Betrayal #2

~CHAOS~

by jfclover

Every day is a mere repetition of the day before, a routine of deception that keeps me alive and enables me to face the world in which I live. I wake feeling empty and void of purpose; I draw the covers and bury my head. I cry because I’m weak. I cry because I’ve failed so many. I cry over what my life has become.

Gentle warmth embraces me, stirs within my soul, and I return to the living once again. Contentment edged by fear washes over me when I draw from the vial and sink the needle’s tip into the crook of my arm. Harsh and glaring marks reveal the trail of evidence for an addict like me.

Morphine has become my savior; it’s the life I’ve been dealt and the sacrifice I’ve made. I’m playing a fool’s game, a game where nobody wins. Where death hovers like an aura, always looming but never seen, where tireless injections see me through to another day.

Though I feel the end is near, I see no means of escape.

“““““

Archibald Alexander announced his arrival in Virginia City with drums beating and brass horns blaring.  With outstretched arms and a booming voice, he commanded attention as he delivered God’s word atop a brightly painted wagon he used as a platform.  “Sinners come forth,” his voice thundered as he advanced down the main street of town.  “Thieves, liars, and beggars.  I speak to rich and poor alike. Come forth and receive the word of God. Let the Almighty wash away your miserable sins.  Come! Come!  Through me, God will heal your wretched souls.”

Citizens gathered along C Street to watch and listen to this unexpected exhibition. And as he spoke, a quiet hush came over the crowd of onlookers.  I, too, stood in disbelief, listening to declarations shouted boisterously from this flamboyant man of the cloth.  He proclaimed the ability to save our worthless hides.  He’d been blessed by the hand of God and announced to the world he could heal the sick and maimed if they truly believed.

I’ll admit he had a way about him, nearly convincing everyone in his path he truly was a sainted man.  Charisma is the word I’d use.  Archibald Alexander had charisma, a certain appeal, which made his travels to our fair city a time I’d soon regret.

Word of his arrival spread quickly. He set up his tent just south of town and mesmerized everyone who attended his services. I found him to be nothing more than a pumped-up, loud-mouthed windbag.  With his arms extended high over his head, his body trembled with the heavenly spirit.  He’d tilt his face toward the heavens before shouting the gospel until his voice became raspy and hoarse. I wondered if he might collapse.

“Hell and damnation!”  We were all sinners in the eyes of God.

A vast congregation of townsfolk crowded in for weeks to hear the new preacher, the man of miracles.  All seemed content to stand for hours in the sweltering heat inside his large, canvas tent and listen to him speak, to cleanse themselves of their earthly sins and wrongdoings. They often begged to be healed when doctors had failed using modern medicine.

His gospel-toting words could be heard on Sunday mornings and again, with an even larger attendance, every evening of the week.  One meeting was more than enough for me.  Even Pa shook his head in disbelief, wondering how long this proclaimed man of God would cry out his words of hellfire before it was time for him to pack up, move on, and captivate the next group of unsuspecting souls.

He was a handsome man, tall, with clear, blue eyes and straight, blonde hair, and it was easy to see why womenfolk would drop everything and drag their husbands and beaus to hear him speak. He had charm and grace and even with his large, lanky frame, he swept through the crowd with the ease of a bird in flight.

One night early on, Pa and I stood near the rear of the tent; watching and wondering how long the preacher’s welcome would last. The collection plates filled to the brim as he quoted verse after verse. “The wicked borrow and do not repay, but the righteous give generously …” I wasn’t good at remembering numbers of verses, but it was hard to back away from his words. “God loves a cheerful giver …” Well, he’d conjured up a cheerful crowd; he’d most certainly gotten his message across.

Not everyone felt as Pa and I did. Archibald Alexander caught the eye of a golden-haired beauty, who found his work fascinating and his manner quite charming. Before month’s end, she’d become his assistant. Just after he gave his final sermon and before his tent came down, he married that golden-haired girl.

I wish our lives had taken a different course, Jess’ and mine, but without a fight, I let the preacher take Jesse away. Archibald Alexander and Jessica Sue Peterson were married on the first of July. They left Virginia City the following day and eventually settled in a village inside the boundaries of Mexico. Jesse became a midwife, and the preacher surrendered his tent for an honest-to-God (pardon the pun) stone church, steeple and all.

““`

I betrayed Jess and had an affair with another woman. Although the affair was brief, I made front-page news in the Enterprise after the trial in Lake’s Crossing. Two boys had died, but the names of six young men, who’d been kidnapped and ill-treated, were exposed. I was one of those young men and like the other five; I’d been seduced by an older woman and then held captive by a man who sought revenge. One entry was particularly unnerving.

“As the youngest son of Ben Cartwright, a prominent Nevada rancher, young Joseph Cartwright had also been victimized by Dr. David Davis. Davis, only recently released from a ten-year prison sentence, had subjected the young man to an undeserving amount of suffering when he had denied payment of an undisclosed sum of money.

“The blackmail scheme had been contrived by a husband-and-wife team: Doctor and Louise Davis, aka Suzanna, a name she used while in Virginia City. These young men were seduced into a web of indiscreet behavior and then blackmailed to keep their improper conduct silenced. Subsequently, Joe Cartwright was kidnapped by Davis, held captive, and spent weeks in an abandoned mine on the outskirts of Virginia City. Also, at the hands of Davis, every young man, including Cartwright, suffered daily injections of the miracle drug known as morphine.

“Doctors nationwide are just now beginning to report the harmful effects of this drug …

Although the story continued, that section presented enough information to raise suspicions as to why I’d been blackmailed in the first place. Not every detail had been printed, but there had been talk and it didn’t take long for rumors of Davis’ wife and me to be linked together scandalously. And it didn’t take long for Jesse to put two and two together and realize I’d been with Suzanna during the time I’d been courting her.

As rumors spread, Jesse took the brunt of the townsfolk’s harsh remarks and innuendos. I can’t imagine the anguish she suffered, but I was in no condition to make things right. There were more important matters I needed to deal with; tracking down a reliable source of morphine was my primary concern. No longer did anything else matter, not even Jess.

There was a time when I thought my drug use was over. I’d even given up the whiskey I’d used as a substitute just to make it through the day. Whether I was weak or whether … I don’t know exactly what happened, but my life had changed. I failed myself, and I failed my family when I introduced morphine back into my life.

It wasn’t long before I was closely acquainted with a unique section of the Chinese community. I was good for the money and Mr. Wong was good for the drug. Pa’s whiskey had kept me alive, and it had kept me from having severe withdrawal for a short period. I remember talking to Hoss one day as I sat under an old oak tree, hating my life and contemplating whether life was worth living. Hoss and I were having trouble seeing eye-to-eye on certain matters, and the last thing I said to him that day was how I was going to make it up to Jess.

That day never came. Instead of rectifying things, I rode straight past the Peterson’s ranch and into Virginia City—to Chinatown. I connected with Mr. Wong, who in turn supplied me with the lifeline I could no longer live without.

Initially, I lost weight, but that little problem was easy to solve with a pair of long johns and a heavy wool shirt under my regular clothes. I had mood swings, causing my family, and especially my father, times of undue stress. I had to learn the process. At first, I injected too much or too little. Finding a balance was harder than I imagined it would be. I was either too tired to do anything or, at times, I could barely suffer through sitting in one place.

There were unnecessary fights between my brothers and me. It was completely my fault but, in the beginning, I didn’t see it that way. I only saw fire and hate, aggravation and fault on their part. It took some adjustment to get the exact dose but over time, I nailed it, and no one became wise to my secret life. I honed the skill of injecting to a fine art, when and how much became routine, and at that point, my new way of life, my up and down moods leveled off to a nice even keel. I was able to cope with the daily routine of working alongside Pa and my brothers. My appetite and visible health returned, and as I kept my addiction hidden from the rest of the world, my life ran as smoothly as it had before any of this business began.

I admit I came close to having my private world of dependence revealed. It was a couple of months ago. I’d been careless and twisted my ankle when my boot caught wrong in a gopher hole. I’d been out alone, finishing a strip of fencing Hoss and I had started the day before. The wagon and supplies were at the bottom of a hill too rugged to drive up. My only choice was to crawl down uneven, rocky ground, cursing at everything blocking my way. By the time I returned home, I was sweating profusely and trying desperately to conceal the trembling, which was just beginning to show. I was long overdue for a shot.

After Pa helped me into the house and up to my room, I needed him to leave, although leaving me alone with an injury was not my father’s way. Pa, Hop Sing, and both brothers hovered over me, making a big deal over a sprained ankle. Sure, my ankle was sore and swollen, but I had more important matters on my mind. Somehow, I talked Pa out of sending Hoss for the doc, assuring him my ankle wasn’t broken, only slightly twisted, and I’d be back to work in a couple of days.

By the time I was left alone for the night, I was in a near state of panic. My hands shook so badly, that I broke the tip of the needle as I recklessly jabbed it through my skin then continued to force the dull metal nub into the crook of my arm. Pain exploded from my shoulder clear through to my white-knuckled fist. Blood pooled unexpectedly.

I lay back against my headboard, a lone tear slipped down my cheek when I closed my eyes. I wanted to savor the urgent relief and absorb the gentle warmth that surrounds every nerve with a calming euphoria. The need had been great, but I had to force my mind to accept the drug, relax, and appreciate the gift I’d driven into my body.

The instant I began to calm enough to savor the drug’s effects, I heard a tapping sound at my door. Confusion brought dread and I slid my arm—needle still hanging from broken skin—under the blanket, quickly covering the evidence of my sins. Popping his head through the narrow opening in the doorway, my father only wished to bid me goodnight.

“You doing all right, son? Anything I can get you before I turn in?”

I barely found my voice. “I … I’m fine, Pa.” My heart beat overtime, violently clashing with the blessed serenity I’d found only moments ago.

“All right then. Goodnight, Joe.”

Praying my father wouldn’t return for some unknown reason, I lowered the blanket and drew the broken needle slowly from my arm. And, as I ran my thumb over swollen, blackened flesh, I studied all the various marks left behind, some fresh, some weeks old, but all had remained, conveying the story of my life.

