"There ain't gonna be no trial," Coffee said dismissively.

Sitting behind his desk, he leaned over, opening a drawer to procure a half-full bottle of whiskey. Pulling the cork, he abandoned it on the desktop, tipping the neck of the bottle over the lip of his coffee cup as he poured a generous amount into his stale morning coffee.

"What does that mean?" Ben asked. Coffee raised the bottle in offering and he waived it away; an obvious motion of decline that was ignored by the sheriff as he grabbed an empty coffee mug and competed another generous pour. Sliding the mug across the desk, Coffee picked up his own and leaned back in his seat, sipping the liquid thoughtfully.

"I suggest you drink that," Doctor Martin said. Sitting on the opposite side of the desk as Coffee, he looked between Ben and the mug. "You're going to need it."

"Meaning what?" Ben snapped.

"Meaning our impending conversation is not an easy one," Martin said seriously.

Ben stared warily at the mug, his stomach turning. He looked at the sheriff, then at the doctor, wondering if there was anything that would calm the pain he felt. "What's going to happen now?" he quietly asked. "Adam killed Frank Mitchel; he admitted it you and he admitted it to me."

Averting his gaze, Sheriff Coffee finished the contents of his mug, then refilled it. He took a series of small sips before placing the mug on the desk, smoothing the tip of his index finger up and down the chipped handle. "Like I said," he sighed finally, "there ain't going to be no trial. That story Adam told about Frank Mitchel doing what he did to Delphine Marquette, that ain't the first time I've heard that sort of tale with regards to Mitchel. It's the first time I heard anything about him and Del, but I don't doubt it. He had a violent way with women, or so I've heard."

"You heard about Mitchel's actions?" Ben asked. "And you didn't do anything about it?"

"I never heard nothin' directly," Coffee corrected. "It ain't like I didn't ask the questions. If'n young ladies don't want to talk then I can't make them. I can't do nothing if people don't want me to. All I had was rumor and that ain't fact."

"You knew and you did nothing."

"There wasn't nothing to do. Like I said, I never heard no guff about Frank hurting Delphine. With the way Ross loved that gal, I can't say I'm surprised it was a secret he kept. She was a proud woman; Ross woulda done just about anything she asked him to."

"This isn't about Ross and Delphine Marquette."

Coffee blinked, seemingly surprised by the statement. "Ain't it?"

Taking a deep breath, Doctor Martin cleared his throat, stealing Ben's attention from the sheriff. "Ben," he said, leaning slightly forward in his chair. "I don't know the details of what Adam just told you, but he told Roy and I that he killed Frank Mitchel because Ross Marquette asked him to…"

"I know," Ben interjected.

"… yesterday," Martin finished. "Adam said Ross asked him to kill Frank yesterday. He said he asked him to do it the day before that one and the one before that."

"Adam said Ross's been after him for a while to do what's he done," Coffee affirmed.

"Adam has been struggling for quite some time," Martin added, casting Ben a serious look. "You and I have had lengthy conversations about his mental state, the things he is and is not capable of. Something happened to him when he went missing in the desert; it changed him."

Ben wanted to say something had happened to his son long before Adam disappeared into the desert outside of Eastgate but didn't. He was determined to remain silent on topics that could threaten Adam's future, complicating it any more than his actions already would.

"Something happened to Ross Marquette toward the end too," Coffee said. "Wife beatin', stage robbing, murdering. The boy went downright mad, doin' all sorts of stuff we never thought him capable of. Now, according to Adam, the pain of what Frank Mitchel did to his wife was what changed Ross on the inside, drivin' him insane. Adam tried to help Ross and when he couldn't help, he was the one that killed him."

"Is there a point to this conversation?" Ben asked. "You ask to speak with me privately and then two of you talk in riddles, doing everything you can not to tell me what you plan to do. Ross Marquette is dead, what is the point of speaking about his actions now? You tell me what is going to happen to my son? What is going to happen to Adam?"

Leaning back in his chair, Coffee sighed, as though he summoning the nerve to say the words which were destined to escape his mouth. "Ross and Adam were close," he said. "They shared a lot of things, Ben. People used to call them brothers, hell, people used to call them twins."

