NOW:

"When did you know?"

Standing amidst Roy Coffee's meager sitting room, Ben and Coffee avoided each other's gaze as Ben's question hung in the air around them. He had neither provided explanation or context for the question, implying what it was he thought Coffee knew and who the information was regarding. Still, the other man knew exactly what was being referred to. It was obvious by the way Coffee averted his eyes, lazily stood, procured a half empty bottle of whiskey, and added a generous amount to his morning coffee. Lifting the bottle in offering, he finally glanced at Ben. Ben declined with a wave of his hand. He had no interest in numbing himself in preparation for the impending conversation, though, he did not fault Coffee for needing such a thing. After all, there was very little pretense to the current conversation.

There had been very little pretense to the visit as well. Entering town in the early morning hours in Adam's company, Ben did not hide his intent to speak to Roy Coffee. Adam had not seemed interested in his father's intention, and Coffee, upon opening his front door to find his oldest friend had come to call, did not seem surprised. It was as though he had been waiting for Ben to come, sitting alone in some regretful, grim stupor since the day he testified against Adam retaining his position as Sheriff of Virginia City. At the time Ben had not been interested in knowing why; now he realized he had no other choice but to know and deal with what he had been unable to years before.

Exhaling heartily, Coffee took a series of drinks, then looked at Ben, his eyes gleaming with contrition. "When did you?" he asked.

"Yesterday," Ben said. "Last night," he qualified. "Peggy was upset about something she saw at the Running D. Adam and I spent the night there, it led me to draw a conclusion that I was unable to glean before."

"Something about a night spent under the moon and stars do have a way of making a man think," Coffee said. "You know, Adam wanted Peggy to stay far away from the Running D. Matter of fact, he told her so right from the get. He sat her down in a chair at the sheriff's office and spoke to her in a voice so firm I had trouble convincing myself it belonged to him. I never thought I'd hear that man take up a tone like that, especially not to a child he considered his kin. That was the second thing that Adam did that rubbed me wrong after he stepped into my shoes. It was easy to see that his firmness wasn't born from strictness. It came from fear. He was terrified, Ben. Like the thought of that gal spending any amount of time at that place would be his undoing. He did not want her to come back to this town. If he could have had his way she never would have come back."

"Then why did he allow her to remain?" Ben asked.

"He didn't. She wasn't here more than a day before Adam bought her a ticket on a stage back to San Francisco. Peggy missed that stage and the other two he tried to put her on. That's when he sent for Lil, and asked her to come for a visit. He was hoping she could talk some sense into the girl; he had anticipated Lil's visit to be much shorter than it turned out to be. The original plan was for her to stay a week or two, and then to go back to San Francisco with Peggy. She was going to take that little gal kicking and screaming if she had to." Coffee smiled. "Or at least, that was what Adam told her she was supposed to do. And then of course, as you know, everything changed. Adam got shot and Eddie came back, and any plans anyone had made for anyone or anything went straight to hell."

Ben could not disagree with the assessment. "What was the first thing?" he asked.

"What?"

"You said talking to Peggy harshly was the second thing Adam did that rubbed you wrong. What was the first?"

"Oh." Coffee became thoughtful. "He didn't defend himself against that group of dudes that took issue with him being the sheriff. He didn't try to fight them; he just stood there and took their hubbub like he deserved it. It was strange; it was like he wanted them to hurt him, and, of course, they did, and then Adam locked them up for the night. The next day he let them go, which is bothersome for all sorts of reasons; the main one, I suppose, is the fact that assaulting an officer of the law is a bonafide crime. Adam had an opportunity to set an example with those men; if he would have held them responsible for their crimes then maybe the opinions of the folks in town could have shifted. People would have decided to respect his authority rather than ridiculing it."

"The reemergence of Laura's diary didn't help that."

"No, it most certainly did not. Neither did the bullet Adam took or the word someone wrote on the sheriff's office wall." Coffee looked at Ben seriously. "And neither will the realization you made yesterday when the townsfolk become aware of it, too." He took a sip of his coffee. "Did you see him?" he asked. "For yourself, I mean?"