I wondered how long I could keep up the charade, the shame, and the humiliation I’d brought into this family. I wondered whether I had the right to remain under my father’s roof. I wondered when I might die.

~~~

“Ready, Joe?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be, big brother.”

It was Saturday night and with my ankle now healed, my brothers had talked me into attending a dance in Virginia City. Since the article had been printed in the Enterprise and with Jess gone from my life, I hadn’t left the house much at all, opting out of most social situations. But tonight, as Pa had said to me earlier in the week, it was time for me to get back in the swing of things.

“You’re a young man, Joseph, with a whole life ahead of you. Don’t let difficult times prevent you from enjoying what may prove to be a new beginning.”

Pa was right in his thinking; it’s just that my life was different now. Timing was everything. I lived in my private world with deadlines to meet and adding a social life to the mix didn’t seem worth the effort. But I agreed to go out with my brothers. It would make Pa happy and, I suppose it was high time I showed my face in town. I could only hope the rumors concerning Suzanna and our short-lived affair had died down, at least to a low roar. I wasn’t sure how many sideways glances I could take.

I’d been to town for supplies or to run errands for Pa but for months, I hadn’t indulged in any nighttime activities. No beers in saloons with my brothers. No barn dances where decent young ladies, who were usually accompanied by their mothers and fathers, would keep their distance from me, knowing what a rascal Joe Cartwright had turned out to be. So, this was it. I was dressed and ready to go.

My brothers and I rode together, but as we unsaddled our horses at the livery, I could feel the tension build. I’d been careful to time my injection so I could easily make it through the evening without any complications but still, the familiar case of butterflies intensified as we walked toward the barn together.

“What’s the matter with our little brother, Adam? Seems he’s draggin’ his feet.”

“You draggin’ your feet, Joe?”

“I ain’t dragging my feet,” I said without looking up. “You two give me a pain.”

Adam walked through the open double doors first then Hoss, and then me. The three-piece band was playing a familiar tune while men kicked their heels and twirled their womenfolk on the dance floor. Dresses of every color flashed against the dull, flat background of the barn. I thought back to another time, another dance where I’d held Jesse, wearing her new blue dress and looking as lovely as ever. But there was a second blue dress that night and the beginning of a long and unsuspecting nightmare.

I shook off the memory when Hoss grabbed hold of my arm. He led me to the barn and to the punch bowl where a group of young ladies stood, waiting to have their dance cards filled by all the single men in attendance. Adam and Hoss graciously signed their names while I hung back, scared and nervous, and not quite the Joe Cartwright of old.

“Come on, Little Joe,” Hoss said, handing me his pencil. “Get to signin’.”

I smiled at the group of young women who all seemed to be cackling like a flock of jaybirds, waiting nervously with pencils in hand. I signed my name quickly, never aware of whose card I held in my hand. Within minutes, I found myself on the dance floor. There were tall ones and short ones, fat and skinny ones, but it didn’t take long before I’d had enough. Between the skittering fiddle and the vast array of colors, swirling in time with the music, I soon felt nauseous. It all became too much and without being seen by my brothers, I slipped quietly out the back door.

My hands trembled and my hair prickled with sweat as I ran down a back alley to the saloon. Overheated and overanxious, I thought maybe a beer would cool me down and settle the tension that continued to build. I drained the first mug quickly and ordered a second only to find my head spinning and an annoying rushing sound in my ears. I leaned heavily on the bar, hoping I wouldn’t make a spectacle of myself and pass out on the barroom floor. Surely, I could handle a beer or two; after all, I’d been allowed to drink for the past two years.

“Hey, Little Joe.”

I turned my head and looked at the man standing next to me. “Simon?”

“Yeah, who’d you think it was?”

I gave him a half-smile and turned my attention back to the beer I gripped with both hands. Simon had no idea how unnerved I felt, but I’d be damned if I’d let it show.

“I ain’t seen you in a coon’s age, Joe. Where ya been keepin’ yourself?”

“Busy at the ranch,” I said, timidly. “That’s about all.”

“Why ain’t you at the dance?”

“I was,” I said, looking up. “Why aren’t you?”

Simon and I had been friends for a short time in school, but that was years ago. We’d each gone our separate ways after we’d witnessed an unforgettable night, which I won’t go into right now, but we never spoke of it again and eventually, our friendship waned.

Simon looked different somehow—thinner, I guess—but most of all he kept fidgeting with his mug. His fingers were restless and, contemplating my sorry state, I checked my own hands, knowing reporters from the Enterprise were always alert and watching for something revealing to write up as front-page news. I was steady now; the night’s unsuspected jitters had calmed, leaving me feeling drained of energy and just wanting to go home.

“Hell, I don’t have time for them kinda females what show up at dances, Joe. They tend to mess with a man’s mind and make him feel like he ain’t good enough. Mostly, I stick to whores.”

“That’s one way to look at things, I guess.”

“It’s the only way, least for me, Little Joe.” Simon set his empty mug on the bar and ordered two more. He slid one to me.

“Thanks, Simon, but I should probably go. I’ve got two brothers who’ll be wondering where I’ve run off to.”

“Still taggin’ you around?”

“Yeah … some I guess,” I said cracking a smile.

“How ‘bout one for the road?” He slid his arm across my shoulders in an act of friendship, but all I could think of was remaining steady, not trembling like Simon, who’d been drinking all day. “I’m sure your brothers are plenty occupied with them female dancers.”

“I suppose,” I said, sipping the foam from my third beer.

“Besides, I know what kinda womenfolk you fancy. You’re just like me, Little Joe. We both like them ladies what’s whores.”

My eyes grew dark, and my left fist connected with Simon’s jaw and before he had time to react, he tumbled sideways, but scrambled to his feet and came back swinging. I ducked the first blow, but Simon was all over me with punches to my face and gut, and though I’d sent him flying over a nearby table, he was back at me in no time.

The saloon exploded into a battleground. Everyone who’d had one beer too many was shovin’, punchin’, and swearin’ until the bartender unloaded his shotgun, silencing the room and putting an end to the free-for-all.

Not long after, Roy Coffee appeared in the doorway, as did both brothers. I stood up slowly and with the back of my hand, I wiped away the blood that trickled from my nose and mouth. Simon stared at me from his position on the floor, still tangled under a fallen chair. No apologies were given. I reached down for my hat and left the saloon with my brothers.

The ride home was hell. I shivered and ached but not from the bruises inflicted by Simon Henry or by the others who joined in the fight. I knew exactly why, and after pulling Cochise to the side of the road more than once to empty my stomach, Hoss and Adam only assumed I’d had too much to drink. I didn’t say a word otherwise.

But as soon as we walked through the front door, I was nearly overrun by Pa, asking questions and making sure I was all right. I assured him I was fine, said a quick goodnight, and immediately ran upstairs and crawled into bed, leaving Adam and Hoss to explain. I didn’t much care what was said, I only needed to be by myself so I could resolve the problem before my life took a turn and sailed further out of control.

Morphine warmed my body and soothed my soul, and I settled into a melancholy state of bliss. Soon, I fell asleep; conjuring up strange visions I hadn’t experienced since I’d slept against the rock wall inside the mine. And when I woke, frightened and lying in a pool of sweat, I spent the remainder of the night, staring into the darkness, afraid to close my eyes, afraid to fall back asleep.

~~~

When morning came, I forced my feet to the floor, but I remained seated on the edge of the bed, cradling my head with both hands, the throbbing punishment hanging tough from last night’s endeavors. When the trembling started, I fought back the anxious feeling I’d learned to accept when Scarface withheld the drug during the brutal game he liked to play. I thought of his words as though he was here with me now. “You and your papa will curse me till the day you die.” I couldn’t speak for my father, but as I loaded the syringe, I cursed aloud, the man who’d altered my life.

I was the last one down to breakfast and as soon as I was seated, Pa felt he had to comment on my behavior in the saloon. “What exactly happened last night, Joseph?”

My brothers each held their forks midair, also waiting to hear an explanation. “Nothin’ much, Pa. Simon Henry and I disagreed.”

“Over what, son?”

“Just something he said.” I kept my eyes on my plate even though just looking at the mound of scrambled eggs turned my stomach.

“Why didn’t you stay with your brothers at the dance?”

“I don’t know. It was hot, and I needed some air.” I needed air now. The questions were almost more than I could deal with this early in the morning.

“Well next time,” Pa said, “you’ll stay with your brothers.”

“Don’t worry, Pa. There won’t be a next time.” I stood to leave the table when Pa called me back.

“Joseph. Sit back down and finish your breakfast.”

“I’m not real hungry, Pa,” I said, trying not to let on as to how miserable I felt. It was a workday, and I started for the door. “I’ll go saddle the horses.”

“Joseph,” Hoss chimed in. “It’s Sunday.

I looked over my shoulder at Pa, confused, but realizing Hoss was right.

“If you’re not going to eat then go get dressed for church.”

“I’m not feeling very well, Pa. Maybe I could just stay—”

“That’s no excuse. Get ready now.”

I had no choice. I had to play the role of the kid who’d had too much to drink and clearly couldn’t hold his liquor. Sick or not, I was heading for Sunday service.

““`

We took our seats inside the church—second row on the right. It was all I could do to pretend all was well and play Pa’s obedient little boy. I was anxious and worst of all, nauseous. Numerous times my knee rattled involuntarily and Pa, who, since I was a small child had sat to my left, placed his hand on my leg to steady the growing agitation of having to remain perfectly still. This time, his gentle touch did little to calm the inner demons that found pleasure, brawling inside my body.

As for the sermon, it was obvious I hadn’t heard a word. Not that I cared; I didn’t care about a damn thing other than wishing the hour was over. But it was my father’s duty to make sure the reverend believed I was paying close attention.

When service finally ended, Pa surprised us all with an unexpected invitation to the International House for Sunday dinner. If this morning hadn’t been torture enough, now I had to eat, with absolutely no appetite, in front of a crowd of people in a fancy restaurant. I was lightheaded, and when Hoss leaned his elbow on my shoulder, it was all I could do to keep my balance and remain on my feet.

“I’m not hungry, Pa, so why don’t I just wait in the buggy while you three go ahead?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Joseph. If you feel that poorly then order a bowl of soup.”

The tone of Pa’s voice indicated there’d be no further discussion on the subject. I saw no way out, and my chest grew tight. My heart pounded, then slowed, then pounded again. My skin felt as though I’d crawled into a bed with a thousand and one fleas. It had nothing to do with the beer I consumed last night; it had everything to do with the drug. But why now? This hadn’t been a problem since I’d learned the correct amounts.

My twice-a-day injections were hardly enough anymore. For months, I’d managed one shot in the morning and one before supper with no problems at all. I’d dosed myself this morning and now, for some unknown reason, I was a wreck. “I need to run an errand, Pa. I’ll meet you at the hotel in just a few minutes.”

“Joseph, what possible errand could you have on Sunday morning?” Pa wasn’t taking this well.

“I … I’ll be right back, Pa, won’t take long at all.” I ran off before my father could stop me. I had no idea what my explanation would be, but I’d think of something before I met up with my family at the restaurant.

Beads of sweat dotted on my forehead as I ran through back alleys and down through the narrow streets of Chinatown. Mr. Wong would know exactly why I was there, and he’d be more than pleased to be paid extra for another small vial of the much-needed drug.

I knocked frantically on his front door, which was not much more than a thin partition to keep out the elements and passersby. When I knocked a second time, a young lady came to the door. “I need to speak to your uncle,” I said slightly out of breath.

