"It was called the Tascosa Boys' Home," Vin said slowly, his drawl made thicker and his soft voice raspier than usual by exhaustion. "'S up in the Panhandle. Named fer a town that don't even exist no more." He sighed tiredly. "I always thought they done that on purpose. Like if the town didn't exist, then the things done in the place named fer it wouldn't exist either. Mebbe livin' in a place named fer a ghost town made us ghosts, too, 'n that's why nobody ever stopped 'em." He shrugged. "Didn't see no need to, since ghosts cain't be hurt."

He was still on the sofa, though in the middle now, with Chris on one side and Buck on his other, the two men bracing him like solid walls of strength and support. His left leg was propped on pillows stacked on the coffee table and he was wrapped in the thick, soft folds of Nettie's quilt. He knew the room wasn't cold, but he was, caught fast in the grip of a chill that seemed to rise from the depths of his soul. And though not quite so pale as before, he still looked appallingly fragile.

Felt that way, too, like everything he'd tried to hold together so long inside him was one breath away from shattering forever into a million pieces that would never fit back together again.

"Wasn't a state home, though," he went on, staring past Josiah, who still sat in the rocker he'd dragged to the end of the coffee table, into a time and place he'd prayed he'd never see again. "'S run by somethin' called the American Baptist Association." He dragged his tired, dull gaze to Josiah and gave a weak smile. "Don't know how it is ever'where else, but back in Texas, Baptists come in more flavors'n Jello. Couldn't even begin ta tell ya how many kinds of 'em there are. 'N I ain't sayin' they're all bad." He shrugged faintly. "They got good and bad, I reckon, jist like anybody else. Prob'ly more good than bad. But," his gaze drifted away from Josiah once more and he unconsciously pulled the quilt more tightly about himself, huddling in its folds, "'s hard ta think 'a the good," he said haltingly, hoarsely, "when the bad... was as bad as it was."

As Vin's voice cracked, Chris shifted slightly, moving closer still, and stretched his right arm across the back of the couch behind Tanner, his hand coming to rest on the younger man's right shoulder. Buck, feeling that same need to assure Vin that he was here and was safe, set a big hand on the Texan's right thigh and patted in a gentle rhythm every few minutes, as he would to soothe a frightened child.

Josiah rocked slowly, his big frame seemingly relaxed in the comfort of the wooden rocker. His mind, though, was sharply focused and his keen gaze never wavered from Vin. He listened intently to every word that spilled from Tanner's lips, took in also every shading of those words, every flicker of emotion that raced through those lost blue eyes and across that pale, exhausted face. He was content to let Vin tell this in his own way, at his own pace, up to a point. But the very moment the telling threatened to overwhelm him, Sanchez was prepared to step in and guide his friend through the minefield of his own past.

"I's sent there when I's ten," Vin said softly. "Mama died when I's five 'n my gran'pa raised me after that. He was her daddy." He swallowed hard and said more softly still, "I never knew my daddy. Don't even know his name. Neither Mama nor Gran'pa ever spoke about him. Not ta me, anyways. But sometimes I'd hear 'em talkin', when they didn't think I's listenin'... I got the feelin' that when he learned Mama was gonna have me, he jist ran off." He winced and bowed his head, not wanting to see the scorn he was certain would show in the eyes and faces of the men around him. "Reckon that makes me a bastard," he breathed almost inaudibly.

"Nope," Buck said firmly, again patting Vin's thigh comfortingly, "I reckon that makes the man who ran off and left you and your mama the bastard. You," he shrugged easily, "you're Vin Tanner, same as you've always been."

Vin looked up sharply at that, startled by the words and by the respect and compassion behind them. As he met Buck's eyes, he saw that same respect and compassion mirrored in them, as well as a rare understanding, and that look warmed him to his soul. "Thanks, Buck," he rasped, a small smile ghosting about his mouth.

"Tell us about your grandpa, Vin," Josiah suggested gently, intrigued by a man who'd raise his illegitimate grandson alone. "Was he good ta you?"

Vin turned his gaze to Josiah, and something very near hero-worship shone in it. "Oh, yeah!" he breathed fervently, the lost and haunted look fading from his face as he remembered the man who'd been his whole world. "He taught me how ta hunt, how ta shoot... He's the first one who ever saw I had a natural eye fer shootin'. And he knew what he's talkin' about, too, 'cause he'd been a sharpshooter in the Army durin' the war. Had him all kinds'a ribbons 'n medals... I always figgered mebbe he'd be proud I went in the Army like he done," he said shyly.

"I'm sure he would," Josiah said gently. "I think any grandfather would be hard-pressed not ta be proud of you, and of the man you've become."

"Oh, I don't know," Vin sighed, letting his head fall back against the couch and encountering the support of Chris's arm. "I done some things likely he wouldn't be proud of at all."

"We've all done things to hurt ourselves or those we love, son," Josiah said, a vein of sorrow running through his deep, soft voice. "A man who hasn't made mistakes is a man who's never been tested by life. We all get tired, get weak, get careless, and we all stumble. But it's not the stumbling that's the true test of a man's character. It's whether and how he pulls himself up after he stumbles that proves his mettle. And I'll bet your grandpa knew that."

