Today was Mulder's first day back in the office. Scully had committed the details of his abduction to memory. She reviewed them in her mind as she rode the elevator down to the basement. Mulder was dropped off not far from the bombing. He arrived just moments after the explosion. Although he was a bit weak from being chained to the inside of a cargo container, Mulder was otherwise unharmed. He had minor bruises on his wrists and he was slightly dehydrated. Trace amounts of 5-Me0-DMT were found in his bloodstream. Scully had to dig hard to figure out possible causes. It was most likely due to the inhalation of smoked venom from the Sonoran Desert Toad, a powerful hallucinogen.

Mulder was standing behind his desk. He had pulled several case files out of the stacks, and was rummaging through the loose paper. Scully took in the scene with a deep inhalation. Mulder looked up from his work. He said, with a wry smile, "Did ya miss me?"

Scully frowned. This was a reflex she had developed as a standard modus operandi to Mulder's dry humor. There was a well of satisfaction that warmed her core to see Mulder alive and well. "I'm glad you're back, Mulder, but you're the one who got off easy. I was hit by a truck."

Mulder circled the desk with a piece of folded paper that he handed to Scully in one deft move. "That's the note Billy slipped into my pocket before he dumped me at one of the deadliest terrorist attacks in US history."

"This is nonsense. This… the first line reads, 'empty shadow, April, Richmond, VA'." She handed the note back to Mulder, who carefully refolded it to place in his front pocket.

"Reading the Voynich Manuscript is not precise. It is an artform that the Newbold's have developed over several generations." He leaned over the desk to grab another note that he handed to Scully. "You've got a message from a Kelly Ryan."

Scully's eyes went wide. "She was one of my instructors at the academy." She read the note.

Mulder reached over again to grab a newspaper clipping. "She was probably calling about the mysterious disappearance of a Mr. Patrick Newirth. There was no sign of forced entry. There was just a shadow burned into the carpet on the inside of his apartment door."

Scully shook her head. "What are you saying?"

"I think that Billy Newbold is a good guy. He's written down several events to prove his legitimacy in prognostication. And, I don't think this will be the last we hear from him." Mulder watched her intently. He liked challenging Scully directly.

"You're talking about mysticism. For all we know, Agent Spender was correct in assuming-"

"Spender was wrong. They apprehended two suspects affiliated with a white supremacist group called The Covenant, The Sword, and the Arm of the Lord." Mulder crossed his arms. "Billy is the real deal."

At a loss, Scully said, "He was right about Richmond."

X.

The road stretched out in infinitum. The headlight from the Indian Scout motorcycle was like a flashlight in a voluminous cavern, as the beam stabbed into the South Dakota night. Billy Newbold ignored the pain in his arms and back as he sped ninety miles-per-hour along the deadly straight highway.

Billy had turned off interstate 90, headed north two hours ago. He was bumping along a dirt path that seemed to lead nowhere. He eased to a halt. The headlight washed over a man sitting in a lawn chair out front a dilapidated trailer. A single lamp cast a paltry spill of light just above the door that was held shut with a twist of wire. It was a clear night. Moonlight crept over the low, rolling hills of grass that radiated for miles from the trailer. Billy pulled off his helmet and gazed up at the twinkling night sky. He took in a lung full of fresh Dakota air. It filled his chest and eased the aches from the eleven hour journey from Oklahoma City.

"Sweet ride," the man said. His hulking figure was now standing next to Billy, admiring the bike. There was a reason they called him Ghost Feather. The Lakota man was a giant that whispered when he moved. Billy found it disturbing. "A Scout, eh?"

Billy nodded. "Sorry I'm late." He pulled out a new pack of cigarettes from the inside of his leather coat. "How are they?"

Ghost Feather accepted the cigarettes. He ceremoniously removed the plastic and tossed it into the grass. "Late? When are you Covenant on time? That's your thing. At the right place but the wrong time." He chuckled. The years of smoking had left Ghost Feather a leathery mess. He was forty going on sixty. He popped a cigarette between his lips and, before he lit it, said, "They're fine. She said she wanted to be alone with the pup. Don't think she likes me very much." Ghost Feather lit the cigarette, inhaled, and marveled, "They make damn fine cigs in Oklahoma."

