SMARMSLUT QUEEN: Greetings again, friends! Now that things are once more under control, we bring you another installment of our story.

SMARMSLUT ADEPT: Look, we wouldn't have gotten into your Halloween candy if you'd just locked the stupid door.

SMARMSLUT MASTER: Yeah, Ezra would be proud of our abilities!

QUEEN: Silence! You two are already in trouble for eating all of my mini Nestle's Crunch bars.

ADEPT: And we'd do it again!!

QUEEN: Insubordination! You'll pay for that! Uh-We hope you enjoy this new part of the tale. Now excuse me while I pummel-er, talk-to my associates...COME BACK HERE!!

MASTER: We ate all the little Butterfingers too!! Nyaaah!!

(sound of running feet, thumping, etc.)

***************

Ashes of the Mind, pt 11
by the Smarm Sluts

Ezra's mind whirled as he was half-dragged into the hallway. He tried to make a note of anything that might aid an escape, but exhaustion and pain were blurring his mind and vision. The rifle-toting guards seemed to be everywhere, and they all glared at him as he was pulled along.

Finally they stopped before one of the iron doors. Ezra recognized it as the room he and JD had inspected the day before, where the less violent prisoners were housed. Without much ado, one of the guards unlocked the door, grabbed Ezra and shoved him inside.

Ezra hit the stone floor with a painful thud, gasping as his breath flew out of him. He heard the door lock behind him, the noise echoing through his mind. He shook his head to clear it and slowly raised himself, looking around as he waited for the room to stop spinning.

It was the same room he'd seen before, but things were quite changed now. The clean clothes the inmates had worn were now gone, replaced by filthy rags and, in some cases, almost nothing at all. It seemed to him that more of the inmates were now chained up, or confined to straitjackets. To Ezra's horror, there were a few cages now scattered about the floor, all occupied. This was the real asylum, he realized with shock; yesterday's had been bad, and it was only a cleaned-up version.

There were a few guards here now, wandering the enormous room with clubs and guns, beating those who displeased them, or simply out of boredom. The windows were all sealed with bars and wire, and the air was close and foul-smelling; Ezra felt as if he could barely breathe. Adding to the misery were the heart-rending noises which filled the air, moans and cries all mixed into a never-ending discord of suffering.

"Who's the pretty boy?" he heard someone close by say. He looked up to see one of the guards, a burly fellow with short black hair and a beard, staking towards him, club in hand.

"Name's Standish," a young voice said behind him; another guard. "Branford's keepin' 'im here til this afternoon."

The fat guard gazed at Ezra. "Hey, is this that guy who was gonna rat us out?"

The young guard laughed. "Yeah. Don't look like so much now, does he?"

He kicked Ezra in the side, still voicing his amusement at the gambler's situation. Ezra staggered to his knees, but held his temper in check. Later, when he was free, he could come back, and personally repay the guard's kindness, preferably with a bullet. But now was not the time.

"Branford says to watch 'im, Maxwell's got plans for this one. He's over helpin' the boss deal with the violents, then he'll be back."

"Yeah? All right." The fat guard chuckled and looked at Ezra, an ugly glint in his eye. "Can't wait t'see what ol' Jed's got in store for you. I've seen him work. Heh heh."

"Just keep an eye on 'im," the young guard said, "an' if he tries to get any sleep, wake 'im up."

"Oh, that ol' trick," the other man grunted. "Sure, no problem."

Ezra heard the young guard leave, and watched as the fat guard eyed him for a moment.

Ezra licked his lips. "I can see your dining facilities are lacking here, but would there be any water available?"

The other man chuckled. "That's right smart-soundin', boy. When Maxwell's through with you you'll be lucky t'have wits enough t'remember yer name. Ya want water? Sure, it's right over there in thet bucket. Help yerself."

With a wave of his club he indicated a small wooden bucket on the floor against the wall halfway across the room. Ezra rose stiffly and, after throwing a glare to his captor, made his way to the spot.