"Mebbe," Vin breathed, closing his eyes. "I hope so. 'Cause I'd sure hate ta think I disappointed him." He squeezed his eyes more tightly shut and swallowed hard, overcome by emotions he hadn't felt in years. "I still miss him, y'know?" he whispered unsteadily, easily able to picture the tall, spare man with thick dark hair barely touched with gray, piercing blue eyes and stern, square jaw. "I mean, you'd think that after all these years... But after Mama died, we were all each other had. Gran'ma'd died years before, even before I's born, an' Mama was their only child... I's the last 'a the Tanners, he used ta tell me. The name'd die or go on with me, 'n it'd become whatever I made of it."

He opened his eyes and lifted his head, again staring beyond Josiah and into his past. "That meant a lot to him. He used ta say that all in this world a man really has is his name and his word. The last time I saw Mama before she died, she told me, 'Boy, you're a Tanner. Don't ever forget that.'" He frowned and shook his head. "I didn't understand what she meant. I mean, I knew it had ta be important, or she wouldn'ta told me, but..." He shrugged. "I jist didn't understand. But Gran'pa..." He returned his gaze to Josiah and gave a small, firm nod. "I reckon he showed me. He never lied, never turned his back on nobody in need, never closed his eyes to a wrong that he thought he could right. 'N he never give up on nothin' or nobody, either." He laughed softly. "He always said the good Lord'd shorted us Tanners on money 'n likely on brains, but that He'd made up fer that by givin' us more'n our share of pure stubbornness." He snorted softly and shook his head. "I reckon he was right."

"Reckon he was," Chris agreed with a smile, well familiar with the Tanner obstinacy. "I've seen steel walls that had more give in 'em than you."

"Yer one ta talk," Vin grumbled.

"I am a very reasonable man-"

"Long as yer gettin' yer way, sure," Vin retorted. "But the minute some poor bastard gets cross-wise with ya, then ya start tryin' ta melt his bones with that damn glare 'a yers. Hell, I'm surprised the Defense Department ain't studyin' ya fer some kinda laser weapon!"

"Your grandpa ever say anything about Tanners bein' smart-asses?" Chris growled.

"Nope." He smirked at Chris. "But I reckon he never met a Larabee."

Chris scowled at the younger man's insolence, but Buck and Josiah gave soft chuckles, both glad to see that feisty spirit. Taking on Larabee might be the shortest route to the grave for some, but for Vin it was just one more way to show that he hadn't given up yet.

Though it might also prove what his grandpa had said about Tanners being short on brains...

"Your grandpa like pokin' rattlers with sharp sticks, too, Vin?" Buck teased, grinning broadly when the Larabee glower shifted to him. "Best turn off the high-beams, stud. Gonna give yourself a headache."

"You're what gives me a headache, Buck," Chris countered, though he couldn't quite keep the warmth from his voice and eyes. "Hell, you're all turnin' me into a damn commercial for aspirin and antacid!"

"Ya hurt me, pard," Buck lamented, pressing a hand to his heart and looking crestfallen.

"Now, there's a thought," Chris said with a sly grin.

"'Bout time ya had one..."

Josiah watched Vin to gauge his reaction to the friendly bickering about him, and felt a hard tug at his heart when he saw the young man's smile turn wistful. The blue eyes darkened a shade, and Sanchez could have sworn he saw hurt lurking in them.

"Vin?" he called softly, worriedly. "You all right, son?"

Immediately Buck and Chris ceased exchanging insults and turned their full attention on Vin. Regretting having given them yet another cause for concern, he winced and ducked his head uncomfortably, knotting his hands together in his lap.

"Vin?" Chris prompted gently.

He swallowed hard and lifted his head slowly, meeting Larabee's anxious gaze and managing a wan smile. "'S all right," he rasped softly, his eyes still sad. "I's jist thinkin'... Gran'pa woulda liked all 'a y'all. I wish he coulda known ya. Wish y'all coulda known him." He bowed his head again and stared at his hands as the familiar feeling of loss swept through him. "He was a good man, mebbe the best I've ever known. Well," he amended, raising his head once more and glancing at all three men, smiling shyly, "'til I met y'all, that is."

Tears stung Buck's eyes as he was likened to a man who had clearly meant so much to Vin, and he slipped a brotherly arm about Tanner's shoulders, hugging the young man gently to him. "Well," he breathed, his voice rough with emotion, "I don't know about these two, but I'm honored ta be included in his company, Junior. He sounds like a helluva man."

"He was," Vin sighed. "I mean, he wasn't a saint. He wasn't the smartest man who ever lived, 'n I reckon he wasn't even what you'd call an important man. 'Cept ta me. But he was fair 'n honest 'n decent, 'n he worked hard ta make sure I had a good home. Even when it got ta be clear I's havin' problems in school, he never took it out on me, never made me feel like I's a disappointment to him. He never made me feel stupid, y'know?" he said softly. "And he never, ever gave up on me." He sighed again and dropped his gaze to his hands, still huddled in Buck's embrace. "Cain't help but wonder what all woulda been differ'nt if he'da lived."

"How'd he die?" Chris asked quietly, hurting for his friend. God, what kind of fate robbed a little boy of such a man and then left him in the hands of monsters?