Billy replied, "It's a Marlboro." Ghost Feather shrugged.

Inside the trailer it was a comfortable mess. The trailer was mostly falling apart at the seems, but all of the stuff was organized: dishes were put away, utility cubbies inorder, and no dirty laundry. There was even a vase with freshly picked flowers on the tiny dining table. Billy smiled. Anya hated clutter. She needed order. Her spiritual understanding of the Universe commanded a strict balancing of forces. There was so much out of Anya's control, so she shaped her environment. Billy removed his leather jacket, folded it neatly over a chair, and headed to the bedroom.

In the cramped room at the far end of the trailer, Billy found Anya sitting cross legged on the floor with a chubby toddler cradled in her lap. Anya watched the little one doze. Her long blonde hair was neatly packed in a thick side dutch braid that trailed onto her delicate shoulder. The little boy's chest heaved with every soft inhale. Anya's blue-green eyes met Billy as he pushed into the room. She smiled. Her apple red cheeks shone. There was so much in her eyes. Billy saw exhaustion, triumph, and the purest of love. He witnessed all of these movements in that split second. He caught his breath. "He misses you," she whispered.

Billy nodded. He knelt down next to her. Anya beamed as Billy pecked her on the forehead. He stroked his son's soft blonde hair. "I'm so sorry I'm late. Please forgive me."

Anya tilted forward and rested her forehead against his. She replied, "All is forgiven, my love." Billy trembled. He stifled his tears. He had never felt such a well of love.

"Anya…" Billy wiped the tears from her cheeks. "Sweetheart, I've been exposed. There's no way-"

There was a heavy thud outside the trailer. Billy put a hand on Anya's shoulder as he whipped around. Slowly, he rose to his feet. He crept toward the door. Anya hissed at him. Billy walked silently back into the room. In the lightest breath, she said, "There's a trap door in the floor under the rug."

Without making a sound, Billy removed the rug, unlatched the floor panel, and sunk to the cold earth.

Nestled in the matted grass, Billy army crawled to the back of the trailer. His eyes were still adjusting to the low moonlight. There followed a light clink of glass breaking and the porch lantern went dark. They have a gun, Billy thought. He crawled out from under the trailer. Billy followed the moon shadows around the corner of the trailer. He was startled to find a man in black with his back against the trailer. Billy hadn't expected the mystery murderer to be so close. Ghost Feather lay on his side.

Carefully, Billy rounded the corner toward the mystery murderer's blind spot. His head began to turn as Billy approached, but Ghost Feather twitched and gurgled out response. The man pointed his gun at Ghost Feather. Billy charged him, swiftly knocking the gun from the man's hand. It skittered across the dirt, sliding into a patch of long grass.

After a brief shoving match, Billy realized the mystery man's identity: Mr. X. Billy quickly lost the upper hand as Mr. X deftly maneuvered around Billy's quick attack. Mr. X's hand-to-hand fighting skills were unmatched for a normal opponent. He worked in a few lightning quick jabs that pushed Billy a few feet away. Billy was an agile fighter trained in the art of defense and survival. He jumped back into the brawl. He landed a few choice shots to the ribs, but Mr. X countered with punches and a massive kick to Billy's chest that sent him tumbling to the ground. Like a spring, Billy jumped to his feet. The taste of blood made him feral. He quickly advanced on Mr. X, who stood at least six inches taller. Clearly reach was in Mr. X's favor, but Billy's youthful speed and adrenaline got him in close for some devastating blows. Somehow, Mr. X turned Billy around. He wrapped his long arms around Billy's neck in a classic sleeper hold. Billy saw the world start spinning as his brain lost oxygen. With the last ounce of strength in his legs, Billy drove Mr. X against the trailer hard. His grip loosened enough for Billy to squirm free. Billy charged back in with a one-two punch combo. Mr. X spit blood across the trailer's sheet metal exterior. He slid down the side to a seated position in the grass.

Billy ran over to the tall grass where the gun had disappeared. His head throbbed as he searched frantically for the weapon. He heard a loud metallic snap. Mr. X disappeared or, rather, had gone inside the trailer. "Billy!" Anya shrieked from inside. He bolted into the trailer.