"I know all of that."

"Ross Marquette accused Adam of messing around with his wife."

"I know that too."

"Frank Mitchell accused him of the same."

Ben was dumbfounded. "What?"

"Awhile back, when Adam was going through his other bout of difficulties, drinking and womanizing—"

"Womanizing," Ben interrupted. He was well aware of the time period being referenced, Adam's disorderly behavior and disruptive habits after Delphine and Ross's deaths. He knew Adam had engaged in illicit activities, frequenting both the lower and upper levels of multiple saloons on multiple occasions, but he took offense to his son's past behavior being summarized so flippantly.

Coffee shook his head dismissively. "The ladies Adam used to keep company with don't really matter," he said. "The guff between he and Frank Marshal does. They fought often back then. Got themselves tossed in jail on more than one occasion. They did not get along; the whole town knew that then and they know it now."

"I don't care what people think they know," Ben huffed.

"You should."

"I don't."

Looking at Ben, Coffee appeared to consider how his next words would be received. "Frank and Adam didn't get along," he said. "They hated each other. Still, that ain't what Adam said motivated him to kill Frank. He said he killed him because Ross Marquette told him to."

"You already said that."

"Yeah," Coffee said. "I know, but I'm not sure you really heard me. Ross has been dead for nearly two years, Ben; he ain't telling nobody to do anything. Adam said Ross talks to him. He said Ross wanted revenge for what had happened to Delphine and that's why he had to kill Frank."

"Did Adam tell you Del was with Frank's child?" Ben asked.

"He did." Coffee nodded. "He said knowledge of that was what drove Ross mad."

"And?"

"And, given Frank's history, think I believe him. Looking back now, it makes sense. Mitchel attacked Delphine and Ross was forced to ignore how he failed his wife. And when he found out there was going to be child involved, it drove him crazy; changed him a little at a time, pushed him closer and closer to the edge before he finally ended up jumping, or being pushed, I suppose. After all, Adam was the one who ended up killin' him."

"That was self-defense."

Brows furrowing, Coffee frowned, his face etched with disappointment. "Ain't nobody questioning what happened between Ross and Adam back then. In fact, I ain't questioning what happened between Frank and Adam this morning. For what it's worth, I do believe Mitchel attacked Delphine. I know Mitchel was a difficult man, prone to drinking too much and violence. He took what he thought was owed to him with no regard of the cost to others. He was a wanderer; he went wherever, whenever he took a mind to. I'm sure he done a lot of bad things; and I am sure what was done to him was a long time coming. No, sir." Tilting his head thoughtfully, he sighed. "I didn't much care for that man. Of course, that doesn't justify what Adam did, and don't change why he did it. Adam said a dead man asked him to kill somebody. That ain't normal. In fact, that's damn near the most terrifying motive for murder I've ever heard in my life."

"Dead men don't speak," Ben whispered, uttering the haunting words before he realized they had entered his mind. "At least not in normal ways."

The oddness of the statement went unnoticed by the men in front of him.

"Hallucinations aren't real," Martin said. "The fact that Adam not only sees but listens to and follows the direction of a figment of his mind is disturbing to say the very least."

"Disturbing," Ben repeated flatly. It wasn't the word he would have chosen. Horrendous, excruciating, insufferable. Not disturbing; there were so many other more poignant words to use than that.

True was the first word that refused to dismissed. Terrifying was another. He believed Adam wholeheartedly now; he knew without question that what his son had told him was truth. He was being frequented by ghosts, his behavior impacted—influenced—by their wishes and demands. He knew this was true, just as he knew the men sitting before him never would. It was ludicrous to expect them to. Preposterous to think, even for a moment, the motive for Adam's actions would ever be believed.

"My son," Ben said, his voice low and serious. How could he possibly say the truth in a way which would be believed? He looked at the mug in front of him, wanting so badly to drink it now, swallowing its contents in an effort to soothe his nerves. "He has been… impaired as of late."

