Chapter Two: Holes in the Facade
Life continued as usual. Working and living alongside his family, Adam was decidedly unaffected by his memories of the desert—or lack thereof. It was startling how normal everything was. It was as though Eastgate didn't exist. As though Adam had never ventured into the desert outside of it. As though he had never gone missing at all. It almost seemed too good to be true. And it was.
Then came that fateful evening when the family congregated by the fireplace and Joe presented his two older brothers with a rope. Ben didn't like the scene; it made him uneasy from the start.
"What are you doing?" Adam asked skeptically, watching his baby brother toy with the rope.
"Experimenting," Joe said.
"With what?"
"An experiment."
Adam rolled his eyes. "Elaborate."
"Well," Joe said exaggeratedly. Leaning forward in his seat, he held both ends of the rope in his hands, each firmly clenched in a respective fist, leaving the middle hanging slack in the air. "Me and Mitch Devlin made a bet."
"About a rope?"
"No, well, yes and no. You see, me and him—"
"He and I," Adam corrected.
"Will you please let me finish? Mitch and I, we made a bet, you see. He thinks it's impossible to bind a man's hands with a butterfly loop."
"Let me guess, you bet him it isn't."
"Exactly."
"That still doesn't answer my question."
"What question?"
"What are you doing with the rope?"
Joe looked at the rope, then between his two brothers.
"Oh, no," Hoss said. "I already told you, Joe, I ain't letting you experiment on me. Seeing as Mitch is the one that you're bettin', I think his hands are the ones you should be asking to bind with that rope."
"He's betting against me," Joe said.
"What difference does that make?" Hoss asked.
"He's not gonna help me prove a point that's gonna lose him money," Joe said.
"How much money?" Adam asked.
Joe hesitated momentarily, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. "Fifty dollars," he said.
"Fifty dollars!" Hoss exclaimed. "Just for a dumb, old knot?"
"If it works," Joe looked between his brothers once more, "I get fifty dollars. If it doesn't, then I pay Mitch."
"I see," Adam said. "So, you need one of us to volunteer to help conduct the experiment and the other to witness."
Joe smiled. "Exactly."
"Well, I ain't gonna be no volunteer," Hoss said.
"Oh, come on, Hoss," Joe protested. "It isn't like I wouldn't untie you. You can trust me."
"No," Hoss said firmly. "I done told you, I ain't gonna do it."
"I'll do it," Adam said.
Joe cast his oldest brother a joyous look. "You will?"
"Sure, I will," Adam said. "But it'll cost you."
Joe's joy was short-lived. "How much?"
"Oh, I think half of your winnings."
"Half?"
"Yes," Adam affirmed. "Half, that is, if you do win."
"What if I don't?" Joe asked.
Adam shrugged. "I figure I still want half of what you would have won."
"Seventy-five dollars," Joe said flatly. "You're expecting me to cough up seventy-five dollars if I lose. Fifty for Mitch and twenty-five for you?"
"Oh, come on, little brother, have some faith in your beliefs," Adam said. "After all, you're the one who thinks it'll work."
"I know it'll work," Joe said.
"Then what are you worried about the money for?" Adam asked. "If you're right, it won't cost you a thing."
"Fine," Joe said. His displeasure over the arrangement was clear.
Sitting on the edge of the table, Adam aligned himself in front of where Joe was seated on the settee, rested his elbows on his knees, and offered up his wrists.
Looking upon his sons, Ben's uneasiness intensified. He could have stopped what was about to happen. Looking back, he would desperately wish he had. It was horrifying how quickly things could change; one minute everything seemed right, and then the next it was all so incredibly wrong.
Joe was right in the end; the butterfly knot was an effective way to bind one's hands; though, he would later forlornly admit he wished he could have been wrong. He longed to have never conducted his "experiment" in the first place. Ben would comfort his youngest son, saying that what happened that night was bound to happen eventually. In a way, Adam was fortunate it happened in the company of his family and not someone else. Someone who would have used the situation to question his strength or sanity. Someone who didn't love him the way his brothers and father did. Someone who didn't know he had once gone missing in the desert outside of Eastgate, because that wasn't common knowledge. After finding Adam and bringing him home, there hadn't been a reason to share what had happened. After all, Adam was fine; he didn't show any indication that memories of the traumas he had endured were festering inside of his heart or mind. He was fine, right up until the moment he suddenly wasn't.
