The Light Home

WHN - The Crucible

by Calim 11

Sequel to “What the Vultures Will Bring”.  The first story should be read prior to this one.  What was lost was found but will Adam ever truly come home?

Author’s Note:  I want to thank all of you who clamored for a sequel. It did my heart good! Here it is. I hope it holds up. Enjoy!

THURSDAY – PRESENT DAY

Ben Cartwright rubbed his eyes and stretched feeling each and every muscle and tendon as they came awake to an aching reality. Flinching at the cramp in his calf, he hastily grabbed it, rubbing it away with both hands as he mumbled to himself that growing older was for the birds.

For just a moment, as his body rebelled, he forgot his troubles. That one blissful moment when everything just centered on his aches and pains was pure joy as the memories of these past weeks threatened to overtake him again. No, he would relish this diversion if only for the time it lasted.

It had been a long two days since that fateful night when he’d found himself flat on the floor with his eldest boy’s hands wrapped about his neck, screaming at the phantom that invaded his dreams. If it hadn’t been for Hoss, Ben wasn’t sure he would be here now. True, Adam wasn’t in the best of shape but that nightmare had given him a fighting strength, a strength that fled as soon as he awoke, the realization of what he’d done sending him deeper into the darkness that surrounded him. When he’d awakened the next morning, he couldn’t even bring himself to look Ben straight in the eye, not able to get past the red that marked his neck. It broke a father’s heart to see tears gather in those long lashes before he turned away to stare out the window, silent and withdrawn.

“Damn, Kane,” Ben muttered, his blissful moment gone. Tossing aside the blanket, he sat up finding he’d gone to bed in his clothes . . . again. “Lord, when will this all end?”

Running hands through mussed hair, he stripped and gave himself a quick bird bath, then pulled clean clothes from the closet. A quick brushing of the teeth followed by a cursory glance then dismissal of his whiskered chin, he moved out of his room to check on Adam when raised voices downstairs stopped him mid-stride. Both angry at the clamor but curious just the same, he headed toward the voices, his calf giving him a twinge or two as he followed the noise into the kitchen.

“Keep it down,” Ben called from the entry, his deep tone silencing the three men where they stood. “Your brother needs quiet.” He looked at each of them wondering why Hoss and Joe were dressed in gun belts and hats so early in the morning, his gaze flicking toward Hop Sing who avoided the look altogether. Sudden chills swept through him.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, all his anger gone as worry took its place.

“Pa . . .,” Hoss quietly began.

“It’s Adam, Pa,” Joe interjected before Hoss could finish. “He’s not here.” 

Ben knew it was early but he needed something a bit clearer than that. “What do you mean he’s not here?” he asked.

“He no in house,” Hop Sing added pulling Ben’s attention.

“He ain’t in the barn neither,” Hoss noted.

“Sport’s here, Pa, so he can’t be far,” Joe added as Ben looked at each in turn.

“Well . . . go find him!” Ben ordered. “He shouldn’t be out on his own.” He watched Joe rush out the side door while Hop Sing scuttled into the great room.

“I check house again,” the cook called over his shoulder as Ben nodded, stepping aside for Hoss who moved silently past, catching his attention only moments later when a startled gasp drifted in from the other room. Following the sound, he stepped into the dining room and around the corner to see his middle son standing in front of the open front door, his hand resting on something on the sideboard. “Hoss?” 

The big man swallowed and didn’t turn not wanting to tell his father what he’d found, show him what he held. Ben sidled up to him. “Hoss, what is it?”

“I didn’t see this before,” Hoss whispered, lowering his head and sighing, misery falling from him. How can I tell him?

“What is it, boy?” 

Ben shuddered at the look Hoss gave him; it was the look he showed the world when his heart was breaking and it made his own heart slow damn near to a stop. It was then Ben saw what Hoss held and he sucked in a breath – Adam’s empty holster.

“He took his new gun, Pa.” Those words came out slowly and quietly and filled the room with their meaning.

Ben’s heart sank into his stomach as he stared at the holster, remembering the moment they’d found it in the desert tossed aside like it was nothing of importance; the only thing he could claim as his son’s; the only thing he could bring home. Gently, he lifted it from Hoss’ hands. “My God,” he mumbled.

He’d seen this coming and done nothing. It’d been growing since the night Adam wrapped his hands about his neck but Ben had shrugged it off. This was Adam, always in control, always taking one step at a time, never one to rush headlong into things. 

That was the past.

The Adam they now claimed as theirs was anything but what he’d been. The Adam they now beheld had lost his way. He pulled the gunbelt closer.

“He’s not out back!” came Joe’s voice from the front of the house. “I can’t even find any tracks.”

“He no in house,” Hop Sing added upon returning to the great room. “I look everywhere three times. Where he go?” Ben looked at his friend and gave a small shrug of defeat. This empty gunbelt held tightly in his hands told the story of where his oldest boy had gone.

“What’s all this, Charlie?” came Joe’s voice as each moved out the front door to see their foreman, Charlie Porter, leading five horses into the yard.

“Found ‘em down by the north pasture,” he began maneuvering the horses around Chubb and Cochise hitched nearby. “They was grazin’ right as ya please like they was always there. Pete’s got the rest. Ain’t these from that group you was singlin’ out fer breedin’?” he asked, Joe taking a hasty look.

“Yeah, these are the ones. How’d they get down there?”

“Well, looks like someone left the corral gate open ‘cause they didn’t break out on their own. Junebug’s the only one we couldn’t find. Looked all over, too.”

“I wonder where she’s . . .”  Joe’s voice gave out when a new thought filled him and he turned fearful eyes toward his father, seeing him clutch Adam’s empty holster to his chest. His heart thumped loudly and his gaze shifted to Hoss, dread dropping on him like a stone. 

“He didn’t take Sport,” Hoss said into the silence, the implication behind those words forcing both boys to race to their horses and gallop out of the yard without a backward look. 

Unable to move or breathe, Ben stood still, his mind attempting to wrap itself around thoughts of death and a single gunshot that would resonate throughout the rest of his life.

“Mister Adam take Junebug?” Hop Sing said to no one in particular. “Why he take Junebug?”

So no one would find him!

“Mr. Cartwright?” Charlie began feeling as if he’d ridden right into the middle of a story. “Is everything all right?”

Emotion clogged Ben’s brain, his heart, his throat as he turned slowly back toward the house, clasping the gunbelt to his chest. Nothing was real anymore. Not since Kane.

“Mr. Cartwright?” Charlie called stopping Ben in mid-step.

“No, Charlie,” he finally uttered barely managing to keep it together, the foreman’s words finally catching up to him. “Nothing’s been right for some time.”

*********

TUESDAY – 2 DAYS BEFORE

“Paul,” Ben said in a scratchy voice, avoiding the good doctor’s searching eyes as he invited him in then turned sullenly away to sit heavily in the red leather chair by the hearth.

“Ben,” was all Paul Martin said, a world of questions behind the look he gave his friend as he set his bag down on the sideboard. Worry reared its ugly head. Worry. The letters of that particular word should’ve been etched on his forehead since he knew he already had permanent wrinkles affixed there. In fact all doctors who gave a damn shared that same affliction. 