"We are all well aware of that," Martin said. "Do you realize this is the first time he's been to town for…" he paused, his face contorting sadly. "Well, for a long time. The last time you and I spoke you told me you believed he was seeing things. You asked me if you should believe in the things he sees and I told you no. I'm sorry, Ben; I should have listened to you better, and I should have made you listen to me."

Ben refused to acknowledge the apology, to allow himself to consider how things could—should—have been different than they were. If Martin would have supported Ben in his belief would that have changed anything? If Ben would have followed Martin's advice and not told Adam he believed him would he be sitting in a jailcell now?

"What is going to happen to my son?" Ben asked.

"He's not gonna like it," Coffee said. "Matter-of-fact, neither are you. Recent events aside, I would like to think I know Adam pretty well. I'd like to think I know you pretty good too. I know what kind of men you both are. I know that if'n he wasn't having difficulties of the mind, then Adam never would have done what he did. I know that knowin' what your son did has got to be killing you, and God help me but I don't it's got to kill him too."

"What Roy is saying..." Martin interjected.

"There ain't going to be no trial," Coffee said, holding his hand in front of his chest. "Ross and Del and Frank…" Hand clenched into a tight fist, he lifted a single finger as he said each respective name, keeping tally of the deceased. "I think there's been enough suffering, enough pain and tragedy and death surrounding this situation. I ain't adding to it. I ain't charging Adam with anything. Like I said, I heard things about Frank; Adam's claims don't exactly surprise me. His actions do, but a jury and a noose ain't going to do nothin' to ease that shock. Adam is a good boy; we all know that. He's just… well…he's confused; a mite impaired like you said."

It was somehow the most consolatory and dismaying thing Ben had ever heard; he was certain Adam's reaction, his emotions regarding such a decision would be more align with the latter. He had killed a man and then admitted to his crime knowing what the punishment would be. He didn't anticipate not being held responsible for his actions; he hadn't planned on being allowed to walk free. Adam was such a moral man. Ethical and virtuous. There was no gray area when it came to behavior; actions were right or they were wrong. Men were always required to pay for their sins.

"I can take him home?" Ben asked, feeling oddly nervous over the prospect. Adam had gone weeks—months—without talking, sleeping, or eating; he had done everything he could to keep his family at a distance and that was when he was struggling with crippling anxiety and fear. What was he going to be capable of now that actually had a tangible reason to suffer? To be held responsible for the wrong he had done?

"No," Coffee said. "You can't."

For one shameful moment, Ben felt a rush of relief, then it was quickly overtaken by protective rage. "Why not?" he demanded. "If you aren't going to charge him with anything, then this has become a private family matter."

Sheriff Coffee and Doctor Martin exchanged a sad look.

"It was," Martin said.

"It ain't anymore," Coffee finished softly. "Adam committed a crime. He killed man in cold blood; I can't just let him go."

"You just said—"

"I just said I ain't involvin' no circuit judge or jury," Coffee said, "that don't mean Adam isn't gonna be held responsible for his actions.

"Ben," Martin implored. "Adam's mind hasn't been right for a while. His behavior has been irrational, erratic. You and I have shared many conversations about him. You were worried before and I know you're worried now. He has become a danger to both others and himself—"

"He is not a danger to anyone," Ben said firmly. It was such an irrational statement at this point. Ludicrous and blatantly false, he wondered why he had said it.

"He killed a man because a figment if his imagination told him to," Martin said. "He did that today. What is he going to do tomorrow?"

"He doesn't see Ross anymore," Ben said. Though he couldn't possibly admit to agreeing with the doctor's apprehension, he was worried too. Yesterday he couldn't have imagined Adam was capable of leaving the house alone. What would he do tomorrow? "He told me he doesn't."

"He doesn't see him right now," Martin said gently. "There's no way of predicting if that will remain true."

"I can protect him. I can keep his behavior contained."

"You can't," Martin said.

"You didn't," Coffee added softly.

"Then what are you suggesting?" Ben pressed. "If there isn't going to be a trial, if Adam isn't being charged and I can't take him home, then what option does that leave? Prison?"

