Ben Cartwright almost wrenched the door off its hinges as he thundered into the sheriff's office, Hoss and Joe hard on his heels. Clem was standing in the entrance to the cells and barely had time to move into the main office and close the door behind him before Ben was bearing down on him.
"What's all this tomfoolery about Adam being locked up? The man you sent said Adam was in jail and that we needed to get down here, then rode off without a bye your leave."
"Ben, if you'd just—"
"You know my son, Clem. You know he's no lawbreaker. I want to see him."
Ben took two paces towards the cells but Clem side-stepped to block his path, his hands raised to stop him.
"Ben, there are things you need to know before I let you go in there."
Ben visibly swelled, growing taller as his temper threatened to get the better of him. He took another step but a hand on his arm stayed him. Angling his head, he recognised Hoss's large fingers resting gently on his sleeve. He took a deep breath.
"Well? What are these…things…I need to know?"
"I think you should sit down."
"I don't want to sit down, I want to see Adam."
"Pa." It was Joe's soft tones. "I think we should listen to what Clem has to say."
Ben shot a sharp look at Joe, but seeing the worry on his youngest boy's face, he sighed and took the offered seat.
Clem perched on his desk. "I've been in court all week for the Theodore Barley murder case."
"What's that got to do with Adam being locked up?"
"Pa."
Ben heard the admonition in Hoss's voice and, after a pause, looked back at Clem.
"Go on."
"I heard what Adam said about seeing Doc Martin for headaches and not sleeping. Has he been…" Clem threw a glance at the three men and pursed his lips. "Has Adam been acting himself lately?"
"What do you mean acting himself? Of course he's been acting himself. He's Adam. What are you talking about?"
"Has he been complaining of…seeing things, or maybe acting a bit more…confrontational?"
Ben rose sharply from his seat.
"What are you talking about, Clem? Adam's been fine, a little tired perhaps, but..." The guilt which had been gnawing at Ben's soul since Adam's admission in the courtroom, flared into denial. They had all been working so hard these last few weeks, some days they hardly exchanged two words over the dinner table. And now Clem was daring to suggest there was something amiss with Adam, something he not seen with his own eyes. Ben's guilt made him truculent. He started to move towards the cells. "I want to see my son."
Clem shifted off the desk.
"Adam went crazy in the street this afternoon, Ben. He shot Bill Hardy."
Ben froze, and turned to meet Clem's steady gaze.
"He did what?" Ben's eyes sought out those of Hoss and Joe. He saw reflected there the thoughts going through his own mind. It could not be true, there had to be some mistake. Not Adam. Not stoic, sensible Adam.
"Just as I said." Clem moved to stand in front of Ben. "There didn't seem any reason for it. 'Ceptin' he was seein' things that weren't there. He pulled his gun, fired off a shot and hit Bill."
Ben's eyes flickered from side to side, unable to focus, unable to think. He opened his mouth to speak but no words would form. And the same refrain repeated over and over. It can't be true, it can't be true, there had to be some mistake.
Hoss's voice sounded loud in the office.
"Is Bill…?"
"Ah, he's fine, Hoss, it was just a flesh wound in the arm. But it was then that Cletus from the Assay Office took his chance and whacked Adam on the head with his Remington. Knocked him out cold."
Ben roused from his stupor. "Are you telling me my son is injured?"
"Doc's been in, but…" Clem paused.
"But what? What aren't you telling me?"
Clem sighed. "I think it'll be easier to show you."
He led Ben to the cells, opening the door cautiously. Joe and Hoss exchanged a look and followed.
What greeted Ben was a vision of such unexpected disorder that he was brought to a halt in the doorway and had to rest a hand on the jamb for support. Facing him was a locked cell with a cot tipped over on its side and the remains of a wooden stool scattered in pieces across the floor. In the corner, sitting on the floor against the wall, squeezing his knees into his chest was Adam. His head was lowered, his face hidden from view, but there was no escaping the rivulet of blood that had trickled down his neck, or the flush on his skin. One white-knuckled hand clasped a piece of wood.
Hoss and Joe moved to either side of Ben, their gazes fixed on their brother, and Ben saw the shock he felt mirrored in their faces.
"What happened here?"
"He wasn't out long, Ben, just long enough for us to fetch him in here. He was calm at first, just lay there holding the back of his head till Doc Martin arrived. But that's when the trouble started. Doc asked him to open his eyes and then he just…well you can see what happened. He took one look at the doc and went for him. Doc lost his footing, went down hard, Adam was on top. I had to get in quick to get him off but he started on me too. I got the bruises to prove it. It took both of us to get him onto his stomach and when he seemed to have calmed down, we got out as quick as we could."