Ben shook his head. "No. Did you?"

"Not at first."

"Then when?"

"A day or two after Adam was shot. I was feeling upset, so responsible for the whole thing that I took myself on a long ride to clear my head. Don't ask me how or why, but I ended up at the Running D. There's a lot of strange stories that float around about that house now, I suppose you know that. People say it's evil or haunted or things of the like, because of what happened to Laura. There's always been the odd kid or two, brave boys who try to sneak behind the boards lining the windows and the doors, just to be able to say they did. More than a few of them have emerged from that place with a tale to tell, boyish boasts of hearing or seeing things that shouldn't be there." Coffee snorted. "Ain't a single one of them stories true, though. I know that house ain't haunted; I suppose you know that, too."

Ben thought about his handful of visits to the property. A couple of them had led him to run across Peggy, incidentally deterring her from exploring the house. Another had almost led him to explore it himself. Standing outside of the front door, he had pressed his ear against the boards denying him entry and listened to someone restlessly pace inside.

He had heard someone.

Then Adam appeared out of seemingly nowhere, his very presence dissuading his father from inspecting the situation further. Not that he would have, Ben thought. After all, he was as ready to believe in the house harboring ghosts as any of the boys in town. Even yesterday, he had allowed his apprehension regarding what might be found inside prevent him from entering. Adam had been forced to investigate its dark confines alone.

"So many things in life just happen, and we react to them," Adam had said, a statement that only now his father had come to understand. "There's a price to the things we choose to do, or not do. All our actions matter, even if we don't want them to."

Emerging from the house, Adam had said it was empty. No one had been inside. He had said other things, too; things that seemed so much more bothersome when a new day had dawned. He had said he was afraid of things between him and Peggy changing, of her discovering the truth about something he had done. He had labeled himself as dangerous; he had alluded to making poor choices, to remaining loyal to the wrong person or cause.

"You think the people of this town have poor opinions of me because of how things unfolded between Laura, Will, and me," Adam had said. "Those are nothing in comparison to what they'd say if they knew the truth about me. Where I've been and what I've done. What I will do when the time comes."

What was Adam waiting for? And how bad could it really be? Bad enough that he had chosen to keep his family away, Ben thought. Bad enough that he embraced his role of a villainous sheriff. Did Adam want people to hate him? If so, was it because he hated himself? Adam had always wanted—needed—to be an impeachable man. With all his talk of missteps and mistakes, had the day finally come when he realized he was not? Sadly, Ben had known—he had always known—it was going to come, the brutal day and realization that no man was completely without sin or fault. Not a single one was perfect; Adam was no exception to this rule.

Ben longed to tell his son that it was okay, that whatever had happened, whatever bad decisions he had made could be made right. Whatever price there was to pay for his poor choices, they could square them together. But he could not, because he had made his share of bad decisions and poor choices, too.

Looking upon his eldest son on the night he walked back into his life, Ben had not embraced him, he had walked away from him instead, and that decision had given birth to another, and another after that, and now they were here, negotiating a minefield of lies, secrets, and unknowns. Ben had disclosed what he could about the past and his mistakes, but Adam seemed intent on holding on to his secrets until the end of time.

Time, Ben thought morosely. How much of that did they truly have left? "When did you see him?" he asked again. "When did you know Will was at the Running D?"

"Day or two after Adam was shot," Coffee repeated. "I went out there and that's when I caught a glimpse of him. It took a while to realize who I was looking at. It's been so damn long since that boy has been around here that I must admit I didn't readily recognize him. He ran from me that first day, so it wasn't as though I got a real good look at him. I went back a few days later and observed that house from afar. When that man climbed out of it, I knew right away who he was and the trouble it was going to cause when news got around that Will Cartwright was back. Of course, he ain't really back, not yet, at least. Hiding out on an abandoned property ain't the same as a triumphant return, but that don't change the fact that he is out there. What he's doing or what he's waiting for is anyone's guess. It's a known fact, at least to you and me, that man is dangerous. We knew that before, and we know that now, even if Adam doesn't want to."

