"Adam! Adam - c'mon! C'mon, Adam - you said you'd take me fishin'!" An odd creak-and-groan sound, like a ship at sea…"C'mon, Adam! It's gettin' late! You gotta come, Adam! You promised! Adam!!!"

What had he promised now? Something that would get him out of bed much too early, evidently. Was it really morning already? He felt like he hadn't slept at all…and what was that sound…? The faint squeak continued at a steady, consistent rhythm.

"ADAM!!! C'mon - come with me!"

Fishing, huh? Well, maybe he could sleep once they got settled. No - with Hoss, maybe, but not with Joe…

"Adam!"

His eyes flew open. He blinked - opened and closed them again, just to be sure. No, they were open all right. But it was so dark…

It was the tearing pain in his shoulders that brought it all back - that, and the faint squeaking noise. He groped with one hand, trying to still his slight, persistent swaying and the creak of the ropes against the…he felt it as best he could with fingers that were now stiff and bloodless and cold with lack of circulation…a hook, he guessed, of some kind. He closed his eyes again. That seemed to take all the strength he had. He sagged against his bonds and then bit his lip hard as they chewed deep channels into the flesh of his wrists, an itch of moisture rolling down his forearms. He was pretty sure now that that wasn't just sweat. He really needed to find a way down from here, before he became an amputee by default.

He leaned his forehead against one arm, the side where the ear didn't ache and throb, and felt a residue along his neck crack and flake on that side. He grimaced. He felt pretty sure he knew what that was, too. Nice that he could supply Mr. Fairchild with so much entertainment while he waited for his money. Or land. Or whatever it was he wanted.

He ventured to open his eyes again and tried to let them adjust to the darkness that surrounded him. Despite everything, his head felt a bit clearer and he wondered where Amelia was. Hopefully David hadn't seen fit to hurt her on his behalf. Hopefully she was all right. He realized in a half-detached way that he was shivering - whether from the pain or the damp, chill air he couldn't be sure. The area was windowless and silent and smelled of earth…like a grave. Like being buried alive. And that wasn't helping anything, he reminded himself sternly.

He wondered how long he had been here. He wondered how long they planned on keeping him here. No one had bothered to feed him, so maybe they didn't plan to keep him for long. On the other hand, maybe they just didn't plan on him ever leaving. He tried to shift again, to ease the ropes that cut like a blade through his skin, gasped out loud when they grated against the torn flesh. Worse. He had to stop that. What he needed was something to stand on - just enough to lift up and release himself - or at least lighten the unbearable drag on his arms. He tried to peer through the Stygian gloom. Nothing. Nothing anywhere nearby that he had any hope of reaching. He grasped at the hook again, felt it slide slickly and uselessly between his palms.

Well, Pa would pay them, of course - whatever was demanded. He winced, this time from a different kind of pain. Pa would be beside himself by now. And he loathed the idea of his father having to give up anything to the likes of David Fairchild.

He took a deep breath, trying to keep himself still. Of course, maybe they wouldn't have to. Hoss was an excellent tracker - and Joe was sharp - good with a gun. They'd be looking for him. They'd come for him.

He shifted automatically, trying to lift himself just a little, clenched his teeth as the ropes twisted deeper into the open sores on his wrists. And a good thing, too. Because apparently there wasn't a darned thing he could do to help himself.

Fishing with Joe. He sighed and closed his eyes again, picturing it, picturing home. There it would be warm and bright. One of Hop Sing's dinners would be sending a savory aroma throughout the house. His cozy bed would be waiting. Pa would be fussing, of course, and he usually hated fussing - it left him feeling awkward and embarrassed and uncomfortable - but…well, this time it actually didn't sound half bad.

Know what, Pa? As soon as I get out of here? I'll take everything Paul gives me without making a peep. I'll eat everything Hop Sing fixes. I'll let you feel my forehead as many times as you like and when you scold I'll do just what you say without answering back once. Well…almost, anyway - a man can only change so much.

His squeezed his eyes tighter shut as the cords seem to bury themselves right against his wrist bones, making his eyes water and a film of cold sweat spring up along his scalp.

But, Pa…I know you're doing your best, but…I sure would appreciate it if you could hurry some.