They crossed paths with Hoss and his search party on the way to Lake Tahoe. The sudden hunch about the body of water was one Frank and Ben's middle son shared.

"I know it don't make sense," Hoss said. Sitting upon Chubb, he shook his head in a bewildered manner. "If Adam's there, then I'll be dad-burned as to how he made it without being seen, or how he wasn't found before now, because Joe and his group headed that direction hours ago."

"You just have a feeling about it," Ben said flatly, glancing back at Frank through the corner of his eyes.

"Yeah," Hoss said. He appeared visibly grateful his father understood immaterial motivations. "I think Adam's there, Pa. Don't ask me how or why, but I think that's where we'll find him." He glanced at the group of men around them, then looked at his father and lowered his voice. "I think maybe we oughta search with a smaller group too. I'd rather not overwhelm Adam with a bunch of unfamiliar faces when we do find him. There ain't no tellin' how he'd react to that. There ain't no tellin' a lot of things right now."

Ben understood what Hoss had left unsaid. They were both worried about the state in which Adam would be found, what he would do if propelled into a group of strangers or what kind things—what kind of stories—the hands would share later about Adam. There were enough nasty rumors floating around town—talk that suggested Adam's mental capabilities had been impacted, that he had become wildly unhinged—Ben was not eager to substantiate any of them. He thought about the behavior Adam had displayed at home, the occasion when he was found unresponsive in his room, and looking at Hoss, he knew his son was recalling it too. If it happened before it could happen again, and neither Ben nor Hoss were eager to subject Adam to an audience.

But what if Adam wasn't at the lake? What if they sent the search party in the opposite direction and they found him instead? What if he was found by a group of strange men without a single member of his family to insulate, protect and reassure him? There was no telling what Adam would do, but Ben was certain he would no longer be able to protect his son's pride.

"He's there, Pa," Hoss said, seemingly understanding Ben's hesitation. "I'm sure of it."

Ben nodded. He wasn't certain but his son was and that would have to be enough for now. "Hoss and I will go alone," he said, projecting the firm order toward the group. Adam's confusion was a family matter and that was how it would remain. "The rest of you circle back to the timber camp, see if you can hook up Joe."

All the men looked agreeable, save for Frank who frowned. Directing his horse to stand beside Buck, he looked at Ben and opened his mouth to object.

"You can repay my son's favor another day," Ben said curtly. "You'll have to leave it be for now."

"Favor?" Hoss asked, his nose scrunched with confusion.

Ben dismissed the question with a shake of his head. "Let's go find your brother," he said. "And bring him home."

Xx

Arriving at Lake Tahoe, their search for Adam came to a sudden end.

A haphazard trail of Adam's discarded clothes, hat, jacket, boots, shirt, belt, and pants led Ben to a shallow shoreline. He wasn't shocked his son had removed his clothes; it had happened before, leaving him half expecting such a thing, though it didn't make the situation any less worrisome or dire. The air night was bitter and numbing, much too cold to be faced without any clothes.

Eyes squinting through the darkness, casting his gaze on the large, reflective body of water, it was Hoss who saw Adam first.

"Oh, dear God in heaven," he said, expelling the shocked words beneath his breath as he lifted his arm and pointed an index finger at the lake. "Pa," he said, his voice becoming frantic and insistent. "Adam's in the water, Pa!"

Locking his gaze on a foreign mound in the distance, Ben's stomach dropped. Adam was in the water, not floating, swimming or drowned, but sitting in the shallows, his knees pulled tight to his chest.

"Adam!" Ben yelled, rushing into the lake to retrieve his son.

The water was frigid and jolting. A chill ran up his spine as his boots filled with water, leaving his skin covered in goose flesh. Though if either reaction was due to the coldness of the water or finding his son in such odd conditions, Ben didn't know.

How had Adam gotten here? How had he traveled the distance between the timber camp and the lake without coming across someone who was looking for him? It simply wasn't plausible he could do so without being seen. It should have been impossible, but somehow it was, because Adam was here, sitting naked in the waters of Lake Tahoe, his stare vacant, his lips and skin a horrifying shade of blue.

Hands setting beneath Adam's armpits, Ben hoisted him up. Seemingly disinterested in standing or moving at all, Adam's legs remained limp and lifeless beneath his body. His skin was cold to the touch. Eager to remove him from the water, Ben hoisted his son high and carried him to shore. Adam was lighter than he should have been; his legs and torso felt sparse and bone-filled, and, despite being loose, dead weight in his arms, Ben carried him with appalling ease.

