NOW:

"Adam," Ben began and then hesitated, the question he was about to pose feeling momentarily too odd to ask.

Still sitting on the Running D's porch, Adam had long stopped counting. It was one repetitive, unnerving sound that had been replaced by another.

"Uncle!" Will called out, his insistent voice trickling down the dark staircase and through the open front door. "You can't leave me here! You have a responsibility now that you know. You can't ignore—!"

"Son," Ben tried again, doing his best to overlook the abrasive noise. "You haven't really had your cousin chained up in this house the entire time you've been back? Not the entire time." Lord, he thought, Adam had been back for more than mere weeks now; it had been months.

"This is a crime!" Will bellowed. His fear had ebbed quickly, transforming into fierce outrage when it became obvious Ben was not eager to free him from his current confines.

For the first time since his return, Adam appeared hesitant. "No," he carefully said. "Not the whole time… just… part of it."

Tilting his head, Ben looked inquisitively at a son who seemed intent on looking anywhere other than his direction. "And how much time is that?" he probed.

"Uncle!" Will shouted, his voice becoming hoarse. "Don't you leave me here! Don't you—!"

Ben shut the door, muffling the rest of his nephew's plea. He had no intention of leaving him where he was, or how he was, but leaving him for another few minutes would not do any more harm.

"Adam?" he prompted. "How long?"

"Not long enough," Adam said.

"Have you been hiding him here since the night you returned?"

Glancing at Ben, Adam appeared uneasy. "Listen, isn't it enough that now you know he's here? Do you really need to know every detail of when, how, and why?"

Ben was as uncertain of how much he wanted to hear as he was of how much Adam needed to share. Given the circumstances, he thought it best to tread carefully. "What did he do?" he asked.

Adam's eyebrows rose. "Do you really need to ask that question?"

Thinking of Laura and Peggy, Ben's eyes drifted to the broken corral in the distance. "I suppose not," he conceded.

They were quiet for a moment, a thousand unasked questions lingering unspoken between them.

"He's right, you know," Adam said somberly. "What's going on here is a crime. You can't just hold someone hostage against their will in an abandoned house where you've chained them to the floorboards."

Chained, Ben thought grimly as he pursed his lips. The fact that Will was chained rather than tied with rope did make the situation seem infinitely worse; although, he was hard pressed to understand why. Maybe it was because steel was more foreboding than weaved fiber, because one seemed so much more serious than the other. "Why did you chain him?" he asked, unable to keep his thoughts to himself.

"Because when I bound him with rope, he gnawed through it like the little rat that he is. I would have left him untied, but recent history has proven him to be the untrustworthy sort. I can't let him escape. Now that I finally have him, now that I finally see exactly what he is, I don't intend to let him walk free."

"Why keep him at all? If he's done something that warrants this treatment, why not utilize the badge you wear, bring him in, turn him over, and let the law take care of him?

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because, thanks to you and me and our seemingly hereditary, abounding senselessness, he isn't guilty of anything."

"Then why keep him here?"

"You didn't let me finish," Adam said. "He isn't guilty of anything that can be proven."

"What is he guilty of?"

Adam cast his father a serious gaze. "Do you want me to repeat what you already know?" he asked. "Or are you looking to hear what you don't?"

Sighing heavily, Ben sat down next to Adam, rested his forearms on his knees, and clenched his hands. "How about both?"

"I'm not sure you can handle it."

"Why don't you let me decide what I can and can't handle?"

"Boy, I'd like to. History doesn't really lend to the opinion that you are going to want to see and understand the truth. You couldn't handle it back then, what makes you think you're going to be able to now? It's worse now, you know. It isn't just the neglect and mistreatment of a little girl anymore. It's bigger than that. I guess, it always has been, even if neither of us could see it. You weren't the only one not wanting to see things for what they were. I ran from what I knew about Will right up until the moment I could not do so anymore. I pretended like he didn't exist for years. Probably in the same way you pretended I didn't exist during the years I was gone, not because you wanted to but because you didn't know what else to do. It's not fair the things people choose to walk away from, is it? Just because somebody decides they're done with you that doesn't mean you're done with them. It doesn't mean things that were said or left unspoken don't linger behind, haunting and hurting us. We're not really like this, Pa, you and I. There was a time in my life when if I would have been told we would end up the way we are I wouldn't have believed it. How did we get here? How did you and I go from the way we were before to the way we are now? We were once so close and now…" Looking helplessly at his hands, Adam did not continue speaking.

