BEFORE:

Arriving at the Running D, Adam did not like what he found.

The corral door was ajar, the steer it contained missing once more. The doors of the barn sat open, contrasting with the darkness of the farmhouse and the windows which lined it, their curtains still pulled tightly close to hide whatever was inside.

Dismounting Sport, he looked upon his surroundings and sighed. He wondered which he would have hated more, finding the ranch in good repair or the way that it was. Admittedly, it was easier to see it this way. It was unsettling to think that, with Laura's life so brutally taken in the house, anything could survive or flourish on the homestead now. Of course, surviving and flourishing were two separate things. On this property, the latter did not seem possible, and the former seemed to be slipping further and further from reach.

"God-damn it, Will," he whispered as he tethered Sport to the hitching post.

If he had come upon this ranch not knowing to whom it belonged then he would have believed it was abandoned. It was not, and could not truly be. If Will had decided to leave once more, then at least the barn animals promised to be where they belonged, waiting patiently—or desperately—for someone to care for them.

Entering the barn, Adam set his eyes upon what was becoming of the animals inside, and cursed his cousin again. There was no feed in sight; having all but dried up, the water supply was not much better. Running free and left to their own devices, the chickens had already vacated. The other animals had not been so lucky. Of course, luck was a variable thing. What one might think was poor luck could be interpreted as decent in the eyes of another. None of the animals had died yet; at least there was that.

"Alright, everyone out," Adam said, opening the door of one stall after another, emancipating the small collection of goats, a singular pig, and milk cow. He could not abide leaving them alone and trapped, wasting away as they waited for care that would never come. "You'll starve to death if you stay here. You'll be a lot better off on your own."

Thrusting open the gate of Traveler's stall, he approached the pony slowly, his brows furrowing as he appraised it worriedly. The animal did not seem to be in poor health, overly hungry or neglected, but with the way Peggy loved this animal, it was important he made sure.

"Heya, buddy," he whispered.

Coming to a stop in front of Traveler, he extended his hands, burrowing them into the hair lining the pony's neck. On a whim, he leaned over, resting his head against Traveler's own. It was an action that the pony accepted easily as he remained still, seemingly content with whatever affection Adam was willing to bestow. Peggy doted on him; her steadfast presence, attention and affection had made him irrevocably tame—not that the pony could have ever been accused of being unkind in the first place.

"Where's our girl?" Adam asked softly. It was a question that received no reply from the animal in front of him, but was answered by someone else.

"Hi."

Arms falling to his sides, Adam stood upright, turned, and stepped out of the stall to find Peggy standing near the barn entrance.

Arms crossed, she cupped her elbows in her hands and made no effort to move any closer. Her silent stance was one that time had taught Adam to note and read accordingly—or maybe it was the years he had spent feeling displaced as a child that had allowed him to do that. His memories of yet another time when things between him and his father had been terribly tense; a time when most of the conversations shared by father and son had taken place in a different barn. If only his father could have seen in him as a child what was clear to Adam when he looked at this one.

Heartbroken and scared, Peggy was sick over the loss of her mother and the sudden ending of the only life she had ever known. She was terrified of what the future could hold. She would not look at him, rather her eyes were fixed on some imaginary detail on the ground. When he looked at her, Adam saw a question she wanted so badly to ask but would not dare. Or maybe he just imagined her thinking it, because, as of late, he had become so accustomed to pondering it himself.

Which was worse, having life change further, or having it stay exactly as it was?

"I didn't think you were here," Adam said.

Peggy kicked at the ground, the motion sending small clouds of dust to gather upon her boot and worn jeans. The end of her pant leg was hoovering higher than it should have been, a clear indication she had grown again. Though the sleeves of her plaid shirt had been pushed up to sit on her forearms, it was easy to see the item was becoming too small. She could not tuck it into her pants anymore; the hem of the shirt came to rest upon her thin waist. She needed new clothes and soon, yet another thing that had gone overlooked. Adam could not help wondering what else was being neglected.

"Where's Will?" he asked. "Did he leave you here alone?"

"No," Peggy said, her gaze still fixated on the ground. "He ain't gone."

"Where is he?"

"In the house."

"What's he doing in there?"

"What he always does."

"Which is what?"

"Drinkin'... A lot."

Frowning, Adam felt his frustration toward his cousin shift to anger. "How much is that?"

Peggy shrugged.

"You don't know, or you don't know what to say?" Adam pressed.

