Ben made his way slowly down the stairs. They seemed longer than usual and his knees seemed to creak with every step. He felt as though he'd aged about ten years in the last week. Hoss was standing by the fire, pushing a log with his foot, Hop Sing was setting the table. He looked around the room, then paused. "Where's Joseph?"
Hoss glanced up from the fire. "In town."
"In town?" Ben's voice rose. "Jumpin' Jehosaphat, can't he stay away from there for one day? Especially - " he broke off abruptly, covering his eyes with his hand.
"Pa, he - he weren't foolin' around er nothin' - said he had somethin' important ta take care of. I believed him, Pa. Thought - well, thought maybe it'd make him feel better."
Ben dropped his hand from his eyes, took a deep breath. "I - very well, son. He'll be here for dinner, though?"
"He - he didn't say, but - I figger he will, Pa."
Ben nodded distantly. "We should - all - eat together today."
Hoss wrinkled his forehead uneasily. "Reckon Little Joe knows that."
Ben stared at the table, his eyes filling. Three place settings. Not four. Never four again. Blindly, he turned away, looked for something to cover his distress. "I'll set out the brandy…" he murmured, going to the cupboard and lifting down the decanter and three glasses. He started to set it out on the usual table when he had a sudden flash - almost as though he was seeing it through someone else's eyes…"Adam?" he didn't even realize he'd called aloud. The decanter slipped from nerveless fingers and smashed against the floor.
"Pa?" He felt, just vaguely, Hoss's strong grasp on his arm, wavering for a moment between two places and worlds - a quick glimpse of images - the fire - the table - the brandy - Adam's chair and book…he automatically turned his eyes to the blue chair, seeking out the book that appeared so clearly in his mind's eye…nothing. He dropped his head into his hands. "Pa, what is it? You okay?"
"I - " Ben leaned against Hoss for a minute, shaken. What was this? Was he losing his mind? Sinking into the sort of depression that had visited him when Marie died? Is that you, Adam? What is it, son? What do you want of me? Tell me, please - I'll do whatever you need. You know that. But the thread was broken and the images disappeared as quickly as they had come. All in his imagination, maybe. "I'm all right," he stammered at last. "I'll - clean this up - "
Hoss helped him to his feet, while Hop Sing showed up, seemingly from nowhere, with a dust pan and broom and mop. Hop Sing began efficiently picking through the glass while Hoss guided him to his red leather chair.
"You sure you're okay, Pa? Do you need Doc Martin?"
Ben shook his head.
Hop Sing scrutinized him. "Missa Adam? You see him?"
Ben rubbed a hand over his chin, trying to recall the fleeting images clearly in his mind's eye. "I don't know, Hop Sing," he said at last. "I honestly don't know."
*
Adam tried not to flinch as Duncan studied his wrists.
"Do you want me to get a knife?" Amelia piped.
"Naw…" Duncan ran a thumb over one of the ropes and Adam couldn't hold back a shudder. "Gonna lift him down, I think. Kinda afraid ta touch these - some of the skin has scabbed right around the ropes - pro'bly better if a doctor does it." Adam closed his eyes again in an attempt to banish that appalling image. "All right - you ready? Your arms are gonna cramp some after I free 'em, I figger…" Adam gave a short nod. "Here goes…" Duncan hooked an arm around Adam's ribcage and lifted, using his other hand to guide the ropes over the hook. Even being lifted released some of the incessant pressure from his arms and a gasp of sheer relief escaped Adam.
Duncan was strong, but Adam's weakness made him heavier, and Duncan dropped suddenly to his knees, bringing an inert Adam, his arms falling lifelessly forward, with him.
"You awake? Still with me?" Adam's head had fallen to Duncan's shoulder, hiding his face, but he nodded tersely. "Good." The shoulder muscles began to jump in spasms under Duncan's grip and he reached up automatically to rub them. After a second he paused. "Yer shoulder out?"
Adam was struggling to lift his head. "Think - so," he managed jerkily.
"Then I'd better leave them ropes on fer sure - keep it more stable. You gonna be able to get goin'? Cause I think you folks better move if yer gonna."
