do), but a part of me will always be there, until we meet again. It's just a matter of knowing where to look.
And in a way, I'm finally coming home.
Always,
Sam