"Don't know... Don't wanna say." Peggy looked at him finally. Normally so inquisitive and telling, her eyes were dull. Dark rings of exhaustion marked the skin beneath her eyes. Her skin was horribly pale.

"Oh, sweetheart."

"What difference does it make?" she asked, her voice devoid of emotion. "Mommy's gone. Will comes and goes, but I'm always here."

Adam knew the second part of the child's statement was a summation of a feeling rather than the truth. Despite his other faults, Will had never left Peggy alone at the Running D. With all the things one could fault his cousin for, this was the tiniest of achievements. There was no predicting where Will was going when he decided not to remain where he belonged; there was no way to know if the places he sought respite in were suitable for Peggy, what kind of things he was doing, or what kind of company he was keeping, if any at all.

Wherever Will was going, he was taking Peggy with him. Adam was certain of it, because he had visited the ranch countless times after Laura's death. He had looked for Peggy—he had searched for her. As much as the notion of re-entering the stagnate farmhouse had unnerved him, he had done it. As much as he had not wanted to reclimb the staircase and walk down the hallway for fear of what he would find or hear—what kind of atrocity was awaiting him in one of the bedrooms—he had done both those things, too. Neither Peggy nor Will had ever been inside. The house had always been empty. There was no body to be found, no phantom voice to be heard.

"I hear things," Peggy said as though privy to his thoughts. "People may die, but I don't think their voices do."

"Who do you hear?" Adam whispered, his heartbeat suddenly thudding in his ears. It simply couldn't be. Could it? The voice he had heard the afternoon he discovered Laura had been conceived by his imagination and given birth to by his nerves.

"Nothing. It's just my memories, I think."

"Lack of sleep will make you imagine things," Adam provided gently. He was not sure if the reassurance was meant more for the girl or himself. She was right; there was nothing lurking in the darkness of the house other than memories of a better time. Memories that could seem unfathomably haunting and unbearable now. "When's the last time you slept?" he asked "Or ate?"

"Doesn't matter."

"It does."

"You said you'd come see me," she said, her apathy not wavering. "After mommy's funeral, you said you were gonna come every day."

Adam shook his head. He would not try to placate her with an excuse or apology, pointless reiterations of how the recent dramatic shifts of life and outside forces had rendered such a promise difficult to keep. Will had kept her away from home and therefore away from him, but at this moment, the reasons why they had been kept apart did not seem to matter. In fact, nothing that had happened prior to this day mattered, because now she was here and so was he. The mere fact they were in one another's company served as glaring proof there was something decidedly different about this day.

In the same way there had been something different about the day Adam had entered the house and discovered Laura's body, there was something different about this one, too. Something was happening. He could feel it building in the air around them, in the indignation, frustration, and sadness building in his chest. It was a staggering trio of emotions; he did not know what to do with any of them, because looking at Peggy, he knew he had let her down. He had made her a promise, and he had broken it. Again. Just like the promise he had made to her before he and Laura had been engaged. He had vowed to take them to the 4th of July picnic; it was a promise he had broken because it had been superseded by his responsibility to his father and their ranch.

Peggy had been so excited about the mere prospect of attending the picnic in his company. She had been so disappointed when he had not followed through, or at least that's what Laura had said. Though now Adam questioned the authenticity of the statement, because Peggy had not acted particularly upset after. In fact, she was positively bursting with excitement, wanting so badly to share with Adam the tale of the new friend she had found in another Cartwright named Will.

Some friend his cousin turned out to be, Adam thought dismally. Will was an even worse father than he was a friend.

"Where is Will?" he asked. Though he had failed Peggy in the past, he was determined not to do so again.

"I told you already." Lifting her arm, Peggy pointed wearily at the building outside of the barn. "He's in the house."

"Stay here," Adam ordered, the firmest words he had dared since their conversation began.

Quick, purposeful strides brought him to the front door of the house. He lifted his hand, pounding his fist on the wood, a loud, solid warning of what was to come. "Will!" he shouted.

He did not wait for an answer. Not that one came. Reaching for the doorknob, he thrust the door open. It hit the back of the wall with so much force that it seemed to shake the foundation of the home.

"Will!" he shouted as he stalked the first level of the house.