Adam was too thin and too cold. They needed to take him home quickly, warm him up, view his body under light and assess any damage that had been done. In the best of circumstances, he would try to get Adam to eat too. This was not the best of circumstances; however, it was teetering between bad and worse.

Having retrieved his brother's clothes, Hoss was waiting on shore. He helped his father redress his brother, wiping his frigid skin with a rolled blanket he had untied from the back of his saddle. When he was dressed, they wrapped the blanket around his shoulders and Hoss scooped Adam up, holding him protectively to his chest.

Ben half expected Adam to scream or cry or even laugh maniacally as he had in the desert. But the sound of his teeth chattering behind his blue-tinged lips was the only sound Adam emitted. His eyes were glazed, narrow hazel pools which seemed to be looking at everything and nothing at the same time. He didn't acknowledge his father or brother; he didn't show any signs of registering their presence at all.

Traveling home, Hoss held Adam as he had when they had found him in the desert. It was an easier task this time, as Adam didn't fight squirm in his brother's tight hold.

Ben found himself wishing that this Adam, the one they had rescued from water, could have been a bit more like the one they found in the desert. At least that one had spoken. At least that one had fought and yelled, laughed, and cried. It was a horrible thing to hope for as a father, to wish for a son to display one set of crazed behaviors over another; Ben felt his guilt renewed.

They came across Joe after a while. Traveling the trail in the opposite direction, he was on his way to join the search at the lake. He nodded at Ben, then Hoss, and as his gaze froze on Adam's still form, he cringed sadly, his jaw tightening as he fought tears. It was difficult for Joe to see his oldest brother in such disarray; it was painful for all of them to be assaulted with glaring, irrefutable proof of how much Adam had truly changed.

On the ride home, none of them spoke. There was nothing left to say.

Xx

Upon their return to the ranch house, Ben ordered Joe to fetch the doctor and Hop Sing to fill the bath.

Despite their efforts, and the startling, stinging he had to have felt when his cold body was immersed in the pool of hot water, Adam remained silent. His eyes were vacant and glazed. His body was lax, his posture loose; even his very bones seemed to be weak, unable, or unwilling to support his weight. Hoss had to hold his older brother's torso upright in the bath; sitting on the exterior of the tub behind him, he threaded his hands beneath Adam's armpits, wrapping his arms around his chest to keep his head above the water.

"He's too skinny, Pa," Hoss said, holding on to Adam so gently it was as though he thought he could break. "Oh, lord, how couldn't we have known he was this bad?"

Shaking his head, Ben couldn't conceive of a reasonable explanation of how or why the glaring detail had been missed. It didn't seem acceptable for such a dangerous thing to have gone unknown. "It isn't your fault," he said.

Washcloth covering his palm, his hand moved idly over Adam's body, cleaning the layer of dirt and grim the afternoon had left behind. Deep, swollen, and red, there were curious scratches on Adam's hands and forearms, wounds which could have come from running through a thicket of trees at top speed. Curiously, his face and neck were unblemished, and his clothes showed no evidence of such wear.

Ben grasped his son's hands and feet one at a time, counting his fingers and toes before moving each digit, carefully ensuring the range of motion was intact. Everything seemed to be in order, and when Adam's teeth finally stopped chattering and his skin transformed from a sickly blue hue to a reassuring shade of pink, he allowed himself a sigh of relief.

The feeling was short-lived. Chased away by sadness as Adam was lifted from the bath a little too easily. He was incredibly thin; any defined muscles or sparse fat had been eaten away, dissolved by his fierce determination not to eat. Ben longed to understand why Adam felt such a deep need to torture himself in this way. There had to be a reason for it. For his vacant stare and listless state. For the extended silence of his voice. There had to be a reason, an action or a moment which could be gleaned and defined. Though Ben didn't know what had happened in the desert between Kane and Adam, he had known his son before the trip, and he knew him after. Something had happened which caused things to devolve to this; something had been said or done to fundamentally change Adam, how he perceived the world around him and felt about himself.