The young lady, maybe four or five years my junior, pressed her palms together and bowed slightly before leading me back through a curtained doorway where Mr. Wong lay sleeping on a narrow bed only inches from the floor. A small Chinese woman—I assumed to be his wife—was kneeling on the floor next to him. She held a small, iron object with some type of fragrant smoke billowing out through its sides. Slowly, she waved it over her husband’s chest.

I wasn’t sure what to do, but I was in a hurry to make the purchase and be on my way. “May I speak to Mr. Wong?”

The young lady’s eyes dipped, and she shook her head. “Uncle very sick.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “Um, maybe you can help me.”

She didn’t speak, but she looked up at me with ebony eyes slit through soft, pale skin with tan-like undertones. Realizing I hadn’t removed my hat, I quickly pulled it off and raked my fingers through my hair.

“Your uncle … he, um … I would pay him for a certain item. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Could you maybe sell that certain item to me? I have money.”

“I don’t know if—“

“I’ll pay whatever you ask. Money’s no problem.”

I’d frantically rushed through my words, and I hoped the young Chinese girl was able to understand my meaning. She looked at the older woman, who in turn nodded her head. “Okay,” she said.

“Thank you.” My heart swelled with anticipation. I followed her out of the larger room and into another, smaller space further back in their cramped but detail-oriented home.

“You wait here,” she said.

She disappeared behind another curtain, and before I had time to look around, she returned with a small vial of morphine. “I’ll need a syringe, too,” I said, pointing first to the bottle and then my arm, not sure if she understood. She disappeared once again, and I felt an urgent sense of relief wash through me.

“Same price you pay Uncle,” she said after returning a second time.

“Good … that’s good,” I said, feeling my heartbeat abate, knowing I’d conquered this minor glitch and gotten my hands on exactly what I needed. “Here you are,” I said, handing her the same amount of notes I paid Mr. Wong. She tucked the bills into the pocket of her black, ankle-length pants before bowing and letting me know our transaction was complete.

“Do you mind if I—” I held up the vial and the silver syringe.

She guided me toward a black, lacquered table. I knelt on an ornate floor pillow and quickly pushed up my sleeve. I should have injected my left arm, but with such an unsettled feeling of panic, I needed to steady the needle the best I could.

Immediately, a rapid sensation—warm and welcoming—surged, extending its golden fingers through countless veins, suppressing the frenzy that was my fate only moments ago. My eyelids dipped, my entire body relishing in the wonder of morphine while the syringe lay limply against my arm. Captivated in my little world of ecstasy, gratified by the simple act of pressing a needle through broken skin, I lost track of time and space.

I blinked my eyes repeatedly as if I’d fallen into a deep, tranquil sleep. Instantly, I reeled myself back to the present, noticing the young Chinese girl standing over me, watching and waiting for me to leave. I needed to meet my family and not linger forever in the house of Wong. I slipped the needle from my arm and pushed myself to my feet.

“Thank you again, miss,” I said, capping the needle and putting both items inside my jacket pocket. I started for the door and stopped, turning back to the girl before leaving. “My name’s Joe.”

“Yes, I know.”

“You do?”

“Uncle tell name long ago.”

“Oh—” I’m not sure why I found that strange, but I did. “May I ask your name?”

“Mei,” she said softly.

“I’m happy to meet you, Mei.”

Mei bowed again. I didn’t know if I should do the same or not. It wasn’t my custom so I tipped my hat, backed out the door, and then hurried to the hotel to meet Pa and my brothers.

Although my father gave me a stern look when I arrived, he said he’d ordered for me since I had such important business to attend to before lunch. I took a deep breath, apologized for the delay, and thanked him for his patience.

“At least you seem awake now,” Pa said. “I hope you don’t plan to doze off through services every Sunday.”

“No, sir, not at all, sir.”

“Good. I’m glad to know this was only a one-time occurrence.”

The subsequent conversation droned on, each voice emerging as though I was listening with my head underwater. There was nothing earth-shattering discussed or brought up that needed my attention, so I found my mind wandering and wondering about the young girl named Mei.

““`

During the next few weeks, my life fell back into a normal routine. I never figured out what had happened to me that Sunday when I was forced to make an unscheduled visit to Chinatown, but when it was time for my monthly visit, Mei greeted me at the door rather than her uncle, Mr. Wong.

“Is your uncle still ill?” I asked, remembering he was unwell the last time I was there.

“Uncle dying.”

“I’m sorry.”  Realizing my manners weren’t what they should be, I removed my hat. “Can’t the doctors do anything to help?”

Mei’s chin dropped to her chest.

“I could bring Doctor Martin. He’s my doctor.  Maybe he could help your uncle.”

She shook her head. “Too late for Uncle. Make offerings to ancestors for next life.” She swept her hand across the room to a small altar where she, or maybe his wife, had left many contributions such as fruit, shiny pieces of paper, and a small wooden statue. I didn’t understand the ritual or many Chinese traditions for that matter, but I was honored she felt comfortable sharing that part of her life with an outsider like me.

I wasn’t sure what to say. Mr. Wong meant a lot to Mei; he also meant a lot to me. “What will happen if your uncle dies? Will you stay here in this house?”

“Nowhere else for Mei to go. This Mei home.”

I wondered if she’d act as my supplier after her uncle died. Although this wasn’t the time to ask, I felt a crest of fear running through me. I couldn’t go a week or even a day without Mr. Wong, and I’m sure I wasn’t the only one in town who made repeated visits for the small but life-sustaining vial of morphine.

There had to be others like me, who came to deal with the Chinaman regularly. The search hadn’t been easy. It had taken close to a miracle for me to locate him in the first place. Not many Chinese individuals were willing to talk to a white man asking for a ready supply of morphine.

Mei and I had become friends of sorts. I felt at ease in her company, and maybe next time I could discuss the matter of my monthly visits. I wouldn’t dare bother her with it just now. I made my purchase, thanked her, and I was on my way.

““`

We’d just sat down for lunch when a rider’s hooves pounded dirt outside the house. “Sounds like we’ve got company,” Pa said.

“I got it,” I said, tossing my napkin on the plate and using the guest as an excuse to leave my lunch behind.

“Hi, Little Joe. Your Pa home?”

“Come on in, Sheriff. Hungry?”

“Sorry, Little Joe, but thanks for the offer,” Roy said, doffing his hat and looking past me for my father.

Pa joined me at the front door when he heard Roy’s voice. Hoss and Adam turned in their chairs.

“Bank was robbed early this morning, Ben. I got men scouring north and south of town, but I could sure use some help covering the Ponderosa.”

The gang, who consisted of four men, had made their getaway riding south, but Roy still wanted us to look for tracks on our land. Knowing he could count on Pa and since the bandits might be holed up in one of our line shacks waiting for things to cool down, he’d ridden out from town to ask for help.

“Saddle the horses, boys,” Pa ordered. “Hop Sing? Two days supplies.”

We all took off in different directions. Pa hurried toward the kitchen as Hoss and Adam grabbed their gun belts and rushed out the front door. I ran upstairs. I met up with both brothers while they were still saddling our mounts.

“What happened to you, little brother? It ain’t gals we’re after.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Thought maybe you run upstairs to spruce up ‘fore we left,” Hoss said, chuckling at his joke.

“Very funny,” I said. “You keep cracking jokes, and we’ll never get outta here.”

The five of us rode out together and as soon as we hit the main road, we separated into two groups. “Which way, brother?” Adam pointed in a northerly direction. I nodded, and we took off, leaving the others behind. With Hoss, the expert tracker, Roy’s group stood a better chance of locating the gang than Adam and I did, and since the robbers had taken off to the south, it only made sense to steer Hoss in that general direction.

My brother and I rode steadily for most of the afternoon. We had enough supplies for two days, which meant a cold night on the ground or, if we were lucky, one of our line shacks. We’d already checked two so far and found nothing. The sun was low in the sky, and I was hoping to get out of the saddle sooner than later. “Might as well bunk here, Joe,” Adam said as we rode up toward the third tiny cabin.

“I’m game,” I said. “I’ve had enough riding for one day, and anything beats the cold, hard ground.”

“That’s for sure.”

The line shack was nestled deep in the pines on the northern rim of the Ponderosa, secluded and hard to find if you weren’t familiar with the lay of the land. I could tell Adam was tired by the tone of his voice, and while he carried in the supplies and started a fire, so we could have something besides jerky for supper, I stabled the horses in the small lean-to built adjacent to the cabin. Leaving my saddlebags tied, I took time to do what was necessary.

While Hoss thought I was primping, I’d run upstairs to grab my prized possession, my little, black bag, and bypassed my brothers in the barn without either catching sight. For months I’d stashed the bag under my mattress and up to this point, I’d kept my secret hidden from everyone living in the house.

The last couple of miles on the back of Cochise had been torture. It was late in the day, and with Adam riding alongside; I’d had no other choice but to wait till we pulled up for the night. But now, with my brother safely inside the cabin, I could relieve the discomfort and make it until sunrise.

After leaning back against the outer wall to steady myself, I pierced my skin and, as smooth as silk, the morphine burrowed its way through my veins. Like bathing in stove-heated water, the golden liquid traveled first through my arms and legs, forcing my knees to become weak and my legs to buckle. I slid down the rough, wooden wall until I was sitting down, legs stretched out flat on the ground. Luxuriating in the splendor while make-believe steam rose from the bath, encircling me with scents of wildflowers and pine as my entire body felt the intense pleasure of a simple injection. But the warm, even glow was temporary. Gone in only seconds but stabilized me until morning. Quickly, I packed away my supplies before untying our bedrolls and heading inside with Adam.

We ate beans and fried bacon and between the two of us, we polished off a pot of hot coffee. There wasn’t much to do during evening hours spent in a line shack, so when Adam pulled out a small flask of whiskey from his saddlebags and offered me a drink, I refused to indulge. “I’ll pass,” I said, waving away the offer.

“What? Is this the new Joe?”

“No, I’m just tired is all.” After what I’d gone through last time, after drinking just a couple of beers, I couldn’t risk having another unscheduled crisis with Adam so close at hand.

There were two cots, one alongside either wall and after we cleaned up our supper dishes, we each kicked off our boots and fell onto a thin mattress that served as a bed. I heard my brother’s gentle snoring long before I drifted off to sleep.

““`

I was the first to wake, and after swinging my legs over the side of the bed and pulling on my boots, I needed to make a trip outside to my saddlebags. As soon as I opened the cabin door, an explosion of gunfire and racking pain sent me tumbling back across the cabin’s dirt floor. “Adam!” I shouted wildly, clutching my shoulder and sensing warm, sticky blood flowing between my fingers. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my brother, ducking under the only window, his six-shooter held steady in his hand.

I kicked the door closed and scooted back toward my bed and my holster. “What the hell just happened?” I cried, realizing immediately my brother knew nothing more than I.