"Stroke," Vin said simply. "They came 'n got me outta school one day, told me he's gone... I never even got ta say goodbye." Old sorrow clouded his eyes and shadowed his face. "Strange how yer whole life can change 'tween one minute 'n the next, and you don't even know it's happenin'," he said softly.

"Did they send you away then?" Josiah asked gently, praying the boy hadn't been thrust into hell immediately after losing his grandfather.

"No, not right then," Vin breathed. "There was still a couple 'a weeks of school left, so the preacher at our church 'n his wife took me in. Said I should finish out the year there. Gran'pa'd been a deacon in the church, and him 'n the preacher was friends. They's real good ta me, too. Reckon that's why it came as such a shock..." He suddenly looked up at Josiah, frowning deeply and searching the older man's face intently. "How can that be?" he asked in complete bewilderment. "How can two preachers in the same kinda church be so differ'nt? How can they read the same Bible 'n pray ta the same God, but one treat ya with kindness 'n love while the other... How?" he entreated desperately, not understanding it at all. "How can one man say God forgives me fer my sins, while the other says God wants me ta be punished? I jist don't understand!"

"I don't either, son," Josiah admitted, his voice thick with a pain he understood only too well. "I've struggled with that all my life. My own father preached of God's wrath and ignored His love, convinced me that the gates of hell yawned wide while the doors of heaven were damn near sealed shut. And it took me a long time to undo the damage and the hurt he'd done." He heaved his thick shoulders in a heavy shrug. "Maybe because such people aren't capable of mercy and forgiveness, they can't conceive of a God who is. Maybe they've forgotten that the same God who leveled armies and brought down nations also sent His only Son to die for the sinners He so loved. Or maybe they've been speakin' for God so long that they've forgotten how to listen to Him. I don't know, Vin," he said softly. "But I do know that what happened to you in that place had nothing, nothing whatsoever to do with God's will. And I'd like to think that He reserves a special place in hell for those who brutalize children in His name."

"Was that preacher the one?" Chris asked hoarsely, unable to utter the words you killed.

But Vin heard them anyway. "No, wasn't him. Oh, he beat on me some, too, beat on all of us. Had him this cane... And he'd always quote from the Bible when he hit us. But he wasn't the one..." He faltered and fell silent, unable to say the words either.

"Just take your time, Junior," Buck said gently. "Hell, you don't have ta say anything else at all-"

"Y'know that ain't true, Bucklin," Vin sighed, running his good hand through his hair. "Y'all've told me I gotta get it out, 'n I reckon that's so. Lord knows I don't wanta, but we've all seen what keepin' it inside does." He winced and bowed his head again, folding his arms across his chest. "Last thing I wanta do is hurt y'all any more'n I already done," he whispered.

Chris frowned and turned to face him. "You wanta tell me just what you think you've done ta hurt us?" he asked in true confusion. "Seems ta me you're the one that's been doin' all the hurtin' here-"

"Beat you up pretty good, didn't I?" Vin retorted harshly, his head coming up, his eyes flashing with pain. "You wanta tell me that didn't hurt? Pulled a gun on y'all jist now... Hell, that's twice I done that ta Buck-"

"You hush now," Wilmington said firmly. "You've already apologized for that, and I don't wanta hear any more about it. 'Sides," he said with a slight, wry smile, "it ain't like you knew what you were doin'-"

"That only makes it worse," Vin whispered in torment. "I coulda hurt somebody... I coulda killed you..."

"But you didn't," Buck said patiently. "You didn't hurt anybody. 'Cept yourself." He reached out and ran gentle fingers through Vin's long hair, still tortured by the memory of that terrible night in the hospital, by the mindless terror he'd seen in Vin then. And seen again less than an hour ago. Yet worse even than Vin's terror had been the thoughts, the fear, of what that terror might lead the young man to do. "Damn, boy, you scared the hell outta me!" he whispered tightly.

"I'm sorry!" Vin choked, closing his eyes again and turning his head away.

Buck slipped a gentle hand under his chin and turned him back. "Look at me," he instructed firmly, forcing Vin to meet his eyes, refusing to let him look away. "That ain't what I meant. I was afraid for what you were doin' to yourself, not what you might do ta me."

"I stole your gun and held it on you-"

"You were outta your mind with pain, fever and medication," Buck said slowly, calmly. "You were sick, and hurt, and terrified 'cause you had no idea what was goin' on or who anybody was." Pain and sorrow flooded him as his mind again conjured an image of Vin from that night, huddled against the wall, barely conscious and bleeding from the tubes and IV's he'd torn out and the stitches he'd ripped loose, yet somehow managing to hold that gun so steady. "You'd been hurt bad, you were hurtin' bad, and you just didn't want anybody hurtin' you again. It wasn't your fault, Vin. You'd been pushed past your limits, and you finally broke down. Ya got nothin' t' apologize for, Junior. Hell, I reckon you got more'n a few apologies owed to you!"

"I just-" Vin tried to remember what had been going through his head then, what had driven him to hold a gun on people who were only trying to help him. All he could remember, though, was the stark, raw terror that had gripped him, the unceasing, inescapable pain that had racked him, and the terrible confusion that made it impossible to think. "I jist didn't want nobody hurtin' me no more!" he whispered.