"We can be close again."

Adam shook his head mournfully; it was clear his father's claim had not been believed.

"Son, whatever is happening here, whatever events have led you to this place, whatever sins you think you carry, I want you to know they were mine first. My inaction left you no choice but to do what you did. You may consider Will's poor behavior your responsibility, but it was mine first. I failed to handle the violence of his hand. I failed to convince him to change, and I failed to do what was necessary to protect those around him. I failed, not you. I allowed fear to dictate my behavior, to paralyze and hold me in place. I was afraid to tell the truth about Will. I didn't want people to see who he really was for fear that they would see me for who I really was, too."

"No. Not just people. You were afraid of me. I can't say I blame you for that, considering how I was before I left."

"There was nothing wrong with how you were."

"Yes, there was. I can't sit in judgement of others without allowing myself to be judged; I can't expose the faults of others while so carefully guarding my own, even if you don't remember that, I do. I was selfish, self-righteous, and judgmental. Even now, I don't know how to love people the right way. I don't know how to need anyone, except…" Hesitating, Adam's gaze dropped to his feet. "You were wrong," he added, his voice no more than a whisper. "Yesterday you said you didn't exist without me. What you don't know is it's really me that doesn't exist without you. Years ago, I left and I became lost. The further away I became from you, the less I seemed to know myself. The only thing the passing of time ever did was fill me with more and more doubt. Still, somehow, despite all of that I am still certain of something. I'm not the kind of man you think I am. I'm not even the kind of man I want to be."

"You're a good man."

"No, I'm not. Don't do that. Don't make me stand alone with the truth. Be brave enough to look honestly at me and see what has been obvious to everyone else all along. I used to be good, but now I'm something else."

"You are not bad."

Looking at Ben, Adam jetted his thumb toward the house behind them. "I have my cousin chained to the floor," he said firmly as though the fact should have been enough to silence his father's opposing opinion.

"I know," Ben said softly. "Tell me why."

"It's not going to change anything. Explaining his wrongdoing isn't going to absolve me of my own."

The response was so typical of Adam that Ben nearly smiled. He did not, however, the tone of their conversation simply did not allow such a thing. "Maybe not," he said. "But it might make you feel better. I see you, Adam. I didn't when you first came back home, but I do now."

Looking at him, Adam's expression was guarded, still in his eyes was a glimmer of hope. "What do you see?" he asked.

"I see my son, a man who has always tried his best to walk the fine line of morality; who has always had high expectations of those around him and himself; who rises to the challenge of any difficult situation and always manages to hold his head high. There is a goodness inside of you, Adam; even if sometimes I didn't want to see it, I always knew it was there. Even now, I think you know it's there, too. That's why you feel bad about holding Will here. That's why you're conflicted about him, or Peggy knowing about him. That's why you're quick to condemn yourself for whatever happened that led you to this place."

Venturing out a hand, Ben settled it on the back of Adam's neck and squeezed.

"I see my oldest son who has lost his oldest son," he said. "I see your exhaustion, your grief, your fear and conflict. I see how you're doing your best to rise above all of it and hold your head high. I see how the people in this town have treated you unfairly, and how I have treated you unfairly myself. It should not have been this way, Adam. I know that, and you know it, too. I should have dealt with Will years ago. I should have gone after you when you left; if you still had to leave, then I should have done everything to ensure we left things on better terms. And if neither of those things were possible back then, then I should have looked upon your return differently. I should have expressed my happiness and relief rather than my anger and fear. I should have embraced the life you chose, instead of fighting to hold on to the one I had wanted for you."