Neither Coffee nor Martin were eager to reply. Coffee looked at Martin whose gaze did not waver from Ben's as he finally began to softly speak. "Of course not. Adam's violent behavior notwithstanding, I do not believe he would do well in prison. His mental state is too delicate to be agreeable to such a thing."

"He killed a man this morning," Ben said absently, the statement seeming so wrong and irrefutable at the same time.

"He did," Martin agreed. "And that's why he needs you to understand what needs to happen now. You and I spoke not so long ago about options, the places Adam could go that could help him better than you have been able to."

Closing his eyes, Ben had a nightmarish vision of the place being alluded to. A lugubrious institution meant to contain people rather than help them, hiding them away from society's view. Opening his eyes, he looked between Coffee and Martin, his lips frowning a disapproving frown. "You're asking me to send my son away."

Martin shook his head sadly. "No," he said.

"We ain't asking anything, Ben," Coffee said. "Like I said before, it ain't up to you no more. Your son committed a crime. I can't just let him go. Of course, I can't let him stick around either."

"He is a danger to himself," Martin said. "And others. This is for the best. It really is."

"I may not have cared much for Frank Marshal," Coffee said. "I may believe he finally got what was coming to him but that don't change what Adam done. It don't mean I can ignore what else he might be capable of. I'm sorry. I am. I have a responsibility to the people of this town, your son included. I need to do right by all of them. I need to keep them safe."

Though Coffee and Martin continued their conversation, Ben didn't hear another word they said. He was too preoccupied dreading the future to pay the present further mind. For him, the passing of time seemed to quicken and slow.

Arrangements for Adam were made swiftly—much quicker than Ben could have imagined such things could be planned. Martin sent word to a colleague back East, tickets for the early afternoon stage were purchased, and Ben sent Joe and Hoss to procure Adam new clothes.

In their absence, Ben helped Adam remove his bloodstained shirt and pants, stripping him down to his long-johns, cleaning his hair and exposed skin with soap and water, carefully erasing any hint of Frank Mitchel's blood. Adam accepted the help without comment or question; he gave no indication if he was pleased or disappointed by his father's administrations. Though he remained quiet, pliable and tolerant beneath Ben's careful motions, Adam's calm demeanor endured. He neither seemed upset nor afraid of what the afternoon would bring.

Sitting on the edge of the cot, holding his back erect, each bone of his spine seemed to painfully protrude, silently declaring his variable health. Adam had spoken, sounding so certain and familiar as he told his father the truth, but both his body and mind were still in the need of mending. He needed to eat better, gain weight and rebuild muscle; he needed his fear and anxiety to remain calm; he needed to rest and sleep. He needed to improve and maintain his progress, so that someday he could be allowed to come home.

"I want you to eat well," Ben instructed softly. "You clean each and every plate you're given, do you understand me?"

Adam didn't reply.

"I want you to follow orders," Ben continued. "You do whatever is asked of you when you are told. You listen, you rest, you get better, and... you come back to me." he hesitated, his palms gripping Adam's shoulders as he looked up at the ceiling with watery eyes. "This... what Doc Martin and Sheriff Coffee are doing for you is a gift. It is an opportunity, a second chance. Roy could have hung you for what you did, Adam, but he isn't. He could have put you on trial, put all of your confusion and mistakes on full display, but he didn't."

Adam didn't say anything; he didn't need to. Clearing his throat, Ben's eyes met those of his son and he saw everything that was being left unspoken. He saw everything Adam was thinking but wouldn't dare say. He should have been killed for he did—for what he allowed the ghost of Ross to implore him to do. He should be held responsible for his actions, not allowed to go away to an institution with the hope that one day he'd come back. Ben prayed Adam would one day come back. With the way he was looking at him, Ben wasn't sure his son would.

This wasn't what Adam had wanted—Ben had known that immediately. He had wanted to be punished—and more than that, he needed to be. Actions were right and they were wrong. Commendable or condemnable. Worthy of praise or punishment.