Buck's heart contracted painfully at those words, at that soft, ragged voice, and his chest and throat grew tight. Unable to speak for long moments, he simply continued to stroke Vin's hair and hold his hand, his generous soul aching for the troubled young man beside him.

Vin slowly relaxed under Buck's touch and closed his eyes, feeling safe in the big man's presence. "I shoulda known you wouldn'ta hurt me," he breathed hoarsely, his drawl thick. "But I's jist so scared!"

"I know you were," Buck whispered. "Can't say I blame you. After all you been through-" He glanced down at Vin's hand, still clinging to his, and frowned at the bandage that bound it. "I reckon you've had more pain in your life than any two or three fellas twice your age oughtta know. And I know you try real hard t' keep it pushed down deep inside, to keep a tight lid on it so it don't take control. But with even the strongest man, there comes a time when everything you been pushin' down just comes boilin' back up to the surface, refusin' ta be held back any longer. That's what happened that night, and that's what happened just a while ago. When you didn't have the strength t' hold it down, when you didn't have the strength t' fight, it all came out. And there you were, out of your mind with a gun in your hand. And me scared shitless."

"You thought I was gonna shoot ya," Vin murmured.

"No," Buck said hoarsely, swept again by the horrible fear that had gripped him then. "I thought you were gonna shoot yourself."

Vin's eyes opened at that and found their way to Buck's, the blue depths shadowed by the same madness that had gripped him then. He slowly licked his lips, then said softly, "Can't say it didn't cross my mind."

"I know. I saw the look on your face when it did." He held Vin's eyes with his own. "I was watchin' your face and the barrel of my gun, and tryin' t' figger how long it'd take me t' reach you once you started t' turn it on yourself. 'Cause I sure as hell wasn't aimin' t' let you kill yourself on my watch."

Vin sighed and dropped his gaze from Buck's, deeply ashamed of what he had put the older man through. "I'm sorry," he whispered brokenly.

Buck grinned weakly. "Ya gotta stop sayin' that, son," he chided. "I'm tryin' t' tell ya this ain't your fault. None of it is. The only ones who bear any blame are Charlie Castro and that bastard who beat on you all those years ago."

"Thought I heard his voice," Vin murmured, still trying to remember. "But there was so many voices, shoutin' at me, threatenin' me-" He looked up sharply, his eyes wide, his face paler than ever. "Am I crazy, Buck?" he whispered.

The older man sighed and shook his head slowly. "No, Vin, you're not," he said with conviction, "though for the life of me, I can't understand why. With all you been through, hell, I guess you deserve t' be a little crazy. I know I'd be."

"I's jist so tired of hurtin'," Vin breathed, letting his eyes close and leaning again into Buck's warmth and strength. "Tired of folks beatin' on me. I jist wanted it ta stop!"

Buck's blue eyes filled with pain at the raw anguish in that soft, raspy voice. Between what Vin had suffered in his childhood and what he'd endured at the brutal hands of Castro's thugs, Buck couldn't imagine how he'd survived, much less survived with as much sanity as he had. Just thinking about it raised Buck's anger to a dangerous pitch, made him want to go out and do a little beating of his own.

"I jist... couldn't take it no more," Vin breathed exhaustedly, his strength wearing thin. "Didn't wanna be hit no more. Not again. Y' don't know what it's like-" He broke off abruptly, bit his lip to keep from saying more, and pulled away from Buck.

"Vin?" Buck watched anxiously as Tanner drew his legs up against his chest and wrapped his arms about them as if to guard himself from any further blows. "Damn it, Vin, don't do this!" he pleaded gently, worriedly. He reached out and laid a big, brotherly hand on the smaller man's back, wincing as he felt Vin's body shudder, then tense. "Ya know I ain't gonna hurt ya, son," he soothed, keeping his hand where it rested. "I wouldn't hurt ya for the world, ya know that, don'tcha?"

Vin closed his eyes tightly and drew a shallow, shaky breath, trembling from weakness and the nameless terror that seeped like a black pool from the depths of his soul. Buck's voice was so comforting, his hand gentle for all its strength, and he told himself the big man would never hurt him. But somewhere in his fractured mind, somewhere in a part of himself he'd tried so long and so hard to deny, a voice reminded him of all the times he'd thought that before.

The voice of a boy who'd dragged himself into a corner, desperately hurt, and used the only means he knew to make the hurting stop...

"Talk to us, Vin," Chris pleaded, his hand joining Buck's on the younger man's back. "Don't pull away, don't go back there. Stay here with us and let us help you."

Vin pulled his knees tighter still against his chest, hearing Chris and Buck's voices but hearing so many others as well, feeling his friends' hands upon him but waiting for the other, crueler ones he knew would inevitably come. He flinched, gave a small, choked cry and dropped his head onto his knees. Huge, hard fists flew from the corners of his mind and he cried out again, then buried his hands in his hair and began to pull.