Now being worried for his patients was one thing, but being worried for a friend was always worse and sometimes his powers of medicine weren’t enough leaving him with nothing to offer but platitudes and fancy words that meant nothing. Those were the worst times. Those were the times he feared most, times like these.

“I was checking on Abby Markham’s boy,” the doctor began, “when I thought I’d stop by and see how things are going here.” 

Ben gave a half-smile, then looked away, unconsciously running a hand over his neck. “We’re fine.”

“Adam tried to strangle him, Paul,” Joe announced as he came down the stairs ignoring the furious glare Ben flashed him.

“What?” Paul urgently asked as more worry piled up.

“He was having a nightmare,” Ben explained. “Things . . . got out of hand.”

“Adam had him on the floor, Paul,” Joe continued. “Hoss had to pry his hands from around Pa’s neck.”

“I was trying to wake him. He thought I was Kane.”

“When did this happen?” Paul asked of anyone.

“Last night,” Joe answered, looking over to Ben. “He’s getting worse, Pa.”  

“He was having a nightmare,” Ben responded leaning forward as exasperation filled him. “It wasn’t Adam.”

“He tried to kill you!”

“Joseph!”

“Keep voice down!” came Hop Sing’s harsh whisper from the stairs, Hoss glaring over his shoulder at the lot of them. “All this yelling wake Mister Adam. He need sleep.”

The two descended the stairs, Hop Sing eyeing Ben until he turned again to the fireplace while Joe cast his eyes downward to stare at his boots.

“This ain’t the time for yellin’,” Hoss said placing a large hand on his brother’s shoulder to press him onto the settee.

“Sorry,” Joe whispered, embarrassed at his own outburst but still perturbed at his father. 

Paul sighed and moved toward Ben, pushing up his chin to check his neck. “Just bruises,” he proclaimed.

“I told you I was fine,” Ben answered pushing away his hand, not watching as the good doctor stepped back and eyed the lot of them.

“I’ve known all of you for many years,” Paul began, sinking hands into his front pockets. “I’ve mended broken bones and bullet holes in each of you and I cherish our friendship, but now one of you has been injured, an injury that can’t be fixed with traditional medicine . . . and I apologize for that.”

“Paul . . .” Hoss began stopping as the doctor raised a hand.

“This is the time you must all pull together and not let the strain of what’s happening tear you apart. Your son, your brother, is lost - a shadow of his former self - and it’s rattled you and him.” None responded as he sat down on the settee. “Obviously there’s been no improvement.”

“No. He’s getting worse,” Joe stated not waiting for anyone else to speak.

“Is he getting worse in that he’s still not sleeping or are his nightmares becoming more violent?” Paul asked.

“Both,” Hoss answered.

“Hoss . . .” Ben began.

“It’s true, Pa,” Hoss said looking straight at his father. “And you know it.”

“Has this happened before?”

“No,” Ben hastily added. “Just this once.”

“But it could happen again,” Joe added.

“I’ll be more careful,” Ben stated, glaring at his youngest.

“Adam’s trying not to sleep, Paul,” Joe continued, ignoring his father. “When he sleeps, Kane comes and torments him. He can’t keep this up. It’s killing him.”

“Joe, we just need to be  . . .” Ben began.

“What, Pa? Need to be what? He’s not getting better. He won’t even look you in the eye.”

“He ain’t eatin’ much that’s for sure,” Hoss added as Ben rubbed his face, hating to listen to this even though he knew it was the truth.

“Neither are any of you, by the looks of it,” Paul said with a grim look.

“It’s difficult to eat when one of your own is slowly dying in front of you,” Ben whispered, quickly pulling hands from his face, afraid he’d spoken aloud. The looks on their faces proved him correct.

Numerous times he’d said this to himself but to hear his own voice speak those words, well they took on a different more frightening meaning. Adam was dying from the inside – slowly but surely – and there was nothing any of them could do but watch. None of them, including Paul, had the knowledge to deal with a broken mind except to lock him away in a dark room and dismiss his very existence. That he would never do!

Adam’s not crazy!

“Then we’ll have to stop that now,” Paul stated.

“How?” Joe asked.

“He can’t remember everything that happened to him and what he does remember is jumbled and out of context which leads to created memories that aren’t necessarily valid,” Paul began. “From what you’ve told me he doesn’t remember what happened after Kane’s ultimatum and you telling him isn’t going to help. He won’t retain it because he can’t put an actual memory to it.”

“And I don’t understand that, Paul,” Ben said. “We wouldn’t lie to him just to make him feel better.”

“Of course you would,” he answered shocking them all.

“We wouldn’t,” Joe stated.

“Everyone would, Joe, and he knows it. I’m sure he’s thinking that he must’ve done something horrible since all of you are lying to him.”

“How can ya say that, Paul?” Hoss asked sadness on his face.

“I’m not saying you are it’s just that his perception has changed. He has to remember on his own. Once he does, the true healing can begin.”

“And how is he supposed to do that?” Joe asked.

“I’ve seen you with him, all of you. You baby him. You’re afraid to bring anything up because it’s too painful for you and that’s understandable,” he hastily added. “But he’s never going to walk out that door until he can stand on his own two legs.”

“I can’t just let him wake up screaming alone,” Ben said aghast at the thought. “How can I ignore that?”

“I’m not asking that you ignore what’s going on, just stop treating him like he’s going to break.”

“But, Paul,” Hoss began, “he’s already broke.”

“I know,” the doctor said with a nod. “And we need to put the pieces back together even if he won’t let us. He’s scared and so are all of you. He’s afraid of what he might’ve done and he’s trapped himself out on that desert. He has to kill Kane, exorcise him from his mind . . . and I’ve no idea how do that,” he added knowing that that would be the next question. “The only thing I can suggest is to be honest with him. Tell him that you were going to leave him, admit your own limitations. You have to keep him moving forward until he can’t help but remember.”

“That’ll work?” Hoss asked.

Paul shrugged. “I’ve heard of some cases where it’s been useful but you have to know that it may hurt you as much as him. Don’t let your guilt mar what you’re trying to do.” Paul sighed, wanting so to be able to help this family, his friends. “Adam met and passed his limits out there just as the three of you did and it rocked him. He’s adrift with nothing to hang onto and you can’t expect to recover quickly from that. On top of that, he’s still recovering physically from his ordeal. 

“It takes time and all of you must help. Make him look at you when you speak to him even if you have to pull his chin toward you. Bring him back into this world. Don’t let Kane take over every aspect of him.”

“What if he . . .” Ben began in a quiet voice drawing everyone’s attention as he stared into the fireplace. “What if he doesn’t come back? What happens then?” 

Paul fidgeted with his jacket sleeve. “You know the answer to that, Ben.” 

Joe looked from one to the other. “What does he mean, Pa?”

“Joe . . .”

“An asylum? Is that what you’re saying, Pa?” Joe asked, alarm permeating the words.

“Joe, please . . .”

“You’re not sending him away!”

“Pa, ya cain’t do that,” Hoss added, looking from Paul to Ben. “Ya cain’t just ship him off like he’s nothin’.”