Joe had just looped the rope over for the final time, cinching it tightly, when Adam showed the first indication of distress. "Take it off," he said. His voice was strained, his expression tight, as he stared at the space in front of him with wide eyes. What he was truly seeing was anyone's guess. Later Ben would suspect his son was remembering something he had convinced himself to forget.
"What?" Joe asked, his expression falling with confusion.
"Take it off!"
The demand sounded more anxious than angry as Adam stood suddenly and began to struggle to pull his wrists free of the rope. The action only worsened the situation, tightening the rope rather than loosening it. He took an impulsive step backwards, the backs of his calves hitting the table and dislodging his balance. He sat on the table with a thud as he continued to struggle to pull his hands free. The more he struggled the more the rope tightened; the more the rope tightened the more panicked his motions became.
"Take it off!" he yelled.
"I'm trying!" Joe reached for the rope only to have Adam pull it away.
"Take it off!"
"Hold still!"
"Take it off!"
Ben didn't think as he leapt into action, his swift steps taking him into the gun rack to procure a hunting knife from one of the drawers. "Joe, move," he instructed firmly as he returned to the scene. "Hoss, get behind Adam, take hold of his arms, hold them still and apart, so I can cut the rope."
Hoss did as he was ordered to, actions that only added to Adam's desperation. His panic was palpable, making the air in the room feel thick and cold. "Let me go!" he screamed, fighting his brother's overbearing grip. "Let me go!"
"Just hold on a second," Hoss grunted. "And I swear I will!"
"Let me go!"
"Quit fightin'!"
"Let me go!"
"Brother, you know I ain't gonna hurt you!"
Though Hoss struggled to maintain his hold, somehow, he did, clenching his older brother's forearms tightly while his father slashed the rope. Hoss let go of Adam the moment the knife was pulled free, and their movement no longer hastened, Adam's arms flew to hang limply at his sides. One wrist had been liberated from the rope completely, but the other was still confined. This was something Adam seemed to care little about. Staring at the floor, his breaths were shallow and rasping, his eyes wide, wild, and full of unshed tears.
For a moment no one said anything, each too shocked by the power of Adam's reaction to form words.
"I'm sorry," Joe whispered. "Adam, I didn't—"
Adam stood abruptly, his quick strides taking him to the front door; he couldn't seem to escape the room or the attention of his family quick enough.
"Pa," Joe said, flinching as Adam slammed the door behind him. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to… I—I had no idea that was going to—"
Ben shook his head. In the moment, the reason why Adam had reacted to the rope didn't really matter. All that mattered is what happened now that he had. "Stay here," he ordered grimly.
Knife in hand, he joined his oldest son outside. It was not a mystery why Adam had left so quickly. Standing by the hitching post, he had lost the battle with his tears. Breaths coming in quick, thick gasps, he struggled to quiet the sobs that seemed determined to escape him. Adam was always so stoic, so composed, maintaining a masterful hold over his emotions. Crying in the desert had been an anomaly; he never had been comfortable with such emotion. The only thing more difficult than having to comfort someone else's tears was being forced to contend with his own. He didn't cry. He never cried.
But he was crying now.
Watching his son crumble, Ben knew how serious the situation was—how innately serious it all was. "Give me your hand," he said gently, nodding at the rope still hanging from his son's wrist.
Adam didn't look at him as he complied. His wrist was freed quickly, the rope falling to rest forgotten on the ground.
Embedding the blade of the hunting knife deep into the wood of the hitching post, Ben let go of its hilt and extended his arms. It was an offer that was quickly rejected.
Pushing his father away tempestuously, Adam took a step forward and grasped the hitching post instead. Hands clenched firmly around it, he held his arms in straight lines, his back slightly bent to accommodate the rigidness of his posture as he hung his head and forced a series of deep, sputtering breaths. Though it took a few minutes, he eventually regained control over himself.
Ben felt helpless, useless, and confused. "It's okay," he tried to soothe. "Whatever it was, it's over now. You are home and safe, and everything is going to be alright."
But it wasn't—at least not then. It was obvious the memories of something that had been previously forgotten, or hidden deep and ignored had been abruptly exhumed. Ben couldn't help wondering, if in the forthcoming days, it would be Adam's body of memories of his time in the desert that he would begin to drag around.
Extending his hand, he clasped Adam's shoulder, needing so badly to comfort him somehow. Still, he was not surprised when Adam let go of the hitching post, stood tall, and stepped out of reach. Back and shoulders rigid, he wiped the sleeve covering his forearm over his face to absorb any persisting tears. He didn't look at his father; eyes focused on the ground in front of him, he turned his back on Ben and stalked away, disappearing into the night.
TBC