"No!" Chris said firmly. He reached for Vin's hands, pried them out of his hair and held tightly to them, refusing to let them go. "I'm not gonna let you hurt yourself. There's been too much of that already." Despite the force of his emotions - his fear, his pain, his fury at everyone who had ever raised a hand to his friend - he kept his voice low, even and calm, forced himself to bite back the screams of rage that beat against his soul for release. And little by little, hardly realizing he was doing it, he pulled Vin to him, until he was sheltering his shaking friend against his chest, in the safety of his arms. "It's all right, pard," he murmured, bowing his head and resting it on Vin's, "I got ya. You hear me, Vin? I got ya. You're safe. He'll never hurt you again."

"That's all I ever wanted!" Vin whispered brokenly, huddling against Chris as tears streamed down his face. "I didn't wanta kill him, I jist wanted him ta stop hittin' me!"

"I know," Chris rasped, trying desperately not to think of the boy who'd had to make such a hideous choice, and failing. He felt Buck's arm slip around his shoulders then and leaned into it, allowing the big man to comfort him as he was trying to comfort Vin. "You were just tryin' to protect yourself."

"I had to," Vin murmured. "Wasn't nobody else gonna do it. Wasn't nobody else who even gave a shit! Why should they?" Bitterness scoured his soul and poured through his voice and he pulled violently away from Chris, fixing wounded but defiant eyes upon him. "Hell, who was I? Who were any of us? Foster kids, rejects, orphans 'n cast-offs, that's all! And the bastard never let us forget that."

"Who was he, Vin?" Josiah asked quietly. "Tell us about 'the bastard.' What was his name?"

Vin turned a hollow gaze on Sanchez and gave a short, hoarse laugh. "I don't remember. Ain't that a hoot? He beat the shit outta me on a regular basis, I killed him, 'n I don't even remember his name." His mouth twisted into a painful mockery of a smile. "Think I'd remember the name of the first man I ever killed, wouldn't ya?"

"Not necessarily," Josiah said evenly. "It's just one more thing you've buried." He shrugged easily. "Right now it's easier for you not to remember. But one day, when you're really convinced you're safe from him, you will. Maybe first you have to convince yourself he's really dead."

"Don't see how he couldn't be," Vin said flatly. "I put enough bullets into him." He felt more than saw Chris and Buck's shocked reactions and gave another humorless laugh. "Had to. Bastard wouldn't go down." Memory returned and he flinched against it, wrapping one arm around his chest and pressing the other hand over his eyes. "He h... he had... a fireplace poker... He was comin' fer me... I didn't have a choice!" he rasped in torment. "I fired... Lord God, it hurt! My hand was broke, but I didn't have a choice. I don't know how, but I fired. 'Cept he didn't go down. I d... I don't know... how many times I fired... I jist know I didn't stop 'til he was layin' at my feet."

"Jesus!" Buck groaned sickly, burying his face in his hands.

"I dropped the bowl 'n it broke," Vin said dully, letting his hand fall from his eyes. "One more thing I done wrong. 'N he was gonna kill me. Only I killed him first. Preacher said I done it 'cause I had the devil in me."

"The devil wasn't in you, Vin," Chris said, his voice soft with the same horror that showed on his face. "The only devil was the one you killed."

"Tell us more about this home," Josiah directed gently, needing to get Vin away from the killing for a few moments, afraid that the younger man was in danger of slipping back into that time. "Was it only for boys?"

"Yeah," Vin answered mechanically. "Couldn't have boys 'n girls together. Woulda led us all inta sin."

Josiah shook his head slowly, his lips pressed tightly together, his soul seething in rage at the unforgivable hypocrisy of men who'd dared rant against sin while viciously abusing the children left in their care. He'd long known that Vin wasn't a church-going man. Now he understood why.

"How many boys?" Chris took up the questioning, sensing what Josiah was trying to do.

Vin shrugged. "Ten, mebbe twelve. Wasn't a big place. See," he sighed, turning again to Larabee and looking a bit more here than he had before, "this was a private home, like I said. And ta get took in, y' had ta be sent by somebody who belonged to a church in that association." He shrugged again. "I reckon they saw it as a way of lookin' after their own." He gazed again at Josiah, as if seeking reassurance from the big man. "They couldn'ta known what went on there, right?" he asked softly, pleadingly. "I mean... they wouldn'ta sent us if they had. Would they?"

"No, son," Josiah breathed sadly, "I'm sure they wouldn't."

"Don't answer the question of why they didn't know, though," Buck said angrily. "Seems ta me that if you're gonna send kids off ta be taken care of, y' oughtta at least be sure they really are bein' taken care of, and not beaten half ta death!"

"Buck," Chris put in warningly.

"No!" the big man spat, his eyes blazing and his whole frame tight with rage. "Damn it, Chris, somebody let them kids down! Not just Vin, but all of 'em! Why the hell didn't all these fine, upstandin', God-fearin' folks that was sendin' kids there know what they was sendin' kids to? How the hell can ya say ya care enough for kids ta provide a place for 'em ta go, but not care enough ta make sure that place is safe? That's just wrong on so many levels that I can't even count 'em!"

Chris agreed - God, how he agreed! - but he wasn't sure it was in Vin's best interest for him to say so. And, right now, Vin's best interest was all that mattered.

"Why don't we just concentrate on the home itself," he suggested carefully, holding his own temper on a tight leash, "and leave the rest for another time?"

