Warning: T rating applies. This chap contains some explicit scenes of physical violence and abuse.

Chapter 9

Ben came downstairs. He had just put Little Joe, who had fallen asleep in the blue chair, to bed. He had left the door to his son's room open, which was closest to the stairs. Adam was coming out of the kitchen with a cup of hot coffee and joined his father, a towel draped around his shoulders, his hair still slightly wet from the mad dash back into the house after it had started to rain heavily. Hoss had opted to stay out in the barn for a while, wanting to check up on the new foal and calm the mare who had become a little skittish.

Adam was glad Hoss had chosen to stay outside because he hadn't yet had a chance to discuss the events that had transpired earlier that afternoon.

"You think Colvarre intends to cause any more trouble?" Ben asked.

"I don't know. What I do know is he has a grudge ever since I fired him and I didn't like the way he was eyeing Little Joe." The thought drew a deep concern from the senior Cartwright especially after Adam told him about seeing someone lurking around the side of the house.

"Was it Colvarre?"

"I couldn't tell. It was too dark."

The idea disturbed the patriarch immensely. "I think Roy ought know about this. I want you to ride into town in the morning, Adam, fill him in. In the meantime I'll posted a few extra hands around the house as a precaution."

€#€#€#€

Upstairs Little Joe was curled warmly up in bed...

He gripped Ranger's reins and guided the horse along the path that would take them to Miss Millie's ranch. The day was clear and bright as he chatted with Adam who sat behind him. He was excited, not only about Adam giving him the reins to his prize horse, but about going fishing later. He couldn't wait to try the new pole Hoss had made for him.

Miss Millie met them in the yard when they rode in. She smiled at Little Joe and he smiled back.

The freshly baked cinnamon rolls Miss Millie offered were warm and gooey and delicious. Even Adam enjoyed them. Miss Millie packed up several for Hoss too. She then told them she was going to bake some apple pies and offered to make one up for them to take home later and have for desert that night. Adam laughed. "That is if Hoss doesn't eat it all first while we're fishing!" He turned to Joe, ruffling his curls. "Be good, Little Buddy, and help out Miss Millie like a big boy. I'll be back for you after lunch."

"Okay, Adam. But first I'm gonna dig up some worms while you're gone. A whole bunch!"

"You do that, sport!" Adam smiled.

Miss Millie gave him a small tin bucket and for the next hour he happily collected his worms. He giggled and laughed as they squirmed in his dirty hands as he dug them out of the ground. Miss Millie wrinkled her face a bit when he proudly showed her his collection, but smiled nevertheless at his enthusiasm. He then helped gather the eggs and milk the cow. While she carried the eggs in, he insisted on carrying the pail of milk, wanting to be a big boy like both his brothers.

As they walked across the yard back to the house though, he slipped in a patch of mud. His feet went out from under him and he landed on his backside, the pail of milk spilling all over his clothes. Miss Millie came to his aid, but by the time she helped him up, he was caked in mud and uncomfortably wet. She brought him around to the back porch and stripped him out of his wet clothes, tossing them into the washtub next to the back door, before bringing him inside. In the bedroom she dug out an old shirt that belonged to her father, she told him, offering it to him, telling him she'd rinse his wet ones out and hang them up, assuring him they would be dry before Adam came back to pick him up.

The shirt was too big and he was trying to button it up when he thought he heard shouting. He opened the bedroom door to ask Miss Millie if he could at least have his boots back when the back door burst open and a stranger entered, pushing Miss Millie roughly inside.

"Let me go! You're hurting me!"

"What's the matter, Millie? You don't seem to happy to see me."

"Please. Just leave me alone. I-I don't want any trouble."

"Little too late for that, honey." The man pulled her close. She struggled and he twisted her arm behind her back. "You shouldn't have run away."

"Let me go!" She tried to fight him, but he just laughed at her struggles. Then the man said things Little Joe didn't understand, and used words, terrible words, his Pa surely would have given him, Hoss or even Adam a big tanning if any of them had ever spoken them aloud.

Then the stranger's eyes turned all funny and he tried to kiss her. Miss Millie fought against him. "Stop! Leave me alone! Get away from me!" She struggled and her voice rose in panic. The man grabbed her by the hair and yanked her head back, suddenly becoming enraged. He grabbed at her clothes and her blouse rippped at the sleeve.

Little Joe reacted by instinct, his six-year-old mind intent only on defending Miss Millie and stopping the mean man from hurting her. Sneaking out of the bedroom, he grabbed the poker iron next to the fireplace and swung it hard, striking the man in the back of the calf.

