Ben's dream began before he realized he had fallen asleep.
Sitting on the edge of the cliff, legs hung over the side, he clenched his hands together and considered the desolate, desert landscape below. The ground was rugged and dry; difficult to travel during the day and impossible to negotiate as it presented itself now, surrounded by the darkness of night. There was a chill in the air; a peace to his surroundings that seemed inappropriate given the intensity of his past dreams of this place and the man standing behind him.
"I thought you were determined not to dream of me anymore," Kane said.
"I thought so too," Ben said. He was no longer afraid of this dream, of whomever—or whatever—it was he was speaking to. Deep and gravely, Kane's voice was downright grinding. It was a voice Ben now knew with unyielding certainty was not of the world. Kane wasn't of the world; he wasn't neither man nor a demon. He was a devil—although if he was the devil, Ben had yet to decide. "I guess we were both wrong."
"I am never wrong," Kane said. "But I wonder what else you're wrong about."
Shaking his head, Ben refused to consider the statement. He hadn't come here to be taunted and teased. He hadn't imagined this place in his slumber and sought out Kane to be asked anything. He would ask the questions this time around. He would ask Kane the same things he planned to ask Adam when the time was right.
"So, your younger sons finally told you the truth they were hiding about your eldest," Kane said. "It's not much information when you really think about it, but I suppose you think you understand everything now."
"No," Ben said. Not everything. Not yet.
He set his attention on the bleak, night sky disguising the horizon and was reminded that at the very edge of darkness, there was always light. Dawn was coming; he could see hints of the morning sky breaking through the black clouds.
"I see," Kane said knowingly. "You aren't dreaming of me because you understand. You're dreaming of me because you want to."
"You told me you could tell me things if I was willing to listen. I wasn't before, but I'm willing now."
"And what kind of things do you wish to hear?"
"The truth."
"Ah," Kane said. "Well, you haven't been very fond of certain truths I brought up in the past, what makes you think you're deserving of hearing such a thing now?"
Turning, Ben looked at Kane and considered the question. What answer would entitle him to the information he was seeking? He wasn't sure but he suspected volunteering an honest answer would entitle him one in return.
"When you said I treated my sons differently you were right," he said. "I do. I expect different things from them because they're different people, with different weaknesses and strengths."
This admission didn't seem to surprise Kane, who crossed his arms and nodded his head, a silent prompt for Ben to continue until he voiced a satisfactory answer. Ben wondered what this answer was and how many truths he would have to tell before being allotted the one he was seeking.
"When you said I allowed Adam to manipulate me into allowing him to travel to Eastgate you were right," Ben said. "Although, you were wrong about the reason I allowed such a thing. You said I allowed it because he called me Papa."
Kane's eyes were black orbs, shining with a hint of bright red. Nodding at Ben, he said nothing, the action an obvious demand for Ben to continue.
"It was manipulative of Adam to do that, but not because of the reason you said," Ben said simply, a hint of a sad smile on his lips. "That word isn't—wasn't—inane and juvenile, and hearing it voiced by my oldest son does not make me feel needed, or less obsolete in his life, at least it didn't that day. It made me feel guilty. It reminded me of a past I wish could take back and a future that seems so destined and unavoidable that I dreaded it a little more each day."
"You don't dread the future anymore?"
"I do," Ben admitted. It was something he was certain they both knew. "It's a different kind of dread I feel now. Before I worried about Adam leaving me for a more adventurous life, and now I fear he will never be able to."
Turning back around, he stared at his feet as they hung suspended in the air, then took a deep breath and resigned himself to finally acknowledging his own truth.
"Adam called me Papa when making his argument to be allowed to go to Eastgate. It was such a simple word that, at the time, I both longed and hated to hear it. He used to call me by that name quite frequently, even after he came of age. He thinks Hoss and Joe don't know he does it, but they do. It isn't a secret, but rather a detail which is ignored by both his brothers out of kindness, because even though they don't do it themselves, they can understand the need it's born from. It was Adam's way of voicing his need for things he couldn't or wouldn't articulate with further words."
Ben shook his head sadly.