"He's right, Buck," Josiah said, catching Wilmington's flaming gaze and nodding pointedly toward Vin. "Let's not upset ourselves any more than we absolutely have to."

Buck opened his mouth to answer, then glanced at Vin and abruptly closed it again. The younger man had his head on his knees and his arms wrapped around his chest and was rocking slowly, again drawing away from them and into himself. Once more, Buck was sharply reminded of just how precarious Vin's hold on the here and the now was, and the realization cut him to the core.

"God, Junior, I'm sorry!" he breathed strickenly, returning his hand to Vin's back and stroking slowly. "I just... Hell, you know how I get-"

"You'da checked on us, wouldn't ya, Bucklin?" Vin whispered, raising his head and fixing dark, haunted eyes upon his friend.

"Oh, God, yeah!" Buck exhaled sharply, tears filling his eyes and sliding down his face. He shifted his hand to the back of Vin's neck and left it there, his grip warm and strong but infinitely gentle.

"Didn't you have contact with anyone outside the home at all?" Chris asked, wondering just how far the neglect had reached.

"Went ta school," Vin said, "but that was about it. 'N if we's hurt when we went..." Again, he gave that listless, hopeless shrug. "There was always a reason that made it sound all right. Boys'll be boys, rough-housin', fightin'..." He looked at Chris and blinked. "Who's gonna question a church-run home?"

Before Chris could give in to the anger glinting in his eyes, Josiah broke in. "So it wasn't just you who got beaten?"

"Hell no," Vin sighed tiredly. "We all got it. Some of us jist worse'n others 'cause we was worse'n others." He grimaced and dropped his gaze to his knees. "I got it 'cause I's stupid 'n clumsy. Couldn't do my school work, couldn't even tell left from right half the time-"

"You're dyslexic, Vin!" Chris said sharply, his temper breaking free. "Shit-" Then he saw his friend flinch and draw away, and immediately reined himself back in. "I'm sorry," he apologized quietly. "I didn't mean to shout. But they should've known-"

"They said I's lazy," Vin rasped, folding his arms tighter against his chest as shame washed through him. "Said I jist didn't wanta do the work. But I couldn't do it! I tried tellin' 'em, but they wouldn't believe me. Then I got put inta special ed classes, 'n they said that jist proved I's stupid. Said I's an embarrassment to 'em all."

"My God!" Chris breathed in mingled horror and fury.

"What about a social worker?" Josiah asked.

Vin shook his head slowly. "Didn't have one then. I wasn't in the state system."

"There had ta be somebody!" Buck insisted, unable to accept the idea that those boys had been thrown into "the bastard's" clutches and then abandoned. "What about the other folks who worked at the home?"

Vin simply stared at the big man. "Weren't no others. Weren't a big enough place, I reckon. Preacher 'n his wife ran it, and the bastard worked fer them. His wife was there, too." He frowned and ran his tongue slowly over his lower lip, trying to remember. "I think she did most 'a the cookin', mebbe the laundry. But us boys did most 'a the chores." Another memory stirred, and he narrowed his eyes, trying to pin it down. "A few times a year other folks would come out, four or five of 'em. They'd bring us stuff - clothes, shoes, underwear, toothbrushes, candy 'n toys at Christmas - 'n while they's there they'd look around 'n talk t' us kids. 'Course," he added bitingly, "those of us that was too beat up ta be presentable was always hid outta sight."

"Sounds like some kind of governing board," Josiah mused.

"Not a very thorough one," Chris growled.

"Didn't you ever tell anybody what went on there, Vin?" Buck asked, aching unbearably for his friend. He wanted nothing more than to take him in his arms as he'd done with Adam and hold him until all the hurt and fear went away. But this was no child's nightmare and this was considerably more than a skinned knee. This was Vin's life, and Buck knew that not even his strength could lift the burden of pain that life had dropped on those thin, bowed shoulders.

"I tried," Vin breathed, tired to his very soul. "I ran away a couple 'a times, but they'd call the sheriff's office 'n I always got caught. I begged 'em not ta take me back, but they always did. Said it's where I belonged. I tried ta tell 'em why I ran, but the Preacher always made it sound like I's jist tryin' ta get outta bein' punished fer somethin' I done wrong. Said I's a troublemaker... Nobody ever believed me," he sighed. "Deputies'd leave, I'd get another beatin', then they'd lock me in the closet ta think about my sins."

"The closet?" Chris whispered hoarsely, remembering all the times in the hospital that Vin had pleaded, cried, screamed not to be put in the closet.

Vin nodded and bowed his head, closing his eyes tightly and again wrapping his arms about himself. He could feel it, the close, heavy darkness where no air stirred, and, worse, could smell it, the dank, musty odor of filthy carpet that assaulted his nose and made breathing nearly impossible. Now and again he felt the small, scratchy legs of whatever lived in the closet skittering across his flesh, and he jerked violently and cried out sharply at the remembered sensation.

"Ssh, easy, Vin," Chris soothed, moving in immediately to circle an arm about his friend and anchor him to the present. "It's all right. That's all in the past. You're here now, you're safe."

"No," Vin moaned, trying to pull away.

"Yes," Chris insisted gently, never relinquishing his hold. "Listen to me. Just listen to my voice. Buck's right here, and Josiah. You know we'd never let any harm come to you. You're safe, pard. You're at the ranch, in the den, and we're right here with you. Nobody's ever gonna put you in the closet again."

