Exiting through the door of the Virginia City telegraph office, Ben found himself miraculously back inside of the boulder's gloomy corridor. He wanted to be surprised the doorway had returned him to this place, but he was not. A small part of him wondered if, after spending time in such a volatile and capricious place with such vexatious company, anything would ever surprise him again. Sunlight funneled through the cavernous opening, illuminating the sorcerous area from which he had just emerged, lighting the pathway back to where the elders still stood in an orderly line. He had been warned this was a place where nothing mattered, now he would regard it as one where nothing was obligated to make sense. People and cattle could simply disappear and then reappear; an empty town could petition for beef stock; telegraphs could be sent from nowhere; the sides of boulders could open up to swallow men whole; and his oldest son could consume his father's blood from a flagitious woman's finger and then take her hand and disappear into shadows.

Ben did not know what kind of strange phenomenon governed this place. The kind of power that had allowed the trio of men to summon an event of the past, the eerie recreation of something Ben had neither wanted nor needed to see. He did not care how or why the men had done it. It was just yet another trick in a long line he had endured since first arriving at this place and meeting its intolerable inhabitants.

"You saw," the middle elder said placidly. "You know."

"You said you would show me the truth!" Ben seethed. Hands clenched in tight fists at his sides, he appraised the men with a thunderous expression.

"We showed you a truth."

"You showed me nothing!"

"We shared with you what your oldest son chose to hide."

"You somehow think that by showing me that there were two telegraphs rather than one that you are disclosing some secret fact? Well, you aren't."

Ben shook his head disgustedly. Past interactions had taught him to expect schemes from the midwife. Now he knew it was senseless to expect sincerity from the men in front of him. Though they tried hard to represent themselves differently with their calm demeanors and the middle elder's enduring tranquil tone, the men were as ignominious as the midwife. She was a terrible trickster. Now these men had proven themselves to be the same. They did not intend to help; they only wanted to mislead. To shake his faith in Adam by showing him images intended to instill doubt.

"You showed me nothing," Ben repeated firmly. "I don't care that there were two telegraphs. I would not even care if there had been twenty telegraphs. Adam is a grown man. He is allowed to accept correspondence from whomever he chooses. He is quite capable of deciding what kind of women he would like to keep company with, how, when, and why he would like to seek out their companionship. He is under no obligation to share with anyone anything about his dalliances, secret or otherwise."

"And if he came here because of the message he privately received rather than the request meant for all of you?"

"It doesn't matter," Ben said.

"But it does," the middle elder said.

Ben shook his head, his faith in Adam was resolute. Even if his son had decided to embark on the cattle drive to Malice based on curiosity or desire stemming from a libidinous message from a stranger that did not mean anything. It did not mean he knew what was waiting for him once he reached the mystifying town. It did not mean he intended to hurt Little Joe—or even that he actually did. He didn't, Ben knew that—he had always known that.

But, a small, troublesome voice rose in his mind, Adam's lips had been stained with blood. His eyes had shined with an unholy glean and then they had appeared sunken and hollow. He had spoken menacingly, his dark hostility only the smallest hint of the brutal ferocity he was capable of. He had taken the midwife's hand, and he had left his father tied up and alone in the dark.

"Blood," Adam had said, a single irrefutable word. By his own omission, he had not been tasked with bringing cattle to this godforsaken place. He had been charged with bringing blood.

Frowning, Ben dismissed the troublesome admission. If Adam had ventured to this place because of a lewd telegraph then fine, but he was not culpable for anything beyond. He simply did not hurt Joe. He was not to be blamed for what this place, these men, and that woman had done. He was not accountable for the blood that had trickled from the cut on Ben's chin. He was not responsible for ingesting it. It wasn't possible for him to be. Not Ben's Adam—the incorruptible and intelligent man he had turned out to be.

"Intelligent boy," the midwife had purred in approval as she ran her fingers fondly through Adam's dark hair. "I always knew you were going to be my favorite."

Frowning, Ben did his best not to give credence to the apprehension begotten by the haunting memory.

"You do not care that your son lied to you," the middle elder said evenly, appearing uninterested in obtaining a reply. The sole purpose of his careful statements seemed meant to challenge Ben's opinions rather than his own.

"He had a good reason."

"You are sure of this."

"Adam always has a reason."

"And if that reason was because he intended to lead your youngest son astray?"

"Adam did not lead Little Joe astray," Ben insisted.

"He led him to a town he knew did not exist."

"He didn't know. He could not have been certain that it did not exist."

"He was forewarned."

"By that clerk?" Ben tempestuously stipulated. "Considering that man's flippancy, I would not regard him as a trustworthy advisor."

"Yet you still consider your oldest son trustworthy."

"Yes," Ben said firmly.

Looking among each other, the elders shared a silent conversation, inaudibly considering all that Ben had said and what he had refused to. Finally casting his evaluative eyes upon Ben, the middle elder lifted his arm and extended his index finger, indicating the cave's opening. "Then you must enter the light again," he decreed. "You must force yourself to see that which you do not wish to know. You must listen to that which is not easy to hear. You must see and you must hear until you are ready to believe."

"And if I refuse?" Ben asked, careful to frame his question in a way it could be received.

"You cannot."

"But if I do?"

"There is no alternative in a place where nothing matters except for the promises we make. You promised to have faith in the infallible things we say, you promised to hear them. Your words passed your lips and became a sacred vow. You cannot break it. You must trust us. You must have faith that what is to happen is the only thing that can be done."

"And if I refuse to?"

"You will leave this cave again. You will see, and you will know." The middle elder was resolute. "And we will wait. When you finally choose to trust and place your faith in what is righteous and pure, only then will you truly understand. Only then will you be allowed to leave this place and return to the path which your oldest son warned you to avoid. Only then will She allow you to accept what She wishes you to have and that which She must take from you."

"She?" Ben asked, intrigued by the middle elder's inflection. To hear him speak the simple identifier with such reverence, it was as though he was referencing god himself. "When you say She, do you mean the midwife?"

As soon as the question escaped him, Ben knew it was destined to remain unanswered. It was just as well. She had to be the midwife. The woman was the only female for miles; there was no one else the elder could be referring to.

Shaking his head, the middle elder nodded, indicating at the light outside of the cavern's opening. "Step into the light," he instructed. "You will see, and you will know."

TBC