Sitting behind Adam on the bed, Hoss held his brother upright as Ben negotiated his eldest son's body into long underwear. A nightshirt followed, before Hoss moved and the pair tucked Adam tightly beneath a thick quilt. Ben lingered at the bedside as Hoss stood and began moving absently around the room.

Ben's fingers slowly stroked Adam's wet hair as the tip of Hoss's own hovered over his brother's books, laying sprawled and abandoned on top of the grafting desk. The cabinet had been a quick addition to the bedroom after Adam's return from college. He had said—no, had insisted—upon having such a desk in his room. He needed somewhere quiet to work; someplace solitary and private to think and draft his plans before they could be shared. He had always been so protective of his thoughts and dreams, never wanting to share them until he felt the timing was right.

Did Adam consider the future at all anymore? Was he even capable of such things?

"These books don't see much use these days," Hoss said quietly, his voice tight with emotion. "Sometimes I wonder if they'll ever see any use again. I'm sorry, Pa. I'm responsible for what happened today. You tried to allow Adam to stay home; I was the one intent on not listening. I didn't listen and I pushed you both. I pushed you to make him choose; I pushed him to go when you knew he wasn't ready."

"It's alright," Ben said. "None of what happened today is your fault."

"But it is, because I had to push until Adam accompanied me. I thought a ride might do him good. I thought if he went back to the timber camp, looked upon what he had once overseen and the men he had hired, that it would awaken something in him, and he would somehow become my older brother again. It awakened something in him all right," Hoss snorted sadly. Inhaling a deep breath, he pulled his hand away from the books and hung it loosely at his side. "I want you to know I'm through pushing where Adam's concerned. I will follow whatever set of rules you think appropriate, and I will make sure Joe follows them, too. You tell us what to do, Pa, and we'll do it."

"Shhh," Ben chastised. Looking at Hoss, he nodded at Adam. "Your brother is right here and able to hear you."

Eyes gleaming with sadness, Hoss didn't answer at first. "No, Pa," he said. "I don't believe he can. His body is with us, but his mind is... elsewhere. If you can't see that then I reckon you're as confused as he is. The rules have got to be changed, Pa. We got to stop pretending like Adam ain't sick. We got to stop hoping he's gonna be like he was."

"Don't you hope for such a thing?"

"Of course, I hope for it, and I pray for it, too but that don't mean it'll ever happen. I learned a long time ago there are just some prayers God don't see fit to answer and it's up to us to figure a way to live without."

Ben was appalled. "You're saying God wants us to find a way to live without your brother?"

"No. I'm saying we need to find a way to live with him. It's been months. We need to stop expecting him to get better. We need to find a way to stop letting the old Adam cloud the person he's become. He's not gonna be the same as he was, something we can't begin to see clearly because we're holding on so tightly to who he was. It ain't fair to him. We're holding on to the Adam of the past so tightly that the Adam of right now is slipping through our grasp."

"No." Ben viciously shook his head. He wouldn't do that; he couldn't do that. He had told Adam he could hold on to him; he had promised he wouldn't let go "I can't believe you would even suggest such a thing. I can't believe— "

"If Adam were capable of conversation, he would tell you the same. Think about it. You know he would. He's spent his whole life challenging your firmly held opinions; oftentimes he would be the one who convinced you to change your mind or action when a situation demanded such a thing. This situation demands change. If Adam can't make his own decisions, ain't it our job as his family to make sure he's taken care of and safe? I just want him to be safe. I want to stop asking things of him that he can't give. He tried today and it was too much, but at least now we know where things stand."

"Where do you think things stand?"

"Now we know what he's capable of and what he ain't, what we can expect from him and what we can't. Something happened in the desert," Hoss said, repeating his father's most torturous thoughts. "And it changed him. Don't you think it's time we change, too?"

Looking at Adam, Ben found him asleep. He couldn't help wondering how long his son's peace would last tonight before his slumber became ravaged by nightmares. Something had happened in the desert, something horribly bad—of that they were certain, but they had no inclination of what. Or Ben had no inclination of what, rather, because he hadn't been with Adam when the Eastgate doctor examined his body and cleaned his wounds.

But Hoss had been there. Did he know something his father didn't? Was that the reason for his opinion now? Was Hoss privy to what was causing Adam so much emotional pain?

"What did the doctor find?" Ben asked, the insistent question escaping him with no predictability or thought.

