On their last night in Eastgate, Adam slept peacefully. Ben, however, did not; his dream returned.
Standing on the cliff, he set his gaze upon Adam and Peter Kane who both stood too close to the edge. Adam was in front of Kane, his face solemn and his attention fixed on the ground below.
"Adam," Ben tried, watching in horror as Kane pushed his son closer and closer toward the crumbling edge of the cliff. "Son."
"Do you really think you can save him?" Kane sneered.
He didn't sound the way Ben had expected him to, or like anyone else he had ever heard before. His voice was deep and gravelly, his tone downright jubilant and gleeful. Glistening with something akin to pure evil, the irises of Kane's eyes were an unsettling hue. Ben could have sworn the man's eyes were blue upon first look but seconds later they looked dark, blackened with the slightest hint of bright red.
Kane was an unsettling sight; chill crawling up his spine and stomach turning with a sudden sickness, Ben forced himself to break eye contact. He didn't like the way the man was looking at him or his son; he couldn't tolerate the trepidation born from being the extended focus of the man's lingering gaze. He shouldn't have been afraid of Kane, but somehow, he was.
It was a fear that didn't bode well with him; he had thought there were so few things left in life that could truly frighten him. This man, with his glowing eyes and buoyant smile, scared him more than he wanted to admit.
What was Kane doing? What did he want with Adam? What was he trying to prove?
Taking a step forward, Ben extended his hand. "Adam," he said insistently. He needed to get his son as far away from Kane as he possibly could. "Please, son."
Eyes downcast, Adam remained silent. He gave no indication he heard his father or knew he was there.
"Can you save him?" Kane taunted. He pushed Adam again, then again and again, inching him further away from his father and closer to the edge. "If he jumps, can you catch him? Can you make it in time? I bet you can't."
"You leave my son alone!"
Kane appraised Ben in a pleased manner as he looked him up and down. "It's a little late to be making demands, don't you think? I am dead, after all. You can't exactly go making demands of a dead man."
"Get away from him!"
"It's a little late for that too. I wonder what else it's too late for? You never answered my question. Do you think you can catch him?" Kane looked between the edge of the cliff and Ben. "How about we find out?"
Frozen in place, Ben watched in horror as Kane took a step forward and shoved Adam's back with both of his hands.
"No!" Ben screamed as his son was propelled off the cliff. "Adam!"
Leaping to the edge, he scanned the air and ground below for his son, first in horror, then confusion as he remained unable to locate Adam's body. The air and the ground were empty; seemingly disappearing, Adam had vanished as though he had never been there at all.
"What happened to him?" Ben asked, looking between Kane and ground. "What did you do to him?"
Kane laughed in return.
"Tell me what you did!" Ben bellowed.
"I can't," Kane chuckled. "I'm dead, remember? Dead men don't talk, at least not in normal ways. That, Mister Cartwright, puts you at the mercy of your son. I wonder what kind of story he's going to tell. Is your son a moral man? I mean, really deep down. Is he willing to take responsibility for what he's done or is he going to try to hide it? Is he going to favor truth over lies and own up to what's really going on?"
"My son didn't kill you!"
"How can you possibly know that? You weren't there."
"Because I know my son!"
Ben was furious; hands clenched into fists at his sides, he advanced on Kane quickly, intent on silencing his torturous words. He was stopped suddenly when Kane grasped his upper-arms and held him in place. He was shocked by the man's strength, taken aback by the unsettling dread growing in the pit of his stomach.
"Now I know where your son inherited his temper," Kane said gleefully, holding Ben's arms painfully tight. "Do you think he was right about me?"
"Who?"
"The sheriff." Kane shrugged. "Or the doctor, it doesn't matter which, I suppose. They both seemed to know things about me that you didn't. I wonder what your son knows about me that you don't."
"Let me go!"
"That's funny. That's the same thing your son said when I tied him down. But back to the question at hand, do you think the sheriff was right about me being a devil? What are you going to do if he is?"
Shaken by the question, Ben found himself without words.