Adam used his bound hands to push away from Duncan. "Yes…" he hissed as forcefully as he could manage.
"Good. I'll help ya up - then I'm makin' myself scarce. 'Member, 'Melia - if David finds out - I don't know nothin'"
Amelia threw her arms around him. "Oh, thank you, Duncan - how can I ever thank you?"
"You can try not forgettin' about that money, fer starters, and don't overbalance me while I'm tryin' ta - whoa…" He had been levering Adam to his feet, made a sudden snatch at him as Adam's right leg gave under him. "What the heck…? Damn." He noticed Adam's disfigured knee straining against the cloth of his jeans. "He get you there, too?" Adam nodded mutely, trying to get a grip on Duncan with his useless hands, trying to make himself steady in the whirling and heaving of room. He heard Duncan sigh somewhere near his ear, then his head seemed to disappear out of earshot for a second and the next thing he knew, he felt a shoulder in his stomach and he was dangling head down. Oh. Well, probably the most practical solution… "I'm gettin' you up that ladder the fastest way I know, friend, and then we're partin' company. Good luck to ya both."
Adam closed his eyes against vertigo as Duncan navigated the ladder. The cramping in his back and shoulders was becoming vicious, but all in all, it was still a relief - a different kind of pain to focus on for a change. He felt a sudden shift of position and had to resist the urge to clutch at Duncan as he rolled him over his head and onto the floor above, the boards suddenly smooth and cool against his back. The first time he had been able to lie down in…how long? He opened his eyes, closed them again hastily against the burning brilliance of the light, tried to maneuver his arms as a shield for them. Well, this was excellent, then - blind, one-legged and no-armed. It should be an escape of tragio-farcical proportions. He lay as still as he could, breathing hard. He felt Duncan pat his good leg, heard his footsteps as he took himself away, recognized the sounds of Amelia's feet on the rungs of the cellar ladder and the smell of her cloying perfume; her greedy, grasping touch on his cheek. He clenched his teeth until they ached to keep the words he was thinking from pouring out through his bloodied lips. Too close now to risk it - just keep your head a little longer.
He took a careful breath. "Amelia…you need to…saddle up a couple of horses…"
He sensed her pause. "Oh, no, Adam - there isn't time!"
He took a deeper breath, willed himself patience. "Amelia, I clearly can't…walk, never mind run…"
"But I'm not sure you can ride, either - the wagon, maybe - "
Adam ground his teeth. "Too - slow. Can't go - cross-country."
"But - " she stroked his arm. "one horse, then - we can ride double."
The flirtatious note to her voice made him queasy, but he continued doggedly, "Too…slow. Two horses…Amelia, you have to hurry."
He could almost picture the pout again. "Oh, all right. But I'm not really much of a horesewoman, you know - and I think you'll just fall off…"
"I won't…fall off…" Not while his life depended on it, he wouldn't.
"Well, all right…oh, Adam! Let me just dash and get the pattern I picked out for my wedding dress…!"
Adam fought not to yell out in frustration. "Amelia…" he whispered at last. "I will buy you whatever wedding dress you want - anywhere - San Francisco, anywhere - if only you do NOT do anything right now except saddle up a couple of horses…" he trailed off, drained by the length of his speech.
Amelia giggled. "Oh, Adam. That's so romantic!" He felt the brush of her lips on his, felt the fabric of her skirt dust his arm as she went by, heard her quick feet cross the floor and descend the steps outside. He lowered his bound hands carefully from his eyes again. Damn, that hurt. Squinting as hard as he could, he tried to turn himself over. One…he rolled part way onto his left shoulder, cried out and fell back onto his back as the dislocated joint screamed a protest. Okay, it would have to be the right side, then. Two…he tried to snatch some purchase on the floorboards with his swollen, deadened fingers, lost his grip and sank back, whispering every swear word he had ever heard. He took two deep breaths. Come on, Adam - giving up is not an option…he tried again with a mighty heave, teetered for a moment, then dropped onto his stomach, squashing his bloody hands under him and slamming his throbbing knee into the floor. His eyes watered and the scape behind his eyes dimmed. Damn, damn, damn…I don't have time for this…he gave himself two more breaths, peered as best he could against the blinding daylight and pushed himself carefully up onto his good knee, dragging his bad leg behind him. Hope you're quick with those horses, Amelia...painstakingly, he began to inch himself across the floor.