"He didn't say it a lot, but it always meant something when he did. I used to hear so many things when he used that word. When he used it in an argument, it was a demand that I listen better than I was. When he used it when he was sick or hurt, it was a request for help, reassurance, or comfort. And when said in quiet moments, peaceful occasions when I couldn't have predicted its use, it was his way of saying how much he loved me. There was never a day that he used that word when it didn't mean something more than what he had said. Sometimes I dreaded hearing it, on the occasions when he was injured or ill. Others, it filled me with relief, especially when he was struggling with difficulties that were too large to shoulder on his own."
"And other times when he used the work filled you with joy and love," Kane said. "When Adam said it seemingly for no reason at all."
"He didn't say it a lot," Ben repeated. "And then, suddenly, he wouldn't say it at all. That word was a gift. As quickly as it had been graciously given, it was taken away.
Pursing his lips, Ben hung his head, his heart throbbing with regret and pain. He didn't want to think about this, but he knew he had to. In the hope that in exchange for this bit of truth he would become privy to another.
"You were right when you said what happened with Ross and Delphine Marquette changed everything," he said. "It changed Adam in a way I wish could have been avoided. I wish that whole situation could have been avoided. He was different after their deaths; the pain of those events hurt him in a way nothing ever had before. Ross and Adam were very close. They were like brothers; they shared everything, even the same birthday. Ross was very much like another son to me; Delphine felt like a daughter-in-law I don't yet have. It hurt to lose them. It hurt to know what Ross did—all the things he did—stealing the cattle we had tried to give him a year earlier, stage robbing, murdering those men and… Del. It hurt so much to know what he did to Del, and what Adam, in turn, was forced to do to him. It hurt to think about what could have or should have been. I felt like I failed them, all of them. Ross and Del as my surrogate children and Adam as my real one."
"You think you should have been the one to take Ross's life."
"I know I should have been the one to take his life. Not Adam. Never Adam. I never wanted it to be him."
"It was always going to be him," Kane said matter-of-factly. "That couldn't have been changed."
Scoffing, Ben shook his head in disgust. What was the meaning of such statements? Was this devil trying to assuage his guilt? "It should have been me," he said firmly. "I should have listened to my son better than I did. He came to me for help; he reached out to me so that I could comfort his worries and I dismissed them instead."
"Listening to him that day when the two of you rode side-by-side on the range wouldn't have changed anything either."
"I don't believe that; I don't believe Adam believes it either. He came to me," Ben repeated emphatically. "He came to me for help that day, before Ross and Del died, and after he never came to me with his worries again."
"Why do you think that is?"
"Because I didn't listen to him correctly. I didn't take the time to hear what he was really saying. He was worried and afraid. He asked me if I believed in God; he told me he thought Ross didn't. He told me he thought he dreamed of the devil, and that if a man believes in God, he has no choice but to believe in the devil too. It was such an odd thing for him to become preoccupied with. It bothered me to know he was consumed by these kinds of thoughts. Still, I dismissed his worry. I told him to get some rest. I told him that discovering Ross had raised a violent hand to Del had caused him strain. I told him that it would all be okay. Everything would work out. But I was wrong. It didn't. In the end, Ross killed Del and Adam killed Ross, and wracked with guilt, I was unprepared to help my son through his grief."
"Guilt makes men stupid," Kane said simply. "It makes them act in ways unbecoming of their personalities and past."
"When Adam bought the Silver Dollar at auction, I wanted to grab that deed from him and tear it in half. When he told me he intended to live upon that land and work it, I wanted to drag him upstairs to his bedroom and lock him inside until he changed his mind. When I found out what he was doing on that property, I wanted to throw him over my knee and remind him what kind of man I raised him to be. But I didn't do any of those things. I did something else instead."
"You gave him space. Berth and time to decide what kind of man he wanted to be."
Ben expelled a sigh. Now Kane really was being kind. "No. I did something that further changed everything." In struggling to pull Adam closer, he had pushed him further away. "I went to that property in the middle of the night. I found my son drinking himself to death. I fought with him. And then I put an end to our fight. He called me Papa that night when I came upon him in that barn. He said it when he saw me; I remember wondering what it really meant. How I was supposed to interpret it given the circumstances. I took it as a cry for help, but I don't think that's how he intended it. Later, he became angry; he said disrespectful things, and I responded to him in anger. I backhanded him, and never called me Papa again."