"Now, I know you're a man of integrity," Ben continued. "I know you're stubborn. I know that when your mind is decided it takes heaven and earth to change it. I know you don't make any serious decisions without first weighing the outcome. And I know you accept responsibility for all of your mistakes... you have to accept responsibility for your mistakes. I know you know the seriousness of what you did; you killed Frank Mitchel anticipating what the future would hold."

"I'm supposed to hang," Adam whispered, quietly admitting an opinion his father already knew he held. "I'm not supposed to live. This was supposed to be over; killing Frank was supposed to put an end to it." Leaning forward, he held head his head in shaking hands. "A man is responsible for what he does. If he's guilty then he needs to be punished. I'm guilty; I killed Frank. I told the truth about it; I admitted to my crime, so I'm supposed to held accountable. I'm supposed to be punished. That's the way the law works; it can't different for me. I shouldn't be special. I shouldn't be allowed a second chance."

Kneeling in front of his son, Ben pulled Adam's hands from his face and held them tightly in his own. "Look at me, Adam," he said.

It took a moment for Adam to comply and when he finally did Ben recognized the fear in his son's eyes as readily as he deciphered what prompted it.

"I killed him, Pa," Adam whispered, his quiet voice pained. "He's dead. He's not coming back. He did wrong too, but he doesn't get a second chance..."

"I know," Ben said, though he was no longer certain if they were talking about Ross or Frank. Maybe in some way they were talking about both of them, the pain of everything that had taken place over the past few years finally catching up.

"...Why do I get one? What is so different about me? I've done wrong. I've done terrible things. How am I supposed to live with that? How am I supposed to live with any of it? I should be punished. Not rewarded. I shouldn't be allowed to live."

"This is hardly a reward," Ben said gently.

"They're only doing this because of you, you understand that, right? If I were anyone else in the world—anyone else's son—I'd get what was coming to me. I'd be punished properly for all of my sins. I need to be punished, Pa. I need to follow through on my promises, keep my word."

"What kind of promises have you made?" Ben asked. And to whom? The answer was as immediate as the questions. Adam had gone into the desert looking for Kane; he had entered not believing he would walk out, and he had killed Frank Mitchell knowing he would hang for the crime, being allowed to live was never a part of the plan. Adam had kinship with Kane; he had promised him something in exchange for his help—or lack thereof, he thought grimly. "Well, maybe this is your punishment," he said gently. "Dying is too easy. Living with this, that's going to be the difficult part." Especially for you.

"It's all been difficult. Nothing about anything has been easy."

"I know."

"I don't want to do this."

"I know."

"I don't want to go," Adam said, his voice slightly pleading. "This wasn't supposed to happen. This was supposed to be over. I wanted it to be over. I wanted it to be done. This was supposed to be the end, but it isn't the end of anything... it.. it... it..." Adam hesitated, his attention shifting toward the opposite side of the jailcell.

Following his son's gaze, Ben couldn't see what his son was looking at, but it didn't matter; he was certain he understood his son's fear. Letting go of Adam's hands, Ben pulled him into his arms.

"How am I supposed to be better away from you?" Adam asked. "Away from all of you. How am I supposed to do this alone?"

"You're not alone. You're never alone." As soon as he said the words Ben wondered how comforting they really were. With or without his family, Adam was never really alone; he hadn't truly been alone for quite some time.

"Do you still see him?" Ben pressed. Holding Adam closer and tighter than seconds before, he wondered who was standing in the corner. Whose ghost was lurking for only Adam to see? "Did Ross return?"

Refusing to answer, Adam shook his head, his chin digging into Ben's collarbone.

"Adam, please answer me… Son—?"

"Pa."

It was Little Joe's voice which silenced Ben's probing question. It remained on the tip of his tongue where it was eventually forgotten as Hoss and Joe, Adam's new clothes in hand, joined them next to the cot and they sat speaking in hopeful, muted tones while time seemed to pass too quickly around them.