"What do you mean?"

Coffee shrugged as though the answer was obvious. "Will's only out there because Adam put him there. He's hiding him, Ben."

Despite his spasmodic realization the night prior, Ben struggled to believe the assumption. Years ago, he himself had protected Will. He knew what had facilitated such actions, but he found he could not believe Adam would ever be led to do the same. As little boys, the cousins had shared a kinship not unlike the closest of brothers; as grown men they had shared a mutual dislike of one another, feelings so strong that one just might be able to label them as hate.

"No," Ben said firmly. "Adam's not. He would not. Roy, I know you're fond of my son, but you don't know him like I do. Adam wouldn't protect Will, not after the way Peggy was treated. Adam would never choose him over his daughter or family."

Coffee examined him carefully. "You're overlooking something," he said somberly.

"What's that?"

"Will and Adam are family. There's more blood between them than either will ever share with that little gal. Wasn't that what you were afraid of back when Will and Laura were married? The power of bloodlines and the things children learn from their elders? You were afraid of Adam knowing the truth about his cousin. Now, I do believe you've become afraid again."

"Of what?"

"Of seeing the truth about your son. He's lived a hard life these past six years. Discovered bothersome truths about men and himself and endured the deepest, darkest pains, the kind that would splinter any man's heart. He's lost so much; I don't think any of us should fault him for trying to hang on to what little he has left in the only way he knows how."

Leaving Coffee's home, Ben mounted his horse and directed the animal to take him away from the house on Kay Street where he knew he would find his firstborn son and toward another in which he was now certain he would find someone else.

Enough, he thought. Enough speculation. Enough inactivity and fear. Enough, now. He wanted the truth and he would be brave enough to face it. Accepting it, however, he realized was an entirely different matter.

Will was at the Running D; he was certain of that now—just as he was certain Peggy had become aware of his presence yesterday. Whether Adam knew or not remained to be seen, but Ben would no longer allow himself to turn a blind eye to the things his nephew had done. Somehow, someway, he would do for Peggy and Adam now what he had failed to do before. He would protect them both from Will.

I'll do it, he thought.

Which is what? Adam's previous words sprung to his mind. Decidedly unprompted, they seemed intent on persuading him to abandon his plan. What exactly do you intend to do?

Whatever I have to, Ben thought. Whatever the situation demands. I won't fail you and Peggy now like I failed you before.

And then? Adam's voice asked, another old response awoken by Ben's silent reply.

I don't know, Ben admitted.

I know, Adam's voice assured. Lord knows, I wish I didn't, but I do.

Adam, Ben thought anxiously, if Will really is out there…

He's not, Pa, but I am, harboring all my secrets and telling all my lies, pretending to be the kind of man I never really was in the first place.

"You were always a good man," Ben said aloud, needing the statement to be heard by someone, even if it was only himself.

The only things you're determined to see are the ones you want to, Adam's voice was quick to counter.

What is it I don't want to see? Ben asked silently, furthering the imaginary dialogue with his oldest son.

You don't see me for who I really am,

And just who are you?

All these years, Pa, I wondered if you knew the truth, and now I realize you don't.

"What is the truth, Adam?" Ben asked, another question which demanded to be spoken aloud. Adam's voice did not answer, but another did.

You think that what tore you and Adam apart was the way he felt about me, Peggy's voice said, another regurgitated memory brought forth by Ben's mind to serve its own means. You think he chose being my father over being your son, but what you don't know is that he chose that monster over both of us. He chose Will over me, Eddie, and even himself.

But why? Ben asked. Why would he do that?

Because of what Adam did, Peggy's voice said. Because of how things are. You don't know everything about him. Where he's been, or what he's done. You knew him before, but you don't know him now.

Then who is he now?

There was a darkness inside of Will, an anger that he tried to hide. Adam didn't know that until much later, because we didn't warn him. We made him find out on his own, and when he did something bad happened. A hint of the same darkness that was inside of Will is inside of him, too.