"Until the day he wanted to go to Eastgate," Kane reminded.
"Until the day he wanted to go to Eastgate," Ben sighed. "He said it and I heard it. And instead of feeling the dread, relief, or joy that I had become accustomed to hearing when he previously said that word, all I felt was guilt. It reminded me of that night, what I had done, how much Adam had changed. How different he really was and how quickly time was passing us by. He wasn't the way he had been before. He wasn't as happy or satisfied or at peace with the life we had built as he had once been. At that moment, I was afraid that if I didn't let him go, then he would leave again, for good. That day was always going to come, I knew that, but I wanted to hang on to him for as long as I could."
"He manipulated you. He knew what hearing that word again would implore you to do."
"I manipulated myself. I allowed my guilt to override my intuition. I allowed my fear of the future to cloud my ability to protect my son in the present. I should have told him the truth. I should have shared with him my dreams, how frightened I was for him. I should have spoken to him about my fears so he could share with me his own."
"Wouldn't have changed anything. If you really wanted to save him, then you should have found him sooner. You should have listened to him while he was still willing to speak. You are a fool. There's no stopping this once it's begun. Don't you understand? Adam chose this. I didn't seek him; he sought me. He dreamed of me and then went looking for me. And when he found me, he chose his future. He knew what was going to happen. What the future would demand of him—what I would demand of him. He chose poorly, but he chose."
"My son wouldn't choose this life."
"He did."
"I don't believe that."
"Why not?" Kane challenged. "Do you really think you are the only man to ever be haunted by the past and hindered by his guilt?"
"No."
"Do you really think your Adam is so rational, intelligent, and meticulous that he is impenetrable by such feelings?"
"No."
"Of course, you don't. After all, isn't that the problem? The one question that haunts you the most? Not necessarily what happened to your son in the desert but what he did. You've seen his anger; you recognize in him what you've struggled with yourself. Adam is a rational man, but if pushed he can lose track of all rational thought. He can become dangerous when threatened or angry or hurt or afraid."
"That's not—"
"It is true. Don't you remember? Of course, you do. How could you ever forget? You saw him lose control of himself as a child when he threatened your wife with the knife. You watched the anger and resentment flicker in his eyes after you hit him. He was furious; he wanted to hit you back."
"But he didn't," Ben said firmly. "He didn't hit me, and he didn't hurt Marie. He realized his actions were impulsive; he was able to think about what he was doing and chose control over knee-jerk anger. He didn't do anything wrong!"
"You're right. He didn't."
Ben looked at Kane, an odd feeling building in his chest. "What?"
"In the desert," Kane said, his eyes gleaming with evil glee, "your son didn't do anything wrong. Of course, now perhaps I should qualify my disclosure by saying before, in the desert, Adam didn't do anything wrong. But after, well, after is a completely different time, isn't it? Full of confusion and fear. Nightmares and ghosts—"
"What did you do?" Ben demanded. "What did you do to my son?"
"Nothing he didn't ask me to do. As you now know, he went into the desert purposely. What happened to him was not accidental."
"Why?"
"Because he was looking for something."
"You," Ben accused.
"No, not me," Kane scoffed. "My God, you are so determined not to figure this out. Even now with all the hints you've been given you can't seem to put them together. He knew I would be out there; finding me was never the end goal."
"Then what was? What was Adam looking for?"
"Absolution. He needed to endure enough pain to satisfy his ghosts and put them to rest."
"What are you talking about?"
Kane exhaled heartily, as though Ben's question was the most imbecilic he had ever heard. "Mister Cartwright," he said patronizingly, "I may be the one who has embedded himself into your son's mind and soul, but I am not who he sees. I'm neither the one he's afraid of nor the one he needs to satisfy in order to be set free of his fear."
Ben cast Kane a look of skeptical outrage. The devil was lying. He had to be. After all, wasn't that what he was famous for? His deception and trickery, his ability to shift lies into false truths.
"That's a lie," Ben said.