“Did you see who shot you?”

“No dammit! I didn’t see anyone.”

“They may have us surrounded, Joe. Could you see if the horses were still tied up?”

“NO!” I cried louder this time. “I told you. I didn’t see a damn thing.”

“Take it easy, Joe.”

“Take it easy?” I wailed, restraint quickly slipping away. “I’ve got a slug in my shoulder, Adam. How am I supposed to take it easy?”

“I’ve got medical supplies in my saddlebags. As soon as we’re safe, I’ll get you fixed up, at least well enough to ride home.”

“You think it’s them?” I moaned, breathlessly. “The robbers?”

“I have to assume, but your guess is as good as mine. Don’t move, Joe, just hang tight.”

A muted crashing sound caught my attention when Adam broke through a thin pane of glass, shattering it on top of his bedroll. He aimed and took a shot, while I lay on the ground and shuttered at the sound of additional gunfire, chipping at the outer walls of the cabin. The gunmen were close, but why weren’t they running away? And, why the hell had they come back, just to shoot at us?

“They out there?” I called, as I leaned back against the end-post of the cot, unseeing.

“The horses, Joe. They came for the horses.”

Oh, God. The gunfire stopped; the air fell silent.

“They’re gone,” Adam said with a sigh. “Cochise and Sport too. They must’ve needed fresh mounts or maybe they’d been forced to ride double.”

Stay calm, stay calm, stay calm. Those simple words became a mantra in my head even though a clear sense of panic had taken over. Adam supported my weight as I positioned my feet under me and took a couple of shaky steps before I sat down on the narrow bed, still clutching tightly to my shoulder until my brother gently eased my hand away. I glanced at my left palm, exposing bright, red blood before closing my eyes to the pain. My useless right arm lay limp in my lap.

Since the bullet had driven in small bits of material, Adam took special care to slowly unbutton and ease my sodden shirt from the gaping wound. Covered in blood and with rivulets of sweat streaking my face and chest, I wasn’t thinking straight when I let my brother remove the only item of clothing that concealed my secret from the rest of the world.

It wasn’t until Adam picked up both wrists and held my arms straight out in front of him that I suddenly came alive and tried to pull away. But his grip was firm, and after witnessing the questioning look, after my brother failed to articulate simple words, an awkward silence followed. Neither of us moved. There was no use. The muscle in my brother’s jaw tightened, relaxed, and tightened again as he stared at the bruising, the damage, and the unsightly scars scattered unevenly up and down each arm.

“Joe …” he mumbled. “My God.”

As Adam blinked repeatedly, I turned my head away. Adam—the brother who never allowed his emotions to get the best of him—was shedding tears at the sight.

“The bullet,” I cried, trying anything to divert his attention. “Get the bullet out, Adam.”

Stone-faced and drained of color, Adam stared at every raised and shaded mark, old and new, faded and fresh, mottled in an irregular fashion. Months of hiding, planning, and praying no one would ever know had vanished in a single instant. But my brother couldn’t force his eyes away.

“Adam,” I called out again. “The bullet.”

“Right,” he said, suddenly clearing his throat and laying my arms down gently on my lap.

He turned his back to me, and I watched closely as he covered his face with both hands, trying to dispel the vision of what he’d just seen. After composing himself, he dug through his saddlebags and removed what was needed to stitch and repair the wound.

Adam handed me the flask of whiskey first before he sat down beside me on the side edge of the narrow cot. I shook my head and handed it back. He accepted the small container, setting it down on the ground for later use. “Good thing we didn’t empty it last night.”

But there was no reply. My brother’s face was already dotted with sweat as he placed a cool cloth on my shoulder to mop up the visible blood. “This won’t be pleasant.”

“I know. Just get it over with.”

““`

Some would say I was lucky; the bullet had gone straight through. There was an exit hole on the back of my upper arm, taking the pressure off Adam and making my brother’s job one he could handle without too much difficulty. Although his hands were shaking as he threaded the needle with a thin string of catgut, I felt numb to the pain when the needle pierced my flesh.

“Don’t you want a drink?

“Not now,” I said when he handed me the whiskey. I turned the flask in my hand. “Maybe later.”

Adam nodded. “I need to use a portion of this over the wound, Joe.”

I handed my brother the bottle. He understood what I meant by “later” and so he used the alcohol sparingly, dispensing only a small amount before stitching up the front and backside of my arm. It’s funny; I barely felt the needle slip through my torn and swollen flesh, more like a painless, gentle tug than the act of mending severed skin. I was conditioned to needles, but Adam would feel more comfortable if I looked away. He wasn’t conditioned at all.

With the stitching completed, and with strips of my brother’s spare shirt wrapped neatly around my shoulder and arm, I remained on the bed, clutching the tiny container of whiskey with both hands. Adam ventured outside the cabin and found we were quite alone with no way home but to walk.

““`

Three shots signaled distress.

Adam fired three shots into the morning sky. If Pa and Hoss were within range, they’d come riding up in no time. If not, we’d have to start walking. The shock of the bullet and the pain that followed may have stayed the agony I should be experiencing by now. Although Adam wasn’t aware of what was to come, I was, and I knew the unexpected sense of calm was deceiving and wouldn’t last much longer.

To say I was terrified was an understatement. I’d only experienced small bouts of distress without the drug. The drug … I almost had to laugh. My only faithful companion in a world filled with fear. Never had I gone an entire day without injecting and now, with no horses and no morphine, the walk home scared the hell out of me. Even under the best conditions, I could easily predict the varying transformations, testing, and betraying my sanity. I hated that Adam would witness the impending crash—the sudden fall of Joe Cartwright into the depths of hell.

I played possum when my brother stepped back through the cabin door. I couldn’t face him now that he knew the story of my desperately hopeless life. He quickly busied himself, rustling around, adding wood to the fire, and making coffee, and soon, the pungent aroma of bacon permeated the small room. I felt hungry, which I took as a good sign, at least for now.

Adam sat down beside my prone body, and by resting the back of his hand on my forehead, he felt for the onset of fever. I was still without my shirt; only Adam’s thin bedroll covered my chest and legs, but with my eyes still closed, I could sense he was staring. How could I blame him? Morphine’s an ugly business, and no one could ever be prepared for the shock when they first take notice of the gruesome marks. I chose to inflict myself. With deep affection, which was sometimes omitted between the two of us, Adam called out my name. “Joe?” I couldn’t play possum forever. I opened my eyes and rolled to my side; I faced my brother. “Think you can eat something?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Can you sit up?”

Adam turned back the bedroll and helped me to a sitting position. Only a slight wave of nausea came over me. “I’m fine,” I said, simply out of habit. My shoulder burned like fire, but that was to be expected. After situating the blanket around my shoulders, he left me sitting on the edge of the bed while he went to pour the coffee. After handing me a hot, tin cup, he held his own with both hands and sat on the bed across from me. “How do you feel?”

“Pretty good.”

I sipped my coffee, as did my brother. The conversation was strained and for good reason. Neither of us wanted to discuss the obvious. We would be having a very different conversation soon enough. But I was wrong in my thinking. Adam cleared his throat and began with the first of many questions. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He looked up from his cup. “Morphine?”

That single word made my heart flutter and then constrict. “Yeah,” I said, though I wasn’t man enough to look up.

“Tell me what I need to know, Joe. When will you give yourself the next shot?”

This wasn’t what I expected to hear from my brother. He was concerned over my objectionable way of life. I shook my head. “I can’t.”

“What?” His voice was strained; he didn’t understand my meaning.

“It … it was in my saddlebags.”

“Gone?”

“Gone.”

Adam rose from his cot. He walked to the door, opened it wide, and stood without moving, staring toward hills dense with pines. He leaned heavily against the frame and took one more sip of coffee before tossing the dregs to the ground. He turned back to face me. “So, what happens now?”

“I’m not exactly sure.”

“You’re not sure?” Adam seemed surprised at my answer. I dropped my eyes to the floor. My brother came to sit next to me. “I don’t understand.”

“Well, I do, Adam. I’ve never gone a day without morphine.”

“You mean—” Adam hesitated, trying desperately to understand, but having no real idea how profound my addiction had become. “You’ve been on this stuff since you were kidnapped? That was months ago.”

I nodded. Yeah, I made it twenty-three unbearably, grueling days before I raced down the streets of Chinatown, but what did it matter now? My brother was speechless. Never had I known Adam Cartwright to be lacking in words.

“I need air, Adam.”

I stood, set my cup on the table, and walked out the door. My shoulder throbbed, but I could deal with the pain of a bullet wound. I pulled the bedroll tighter over my shoulders and looked toward the trees and hills, just as my brother had only moments ago. I was trapped in this damnable cabin, and I was a helluva long way from Chinatown.

Since the shock of being wounded had passed, the restless feeling was free to begin; nausea, following the onset of prickly agitation, was a definite sign my last injection was running thin, was leaving me with nothing to hang on to, exposed to the world for all to see. That much I knew. That’s why I’d made the unexpected visit to Mr. Wong’s that Sunday morning after church. I’d never let the burden of morphine take hold more than it had that day. But any sense of pride I may have felt in the past vanished completely when, alone in my room, I loaded the syringe for the very first time.

Adam stood behind me; the recently fried bacon and day-old biscuits set on the table untouched. “How can I help?”

Adam’s words startled me; I’d been lost in thought and hadn’t realized he’d walked up. I looked to the sky, trying to stay the tears or maybe I was begging God for any kind of help he could give. Either way, I couldn’t turn around and face my brother. However there wasn’t the normal put-down I expected from Adam, and I was nearly overcome by his simple, caring words. My body trembled. Before long, I found myself in my brother’s arms. Adam held me close to his chest while I cried. I wasn’t strong anymore. I wasn’t the man I pretended to be.

““`

We remained at the cabin long after we should have left for home, but I was in no condition to travel. Every so often, Adam would walk outside and throw three shots in the air, but no one ever came, no one heard our signal. It was no secret that, before long, Pa and Hoss and everyone else would know the reason for our delay, the lies I’d told, and the secret I’d kept well hidden for so long. The telling would have to come.

By noon, my bedding was damp from my growing volume of perspiration. My face burned with fever, only it wasn’t a fever at all. I lay on my side, clutching the thin mattress held up from the floor by the crisscrossed rope attached to a wooden frame. I felt every length of the fiber pulled taut across the narrow cot. The thin bedroll once covering my wounded shoulder, I’d flung to the dirt floor in a fitful fury of sudden agitation. I stared at rounded lengths of logs, trying desperately not to let Adam witness each grimace of pain, distorting the natural evenness of my youthful features.

Muscles constrict and my throat thickens. I can’t swallow and I gasp for air. My chest tightens and I feel it will shatter if I don’t fill my lungs. Relentless spasms force me to curl into myself and wrap my arms around tightly, hoping to ease the pain. The logs suddenly blur through glassy, tear-filled eyes. Pressure builds in my ears and hums like flies swarming over a dead carcass. My joints ache as though muscles have become detached and are floating at odd angles beneath fevered skin.