I don't believe that, Ben thought tersely.

I hate to disappoint you, Adam's voice reawakened, intermixing with Peggy's to turn Ben's stomach with a unique kind of dread. At this point in life my sins would be too much for you to handle.

We went to San Francisco, Peggy's voice said. Things were good. They were so good for a long time, and then the wolf came back. He wrecked everything, and now we can't have it back. We'll never be the same, because nothing is how it should be.

You think she was better off with me because I took her away from here, Adam's voice whispered. But she wasn't. Will failed her, but I failed her the most. He's not half the monster I turned out to be.

You can try to hold on to people, Peggy's voice said, they'll still find ways to slip from your grasp. You can try to fight it all you want; it won't change the way things are gonna be.

One…two…three…four…Pa, I'm counting the moments until that change comes, dreading it but needing it to happen so badly at the same time.

Something will change, Peggy's voice said finally, circling Ben's brain as he directed Buck toward the hitching post standing outside of the Running D's decrepit farmhouse. Because it can no longer stay the same.

He did not bother to refute the memory—in his thoughts or otherwise. He could not contradict something he knew to be true. Something was going to change, and he was going to be the one to change it. Dismounting Buck, he wrapped his reins around the post, and looked at the derelict porch. Things would change because they already had.

Approaching the house, he was almost grateful to see that the boards once banning outsiders from entering had remained in a pile on the porch. Neither Adam nor he had thought to rehang them last night, not that they had been in the possession of the tools to do so. It was a welcome sight this morning. It would make what he had come to do that much easier. Pulling himself to stand at his full height, he fingered his gun in his holster with one hand and reached for the doorknob with the other.

The door opened with a long, prolonged creek. Ben found himself facing the seemingly impenetrable darkness that had dissuaded him from entering the house the day prior. But that was before and this was now, and now he was determined not to ignore the truth. He was hellbent on acknowledging it instead.

"I know you're in there," he said firmly. "Come on out."

There was a long pause, followed by heavy footsteps thudding through the darkness. Someone was following his instruction, taking one step after another as they approached the daylight lingering just outside of the door. Stealing his nerves, he told himself that he was prepared for anything, that he would not be surprised by the identity of the person who would step outside into the light. He expected Will, the nefarious nephew he had not seen in years; he was poised to see him. To look upon him honestly knowing exactly what and who he was. To give him a good, long talking to and maybe a good, solid punch for effect. And then, well, and then he would find Adam; together, they would begin to sort out this mess. There would be no more secrets lingering between them, no more lies.

The person in the house took step after step, each bringing him closer to having his identity confirmed; as they finally stepped out of the darkness and into the light, the mere sight of him took Ben's breath away.

It was Adam who had been inside of the house. Adam who stood in front of him now.

"Hi, Pa," he said. "I've been waiting for you."

Eyes widening and mouth agape, Ben was without words.

"Since the day I walked back into your life, I've been waiting," Adam continued, "for you to work through your anger, pain, and guilt. I've been waiting for you to let go of the past so you could finally see the present, and understand why the future is such a hard thing for me to look forward to. I wanted so badly for you to see me, not as what I once was but for what I am, but I knew that I couldn't allow you to. Standing outside of this house yesterday, I thought for sure fate had decided to work against me. I thought you were going to follow me inside and be forced to see the truth. That's why I hesitated, because I knew you weren't ready yet. You still had to think about some things, come to a few realizations on your own. I knew I had to help you along, because time was running out. That's why we camped out here; that's why I said the things I did. Ph, Pa, you don't know how close I came to telling you last night, but I couldn't, because I knew you weren't ready yet."

Adam's voice was steady and even. God, he was so calm. How could he be calm when his father felt like someone was taking a knife to his heart?

"I watched you walk to Roy Coffee's house this morning," Adam continued, "and that's when I knew today was the day when everything would come tumbling down. A part of me wants to be relieved you finally decided to come out here and see for yourself, and maybe I could be if I wasn't dreading it so damn much. Do you feel it, Pa? Our time running out? It's only a matter of minutes, maybe even seconds now, before you see the truth and then you'll know exactly what I am."