"That is the truth. Oh, he dreams of me," Kane repeated, his eyes glistening with joy. "He did before, and he still does now. He and I have vast conversations in his mind, but outside of it, he sees somebody else."
"He told me you were the one—"
"Lies of omission. Adam never said who it was he saw. He gave you clues, and he allowed you to come to your own conclusion, which he chose not to correct."
"Adam said—"
"Adam said he spoke to me; he didn't say how or when. Your son dreams of me the way you dream of me. Our conversations take place on the edge of this very cliff. A place where he feels he cannot be overheard."
"Overheard by whom?"
"Ghosts."
"Ghosts?" Ben snorted skeptically.
"You can believe in God, demons and devils, but not ghosts?" Kane asked. "That's a shame. Ghosts are more real than all those things put together. Sometimes they're angry. Sometimes they're cruel. And sometimes they demand things of the living in exchange for perceived wrongs. If you really wanted to help your son, then you should have asked him about ghosts. You should have taken the time to ask him about why he needed to buy the Silver Dollar and why he needed to burn it down. You should have asked him about Frank Mitchel. A man he first fought with then later offered a job. You should have asked your son why he ran away from the timber camp the day he saw Frank. Did he run because he was afraid of Frank or himself?"
"Frank was a hand from Silver Dollar," Ben said.
"Who Adam despised."
"Frank said Adam saved his life."
"And your youngest son told you Frank lies. The question you ought to be asking yourself now is what does Frank know about Adam? What does Adam know about Frank? Tell me, what do you think your son will do if you ask him about Frank? Is he going to tell the truth or is he going to favor lies instead?"
"Why wouldn't he tell the truth?" Ben asked, his heart sinking in his chest. What is the purpose of hiding the truth of who he saw?
"Guilt," Kane shrugged. "Shame. All the things we already spoke about. Things that have nothing to do with me, really. I just happened to be where I was. I just happened to come across your son in his nightmares."
"How do those things have nothing to do with you?"
"I didn't start this. I merely interjected myself, offered up my services to be of help."
"Help."
"Yes, help. This may come as a surprise to you, but I am quite altruistic. Now, my help does come at a cost and my assistance is not always what one would want it to be. I do enjoy a good tormenting game now and then but who doesn't? You know who else enjoyed playing games, don't you?"
Ben shook his head.
"Oh, come on," Kane groaned disappointedly. "The answer is so close now, that is if you can actually reason it out. Think of your fear; the one which frightens you the most. You have all the clues, let's think about them. You noticed changes in Adam when?"
"After Ross and Del's deaths."
"And your middle son pulled Adam off of the edge of the cliff when?"
"After he bought the Silver Dollar."
"And your youngest son said he discovered Adam's nightmares when?"
"After he became sick and burned the Silver Dollar down."
"PA!" a voice suddenly shouted; echoing through the sky it sounded muffled and far away. "WAKE UP!"
But Ben couldn't do that. Not yet. Not without gleaning an answer to this new question.
"Who is it?" Ben asked as he sprung to his feet. Moving away from the edge of the cliff, he strode purposely toward Kane. "If it isn't you, then who does my son see?"
Lips curling into a toothy grin, Kane shook his head. "Don't tell me you really don't know? After everything we just talked about, you don't have the slightest idea?"
"PA!" the voice boomed again.
The voice Ben recognized as belonging to Joe. His son's tone was decidedly panicked. Something was happening outside of his dream which required his immediate attention. But looking at Kane, Ben couldn't abandon his dream. This was important too. It might be his only chance to grasp an answer to a question he hadn't been aware of.
"Tell me!"
"It's quite a funny story," Kane chuckled. "You won't find it humorous, but I do. You really thought it was me, this whole time, and it wasn't. This belief shaped your opinions and stifled your ability to truly help your son. All this time you wasted, torturing yourself about whether I was real or imagined, if your son was or was not insane. You spent so much time preoccupied with those things that you didn't have any left to consider what was really going on."
"What is really going on?"
Smile widening, Kane dismissed the question with the shake of his head. "Just think," he said delightfully, "just yesterday you asked your son to fight. What you didn't know is he has been fighting this whole time, because the fight was never about doing something; it was about doing nothing. Every day he remained in your home was a brutal fight, because something else, someone else was pushing him, demanding he do something for them."