"How do you save your son from the devil, Mister Cartwright?" Kane asked. "Do you really think you can protect him from himself?"
Ben didn't know. The situation was new territory. He had never encountered such a mysterious dire situation—at least not with regards to any of his sons. And Adam had never needed much in the way of saving. If it were Joe, it would be different. The boy would cry himself out and admit everything, then accept his father's soothing words and follow his advice word for word. Adam, however, Ben was agonizingly certain, would not do that. He would suffer in silence, fervently holding on to whatever it was he thought he knew.
"I didn't have to push him off that cliff, you know," Kane continued. "With or without me, he would have jumped eventually. You knew that because you had been dreaming of this long before your boy ever met me. Now you tell me, what's the point of being gifted dreams if you aren't going to heed their warnings? What is the point of knowing something bad is on the horizon if you don't do anything to stop it?"
"I tried to keep him home. I tried to protect him."
"Not nearly hard enough. Awfully manipulative, that son of yours. He played you right into his hand, Papa."
"Don't you dare speak ill of my son!"
"He did that when he wanted to see the windmills too, remember?" Kane grinned. "Oh, you remember the windmills. How could you ever forget? Of course, he didn't call you Papa then because he didn't need to. His childish tantrum was enough, just like he knew it would be. That's the thing about your son, he's always been intuitive and smart; he figured out your weakness and he uses it to manipulate you."
"That's not true. Adam would never—"
"He does," Kane laughed. "He's such a capable man, strong, self-sufficient, and independent. He doesn't need you for much. In fact, he doesn't really need you for anything at all. That's why his specific type of manipulation works. It works because it's inane and juvenile. If your youngest son tried to pull the same behavior to get his way, you wouldn't tolerate it. You tolerate—no, you indulge, the behavior when your oldest son demonstrates it because it makes you feel needed. It makes you feel less obsolete in his life."
"That's a lie!"
"That's the truth. Do you think your son cared about what you instructed him to do the second after you agreed to let him go? He couldn't have cared that much because once in Eastgate, he disrespected your direction, and he implored your younger son to disrespect it too."
"My sons are men," Ben said. "They make their own choices. I harbor no anger against them for what they chose to do."
"Oh, but you wanted to, didn't you? Admit it. If Adam wouldn't have gotten hurt, if he hadn't run into me and they had come home, safe and sound and all on their own, your fury would have been waiting for them. Where was that fury when your son was manipulating you? You were gifted with the dreams of Adam and the cliff. They were sent to you so you could acknowledge and heed them, and you ignored them instead. What happened to your son was just as much your fault as his."
"My son—"
"Can make his own choices," Kane said. "Yeah, that's what you said, and in the desert, that's exactly what he did. Does it frighten you not to know what I did to your son to transform him into the mess of a man that you found? Does it worry you to know what happened between him and I is something he doesn't want to share with you? You know why, don't you? He doesn't want to fail you. He doesn't want you to know the truth."
"My son didn't kill you."
"Then why does he think needs to be hanged? If he didn't kill me then what could have happened to make him feel as though he would rather die than live?"
Ben woke with a gasp; sitting up quickly, he blinked his eyes blearily against the darkness of the quiet room. It took a few moments for the unsettling images of the dream to fade; the sight of Adam, safe and sleeping peacefully on the bed on the other side of the small room, helped ease some of the lingering alarm he felt.
He felt like such a weary fool, gullible and old. He had allowed his conversation with the sheriff to weigh too heavily on his heart, leaving him so tortured that his subconscious mind had concocted an image of Kane to haunt him in his dreams. It was what the man was rumored to do, wasn't it? Act as a devil on a man's shoulder and whisper terrible things?
In the case of his dream, it seemed that his version of Kane was intent on drawing attention to what one could perceive as Ben's faults as a father and the vast differences in behavior he tolerated from each of his sons. There were differences because his sons were different people with different personalities, strengths, and weaknesses—he didn't need a dream to tell him that, just as he didn't need an illusory version of Kane to remind him of his guilt or his worry for his eldest son.