Had there been something else to find? An injury that would explain everything, gracefully allowing him to finally know what to do. Adam had been beaten, worked to the bone, seemingly tortured, and starved. Had he endured something else? Had there been some other injury which explained all this?

"What?" Hoss asked. "Doc ain't been here yet."

"What did the Eastgate doctor find?"

Face contorting oddly, Hoss fixed his gaze on the floorboards and shrugged.

It was his son's reaction that truly gave birth to Ben's fear, and it sat in the bottom of his stomach like a boulder as he was reminded of a question he had been so careful not to voice. It had always been there, lingering between them unasked. It had always been there, he supposed, with the way the doctor had looked at Adam and then spoke of protecting his pride, how could it not? He hadn't wanted to think about it, so he dismissed it instead. If it was the brutal violation of Adam's body and pride which had led them to this moment in time, he hadn't wanted to know.

But that was before all this talk of the old Adam and the new, of letting go and moving on, of the changes in Adam which required them to change. Ben didn't want any of them to change any further. He wanted his son back. If there was a definable reason for Adam's new demeanor and behavior, then there had to be a way to help him; there had to be a road on which they could travel that would finally bring the old Adam home.

"That man in the desert, did he...?" Ben couldn't bring himself to finish the question. An odd silence settled around them, making the air feel stagnate and thick.

"Did the man in the desert what?" Hoss asked eventually. Looking at his father once more, there was a mixture of deep sadness and disappointment etched on his face. "You're the bravest man I know, Pa, at least have enough courage to be direct with your words."

Ben hesitated for a moment more, then opened his mouth and finally voiced his fear. "Did that man touch your brother inappropriately?" he asked quietly.

"No, Pa," Hoss said. "He did not. Believe me, the doctor was sure to check. Why are you asking me something you already know? You're the one who insisted on caring for Adam back then. If he had such wounds, then you would have seen them. Are you so eager for something to blame Adam's behavior on that you would convince yourself to think the worst? Don't you think I would have told you if something like that had happened? Don't you think, given how hard things have been recently, I would have shared anything of importance I knew? I don't know any more than you do, and I'm sorry but I take offense to you thinkin' different."

Ben realized it had been such a foolish notion and a horrendous hope. So desperate for a reason and explanation to allow him to save the old Adam from the new, he had allowed himself to believe the worst. He had known it wasn't true—all along he had because Hoss was right. He had cared for Adam after finding him in the desert, such intimate injuries wouldn't have gone unnoticed.

Sitting in the stillness of the room, he was reminded of the past, the words he had said to Adam after it had been discovered Ross Marquette had been violent toward his wife: Sometimes people just change, Adam, and there are no discernible reasons why.

Adam hadn't accepted the explanation then and Ben didn't want to accept it now. It was foolish, dismissive, and wildly untrue. Quick, drastic change was always prompted by something; it never evolved out of nothing. With Ross they were never able to explain exactly what had happened, before or after his death. He had been normal and then suddenly he changed; for most, there had not been any certain evidence of what prompted his decline.

"What difference does it all make, anyhow?" Hoss said quietly. "What that man did or didn't do. We all know he hurt Adam's body; it's what he did to his mind we have trouble bringing ourselves to accept. God-damn that man. I ain't never hated anyone in life the way I hate that dead man. I hope the devil's havin' fun with him. I hope he is burning... I hope his very soul is consumed by fire for what he did to Adam, for what his actions made of my brother. He took Adam away from us. He shattered his mind." Brown knitting, his face contorted painfully, his eyes set on the books once more. "Adam always had such a beautiful mind."

The sound of someone clearing their throat interrupted his thoughts. Both Ben and Hoss looked to the doorway and found Little Joe standing just outside the room.

"Doc's here," Joe said quietly. He stood for a moment more, avoiding looking at them, then turned around and left. The sound of his boots echoed in the hallway as he descended the stairs.

Ben wondered how much of the conversation had been overheard. Then he wondered how he could ever have asked Hoss the question he had. The thought process that had once been born from doubt, uncertainty, and intense fear felt obscene now. It felt like a betrayal—towards both his older sons. How could he have ever doubted Hoss that way?

Hoss had always been so loyal to Adam. A trusted confidant and devout keeper of his brother's most delicate secrets. But unbeknownst to Adam, Hoss had always shared with Ben the secrets that were too dangerous to keep. He had always shared with his father things which were important to know.