Nausea takes hold, and I race from the bed to the door, falling to the ground to retch repeatedly into God’s dusty, brown earth. Dry heaves cinch my stomach tight until I fall to my side in respite. My head spins and a shadow hovers over my still form. Adam kneels by my side. He tries to comfort, tries to soothe with words I can’t make out.

My senses, which have faded in and out, have reached full circle, and are gradually increasing in intensity. Adam helps me to my feet, and I nod a thank you, but I’m not sure why, and without words of his own, my brother guides me to a rickety, wooden chair. He sits down beside me, but I can no longer keep my head from falling on folded arms, resting atop the table. I pray the worst is over.

When I raised my head and leaned back in the chair, Adam handed me a tin cup of water. “Thanks,” I said before bringing the cool liquid to my lips. I know he wants to talk. I know he wants to know everything but is afraid to ask. Somehow, I’m afraid to tell. “I’m okay now.”

“Sure?”

“Yeah, I think so. The worst is over. Maybe we can start home in the morning.”

“We’ll see.”

That was Adam, always the pessimist, but I wasn’t going to let him bring me down. I could make it now. No more lengthy bouts of pain to contend with. I was clearly on the mend. But it was only the beginning.

““`

I was powerless, and I’d lost the ability to restrain my cries for help. I cried for an end to the pain; I even tried to find a way to take my own life. Every sound and every movement frightened me, and I scurried to the end of the bed, cowering in a knotted position, covering my head with my hands. I wept uncontrollably when my body seized. I couldn’t lie still when Adam fought to keep me from running outside the cabin.

Rats, bigger than cats, scudded back and forth across the dirt floor. I begged Adam to get them out, but he wouldn’t go after them, and he argued with me in a quiet, calm voice. “There aren’t any rats, Joe.”

Hell, there weren’t. “Adam, please … I saw them with my own eyes.”

When I heard rustling—a crunching sound—outside, I told my brother the outlaws had come back. Again, we argued and like always, Adam voiced the final words. “Joe, no one’s there.”

Why was he arguing with me? I knew what I heard. The bad men had returned. They’d come to finish us off, to keep us quiet, but Adam wouldn’t listen. He wouldn’t go check outside. I pleaded again, but he wouldn’t leave my side. He held a cup of water to my lips, and I slammed it away from his hand. I rolled to my side and I wept.

After what seemed like hours of fighting with my brother, I drifted into a fitful sleep, but I woke up screaming. I was scared. The cabin wasn’t safe. The room had become stiflingly and claustrophobic. Intense colors swirled in ghostly shapes before my eyes. Sounds were crisp. I could see faces; hear voices. We had to get out. “No!” I screamed, pushing Adam away. “We gotta go.”

“Joe stop!”

“Get away from me!”

This time, Adam was wrong and with both hands, I pushed him to the floor and bolted out the door. Again, I fell to my knees. And with my wound ablaze, pressing knifelike needles through my skin, I held myself steady with my good hand palmed to the ground. My stomach convulsed, my arm trembled and gave way under my weight, and I fell to my back, lying spread-eagle in tufts of uneven grass.

Trees towered over me against a cloudless sky, their boughs built of stone, unmoving. A vulture passed overhead, circling, waiting. In time, he’d swoop down, peck at my eyes, and ravage my body, leaving only a mere skeleton to rot under a blazing sun. Adam’s long, morning shadow crossed over me, and, like a young boy, I closed my eyes. If I couldn’t see him, he couldn’t see me. I lifted myself from the dirt and rolled to my side. My stomach constricted, tugging at the void already there.

“Oh, God,” I cried as I fought against the tedious drain on my body.

“Let me help, Joe.”

“No … just go away!”

My cries were weak, but Adam reached for me anyway. I slapped at his hands, missing, but God, I tried to push him away. He lifted me to my feet, but I broke loose and ran. I ran toward a nearby hill, dodging tall, columned pines, filling my lungs with air with every panting breath I could muster. I fell more than once, but I kicked away the loose brush that tangled around my ankles; I kept running. I had to get away, and when I couldn’t take another step when my lungs reached their limit and my shoulder burned like hellfire, I cried out obscenities into the nothingness before I dropped to the ground for the final time.

Adam knelt beside me. His words were soothing as he scooped me up like the child I’d once been. He cradled me in his arms and held me tight to his chest. His smooth, steady voice comforted me as we meandered through prickly scrub and uneven trails toward the line shack. And as the sun grew higher in the sky, I began to relax, to catch my breath, and settle my beating heart. But in the hours that followed, I began to question my chances of survival.

The attacks became frantic, more violent than before. I was in so much pain, I cried, I screamed, and I talked nonsense until exhaustion left me no choice but to fall back onto the bed when my legs gave way like thin willow branches. I was so tired my body fell lifeless, unmoving until my hands and arms began to tingle and my body convulsed, stretching my skin tightly until every nerve was tortured with pain. There was no rest, no way out of this continuing hell.

Adam pulled a chair up next to the bed, but his presence only assured me there was more to come. Although he tried, his best wasn’t good enough, and when I shivered and cried, when I turned away and faced the wall, he remained by my side, a gentle hand resting near my wounded arm.

I slept fitfully, waking to images darting across the plank ceiling, reaching down with elongated tendrils, twisting like fingers around my neck, choking, gasping, and calling me by name. But there was laughter, deep and hoarse, and the jagged scar of my tormentor shown in the swirls of shimmering light.

Scarface stood alongside me, his arm draped over my shoulders, and we watched together, the visions that surrounded our lives. He prodded me to laugh with him. “Don’t you see them, boy? Are they haunting your dreams? They’re part of the package, Joseph, enjoy, laugh, but don’t cry. Only babies cry for their papa’s. Only babies …”

““`

By early dawn, before the sun crested the mountaintops, I was jerked awake when the outlaws broke through the cabin door, grabbed me, and hauled me out of bed. I was shoved against the back wall and, with the power of a boxer inside a roped-off ring; I pounded one man relentlessly until his dark-haired form fell to the ground. He cried out for me to stop but once he was down, I kicked at his ribs until he rolled to his side and curled himself around the end of the bed. “Don’t move. Don’t move or you’re a dead man,” I screamed like a man crazed with vengeance.

“Joe, stop. Joe, please …”

My brother’s voice rang in my ears. “I’m gonna kill him, Adam.”

“Joe, no more … no more.”

My fists were bloody and bruised, and I hid them behind my back, waiting for the man to roll over, to show his face in the gray, morning light. And when he pulled his feet under him and stood to full height, I realized exactly what I’d done, and I trembled as I bent in half, covering my face with my hands. “Oh, God … oh, God, oh, God, oh, God.”

“It’s okay, Joe.”

“No,” I cried. “I … I thought you were them. I would never—“

“Joe, it’s okay.”

Adam’s arm came around my waist, and I fell onto his chest. “I didn’t know.”

“You’re all right now,” he said, softly. “We’ll both be all right.”

When I raised my head, the deep cuts I’d inflicted on my brother’s face were trickling with blood. He’d tried to stop me, but he never fought back, and when his hand covered his swelling jaw, I cowered and turned away.

““`

“You learned well, little brother. You sure know how to pack a punch.”

Adam and I sat on a dry, wooden bench outside the cabin. The sun warmed our faces, countering the early morning chill. Dressed only in my trousers and boots, I kept my bedroll draped loosely around my shoulders for warmth. Earlier, I tried to eat a stale biscuit, but without much enthusiasm for food of any sort, I let it crumble through my finger to the ground.

Adam was trying to lighten the mood with his off-handed comment, but I felt miserable and ashamed every time I saw the marks I’d left on his face. I remember kicking him in the side, surely leaving him bruised and uncomfortable there too. How could I make it up to him; my brother had saved my life, kept me from doing … I don’t know what.

“Feel better now?”

“Yeah. Sort of a rough night.”

“Sort of?” Adam grinned, and I wondered if it hurt to smile. “Another cup of coffee?” he asked.

“No, I’m good.” I leaned my head back against the cabin’s wall and closed my eyes. “I’m sorry, Adam.”

“I wasn’t referring to the fight, Joe. It’s you that worries me, and I’m not sure how much more of this you can handle on your own.”

A faint chuckle passed my lips. “I’m not sure either, brother.”

Adam had taken on a thankless job without realizing what was in store when we rode out together. I owed him my life but saving my hide had been a job he’d taken for granted since the day I was born. He took his job seriously, and he did his job well.

“I couldn’t have made it through this without you,” I said.

“I’m just sorry it came to this, Joe, but in a way I’m glad.”                          

“Glad?” What the hell was he saying? Did he enjoy watching me suffer? Did he enjoy having me pound him into the ground? “What do you mean, glad?” I said, pointedly.

“It’s over now, Joe. Don’t you understand? The hiding, the deception, it’s over.”

“I don’t know, Adam.” My voice shook and immediately, I knew it was the wrong thing to say.

The look in his narrowed eyes was raw. His eyebrows knit together and the muscles in his jaw tightened. I’d said the wrong thing and I knew it but right now, sitting on this wooden bench, I didn’t know what to feel or how I felt about anything.

“If I had morphine, I don’t know if I—”

Adam grabbed my shoulders. “Listen to me,” he demanded. “You’ve proven you can beat the hold that drug had on you. Don’t be a fool, Joe; you’re halfway there. Don’t let morphine win.” He let go of me, but his eyes remained dark and constant.

The blanket fell from my shoulders. My arms were exposed, and I didn’t rush to hide the scars. “You were right, you know.”

Adam chuckled softly and threw out his remaining coffee. “Right about what?”

“Suzanna,” I said softly. “You knew she was trouble right from the start.”

“Water under the bridge, Joe.” He stood from the wooden bench with his back to me.

“None of this would have happened if I’d listened to you in the first place.”

“You don’t know that.  Davis would have found another way. I’m sure of it.”

“You think?”

“I know, little brother.  Who’s the smart one in this family?”

“Me?”

“Yes, you are.” Adam knelt in front of me. “Smart enough now to ask for help if you feel you can’t make it through another day.”

“Yeah … maybe.”

“No maybes, Joe. You’re young and you’re strong. You’ve proven you can beat this.”

I circled the cold, empty cup in my hand. Adam had more faith in me than I did. Maybe I wasn’t the smartest one in the family, but I was smart enough to figure that out. “When do we start home?”

“We can’t leave until we’ve had something decent to eat. I’m starving. Think you can eat?”

“Sure,” I lied.

“Will you be okay if I head out to find us a rabbit or two?”

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

““`

After a dinner of roasted rabbit cooked on the ends of bark-ridden cottonwood sticks, we were able to save our hardtack and a couple of strips of jerky for the trip home. I was able to eat some, and I think my brother was pleased.