Although Adam had emerged from his confusion, there were still so many questions remaining about what he had endured in the desert and no satisfactory answers to be gleaned. Only two people knew for certain what had happened; Peter Kane was dead, and Adam wasn't talking—at least in not any satisfactory ways. His nervous behavior and subsequent declarations begged more questions than it provided answers.
What had Adam really meant when he declared that he should be hung? What had happened in the desert that was too terrible to speak about? What had Kane done to Adam? And what had Adam done to Kane?
Unsettled by these questions and the strangeness of his dream, Ben was too preoccupied to give sleep further thought.
Xx
When morning came, getting Adam out of the boarding house wasn't the ordeal Ben had anticipated it would be.
Adam had been unnerved by the prospect of leaving, there was no doubt about that; however, he made it out of the room and down the staircase of the boarding house with little problem. It wasn't until he came upon the doorway which would lead him out and on to the thoroughfare that he hesitated.
"Come on, son," Ben said. Standing a few paces in front of Adam, he nodded at the few stairs leading to the street. "You wanted to go home, so let's go." He smiled. "Little Joe is waiting with the horses; you know how impatient he can be."
Clenching his fists as his sides, Adam remained rooted in place. Brows furrowing, he frowned and looked upon the scattered townsfolk in a fretful manner. None of the passing people paid him any mind; no one seemed to care about him, his father, or his brother as they quietly, discreetly, prompted him to take another step.
Coming to stop behind him, Hoss grasped Adam's upper arms; Ben tried to ignore how Adam had jumped, startled by his brother's gentle touch.
"Come on," Hoss said. "I'm right here, brother. I swear, I ain't going nowhere."
Adam glanced back, his eyes seemingly searching for verification of the claim.
"You know I haven't ever broken my word to you before," Hoss added. "I ain't fixing to start now."
Adam paused a moment longer, then nodded in agreement and allowed Hoss to gently propel him toward the steps. He walked slowly; his strides were noticeably shorter than they had ever been before. With his listless pace, agitated expression, missing gun belt, and foreign clothes, Ben was startled by how unfamiliar Adam looked. He had tried to obtain the darkest outfit he could; procuring dark pants had been easy, it was getting a dark colored shirt that remained impossible; he had been forced to buy a blue shirt, which, in turn, he had forced upon his oldest son's back. Adam hadn't wanted to put on the shirt; he had cited no logical reason for not being agreeable to such a thing.
"I don't like it, Pa," Adam had whispered, his brows furrowed with discomfort as he pulled anxiously at the hems of the long sleeves.
Fingers proficiently fastening the buttons lining the front of Adam's shirt, Ben dismissed the words with a shake of his head. "It's only for a few days," he said. "When we get home, you can wear whatever you feel like; you'll make do for now."
"It's not right," Adam protested weakly. "I don't like it."
Ben didn't like it either—though that was a thought he deemed best kept to himself at the time. Watching Hoss push Adam through the thoroughfare, he couldn't help noticing that the color of Adam's shirt wasn't the only thing that wasn't right. It was an observation that smarted, even though the proof of such a thing had been glaring since the day they found Adam in the desert.
Even if Adam wasn't responsible for Kane's death that didn't mean that whatever he had endured hadn't hurt. As Hoss had already said, it had cut him deep and left a gaping wound. Still, with time and proper care, if not terminal, wounds could heal. It was the scars the experience would leave behind that worried Ben the most.
Hoss removed his hands from Adam's shoulders as soon as they approached the livery. Looking between their horses who were tied to the hitching rail and his oldest son, Ben was grateful that even without Hoss's force Adam kept walking toward the building. When Joe emerged from behind their horses, Ben couldn't help but wonder if he was the reason Hoss had finally let go of Adam, if his middle son wasn't somehow trying to preserve Adam's pride in front of their youngest brother. It was an odd thought, ridiculous and foolish. There was no hiding the changes in Adam from Joe. They were too obvious and notable, knowledge of them was the very reason Joe had been driven to the saloon.