"You stay with Adam," Hoss said, passing Doctor Martin on the way out of the room. "I wouldn't want you to think I was hiding anything from you this time around."

Wanting to follow his middle son and apologize, Ben couldn't seem to bring himself to stray from Adam's side.

Martin's examination was completed quickly and without complication. Adam made no effort to move beneath the doctor's hands, nor did he show any signs of being aware of his surroundings or himself.

Pulling the blankets back into place, Martin cast Ben a questioning glance. "I know you've been anxious about him becoming dependent on medicine but after such a trying day. Do you oppose me giving Adam powder to induce sleep?"

Ben shook his head; he wouldn't dare oppose such a thing, not after today. Not anymore.

Retrieving a glass of water, Martin mixed the power in and handed it over to Ben to administer. "I left some more powder on the bureau if needed in the future. I assume you want to stay with him until he falls asleep."

Ben nodded, the glass feeling too cold and too familiar in hand. How many times since Adam had been found had he sat on the edge of the bed and forced him to drink? How many more times would the future demand the action be repeated?

"Stay with him for as long as you need to," Martin said. "I will wait for you downstairs. I was optimistic this afternoon; however, I do believe another conversation is in order now."

Martin closed the bedroom door behind him; Ben didn't know what the man was protecting them from. There were no secrets and little discretion needed where Adam and his immediate family were concerned. There were no secrets between Ben and Hoss and Joe; they all seemed to have the same information regarding how Adam had been lost and then found; it was Adam who seemed intent on not sharing the truth.

Leaning forward, he placed his hand behind his son's head, lifting it slightly as pressed the glass of water to Adam's lips.

Eyes staring absently, Adam didn't reject the glass. He opened his mouth slightly and in very small sips drank the liquid his father was enforcing. He couldn't stomach the whole glass—he never could. Still, he drank nearly half before Ben finally pulled it away and placed it on the side table. It was then he noticed Adam's gaze had shifted; his son was staring at him, his hazel eyes slightly clearer than they had been before.

"Where do you go?" Ben asked quietly. "When your body is still with us but you're nowhere to be seen, where does your mind go for safety? And why do you need such a thing? I have protected you since the very day you were born. I know I wasn't with you in the desert, or when you met that man, but I am here now. Have you so little faith in my ability to help you? Do you not believe I can protect you from whatever complications you are facing now?"

Adam didn't answer, not that Ben anticipated he would.

"Oh, I wish you would speak, Adam," he whispered forlornly. "I never once thought a day would dawn when you wouldn't be able to talk to me about your troubles, when I wouldn't be able to soothe whatever pain was consuming you. This is consuming you, son, there is no denying that. There's no denying I failed you either. I could go into detail of the many ways I failed you when you were a boy, but that no longer seems to be important considering all this. I failed you when I allowed you to accompany Joe on the drive to Eastgate, and I failed you today. On both occasions I had strong feelings something bad was going to happen, both of which I ignored. I am sorry for that. I am."

Watching Adam's eyelids begin to droop, he placed his hand on his son's chest and took solace in the feeling of his heart beating steadily against his palm. They found him; he was safe, and Ben would do whatever was required to keep him that way.

"I'm done failing you, Adam," he vowed. "I will never give up on you and I will never let you go, but Hoss is right. The time has come for me to adjust my grip. I won't fail you again, and I refuse to lose you to this. I don't care what it takes to keep you with me. I will not lose you again."

He watched Adam sleep for a while, his hand not wavering from his son's chest. When he finally left, he purposely left the bedroom door open; he would no longer tolerate the door to be closed, hiding his son away where he could not be readily seen.

Xx

"You were wrong," Ben said sharply as he sat opposite Doctor Martin at his desk. "My sons' afternoon excursion was not a successful one."

The room was mostly dark around them. Joe and Hoss had retired to their respective bedrooms; their conversation was not in danger of being overheard. Despite the fire burning in the fireplace, there was a chill in the night, a determined coldness which seemed intent on burrowing itself into Ben's bones. A thickness had settled in his throat, a tightness in his chest. It felt as though someone was cradling this heart in their hand, holding it gently only to sporadically begin to clench and squeeze, awakening a certain kind of pain which couldn't be helped or calmed. In his memories, he recalled this pain and easily defined it as grief; he was not certain; however, he had ever experienced this particular type of grief before—a deep, stinging sadness that seemed destined to never ebb or cease.

