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5

The dreams were different this time. They were worse–darker, colder, and as nightmarish as any dream could ever be. Maybe that was because Joe’s fear had increased a hundredfold.

…Because Joe wasn’t just afraid of Frank Carver’s ghost anymore. He was also afraid of himself.

Joe had held a gun in his hand. He’d felt his thumb easing against the hammer and his finger bending against the trigger, just as he’d seen Frank Carver doing at the foot of the stairs. And it had felt good. He’d been scared, sure. But he’d also been determined, ready to take a stand. By pulling that trigger the rest of the way, Joe Cartwright would prove to the world and all the Frank Carvers out there that he was not a rabbit.

But the man who’d stepped into his crosshairs had not been the man he’d expected to find walking through his front door. No. The heavy, urgent steps moving across the porch and drawing closer with every one of Joe’s panting breaths hadn’t come from Frank Carver’s ghost. They’d come from Joe’s own pa. He’d heard his pa’s voice calling out to him, but he hadn’t believed it. He couldn’t believe it…until he saw it was true. Until his pa had stepped right where Joe had been aiming the gun.

Joe had come that close…that close…to shooting his pa.

The realization had left him sick and shaking and…confused. He’d tried so hard to stop thinking then, to ignore all the horrific what-ifs that shot through his thoughts with as much or even more ferocity as Frank Carver’s bullets against the stair railing. But he couldn’t ignore them; and they made him feel sicker and sicker until he couldn’t fight anymore. He hadn’t even had the strength to turn away from Doc Martin’s medicine.

But now he found himself fighting again, fighting to claw his way out of the dreams that made every one of those what-ifs hauntingly real. Joe’s pa was dead, dead at Joe’s hand; and Pa’s ghost was even more fearsome than Frank Carver’s. Eyes that should fill Joe with comfort instead filled him with dread, with their scolding, scathing looks of anger…and disappointment.

“Pa!” Joe cried out, reaching toward rather than away from this new ghost. He wasn’t willing to turn away, no matter how fearsome, no matter how dreadful–no matter what the outcome.

Two strong hands pushed him back. “Easy, Joe. Settle down. It’s just a dream.”

Joe opened his eyes to find himself looking onto his father’s. Surprisingly, there was nothing dark or judgmental…or cold within them. “I shot you,” Joe said softly, confused by the compassion he saw.

Pa’s eyes widened just the smallest bit. He shook his head. “You were dreaming, son. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“I had your gun. I didn’t know who was coming in. I thought–”

Pa’s warm eyes gained the dark look Joe had feared…but only for an instant. “You did nothing wrong, Joe. In fact, I’d say you did everything right.”

“No.” That made no sense. “Your gun…. I wasn’t supposed to–”

“You needed to defend yourself,” Pa said in as firm a voice as he’d ever used. “That’s exactly why I keep that gun right where it is, as I’ve told you and your brothers many times over the years. You were wise to arm yourself…and equally wise to stop yourself from shooting blindly. I’m proud of you, son. You held your hand until you knew exactly what it was you were shooting at. I know men who would not have been so cautious.” Pa took a deep breath, one that pulled his back straight and loosened his grip on Joe’s arms. “I’m the one who reacted poorly. I’m sorry, Joe. I was wrong to shout at you. I was wrong to doubt you.”

“You believe me?”

“Yes, Joe. I believe in you to do the right thing, right when it matters most.”

“But do you believe me…about Frank Carver? Do you believe it was Carver’s ghost who shot at me?”

“Joseph.” Pa’s grip tightened again–tightened enough to hurt. “Think about what you’re saying. Does it really make sense that a ghost could shoot a gun? It takes a man to do that, a real, flesh and blood man!”

“But it was him, Pa. I know it was.”

“Frank Carver is dead, Joseph. He is dead and buried. He can’t ever hurt you. He won’t hurt anyone else, ever again.”

Joe said nothing. What could he say? He knew his pa was wrong. And if Pa was wrong, how could anything be right ever again?

 

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