"Ready?" Joe asked.
"Ready," Hoss said.
Eyes locked on Sport, Adam hesitated once again.
Glancing between Adam and the horse, Ben braced himself for a negative reaction, preparing to intercede should the moment turn sour. Though he didn't know what he was anticipating, it wasn't what he eventually watched his older son do.
Striding to the horse, Adam looked upon Sport with wonder in his eyes. "Hey, Buddy," he whispered, extending an open palm to stroke the white hair between the animal's forehead and muzzle. "I thought I'd never see you again."
The horse, it seemed, shared Adam's relief. Tilting his head from beneath Adam's hand, Sport shuffled in place, extending his neck to nuzzle Adam's cheek. It was a heartwarming reunion; an uplifting moment amongst so many others that had been so cruel. Neither Ben, nor Hoss, nor Joe made a move to interrupt it. Ben was certain they all knew whatever had happened—however Adam and Sport had been separated by the men who had thrust Adam into the desert alone—it was a biting memory for both Adam and his loyal horse.
"Thank you," Adam said eventually. Pulling away from Sport, his eyes were locked on Little Joe. "For finding and bringing him back to me."
Pursing his lips, Joe nodded curtly. Ben knew Adam's relief over the safe return of the beloved animal didn't need to be fully explained to be understood.
Xx
Over the next few days, they took their time heading home; the land was rough and there was little point in inviting further disaster by foolishly rushing through it.
Sitting atop Sport, Adam was noticeably quiet. He spoke only when spoken to directly, and even then, his responses were brief, absent, and lackluster. His attention, it seemed, was focused on the landscape; his eyes, dull and owlish, endlessly scanned the distance for something that couldn't be seen. Ben noted his eldest's peripatetic gaze early on because it was behavior he recognized. It was the same thing he had done prior to finding Adam, his own eyes ceaselessly searching the distance for something he was both dreading and hoping to find. Dreading because he hadn't wanted to come across his son's lifeless body and hoping because, dead or alive, he wasn't sure how he could ever return to the Ponderosa without his eldest child.
Never far from the protective presences of his younger brothers and father, Adam was silent during their days on the trail, but during the nights he screamed. Unwilling to allow his son to consume the sleeping powder while in the unpredictable wilderness, Ben held himself accountable for the brutality of Adam's nightmares.
Beneath the cover of a star-speckled sky, surrounded by a still silence, interrupted by the occasional chorus of coyotes, sleeping close to the low embers of their fading campfire, Adam was surrounded by his family members. His slumber was fitful and sparse, so theirs was too. It seemed to Ben that they had all just drifted off once more before Adam began tossing and turning again, first mumbling, then, eventually, screaming about games. He woke swiftly when any one of them touched him, springing to a seated position, his breaths coming in gasps as he looked at them with wild, wide eyes. It took a few minutes for him to calm down, for him to regain his bearings, for relief and recognition to become etched on his face as reality dawned upon him once more. He may not have been safe in his dream, but he was safe now.
Despite all of this, there was one small mercy. Adam may have been suffering from intense, persistent nightmares, but at least he didn't cry when he awoke.
In fact, after crying when Obadiah Johnson had been hung, Adam hadn't shed another tear, confused or otherwise, and, for that, Ben was endlessly grateful. He never had been good at watching his sons cry over pain that couldn't be eased or helped; it was a horrendous thing to stomach when they were young and somehow infinitely worse to endure when they were adults. He was used to fixing things, providing wisdom, medicine, or protection to ease whatever ailed his children. But this situation was unlike any he had experienced before; he couldn't help Adam if his son remained insistent that he didn't remember what he was dreaming about. He couldn't provide any wisdom if his son remained adamant that he didn't remember what had happened to him.