"And what is that? Adam," Ben quietly asked. "Just what exactly are you?"

Morose smile tugging at the corners of his lips, Adam took a single step forward and leaned over, his breath feeling hot against the skin on his father's ear. "I'm the wolf," he whispered. "And today is the day I burn your house to the ground. I don't want to do it, but it must happen, you see. That's the price of knowing the truth. It's gonna take some things away from you that you'll never get back. After today, some things will never be the same." He took a step back, his expression becoming contrite. "Do you feel them, Pa? The flames of the fire that are beginning to ignite your preconceived notions of me as the time around us begins to tick away. I do."

Overcome by an unbearable sense of wrongness, Ben could not reply.

Seeming to interpret his father's silence as disapproval, Adam took another step back. "I'm sorry," he said.

"It's okay," Ben whispered. What he was justifying or trying to soothe, he was not sure.

"No." Cringing painfully, Adam's eyes were watery now, his voice thick by the sudden onset of tears. "It's not. I know that. Believe me, I do. You go inside that house, take a walk up the stairs, and open the door of the back bedroom, and you'll know it, too."

"Whatever it is, son, we'll face it together."

"No. I don't believe we will. Just so we're clear, if you go inside, it's your choice, not mine. I didn't want to make you a part of this. I would have kept it from you forever if I could have."

Looking into the darkened confines of the house, Ben did not reply. Something was wrong—he knew that now. If the strangeness of Adam's presence, behavior, and words were not proof of that, then the feeling seeping into the pit of his stomach was. Becoming swiftly reacquainted with the fear that had frozen him in place the day before, he wanted to leave; something inside of the house was terribly wrong. But doing nothing would not help anything—hesitating in place or running from the truth would not help anyone.

Stepping into the darkness, Ben's strides were slow, careful, and purposeful as he squinted through the darkness and struggled with his footing. How Adam had so successfully negotiated the surrounding blackness, he did not know. He eventually made it to the base of the staircase and took firm hold of the banister, trusting its surface, dusty but still smooth, to lead him to the second level of the house.

"One…Two…Three…" Adam began to count, an unsettling, grim accompaniment to his father's slow ascension of the stairs.

Gripping the banister tightly, Ben was unnerved by the vexing sound. He wanted to tell Adam to stop counting and wait in silence. He wanted to turn around, grab his son by the arm and run far away from this place. If he did that he would not have to know; he would not have to see what Adam was hiding upstairs. Still, he kept going, not because he wanted to, but because he knew he had to.

"Four... Five... Six…"

Reaching the second level, Ben found it was not quite as dark as what lay below. How or why such a thing was possible he neither knew nor questioned.

"Seven...Eight...Nine..." Adam counted on and Ben's steady steps led him to the end of the hallway.

"...Ten," Ben whispered in unison with his son's muffled declaration as he stood in front of the bedroom at the end of the hall. He hesitated for the briefest of moments. Then he reached for the knob, turned it, and gave the door a firm push. It slowly opened and he took a step inside, absently noting Adam had stopped counting. The dreaded moment had finally arrived.

Through the slight sliver of daylight trickling in through the cracks in the boards lining the exterior window, he finally saw what his son had been hiding, and that was the horrible moment he realized Adam had been right. He was not ready. Oh, god, he would never be ready for this.

Arms and legs bound with chains that were bolted to the floorboards, a man sat in a heap on the floor next to a bedframe and decaying mattress. Raising his bound hands to protect his bruised face, he whimpered when he saw Ben. Then, seeming to notice a difference between the man who stood in front of him now and the one who had been with him before, he lowered his hands and stared up at Ben with eyes wide with panic.

Oh, no, Ben thought. No. No. No. NO.

"Please…" Will Cartwright whispered insistently, his voice shaking. "Please…don't let him come back. Don't let him hurt me anymore."

TBC