He let out a howl and loosened his grip. Miss Millie raked her nails down the side of his neck and wrenched free of his hold. The man hollered again and staggered back, gripping the side of his neck near his collarbone. It was then he noticed Little Joe standing in the room.

Little Joe swung the poker iron again, but he wasn't quick enough. The man grabbed his wrist, squeezing it hard, practically crushing it before yanking the poker from his grasp. He screamed aloud in pain. He tried to kick him with his bare feet, but they were ineffective and only made the man angrier.

Swinging his hand wide, the intruder struck him full force across his face, knocking him clear across the room and into the legs of a wooden chair. He lay stunned, the wind knocked from him, unable to move, or even cry out.

"Little Joe!" He heard Miss Millie scream. He saw her reaching out for him but the man grabbed her again and punched her in the jaw. She fell to the floor, her nose and mouth bleeding.

The man snatched him up off the floor by the back of the oversized shirt. He fought with all his might and when that didn't work he twisted around sank his teeth into the man's hand. The man yelped and dropped him. Momentarily free, he tried to flee, but was grabbed by the roots of his hair and yanked back, and then shaken like a rag doll, making his head snap.

"Why you little bastard! I'll show you!" Before he could react, pain exploded in his stomach as the man drove his fist into the tender, unprotected flesh. Little Joe doubled over and was immediately sick, throwing up all over the man's boots. He couldn't catch his breath and his head spun dizzily.

"My God! Stop!" Miss Millie screched. "He's just a little boy! You're going to kill him!"

"Shut up!"

He was pulled to his knees and held by the front on the shirt again. Terrified and in pain, he whimpered, feebly clutching the man's wrist as he was shaken again.

Somewhere in the dark tunnel of pain, he was vaguely aware of Miss Millie staggering to her feet and picking up a knife off the kitchen counter. But the man saw her coming and dropped him. The blade knicked his forearm as he deflected the blow.

He grabbed her and twisted the knife out of her hand. Miss Millie fought him. Then her eyes suddenly widened in shock and she took a step back and a moment later fell to the floor a few feet from where Little Joe was huddled and sobbing.

The man staggered backwards as if in a daze, the bloody knife dropping out of his hand and clattering to the floor.

Little Joe stared wide-eyed at Miss Millie. Blood was quickly staining the front of her dress and seeping onto to floor. His eyes became fixed on Miss Millie's face. Her eyes remained open, staring at him in shock. Then he heard a terrible gurgling sound as she gasped for breath. Frothy, red liquid oozed out of her mouth as she reached out to him. He backed away in shock, tears steaming down his face.

Blood...there was so much blood, covering her face, spreading over her chest and pooling on the floor while all the while her eyes continued to stare at him frightened, pleading and in pain before suddenly they dimmed and froze into glassy stillness.

He gripped his injured arm, breath coming in hysterical pants. His mind, numb in fear, barely registered the presence of another bursting into the room until a shocked voice exclaimed. "My God! What have you done?"

There was movement and arguing. "Shut up! You really think she was going to keep her mouth shut now that she saw us?"

Little Joe's tore his gaze from Miss Millie's and he saw the man intensely staring at him. He cowered back up against one of the kitchen chairs. There was more arguing, as the other man seemed to notice him for the first time. He said something, but Joe didn't hear, his wide eyes tunnel focused on the killer now moving towards him. He skirted further back, underneath the table, protectively cradling his injured wrist to his chest, crying out. "Papa! Adam!"

The man grabbed one of the wooden kitchen chairs and threw it aside.

"What are you doing?" The other demanded.

"The kid! He saw everything!" The killer reached for him, but Joe managed to evade his grasp, whimpering as the movement jarred his swelling wrist and the many bruises over his body.

"You can't. He's just a child!" The second man tried to stop the first and was roughly pushed aside and fell backwards over a piece of furniture.

"Come here! Come here, you brat!" The man bellowed and lunged at him again. He kicked out with his bare feet as hard as he could and scooted further backward. He heard a grunt as his heel connected with flesh, then cried out as he felt a strong hand clamp down around his bare ankle. He was being dragged out from under the table. Terrified, Little Joe clung to a chair leg, still kicking furiously with his other foot all the while calling out to his papa, to Adam.

There was more struggling as the other man regained his footing tried to stop him but was knock the off balance. But the movement was enough for Little Joe to break free from the tight hold and scoot out from underneath the table. He crawled behind an end table as the two men scuffled, before the shorter man was knocked down again.