“Adam’s not Ross Marquette²!” Joe blurted as Ben closed his eyes. “He’s not!” Jumping to his feet, he didn’t know where to go, suddenly livid with his father for even thinking of sending Adam away.

“Joe, sit,” Paul ordered fixing him with a hard gaze until the boy did as he was told and slumped back down on the settee. Paul’s face softened and he placed a comforting hand on the young man’s shoulder. “No one is suggesting that Adam will end up the same way as Ross. He has something important – he has more love in this house than most people do in their lifetime and sometimes that’s more important than anything else.”  

Joe felt his anger dissipate turning instead into mind numbing sadness. “But will it be enough?” he asked.

“It has to be, Joe,” Ben whispered. “It just has to be.”

*********

“Adam,” Ben called quietly as he knocked on the door knowing full well he wouldn’t get an answer. Easing it open, the glow from the bedside lamp showed him a sleeping son, his chest rising and falling with the rhythm of his breath. Every second his heart beat, every time he moved or moaned in his sleep, Ben thanked God for this bit of life he’d been entrusted with, this young man who meant everything to him.

He’d made himself scarce this day, letting Joe, Hoss and Hop Sing look after Adam, remembering the look of guilt that filled his boy’s eyes when he’d awakened that morning to see the red marks on his neck. He couldn’t stand to see the agony his presence caused. 

It had been just over a day since Ben had felt his son’s hands and, yes, he’d counted every second. Such panic radiated from him, panic and terror toward a demon that still spoke to him in dreams. And that fateful night as he held his desperate son he’d promised something - promised that he’d make Kane go away . . . and he didn’t have anymore of a clue on how do to that than Paul did.

Careful so as not to disturb him, he sat on the side of Adam’s bed and reached over to turn off the lamp . . . then paused. The last time he’d attempted this was the last time Adam had spoken directly to him, asking him in a tight voice to leave it on since the dark ran over him like a train. He remembered the tone, felt the anxiety. Ben sat back and, instead, looked more closely at his oldest son.

The dark circles under the eyes, the thinness of the cheeks, the beard he’d not wanted shaved all brought back the desperate times they’d faced these last three weeks after finding him on the desert. Their efforts to bring him home changed all of them, making them question their faith and their ability to see an end to this trauma, to see him through. Adam’s flashing smile suddenly popped into his head and echoes of his beautiful deep voice rising in song followed and it made Ben’s heart shrink further. Would they ever have those things again or would this room become his life? Would his world be nothing but the hue and cry of Kane attacking him until he decided to end it all?

Forcing such gloomy thoughts away, Ben lovingly touched Adam’s face noting he seemed a bit warm. The sunstroke and dehydration caused his temperature to rise and fall in an hour, dizzy spells and nausea alternating with chills and sweats and a vagueness that made Ben uncomfortable. He was used to his son taking charge, able to control all situations without a second thought, but his confession just a day ago of not being the same man was brought home when his hands wrapped about Ben’s neck.

A chill ran up his spine and he shrugged it off. 

I can’t dwell on that. It wasn’t him.

Standing, he leaned over and kissed Adam on the forehead then moved to the door, slipping out and leaving the door ajar in case he was needed. He didn’t see nor feel the dark eyes that followed him as he left.

I can’t look you in the eye. Not after what I did.

Right here, in this room, he’d tried to strangle his own father. It didn’t matter he was having a nightmare and couldn’t break free; it didn’t matter that he was killing Kane and not Ben. It only mattered that his hands were wrapped about his father’s neck squeezing the life from him. If Hoss hadn’t been there, hadn’t stopped him . . .  Shutting out the thought, he turned to face the window.

Am I like Ross?

Yes, he’d heard the conversation downstairs, despite Hop Sing’s best efforts to quiet everyone, and it hit home. Ross Marquette had changed from a childhood friend into a murdering beast who’d killed his own wife. And yet, in the end, the Ross of old had reappeared to be sent off to the great beyond as himself and not the imposter who’d resided there. Was that how it would be for him?

Is that what I am?

Forcing such thoughts away, he looked out the open window to a storm filled sky, wishing so for it to just let loose and wash away the dust and grime that still clung to him, that invaded his very being, to make everything clean again . . . to make him clean again. The heat of the desert had pulled all the moisture from his body, even making his bones ache as if they would break if he bore so much as a thought upon them. He used to like the desert – its starkness, its beauty - now it only served to remind him he’d nearly shot Hoss . . .

A lancing pain shot through him and he gasped at its suddenness, hands shooting to his head. Then, just as quickly, it was gone, leaving him with a clear vision of raising a rifle and pulling the trigger with his brother as the target. The room spun as he bolted upright nearly flinging himself from the bed, grabbing at the bed clothes to ride the wave of dizziness that descended.

Did I try to shoot Hoss?

Grasping for the stray thought only made it disappear that much quicker and he cursed his faulty memory. Swinging legs over the side, he hung his head and rubbed his forehead trying to conjure it back.     

Did I try to shoot Hoss?

“You did.” 

Stiffening, the color ran from his face at the sound of that terrifying, unmistakable voice, making his belly twist into a knot. It was the voice of nightmares, both waking and sleeping; the voice that pecked at him and pushed him until he’d seen no other way out than to silence it for good; the voice of a demon with blue eyes - Peter Kane.

“Nice to see you again, Cartwright.” 

Cold sweat popped out on Adam’s forehead and rolled down his face as his heart pounded frantically. It can’t be! He’s dead! They keep telling me he’s dead! 

Like a caged animal, his eyes flew to the window. Two steps and escape would be his and he could flee from his enemy.

You won’t make it off the roof without breaking something!

Desperation filled him. There was nowhere to go, just like before, and his fingers knotted deeper into the bedcovers. Don’t look. If you don’t look, he’ll go away.

“Afraid to look aren’t you?” he prodded.

“You . . . you’re not . . . here,” Adam said with as much conviction as he could muster. It wasn’t much.

“Oh, but I am,” Kane countered, Adam hearing the smile in that voice, seeing it in his mind’s eye. “And getting rid of me will be harder than you think. I’m still the better man, Cartwright, because you did what you said you couldn’t - you killed me with your bare hands.”

“No,” Adam whispered, flinching as lightening suddenly brightened the room. Thunder’s coming. Count . . . count and he’ll go away.

“No? I’ve got the bruises to prove it.” 

Adam closed his eyes, seeing his hands crushing Kane’s windpipe . . . squeezing his father’s neck. Count, damn you! Count!

“Want to see them?”

“I didn’t . . . kill you.” Adam finally spoke, giving up on the thunder when it failed to sound.

“Is that what they’re telling you?” came with a laugh. “Is it?” When no answer sprang from him, Adam opened his eyes. “And you believe them?” 

Do I? They’d given him the answer, fed it to him over and over, tried to pound it into his head . . . and still he wasn’t sure it was the truth. He just couldn’t remember. They wouldn’t lie . . . would they? “I didn’t think so.” He could hear movement, hear boots hitting the floor.

How can he be here?

“Cartwright, they’ll tell you whatever they want you to believe so they don’t have to deal with the shame. That’s right shame. It doesn’t fit into their scheme of things to have a son who’s a murderer. Wouldn’t look right.”