Despite his last emotional outburst, mysteriously likening the punishment for Obadiah Johnson's crimes to what he perceived as his own, Adam remained resolute in the face of Ben's probing questions. Once again, he insisted he didn't remember being robbed, the desert, or Peter Kane. He was lying, of course, Ben reasoned that right away, as Adam had already mentioned losing Sport and the money he had been carrying when he had been robbed. He had said something else too, though he hadn't provided certain context. The justification Adam had used to win his comparative argument of Johnson and himself had left Ben uneasy.
Adam had told Ben that Ben didn't know what had happened to him, suggesting that Adam, in fact, did remember something. The anguish in his son's voice when he had made the claim was verification enough for Ben to be convinced that Adam remembered much more than he wanted to recall or disclose. Even so, Ben wasn't eager to press Adam for more information; he wouldn't pull the details out of him one by one, because the years he had spent raising his son had proven that such a thing was nearly impossible to do. He would have to wait until Adam was ready and willing to talk.
In the meantime, Ben intended to take his son home. Once there, he would keep Adam close for a long while. Requiring him to cease his lonely wandering, he would limit him to the ranch house, barn, and closer pasture. Heeding the doctor's advice, he wouldn't force his son to speak about what happened in the desert; keeping Adam's pride intact, he would give him privacy, space, and time to work through his emotions on his own time, in his own way and under careful supervision. Eventually, the nightmares and memories would fade; whatever had happened would become an event so distant that the details wouldn't be readily recalled; and Ben would stubbornly heed whatever premonitions he was gifted in the future. Heaven and earth would have to be moved before he discarded their warning again.
It all seemed uncomplicated when he thought about it, during those long days on the trail. Straightforward and logical. Adam was such a logical man; he was bound to agree with his father should they ever discuss it.
It was the nights on the trail when Ben had trouble reconciling his foolish thoughts. When he heard Adam's screams and yells, when he grasped his son's arm and startled him awake only to stare into his eyes, wide and tormented. It was what Ben saw in his son's eyes that shook his faith in his previously conceived plan; they declared a truth that couldn't be denied. It wasn't wise for Adam to ignore what happened. While silence was the best way to preserve a man's pride, it usually came at the cost of his soul.
How do you save your son from the devil, Mister Cartwright?
Kane's words from his dream echoed in Ben's mind as Adam woke once again. Holding his son's arm tightly, Ben waited for Adam's breathing to calm, for recognition of reality to dawn upon him once more.
"You're fine," Ben whispered when his son's confusion finally seemed to settle. "I'm here; your brothers are here. Everything is okay, Adam."
Nodding once, Adam pursed his lips and laid back down. Pulling the blanket tight around Adam's shoulders, Ben tried to not worry about his son's haunted expression as Adam fixed his attention on the dying flames of the campfire. Shaking his head, he tried to dismiss the memory of Kane's words and the haunting apprehension they awoke, and his gaze found his youngest son.
Sitting upright, Joe's knees were bent as he hugged his legs to his chest. He had carefully arranged his bedroll on the opposite side of the campfire. To Ben, it seemed as though Joe was both as close to Adam as he could tolerate being and as far away as he could possibly be given their current surroundings. It saddened him to think of such things, to look at Joe mirroring Adam's pain only to reflect it in a different way. Joe had always been the most sensitive of his boys, a quality that made him fiery and impulsive and had also allowed him to grow into an empathetic young man. As much as the events of the past few weeks had affected Adam, they had affected Joe too. Like Adam, Joe's eyes were haunted, his attention focused on the dying embers of the fire.
Casting another look at Adam, Ben was satisfied to find him asleep. He nudged Hoss, waiting for his middle son to look at him before nodding silently at Adam. Hoss nodded in return and Ben stood, moving to sit next to his youngest child.
Joe looked upon him in shock. "Pa," he protested, his voice no more than a whisper. "Adam—"
"Is fine at the moment," Ben assured softly.
"Is he? I'm sorry, Pa; I don't believe you."
"I don't want you to be sorry," Ben whispered. It was as good of an opportunity as any to parlay the conversation toward easing Joe's contrition. "There isn't anything for you to be sorry for." He hoped the mollifying statement would be more easily accepted by his youngest son than his oldest.