In a rage, the killer lifted the entire kitchen table up, flipping it over onto its side. The chairs soon followed with a loud crashimg sound, one shattering a lamp sitting on a side table just above Little Joe's head. Glass rained down on top of him and part of the chair caught Little Joe in the back as if bounced off the wall.

The man then picked up the bloody knife from the floor and started to plow through the mess in his direction when a sudden noise caught his attention. He spun around and saw the back door swung wide open, the door knob knocking against the wall. He turned and quickly headed outside.

Shards of glass cut into Little Joe's knees and his right palm as he tried to crawl out from beneath the broken chair, his left wrist curled uselessly up agaisnt his middle. He cried out when a hand suddenly clamped down over his mouth and he was hauled bodily up and pressed against a firm back. Terrified tears streamed from his eyes as he futiley struggled against the man holding him tight and carrying him back into the kitchen.

From somewhere a loud clap of thunder shook the house and his senses suddenly became tunneled, totally focused in on his fear. A strong hand pressed firmly over his mouth while an arm held him tightly against the man's chest. He could smell the heavy pungeance of musky cologne mixed with sweat but it was what Little Joe saw through the kitchen window that sent terror down his young body. Miss Millie's killer was striding back across the yard, towards the house, the knife welded ominously in his hand.

He whimpered in abject terror against fingers still pressed tightly over his mouth,

Then before he knew what was happening, he was being shoved into a cabinet, held in place by a forcefully hand pressed against his chest. A face appeared inches from his own, distorted and flushed. "Not a word, boy, not a sound! Not to anyone, you hear, or you'll end up dead just like her."

The cabinet door was slammed shut, throwing him into darkness.

Footsteps pounded back inside, loud and thunderous. From inside his hiding place, Little Joe sat, his knees drawn up against his chest, eyes dilated as he heard the angry voice boom. "The brat's got to be here somewhere!"

"Forget about the boy! We need to get out of here!"

"Not until I find him!" Through a thin slat in the cabinet Little Joe saw the movement of legs, heard more scuffling."Don't just stand there, you snivelling weasel! Help me search, or so help me god I'll kill you too!"

"I tell you he's not here. I've already checked. H-He must have run out back, down the gully maybe."

More crashing and cursing could be heard...so loud it echoed in the confines of the small space he hide in. It sounded like the man was tearing the place apart. Little Joe shrank further back trying not to make a sound despite his fear and the pain both in his wrist and from the bruises over his body. The man's voiced boomed again, cursing and spewing forth all kinds of horrible, vile, monterous things he was going to do to him when he found him.

Something smashed loudly up against his hiding place, making him jump. His terror intensified even more when a dark pair of long legs suddenly appeared in his line of vision between the slats. His whole body shook violently as the man's face appeared next, crouching down in front of Miss Millie, the bloody knife still welded in his hand.

He wanted to call out then, shout at the top of his lungs for Papa, for Adam, for Hoss to come to help him, but his terror was too great, freezing his voice in mid cry. Through the slat, Miss Millie's bloody and beaten face stared sightlessly back as if imploring him to keep silent. "Not a word, not a sound," the voice echoed in his head. "Or you'll end up dead just like her!"

Outside another clap of thunder shook the entire house. Little Joe tossed in bed, his eyes beneath the closed lids moving erratically as his nightmare became more distorted and escalated to what he feared the most...

From his hiding place, through the slat, he saw the killer's head turn slowly and looked straight at him. His eyes were piercing and cold. Little Joe shivered and pressed his back further into the tiny corner, his entire body quacking, and his face drained completely of color. His eyes dilated in abject terror as the man's mouth twisted into a sadisistic smile.

A loud clap of thunder exploded just as a hand reached out...

Little Joe bolted up with a scream as the entire house shook. He screamed and screamed and kept on screaming. But downstairs nobody heard him because his screams were all in his head, locked in by his fear, his terror and the dead eyes of Miss Millie staring back.

Still caught up in the threos his nightmare, the six year scrambled and clawed away from his would be attacker, his arms flailing about in a sheer panic. Inadvertently his arm strike the oil lamp sitting on the nightstand next to the bed. It had been turned down low, just enough, to allow a small flame to light the room. The lamp tipped over and crashed to the floor, shattering. Lamp oil spread quickly across the braided rug and lit by the low flame, it spurred to life.

...

Downstairs Hop Sing had just come in with a tray of coffee and some cookies. The clap of thunder shook the whole house and the Chinese man muttered under his breath. He poured a cup of coffee for the senior Cartwright and was just handing Ben the cup when they heard the sound of shattering glass. The next instant all three smelled smoke.

