Returning to Malice, Ben found he was not the only person who had begun to question what was lurking behind the inhibiting boulders. With Hoss's assistance, Little Joe stood hunched over, his left arm slung over his brother's shoulder, his right arm wrapped protectively around his injured rib cage. Bruised brow furrowed, his bloodied, green eyes were set on the prodigious boulders.
If either son was surprised to find their father had returned so quickly, neither gave any indication. When Hoss appraised him guiltily, Ben considered asking him why he had allowed Joe to venture outside and through the claustrophobic grouping of cattle which only promised to jostle his wounded body further. As Hoss began to speak, his voice quelled his father's contentions.
"There's something strange about these rocks," he stated matter of factly.
"What makes you say that?" Joe asked, looking leerily between his brother and the boulders.
Hoss shook his head, his reasoning for his hushed, unprompted statement remaining a mystery.
"There is something strange about these rocks," Ben affirmed. Stepping forward, he walked past where his sons stood, reaching out to physically inspect the lapidarian collection. The boulders felt cool against his palms, a welcome contradiction to the blazing heat of the sun. Pushing them firmly, he found the rock too hard to be shifted or swayed. His original speculation that the midwife had somehow first emerged from and then sought respite behind them seemed implausible when presented with the rigid, anchored slabs which refused to be moved. He took a backward step, tilted his head back, and appraised the mammoth formations, his brows knitting beneath the brim of his hat.
What had seemed obvious before, appeared determined to maintain its mystery now. The thought that anyone could have passed through either side of the boulders seemed as unlikely as the notion that someone had traveled the hoofprint-less road at the bottom of the baleful trail leading away from this town.
"Where did you come from?" his previous question sprung to the forefront of his mind, a maddening inquiry that only he was privy to. "If you've left this place, then where did you go?" he asked, the audible question leaving his lips for everyone to hear. Another question quickly followed; posed to everyone and no one, its answer seemed destined to remain as elusive as that of the first. "And what do you want with my son?"
The rock did not respond—not that Ben expected it to. Turning around, he found himself the focus of Hoss's evaluative stare. "Can you feel it, Pa?" he whispered. "Don't tell me you don't."
"Feel what?" Ben asked.
Looking between Ben and Joe, Hoss fixed his attention on the boulders. "There's something very wrong with this place, with these rocks. I don't gotta tell you that; you already said it yourself."
"What do you think is wrong with it?" Ben pressed, hoping that his middle son could somehow discern what he himself was still struggling to.
Shaking his head, Hoss did not further elaborate. He glanced at Joe, his brows knitting with concern. "Come on," he said. "I brought you out here like you asked, but, I reckon, it's about time for you to lay back down again."
He shouldn't have been up in the first place, Ben thought as Joe nodded and allowed Hoss to help him walk through the cattle crowding the thoroughfare. Watching them work their way to the dilapidated buildings, he was unsure which son was more eager to return to the dust-covered confines of the room: Hoss or Joe. The only thing more palpable than Hoss's apprehension was Joe's confusion, two differing sentiments. In this particular place and time, Ben knew he could empathize with both.
Emitting a frustrated growl, he took a step forward, pushed his hands against the boulder, shook and then hung his head. Never in his life had he felt so agitated, so discombobulated and lost. He had been told not to ask questions; he knew that answers would never be forthcoming. He simply could not help the questions silently racing through his mind.
If no one had traveled the road leading away from Malice, then where was Adam? If the midwife and the elders had taken him and hidden themselves away in whatever lay beyond the staggering boulders, then how had they gotten there? Nothing about anything made sense. Not the request for the cattle which had come from this place via telegraph. Not the existence of the midwife and the trio of elders. Not their disappearance, the person they had chosen to take with them and the things they had left behind. Two saddle bags filled with half-cent pieces, and a note forged in blood. Please accept this copper for payment of all that has been lost, they wrote. If you're still wondering why we asked for cattle, it was the only way we could obtain what we really needed.
Shoulders sinking, Ben's weight shifted, his hands pressing so firmly against the rock that his palms flattened, his elongated fingers straightening and extending as he thoughtlessly pushed the only discernible obstacle. Adam and Joe had brought the requested stock, but instead the midwife and elders had taken all the guns belonging to the Cartwrights and Ben's oldest son. Which had they really needed, he wondered, the guns or his son? Had the taking of one facilitated the want or need for the other?
He opened his mouth, not certain if he intended to groan in frustration or curse the stubborn formation in front of him. What eventually escaped him was a combination of both, a stifled swear, followed by a word spoken in a deepened growl, "If," he seethed darkly, repeating the only hint Adam had dared to provide.
"If," he repeated, increasing pressure on the rock in front of him. It was so cold, stubbornly stagnant beneath his hands; it did not seem intent on moving regardless of how hard he pushed. Still, he tried, not asking himself how or why, when or where, but if—just as Adam had mysteriously advised.
"If…!" he said more forcefully, his voice becoming impossibly deep and dangerous.
"If…!" If he could somehow move this boulder, then maybe he could find his oldest son.
"If…!" If he could find his oldest son, then maybe he could save him from the fate the midwife and elders had planned.
"If…!" If he could save Adam from them, then maybe he could take all his sons far away from this place, back home where they could pretend Malice was nothing more than a bad dream or some strange collective nightmare.
"If…!"
Abruptly, the mass of rock shifted with a grinding groan. Body thrusting forward, Ben plunged face-first into a cavernous darkness. He seemed to fall for minutes before he finally hit ground, landing hard on a surface as unyielding as the stone of the boulders concealing it. His breath rushed out of his chest as his stomach and chin hit with enough force to rattle his teeth and induce ringing in his ears.
Gasping, he fought for breath, unable to begin to discern where he was. He was lost, surrounded by a confounding darkness, unsure if the ground beneath him extended far enough to safely stand up and walk around once he regained control over his befuddled body. His arms and legs felt numb; his cognizance had left him the moment of impact.
Slowly, he regained control over his breath, taking one slight inhale after another, each enveloping his chest in a sharp, burning sting. He was no longer certain he was capable of standing—or if he would want to if he knew that he could. His chest felt positively inflamed, an angry, stifling pressure that had spread to circumscribe his back.
Somewhere in the depths of his mind what he believed to be a long-repressed memory began to emerge. The hiss of a woman's gleeful, shrill laughter filled his ears. Deeply unnerving, the sound was so grinding and maddening it threatened to burst his eardrums.
In the cold darkness it took him a little too long to realize the laughter was not a memory at all. It was as real as the stifling weight sat upon his back and the hot, sinister spurts of breath against the base of his neck. He was not alone. Contrary to what the woman's insatiable laughter, echoing endlessly through the blackness could lead one to believe, Ben knew his plight was far from humorous.
TBC