Mr. X, beaten and bloody, stood over a sobbing Anya. His back was turned from Billy, who advanced through the trailer.

Anya pulled her hand away from her now swollen face and yelled at Billy, "Stop!" The little boy woke suddenly. He looked at the large man in black and wailed. Anya's left eye was beginning to close from the massive bruise that spread from her temple across her face. Billy realized that Anya's hands were not curled around the boy. He was not pushed closely to her chest. He did not have his mother's protection.

Mr. X turned. Blood gushed from a forehead wound. It made his black skin slick and shiny. The toddler was helpless in the crook of his arm. A large hunting knife hung limply by Mr. X's side. "I came for the manuscript, but you pissed me off and this is better." He sneered.

"Please. He's innocent in this." Billy reached out his torn hands. "We were going to raise him outside of this war."

Mr. X pointed his knife at Billy. "The manuscript."

"He's not even a Newbold. He's… he's…" Billy's eyes were wide and desperate. Mr. X's steely gaze was frozen on Billy. Defeated, Billy said, "it's in the bike satchel."

"Outside." Mr. X ordered.

Billy walked slowly over to the bike. He suppressed all of the countermeasures he was currently running through to disarm and murder Mr. X. There were several options, but none kept the toddler free from a gruesome death. He followed Mr. X's direction. He reached into the satchel and pulled out the manuscript. It was stuffed in a large manila mailing envelope.

"Show it to me." Mr. X insisted. Billy complied. "Put it back in the satchel. Now, keys."

Billy froze. "I'll give you the keys, but first you give me Gibson."

Mr. X frowned, "Billy, I'm no monster, but I will do what's necessary. The keys, Mr. Newbold." Billy tossed him the keys. "You called the boy, Gibson."

Billy exhaled, "He's not going to be raised for the Covenant. The secrets, everything, dies with me. He will carry the namesake of his mother. Gibson Andrew Praise."

Mr. X closed his eyes a brief moment. Perhaps it was the beginning of a concussion. He refocused, removed a syringe from a pocket, and stuck Gibson in his arm. The boy instantly slumped forward like a sack of potatoes. "I need you to go back into the trailer."

"Gibson stays-"

"This isn't the end for Gibson, but I'll make it the end for him if you don't get in that goddamned trailer now!" Mr. X's jaw tightened.
"I can't do that." A tear rolled down Billy's cheek.

Through gritted teeth, Mr. X said, "I need you to go back in, or I will murder Gibson and," his fist tightened around the large knife as he pointed it at Billy's chest. "I will slit Anya's throat from ear to ear, and you will watch as the last breath drains from her body." The whites of his eyes shone bright as they locked on Billy. "This is not the end for Gibson. This is not the end."

Billy stepped into the trailer with his shoulders slumped. He closed the door and listened as the motorcycle roared to life. Anya yelled. Her cry was a primal shockwave directed at the heavens. It came from her gut and shook Billy's molars. Tears mixed with the blood of multiple open wounds. The windows in the trailer vibrated, trying to contain Anya's feriouscity. Billy curled around her like a soldier diving on a live grenade. They cried until exhaustion over took their broken souls.

The next morning Billy woke at the first light of dawn. He put on his leather coat and exited the trailer into the brisk spring air. His body throbbed all over. He was pretty certain something was broken. He shook the cobwebs from his mind, and began the methodical process of saving Gibson. Ghost Feather was gone. He was glad to know that the silent giant had survived.

Billy knew how to evade Mr. X. He didn't know how to find him. He was so confused because he had been careful. Mr. X was a man of enormous resources. Still, how he tracked down Billy in a remote section of South Dakota was a mystery. He had to start off now or it may be too late. Billy zipped up his leather jacket and marched into the long grass. He let Anya sleep. She would understand. It would take a day or so to find civilization. He was a patient man. He was a man without friends and associates. He was a loner by birth. Now though, Billy needed all the help he could get. Billy brought out Mulder's flip phone from his jacket pocket. He powered it on. No signal. He navigated to the contacts and stopped scrolling at Scully.