Adam, who was closest to the stairs, bounded up them two at a time. By the time he reached Little Joe's room, the flames had already spread across the oil soaked rug and started to catch the comforter on fire. Through the smoke he could just make out his little brother cowering in the bed, his hand over his head. "Joe!" Without thought for his own safety, Adam dove into the room. Through the fanning flames, he snatched the distraught child from the bed just as the fire licked up, catching his forearm.

Ben had followed him into the room and immediately grabbed the quilt off the bed and threw it over the flames, shouting for Hop Sing, as he tried stamp the fire out with his foot.

Adam quickly removed Little Joe from the room and brought him downstairs. Hop Sing appeared a second later with a bucket of soapy water from the kitchen and doused the flames that started to lick up the wall. Between the two of them, in a matter of minutes, they had the fire out.

Downstairs, still caught up in the terror of his nightmare, Little Joe struggled and fought against Adam, coughing and crying at the same time. In his young mind he only saw the killer trying to grab him. "Little Joe! Little Joe! It's okay, buddy. You're okay." The deep soothing sound of his brother's voice finally snapped Joe out of his terror. He took one look at Adam and promptly collapsed into his embrace, sobbing and desperately clinging to his neck. Adam just held him.

As soon as the fire was smothered out, Ben hurried back downstairs and found Little Joe on Adam's lap. Anxiously he reached out and touched Joe's hair, his face. "Little Joe? Little Joe? Are you hurt son? Tell Papa. Tell Papa." But Little Joe couldn't tell him through his sobs.

Adam rubbed his brother's back. "I think he's okay, Pa," he said. "Just scared mostly."

"Thank God!" Relieved, Ben gripped his older son by the back of the neck, squeezing tightly. "Thank you, Adam. Thank you!" Adam cleared his throat and coughed several times, prompting Ben's concern for his eldest. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Pa. Just caught a little of the smoke."

Ben then looked down at Adam's forearm. "You're hurt!"

"It nothing, just a little cinge."

Hoss then burst into the room. "Pa!" He instantly saw his family huddled together. He raced over to them, having just dashed from the barn when he had smelled smoke and then saw flames coming from the upstairs window of Joe's room. He was out of breath with a half spilled bucket of water gripped tightly in his hand.

"We're oaky." Ben reassured his middle son. "The fire's out."

"What happened?"

"I'm not sure, but I think the storm scared your little brother and he must have accidentally knocked over the lamp I had left lit near the bed. Your brother's quick action saved Joe."

Little Joe was still coughing. Ben offered him some water. "Here, son. Try to drink a little for Papa."

Hop Sing came downstairs carrying the sodden, charred quilt. "Wittle Joe, okay?"

"I think so, Hop Sing. He just inhaled some smoke, but Adam has a burn on his arm."

"I get sauve for Mista Adam, then clean up room. Room a mess. Wittle Joe not be able to sleep there tonight."

"That's all right. He'll sleep with me." Ben stroked Little Joe's curls, his chocolate eyes darkening in concern as he once again saw the lingering fear in the green orbs. The child reached out to his father and Ben gladly took him in his embrace. The little boy buried his head deeply in his father's chest, wrapping his thin arms about Ben's neck. "It's okay, son. Everything's okay now. Papa's here," Ben reassured the trembling child. Joe had always been frightened by large thunderstorms, but somehow, Ben intuitively knew it had been something more that had awakened the boy than just the storm.

Hoss handed his father a small quilt and Ben wrapped it around Little Joe while Hop Sing returned with a basin of water, sauve and some bandage strips for Adam's burn. "Not too bad, Mista Adam. Skin vely red but no blistar." The burn was cleaned and dressed. Adam thanked the little oriental man, then he and Hoss went upstairs to help clean up the mess in Joe's room, sensing Little Joe's need to be with their father.

Ben cuddled the boy, resting his chin on the top of the soft curls. For a while he just held his boy, thankful he had not been injured. Finally he asked. "Little Joe, was it the storm that frightened you...or something else?"

The child's body visibly trembled. The nightmare of the men and Miss Millie's dead eyes staring at him was still too fresh in the his young mind. He wanted to tell his papa everything, to cry out, but he couldn't, he was too afraid, too scared, remembering the man's threats. With his head still buried in his father's chest, Little Joe shook his head.

Ben embraced the child, his own heart aching with sadness as Joe's fear continued to trap him in silence.

TBC...

A/N: okay...so a little more of the plot revealed, lol. As always, reviews are appreciated. Thanks! BSG