A murderer? I didn’t kill him. They told me.

“I’m . . . not.”

“Don’t sound so certain.” 

Adam’s brow furrowed watching the curtains billow out from the open window. I didn’t kill . . .  What if Kane is telling the truth?

“Is that . . . is that what I am?” Adam asked, doubt rushing in to feed the fear in his belly.   

“What was that, big brother?” Hoss asked moving hastily across the room to shut the window against the incoming storm, redirecting the curtains to their proper place.

“Is that what I am?” Adam repeated as Hoss turned to see a brother white as a sheet, sweat dampening his nightshirt. He knelt quickly in front of him.

“I’m sorry, brother, but yer gonna havta be a bit more specific.” 

Adam looked down to Hoss then, seeing a beloved brother who would tell him the truth. 

Hoss saw a scared little boy and reached out to grab his hands. “Yer shakin’ like a leaf. Get under them covers.”

“Is that what I am?” Adam asked again, more urgently than before, drilling Hoss with a look, making him shiver at its intensity. “Am I . . .  am I a murderer?” 

Stunned, Hoss sat back on his heels, looking up at his desperate brother. Adam’s eyes had always been expressive, the windows to his soul as Ben put it, and now they begged for answers. “No, Adam, yer not,” he answered plainly.

“But I . . . I killed Kane.” 

“No ya didn’t.”

“But he said . . .”

“Don’t ya go listenin’ ta him now. He ain’t tellin’ ya the truth.” Inside Hoss shuddered. Kane was talking to his brother, telling him lies, and Adam wasn’t strong enough to shut it out. “Ya stopped yerself, Adam. Ya didn’t finish the job.”

I didn’t finish . . .  Why can’t I remember that? “How do you know?”

 Such a plaintive cry from this strong man. Hoss swallowed. Kane was winning. He couldn’t allow that. “Ya told us, that’s how.” 

“Told you?”

“Yessir. Kane spoke just afore ya dragged him outta the desert. Ya gotta believe me when I say it, Adam. I ain’t never lied ta ya and I ain’t startin’ now.” He watched his brother, watched him struggle with this same knowledge as he’d done so many times before. But this time despair filled the void rather than relief. “What is it, Adam? What’s the matter?” Hoss watched him shake his head and look away. “Adam?”

Say it!

“Did I . . .” 

He stopped and Hoss moved next to him on the bed. “Go on.” 

Gathering up a breath Adam shut his eyes against what was coming. “Did I try to . . . to shoot you?” came the question in a quiet voice. Those words made Hoss pause knowing this was an ugly memory rearing its head and he’d debated with himself on what he would do if it ever came up. He’d never mentioned this to Joe or Paul and neither had Ben. It didn’t need to be addressed, at least not until Adam needed it. And now was the time.

“Yessir, ya did.” 

Cringing at the admission, he appreciated Hoss’ candor even though it split him in two as the pain returned, seeing Hoss drop to the ground as the bullet . . . his bullet sailed over his head and into the rocks beyond. Someone jumped him and kept him from firing again, kept him from killing his brother.

“Ya had yer reasons,” Hoss informed him feeling Adam begin to quiver.

“No reason . . .”  The words stopped and his vision blurred.

“Adam . . .”

“There could be no reason,” he continued through clenched teeth battling for control, “no reason in this world for me to . . .”  His voice faded again unable to finish.

“Adam, ya thought I was Kane,” Hoss answered, wrapping an arm about him. “From what we know that’s reason enough ta shoot at me.” 

“How could . . .”

“You was far gone and didn’t know who we was. You was still trapped with him.”

“That’s no excuse,” Adam angrily said, leaning away from his beloved brother. “I could’ve   . . .”  A sob broke loose and he covered his face with both hands while Hoss pulled him back.

“That’s in the past, Adam. Ya didn’t hurt me. You could never hurt me,” Hoss finished not knowing what else to say, surprised when Adam buried his face in his shirt and grabbed on.

Hoss figured this was what Ben felt like when he held one of them – a protective shield to keep away the dangers that lurked in the shadows; to try and keep away all things that could hurt them. He was honored by the trust his brother showed him.

Staring out the window, he ran a hand slowly up and down Adam’s arm, watching the trees bend under the power of the wind and wondered why they couldn’t have been there before Adam had been hurt, why they had to pick up the pieces now when there was so little left. What God would let that happen?

He sighed. No blame could be fitted to others, except those in this house. Paul was right. They needed to admit they’d almost left him behind; get everything out in the open. That might be the only thing that would let him heal, let them all heal. Listening to his brother weep for a past deed, he knew now was not the time. Confession would have to wait a little longer.

**********

WEDNESDAY – 1 DAY BEFORE

“He out back,” Hop Sing informed Joe with a tired smile as he wiped flour on his apron.

“Should he be alone?” Joe asked, sneaking a look out the door toward his brother sitting silently on the long wooden bench at the end of the back porch.

“He not alone. I keep eye on him.” Joe smiled at that, knowing it was true. Hop Sing had always been there for them and they’d be lost without him. “You go, be with him, for you both.”

“For us both,” Joe sighed, smiling back at Hop Sing as he slipped out the door, running a hand along the bench Adam and Hoss built when Joe was but an infant. Marie wanted a place out of the house to sit and watch the sunset and the stars and to hear the rain fall long into the night while she read to her boys, telling them stories of New Orleans. Now his brother occupied that same spot, looking out over the same landscape. Joe was doubtful he was remembering those nights with Marie.

How can I force this memory on him? How can I not?

Making up his mind, Joe sauntered forward taking in the sight of his brother hunkered down in his yellow coat, arms crossed against the wind that breezed along the porch. The gray clouds building around them matched the color of his skin and he could just make out dark hair curling over his collar, his thin bearded face giving the impression of a starving man, a lost man unable to find his way home. He stopped a few paces from him, unnerved by how still he sat, how far away he seemed and how he hadn’t noticed him standing there.

“Adam?” Joe finally called, the sound of his voice producing a startling effect - each muscle in his brother’s body instantly constricted and Joe watched him grab at the bench, his breath quickening as if he was being chased, eyes tightly shut. Quickly, he knelt in front of him. “Adam, it’s me, it’s Joe. It’s Joe.”

The familiar voice reverberated in Adam’s ears and he forced open anxious eyes to see his younger brother kneeling before him, strong hands holding him steady, and the tension ran from him like water.

“Joe,” came his relieved voice. “Joe.” Releasing his grip on the bench, Adam sat back, leaning against Joe as he perched next to him, relishing the even presence his brother provided. 

Taken aback, Joe wrapped an arm about his brother’s shoulders, wondering at this new turn of events. As long as Joe could remember, Adam had been there to offer guidance and help even when they argued being that he was the eldest. But now the roles were reversed and he hoped he could fill those shoes because his brother deserved it, deserved it more than he ever had.

“Are you warm enough?” Joe asked, seeing Adam nod and continue to look at whatever held his attention. “Maybe it’ll rain soon. I think those clouds should either piss or get off the pot.” 

