MYSTERY VOICE: (thump thump) Is this thing on? Oh,
good. Hello, everyone, sorry for the delay, but you
won't believe all the cool stuff they have here at
Smarmslut Writing Headquarters. And since I locked
them in the closet I've just been having a great time
eating all their chocolate and charging stuff on their
credit cards. Here's another part of their story for
you to enjoy while I go see what's new in the Sharper
Image catalog. Oh, and don't worry about the
Smarmsluts, I'll let them out-when I'm darn good and
ready. That'll teach 'em. Bye!
*click*

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Ashes of the Mind pt 19


Disclaimer: see pt 1

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The air was thick with grim determination as Chris
and his men prepared for their assault on the asylum.
As they stood by their horses checking their supplies,
none of the men exchanged words or even looked at each
other while they worked. The situation was too
serious.

Chris glanced around discreetly; a few of the men
whom JD had identified as guards from the asylum had
ridden by, no doubt still on the lookout for the young
man. A small smile creased the gunslinger's lips; JD
was safely hidden at Maggie's house. They would never
have him in their grip again.

As he was concluding his task, Chris looked up to
see Judge Travis approaching, his worn face
thoughtful.

"I've wired Captain Gordon," he said softly as he
stood near Chris, careful not to attract any
attention. "He's agreed to give us his full
cooperation. Seems they've suspected that place for a
long time as well."

"Good," Chris muttered, adjusting his saddle straps.

The Judge paused. "I know how anxious you are to
free Ezra, Chris, but try not to get too hot-headed.
Things will be chaotic enough in there; there will be
no time for impetuous behavior."

Chris glanced up at him, his green eyes icy.

"If you're askin' me to stand back when one of my
men is in trouble,:" he said in a grim voice,
"then-sorry, Judge. You're wastin' your breath."

Travis sighed and looked at the sky. "I have no
desire to lose the services of such brave men as you,
you're a rare thing in this territory."

Chris gave his saddle strap one last hard yank and
looked up at the Judge, his expression grim. "That's
mighty nice, Judge, but I ain't in the mood for
caution when scum like Maxwell are out there. When we
go in, your army can do what it damn well likes. We're
goin' to find Ezra."

The Judge gave him an appraising look, thought for a
few moments, then nodded. "There's no doubt in my mind
you'll find him, Chris. I only pray that he's still
among the living when you do."


Jed smiled to himself as he walked slowly around the
small room. He was thoroughly savoring every moment,
and didn't want it to go by too quickly.

His full attention was focused on the chamber's only
other occupant-the huddled, motionless figure of Ezra
lying on the floor in the center of the room. To
anyone else the gambler's appearance would have evoked
sympathy-he was barely recognizable beneath the dirt,
the untended wounds and bruises, the tattered
blood-caked clothing. But Jed was glorifying in the
sight; it marked a triumph he had long dreamed of.

Jed slowly circled him, his heart soaring at the
terrified expression in Ezra's eyes, which seemed to
be glued not on Jed, but on the large, flickering
torch he held in one large hand.

The torch lit up the room with its luridly dancing
flame, its glow covering the stone walls with ghastly
dancing shadows which writhed and changed shape as he
continued to circle his victim. The damp walls
glistened in the flickering light, the walls and floor
stained with the aging blood of past atrocities. The
only noise was Ezra's labored, terrified breathing and
the relentless thud of Jed's boots as they struck the
cold floor. No doubt this was quite a nightmarish
scene, Jed thought. Good.

"You'll be happy to know, Standish," Jed finally
said, after he had been walking around Ezra for quite
some time, "that you're going to die soon."

Ezra stared at him and said nothing.

"Frankly, I'm disappointed in you," Jed went on,
still walking as he spoke. "I was hoping you'd last at
least a few days longer. But then you always were a
disappointment, weren't you? I should ask your little
pal about that."

Ezra groaned and licked his lips. "Bastard," he
whispered, with as much force as he could muster.

But Jed only laughed. "Oh go ahead, Ezra-play the
brave boy right til the end. Won't make any difference
to anyone. I sure don't care if you damn me to Hell.
You're gonna get there a whole lot quicker than me.
Course I'd rather hear you beg for mercy, but you're
going to be doing that soon anyway. Trust me."

He was surprised to see Ezra glare at him, and was
even more astonished when the gambler actually managed
to raise himself up a few inches and fix him with a
look of angry defiance. The man was weak and
trembling, but the intensity of the fire in his green
eyes was unmistakable.

"The only mercy I'll be asking for," Ezra said in a
halting but firm tone, "is the mercy of whatever
Providence may exist, that one day you'll meet the
justice you so richly deserve."

With that, Ezra slowly slid back to the floor.

Jed glowered at him for a moment, then shook his
head. "There ain't no Providence, Standish. There's
just me, and you, and this here room."

He crouched down before Ezra, holding the torch a
few feet from his face.

"You remember that fella who got burned up alive
back at my camp, Standish? Sure you do. That's what
I'm gonna do to you."

God, he loved that look of horror in Standish's
eyes. he was trying to be brave, the idiot, but Jed
knew fear when he saw it. He grinned.

"You ain't gonna be as lucky as him, though. He
went quick. You won't. An' when I'm done, there won't
be nothin' left of you. Not that anybody'll really
care, of course." he stood slowly, enjoying how Ezra's
eyes followed him. The man looked almost mindless.

"I'm gonna let you think about that for a few
minutes, Standish. But not too many. I've been
waitin' for this too long to want t'wait much longer."