"I hated it!" Vin whispered weakly, huddling against Chris as the hideous memories assailed him. "It was so small, dark... It only ever had one purpose. When we was really bad, they'd beat us, then lock us in there fer hours... sometimes all night... I remember layin' on that carpet, smellin' the dirt 'n the blood... Oh, Lord, that smell! I couldn't breathe... Got ta where it took the Preacher 'n the bastard both ta get me in there, no matter how bad I's hurt. Then they'd jist leave me in the dark, with that smell..."

"My God," Josiah said thickly, sitting upright and leaning forward, the light of revelation filling his eyes. "The carpet... That was the trigger!" Chris and Buck shot him startled, confused gazes and he leaned further forward still. "Remember where we found him? That small, dark office in the warehouse? He was lying on the floor, on that filthy, blood-soaked carpet..." Still he could see that they didn't get it, and he exhaled sharply, impatiently. "Smell is one of the strongest memory triggers we have," he explained. "How many times have either of you caught even a passing whiff of some smell and instantly remembered something associated with it? Our minds remember smells and link them to experiences, good and bad. Pass a bakery, you suddenly remember Thanksgiving or Christmas in your mother's kitchen. Someone lights a pipe and all at once you think of your grandfather or a favorite college professor. Spend days locked in a small, dark room after you've been horribly beaten, lying on a filthy carpet stained and soaked with your own blood-"

"And all of a sudden," Chris said slowly as understanding dawned, "every memory of abuse you've tried to suppress is unlocked and you're thrown right back into your past."

"It wasn't the beating that brought this back," Buck murmured, catching on as well. "It was the smell of that goddamn carpet." He glanced at Larabee. "How many bullets did you put inta Castro?"

Chris shrugged, rubbing slow circles into Vin's back all the while. "I don't know. Four, I think. Why?"

Buck stared down at Vin, his face twisting into a mask of pain. "It wasn't enough!"

"I know," Chris sighed. "Maybe if I knew where he was buried..." Another realization hit him, and he suddenly understood something that had always puzzled him. "That's why he doesn't have any carpet in his apartment, isn't it?" he asked Josiah. "He told me once he ripped it up as soon as he moved in. Couldn't stand the smell..."

"More than likely," the profiler answered, his compassionate gaze fixed on the listless young man resting against Larabee's chest. Vin seemed to have sunk once more into himself, awake but no longer a part of the conversation, of anything, taking place around him. "My guess is he didn't even know why the smell bothered him so. He just knew he couldn't live with it." His gaze traveled slowly over Vin's pale, drawn face and came to rest finally on dull blue eyes that stared out at nothing. "And I'd say we also now understand his claustrophobia."

"Jesus," Buck breathed, getting to his feet and pacing slowly around the den, his head bowed, his face shadowed. He ran a shaking hand through his hair, then thrust both hands into the pockets of his jeans. "I never... I mean, I saw a couple of cases like this when I was with the PD, and ya read about 'em in the papers, but it's just... stories, y'know? Cases. Ain't like it's somethin' that happens in your own life-"

"But it happens in their lives, Buck," Josiah pointed out softly. "This becomes their lives. The police might assign them case numbers, and nightly news and the papers might blur their faces and withhold their names, but every one of these children has a face, every one of them has a name. And every one of them, God help them, deserves better than just to be one more story and one more number."

"What happened to 'em?" Buck demanded in a low, vicious growl, his blue eyes unusually hard and cold, his face a granite mask of fury.

Josiah frowned up at him in confusion. "Who?"

Buck whirled and flung out a long arm, pointing a shaking finger at Vin. "The bastards who did that ta him!" he spat through clenched teeth. "The bastards who'd break a child's body and bend his mind and tell him he deserved it! I wanta know where they are, I wanta know what happened ta that hell on earth, and I wanta know how they're bein' punished for their sins!"

Josiah ran big hands over his craggy face. He could understand Buck's anger - hell, he shared it - but he was deeply afraid that if they didn't all get their emotions under control, Vin would be the one to suffer. He flinched at every loud word, as if their raised voices struck straight to his nerves, and Josiah knew that the younger man was having trouble separating their voices from the ones in his mind.

He prayed that Nathan had told Chris about the tranquilizer Dr. Stone had added to Vin's meds...

"Home's closed down," Vin murmured in a soft, detached voice, startling them all; they'd assumed he'd drifted away again. "The state took all the kids outta there, put 'em in the foster system... 'Cause 'a what I done."

"No, Vin," Chris said firmly. "Because of what they did ta you."

"Can you tell us what happened, son?" Josiah asked gently, studying Vin carefully for any sign of impending breakdown.

"Y' mean... when I kilt him?" he asked flatly.

"Yeah," Josiah breathed, wondering just how much more of himself Vin had left to bleed out.

Buck turned away with a groan, not wanting to hear any more, not at all certain he could endure any more. He told himself he wanted to run out of the house and into the night, far enough away that Vin's hollow voice and haunted eyes could no longer reach him, but knew he'd never be able to take that first step toward escape. He hadn't been able to take it three years ago when Chris's hell had engulfed him, either, no matter how many times he'd set his hand to the doorknob and told himself to turn it.

