Something was wrong. He was dreaming again and it was a familiar pattern now, sinking into the dream world, convinced he was home, only to awake to…well. It was no wonder that the dreams were getting longer. But this was an odd one - usually he had such clear and vivid pictures - this time there were none. Only sounds. Well, that was okay. Maybe it would last longer this way.
The sounds were comfortingly familiar - snatches of well loved voices and words and bits of music that had signified comfort for as long as he could remember. He would enjoy them for as long as he could, because eventually they would be replaced by that other sound - the squeak of the ladder rungs.
He tried to shift a little, to relieve some of the stiffness and discomfort, stopped himself just in time. That was a mistake - to draw attention to himself. Better to stay perfectly still - to be forgotten. He was never left alone for long enough as it was.
At least that sickening swinging motion had stopped, that miserable pull on his arms, stretching them from their sockets. How had it happened that that was finally over? Oh, that was right. The Other David - what was his name? He had cut him down. A large mercy. He twitched his fingers carefully, testing them for feeling, frowned. Something…was wrong.
He tried to lift his right hand, felt it slide over something smooth and cool, free and independent of its fellow. Hm. A new dream? Maybe. Some of them were so vivid.
Cautiously, he tried the same with his left. It barely budged, caught and held in some way, pulsing against his chest with a hot, angry pain. He sighed silently. Some new form of torture, no doubt, or the predecessor to it. Well, David could do his worst - at the very least, he'd deny him the satisfaction of reaction. He felt his stomach spin uncertainly within him. Surely he'd already seen David's worst, though…surely it couldn't get any…he pressed his eyes tighter closed, moved his head restlessly before he could stop himself.
"Adam?"
He stilled abruptly. The voice sounded so soft and familiar, like the memory of something dear, but he would not be fooled into opening his eyes - experience had taught him what lay on the other side of blackness and he was in no hurry to face it again. If he got very good at this, then maybe he could take himself away for longer and longer periods of time. Maybe, eventually, he could stay away all together.
"Adam, son, can you hear me? It's Pa."
And it would be. For a few clean, clear seconds…then…he turned his head away from the voice. The face and the voice never matched. He wouldn't be fooled into opening his eyes, into plunging through that trap door between the drifting dreams and the waking nightmare. He would hang onto the dream for as long as he possibly could.
There was a quiet sigh, and his breath stopped for a second, an odd pull on his heart. He knew that sigh - had heard it under a hundred different circumstances over the years: at times when he had disappointed, or frustrated, or exasperated, or just plain puzzled, his father. Funny that he should imagine it now…or maybe not. It galvinized him as almost nothing else could, that sound - reminded him of something important: he couldn't drift away after all. The suffering had blotted out almost everything else in his brain, but now he remembered - he wasn't the only one suffering. Back home his family was burying him, mourning him, believing he was dead. He had to get away - to tell them it wasn't true.
He turned it over slowly in his mind - pictured the distance to the cellar ladder, up the ladder, into the kitchen, to the back door…for a minute his heart shook within him. How could he possibly…? In his current state, how could he manage…? He remembered his last, disastrous effort to escape and his breath caught on a gasp. Even then, he hadn't needed to try the ladder on his own…how could he…? He reached out in his mind, trying to get a sense of the kind of shape his leg was in, couldn't quite suppress a groan at the burst of warning fire from his knee at his small attempt to move it.
He couldn't. He couldn't, he couldn't…something patted at his face and he turned away sharply. Amelia, no doubt. He felt sorry for her, but wouldn't allow her touch him again. The sigh came again, heavier this time, wringing at his heart. He clenched his eyes tighter shut.
He couldn't…but he had to. Somewhere out there his father was breaking his heart over him, and it wasn't necessary…he had to tell him - to let him know. He had to let them all know. Whatever remaining strength he could find or patch together, he had to gather it, to use it. He had to escape.
"Pa - come on, Pa - you gotta get some sleep."
His heart jumped, knocking high and fast against his breastbone. Hoss's voice. It sounded so close - so real. But he wouldn't let himself be fooled again - wouldn't suffer the return of the crushing despair when he opened his eyes to see only the jumping shadows of the root cellar. He almost wished the images would go away - stop distracting him - let him focus on what he needed to do.