The rooms were small but dark, disguised by the curtains on the windows. He squinted into the dimness, struggling to understand what he was seeing. The furniture had been toppled, flipped over, left scattered and broken upon the floor, a clear warning that something was wrong. Hand falling to his hip, he reached for his gun. Pointing it defensively, he continued squinting, his heart now thudding in his chest and ears, eradicating all other sound. Further examination of the first floor found that all furniture and most possessions had been destroyed. The house had been savagely ravaged but it was unclear by who.

Standing at the base of the staircase, he hesitated. While he felt a deep duty to ascend it and investigate further, he could not help his overwhelming agitation or silence his doubt. The last time he had dared climb this staircase, he had not wanted to find what he had. What if this was destined to be another moment like that one? What if something worse was awaiting him this time?

His feet moved beneath him despite his doubt, leading him up the stairs rather than away from them, towards whatever was lurking in the darkness. He may have been afraid, but he could not run from who or what he was. The person he had been born into the world to be. Strong and brave, a man who did what was right no matter the personal cost; a man who held himself tall as he walked straight, directly toward the things that would frighten most others away.

The soles of his boots scratched against the stairs as he assended quickly, his gun still clutched tightly in his hand. Peggy had said Will was in the house. So, where was he? Was he hiding? Drunken and passed out? Or, given the state of the house, was his fate much worse?

"Will," Adam said as he came to the top of the stairs. His voice was neither as loud as it once had been nor quiet, rather some tone in-between. His fear was no longer as prevalent as it had been, rather he had resigned himself to facing whatever was waiting for him. Or whatever was not waiting for him—whatever he was about to take by complete surprise.

There was something happening here, he could feel it. It was in the air of the darkness that surrounded him. It was maddening that a house with so many windows could possibly be so dark, inexplicable how cold the interior of it felt despite the warmth of the afternoon.

"Will," he said as he traveled down the hallway. The door of Peggy's room was pulled tightly shut as was the one to the bedroom where Laura's body had once been. The door to the third bedroom was open, serving as a sign of something if ever there were one.

"Will," Adam repeated.

"Adam?" Came the confused whispered from its unlit confines, nearly too soft to be heard.

It was the whisper that made him hesitate. The strangeness of its tone and the unsettling nature of his name being said with such a confused inflection. It was not unalike the whisper he had heard when he discovered Laura's body. But it was different, too. Deeper and familiar somehow.

Standing between the open door and the stairwell, Adam thought—for the briefest of fleeting moments—about turning around, walking back the way he had come and out the front door, grabbing up Peggy and getting as far away from the house as he could. It was a house that once held such laughter and life, and now seemed intent on only containing the worst of discoveries and the most confounding of mysteries.

What had happened to Laura here? Who had taken her contraband diary and shared it with the town? And who was lurking in the room in front of him now?

There was no reason not to find out, no excuse to turn around now that he had come so far. He approached slowly, his careful strides bringing him closer and closer to the room. Finally standing outside of it, he squinted into the confines, his eyes struggling to distinguish what was lurking beyond the threshold. From what he could tell, the room had been ransacked and plundered like the others. The furnishings lay sprawled, broken and scattered across the floor. In the center was a curious mound, a crumpled-up man who had begun to softly moan.

Lowering his gun, Adam's shoulders slumped, and he frowned, his eyes narrowing as he glared in disgust, his apprehension transforming into anger. "God-damn it, Will!" he shouted, shoving his gun back into his holster as he stalked to the window to pull the curtains open.

"Oh, no," Will exclaimed weakly, lifting his hands to protect his slitted eyes from the sudden, seemingly overbearing brightness of the room. Empty liquor bottles lay scattered on the floor, intermixing with the aftermath of what Adam had now deduced was a drunken tantrum.

"You're a real piece of work." Hands on his hips, Adam cast his cousin a rebuking stare.

"I think," Will whispered, his voice quiet and thick with drunkenness, "what you mean to say is I'm a real piece of shit. Your pa ain't around, so you can use those big boy words, remember?"

"What the hell, Will?"

"See? There's one of 'em now."

"Yeah. You want another? I know all kinds."

"Like what?"

"Oh, I don't know," Adam said, firmly nudging Will's side with the toe of his boot. "Like, if you don't get off the fucking floor and tell me what the hell is going on around here, I'm liable to kick your ass into the next territory."

"Quit," Will said, shoving weakly at Adam's foot.

"You quit."

"Boy, I'd like to, but I don't think I have it in me." Rolling to lay upon his back, Will sighed, inadvertently blowing his stale breath up toward Adam's face.

Frowning, Adam took a cautionary step backwards. "You smell like a saloon."