"Who?"
"You told Adam to change; you told him to try to get better, but there's only one real way to do that. Adam knows it and so do I. Perceptions are funny, aren't they? In that they are quite frequently never the same. You saw Adam doing nothing. Not eating. Not talking. Not leaving his room or the house. From your perception, it appeared as though you were losing the fight, despite what you told your youngest son. But you weren't losing, not then, because Adam knew doing nothing was the point. You told him to fight, and in doing so, you have no idea what you really told him to do."
"What did you do?" Ben demanded fiercely. "Tell me what you did!"
"Me?" Kane laughed. "I didn't do anything. Adam on the other hand..."
"PA!"
"... Let's just say, propelled by a big push from his Pa, he finally gave into the power of that ghost."
Opening his mouth, Ben didn't get a chance to reply. An invisible force grasped his upper arms, shaking his torso forcefully, tearing him abruptly from the dream.
"PA!" Joe shouted again, his voice sounding inches from Ben's face.
Eyes snapping open, Ben found himself still seated in the chair next to Adam's bed. Leaning over him, Joe was grasping his shoulders tightly, his face pinched with terror.
Glancing around the room, Ben saw Adam's empty bed; the covers had been pushed back, abandoned in a haphazard pile at the foot of the bed. The curtains covering the window had been pulled open, revealing the brightness of the morning. Despite the coldness of another snow-packed day, the sun was hanging high, shining in bright contrast to the tone of his dream and the panic on Joe's face.
"What's wrong?" Ben asked. "Where's your brother?"
Joe's appearance was disheveled; his wrinkled shirt hung untucked and half-open, widely exposing his tanned, toned chest. It appeared he had dressed in a hurry, with little time to spare to worry about how he looked. In the moment, he looked as though he was going to burst into tears, then he didn't, resigning himself to speaking instead.
"Pa," he said, his voice shaking. "Sheriff Coffee's downstairs. He needs to talk to you right away."
The idea was ludicrous. Why would the sheriff be visiting their home? At this hour? In this weather? What horrid circumstances would have brought the lawman here?
His gaze snapped to his son's empty bed, his stomach turning with dread. Where was Adam? In the company of his middle brother, once again seeking respite in his crowded bed, he hoped. And even though he desperately wanted this to be somehow he knew it wasn't so. Something had happened. Something bad had come during the night, taking place right beneath his slumbering nose. When he had entered this room just hours ago, Adam had been in this bed, and now he was nowhere to be seen. He had gone missing from the room sometime during the night as his father dreamed of Kane.
Ben was suddenly assaulted with the memory of Kane's glowing evil eyes and the malice lurking behind his toothy grin. Kane's teeth had been impossibly white and improbably sharp, lines of perfect daggers filling a smile that seemed to expand too far, widening his pale cheeks, leaving his face stretched and distorted, looking more monstrous than human. A chill ran up Ben's spine, and he shivered. It was odd the things a man could recall after the fact, haunting details that were ignored at the time. Kane hadn't looked human in the dream—Ben knew that now. Of course, Kane didn't really have business looking human because he wasn't human at all. He was a demon—Ben knew that too.
But what he didn't know was where his oldest son had gone, or why Sheriff Coffee had come calling so suddenly.
"Joseph, why is the sheriff here?" Ben asked, his voice remaining calm despite the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears. Once so afraid of leaving the safety of his room, it didn't make sense for Adam to be missing from the room. Unless... "Is Adam with Hoss? Tell me your brother is alright."
Joe hesitated, sucking in a deep shuddering breath before answering in a choked whisper, "Adam did something bad... Oh, Pa... He did something really bad."
"Where is Adam?"
"Frank Mitchel was attacked during the night…"
"Where is Adam?"
"…his throat was cut."
"Where is Adam?!"
Bottom lip trembling Joe hesitated. It was a single quiet moment that felt longer to Ben than any he had ever endured. "Jail, Pa," Joe whispered thickly. "He's in jail."
And that was when Ben felt what was left of the steady ground crumble beneath his feet. It was when he knew everything he had suspected and thought about Adam and Kane was wrong.
It was all so incredibly wrong.
