Ben lowered himself onto the ladder, hesitated. Lord, it looked dark down there. "Give me a minute to check - we may need a lantern."
He eased down the first few rungs, cautiously trying to keep watch. The keening voice grew louder, making the hair on his arms lift. It sounded inhuman - like a wounded animal. He squinted at a diffuse light coming from one side of the small underground room, lightening the gloom just barely in a fuzzy circumference, the flame leaping and making shadows jump on the walls. He glanced up at Hoss and nodded to let him know it was all right to follow, grasped the rungs with one hand to free the other to rest on his gun butt.
He landed noiselessly at the foot of the ladder, moving out of the square of light from above, peering around into the shadows. No one was immediately visible except a figure hunched by the far wall with her skirts spread about her, face hidden. She made no move to look at him. He moved closer. The light danced over her, shivering and leaping. Someone should trim that wick, he thought irrelevantly. He could see a little more clearly now, see that she was actually hunched over something. The image jumped and settled with the flame, but he could make out long legs finished in unfamiliar, scuffed and broken-down boots - a step nearer showed a face, mostly concealed by a tangle of arms.
It didn't matter. Even hidden, even in the wavering light and unrecognizable clothes, he would know that bit of face anywhere. His heart began a light, high knocking in his eardrums. The shrill keening sawed at his nerves. He squinted hard, trying to distinguish a rise and fall of chest from the still figure, but it was impossible to tell if there was real motion or if it was the erratic movement of the lantern light.
He was standing right behind her now. He could sense Hoss a few paces behind him, holding back - waiting. He cleared his throat. "Miss Amelia - "
"NO!"
He recoiled at the suddenness of the scream, saw her curl herself more tightly, her keening rising frantically, punctuated by whimpering. He touched her tentatively, trying to look around her to get a clearer view of the figure she had attached herself to.
She shook off his touch. "No - NO - NOOOOOO!"
Ben fought the urge to cover his ears. Was he dead? Was he alive? Was her clinging inflicting damage...?
"Miss Amelia!" He was firmer this time, more no-nonsense. He itched with impatience, longed to shove her aside, but would dragging on her cause more harm…? Still, he needed to see if he was breathing, damn it! He was considering his best move when suddenly Amelia seemed to levitate mysteriously into the air. She clawed desperately at the figure below her, clutched at it, brought away shreds of cloth in her grasping hands, her voice rising and expanding to a hysterical wail. This time Ben did cover his ears.
Hoss seemed impervious to both the noise and her struggles, held her dispassionately, as if barely aware that she was there. He jerked his head toward the remaining figure. "He alive?"
Ben swallowed. He knelt down, half-afraid, even now thinking that his hopes and desires and the light may have conspired to betray him into seeing what was not really there. He peered closely, keeping his hands bunched into fists, as if at his touch the body would vanish. His breath stoppered in his chest, stuck somewhere below his windpipe. A few days' growth of beard, shadows of bruising, hills and valleys indicating cuts and abrasions; but the familiar jawline was there, the distinctive chin cleft, the surpisingly short and elegant nose. He swallowed again. "Adam…" it came out like a sigh, freeing his breath, rushing it pell mell back into his lungs. For a moment it made him dizzy. "Adam…son. Can you hear me?"
There was not the smallest twitch - the slightest reaction, but he could see for sure now that he was breathing - deeply, actually, in an odd, uneven rhythm - breathe in, hitch, hitch, breathe out. Breathe in…unconsciously, Ben breathed in tandem, mimicking the pattern…hitch, hitch, breathe out… "Adam. It's Pa."
Nothing. He glanced over his shoulder at Hoss, who was holding Amelia with casual indifference, as though she were a sack of cattle feed, then back at the still figure, studying him. Maybe he was unconscious…he winced, taking stock of the number of cuts and bruises he could make out, hovered over the bound wrists, considered moving them aside to get a better glimpse of his face. In the flickering chiaro-scuro of the uneven flame he saw the ravaged flesh that ringed them, puffed and lacerated and dark with blood, examined the bandage that bound the left hand, soiled, and stiff with more encrusted blood. His stomach rose into his throat and he looked rapidly away, inhaling deeply, trying to settle it back down where it belonged.
"Dear God," he managed softly, still whispering as though he were in church. "What do you suppose…? It almost looks as though he's been dragged."
Hoss didn't answer, but Ben could tell that he was looking, then felt him turn away and wander a few feet off. Well, he couldn't blame him. It was not a pleasant sight.
He glanced after him to be sure he was all right, and to give himself respite and steel himself for another glimpse of the torn and seeping wrists. Hoss had drifted closer to the lantern, his image dancing a weird dance in the light cast from its position on top of a barrel. Ben saw him glance speculatively at the ceiling and then crouch down to examine the floor. Ben almost smiled. A little bravado to get his own stomach under control, probably. Amelia clung to Hoss mindlessly now, whining in steady, monotonous intervals. Curled against his imposing size, she looked like a baby animal clinging to its mother. The sight made a cold shiver ripple over Ben's skin.
"Pa? Hoss?"
Ben barely glanced back at the trap door. "Down here."
Joe's boots appeared at the top of the ladder. He dropped himself onto the dirt floor, blinking about. "What - ?" He drew his breath in sharply. "Oh, God. Is - ?"
"Yes," Ben spoke more abruptly than he'd intended.
"Then why - ? Let's get him out of here!"
