J.D. woke up disoriented and dizzy and carefully turned his head. He was lying down, but it took him a moment to realize he was on top of a wide wooden table instead of on the floor. From what he could see, the surrounding room was small and dingy. Spent candles stood in puddles of hard wax and dozens of lamps lined cluttered shelves on every wall. Glass containers and bowls were shoved into crevasses and filled the spaces between the candles, but from his position he couldn't see what they held. His perspective took a moment to catch up with his brain and he squeezed his eyes shut when the room seemed to pitch and roll around him.

His arms were over his head and a quick tug let him know his wrists were caught and tied to the corners of the table. Experimenting with his legs brought the same result and his heart began to pound as fear started a small fire in his chest. It wasn't until he lifted his head slightly to look down at himself that he realized most of his clothes were gone. No jacket, no vest, no suspenders, and no shirt. Only his pants had been left to offer him dignity, and he shivered in the room's chill. An unseasonable warm spell had persuaded him lately to go without his long underwear, but the night's chill made him wish for the extra protection.

Remembering the stranger he'd stopped to help made him look around in panic. That old man -- he'd seemed so kind, so helpless on the trail. J.D. looked around himself and wondered where the old man was. His frantic thoughts turned to Buck and the rest of his friends, and he wondered how long they'd wait before one of them grew worried and came looking for him.

The muffled sound of a door opening somewhere in another section of the house alerted J.D. he had company, and he stiffened on the table. Tugging at his restraints only brought discomfort, so he held still and waited.

Before long the door opened and the old man stepped into the room followed by a giant of a man that made J.D. swallow hard with fear. My God! Where'd he come from?

"Look, I don't know what you think I may have done, but --" The man and his minion shuffled about the room, ignoring him and placing more containers and small bags on the shelves lining the walls. "Can't you let me go now and let's talk about his?" He craned his neck to get a better look, but couldn't see what they were doing.

Finally, the older man finished and walked over to stand next to J.D. He smiled down at him and reached out to rub one hand down his exposed flesh. J.D. flinched and pulled away as far as the ropes would allow.

"Get your hands off me, mister! I don't know what you think you're doing, but my friends will be looking for me soon, and you best let me go."

The man frowned and lifted his chin in an obvious command to the man beside him. "Elmore." The name sent the giant to action and he clamped one huge hand against J.D.'s mouth. The young man struggled to breathe as thick fingers nearly blocked his nose and he pulled his head back in an effort to draw in air. "Not too tight, son, we are in need of a live subject."

Elmore loosened his hold but kept his hand firmly against J.D.'s mouth.

"Time for introductions, I suppose. Must remember our manners, despite our barbaric surroundings." Bending at the waist, the old man smiled at his captive. "I am the famous Professor Treadly, and this is my assistant and son, Elmore. You may call me Professor."

Elmore's hand slipped away and J.D. took the opportunity to shout. "Let me go, you son of a --"

A backhanded slap whipped his head around to slam hard into the table and emptied his brain of coherent thought.

"I will allow none of that vile language in this house, boy. Watch your tongue or I will cut it out."

Insistent buzzing in his aching head distracted him, but J.D. heard the threat and clamped his jaw together. His simple world had turned inside out and dumped him into a hell beyond his imagination. The very real glint of a steel blade caught his eye and he turned gasping back to his tormentor. The Professor held a thin knife in his hand and leaned over him and J.D. did his best to sink into the table.

"Do not try me, boy, I do not make threats lightly. One slice of the knife and no more shouting from you. I have other things in mind, though, and I would like to hear your thoughts as you go through some of the... 'trials' I have planned for later. It would be a pity to deprive science of the subject's observations."

Fear climbed inside his heart and exploded in his head. He tugged feebly at the ropes that bound him and was unaware of the pitiful moan escaping from his throat.

"Keep still, now, or I will have Elmore teach you a lesson." Shaking his head like a parent toward an errant child, the old man backed away from the table. "Children should be seen and not heard. I will let you know when I want you to talk. Understand?"

Trembling with frantic horror that numbed his tongue, J.D. simply stared at the man.

"Elmore."