"You were never going to be okay with me wearing a badge," Adam said. "I always knew that, even if I didn't always understand the reason why. I could have left on the most perfect of terms and you still would not have accepted the path that I found."

"Maybe not," Ben agreed. "But I could have accepted your reasons for choosing it. So, tell me, son, why did you?"

Inhaling a deep breath, Adam expelled it, his eyes finding and then settling upon the distant landscape. "I suppose there's no point in keeping from you, not now that you know Will is here. I didn't plan for things to be this way; I want you to know that. If I could go back there really is no limit to the things I would change. There was a time when I had so many hopes, so many dreams. Coming back here I wanted things to be different than they are. I wanted us to find common ground rather than wasting all our time struggling for the upper hand. I always knew that a time would come when I couldn't hide from you anymore. When I couldn't hide anything from anybody. I will warn you, a very sad story is about to begin."

And it was.

In fact, it was worse than a sad story; it was decidedly one of the most painful series of unfortunate events Ben had ever found himself privy to. Adam told him about the conditions in which he had found Peggy, his subsequent conversation with Will that had led him to take her away. He spoke about their trip to Carson City and then San Francisco. He explained how he and Peggy had arrived on Lil's doorstep, unexpected and unannounced, and how he had met Eddie for the first time. He said up until the moment he saw her, he had not known he could feel for someone the instantaneous and intense fondness he felt for her. It was this fondness that had rooted him by her side for months, until the day he had finally decided to return to the Ponderosa, not necessarily to settle things between him and his father, but to share with his family that he and Eddie were engaged. It was this detail that stung Ben the most, alongside the one that followed it; after arguing with Ben and leaving his father's home, Adam had not returned to Eddie and Peggy.

He had followed Will.

Adam's story became less specific after that; he spoke in generalities of their travels together and their eventual parting of ways.

"When I happened upon the badge I wear," Adam said, "that's when I stopped following Will around. That's when I finally went back to San Francisco and settled into my life with Eddie, Peggy, and Lil. Charlie came along not long after that, and Noah came along not long after him. For a time, we were all happy, at least I thought that we were, or maybe that's just what I told myself each time I left them behind and returned to the trail. I focused my attention on what I needed to do, the person I had been tasked with tracking and finding, so they could be held accountable for their crimes. I was always so much better at moving around than I was standing in place. There was a time when Eddie understood that; she supported my nomadic occupation. She understood me in ways that I'm not even sure I understood myself; all she ever asked for in return was for me to understand her, something I only realize now I never really tried hard enough to do."

"Adam, she loves you. She told me she does, and you told me you love her."

"I know but that isn't enough, not anymore."

"To contend with what?" Ben asked. "The fact that you're detaining Will on this property?"

"No."

"Peggy's complicated reaction to such a thing?"

"No."

"What then?"

Gaze remaining fixated on the distant landscape, Adam blindly reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out the gruesome photograph of the brutalized woman, and handed it to Ben. "That," he said. "What my fear of truthfully examining why or how this woman died and what such a thing truly had to do with me, led me to do."

Stomach turning, Ben turned the photograph over, and placed it on the porch beside him. He had already seen it once; there was little point in examining it again.

"I didn't open my eyes, so I couldn't see the truth," Adam continued, his voice becoming tight. "I ran away, because I was afraid of obtaining verification of something I knew could never be true. I didn't kill that woman; I've always known that, but I was afraid of what I did do, and that fear manifested into something truly terrible. I was warned about choices and roads, Ed Payson, he warned me, but I didn't listen."

"Adam, how could Ed Payson have warned you of anything? He's dead."

"People die, but their voices never do. I was warned, and I didn't listen correctly. I didn't think about what was really going on or why. I thought meeting the woman in that photograph was the wrong turn, but it wasn't. No, that came later, you see, because I didn't open my eyes. I didn't want to see, so I ran away. I went back to San Francisco. I returned to my family when I should have stayed as far away from them as I could get. I was the wolf that came back; the one that ruined everything. That woman, she came to me and tried to warn me, too, but I was too afraid to listen; I was too afraid to see."