Adam snickered and Joe smiled, hoping soon they’d hear more of that. “It can’t come soon enough,” was all he gave him suddenly growing warm. Sitting upright, he pulled open his coat and wiped sweat from his upper lip. “Not soon enough.” 

Joe watched him, knowing his temperature fluctuated, knowing in a matter of moments he might be shivering.   

“Adam, I have to . . .” Joe began, stopping when he saw his brother press a hand against his temple, sucking in a painful breath as he leaned forward. Joe gripped his shoulders to keep him on the bench. “Adam?”

“You . . .” Adam began, tight muscles bunching under Joe’s grip. “There was a . . . a room  . . .,” he announced trying to take hold of the scene running through his head before it fled. “You were . . . holding . . .”  He stopped as the memory and pain faded leaving him irritated. “Damnit!” he cursed running a hand over his sweaty face. 

Joe watched him try to compose himself, failing miserably, soon to lay dark pleading eyes upon him. “It was Salt Flats,” Joe answered as Adam narrowed his eyes. “We were there for four days.”

“I didn’t . . . I didn’t hurt you did I like I . . . like I hurt Pa?” Adam asked, not really wanting to hear the answer.

“No, no. You were out of it, too far out of it to barely open your eyes.” 

Adam let out a thankful breath. “Why were we there?” he asked looking back out to the woods, unable to place the name. 

Joe tried to put those days behind him, forced himself to think only of the present, but each time Adam called out from his dreams those feelings of helplessness and fear returned. But now his brother was asking and his comfort was not important.

“It was the closest town to where we found you,” Joe answered. “We were all exhausted and the wagon I’d found barely got us back to town. There was no way we could get you home without one.” 

Adam watched his brother’s face, seeing the pain he was dredging up. It wasn’t fair of him to ask. “You don’t have . . .”

“I want to tell you,” Joe jumped in. “You should be told everything.” He looked back out into the woods seeing the main street of that dry and dusty town, hoping they’d been in time. “We stayed at the Coleridge House, which had seen better days, and put you to bed. The doc finally showed up and tended to you but there was little he could do. It seems modern medicine doesn’t have a magic potion to cure sunstroke and dehydration. It was up to us to get food and water into you and, mind you brother, that wasn’t an easy task.”

“Stubborn,” Adam admitted none of this sounding familiar. 

Joe smiled. “We were waiting for Hop Sing to arrive with a wagon before we could get you home, so we settled in, taking shifts to look after you. You couldn’t keep much down and you kept calling out Kane’s name, seeing him in us each time you opened your eyes.” Joe looked down then and fiddled with his pant leg. “It was . . . difficult.”

“Sorry,” Adam quietly said.

“No, no, Adam, don’t be. Everything was difficult. We’d been looking for you for almost two weeks and now that we had you, well, it wasn’t much better. There wasn’t much left of you and Pa was so worried that we hadn’t been in time, but I took great pleasure in the fact that, at least, you weren’t alone anymore. We were there to look after you.

“I think it was the second night. Pa was asleep in the other room, been there since morning, and Hoss was out getting you some new clothes, and I was alone with you. . ”

The room was hot and no matter what they did it just seemed to get hotter. Of course, it was almost 100 degrees outside so what did they expect. This was the desert after all. Joe closed the moth bitten curtains and moved back toward the rumpled bed holding his ailing brother, small moans coming from him now and then as he relived whatever had happened to him.

After all the grime and dirt had been cleaned off, they’d found bruises, deep and purple, covering his body along with scrapes and lacerations; cracked blisters filled his hands and both wrists were embedded with sand and dirt and rope burns sure to leave scarring. Sweat covered his sunburned face and chest dampening the sheets beneath as he shifted from shivering to burning heat in the space of an hour. All was evidence of his trial in the desert.

Joe looked down on his injured brother, guilt rushing through him. “I should’ve been with you,” he whispered, dropping down into the straight backed chair beside the bed, his hand falling on the newspaper he’d found in the dresser. A small whimper met his ears and he touched his brother’s hand. “Ssh. It’s all right.” He settled a bit and Joe sat back, his hand touching the newspaper once again. Maybe he’d like to hear about the goings on in Salt Flats; maybe the droning of his voice would make him know he wasn’t alone. There was nothing else he could think to do.

 He picked up the paper. “Let’s see what’s happening in this here town. Ah, here we go. ‘Mrs. Ida Fay Werner, wife of Reverend Hiram Werner, presented a captivating social for the town on Wednesday’. That was Wednesday last month, brother,” he said looking over at Adam who weakly pushed at the sheet around him. “’With the arrival of the new school teacher, this social proved to be a welcoming party as well’. Bet she’s pretty. ‘Mr. Robert J. McCready came to us all the way from San Francisco with books in hand’. Oh. ‘He arrived with his wife, Mrs. Celia McCready, on his arm and her bright yellow dress and bonnet and charming demeanor set everyone to smiling’. I bet she’s a looker. Why I think . . .”

“. . . rocks . . . just rocks . . .” came Adam’s thin voice barely above a whisper interrupting Joe.   

“Adam?”

“. . . no gold . . .”

 Joe dropped the paper and grabbed Adam’s hand, holding it tightly between his own. “It’s Joe, Adam. I’ve got you.”

“There’s no . . . no gold . . . just . . . rocks!”

“Adam, quiet now, quiet. No one can get you here. I’ll protect you. You’re safe, you’re safe here.”   

“. . . safe . . .” came after a moment.

“That’s right,” Joe nodded, running a hand down his brother’s face to sooth him, feeling heat rise from him even though he was shivering. Reaching for the discarded blanket at the foot of the bed, he spread it over Adam even as he fought to remove it.

“Pa . . . I’m here! Pa!” 

“We’ll be home in a few days, Adam,” Joe said desperate to keep him calm. He looked behind him toward the door where their father slept but his brother needed him now and all he could give was himself. Quickly sliding under the blankets, he pulled a jittery Adam against him, wrapping him in his arms. “Hop Sing’ll be here soon and he’ll make you his teas and soon we’ll be out of this god awful heat and back into the mountains where it’s cool and clear and the lake just sparkles. You love the lake. We’re almost home, Adam. Ssh, ssh. It’ll be all right.” Tears pricked at Joe’s eyes but he kept talking, kept trying to break through his brother’s fevered dreams when a weak voice startled him.

“Joe . . ?” His breath caught in his throat.

“Yeah, it’s me, Adam. It’s Joe.” Joe could feel his brother’s tight posture begin to relax and lean into his grasp. He’d never been so happy to hear his name before.

“Did I . . . did I make it . . . to . . . Signal Rock?” came the unexpected question. 

Joe buried his head in Adam’s neck trying to calm himself enough to answer. “Yeah, you made it. You finally made it.”

“. . . sorry . . . late . . .” came the low response, Joe waiting for more when he noticed Adam’s trembling ease then stop altogether, his relaxed breathing informing him he’d fallen back to sleep. It was then Joe let the tears fall, making sure the blanket covered both their shoulders as he held on tight.

“I woke up a few hours later to find both Hoss and Pa keeping watch over both of us.” A resonance of his brother’s loving words filled Adam’s head and he winced as the pain returned.