Xx

In the company of both Doctor Martin and his father, Adam's trip to the facility awaiting his arrival was completed first by stage and then by train. Due to complications of the frigid weather, it was a journey that took nearly a week. An agonizing span of time the end of which Ben both longed for and dreaded. Longed for because traveling alongside his painfully silent son in cold was a worrisome endeavor. He was consistently concerned over Adam's wellbeing, questioning whether his son was warm enough, eating enough, and as comfortable as he could be in their varying surroundings. He ensured Adam's coat remained buttoned, ceaselessly offered him a blanket, and at each meal pushed his son to eat more than he intended to. He dreaded their arrival to their final destination because he knew that once they did all of these things would no longer be in his control.

Adam spoke only when spoken directly to, answering in the fewest words possible; any bid for polite conversation from their unfamiliar traveling companions and strangers was promptly ignored. Ben, in turn, ignored Adam's blatant rudeness, dismissing any questionable expressions of those surrounding them with a polite apologetic smile. If Adam's lack of social grace wasn't indication to an outside eye of something awry then his physical proximity to his father surely was.

Despite recent events, Adam was neither comfortable nor confident amongst strangers. Though he tried hard not to think about it, Ben couldn't help wonder what kind of apprehensions and complications would arise when they finally arrived at their destination and he was forced to leave Adam's side for the foreseeable future. It something he had neither planned nor anticipated he would ever do—prior to Frank Mitchel's death of course. It was going to be a struggle for both of them; the uncertainty of the time Adam would spend away from his family and home a heart wrenching challenge the whole family would endure. Though Hoss and Little Joe would feel the sting of their distance more than Ben intended to. He had resigned himself to entrusting Adam's wellbeing to others, but he had no intention of leaving his son behind. He would remain in the same city as Adam for as long as required. He would visit him as often or as little as was allowed.

Doctor Martin warned Ben of the dangers of lingering, how his extended presence could hinder rather than help Adam's recovery, or at the very least make the transition more difficult to endure. Ben wouldn't entertain such criticisms. He had told Adam he wouldn't let go of him, and he intended to keep his promise for as long as he could.

It was Adam who had trouble letting go when the time finally came. Ben struggled too—though his own trepidation was drastically overshadowed by that of his eldest son. Standing outside of the locked gate of the steel fence surrounding the facility, Adam looked at foreboding building and then at his father with wide eyes. Ben wanted to soothe him, utter firm words of comfort and encouragement, but he couldn't seem to form any words.

Composed of gray stone, the towering building looked dark and cold, daunting from afar. It looked like something out of a nightmare; a prison one could only imagine in their most horrible of dreams. Someone was screaming, a horrendous noise which echoed up from depths of the building to escape out the bar covered windows. It was a god-awful sound born from confusion, anguish and pain. Why wasn't someone putting a stop to it? Why wasn't someone helping whoever was so obviously distressed? Wasn't that what this place was supposed to be? Somewhere people could go for help? The agonizing answer was clear as soon as the question presented itself.

This place wasn't intended to help anyone it contained.

Once swallowed inside of its belly would Adam scream like that? Would anyone around him care if he did? Who was going to rescue him from his nightmares? Waking him the way Joe once did and allowing him to seek respite in their presence the way Hoss had?

Ben felt a rush of panic.

Who was going to hold Adam if cried? Who was going to stop him from hurting himself if he tried? Who was going to understand the lure of the Kane who lurked in dreams? And who was going to believe in the ghosts he saw?

No one in that building, Ben was sure.

Can you hold on to me, Pa?

The memory of Adam's words circled his brain in a torturous echo, taunting and torturing him with an irrefutable truth. Desperately trying to hold on the Adam, he failed to maintain proper grip. He had failed to deduce and understand the reality of their fight until it was too late, and from his bewilderment came misinterpretation, the reckless belief that he, himself, could ever truly understand what was going on. He had thought Kane was the enemy; he had believed it was his hold that Adam needed to fight. He had been wrong, because Kane had been nothing more than a clever distraction. Neither man nor human, he had interjected himself to cause further chaos, taunt, trick and distract, to derive pleasure from pain, anguish, and torture. He had been an enemy, the hold of which to fight and be feared, but he wasn't the entity pulling Adam into the wrong direction, pushing him toward what he had done.

