Title: Spectre

Disclaimer: I own none of the familiar characters; they belong to NBC and the shows creators etc. Anything else might just be of my own creation.

Prologue: The Albino

Kalahari Desert, Africa

Years Ago . . .

A Woman's scream pierced the still night air like the spear of death. It was followed by a series of muffled moans and the sound of a gentle reassuring voice. Ameenah had delivered many babies for the tribe, but had never seen a labour as long or as harsh as this. She dipped a small brown rag into the bowl beside her and dabbed it across the sweaty brow of Kalifa, the wife of the Tribal chief.

"It won't be long now," she whispered.

Outside the crude hut the air was frigid. Omari, paced anxiously, kicking up the sand underneath his bare feet. His ears strained at the sound of his wife's pain.

"Why is it taking so long for my child to come into this world?" He raised his eyes to the heavens. "What have I done to offend you?"

Behind him the hut was suddenly deathly silent. He turned in time to see Ameenah emerge, a worried look on her face.

"My child?" he asked.

"A daughter."

"Kalifa?"

Concern filled her eyes. "She bleeds."

Omari closed his eyes for a moment, preparing to curse the gods. The silence was ringing in his ears. "The child, why does she not cry?"

"She is cursed."

The words chilled him to the bone. "No. I want to see her."

"I do not think it wise, Omari."

"Now," he demanded.

Ameenah bowed her head slightly and turned toward the hut. She returned a few moments later and handed him a small bundle wrapped in swaddling cloth before retreating to the hut. A sense of wonder flowed through his veins as he reached for his daughter.

She was so light in his arms he wondered if there was anything wrapped in in the cloth. But, then he heard it. A soft gurgle. Carefully, he moved the cloth aside so he could look into the eyes of his daughter.

Fear froze the blood in his veins and he nearly dropped her. Skin as pale as desert sands and eyes like the fierce sun. She gurgled again, a sweet innocent smile curling across her face. At once, the fear of what he knew to be cursed was gone. She was his and he had to protect her at all costs. "Hello, Little One."

Ameenah emerged from the hut again and met his gaze. She simply shook her head.

In the days that followed, much discussion was held about what to do with the 'cursed' child. She was the Chief's daughter, but she had killed her own mother to enter this world and it was feared that the devil himself had come to walk the earth.

Omari petitioned the Elders for mercy, after all he reasoned, they were a peaceful people.

"She is a gift from the Gods. How dare we even consider angering them?" Passion filled his voice as he addressed the nine.

Voices murmured and while some heads nodded, others shook. It took seven long days before the Elders reached consensus. The child could stay with the Tribe. Omari was overjoyed. He mourned his wife, but was overcome by the unusual beauty of his daughter. He named her Ashia and he believed with a full heart that she would give to the Tribe the hope she was named after. Everything was well and after a long time the Tribes people forgot that she was different. Time rolled on and the Tribe moved with the seasons, continuing the ancient nomadic ways of old. As Ashia grew it became apparent to Omari that his daughter was very special. She had a calmness about her and in the way she interacted with the world. She was mute, but understood their language. Always obedient, she clearly adored her father. He doted on her, taking her for walks into the surrounding bush. Teaching her the ancient ways of living off the land. The Elders shook their heads, unable to comprehend the bond between Father and Daughter, but thankful that the Gods praised them with prosperity.

In the twelfth year after her birth, the yearly rains did not return. The land grew drier and food was scarce. Newborn babies and children were starting to succumbe to illness. Slowly, but surely suspicion and hatred grew like a noxious weed amongst the Tribe. They whispered amongst themselves and no longer allowed their children to play with Ashia. Omari watched in horror as his own people turned against him.

Finally, a late night meeting was held by the most important members of the Tribe.

Chike, the Tribal Sangoma, was the most vocal about the disaster that had befallen the Tribe.

"The Gods have cursed us!" She shouted, her sinewy voice could send chills down the spine. "We must rid ourselves of the . . ." she lowered her voice and hissed menacingly. "Cursed One"

Omari leapt to his feet. "She is just a child," he cried. "She has no power to bring death here."

"That is where you are wrong, Omari. For I have seen the curse that she brings to this earth in my dreams."

"No. You must not do this. She is our light, our hope."

"Our hope?" Chike scoffed. "She does not speak a word. How could she possibly bring value to our Tribe?"

The others murmured in agreement. The discussion raged for hours until the faintest light was visible on the horizon and still a consensus could not be reached.

Gamba, the oldest of the Tribesmen stood and took his turn to speak. "Omari, you are a dear friend, but in this matter I'm afraid your judgement is clouded. From now on you will have no part in this matter."

"You can not do this," he pleaded with them. "Please."

"It was wrong of us to keep her. She must be returned to the Earth from which she came." Chike's voice was clear.

"What is your solution, Wise One?" Gamba addressed Chike in a manner that confirmed her status amongst the Tribe.

"She must be taken into the desert and killed."

A silence fell over the meeting as each one felt the impact of her words. One by one they solemnly agreed that it was for the survival of the Tribe.

"Nooo," Omari's voice cried out like a wounded animal. He bolted from the meeting and into the emerging dawn. He stayed with Ashia throughout the day, keeping her close by his side. Praying for absolution, but it did not come.

The Elders arrived at dawn the next day.

"It is time." Gamba held a far off sadness in his eyes. He was sorry it had come to this, but could not find the words.

Omari puffed out his chest, a surprisingly calm look on his face. "I will take her."

Gamba nodded and watched for the last time as Omari and Ashia walked into the rising sun. The pair walked for hours as Omari led his daughter further into the desert than ever before. Eventually, he stopped, tears forming in his dark eyes.

"Ashia," his voice trembled with emotion. "I must return, but you cannot follow. You were always a good girl. I love you." He placed a hand on her shoulder.

Ashia looked at him with her pale knowing eyes, but did not speak.

"This is where we part, Little One. Remember what I have taught you." Omari turned and briskly walked away. Never looking back.

The Albino watched him until he disppeared into the horizon before turning and slowly walking in the opposite direction, a sense of purpose in her steps.