"And the cot?"
"As soon as I pulled the door too, Adam jumped up and tried to get out. I swear, Ben, I don't know where he got the strength from. It took everything I had to hold the door shut and lock it at the same time." Clem sighed. "He was begging me to open the door but I just couldn't risk it." Clem's voice grew quiet. "I never thought I'd see Adam beg for anything. He then took himself into that corner, upturned the cot and broke up the stool. You can see he's holding one of the stool legs in his hand. He's not moved from there since."
Ben had not taken his eyes from Adam during Clem's account, and edged slowly towards the bars.
"What's happened to him? He was okay this morning. Yes, he was tired, but this…" Ben turned suddenly to Clem. "Where's Paul Martin? He should be here."
"The doc left just before you arrived. He said he wanted to consult his medical books."
Ben looked back to Adam who had not moved from his spot in the corner. He had not acknowledged the arrival of his father or brothers. Was he even aware they were there? Ben's fingers curled around the bars and gripped them tightly.
"Adam? Adam, son?"
Adam wrapped his arms over his head, burying his head deeper into his knees.
"Adam, please look at me."
There was no response.
"Adam!" Ben's tone grew sharp. If gentle words would not generate a response then the voice his boys all knew so well may work. It was the voice they had known since boyhood. The voice they tried to avoid. The voice that signified displeasure, disapproval, disappointment.
It only served to make Adam curl further into a ball. Ben released his grip from the cell bars.
"Open the door, Clem."
"Ben, I—"
"Clem, until you're a father yourself, don't tell me I cannot be with my son. Now open the cell door."
xxXXxx
Pain. Tight crawling pain in his scalp. He probed, the tips of his fingers were wet. Blood. Don't move. To move caused more pain to lance, his brain to press harder against his skull. How long had he been unconscious? He remembered the street, grit on his lips as he fell, faces staring as the blackness swallowed him. There was sand glued to his cheek. And something else, another sensation against his skin. His fingers reached out. A blanket. Rough. Where was he?
He called to mind something else. Something he did not want to remember. A figure. A man. Toying with him. Plaguing him. Was he real? He had thought so, until... The thing had jumped. No man moved that way. It had skipped to within inches from his face in the time it took to blink. But worse than that. He had seen its face, and, oh, the fear! He had not been that scared since he was a small boy.
Now his eyes were closed, his hand hugging the back of his head, and it was silent. No voices.
Someone touched his hand, moving it away from the wound on his scalp. They were speaking to him. Doc's voice. Then others. The room was filling with voices, and they wouldn't stop asking, pleading, begging, shouting, whispering for him to open his eyes. He didn't want to. But they were so loud. They wouldn't stop. He tried to block them out; he thrust his hands over his ears. But the voices were echoing in his head and the only way to make them stop…
He opened his eyes.
And looked into the face of the devil.
Fear crawled up his spine and bound itself around his senses. A cry crawled its way up from his gut, and he launched himself at the face staring back at him. He punched and clawed at the figure. It was real, so real. Fists connecting with solid flesh. Fingers groping for the throat. And then he was being forced back, away from his tormentor. He had had him. The figure was getting away. He turned on the one who held him but this one was stronger and he was soon overpowered. The voices returned. Saying his name over and over. And he was powerless against them.
He was free. He could move his arms again. And when he looked up, his mind cleared and he saw where he was. In a cell. Clem was there. Clem, his friend. Adam scrambled to his feet and grabbed at the cell door. But Clem was pulling it shut and locking it.
Locking Adam in.
Then the voice spoke.
He snapped his head to one side. In the corner of his eye the shadowy figure flickered. A dark shade in the dim cell. A jagged-edged blur hovering like a wraith. He turned to the door. Fingers clutched metal bars and there were shadows on the other side. And for the first time in his life, he begged. He pleaded with the shadows. Let him out. He didn't belong here. Please let him out. The figure jumped forward and he saw its face. All he could do was slide to his knees and grip the bars with all his strength. Tears began to seep from his eyes and he lost the ability to speak.
The thing jumped to his side. Cold fear sucked the air from his lungs and he threw himself as far away as he could go. The corner. The cot became a barricade. The blur drew near again. He needed a weapon. The stool. He smashed it against the wall. It wasn't much, but enough.
Closing his eyes, he could pretend the devil wasn't in the cell with him.
If only he could shut out the voices.