What Adam had done. Ben cringed, the thought carrying a particularly painful edge, piercing his heart like a knife. Adam had killed a man; it was his action that had brought them all here.

The ominous building, stranding tall on the other side of the fence, cast an ominous shadow upon all of them, making their surroundings seem much too cold. There was snow in the air, tiny frozen flakes which fell all around them to collect in minuscule piles on the frosty ground. The weather in this territory was supposed to be tepid, mild in comparison to the winters back home. Though it was significantly less, somehow this snowfall felt colder, more daunting than the immense heaps they were accustomed to.

"How is this better than prison?" Ben asked, casting Doctor Martin an accusing look. "How does this place help anyone?" And what is it going to do to my son? He didn't have strength or courage to voice the latter criticism aloud.

Martin ignored the accusation. "You aren't allowed inside, I'm afraid," he said.

"That's probably for the best." Standing between them, it was Adam who stated the obvious, his soft voice making him the sole focus of both their stares. "It's okay, Pa," Adam added, holding his father's pained gaze.

Ben wanted to say it wasn't okay, that neither of them could or would be as long as they stood in this place, in front of a building that meant to separate them for God only knew how long. It wasn't proper for Adam to express such condolences; it wasn't seemly for he to comforting his father while being presented with such an undetermined fate. The place Adam was headed was meant to help people, but how could it help a man whose beliefs in ghosts and demons where real rather than imagined? Not something to be corrected rather heeded and believed? It could not and it would not; Ben only hoped it would do neither harm nor good.

"Can you give us a moment," Ben asked. Eyes locked on Adam, he tilted his head at Martin, punctuating a request he would not tolerate being refused.

"Of course," Martin agreed before he stepped away.

"I want you to take direction," Ben said quietly. He repeated the tired instructions for what felt like the thousand time, praying that they would be remembered and heeded. "You do what you're told when you're told to do it, no matter what it is."

Lifting his hands, he adjusted the collar of Adam's jacket, lifting it to protect his neck from the cold. It was a pointless action; too little too late, but it gave him something to do with his hands, an excuse to hold on to his son one last time.

I don't like it.

The memory of Adam's words came rushing back, overwhelming him with an image of how they had stood in the Eastgate boarding house, Adam fussing over an unfamiliar shirt he didn't want to put on. It was a memory that was all too haunting and apt, because this—standing in front of his son, dreading to let him go—Ben didn't like either. Taking a deep breath, he gripped Adam's upper arms and held tight. He didn't want to let go; he wasn't sure he would be able to.

"Don't lose track of yourself in there," he said tightly. "Remember who are, where you come from and belong. Remember who I am, that I love and believe you, and I'm waiting out here to bring you back home."

Adam nodded. Brows knitting with anxiety, his jaw was clenched tight. At first Ben thought his son was struggling to keep his emotions in check, then he realized it was a fight Adam had already lost. Twin tears trailed down his cheeks, trickling down his freshly shaven cheeks. He hadn't wanted to shave his beard or cut his unruly hair; Ben had insisted it was done. He wanted Adam to look presentable as possible. Sane, lucid and level-headed, capable and willing to look after basic needs. He was capable of those things—Ben knew that and he wanted others to know it too.

"Don't be afraid," Ben reassured softly. It was a profound order—difficult if not completely impossible to adhere to.

"I'm not," Adam whispered. "I can't be, not anymore."

Nodding, Ben wiped at Adam's tears, drying his cheeks with his thumbs. Feeling oddly proud of the declaration, he pulled his son into an embrace. It was a hug that was fiercely reciprocated; they held on to each other a long time.

Can you hold on to me, Pa?

The excruciating echo returned, haunting Ben long after their embrace was broken, when Adam was pulled away from him and led into the building beyond the fence. After watching both Martin and Adam disappear into its obscure depths, he stood in place for a long time, unable to move as the inauspicious question rang mercilessly in his mind.

Can you?

END


Author Note: Don't be too saddened by this faux ending. The next installment of this series is called Predisposition; the first chapter will be posted soon. A great, big THANK YOU to all of you for reading and commenting. I appreciate you all more than you'll ever know.