"I feel like a saloon, and not the good kind."

"What happened to the house?"

"What do you mean?" Lifting his arms gracelessly, Will indicated at the surrounding room. "It's still standing, ain't it?"

"That's not what I mean and you know it."

"I don't know nothin'. I'm so dumb in comparison to you, remember? You're the smartest man in this whole damn territory, or at least you think you are. And me? Well, I'm just another good-time guy. A passer-by. A minor player in a much larger—"

"What happened?" Adam demanded.

"Nothin'."

"We both know that isn't true."

"Do we?" Will snorted belligerently. "Man, don't you ever listen? I said, I'm dumber than you."

"In more ways than one."

"Ain't that god's honest truth. At least you had enough brains to run from this place when you had the chance. Not me. No, sir. I thought I'd lock myself to the old ball and chain and stick it out until the bitter end. Although, that doesn't seem to be coming anytime soon. Just think, I'm only here because of a love I thought I had for my wife. I always figured I could leave if things got bad between us, pull the same move old Frank Dayton did. But I never expected her to have enough guts to do what she did. And now she's gone and I'm still here, bound to this place like a fucking prisoner, because of what she left behind." Mouth open, Will paused, seemingly intent on continuing the pitiful diatribe, then he began to laugh instead.

"I see nothing funny about the current circumstances."

"Dontcha, though?"

"No."

"But it is funny, Adam," Will insisted, his drunken eyes glistening with a hint of madness as he peered up at his cousin. "Someday you'll understand that and you'll be laughing just as much as me. Shit, probably more."

"Doubt it."

Adam neither had the patience nor the desire to conversate with a man so obviously impaired. It would not get him anywhere or make him feel any better. It would only anger him further, and with Peggy still waiting outside, he was determined to remain somewhat calm.

"I liberated your barn animals," he said. "And I'm taking Peggy. If you sober up and clean the place, then maybe we can talk about you taking her back."

"You say that like I'll want her back."

"Why wouldn't you?"

"Why would I?" Will snorted. "She ain't my kid. She doesn't even like me."

"Then why are you hanging on to her? She has family, Aunt Lil in San Francisco. If you don't want to take care of her then why wouldn't you pass her along to someone who does?"

"You say that like I have a choice. I tell you, I never truly got why you are the way you are before, but I think I understand now."

"Understand what?"

"The pressure," Will said, the inflection in his tone accusing Adam of being slow to absorb what was easily discernible. "The weight of that thumb your pa keeps you under. I tell you, his high expectations, they're just about enough to crush a man. It's the way he puts things upon you, and how he chooses to take others away. He knows damn well what he's doing, too, sitting up on his high horse, peering down on the rest of us with judgement when we don't turn out to be how he wants us to be. He pretends he doesn't expect the world from people, but he does. Everything he gives is conditional, in effort to make sure you toe the line he created for you."

"I'm not going to stand here and listen to you talk unkindly about my father. He has done more for you than you ever deserved."

"Who's talkin'? I'm sayin', I understand you, pal. That should make you feel better."

"It doesn't."

"Well, it should."

"Well, it doesn't," Adam said firmly. He appraised his cousin briefly before deciding to abandon the conversation and the man on the floor. "Sober up, Will," he added as he strode toward the door. "Then maybe others will look upon you kindlier than they currently do."

"Did you read it?"

Lingering just outside of the bedroom, Adam turned around. "Read what?" he asked. He suspected Will was referencing Laura's dairy; still, he hoped he was speaking of something else. This was neither the time nor place to be speaking about that. This conversation was better endured by minds and hearts uninhibited by anger or liquor.

"What Laura wrote about you?" Will said as he sat up slightly, holding his weight with elbows bent in stiff right angles as he peered at Adam, his expression contorting with sudden disdain. "I hope you do," he said cruelly. "I hope that fucking diary hurts you as much as it hurts me. She may be gone, but I hope Laura destroys you, just as much as she destroyed me."

Adam did not answer as he walked away. There was nothing left to say.

Emerging from the farmhouse, he looked at Peggy and forced a smile.

"Did you find him?" she asked indifferently.

Shaking his head, Adam wrapped his arm around her shoulders and guided her back into the barn.

It was not until Adam collected Sport from the hitching post that either spoke again.

"Where are we going?" Peggy asked from atop of her pony as they followed Adam and his horse away from the Running D.

Again, Adam shook his head. He had not decided yet.

TBC