Removing his hand from the back of Adam's neck, Ben snaked his arm across his son's shoulder and held him in a gaping half-hug. He was only slightly surprised when the touch was not rejected. Even less so that Adam neither shimmied himself closer nor further away as they became enveloped in the sober silence that seemed to extend indefinitely.

Eventually, Adam shifted beneath the touch. Pulling his arm back, Ben looked around absently, his eyes finding then settling upon the back of the photograph. "Adam," he said. "What happened to that woman?"

"She was killed."

"Yes, I know. By whom?"

Looking at him, Adam did not utter a word, but in his eyes gleamed an answer, a slightly accusing declaration that Ben should not be asking questions he could reason the answers to.

"Will," Ben deduced, giving voice to the glint in his son's eyes. "You think he killed her, that's why you've imprisoned him in this house."

"Like I said, I can't prove anything."

"Then how do you know?" Ben hated to ask the question, loathed the fact that the words had spilled from his mouth. But he had to ask; he had to know. If Adam was certain, then he longed to be certain, too.

"Because I know I didn't kill her, and I know there have been others like her. Countless women who died the same brutal death, Pa, all killed between the time Uncle John died and Will was thrust out in the world on his own and now. They were all saloon girls, prostitutes, except for…"

Snapping his mouth shut, Adam's attention resettled on the distant landscape.

Ben's free hand found the photograph again. He flipped it over, holding it tightly as he forced himself to examine it, to see what Adam saw. A

correlation that was so clear in his mind but his heart still struggled to accept. He was not aware of other women dying this way; he was only cognizant of one. The woman the Running D once belonged to; the woman Will Cartwright had vowed to love and cherish forever; the woman the Virginia City townsfolk believed Adam had murdered in a jealous and impassioned rage.

"Except for the one who was not," Ben deduced grimly. "Because Laura died this way, too. Oh my god." The photograph fell from his grasp, flipping and fluttering to the ground beside his feet. Leaning over, he planted his elbows on his knees, and rested his head in his hands. His stomach turned sickly, shame and grief overwhelming him. "I protected him. I stood between Will, the townsfolk, Roy Coffee, and you. I didn't know he was responsible for Laura's death, but I should have, because I knew you weren't."

Dear lord, he thought dismally, was it really any mystery why Adam was angry or distrusting? Treating him so carefully, eternally keeping him three steps behind and well beyond arm's length, trusting him to care for his mother-in-law, wife, and children, but never himself.

"You couldn't open your eyes, Pa," Adam said. "You couldn't see. I understand that, because there was a time when I couldn't either. I was afraid, and so were you. But now you need to understand what I understand. I need you to know what I do for no other reason than to understand what's happening here and why. I know Will's killed before, and if he's allowed to walk free, he'll kill again, but I can't prove he's done anything. That doesn't make him innocent, and me knowing what I know, thinking what I think, doesn't make him guilty in the eyes of any law." Turning in his seat, Adam extended his arm and pointed at the house behind them. "What's happening here, me holding Will against his will, is a crime. My actions are going to come at a cost. That's why I need to be alone in this. I can't take anyone down this road with me. I need everyone to be as far away from me as they can get, because this isn't going to end well. It was never destined to end well."

"Then how does it end?"

"With you walking away from me. With you letting me do what needs to be done alone."

"No," Ben said fervently. "That is not going to happen. I will not run away from this. I refuse to abandon or make you stand alone. Whatever sins you carry from dealing with your cousin, Adam, they were my sins first. You're only here because of how I failed you, how I failed to correctly handle Will years ago. Whatever happens, whatever needs to happen, you and I will deal with it together. You wanted me to be with you, Adam, when you asked me to remain in your company, you did. So let me be here, son. Let me help shoulder this weight. Together we can find a way to make all of this right."

"I don't like it."