“Your voice . . . it sounded of home,” Adam whispered, turning to see tears running down Joe’s face as a stiff breeze wafted along the porch. “Joe?”

“I’m sorry,” Joe muttered. “I’m sorry for so many things.”

“But you saved me from . . .”

“I’m sorry I didn’t go with you,” Joe interrupted. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help you. I’m sorry you had to go through that hell alone.”

“Joe . . .”

“And I’m sorry we almost left you behind!” Joe finished rapidly tossing a shocked look toward his brother. That wasn’t how he’d pictured the news to fall.

Leave me behind?

“What?”

“They wanted to tell you but I didn’t,” Joe confessed, words tumbling over each other as they fell from his mouth. “I didn’t think you needed to know. It wouldn’t make any difference now ‘cause you’re home and safe.” Confusion took control of Adam’s face and Joe cursed himself for bringing it up. I never should’ve said anything!

All sorts of images tossed about Adam’s head - vague remembrances of voices in the dark, guilty voices. They left me behind?

“You gave up,” Adam mumbled trying to wrap his wayward mind about those words, unexpected anger coming upon him like a rising flame at the confession. His jaw clenched and Joe grabbed his arm.

“Adam, we were at the end of our rope. We’d been searching for so long with no sign. Pa was exhausted. We knew he’d keep looking until he was dead and we’d already lost you. We couldn’t lose Pa too so we talked him into . . . into giving up and going home.” Joe looked out into the approaching night seeing lightening fill the sky a mile or two away. “It was the hardest thing we’ve ever done, Adam, you have to believe that. We never set out to do that, to give up. We just couldn’t go any further.”

They gave up on me. They abandoned me, left me to die in the desert, left me to him! I hadn’t given up, why did they?

“I guess . . . I guess I did need to tell you. I needed to tell you what we became.” Joe ran a hand through his hair and bent his head. “It wasn’t a proud moment.” 

What they became? What about me?! What about me?!

Adam looked away from his brother, looked away before he saw the anger; before he said something he’d regret. How could they just leave me?! How could they abandon me?!

And then he saw his own hands wrap about Kane’s neck, felt the anger that fueled what little strength he’d had left, and then winced at the jagged pain running across his forehead, dropping his head into his hands. He’d fallen from his ideals and become something else. He’d done something he never thought he could do. 

What right have I to judge them?

“’Judge not‘,³” Adam whispered, pulling hands from his face, looking into the darkening sky, hearing the wind pour through the trees as his anger quickly faded.

“Adam?”   

“It’s okay, Joe,” Adam finally said hearing thunder rumble close by.  

“How can it be okay?” Joe asked, shocked at his brother. “We were going to leave you out there. We’d given up.”

“I don’t blame . . .”

“You didn’t give up. You fought your way home. You’d never have stopped.”

“Joe . . .”

“It’s true, Adam, and we all know it.”

“But you don’t know, Joe!” Adam said in a harsh tone immediately regretting it, rubbing his forehead. “I became . . . something else, too, something I . . . I didn’t expect. I became an animal. I never thought . . .”  He stopped and sighed, trying to gather his thoughts. “I told you I couldn’t be forced to kill, that I was . . . stronger than that. Well, my strength failed me.”

“You had reason.” 

Adam dipped is head. “At the time . . .”

“He tried to kill you, Adam.”

“But I’m supposed to be better; more . . . civilized. I am a Cartwright after all.” 

Joe would’ve grinned at the hint of sarcasm there but he grabbed Adam’s shoulder instead. “You are better, Adam. I know this because of what you’re going through. If you didn’t care you’d be able to sleep at night, be able to accept what happened and move on. But you can’t because you’re grappling with what you believe and what you were forced to do to survive.”

“It shouldn’t matter.”

“Everyone has a breaking point, Adam. We found that out and I’m not proud of it but we have to live with it. And whatever you had to do to get out of that desert and back home to us then so be it. I won’t think any less of you because of it and neither wills Pa or Hoss. We’re here, Adam, and we’re not leaving this time.”

Adam wanted to share everything with them; he needed their help to keep him from falling into the abyss, but he’d tried to kill their father and Kane was visiting him when he was awake. How could they possibly help with that?

“I can’t find . . .,” Adam began. “I can’t get him out of my head . . . his voice, his face. He just keeps coming back. I fear I’ll never be rid of him.”

“You once told me that the only thing that would keep you from fighting back was if you were dead. Well, fight him, Adam; push back until you can’t push anymore. I believe in you. Believe in yourself again.”

Adam turned to Joe seeing the serious look upon his youthful face and his heart overflowed with love for this green eyed little brother who’d surprised him more than once in their lives together. He wanted so to tell him how much his belief meant to him, how much he needed to hear those words. But it seemed those words might be too late since his belief in himself was all but gone. It was a slow collapse, like a leaking trough, and it would soon run dry. Kane had him in his clutches and his mind couldn’t fend him off much longer. “It’s not easy.”

“Just promise me you’ll try. I don’t want to lose you again.” 

Adam held his brother’s worried gaze feeling his love engulf him and gave him what he wanted most – he nodded. Joe smiled then and patted Adam’s leg, looking back out onto the windswept trees as he wiped his eyes, concern allayed for the moment.

“I think you’ll get your wish,” Joe said wanting so to hold his brother, to give him his strength, but knowing he couldn’t. “The rain’s finally coming.” 

“Guess so,” Adam answered sitting back and watching the clouds, pulling closed his jacket against the wind. “Water to wash away so many things.”

“To make things clean again.” Joe watched a small grin turn Adam’s mouth then stood. 

“Coming in?”   

“Think I’ll stay a bit longer.”

“Sure?” 

Adam nodded.

Joe turned back to the house. “I’ll fetch you for dinner. Don’t want Hop Sing threatening to head for China if you don’t show up again.” 

Adam watched his brother leave, emotions overwhelming him as he leaned forward, raising the collar of his coat as a chill claimed him. Trying to shrug it off, feelings of impending doom suddenly surrounded him. 

“That kid gave some speech,” came Kane’s voice off to his right making him start. “You believe that stuff?” The passing of a silent moment alone in his own head was all there was. Here came the doom.

“He wouldn’t say it if he didn’t mean it,” Adam answered in a tight voice keeping his eyes averted as Kane made his way toward him.

“Oh, really. Well, then I suppose that time he cold cocked you with that piece of lumber then threw a couple of choice words at you while you lay on the ground bleeding was meant too.”

“Yes, he meant that, too,” Adam agreed not daring to rub the shoulder that held a permanent bruise.

“Over a girl, wasn’t it?”

“You already know so why . . . why go over it?” Adam said with a heavy sigh, trying to wish him away.

“I just wanted to remind you, Cartwright, that the boy don’t have wings. He just confessed he talked your Pa into leaving you behind along with that other brother of yours. That don’t sound like a loving family to me.”

“Leave them alone.” Come after me, not them!

“Touchy. Well, seeing that you know now they were going to leave you behind, I might be thinking something different about them. My Pa, too. The man that brought you into this world turning his back, giving you to me. Don’t sound like a family I’d want to be a part of.”

