he loneliness settled down on him again as he walked in the darkness by himself. Suddenly, there were two guys walking beside him. He remembered who they were, and immediately stopped and said "look guys. I don't have any money, neither do I have anything of value on me. If you'll just look where I came from, you'll know I just came out of trouble, and I'm already mad. So, why don't you just leave me alone."

One guy spoke to the other guy, saying "well, you put up quite a show this morning at church, but, that was this morning. We'd like to see what you have on you tonight."

At that, William stopped, turned out his pockets inside out, and said, you wanna pat me down. Is that just your way of getting a cheap thrill?"

William seen it coming. He blocked with his left, stepped inside and brought a right up the middle hitting the big guy square on the chin. He then sidestepped the other guy coming in from the back, and brought his elbow up to the guys nose, breaking it in a huge flower of blood, soaking the guys face as well as spattering his own. The second guy went down like a log and lay there in a heap close to the other guy.

Blood was all over the sleeve of his shirt. His fist hurt from the lick he delivered to the kid who went down first.

William merely walked away, and a block and one turn later, opened the door to the little church. The preacher looked at William with a kind of pleased look on his face, then looked down at his shirt. When he saw a look of alarm come onto the preachers face William looked down. Seeing the blood all over him he made his way to the little restroom and washed as best he could with the meager supplies afforded by the ill-funded little church.

The shirt he was wearing was ruined, but he managed to get the blood off his hands and elbow. He went back up to the front of the church and sat on the second row. There were a couple more people there tonight, and they were singing 'Amazing Grace' again. He liked the song, and he liked the way it made him feel.

He had no money for the offering that night as the FBI were sill in possession of his wallet and other pocket paraphernalia. They even had his Bible. The thought crossed his mind about them searching every page for a clue as to the whereabouts of the disks and he grinned to himself.

Suddenly, the pull for his home there in the little town of Stillwell Creek was so strong that he felt he wanted to go there. His clothes and what was left of his life were still there, and although he'd promised the house to Sharon, he should still have the right to get his clothes and things. It had been a month since he had been home.

"Okay," he thought to himself. "I'm going home tomorrow." With his resolve complete, he turned his attention to the service in progress at the little church. The preacher acknowledged William and announced he'd 'come forward' in this morings service, and everybody clapped.

The preacher didn't have too much of a different message that evening but did say something that stayed with William. He read:

20 Behold, I stand at the door, and knock: if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me.
21 To him that overcometh will I grant to sit with me in my throne, even as I also overcame, and am set down with my Father in his throne.

Rev 3:20-21 (KJV)

Was it possible that the Lord would love him enough to knock on his door? How could he let him in? Why did the preacher say I was saved, if Jesus had not come into my heart? William realized he had a long way to go before he felt like he was saved. He didn't know what it was at the time, but, he felt he was lacking in a whole bunch of ways.

All the while, William could still feel the Death Sentence on him. It wouldn't be too long before he found out that there were more than just one Death Sentence on him. Also, it wouldn't be too long before he could distinguish the difference between the two.

The preacher and his wife delivered William back to his motel again. They didn't say much at all, but timidly looked at one another when he explained the blood. They looked at one another again when he stated it was the same two boys who'd chased him into the church to begin with. They didn't extend the welcome this time that they did on the previous service, nor did they tell him when the next service would be.

They just said "we'll see you thanks for coming" and drove off. William barely had enough time to thank them for the ride home. For some reason or another, he felt as if the Welcome mat at that little place where he'd first felt God, had been pulled in.

When William reached his motel, the manager let him into his room. He was surprised to see all his belongings returned, and a little handwritten note inside an envelope. He didn't recognize the writing, but did recognize the signature. The note was short, concise, and was a huge release. It said:

Mr. Travis

I apologize for the manner in which you've been treated while in custody of the FBI. Just FYI, I had been warned of Dr. Kny-pel that you could snap at any time and become extremely violent, and because of the hypnosis, would be as strong as five men, so I hope you see my caution, even though it seemed quite excessive at the time.

Your plane has been returned to you, your belongings in your hometown have not been touched, and your wife will be returned home in Stillwell, CA., compliments of the FBI. Along with this note you will find a copy of a federal document absolving you of all wrongdoing as well as any further threat to national security.

Please accept this apology. I hope you understand, I am your friend. If you'll give me the chance, I'll prove it to you.

Best Regards,
Len Mathers,
FBI

William wondered if the note's intent was genuine, or just a means to keep open the connection with which at a later date, could net him the contents of the disks. "Well, Mr Mathers," William thought, "I hope you don't hold your breath waiting for the chance to prove your friendship to me. At this point, I never want to see another cop nor FBI agent."

He replaced the note, and removed the full page document from the envelope with the seal of the FBI embossed over the letterhead at the top of the page. "Hum," will said to himself. "Purty important looking."

He scanned down the page and the document pretty much said what Len had explained in the note with one exception. The FBI retains the right to reopen the investigation at any time . . . "I figured as much," he thought to himself.

The noose still felt tight around his whole being. The Death Sentence, still hung over him like a bad cold. He just could not shake it. Then a thought occurred to him. Did they have some kind of tracking device hidden within his clothes, wallet, the envelope, the Bible. He was getting paranoid . . . or was he?

The more he thought about it, the more it bothered him. He unconsciously rubbed the back of his head where he'd been slugged by Siegal while attempting to throttle Dr. Kny-pel. It was still sore, but the swelling had gone down. He felt a lump there that just didn't feel right, and as he rubbed it, it seemed to move. Oh well, he would have it checked by Dr. Randall when he got home . . .

Funny he still called it home. It was no longer his. He hoped Sharon wouldn't sell it before he got a chance to remove all his belongings . . . His mind went to the cache under the house. Would she allow him access to it. If so, would it be under protest. Would he be allowed to do it alone. The note informed him she was there, and unless, he had her permission, he would not be able to access it.

Then his mind went back to the tracker image in his head. Where could they have placed a tracker bug that he could find and eliminate. Well, he would do his best to do just that. He started by packing a couple of items in a small canvas bag he'd found at a thrift shop, the Bible, his wallet and some of the extra clothes he'd obtained since his release from Dr. Kny-pel.

He'd searched the wallet, a shirt, a pair of slacks, and his belt very close, but they all had seams and places where something could be hidden. He decided to strip his credit cards and what little money he had left from the wallet. He then pulled back out of the bag some clothes, folded them and put them in a drawer as if he planned on staying. He picked up wallet, the one Sharon had given him, turning over and over pondering it. He then left it lying on top of the Bible, and walked out into the night.

What awaited him at the airport would give him his answer as to whether or not he had a tracking bug.