Under other circumstances, his slow, limping progress would have made him chuckle, but now he had no breath or thought to spare for amusement. Every ounce of strength and focus he had was concentrated on traversing the short distance from the root cellar door to the back kitchen door, which glowed like an incandescent rectangle before him. The door to heaven itself had probably never looked half so bright. He fixed it in his mind so that he could close his light-starved eyes again and still keep moving forward, felt his left knee slide out from under him and land him back on his stomach with a bump. The pain was sickening, but he didn't dare even pause to let it register. So close, now. So close. Still on his stomach, he continued his crawl forward, pulling with his twitching, cramping arms as best he could. Almost…just a little bit…He became aware of an odd uneveness in the floor and his heart leapt into his throat, almost choking him.
The doorsill. Thank God. Now, if Amelia had the horses ready…if she hadn't been distracted by God-knows-what…trying to make his right hand work, dragging the left hand along with it, he felt his way over the doorsill. And froze. That felt like…Amelia's? No…too big…Duncan's. Oh, God, let that be Duncan's boots…he squinted one eye open, looking up from the boot toes to the jean legs…
"Well, well, well…" the voice was soft. "What have we here?"
Not Duncan.
In a surge of desperate strength he pushed himself up from the floor - almost made it back onto his right knee, almost got in a futile snatch at one of David's legs. Almost. Before he could get his shaky balance, David's foot came forward, planted itself in the center of his chest and pushed. He tumbled back almost the whole, meticulous distance he had come, the impact with the floorboards rattling his teeth and radiating through his back like a hammer blow. The world swam around him.
He heard David's boots cross the space between them, could barely, through the glaring shadows, make out the boot coming at him again. Vainly, he tried to loop the boot with his flaccid arms, felt the kick stop as he snagged it and David struggled for his balance. One for my side. He trapped it between his arm and his side and held on like a terrier.
David cursed harshly, trying to shake his foot free, lowered it instead and pushed again with all his might.
Adam felt the floor suddenly disappear beneath him, felt something solid and spindly bounce off of his back - then he was rolling steeply downhill, over and over, out of control. Something hard and cold and damp rose up and smacked full length against him, stopping his progress. He didn't move.
He lay breathless, clinging mindlessly to some remaining fragment of consciousness. Everything hurt. That was all he could think of, really, over and over, like an off-key, strident melody…everything hurt…everything hurt…everything hurt so badly…he distantly made out Amelia's voice, followed by a scream, then a slap, then quiet sobbing. His heart ached. My fault. Sorry, Amelia. Sorry, didn't mean…there was some yelling, too - flickering in and out of the twisted shadows in his brain…lots of yelling…
It came to him, after a bit, that what had slammed into him was the floor. He eased his lids apart and the light no longer assaulted them…it was darker here…it was…ah. The cellar. Back in his old prison. For a moment despair swallowed him up in an overwhelming tide. He pressed his forehead into the dirt floor and almost wished he were still young enough to cry. Come on, Adam - buck up - you were never much of a crier anyway…he noticed he was lying in a patch of light - the root cellar door must still be open above him. The yelling increased in volume. No wonder it was so clear. He shivered against the damp floor.
Maybe they'd forget to close the door and he could try to escape again later. Maybe…the yelling stopped abruptly with the slamming of the kitchen door and he lolled listlessly against the floor, sick and spent. Maybe…David had gone off somewhere to drink. Maybe…he would leave him in peace, just this once. He closed his eyes and let himself drift now. At least he was lying down for a change, lying still. Maybe he could sleep. Maybe David had lost interest in the game.
He was floating in a twilight land between sleep and unconsciousness when a familiar sound roused him, making his heart hurl itself wildly against his ribs.
He shut his eyes tight, too worn and hopeless to do anything but wait…wait and listen…as the familiar squeak of boots against the ladder rungs closed in.