Adam and I talked after supper. His gentle words encouraged me to stay strong, but his over-confident remarks sailed right over my head. No one understood the hold morphine had on a man’s body and soul, and even though Adam asked several questions about just that, I couldn’t seem to find the right words to explain the actual sensation, or the actual pleasure derived from the so-called miracle drug.

“It’s like a driving force, Adam. When the pain is unyielding, it soothes. I wish I could say more, I wish I could explain how it works and how it feels, but I don’t know the right words.”

“Maybe part of me understands, but only a part,” he said. “I only wish I could do more and somehow cut through the barrier, blocking you from taking the final step and letting go of the drug forever.”

I almost shrugged my shoulders and told him it was my problem, not his; instead, I stood and yawned and told him I was ready for bed.

“You need anything?” Adam questioned as he knelt to bank the fire.

“Don’t ask.”

My brother shook his head, and I let the conversation drop. We’d talked enough for one night and the more we talked, the more anxious I became. I pulled off my boots and wrapped the bedroll around my shoulders before settling down on the mattress. I needed a good night’s sleep if we were taking off in the morning, and I could only hope the dreams and memories would remain silenced for the next few hours.

I kept my cries to myself during the night that had no end. I also managed to stay in bed, never calling out or, God forbid, attacking my brother for some unknown reason. But my white-knuckle grip on the mattress served as a warning; the fierce desire for morphine was ever-present, robbing me of the strength to think it was over, finished, never again.

When a hand gripped my shoulder, I sensed the visions, which had kept me awake most of the night, were not visions at all. They were real. I lay unmoving, denying the dream had come true. Then, in a flash, I jerked myself off the bed.

“Easy, Joe.”

My heart was in my throat, as I stood face-to-face with my brother. Finally, I sighed with relief and released my pent-up breath. “Shouldn’t sneak up on a man like that.”

A smile broke across Adam’s face. “I’ll certainly be more careful next time.”

I was so tired of fighting unknown demons, so tired of it all. The sun’s rays filled the dirt-streaked window, and I stared through the broken pane of glass, remembering how this completely new episode of my life had begun. A lifetime ago, it seemed. Pa and Hoss would be hunting us down, realizing we’d run into trouble somewhere along the way.

The aroma of fresh-brewed coffee filled the room. The thought of a new day wasn’t quite as appealing to me as it was for my brother. I plopped back down on the bed and cradled my head in my hands. The ever-present roaring in my ears had returned, a minor distraction that nearly drove me insane.

“Good morning,” Adam said, delivering me a steaming hot cup of coffee.

“Yeah …”

“Not a good morning?”

“Not by a long shot.”

I stood from the bed and crossed through the cabin, stretching the kinks from my back as I stood just outside the open door. I sucked in deep breaths of air, filling my lungs with scented pine and the fragrance of wildflowers, which were just opening their petals to start the new day.

“I’ll see what we have to eat,” Adam said from inside the cabin. I didn’t reply; I needed to do my business and clean up some so I headed down to the creek, rotating my wounded shoulder but finding it stiff and sore.

Sensing I looked worse for wear, the icy-cold water struck my back like a shower of raindrops as I splashed it over my shoulders and across my chest before scrubbing my face and running damp fingers through tangled hair. I lingered longer than necessary, enjoying the fresh scents of dawn and the brisk gusto of the fast-running stream. And as climbed back up the hill, I saw Adam outside the cabin. Panic was evident in his staccato movements as he shifted his eyes methodically from tree to tree and then lower still, scanning through ragged scrub until he made eye contact with me. A slow craggy smile appeared as he ran a hand slowly through his hair. “Thought maybe you … I don’t know what I thought,” he said as I approached.

“Sorry, brother. I was just taking a leak and washin’ up.”

A simple nod of relief was accompanied by an embarrassed look as the toe of his boot scraped across a small tuft of grass.

“You ain’t never gonna stop worryin’, are you?” I said, with a half-smile of my own.

“Probably not.”

“You can, you know.”

Adam shook his head. “Never happen, Joe. I’ve worried about you since the day you were born. Why, in heaven’s name, would I stop now?”

““`

Adam tossed his saddlebags over his shoulder, gathered up the two bedrolls and we were out the door. “Think you’re ready for this?”

Growing tired of the endless questions, I answered with a lie. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

We’d barely made it down the side of the mountain, and I was already feeling the strain of days of inactivity, or should I say extreme activity. Sleep had proved difficult, and I never claimed to be an early riser like Pa and my brothers, but Adam wanted to get an early start. Although my brother kept most of his thoughts to himself, when he did speak, I tried to feign interest, although my responses became edgy as the morning wore on.

Adam shot his pistol every so often, hoping someone would hear our signal. It was slow going, and it didn’t help to have my arm tied up with a sling. When possible, Adam held my good arm, guiding me through denser trees and scrub. My brother hoped to make the next line shack before nightfall, nearly ten miles over rough terrain but by noon, I was dragging my feet and stopping to lean against thick-trunk pines whenever I got the chance.

“Let’s take a break.”

“I’m okay.”  I panted along with the beat of my pounding heart. Finding the energy it took to put one foot in front of the other was wearing me down faster than normal.  “We can keep going.”

“I’m beat, Joe. Not sure I can keep up this pace.”

Adam was lying for my benefit although I nodded and slid down the trunk of a tree, stretching my legs out in front of me. Since most everything I owned had been stolen, Adam handed me his canteen, and sensing it was only half-full; I drank sparingly then lay my head back against the tree and promptly fell asleep. When I woke, Adam had started a fire and a pot of coffee simmered over slow-burning coals.

“You shoulda woke me earlier.”  I rubbed my eyes and ran my free hand across my face.  I finger-raked my hair from my forehead. “Pa would insist I had a haircut if he saw me lookin’ like this.”

“That’s for sure,” Adam said, chuckling softly and with narrowed eyes, he proposed his next question. “Um … is that a streak of gray above your ear?” He pointed to my left side.

“Yeah, right. I ain’t exactly as old as Pa, Adam.”

“No … but,” Adam squinted as if that would help him focus. “Maybe it’s just the light.”

“Well, it better be.” I pushed myself up from the ground and took in our surroundings. Full-needled pine boughs lay to the side of the fire. “Hey, what’s all that for?”

“We’ll camp here tonight. No since pressing our luck; the line shack’s quite a distance away.”

“I can go farther.  I’m better now.”

“Tomorrow’s soon enough.”

Last-word-Adam was convincing, and I didn’t have the energy to argue the point. I heard the gurgling sound of a stream down below. “Water?”

“Yep.”

Leave it to Adam to camp next to a stream. I never even heard it when we’d stopped to rest, but my brother knew it was there all along. With only one canteen, fresh water was a necessity.

I moved down the gradual slope and pulled off my boots, plopping my feet in the cold mountain stream. I was tired—tired of the mess I’d made of my life—tired of just about everything. I ached for the tranquility of morphine, the warmth, and the golden glow as it passed through my veins.

The roaring in my ears never stopped. I swallowed incessantly, leaving my throat rough and my lips cracked. I wanted to beat my fists against granite boulders until they were raw and thrummed with a heartbeat of their own. I wanted to feel pain; I wanted to sense anything but the incessant craving, driving me nearly out of my mind.

I was beginning to understand the bottom line, understand what all this idle pondering meant. I couldn’t go home; I could never go home. I was a failure and a pathetic excuse for a son. I didn’t have the strength, I didn’t have the right, and I didn’t deserve to be Ben Cartwright’s son.

I turned my attention to Adam when he walked up from behind and joined me on a rock large enough for both of us to sit comfortably. After noticing my bare feet, he pulled off his pair of boots and plopped his feet in the water next to mine.

“Yikes!” he said, pulling his knees up quickly and then easing his feet slowly back into the rushing water. “Cold.”

“I hadn’t noticed.”

Adam leaned back, pressing his palms to the flat surface of the boulder. “Hungry?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “Not really?”

“Tired?”

I chuckled. “Have you forgotten I slept most of the afternoon away?”

My brother had broken the silence but only temporarily. Now, the only noticeable sound was white foaming water, splashing over our feet as it raced to the base of the mountain. I needed to make Adam understand my decision not to return home. If anyone understood it would be him, and he would be able to explain the situation to Pa better than I ever could.

Adam and Pa had many secrets over the years. They were each other’s confidants whether business or pleasure, man-to-man talks came easy between my father and his eldest son. “Adam?”

“Hmm …”

“I need you to do something for me.”

“Name it, Joe.”

“Well, I need you to talk to Pa.”

“And what should I tell him that you can’t … or won’t?”

I reached up, forcing my hat further down on my forehead, and steadied my eyes on the stream. “I can’t go home, Adam. I want you to tell Pa … tell him anything, I guess.”

My brother didn’t act surprised at my request. He sat up taller and began scraping dirt from under his fingernails. “Where will you go?”

“Go?” I hadn’t thought that far ahead. “Don’t know.”

“Well … maybe you could give home a try. If things don’t work out, you’re always free to leave.”

“No,” I said, biting my bottom lip but holding firm. ”I can’t, Adam. I can’t tell Pa besides, what would I say that made any sense?”

“The truth.”

“No, this is best for everyone. I’ll go away for a while and get myself straightened out. A few weeks alone and maybe I’ll be ready to come home.” I turned to face my brother directly. “Don’t you see? It has to be this way. I need time—“

Adam gripped my good arm; he held tight. “Listen, Joe. This isn’t a game. Pa needs to know and so does Hoss. We’re family. We’re all there to help. You can’t do this alone, no one can. I won’t let you go off for a day, much less somewhere we don’t know about, and spend weeks alone.”

I blinked repeatedly to stop the urgent flow of tears. This wasn’t the first time tears burned my eyes, it happened all the time now. “I’m sorry. I’m just … I’m confused about everything, Adam. I can’t go an hour without crying like a baby. My body hurts, my head hurts, even my hair hurts. I can’t do this.”

“You can and you will.” Adam’s grip tightened.

I wiped my free hand across my eyes and mumbled the only words that mattered. “I can’t tell Pa.”

““`

I woke sometime in the night; Adam was sound asleep, snoring softly under his bedroll. I pulled on my boots and quietly made my way out of camp. I started walking, keeping close tabs on the meandering stream. I’d left the canteen and bedroll behind, knowing my brother would need them for the rest of the trip. I decided to leave, not his.

The roaring in my ears was almost a welcomed distraction, drowning out nighttime noises that small, furry animals made as they scampered across fallen pinecones and through dense layers of undergrowth. Never mind that trees were tilting at odd angles and subtle flashes of light crossed the moonlit sky. I was wide awake, not dreaming, yet trees swayed in front of me, some laughing, some, it seemed were gearing up to attack. I had to concentrate, I had to clear my head, keep moving forward, and not worry about anything that was slightly out of kilter during my trek down the side of the mountain.

