In the company of both Doctor Martin and his father, Adam's trip to the facility awaiting his arrival was completed first by stage and then by train. Due to complications of the frigid weather, it was a journey that took nearly a week. An agonizing span of time the end of which Ben both longed for and dreaded. Longed for because traveling alongside his painfully silent son in cold was a worrisome endeavor. He was consistently concerned over Adam's wellbeing, questioning whether his son was warm enough, eating enough, and as comfortable as he could be in their varying surroundings. He ensured Adam's coat remained buttoned, ceaselessly offered him a blanket, and at each meal pushed his son to eat more than he intended to. He dreaded their arrival at their final destination because he knew that once they did all these things would no longer be in his control.

Adam spoke only when spoken directly to, answering in the fewest words possible; any bid for polite conversation from their unfamiliar traveling companions and strangers was promptly ignored. Ben, in turn, ignored Adam's blatant rudeness, dismissing any questionable expressions of those surrounding them with a polite apologetic smile. If Adam's lack of social grace wasn't an indication to an outside eye of something awry, then his physical proximity to his father surely was.

Despite recent events, Adam was neither comfortable nor confident amongst strangers. Though he tried hard not to think about it, Ben couldn't help wondering what kind of apprehensions and complications would arise when they finally arrived at their destination, and he was forced to leave Adam's side for the foreseeable future. It something he had neither planned nor anticipated he would ever do—prior to Frank Mitchel's death of course. It was going to be a struggle for both of them; the uncertainty of the time Adam would spend away from his family and home was a heart wrenching challenge the whole family would endure. Though Hoss and Little Joe would feel the sting of their distance more than Ben intended to. He had resigned himself to entrusting Adam's wellbeing to others, but he had no intention of leaving his son behind. He would remain in the same city as Adam for as long as required. He would visit him as often or as little as was allowed.

Doctor Martin warned Ben of the dangers of lingering, how his extended presence could hinder rather than help Adam's recovery, or at the very least make the transition more difficult to endure. Ben wouldn't entertain such criticisms. He had told Adam he wouldn't let go of him, and he intended to keep his promise for as long as he could.

It was Adam who had trouble letting go when the time finally came. Ben struggled too—though his own trepidation was drastically overshadowed by that of his eldest son. Standing outside of the locked gate of the steel fence surrounding the facility, Adam looked at the foreboding building and then at his father with wide eyes. Ben wanted to soothe him, utter firm words of comfort and encouragement, but he couldn't seem to form any words.

Composed of gray stone, the towering building looked dark and cold, daunting from afar. It looked like something out of a nightmare; a prison one could only imagine in their most horrible of dreams. Someone was screaming, a horrendous noise which echoed up from the depths of the building to escape out the bar-covered windows. It was a god-awful sound born from confusion, anguish, and pain. Why wasn't someone putting a stop to it? Why wasn't someone helping whoever was so obviously distressed? Wasn't that what this place was supposed to be? Somewhere people could go for help. The agonizing answer was clear as soon as the question presented itself.

This place wasn't intended to help anyone it contained.

Once swallowed inside of its belly would Adam scream like that? Would anyone around him care if he did? Who was going to rescue him from his nightmares? Waking him the way Joe once did and allowing him to seek respite in their presence the way Hoss had?

Ben felt a rush of panic.

Who was going to hold Adam if cried? Who was going to stop him from hurting himself if he tried? Who was going to understand the lure of the Kane who lurked in dreams? And who was going to believe in the ghosts he saw?

No one in that building, Ben was sure.

Can you hold on to me, Pa?

The memory of Adam's words circled his brain in a torturous echo, taunting and torturing him with an irrefutable truth. Desperately trying to hold on to Adam, he failed to maintain a proper grip. He had failed to deduce and understand the reality of their fight until it was too late, and from his bewilderment came misinterpretation, the reckless belief that he, himself, could ever truly understand what was going on. He had thought Kane was the enemy; he had believed it was his hold that Adam needed to fight. He had been wrong because Kane had been nothing more than a clever distraction. Neither man nor human, he had interjected himself to cause further chaos, taunt, trick and distract, to derive pleasure from pain, anguish, and torture. He had been an enemy, the hold of which to fight and be feared, but he wasn't the entity pulling Adam in the wrong direction, pushing him toward what he had done.