Reaching for the decanter of brandy on the desktop, he filled both of their glasses, then emptied his own, swallowing the dark liquid in one large gulp. He refilled the glass again; he would take his time with one and the next, nursing them until the pain in his heart finally began to ease.

"I'm sorry, Ben," Doc Martin said sadly, his glass remaining full and untouched before him. "I truly am."

Ben wished he could say the statement changed how he felt; he wished the apology, no matter how irrelevant, could heal his son or change Adam's behavior or suddenly make him talk. Oh, how he missed Adam's voice, deep and familiar, sometimes determined and sometimes soft. He missed his dry wit and sarcasm, the sound of his laughter. He missed their arguments, the heated debates they would sometimes have. He missed losing those arguments, easily beaten by the power of just one word: Papa.

"Adam's body will recover from his time in the lake," Martin said. "You and your boys retrieved him in time, warmed him appropriately. I am certain the coldness of the temperature he was exposed to will have no lasting damage on his extremities or skin."

This was not information Ben needed confirmation of.

"As you know, it is his mind which remains confused at best," Martin said.

Ben wanted to ask if this could be considered best than what was worse, but he didn't have to. He had enough memories of Ross Marquette to be reminded of how bad things could truly be. Adam may have been unresponsive and confused but he wasn't violent—at least not toward anyone other than himself. During his examination, Martin had noted the skin beneath Adam's fingernails, connecting the odd scratches on Adam's arms and declaring the wounds self-inflicted.

"I'm certain I do not need to draw your attention to this glaring fact," Martin continued. "But I will anyway. Adam is much too thin. You will need to watch him closely in the following days; if he develops a cold or a fever as a result of his actions today, I am not confident in his body's ability to fight it off."

"I know."

"You need to devise an alluring argument in order to convince him to eat. Do not intimidate him with large meals, push small portions often. Do not be taken by surprise if he becomes sick after eating; his stomach will almost certainly remain intolerant at first."

"He ate this morning," Ben said.

Nodding, Martin's expression remained serious. "That is favorable news."

"Hoss was able to convince him of the importance of such a thing, for this morning at least."

"Do you believe Hoss could continue to be convincing on the subject?"

"I don't know. This morning was not ordinary, neither was the afternoon."

"Because it was Adam's first venture out since you brought him home."

Ben was momentarily taken aback by how readily Martin recalled his visit to Virginia City earlier in the afternoon. Had that really taken place today? It seemed so long ago now. Days at least, maybe even weeks. The search for his missing son had taken precedence over the other events of the day, rendering them useless somehow.

"Normally we don't push him the way we did today," Ben said absently. "Or at least Hoss doesn't."

He didn't know the usefulness of the detail or why he was offering it so easily. It felt good to talk. To seek the wisdom of someone else rather than depend on his own. He was out of his depth with this—something he was certain he had realized long ago and chosen to ignore.

"It was Hoss who insisted Adam eat?" Martin asked.

"It was Hoss who insisted he choose," Ben clarified. He wasn't placing blame upon any one for how the day had unfolded. He wouldn't dare; he had told Hoss it wasn't his fault and he meant it. He was merely recounting the details. "Either the timber camp or town, accompanied by him or me. I stood by Hoss's instance and required Adam to decide upon one option over another."

"You were worried about the decision he made," Martin reminded. "It was the reason for our earlier visit."

"I would have worried regardless. Whether Adam decided to accompany Hoss or I or even if he had taken the third option of remaining home. My worry for that boy is not determined by any one choice or outcome." Ben sipped his brandy. "Or at least not of late," he qualified.

"Or ever. A father's worry never rests, or so I am told. Even so, I can clearly see how taxing recent days have been. Adam must improve from where he is now. His muteness and avoidance of people and places can be adapted to; the state of his body cannot be. If you cannot coax him into maintaining his most basic needs, then maybe you ought to consider others who can. There are places meant for people like him. Where he can go— "

"I will not send my son away," Ben snapped. He had visions of the types of places being referred to and the horrors they contained. "I don't take kindly to the suggestion that I abandon my son by sending him away to be dealt with by strangers, people who would lock him away in some room after taking away his clothes." Shaking his head, he snorted humorlessly. "Although he may prefer the latter over remaining dressed."