"I don't believe that either," Joe whispered.
"Why?"
"Because..." Pausing, Joe seemed hesitant to give words to his thoughts. "Because I let Adam leave Eastgate alone," he continued, lowering his voice to a nearly inaudible tone so he wasn't in danger of being overheard. "You asked us to take care of each other, Pa, and I... I didn't do that. I let Adam head out alone. He got robbed and he got lost and then he got mixed up with that dead man, and when we found him, he cried."
"That's not something you've ever seen him do before."
"No." Joe shook his head, immediately refuting his own answer. "I mean… yeah, I have but not like that."
"When did you ever see your brother cry?"
Joe shook his head again. "Doesn't matter."
"Then what matters?" Ben probed.
"What matters is... I heard him before and I know why he was crying that time, so I can tell the difference between genuine grief and somethin' else. A man doesn't cry and carry on the way Adam has been when something truly horrible hasn't happened to him. I was talking to some of the people in the saloon and I heard all sorts of stories about that dead man, Pa. The terrible things he somehow got people to do to each other. They called him evil; the sheriff called him a devil."
"I know."
"You told us to look after each other," Joe repeated sadly. "And I didn't do that, because when Adam said he wanted to head out of Eastgate alone, I let him go. I hate myself for doing that because I should have known better; I should have listened to you and not him. I let him go into the desert; I let him walk right into that devil's hand."
"Joe—"
"See, Pa, it could have been different had I not agreed, but I did, so it wasn't. It's my fault for being so... so used to Adam always being the one to protect me. I didn't think anything could happen to him, because the thought of my older brother not being able to protect himself has never crossed my mind. It's foolish that it didn't, because look what happened all because I let him go off alone."
"None of this is your fault, Joe."
"Then whose fault is it?" Joe asked. "Who can I blame? Pa, it has to be somebody's fault."
"It's mine," a soft voice interjected.
Startled by the sudden admission, Ben and Joe looked past the declining fire and found Adam, sitting upright, his absent gaze locked on the darkness behind them. Ben hadn't realized Adam was still awake; with Hoss snoring softly, he hadn't anticipated their conversation was loud enough to be overheard.
"If you need somebody to blame, then blame me," Adam continued. His voice was quiet, feeble in comparison to the compelling strength of his usual timbre. "Because what happened was my fault. It… it was all my fault."
Joe frowned. "I could never blame you. You're the one who got hurt. I'm the one who let you go alone. I should have been with you. I should have gone too."
"I didn't want you to come with me," Adam said. "I wanted to be alone. It was my decision to go; it was my mistake. I was arrogant, imperious, and indecorous; I'm the one who's responsible for carrying the burden of what happened. If you can't blame me for my own mistake, then you're going to have to let it go."
"But if I had been there—" Joe began.
"Then it would have been the both of us," Adam said. "And you would have had to die out in the desert too. Be thankful I was alone; be grateful that it was only me, Joe. I am."
Though taken aback, Ben was comforted by Adam's words. Leave it to Joe to be the one to force Adam to set aside his own pain in order to play the role of wise older brother and soothe his younger brother's fear. It was a role Adam slipped into easily; it was what he had always done and would always do; and it was a welcome development. It wasn't much, but it was something. The slightest hints of more favorable things to come.
Palming Joe's neck, Ben pulled him close and smiled. Dismissing Adam's absent tone and vacant stare, he convinced himself to hold tight to Adam's words rather than his haggard appearance. These words, the first few real sentences Adam had said since being found, were a gift. A solid ray of hope shining through the storm clouds. Adam had survived the wilderness; he had endured seemingly incomprehensible difficulty to do so. He had struggled but he had survived; surrounded by his family, he was safe, and he would heal.
Still, his certainty in the moment wasn't enough to soothe the sliver of doubt awoken by Kane's words from Ben's dream.
I wonder what kind of story he's going to tell? the memory hissed. Is he willing to take responsibility for the truth or is he going to try to hide it?