Vin closed his eyes for long moments, gathering the frayed remnants of his strength about himself like a threadbare cloak, then opened them and slowly pulled away from Chris, struggling to sit up on his own. But just when it seemed certain that he would fail, that he would fall, he felt Chris's strong hand closing about his arm, holding him up, then felt Larabee's right arm circling again about his shoulders, offering him both shelter and an anchor. Hardly knowing he did it, he reached across himself with his left hand and latched on to Chris's right wrist, clinging to the man for all he was worth in a desperate effort keep the quicksand from pulling him down.

"Take it easy, Vin," Chris soothed, momentarily startled, and then relieved, by the force of Tanner's grip on him. "And just take your time. Nobody's in a rush here, and we don't have to hear one word more than you want to tell us."

Vin turned his head and looked at Chris, a gratitude deeper than words could express shining in his dark blue eyes. He nodded once, wishing yet again that he'd had these men, or others like them, at his side back then.

And more thankful than he could say that he had them now.

He nodded again, then dragged his gaze from Chris's and fixed it on the coffee table, not certain he could look at his friends and say any of this. Not certain he could bear seeing it if any of his words should change something in the way they thought about him.

"I told y'all," he finally began, his voice soft and hoarse, "that he used ta beat on me. On all of us. Said it was his duty ta teach us wrong from right, teach us discipline. Said he didn't never give us nothin' we didn't deserve-"

"Bullshit," Wilmington said coldly.

"Buck," Chris warned.

The big man exhaled sharply and bowed his head, closing his eyes tightly and setting his hands on his hips. "I'm sorry, Junior," he said in a tight strained voice. "I know this is hard on ya, and I know it hurts like hell." He raised his head and opened his eyes, fixing them on Vin. "But you didn't deserve any of that. Nobody deserves that. You hear me?"

Vin nodded slowly, but didn't meet that gaze. "I'm tryin', Bucklin," he breathed. "But... when ya hear over 'n over again that yer worthless, that yer stupid, that yer clumsy 'n lazy 'n ever' other goddamn thing... After a while, y' jist start ta believe it. I mean," he did raise his head then, and bewildered blue eyes sought out Wilmington's, "they wouldn'ta treated us like that if we didn't deserve it, right? Grown-ups don't do those things ta kids without a reason!"

"Sometimes they do," Josiah countered sadly. "Have I ever told you about my father, Vin? About the way he treated my sister?"

Tanner shifted his gaze to Sanchez. "Some," he said softly. "Y' said she... she's sick..."

"She has schizophrenia," Josiah said, pain for his sister grabbing at his heart and flashing in his eyes. "She's been in and out of hospitals and institutions for the past twenty years, but she's been sick for much longer than that. Doctors would tell us that she needed help, that she needed to be someplace where she could be treated, but my father... My father," he sighed, shaking his graying head. "Hannah had voices in her head, telling her to do things. Things my father considered evil. But instead of seeing that she got treated, he made sure that she was punished. Even when she had no idea what she was doing or why, he'd punish her. And tell her she deserved it. Got to where she believed him," he said softly, his deep voice cracking. "And one day, she tried to kill herself. Because she believed she had to be punished. Because he'd made her believe that. She slit her wrists-" His voice broke and he bowed his head, closing his eyes tightly and clenching his hands together in his lap.

Buck walked over and set a gentle hand one the profiler's shoulder, saying nothing but squeezing comfortingly.

Josiah took several moments to compose himself, then reached up to lay a hand over Buck's. A few more moments passed, then he raised his head and opened his eyes. A tear glinted on one cheek. "I stayed with her," he rasped, "spent every night with her, made sure my father never came near her. And as soon as she was well enough, I got us both as far from him as I could. We never went back, even when he died." He sighed. "And I've been making sure she gets the help she needs ever since."

Vin stared at the older man in sorrow and sympathy. And in painful understanding. "He was a preacher, wasn't he?" he whispered. "Yer daddy, I mean." Josiah nodded, and Vin winced. "Don't seem right, fellers who call themselves 'men of God' doin' those things."

"It's not right, Vin," Josiah said quietly. "It's a betrayal of everything they profess to believe."

"Yer sister's lucky," Vin said, getting a confused look from Sanchez. "She had you." He dropped his gaze again to the coffee table. "We didn't have nobody. Nobody ever came. 'Til I killed him. Then they all wondered how such a thing could happen. Didn't matter that I'd tried ta tell 'em, that a couple others'd tried. 'S like they'd never heard it before in their lives. Three years," he breathed, raising bewildered eyes to Larabee. "Three years I lived like that, and nobody ever came. No matter how bad it got, no matter how many times I tried ta run, no matter who I tried ta tell, nobody ever came. Not until I killed him."

Chris stared at Vin, his mouth going dry, his throat tight. A terrible realization was dawning upon him, and he would've sold his soul to know that he was wrong. Three years. And he'd gone into that home, into that hell, when he was ten...

"So when you killed him," he whispered thickly, green eyes filled with the horror that churned in his soul, "you were..."

Vin returned that gaze, gave a small shrug and sighed, "I's thirteen years old."