"You don't have to like it. All you have to do is agree."

"To what?"

Ben thought on the question. "To allow me to unchain Will get him out of his place."

"And take him where?" Adam asked dubiously. "There's a reason I've kept him out here. He can't walk free; he has killed before and he will kill again. I can't live with another woman's blood on my hands or conscience, Pa. I can barely tolerate the things I have to live with now."

"Then we'll watch him somewhere else."

"There is nowhere else. With the tone of things and the way he likes to run his mouth, he can't be seen in town. With Peggy at the Ponderosa, he can't go home with you."

"He could come home with me. Of course, that would mean your family would need to return to town with you."

"That can't happen."

"No, you don't want that to happen," Ben said carefully. It was a sensitive subject, demanding a great deal of mindful caution. "There is a difference between those two things, even you must realize that."

"And even you must realize what a terrible idea it is to bring Eddie to Virginia City to be introduced to the community in her condition. Most of those folks hate me, and the few that do not still don't have a kind word to say about me. You really want to subject her to that?"

"You can't hide her forever. There will come a day when people will have to know she's here."

"Maybe not."

"Adam, she is your wife, the mother of your children, how on earth do you intend to keep her a secret?"

"The only reason Eddie came here is because she's carrying that child, eventually she's going to have it, and then she's either going to die, or she's going to leave; there simply is no way that the future unfolds with her remaining here. Why subject her to any difficulty she doesn't have to be privy to?"

Considering the explanation, Ben was overwhelmed by the truth lurking beneath the surface of the words—all the things Adam would not, and could not say. "You think you're protecting her by keeping her away from town. You're not. Adam, the only person you're protecting is you."

"That's not true."

"No one would fault you for being hesitant, afraid. You said yourself you only foresee two future outcomes and neither of them are Eddie remaining here with you; it's natural for a man who has been through what you have to desire to mitigate risk and control what little he can. It's natural not to want to invite more pain when you feel overwhelmed."

"Who said anything about feeling overwhelmed?"

"You've already lost one child; it's understandable you would be hesitant to love another. In the time before Eddie arrived, you seemed to be making peace with losing her. When you shaved your beard, Peggy said the action signified you letting Eddie go. You have not grown it back, or made any effort to repair things between the two of you. It's a unique and difficult situation, son, I am not saying it isn't. The thought of having to re-embrace someone you decided to live without, especially when doing so only seems to promise more pain is a hard thing to make peace with. It seems easier to keep her away and not become significantly reinvolved. Should something bad happen in the imminent future then you'll experience it on the periphery; it seems as though you won't lose any more than what you believe you've already have."

"But?" Adam asked.

"But what?"

"At the end of all your diatribes there is always a but, a sliver of whatever wisdom you're aching to impart. What's this one, huh?"

Ben considered his son thoughtfully. There had been no malice or impatience guiding Adam's question, no frustration lurking in his expression; the words had been as simple as the wisdom his father was intending to convey. "You're not a young man anymore, Adam," he said. "You've lived a lot of life. You've experienced a great deal of things at this point, some have been good, some have been bad, and others have been something in between. I don't have to tell you outright what I was intending to convey in a roundabout way. I think you already know."

Adam stared at him for a moment, then nodded and turned his attention to the derelict corral. "The future is going to hurt no matter what," he quietly said. "There's going to be good and bad no matter what happens. You can't have one without the other, and you can't insulate yourself from pain without numbing yourself to happiness, too. I'm going to have regrets no matter what I do. I can maintain the distance between Eddie and I and allow time to trickle away around us, and then when she's gone, I'll regret wasting the opportunity I had. Or, I can bridge the gap between us, use this time to make things better, only to regret that we were not allotted more. Both of those outcomes promise hurt and complications, difficulty and regret." Inhaling a deep breath, he expelled it through his nostrils, and shook his head. "I won't do it," he said ambivalently. "I can't. Will either stays here, or he stays hidden somewhere else. I'm not taking Eddie or our children to Virginia City. It's too dangerous with the way things are."