“Leave them alone!” Adam yelled whipping up his head to finally face Kane, to face this particular demon. Instead he found Ben standing next to him, brows raised in question.

“Adam?” 

Quickly looking away, he hastily stood only to have Ben grab his arm as he swayed.

 “Are you all right, son?”

No. I’ve got a ghost driving me crazy. “Fine, Pa,” was all he said, still not able to look him in the eye.

 Letting go, Ben fully expected him to hightail it to the house but, instead, he stood stock still in front of him.

“Um, we might finally get some rain tonight,” observed Ben.

“Yeah,” Adam answered hearing more thunder off to the right, wanting so to leave but finding his feet stuck firmly to the ground.

“Adam,” Ben started. “It wasn’t your fault, son. You were dreaming.”

“I tried to kill you, Pa,” he answered not turning around.

“No . . .”

“Yes!” he said his voice rising. “My hands . . .”

“Adam, look at me. Look at me,” Ben ordered, his boy slowly turning regretful eyes toward him making his heart ache. “Yes, it was your hands around my neck but it wasn’t me you were attacking. It was Kane. I love you and hold no grudge against you. That should be what you remember. Don’t let him take anymore from you than he already has.”

“Lies, all lies!” came Kane’s voice from behind Ben startling Adam who quickly averted his eyes to focus on his father’s vest.

“It’s hard to . . . to fight,” Adam admitted. 

“But you must keep fighting,” Ben said trying to look into his son’s eyes. “The man is dead. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

“That’s what he thinks.” 

Adam couldn’t help but see a hand raise, Kane’s hand, behind Ben, pretending to shot him in the back. “Only that will be by your hand, Cartwright, not mine.”

“No . . .”   

“He can’t hurt you, Adam,” Ben said, holding firmly to his shoulders. “You won’t let him.”

“I ain’t gonna hurt you, Cartwright. You’re gonna hurt them.” 

Look at him! Get it over with!

“Go on, get a good look, Cartwright. I dare you.”

“I . . . can’t.” Adam shivered, feeling himself die inside. Joe’s words disappeared under Kane’s, knowing he didn’t have the willpower to resist and soon his father and brothers would be dead. Ben narrowed his eyes. Adam was giving up and he didn’t know what to do. 

Paul wanted them to stop babying him or he’d never be what he was, but this was his son, the boy who’d traveled with him across country, who shared in everything, and all he wanted to do was take him in his arms and hold him against all evils that trespassed upon his soul . . . even if they could not be seen.

“Come on,” Ben finally said, wrapping an arm about him. “You’re cold. Let’s go back inside.” Pulling on Adam’s unresisting arms, they headed toward the house, Kane’s laugh echoing behind them.

“Sleep tight, Cartwright, and dream of your father and brothers. They won’t see the morning.”

***********

Hop Sing was worried about three things: his potatoes mildewing, his family falling apart and Number One son. Of course, the potatoes were far less important than his family and his favorite son more important than that only because the two were tied together. The potatoes kept his mind busy, kept him from dwelling on what may come if they weren’t careful.

Since he’d first laid eyes on Adam as he’d pulled the wagon into Salt Flats, concern overtook him. This was not Number One son. This was a shell of the boy he knew and it wasn’t good. He’d seen the effects of the desert before, seen what the heat could do and those who’d lived were never the same. He couldn’t tell them. Hope was what bolstered this family and he couldn’t tell them that the Adam they knew may never return no matter what they did.

“Must think other things,” the cook mumbled, finishing with the last of the dishes and hanging up his apron. “Must keep hope.”

Moving out of the kitchen, he checked the front door and lowered the lamps on an empty room. These past weeks had exhausted all of them and early nights were a given, especially when Adam had a tendency to wake everyone with his nightmares. Glancing up at Number One son’s door, he shook his head and said a prayer.

Please let what I see not be true.

Making his way back to the kitchen, he doused the lantern and headed for his own room, reaching for the door before he noticed it was partly open. All the Cartwright’s were welcomed in his room but none entered without knocking, something Ben made very clear to the boys when they’d been little and it had stuck. He was a member of the family after all.

Peeking around the side, he saw nothing but dark, swearing he’d lit the lamp earlier. And then he heard it – a shuddering breath – and quickly returned to the kitchen, taking the lantern by the stove and relighting it to stick through the door, showering the room with light. It took but a few moments to reveal the occupant.

“Mister Adam?” he called seeing Number One son squeezed as far into a corner as he could get, arms wrapped tightly about his knees, hiding his face against them. He was breathing heavily and his clinging nightshirt told the story of another nightmare.

Placing the lantern on the side table, Hop Sing knelt in front of him, unsure what to do. If he scared him who knew what would happen; if he just waited he could be sitting here for a long time. He chose to sit and wait in silence, leaning against the wall next to Adam. True he often threatened to return to China if the boys messed with him but he had the patience of a saint. You had to, with the Cartwright’s. His patience was quickly rewarded.

“I’m sorry,” finally came, Hop Sing straining to hear.

“What sorry for?” he asked as Adam barely raised his head, glancing furtively at him then away.

“Didn’t knock.”

“Oh,” Hop Sing responded with a wry grin. “It okay. You stay as long as you like.”

“That might be forever,” Adam answered with a sigh. “He doesn’t seem . . . doesn’t seem to come here.” 

Hop Sing frowned. He? Oh, Kane. He patted Adam on the arm. “You stay then. House get sleep that way.” He thought he saw a smirk but he could’ve been mistaken.

“You came to Salt Flats?” came the question.

Hop Sing nodded. “Took three days. It was long three days I ever have,” he began thinking back on the morning Roy Coffee brought him the telegram from Joe and how both their hearts died that day. “Little Joe not tell much in telegram just bring wagon. I thought to bring Number One son home to be with Missy Marie. He not tell me you alive just hurry. Then I think why tell me hurry if you gone. It was long three days.” He glanced at Adam out of the corner of his eye trying to see if his boy was listening, seeing him rest his chin on his arms.

“When I arrive, Mister Hoss almost break me in two he so happy to see me. After I meet cook I understand.” 

Adam half smiled then grimaced, a familiar Cantonese voice raised in frustration outside a dark room, the same dark room he’d revisited with Joe, filling his head. “You were . . . yelling. Something . . . something about salt.” 

Hop Sing smiled. “Cook know nothing. Give other cooks bad name. I raid kitchen, make good food for you, food to keep down. You no keep down for long but I keep trying, keep trying until some stay.” He could remember a calming presence urging him to eat and trying to comply, wanting to comply. “You must eat, Mister Adam, I say then and say now. You must eat.”

“I’m not hungry anymore.”

“Must eat. Keep strength for fight.”

“Fight?” Adam looked at his friend then, squinting against the headache that pounded, devoted eyes enveloping him.

“Him. Kane. Can’t fight when have no strength.” 

Adam looked away as tears gathered. “He has me already,” he answered rubbing his temples.

“No, Mister Adam,” Hop Sing said, touching his arm. “He never have you. You good man. He bad man. Tell him go.”

“Easier said . . .” 