Watching Adam sob uncontrollably after watching Obadiah Johnson be hung, Ben figured, was as good of an admission of guilt as any. But the problem with Adam holding himself responsible for Peter Kane's death was that he didn't actually kill the man.
I was arrogant, imperious, and indecorous. Ben frowned, unsettled by the self-deprecating remarks Adam used to characterize himself and his behavior.
Is your son a moral man? Kane had asked gleefully in his dream.
Ben knew that Adam was. His eldest child had a moral compass that could rival that of the most righteous of men. Persevering and unyielding, Adam's beliefs never changed. Things were either right or they were wrong, actions were acceptable or punishable. There were no exceptions, and no in-between when it came to accepting consequences demanded by unacceptable, illicit actions. It was a conviction that, under normal circumstances, Ben was extraordinarily proud of, but he would be lying if he said it didn't frighten him now, because though Ben was certain Adam hadn't killed Kane, it was a belief that Adam didn't seem to share.
Ben couldn't dismiss a glaring fact—one which Adam had previously declared—he didn't know what happened in the desert between Kane and his son; he didn't know what had preceded Kane's death or Adam's mental anguish and confusion. He didn't know, but he suspected Kane's actions had been decidedly wrong and Adam's, he feared, could be interpreted as betwixt. And if that was the case then where did that leave his son whose moral compass left no room for exceptions or in-between actions which lingered somewhere between good and bad? Ben wasn't certain of that either. He had his suspicions and fears, and he had the memory of Kane's horrifying question, looping endlessly in his mind.
Do you really think you can save him from himself?
Ben wasn't sure. How could he possibly begin to contend with his son's fervent beliefs?
Watching Adam stare absently at the dark horizon, Ben's worry was renewed—not that it was ever really silenced. How could it? With Adam's worrisome behavior, his persistent confusion, and nightmares? With his eyes, wide and wild and staring into the darkness, gleaming
in a bedeviled fashion? With everything he didn't know about what happened to his son and the few things he did, how could Ben possibly silence all his worry?
Can you catch me? Adam had asked in a dream. Pa, can you?
The repetitious question eventually awoke the memory of another conversation and a bothersome indifferent statement the Eastgate sheriff had offered in passing.
A guilty conscience can sure make a man do asinine things.
Can you hold on to me, Pa? Adam had asked a few days prior. It was a request Ben hadn't fully understood at the time.
Ben felt a cold envelop him as Joe finally pulled away and settled back down on his bedroll. Eyes locked on Adam, he felt a shiver creep through his body as Kane's words returned to haunt him once more.
If he jumps, can you catch him? I bet you can't. How about we find out?
While Ben had no interest in pursuing such an experiment, he was overtaken by a harrowing feeling. He wasn't interested in pursuing such thoughts, but what was Adam interested in doing?
What had Kane influenced his son to do in the desert? What kind of imprint had the dead man's assumed mind games left on Adam and what would they implore him to do?
Returning to Adam's side, Ben silently indicated for Adam to lay back down, then he settled in a very small distance away. He would have preferred to be closer, to envelope his son into his arms and hold him the way he had when they had been so many years younger. When the discrepancies between their physical sizes and timbres of their voices had been so vast and distinct. When Ben's very presence was enough to soothe his son's discomfort and fear. It wasn't to be. After all, Adam was a man now, deeming such a sleeping arrangement wildly inappropriate.
Ben settled for the next best thing. Extending his arm, he placed a comforting palm on Adam's chest. "I'm going to hold on to you," he whispered the quiet vow for only the two of them to hear. He was uncertain if the assurance was meant to soothe Adam's lingering distress or his own. "You asked me if I could hold on to you and I want you to know that I can. We found you and I have you, son. I'm not letting go. I'll never let go."
Stirring uncomfortably beneath his father's hand, Adam didn't reply.
Though both his and Adam's slumber would continue to be disturbed by unsettling nightmares and dreams, it was his son's persistent silence that would come to haunt Ben the most in the forthcoming weeks.
TBC
