Joe paced nervously in front of Sylvester's shop, then finally sank down onto the bench in front of it. He was good at a lot of things, but waiting definitely wasn't one of them. What the heck was keeping Hoss?

His visit with Sylvester had gone well - better than he'd dared hope. Sylvester had been kind and helpful and matter-of-fact about it and somehow that had put him at his ease. He had suggested a few possible models, talked about their various merits, and complimented Joe on his final choice. He had even offered some choices of verse, but Joe hadn't found one there to satisfy him. None of them said what he wanted to say - none of them sounded like Adam.

On sudden inspiration, he had excused himself and gone down the street aways to make a call - he knew just who would know the words he was looking for and he wasn't disappointed. By the time he returned carrying a bit of verse on a scrap of paper he was almost smiling.

Sylvester had looked it over, nodding to himself. "That there's real fine, Joe," he agreed. "But I'm not sure I kin do it here - might need to send to Sacramento. Know a real fine stonecutter there. Do a fine job fer ya."

Joe started to ask how long it would take, then stopped himself. It's not like there was any rush. Better that they had words that would mean something to them all for…well, forever. "Yeah, okay," he said finally. "Sacramento's fine. Tell'em to do it up real nice, okay?"

Sylvester rested a hand briefly on his shoulder. "Sure will, Joe."

The kindness in his tone had almost been Joe's undoing and he smiled a tight smile and ducked out the door as quickly as was polite. Outside in the sunlight things seemed a little better, but as time went by and Hoss didn't show up his composure began to crumble. Even in broad daylight it was a little creepy out here, surrounded by the various headstone models, propped about and ready to be inscribed. It was creepy to see the neat stack of lumber, waiting to be turned into boxes, to get a glimpse of the pretty fringed hearse and, just behind it, the icehouse where Sylvester kept…well. It was just plain creepy.

He dropped his head in his hands and rubbed at his face. Come on, Hoss! To distract himself, he began to go over the details of what they had found out in his head. They didn't really know when, if ever, Adam had left the saloon. They didn't know why he would be wearing a strange ring. They didn't know if that was really him at the livery or somebody dressed to look like him. When you came right down to it, they didn't actually know jack. He kicked restlessly at the dirt.

Damn, it made him mad. It had made him mad when he thought somebody had accidentally killed Adam by setting the fire - furious. But that was nothing to what he felt at the thought that somebody might have deliberately killed him. Deliberately lured Adam upstairs and killed him in cold blood, then carted him back to the Ponderosa and dumped him in the barn and started the fire and let them find his body. Not even his body left in peace - left charred and disfigured instead. He felt the heat thunder at his temples and stood up and started to pace again. With all Adam's possessions intact - just to make sure they knew. Just to make sure there would be no doubt. A sick, queasy flame burned at the bottom of his belly. Arrogant is what it was. And heartless. Took somebody cold as ice to lay a trap like that and then - and why? Why would anybody go to so much trouble…? He took off his hat and swiped a sleeve across his forehead.

I'll get whoever this was, Adam, he swore inwardly. I'll find them and I'll beat the living daylights out of them and then I'll burn them, too - just like what they did to you. And when they beg for mercy, I'll laugh. Right in their face. Laugh.

He twisted his hat in his hands, frowning. Adam, he thought ruefully, would not be impressed. He looked at the mangled hat and punched it irritably back into shape. Yeah, well, if you wanted a say in this thing, Adam, then I guess you shoulda stuck around - but you left me. All bets are off now - now we do this my way. He shoved the hat back onto his head, blinking hard.

He needed a drink. To heck with Hoss - if he was gonna take this long then he could just darn well come lookin' for him. He'd get a drink and maybe see if anybody else knew anything and he'd stop thinking about - about whether or not Adam knew he was gonna die ahead of time…about whether or not they'd taunted him, or hurt him first…about what he was thinkin' about when it happened and what he was feelin' and…he was almost running now, half-blind, feeling the hot moisture pushing at his eyelids again; almost decided that the saloon wasn't such a good idea after all, when he suddenly pulled up short - just missed colliding with a figure that loomed suddenly in front of him at the hitching rail. He opened his mouth to apologize, but the words shriveled on his tongue when he saw who it was. A thick red mist seemed to muffle his vision.

"YOU!" he choked out. And then he threw himself bodily at the figure.

*

Ben sat up in bed with a start. Sun was streaming through the bedroom window and he didn't have to check the clock to know that it was late morning. He rubbed at his temples and groaned. So late. Why hadn't he woken? Why hadn't someone woken him? He remembered in a rush the occurrences the day before and lay back, suddenly breathless. Adam. Oh, dear God.

He closed his eyes tight, remembering the details of his dream, his late night conversation with Hop Sing, vague impressions of the images that had followed his return to sleep. Nothing distinct - just a sense of urgency - of fear - as if Adam was slipping even further away from him - but how was that possible, if he was already dead?

He saw something on his night table and instinctively curled his hand around it. Must have carried this in from Adam's room. He thumbed up the lid and half-listened to the sweet, cheerful melody.

What if - what if he dared believe it - just for a minute? What if he decided to act as if there was a possibility that Adam wasn't dead at all - was still alive somewhere, waiting for his father to find him? It was insane, of course - they had found Adam's body and buried it - it was just desperate graspings of a sorrow-sick, despondent man…but still. What if - just for a minute, he assumed…? Acted as if…?

He shut the music box lid abruptly, silencing the little tune. Insane. He ran his fingers unseeingly over the bas relief figures on the small lid. He would look insane. Did he care? Adam had never cared how he looked to other people. He did what he thought was right, no matter how crazy, how improbable, it looked to everyone else. Sometimes he was right, sometimes he was wrong - but he never let anyone else tell him what to believe. He never gave up on anything until he was sure he had all the facts. And Adam had never had anything quite this important to fight for.

He pulled himself slowly into sitting position, frowning ahead of him at nothing. If there was even the smallest chance, no matter how insane, no matter how ridiculous the evidence…

Supposing he had real evidence - facts he could point to - what would he do then? He pushed back the covers, suddenly resolute, and stood. What was he lying around here for? He had to get to town - he had to see Roy.