"I'm all right, Hoss. I've been dozing. I'd rather be here."
"I know, Pa, but - why don't you go jest lie down fer a bit? I'll sit with 'em. You get some rest. I'll call right off if there's any change."
"Hoss - "
"Pa. It could be days. You gotta sleep sometime. C'mon - any change, I'll get you right away. Promise."
That sigh again. It was all Adam could do to keep from opening his eyes - from reaching out. This one was a terrible dream, sad and confusing - maybe he should just open his eyes after all and end it. But not yet. He could feel figures moving around him - not until he was alone.
"All right, Hoss." There was the sound of shifting, then a creak and groan of wood that tightened every one of Adam's muscles taut as a bowstring. His heart beat so hard that he wondered if anyone else could hear it too. There was a pause and he almost stopped breathing, aware of the weight of eyes upon him, then heavy footsteps. He ruffled his brows, listening. Footsteps on wood…? That was a first - an odd thing to imagine. Something was definitely wrong.
Another squeak that squeezed his heart hard against his ribcage, a pause. "I thought you said you'd stay…?"
"Yup, an I will - jest wanna make sure you git to yer bed and don't wind up down on the porch or by the fire. You gotta sleep sometime, Pa."
There was a short, rumbling laugh in response, and Adam was surprised to feel his eyes fill with sudden moisture. This didn't make any sense - wasn't like the other dreams at all. They had all been memories…this one was…well, maybe he had finally lost his mind after all. Dropped into some other reality. Could you tell if you had lost your mind? How would you know?
The footsteps faded, and he allowed himself to take a deep breath. He couldn't sense anyone around him - he was finally alone. Now he had to escape - or at least come up with a plan. He carefully peeled his lids apart.
Light was splashed over the walls and he had to squint hard, giving his eyes time to adjust. At least the leaping, ghostly shadows had stopped - someone must have finally trimmed that wick. He closed his eyes again, opened them more carefully and looked around. For a second the room blurred and spun around him, and he had to press them hastily shut again. Oh. God.
He breathed carefully, concentrating on drawing air slowly in and out of his lungs. God, oh, God. He couldn't take much more of this. The air felt hot and oppressive, pushing in upon him, an upside down change from the enervating cold he had come to expect. He ran his free hand over his face, looked at it. Someone had done a halfway decent bandaging job on him - the other David or Amelia, probably.
Cautiously, he raised his eyes again and looked around him. The walls wavered. The image was the same. His room. That was a new one. He had pictured the great room, the dining room, all kinds of things, but never here. The sense of nostalgia and loss was so sharp and deep that he covered his eyes with his hand again and took another careful breath. All right. He couldn't let this distract him - fool him. He had something he had to do, and the sooner he started, the better. He could never be sure how long they would actually leave him alone. He looked around again, suddenly disoriented. It all looked so real. Where would the ladder be…? He closed his eyes, picturing the layout of the root cellar in his head. That was better, probably - with his eyes closed. He could clearly picture what was really there, avoid being confused by what wasn't - what he just wished was. He drew a hand across his forehead again. God, it was so hot…when did it get so hot…?
He leaned carefully on his right arm to push himself up, dropped back, crying out before he could stop himself, curling his arm in to his chest. That hurt…that hurt…far and deep into his back…All right, his arms weren't going to be much good to him for a while - he should have realized that, should have been prepared…
His breaths were short and jerky now, grabbing to get the pain under control. You don't have time for this! The words were screaming in his brain. Trying to ignore the ribbons of fire running up and down his shoulders, he carefully pushed himself into sitting position, using his good leg instead, then froze.
Footsteps - returning. He heard them stop nearby, waited. There was a faint squeaking, not quite like the ladder rungs, but he was too tired to try and figure out why. His worlds were truly overlapping now - his mind seemed to be disintegrating as quickly as his body, undermining him just as badly - he had to escape now, while he had the chance, while he was still sane enough to understand the necessity. The footsteps stilled for a minute, and he made out a muffled curse before they seemed to move rapidly in his direction. Grappling for every ounce of strength he could find, he waited, waited until they seemed close - then flung himself at them with all his might.