"I meant no disrespect. My only thought in making the suggestion was to magnify the seriousness of the current situation."

"It is plenty magnified. Believe me, I understand the seriousness, especially after today. Adam is my son, Paul, my flesh, and blood. He is as familiar to me as the back of my hand, recent events, and behavior notwithstanding. I am willing and able to take care of him whether he improves or not. Furthermore, he has brothers to look after him; it isn't as if he's alone."

"He is not, but that does not mean things can remain as they are. When Adam experienced his first non-responsive state, I was not completely certain it would happen again. However, now that it has, I am confident it will occur again, especially if it has become a favored coping mechanism as I suspect it has."

"Coping mechanism?"

"A way for Adam to deal with his surroundings without having to deal with them. When faced with something he is unable to contend with, he chooses not to contend with it at all."

"He just... leaves," Ben said. "Physically he is present, mentally he is somewhere else entirely."

"His last spell lasted for days; it is important to note how long this one lasts and what prompts him to come out of it, if anything. A firm knowledge of the past will only help you better assist him in the future."

"Hoss said we ought to let go of the past," Ben said flatly. He did not know what response he was seeking by stating such a thing. "He said Adam has changed and it's time we did too."

Martin nodded. "That is wise."

"We've been so busy holding our breath, waiting, and willing him to suddenly wake up and be who he once was that we've made no effort to adjust to who he's become. We—I—haven't been looking at the situation clearly."

He had been allowing guilt and fear cloud his judgment; had been too concerned with the past to give the present appropriate thought. He had been too haunted by bad dreams and bad feelings, the dread attached to all things he didn't know; these feelings had consumed him, rendering him incapable of seeing and properly dealing with the situation at hand.

Hoss was right; he had been right this morning in forcing Adam to try an excursion and he had been right after. They wouldn't have known then what they knew now if Adam hadn't gone to the timber camp. They wouldn't have been forced to see how bad things truly were and they wouldn't have been implored to change anything. They would have existed in some Godforsaken limbo forever, endlessly anticipating a day that would never come.

Adam wasn't going to get better, not like this. He couldn't if those around him remained intent on remaining as they were.

"What kind of adjustments do you propose?" Martin asked. "What are your plans to prevent further decline?"

Ben shook his head. He hadn't had time to consider options or form any plans. He could no longer allow his memories of the Adam of the past to affect his choices regarding the Adam of the present, and he could not allow his hopes for his son's future to do the same. He wanted him to get better but what did Adam want? What was he capable of achieving now that had become so changed?

"May I propose a few?" Martin asked.

Ben nodded.

"No more excursions," Martin said. "At least for the foreseeable future. Keep Adam home, where his environment is controlled, and he is safe. Supervise him. Do not allow him to be alone, allotting him opportunities to harm himself."

"I do not believe Adam would do any real harm—"

"Ben," Martin interrupted seriously. "The scratches on his arms were self-inflicted. You found him sitting naked in the frigid lake waters. Do neither of those things occur to you as occasions your son meant to harm himself? And what about the time before this? When he experienced his prior unresponsive state, he rubbed his wrists and ankles raw. It may not seem like much now, but these types of behaviors can escalate. I think it is appropriate at this time to liken his behavior to that of Ross Marquette."

Inhaling sharply, Ben finished his drink. He didn't need to be reminded of the past. "Adam is nothing like Ross Marquette."

"I don't believe that. I hope you don't believe it either. Mental sickness is mental sickness, Ben; I don't believe there are such great distinctions to be made between its symptoms. You know, Adam came to me before Ross's death; he wanted to know what to do. He asked for help; he said that somebody ought to be able to do something for Ross before it became too late."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"They were close like brothers. In fact, I recall a time when people used to call them twins. As adolescents they followed each other like shadows. If one was in trouble the other wasn't far behind. Adam is a very sick boy, Ben. My best advice is for you to keep him very close. Do for him what we couldn't do for Ross."

"What exactly is that?" Ben asked. "What do you think should have been done for him?"

"I do believe we should have at least tried to save him from himself." Martin nodded. "I will call again in a few days to see how things are progressing, or not progressing, I suppose. Send word if you need anything before then."

With that the doctor excused himself, leaving his drink untouched and Ben struggling to silence his thoughts.

TBC