I was free, and freedom from having to tell Pa gave me newfound strength and strength gave me power, and the ability to do things my way. I was on my own, and I would start a new life and if morphine was a part of that life then so be it. My fate was determined the day Scarface taunted me with the empty syringe and made the craving real. If I were to survive, it had to be my choice when or how to fight to get my life back.

““`

I nearly jumped outta my skin when I heard three shots echo through canyon walls though I didn’t know who’d fired the gun. I’d followed alongside the stream, leaving a clear trail for my brother to follow, but I didn’t dare lose track of the water. As luck would have it, a smaller creek broke off just up ahead. The right fork would take me home, the left probably headed toward Virginia City. Though I wasn’t sure, I had to make a choice.

When I started down the middle of the stream, I chose right, toward the ranch house. Adam was a smart man, and he’d figure I’d turn left, anywhere but closer to home. I would veer west later, maybe California or maybe south to the Arizona territory.

I kept moving forward through the water, but it was slow going at best. The rocks were slimy, and covered with slick, green algae, and keeping my footing was a true test. I had to move faster. Adam wouldn’t walk through the stream, and I knew he was gaining; by now, he had to be. The sun was high overhead, noon or better, but when I looked up, when my concentration waned, I fell, straight forward into hip-deep water.

The icy flow surrounded me, splashing over my head and halting my breath until I rose, gasping for air. I leaned sideways against a large boulder, but one foot was pinned tightly, lodged between two unforgiving rocks. I twisted and pulled, I tried to leave the boot behind, but it was no use. My foot was solidly wedged, jammed in tight, and I didn’t have the strength to pull it free.

Three shots echoed through the vast columns of trees.

““`

Horse’s hooves plowed through the underbrush, nearing their destination. The thunderous sound of water deadened most other noises but my father’s voice; “Joseph!” broke through. I held tight to the boulder until Hoss splashed his way through the stream and loosened the rocks wedged against my boot.

I could have made it to the bank myself, but Hoss had other plans when he threw my arm across his broad shoulders and half-carried me to dry land. And though the constant roaring in my ears seemed louder, I tried to distinguish voices, Hoss and Pa’s both, rattling on at once with questions I couldn’t answer.

“You all right, Little Joe?

“Where’s Adam, son?

“Why ain’t you two together, boy?”

I stared back and forth between the voices, feeling an abrupt intrusion into my private world. Although the answers were on the tip of my tongue, I failed to connect the words. I began to shiver.

“Joseph, where’s Adam?” Pa signaled Hoss to get the bedrolls “Can you hear me, Joe?”

“Adam? He’ll be along.” The sun felt warm on my face, but I’d spent too much time in the frigid water. “We disagreed,” I said when my senses began to surface, and answers became clear in my mind. “I took off before he did.”

Pa fiddled with the buttons on my jacket, and I pushed his hands away. “No, I’m fine.”

Hoss shrugged his shoulders at Pa then knelt on one knee and wrapped his bedroll around me. I nodded my thanks, and Hoss remained by my side, rubbing the wetness from my hair. “See ya done lost your hat.”

“Yeah, when I fell, I guess.” I was somewhat rattlebrained, but Hoss was making sense, so I concentrated on his words.

“We got Cochise and Sport back at the line shack, Little Joe.”

“You do?” A smile broke through as I gazed up at Hoss.

“Yep. We done caught them robbers after Pa spotted one of ‘em riding your horse.”

I glanced up at Pa, who was looking upstream. I suppose he was watching for Adam.

“Should’ve seen Pa’s face when it weren’t you in that saddle.”

I chuckled inside. “I’ll bet.”

“That’s enough, Hoss,” Pa said, removing the sodden blanket and wrapping a dry bedroll across my shoulders. “What happened to your arm?”

“Nothin’ much. One of the robbers you caught shot me before they stole the horses.”

“Look, Pa,” Hoss said, pointing upstream. “Adam’s comin’.”

Adam was closing in, carrying a bedroll under each arm; the canteen and saddlebags looped over his shoulder. I didn’t know what to expect; he certainly had tales to tell.

My jacket covered my arms, and even though my clothes were wet, Pa had given up on undressing me. For now, I was safe. The blanket felt good and kept me from shivering, and the roaring in my head was silenced, leaving nothing more than a dull ache.

“We got separated a little way back,” Adam said. “Lost our horses, and we’ve been on foot ever since.”

Hoss jumped right in and proudly explained that Sport and Cochise were waiting for us at the line shack just a couple miles down the canyon.

“That’s good to hear,” Adam said, before dropping the extra weight he’d carried and kneeling next to me. “You okay?” Adam whispered with his back toward Pa.

I nodded.

“I should check that wound.”

Adam kept his voice low, but I could feel the panic rise just knowing Pa was nearby. “Not right now.”

“Well,” Adam said, swiveling around on the toes of his boots and looking up at Hoss and Pa. “Should we make our way down the mountain?”

“If you two are ready, let’s go,” Pa said. “We can rest here awhile if—“

Adam stood up first then helped me to my feet. I handed Hoss the second wet blanket and walked ahead of everyone else.

“Joseph. You look tired,” Pa said. “Why don’t you ride Buck?”

“I’ll walk.”

Even though I was farther ahead than anyone else, my father’s voice carried through the woodlands like a steam locomotive roaring through desolate plains. “What’s the matter with Joe?”

“He’s tired,” Adam stated. “It’s been a rough couple of days.”

“You sure that’s all?” Pa asked. “He seems so out of sorts.”

I couldn’t hear Adam’s response, but I knew now, he wouldn’t betray me out here in the backcountry or anywhere else. He’d leave the telling to me.

““`

It was good to see Cochise safe and sound and since there was enough light left in the day, we all saddled up and started for home. And, because I was only one-handed, Hoss lifted my saddle and tightened the cinch. “All set, little brother.”

The first thing I noticed was that my saddlebags were still intact. I gave Adam a sideways glance as my breathing soared and my heart accelerated, forcing me to grip my saddle horn with both hands and beg God for strength to resist. Adam casually walked behind Sport, sliding his hand across the horse’s rump until we were standing shoulder-to-shoulder.

“Stay strong, boy,” he whispered. “You can do this.”

My life was a lie. Everything was a lie. I wanted to scream, to run, to load the needle and end the misery, but when Adam’s hand skimmed across my shoulders, I nodded my head. I’ll try.” I mounted Cochise, knowing this would be the longest ride of my life.

““`

When we arrived home, we sat down for a late supper. I was exhausted; I think we all were. It had been a very long day, and when I tried to excuse myself to go upstairs, Pa stopped me cold. “What’s bothering you, Joseph?”

I glanced at Adam first. “Just tired, Pa.”

“Well,” he said, sliding his chair back from the table. “I better take a look at that shoulder before you turn in.”

“I’ll check him,” Adam said, quickly tossing his napkin on his plate and scraping his chair across wooden planks. “I stitched him up, and I’d like to see it through to the end.”

Pa didn’t catch the look in my eyes or the way my hands fisted as if punching something or someone was the answer to the immediate problem. I remained calm enough to evade Pa’s interference but at some point, all hell would break loose, and I’d have no choice but to leave my family behind.

“That’s fine for tonight,” Pa said, “but tomorrow, I want the doctor to have a look and make sure there’s no sign of infection.”

My body trembled, and Adam anchored his hand to the small of my back while we climbed the stairs together. I sat down on the edge of my bed and scrubbed my hands across my face, waiting for my heartbeat to calm.

“Take it easy, Joe. You’re safe right now.” Adam’s words did nothing to calm my nerves or settle my stomach, which had joined the fray by unexpectedly seizing and forcing my supper back into my throat. “You’re going to have to take off your shirt, you know.”

“I know,” I said sharply. “I will.”

My hand trembled as I reached to unfasten the first button. For months, I’d been alert to certain sounds throughout the house, footsteps in the hallway and bedroom doors, opening and closing, calling the beginning or the end of the day. It was a time when I could lay back and relax and sip from a bottle of Pa’s whiskey or, as time went on, inject myself without the fear of someone walking in. It also became a time to reflect on my life, what should have been, and what real life had turned out to be.

As I felt for the second button, I reflected on those long-ago days when the pull became too great, when pressure built inside like a ticking time bomb. When I threw my life away and took my first trip to Chinatown. For months, I guarded my secret; never thought a day like this would come.

When I finished with the buttons, Adam leaned in to help ease the shirt over my shoulder when suddenly, I found Pa standing in my doorway. I panicked, pulling the shirt back over my shoulder and overlapping it in front, guarding myself against the unwanted intruder.

“Mind if I take a look at your brother’s handiwork?” Pa said cheerfully.

Without realizing it, I was biting my bottom lip, my eyes pleading with Adam to make my father go away.

“This is embarrassing, Pa,” Adam said, turning his back to me, covering for me as though I was a child due for a lecture or a tanning. “Maybe when Paul gets here tomorrow, he can describe my “handiwork” to you.”

“Oh, come on,” Pa said, stepping forward. “Don’t be so modest.”

Terrified, I darted from my room, bypassing Adam and Pa. I flew down the stairs, out the front door, and ran to the barn where I scaled the ladder to the loft. I pulled my knees to my chest, buried my head, and rocked back and forth like a baby. “Oh, God,” I cried. “Oh, God … Oh, God.”

A flicker of light and the sound of glass lowered to the lantern’s base sent waves of anxiety pulsing through me. “Joe? You up there?” It was Adam’s voice, but I didn’t want to talk. I needed time alone, but the light grew brighter as my brother crested the top rung of the ladder. He held the lantern up over his head. “Mind if I come up?”

“You’re already here, aren’t you?”

“I’ll leave if that’s what you want.”

I hesitated and wiped the back of my hand across my face. “Oh, God, Adam. What do I do now?”

Adam took that as an invitation and lifted himself to the loft. Only in the very center could my brother stand completely straight. He was bent from the waist until he knelt in front of me. “You okay?”

“Oh, yeah,” I said sarcastically “Why wouldn’t I be.”

“Pa’s worried about you.”

“I’m sure he is,” I said, raising my head and running my hands across tear-soaked eyes.

“I didn’t say a word, but he suspects something more than that bullet wound is bothering you.”

My heart raced as I thought through what I needed to do. I swallowed hard. “It’s time, isn’t it?”

“Well, the sooner the better I always say.”

“I’d rather it was later.”

There was another long pause before Adam spoke. “Pa loves you, Joe, maybe more than anything or anyone else in this world. Sure, he’ll be shocked, but mostly scared of what happens next. He’ll be hurt because you never confided in him as to how bad things were. But Joe, morphine is a killer. You know that. It’s got to end.”