"Why?"

"What do you mean why? I just told you I can't—"

"Why is it dangerous?" Ben clarified. "With all that you've shared with me now, what are you still hiding?"

"I'm not hiding anything."

"I don't believe that."

"I don't really care what you believe." Cringing, Adam closed his mouth and pursed his lips. "Sorry," he added after a few penitent moments. "Old habits, I guess."

Extending a hand, Ben placed his palm flat against Adam's back. Despite the seriousness of their conversation, he was unable to contain his palpable gratitude. Weeks had unfolded without acknowledgment of or apology for Adam's impetuous impertinence; the only way to deal with them had been to take issue with or ignore them completely, and now it was different. The rapport with his son had not changed exactly, rather shifted, suddenly becoming more reminiscent of years passed than more recent days. There was a peace between them now, an equanimity to their silence, and a comfort to the closeness of their proximity.

"It's okay," Ben said. "We'll find a solution for dealing with Will; we'll find a way to make everything that's wrong right. Son, one way or another all of this will be okay." And he knew it would be. He simply would not accept the alternative.

"I don't believe you," Adam said.

Smiling, Ben cupped Adam's neck fondly. "I don't care what you believe," he said wryly.

Snorting, Adam shifted, pulling himself out from under his father's hand as he stood, planted his hands on his hips, and looked at Ben inquisitively. "What are you going to do?"

"Now that you and I worked through things, I think it's about time Will and I had a nice long heart-to-heart."

"I wish you wouldn't."

"Do you intend to stop me?"

Adam was quiet for a moment. "No," he eventually said. "Just as long as you promise me you won't move him. You leave him where he is for the time being."

Given the circumstances, Ben would not dare verbally commit himself to such a thing. "You're just going to have to trust me."

"Yeah," Adam said, the word escaping his lips on a haggard exhale. His expression did nothing to expose how he truly felt about such a thing, not that it mattered. Even now, Ben knew trust would not come easily to Adam—especially where Will was concerned.

"Would you like to supervise the conversation?" Ben asked.

"No. I've heard enough of that boy's bullshit to last me the rest of my life. If you want to talk to him, then talk to him, but I do hope you'll keep one thing in mind."

"What's that?"

"He lies. A lot. He's really good at talking and absolutely nothing else."

"I'll remember."

"Good." Adam nodded. "I guess I better go show my face around town. I suppose I better have a conversation with Roy Coffee, too."

"What about Peggy?"

"What about her?"

"Don't you think you oughta clear the air with her, too?"

"Nah, I reckon I'll wait on that for another day or two." Adam cast Ben a knowing look. "You aren't the only father who understands the importance of buying a little time."

"What's this amount supposed to do?"

"Give her the space to calm down." Shrugging, Adam kicked at the ground with the toe of his boot. "Allow me to find the right thing to say about what's been happening here and why."

"You could tell her the truth," Ben said simply. "She's a smart girl, intuitive and sympathetic; she will understand."

"She shouldn't have to."

"I know. You want to protect her from the things that you know will hurt her because they still hurt you. You want to save her from that pain, but you can't, not really. You won't be able to hide the truth, forever shoving it in the periphery of your life hoping that your children won't ever have to see it. The thing about the truth is it never changes, and it always has a way of coming back up. It's a guiding force, even if we don't want it to be. If I wouldn't have run away from my father's home at such a young age, then I wouldn't be the man I am now. I would have become someone else. I wouldn't have our land, your brothers, or even you. That choice changed me." Ben tilted his head at the house behind them. "And this one is going to change you; I think the least you can do is allow your children to understand why. Looking back now, that's what I should have done. What I will do," he qualified with a firm nod as he thought of Hoss, Joe, and Jamie and the things about the past that remained a mystery to them. "Well, it's something for you to think about, at least, while you take your time."

Shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his jacket, Adam did not reply. As he walked away there was no way to know whether the advice would be heeded or disregarded; even so, Ben took solace in the fact that it had at least been heard.

TBC