Roy appeared behind Joe now, and Ben half-saw Hoss thrust Amelia at him without even looking to see where she landed. His eyes were firmly fixed on one of the drying hooks in the ceiling. He scraped at it with a fingernail. Ben sighed inwardly. Whatever made him feel better.
"I'm a little afraid to touch him," Ben admitted sheepishly. "He's - pretty battered. I wish Paul were here…"
Joe moved to stand over him, turned away quickly, his throat moving spasmodically. After a minute he finally said, "What's this?" His voice broke a little.
"What?" Ben didn't really look up from his careful examination of Adam's arms.
"Looks like that stuff they sell in Chinatown."
Ben did look up at that, saw Joe squatting down to study a half-empty bowl with a small vial beside it. "What is it for?"
Joe shrugged. "I don't know. Medicine, I think, or - you know - to be smoked or something. Hop Sing would know." He stiffened his spine and shot another glance at Adam, looked hastily away again. "Wouldn't it - be better to get him out of here and then take a look at him? It's so dark and cold…"
Pa, I was waiting for you…Ben shuddered involuntarily. "You're probably right…I'm just afraid of making things worse…" He bent close to Adam's ear, trying not to admit, even to himself, that his son still seemed almost as far away, as gone from him, as he had when they'd thought they'd buried him. Maybe if he could just see his eyes…"Please, Adam - it's Pa. Can you hear me?" This time Adam shivered slightly in response. Encouraged, Ben took a deep breath and tried again. "It's all right, son - everything's all right. We're going to get you out of here." He risked a light, soothing touch to the middle of Adam's chest. This time the reaction was immediate. Adam jumped as if he'd burned him with a branding iron.
Ben swayed backward, startled, as Adam reared up, pressing his back into the dirt wall behind him and raising his bound arms defensively in front of him. His left arm hung limply from where it was roped to the right one, like a bird's broken wing, and Ben noticed for the first time that his right leg stayed thrust awkwardly straight. He tried to get a better glimpse of it without actually dropping his eyes from Adam's face. Broken? Maybe. Thank God he hadn't tried to move him without checking. "Adam…" he tried to keep his voice soothing. "It's me. It's Pa."
Adam's eyes narrowed, glittering with fever and…something else. Ben watched the muscle in his jaw knot and unknot, but his hands never dropped. Ben glanced at the askew left arm again, wincing - he could imagine how painful that must be - he had to get him to relax. "Adam - " he tried again, more urgently. "Adam! Listen to me. It's Pa. It's over. I've come to take you home."
Something flickered across Adam's eyes at that - a quick, almost wistful glimmer of hope - but it was gone almost immediately, clouded under a veil of skepticism and mistrust. Ben made a quick gesture of frustration, regretted it almost immediately as Adam instantly stiffened and seemed to steel himself.
"God," Joe breathed from somewhere behind him.
Ben dropped his hands to his knees, trying to keep the palms open in an unthreatening pose. "Easy, Adam…" and more softly, over his shoulder, "Joseph, try to find Paul, please. Tell him to meet us at the Ponderosa."
"But, Pa! I don't - "
"Joseph!" Ben hissed as, at the sound of his raised voice, Adam flinched visibly and narrowed his eyes still further. He looked like a man fighting for his life and determined not to go down easy. Ben closed his own eyes for a second, struggling once again with his stomach. "Joseph," he continued more quietly. "Please do as I say. Take that - that - powder - with you." The sound of boots on the ladder rungs told Ben that this time Joe had obeyed. He turned his full attention back to his eldest. "Adam…" he tried to keep his voice gentle, to block out the panic that kept trying to creep into it. "It's me, son. It's your Pa. It's time to go home now."
Adam's brows knotted together, his face wary and confused. He tilted his head a little, blinking as though trying to clear his vision. His chest heaved with his uneven graspings for air. Ben longed to reach out and touch him - to hold him until he believed that he was really there and it was all really all right - but he couldn't imagine how Adam might respond.
"Hoss - " he said desperately. "I need help. See if he recognizes you. We need to get him out of this cold and damp and to some medical attention."
Hoss stopped his examination of the drying hooks and strolled over, crouched down beside them. Out of the corner of his eye, Ben saw him rub at his face, heard him clear his throat roughly, but his voice when he spoke was off-hand. "Say, Adam…"
Adam's head jerked in his direction, his arms still raised to ward off Ben. Then there was a thwack and a thud and Adam's head snapped back against the wall.
Ben blinked, needing a second to understand what had happened. "Hoss - !" he began angrily, as he watched Adam's eyes open wide with surprise, then roll slowly back into his head. He hadn't even seen Hoss's fist lash out. What on earth did he think he was…? Adam slid slowly down the wall, listing to the right.
Hoss didn't look at Ben. He caught hold of Adam, his grip infinitely gentle, tucking the limp head into the crook of his neck and running an apologetic hand over the dark, disheveled hair. "I got'em, Pa," he said simply. "Mebbe you better go ahead with the lantern."
Ben stared at him, still shocked and a little indignant. "His leg - " he stammered uncertainly. "I think it may be broken…"
Hoss followed his gaze and reached down to probe Adam's right leg, focusing on the swollen knee. Even in his unconscious state, Adam shuddered at his touch. Hoss shook his head. "Not broken. Sprained or dislocated or somethin', mebbe. I'll be careful of it. Let's get the hell outta here."