What Adam had done, Ben cringed, the thought carrying a particularly painful edge, piercing his heart like a knife. Adam had killed a man; it was his action that had brought them all here.

The dank building, standing tall on the other side of the fence, cast an ominous shadow upon all of them, making their surroundings seem much too cold. There was snow in the air, tiny frozen flakes which fell all around them to collect in minuscule piles on the frosty ground. The weather in this territory was supposed to be tepid, mild in comparison to the winters back home. Though it was significantly less, somehow this snowfall felt colder, more daunting than the immense heaps they were accustomed to.

"How is this better than prison?" Ben asked, casting Doctor Martin an accusing look. "How does this place help anyone?" And what is it going to do to my son? He didn't have strength or courage to voice the latter criticism aloud.

Martin ignored the accusation. "You aren't allowed inside, I'm afraid," he said.

"That's probably for the best." Standing between them, it was Adam who stated the obvious, his soft voice making him the sole focus of both their stares. "It's okay, Pa," Adam added, holding his father's pained gaze.

Ben wanted to say it wasn't okay. That neither of them could or would be as long as they stood in this place, in front of a building that meant to separate them for God only knew how long. It wasn't proper for Adam to express such condolences; it wasn't seemly for him to comfort his father while being presented with such an undetermined fate. The place Adam was headed was meant to help people, but how could it help a man whose beliefs in ghosts and demons were real rather than imagined? Not something to be corrected rather heeded and believed? It could not and it would not; Ben only hoped it would do neither harm nor good.

"Can you give us a moment," Ben asked. Eyes locked on Adam, he tilted his head at Martin, punctuating a request he would not tolerate being refused.

"Of course," Martin agreed before he stepped away.

"I want you to take direction," Ben said quietly. He repeated the tired instructions for what felt like a thousand times as he prayed they would finally be remembered and heeded. "You do what you're told when you're told to do it, no matter what it is."

Lifting his hands, he adjusted the collar of Adam's jacket, lifting it to protect his neck from the cold. It was a pointless action; too little too late, but it gave him something to do with his hands, an excuse to hold on to his son one last time.

I don't like it.

The memory of Adam's words came rushing back, overwhelming him with an image of how they had stood in the Eastgate boarding house, Adam fussing over an unfamiliar shirt he didn't want to put on. It was a memory that was all too haunting and apt because this—standing in front of his son, dreading to let him go—Ben didn't like either. Taking a deep breath, he gripped Adam's upper arms and held tight. He didn't want to let go; he wasn't sure he would be able to.

"Don't lose track of yourself in there," he said tightly. "Remember who you are, where you come from and belong. Remember who I am, that I love and believe you, and I'm waiting out here to bring you back home."

Adam nodded. Brows knitting with anxiety, his jaw was clenched tight. At first Ben thought his son was struggling to keep his emotions in check, then he realized it was a fight Adam had already lost. Twin tears trailed down his cheeks, trickling down his freshly shaven cheeks. He hadn't wanted to shave his beard or cut his unruly hair; Ben had insisted it was done. He wanted Adam to look as presentable as possible. Sane, lucid, and level-headed, capable, and willing to look after basic needs. He was capable of those things—Ben knew that, and he wanted others to know it too.

"Don't be afraid," Ben reassured softly. It was a profound order—difficult if not completely impossible to adhere to.

"I'm not," Adam whispered. "I can't be, not anymore."

Nodding, Ben wiped at Adam's tears, drying his cheeks with his thumbs. Feeling oddly proud of the declaration, he pulled his son into an embrace. It was a hug that was fiercely reciprocated; they held onto each other for a long time.

Can you hold on to me, Pa?

The excruciating echo returned, haunting Ben long after their embrace was broken, when Adam was pulled away from him and led into the building beyond the fence. After watching both Martin and Adam disappear into its obscure depths, he stood in place for a long time, unable to move as the inauspicious question rang mercilessly in his mind.

Can you?

END

This storyline continues in the forth and final installment of this series: Predisposition.