Hop Sing leaned in close and grabbed Adam’s chin, turning his face to him before he could finish the sentence. “I know you since little boy. Always strong, always able to find way even in darkest hour. I never worry for you like Little Joe. You not look for trouble but trouble find you anyway. And trouble still here. But you strong, inside, despite what feel. Besides Mr. Cartwright, you strongest man I know and I have faith you find right path, find peace.”

“The right path?”

“Traveling right path bring you home, Mister Adam. All you must do is find.” 

Adam gently pulled Hop Sing’s hand from his chin and held it tightly giving him a weary smile. “You’ve always been here when I’ve . . . I’ve been lost.”

“Part of job. You have harder part,” the cook said, smiling back at him. “You no eat tonight. I get food. You eat some. I no take no for answer.” 

Adam smiled at his friend, smiled at the man who’d always showered he and his brothers with love and understanding, and thanked whoever sent him their way those many years before. Rubbing his head, he watch him go just wanting silence, wanting his head to stop hurting and Kane to leave him alone and give him some peace.

He’d had little of it since he’d come inside the house with his father, feeling all their eyes on him as he made his way slowly to his room, hoping against hope that Kane would be silent and it’d worked for a time, time enough to dwell upon Kane’s last comment – ‘they won’t see the morning’. 

Tumbling into bed, he’d instantly fallen asleep, his head free of dreams for a time, his body getting the sleep he craved until he’d been rudely awakened by Kane yelling in his ear. Tossing himself from the bed, he pushed himself into a corner holding pillows over his ears until he couldn’t take it anymore and rushed from the room, tumbling down the last flight of stairs to roll into the blue velvet chair he’d once occupied every night with a good book. When no one came to help, he glanced about the room finding it empty, eyes alighting on the front door.

The barn! Get to the barn!

It’s too far!

Kane’s voice came to him from the top of the stairs and he pulled himself shakily to his feet, fear fueling his steps as he raced into the kitchen spying Hop Sing’s knives along the wall. One quick stab to the gut with an up thrust for good measure and it would all be over. He would remove the cause of his family’s death at the source. Grisly thoughts stopped when he heard Kane coming closer and panic ran through him. 

Frantically searching for a way out, he headed straight for Hop Sing’s room, plunging inside to immediately blow out the lamp and scramble into a far corner, making himself as small as possible and hiding his head with childish hopes of keeping the monster at bay. And a curious thing happened - silence, both in his head and out. Had he finally outsmarted Kane, beaten him at his own game?

Who cares! He’s not here!

Now, lifting his gaze to survey the room, he wondered what had happened. What was so special about this room that kept Kane out of his head? Was it the peace Hop Sing always brought with him or something else?

I’ll never leave. A silent prison is still a prison.

Hop Sing had spoken of the right path, the path to find peace. “It’s not here,” he whispered aloud.

**********

Hop Sing’s smile faded as he turned from Adam and exited the room. Always his words had given the family hope, always Number One son seemed to take them to heart but now . . .  It didn’t matter that he seemed to be listening. Seemed was the word here. The look in his eyes as he’d grabbed his hand was the look of . . . finality.

No matter. Will be fine.

Hearing a noise, he looked out into the great room seeing Hoss closing Ben’s door, standing silently before it.

“He wake?” Hop Sing called, scurrying over to the stairs making Hoss turn.

“No,” Hoss answered moving to the head of the stairs. “Fell asleep in his clothes again.” Running a hand through his thinning hair, he yawned then nodded toward Adam’s room. “He all right? Haven’t heard him tonight.”

“Not there. In my room.”

“Your room?”

“He not all right. He lost, Mister Hoss. He very lost.”

“We cain’t give up, Hop Sing, not again. We’ll bring him home. We’ll bring him home.”

***********

THURSDAY – PRESENT DAY

The cloud cover kept the beginnings of the rising sun from shining out across the land, trapping it in shadows and fog as a lone rider stood silently amongst the trees, knowing his current course of action was the right one.

Leaving the house had been easy. What hadn’t been easy was the time he’d wasted standing at the sideboard fretting over his gun. Yes, he was determined to end it all; yes, he was doing this for his family before Kane killed them; and no, he didn’t know if he had the guts to carry it out. Why just days before this very thought had crossed his mind but he’d pushed it aside, not wanting to put his family through the grief of finding his cold dead body somewhere. But now, now he had reason to complete this task – he was a danger to them and he couldn’t allow that.

Junebug stomped the ground and snorted. She’d been easy enough to catch – two lumps of sugar and a rub under the neck and she’d followed him out of the corral. He hadn’t thought to close the gate.

What he had thought of was how Hoss wouldn’t be able to track her like he could Sport, and as if recognizing his master’s thoughts, a loud neigh had erupted from the barn making his smile soon change to a frown. At least Sport would live a good life, for he supposed his father would turn him out to pasture where he could have his way with the fillies until he couldn’t walk. It would be too painful for Ben seeing Sport standing there day after day waiting for a son who wasn’t coming home. Junebug snorted again.

“I hear you,” Adam said rubbing her neck, truly amazed he’d managed to stay on her back at all as they stole out of the yard in the middle of the night. Pulling his yellow coat closer against the early morning dampness that encircled him, he forced himself to sit straighter, pushing aside his weariness in favor of completing what he’d begun. And as difficult as this task was he knew it was the only way he was going to make things right, the only way he could save them.

This’ll soon be over.

Urging Junebug out of the trees toward his destination, he eased her up the slight incline of the daisy covered hill hoping this was the place he might find some of that peace Hop Sing had spoken of, some understanding from the woman who’d helped bring him out of his shell before she died. He’d often regretted that he hadn’t given her much of a chance when she first arrived – time wasted as he’d told his father much later – and tried to make up for during her last years. Her death forced him back inside himself, something he also regretted. Maybe she could offer some insight before the end came.

Easing his leg over Junebug’s back, the ground rushed up to greet him as knees buckled and dizziness dropped on him, arms wrapped tightly about his stomach as it rebelled. This wouldn’t do and he tried to keep what little he’d eaten just hours before where it was, but his system wouldn’t have it and up it came leaving him weaker than before to fall over in a breathless heap, Junebug nuzzling his face.

“I’m fine,” he said finally catching his breath and pushing himself up on wobbly arms to look at who he came to see – Marie Cartwright. 

“Rather plain,” entered Kane’s voice from behind prompting Adam to immediately lower his eyes, the sound of scrunching grass filling him as booted feet passed. “Seems like old Cartwright would’ve sprung for something fancier.” 

Adam shook his head. 

Not real!

“This is the only mama you boys can see and she’s left out here on this lonely hill, so far from the house. Seems like she’d be closer.” 

Adam suddenly seethed inside. “Leave . . . her . . . alone,” came his strained voice. 

“You are mixed up, boy,” Kane said watching as Adam breathed heavily. “She’s dead and gone. This is just a slab of granite, soon to cover the heads of your brothers and father.”

“Shut up!”

“You brought me here, Cartwright. You brought me with you,” he replied moving around the gravestone to kneel in front of him. “These words are coming from you not me. I’m a ghost, a memory, a stray thought in a crazy mind, a mind that can be controlled now that you’ve given up.”

“I haven’t . . . given up.”