The giant reached down and carefully enveloped J.D.'s neck with one huge claw like hand. He squeezed gently, and J.D. grunted, then gurgled as air was trapped in his throat.

"I said -- Understand? Answer me, boy!"

"...yes...."

"Good enough. Let him go."

Elmore seemed reluctant, but he removed his hand from J.D.'s throat and he gasped in air, his body arching with the effort to breathe. J.D. felt a touch on his naked belly and he looked down to find the Professor rubbing him. "What--?"

"Rest, my boy. We have a long night ahead of us, and I wouldn't want you tiring too quickly." J.D. felt a gentle pat on his abdomen before the Professor and his idiot son left the room.

The warmth of his palm lingered and J.D. shuddered with the unnerving memory of that old man rubbing his flesh. His eyes were drawn unwillingly to the room's shelves and the mysterious containers they held, and his imagination came alive. What had he gotten himself into this time? The man had called him his 'subject' more than once. Visions of unspeakable pain and torment clamored inside his head and now, alone with his waking nightmare, J.D. began to panic.

---

PART 2

Buck Wilmington frowned as the card he tossed toward the old hat sitting between his feet missed its target and floated to the dusty boardwalk. He paused to gaze up the street and returned his attention back to his game when he still saw no sign of who he was searching for.

"Well, well, Mr. Wilmington, I see you have found an industrious way to wile away this lazy afternoon." Ezra Standish walked up next to the hat, but Buck didn't look up. "Pray tell me why you are destroying a perfectly good deck of cards when we could be utilizing them in a much more auspicious way down at the saloon?"

"I don't feel like playing, Ezra."

"Ahhh. Would your dark and somber mood have anything to do with the absence of our youngest member?"

"I'm not worried." Another card missed the mark and Buck sat up with a grunt, then stood up and stretched. "Think I'll go check things out with Chris, see how the prisoner's holding up."

"I'm sure Mr. Larabee will appreciate your help with the ferociously inebriated Mr. Miller. One can always use an extra hand with an unconscious prisoner."

The gambler's dry sense of humor was lost on Buck as he jogged across the street and entered the jail. Chris Larabee sat behind the sheriff's desk, his feet propped upon its surface. His hat was pulled down low enough to hide his eyes from visitors but not hinder his view of the front door.

Buck turned and nodded toward Vin where the tracker stood leaning against the wall, then casually rested his hip on the desk next to Chris's outstretched feet. Tension pulled him tight as a wire and Chris looked up as if he sensed Buck's unease, then adjusted his hat farther back on his head.

"Looking for something to do, Buck?"

Wilmington shook his head and braced his forearm on his thigh. "Nope, just wondering what's keepin' the kid."

"He's not supposed to be back till later this afternoon. What are you so worried about?"

"I ain't worried, dang it!" He stood up and turned to face the window, his hands on his hips. "He's a man, he can take care of himself."

"So what's got you riled?"

Vin's quiet question pulled him around and Buck stared at his friends. His shoulders slumped and he pulled his hat from his head and began worrying at the brim. "I just got a bad feelin' is all. I got this shiver up my spine like someone walked across my grave."

Chris stood up and traded a look with Vin that Buck missed. J.D. was the youngest of the seven, but he'd proven he could take care of himself. Maybe Buck was just being paranoid, but then again . . . Vin took a step toward the door.

"What's say you and I ride out and meet him halfway."

Buck's face opened as hope replaced worry, but he hesitated as he shoved his hat back on his head. "What do we tell him when we see him? We can't say we was worried and decided to come check on him."

"We'll work on that on the way." Vin's easy smile restored Buck's waning confidence, and he nodded as he stepped out the door. Vin followed.

"I'll expect you three back here by this evening sometime. Don't make me come lookin' for ya." Chris stepped out onto the small porch and touched his hat brim. Buck turned and waved, then fell into step next to Vin as they made their way to the livery stable.

Within minutes they mounted their horses and left the town, riding toward Eagle Bend. Buck began practicing excuses in his head, hoping despite the knot of fear balled tight in his gut, they'd find J.D. healthy and alive.