“I know all that, Adam. Don’t pretend you know something I don’t.” I gazed upwards, trying to stay the incessant flow of tears I couldn’t begin to control.

“We’re all here to help you through this and yes, there will be more tears and maybe shouting, and believe me, it will take a certain amount of time before Pa and Hoss grasp everything you say, but there will also be understanding. Should I go on?”

Unexpectedly, I thought of Jesse and how differently my life should have turned out if not for Scarface, if not for morphine; if not for this and that, and blah, blah, blah. What did it matter anyhow? I’d made a mess of my life and the price of my survival was uncertain. I cleared my thoughts and looked at Adam. “I never meant it to last this long,” I said in a strained voice. “I thought I could stop whenever I wanted, and I tried, Adam, I really tried.”

“Listen, Joe. You’ve made a helluva start already. Come on. I’ll do everything I can to help you through.” Adam picked up the lantern. “Come on, you ready?”

“I don’t want Pa to hate me,” I said, sniffing back tears of frustration “Don’t you see? I’m not like you and Hoss. I’m the black sheep; the one who always messes up.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, son.” The deep baritone voice startled me. Pa had heard everything I’d said.

“You tricked me!” I shouted at my brother before pushing him away.

“Joseph. Adam had no way of knowing I was here. Don’t blame your brother; blame me for following the two of you out here. Please come down, son.”

Adam nodded his head and whispered, “You’re halfway there. Go down and finish the job.”

““`

The four of us took seats around the fireplace. There was no morphine, no brandy, and no shot of whiskey to give me strength or ease the blow to my family. I felt alone and on display. I wanted to speak, but words wouldn’t come. Finally, Pa asked if he and I needed to have a private conversation. I glanced at Adam. He didn’t say a word, didn’t move a muscle.

“Adam already knows everything,” I said without looking up.

“Knows what, Little Joe?”

Hoss, my naive brother, may be the one most hurt by what I had to say. He’d never understand why. He saw life differently than anyone else, and he often saw me as his innocent little brother and would give his own life to protect me from all the evil in the world.

Adam gave a slight nod, prodding me to go on. He leaned forward in his chair; his fingers intertwined but unmoving. I wondered if he was as nervous as I and, after taking a deep breath; I looked across the low, wooden table at Hoss, who was perched on the hearth with a juicy, red apple in his hand.

“Remember when you found me in that mine and you thought I was dead.” I was staring only at Hoss, not my father, hoping I could tell the story without hesitation. “Well, I shoulda been.”

“That ain’t funny, Joe?” The apple no longer held interest. My brother’s eyes welled with curiosity and doubt.

“Well, you see, Hoss, that man who kidnapped me also injected me with morphine and—”

“Aw, Joe, that was a long time ago. What’s that got to do with what’s botherin’ you tonight?”

Hoss had seen my violent reaction during the days and nights of withdrawal, especially one night when I’d gone to his room to talk things out. But how could I put it into words; how could I turn everyone’s lives upside down by explaining what seemed so obvious even if I never said another word?

“Joseph?”

“I’m sorry, Pa. I don’t know what—“  My chest tensed with anxiety; I feared it might split in half if I said another word. Never had I been so afraid to tell the truth.

“I need to speak to your brother alone,” Pa said after leaning forward in his chair.

“But, what about?”

“I think you and Adam have things to take care of in the barn, Hoss.”

“Come on,” Adam said, standing and waiting for Hoss. “Time to put the stock to bed.”

Hoss looked like he’d lost his best friend, like he wasn’t part of the family, and everyone shared secrets except him. “All right,” he mumbled, “but this ain’t right, just ain’t right at all.”

When the front door closed and my brothers were out of sight, Pa moved to sit on the wooden table in front of me. He reached out and took both my hands in his as though I were a child, asking for guidance. His voice was soft and his words were simple but direct.

“Talk to me, Joseph. There’s nothing we can’t work out together.”

“You don’t understand, Pa.”

“I think I do, son.”

I met my father’s eyes; his grip remained constant, holding each hand while his thumbs circled, trying to ease the tension I’d brought into the room. “You heard everything … everything I said to Adam, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Then there’s nothing left to talk about.”

“Oh, Joe, that’s where you’re wrong. There’s everything to talk about.”

Pulling my hands away, I stood from the settee, distancing myself from my father, distancing myself from his trusting eyes and forced smile. He didn’t have the slightest idea what these last few months had done to my physical or mental well-being. He thought it was over the first time, and he thought it was over now and somehow, I would suddenly turn back the clock and happen upon the Joe Cartwright of old. “It’s not over, Pa. Don’t you understand? I need morphine.”

“Joe, listen—“

“No, Pa. You listen.” I began to pace the room, but I stopped and leaned firmly on the table behind the settee. “Adam thinks it’s over. Two days without morphine and I’m cured. Well, I have news for you and everyone else. It’s not that simple, Pa. There’s no magic cure.”

Pa stood and walked toward me, and when he reached out, I turned my back. My father’s words of wisdom weren’t going to work this time; words weren’t the cure to the fix I was in. I was in too deep; I knew that, so why the hell didn’t anybody else understand?

“Joseph—”

“Pa, I’m sorry. I’m not the son you hoped for. I know I’m a disappointment, and I’ve brought shame to this family, and I’ll be leaving in the morning. I’m sorry. That’s all I have to say.”

I ran from the room and left my father without the answers he deserved. I climbed the stairs and flopped back on my bed. The room was dark, but lighting a lamp seemed a waste of time. I was tired, and my shoulder ached, but unlike the rest of me, my shoulder would eventually heal. I was broken, and there was no clear fix.

I lay in the dark until I heard my brothers come back inside the house and close their bedroom doors. By now, Hoss knew everything. Adam had no choice but to fill him in on the reason for our extended stay at the line shack. My long-kept secret had left a gaping hole between the rest of the family and me.

I never should’ve come home, I should have been firm with Adam and, if I’d had more sense, I would have opted for a better route and taken the other fork in the stream. Tomorrow I’d pack my bags, and maybe get a room in town until I could decide what to do or where to go. Home wasn’t where I needed to be; anywhere but home suited me just fine.

I stood and walked to my window, lifting the sash so I could breathe in the cool night air. Below, in the darkness, highlighted by moonlight, was my father’s silvery hair. With his arms stretched across the top rail of the corral, he scuffed the toe of his boot back and forth through the loose dirt. I couldn’t see his face although he was leaning heavily, staring down at the small swirls of dust he created.

Never once had my family given up on me. Hoss searched day and night until he found me in that old, abandoned mine. Ranch work was put aside; nothing else mattered to my big, oversized brother except knowing I was safe at home. And Adam, hounding me to stay strong so I could beat this thing, not for him, not so his life could go on, but because he didn’t want to stand by and watch me die. Maybe he was being selfish, but somehow his words struck home.

Of course, Pa said all the right things and did all the right things, but I never really listened. I chose to hear only certain words, not their true meanings but in Pa’s case, the words came straight from his heart. “Talk to me, Joseph.” I turned my back on my father. I turned my back to everyone who wanted to help.

Then, I remembered Scarface and the reason this whole mess came about. Pa had sent the good doctor to prison, and he was determined to return and ruin the six men who’d served on the jury. I’d always blamed him for my addiction; I failed to take responsibility for my selfish actions. But suddenly it hit me like a ton of bricks. If I failed to turn my life around, I wasn’t the only one to lose the game. My father would lose also, meaning there was only one winner—Scarface.

Gently closing the sash, not wanting to wake my brothers, I turned from my window and silently made it down the stairs and out the front door. I needed to speak with my father.

No one in my family shed tears like I did, but tonight Pa’s shoulders trembled; his sobbing and ragged breathing were due to the angry words I’d thrown in his face. He hadn’t heard the door close or even my footfalls on the wooden porch, but when I touched his shoulder, I startled him and quickly, he stood to full height.

“Pa?”

My father’s grip tightened on the railing, and he remained steadfast. I knew for a fact that he didn’t want to look at me, much less talk to me after what I’d said, but in the shadowed moonlight, I saw worry lines built into my father’s face. I had interrupted a private moment and I hesitated, giving him a chance to recover.

“Forgive me, son.” His voice was soft, but I heard the words even though he couldn’t or wouldn’t face me. But his words were all wrong. I’m the one who came to apologize. I’m the one who was ripping this family apart.

Pa turned toward me, but I didn’t have a speech to give, and I wouldn’t make promises I couldn’t keep. I only came to … I don’t know exactly why I came but I knew for certain, I couldn’t go on without my father’s love. “Forgive? I don’t understand.” This was crazy talk. “No, Pa.” I shook my head “You’re wrong.”

“Am I?”

“Pa, you’re not making any sense.”

My father’s hand came to rest on my good shoulder. “Don’t you see, son? When a child enters this world, it’s a father’s duty to protect; just like all of God’s creatures, our job is to use any measure possible or go to any extreme within our power to keep that child safe from harm.”

“But, Pa …”

“Joseph, I’ve failed you in so many ways.”

This conversation had turned south, and whatever I’d planned to say was all turned around in my head. “This isn’t your fault, Pa. None of this is your fault.”

My father remained stoic; his face had softened, and deep brown eyes stared down at mine, and, with the patience of a saint, his eyes begged me to continue.

“I wasn’t strong. I was weak, and I chose the drug over . . . over everything else, Pa, over my family, over my friends, even over Jess. I let Jesse run off and marry that two-bit preacher.”

Suddenly, my stomach seized, hitching my breath like a blow to the gut. Still bound by the properties of morphine, the tireless cramping nearly bent me in half. Pa reached out, and I held fast to his wrist until the restricting hold finally passed.

“Son?”

“It’s gone,” I said, my breath still catching as I spoke. “I’m okay now.” I slowly straightened and nodded my head as I forced a half-baked smile. “What I’m trying to say is Jesse could have been my wife. She loved me, Pa, and I let her go. I let everyone down, especially you. It’s you who needs to forgive me, not the other way around.”

Pa looked tired; his red-rimmed eyes cautioned me I’d said enough, maybe too much. I’d yelled at my father and begged forgiveness all in one night, but that’s how my emotions had settled in through this process. Adam would call me volatile, maybe even dangerous, and Hoss would shake his head and say I’d always acted this way.

I smiled at Pa for real this time. “Maybe we can start fresh tomorrow.”

Pa forced a smile of his own. We had a lot to talk over, to resolve and, if possible, leave our regrets behind. Forget apologies; tomorrow would come soon enough, and maybe we could start from scratch, one day at a time.

I stood in front of my father, wanting to close out the night with thoughtful words, words that carried weight. But Pa took me in his arms and pulled me tight to his chest. The rhythm of his heartbeat proved this was my home, and this was where I belonged. No matter what I did to destroy my life or how much I hurt my family in the process, there was always one thing I could count on—my father’s love.

The End

The next story in this series: – Betrayal #3