No matter what Langly and Frohike claimed, Byers couldn't believe that the trip could have gone any worse if they'd taken Jimmy along. They'd botched things without his help -- just as they had many times in the old days before Jimmy -- and were coming home with no story whatsoever. It was nice to be home, at least, and Byers found himself looking forward to seeing Jimmy.

Despite Langly's dire predictions, there were no fire trucks parked outside HQ as they pulled into the alley, and no other evidence of disaster. "Think there's any chance he actually got last week's issue out without any snags?" Frohike asked. He'd been worrying aloud about that all the way back.

Strangely, no one answered the door, even though Jimmy's car was in the alley. Frohike fished his key out of his pocket and opened the three mechanical locks while Byers, pausing for a second to recall the code he'd only had a few chances to use, keyed in the combination to the new electronic lock. Everything was in order inside. Maybe too much order; apparently Jimmy had been tidying up to surprise them. Byers hoped that he hadn't thrown away any important hardcopies, but he was pretty sure everything was duplicated on disk.

"I don't think the look of this," Langly said, picking up a sheet of paper that had something attached with a paper clip. "Jimmy's check to the printer is here, with a note. You'd think he'd have gotten the issue at least printed."

"Did the check bounce?" Frohike asked. "What does the note say?" He went over and read over Langly's shoulder. "Oh no."

"What is it?" Byers asked, alarmed.

"You'd better take a look at this, man," Langly said in a suddenly subdued tone of voice.

The note was handwritten, in Jimmy's familiar handwriting. It rarely occurred to the other men to write a note longer than ten words by hand.

Guys --

Got the papers mailed, no problems. I'll be out of town for a few days on a little mission of my own. This guy came by asking for help starting up a basketball team for one-armed teenagers. Says he knows a whole town full of them, some kind of industrial accident, and they just need someone to give them the modivation.

I know your always telling me I'm too trusting, but I know this guy is for real cause he has one arm himself, and how can you fake that. He'll take care of the travel expenses. Should only be a few days, but here's a check to cover printing the next issue just in case.

Hope its cool with you guys. Jimmy

Byers sat carefully down on the nearest chair before his shaky knees gave out on him. He could clearly remember the graphic description he'd gotten, from Mulder a few years ago, of the Tunguska prison camp and its horrible medical experiments. For a long time after, he'd had nightmarish visions of his friend bound to a table under chicken wire, stripped to the waist, waiting for the alien black oil to pour over his face and invade his body through his eyes and mouth. And Mulder had been safely back at home by the time Byers had heard what had happened to him. Now it was Jimmy's helpless body he was picturing under that chicken wire -- and if he was unlucky enough to be in the control group that didn't get the vaccine, he would die a painful, lingering death. Either that, or become a prisoner in his own body as an alien presence used it for its own unfathomable evil purposes.