Careful, he told himself as his eyes darted among the pathetic inhabitants. He could not afford to allow himself any sympathetic feelings towards his fellow inmates; he had to concentrate on getting himself out of there. He had to shut his feelings off and focus, and his years of practice, he figured, should make this an easy task.

He soon arrived at the bucket, and kneeling down peered inside. To his dismay, he discovered that the water inside had long been fouled by the inmates and was completely undrinkable. Laughter drifted across the room, and he looked up to see the fat guard greatly enjoying Ezra's discovery.

Damn bastard, he knew all along, Ezra thought, glaring at the man.

"Drink up!" the guard laughed, then turned his attention elsewhere. Ezra sighed and stepped away from the bucket and its loathsome contents; he could cope with the thirst, he'd done it before. What he had to do was get out of here.

With painful steps he made his way across the floor, trying to ignore the pitiful forms around him. Most of them were too tormented by their own demons to even acknowledge his existence, and of those who took notice of him, none of them seemed to recognize him from yesterday.

Ezra found a vacant corner and sat on the dirty straw to think. At least they were leaving him relatively alone, and hadn't chained him up or put him in a straitjacket. He took a deep breath, wincing at the foul smell as he did so, and contemplated possible avenues of escape. If he looked as if he was just sitting, they wouldn't bother him.

His green eyes darted around the room; the only door was locked and guarded, that was no good. The windows were all barred and covered with wire mesh. There was no glass, but the bars were firmly screwed into place, and without tools it would be difficult to remove them, especially since he was being closely watched. There was no way out of the room through those avenues; he would have to try something else-

His thoughts were interrupted by a loud feminine shriek, and Ezra looked up to see a young, thin blonde woman pursuing a gang of ragged, surly-looking youths, pleading between her cries and flailing at them with her small fists. They laughed and moved away, taunting her. Ezra could see that it was a crudely made rag doll she wanted so badly, which the young men were tossing between themselves. She let out cries of terror as they pushed her away and threw the doll around, laughing. Ezra peered at her, then realized that he knew her; she was the woman JD was talking to the other day, the one he'd chastised him for talking to.

He looked at the guards, but their only response seemed to be amusement; they did nothing to break up the altercation. Ezra hesitated; he really didn't want to get involved, he had to stay separate and work out his own problems.

The girl's pleading grew weaker, and Ezra watched as she knelt on the floor and covered her face, sobbing hysterically, paralyzed with sorrow. The boys looked at her, then each other, chuckled in triumph, and walked away, tossing the doll between them as they went. Ezra looked away, trying to retain his train of thought, when something heavy and soft struck him on the side of the head.

Startled, he grabbed it; it was the rag doll. He looked up to see the group of boys standing still and watching him, and the girl, now curled up into a ball and moaning, her face in her hands.

One of the boys, a rough-looking blonde youth with angry blue eyes, stepped forward and held his hand out.

Ezra fingered the doll uncertainly; it would be very unwise to get involved in any of their juvenile disputes. He rose, and as he did so he saw the girl lift her red eyes to the bundle in his hands.

"My baby," she groaned softly, as if she were in great pain.

Ezra looked at the doll in surprise, then to her. He was struck by the expression on her face, a mixture of mindless terror and urgent longing. Against his will, he found himself greatly pitying her.

"Well, boys," he said calmly. "I believe this child's had enough exercise for today, don't you?"

They didn't move. Keeping his eye on them, Ezra slowly walked to the girl and handed her the crumpled doll.

"Here you are, my d-"

Before he could finish she reached out and fiercely snatched the doll from his grasp, hugging it to her with ferocious protectiveness as she leapt up and sped into the corner he had just vacated. A little bewildered, Ezra looked after her, then turned to the group of boys. The guard was approaching them now, frowning.

"Causin' trouble, Standish?" he snarled.

"Oh, no," Ezra assured him. "Simply overseeing a custody dispute."

"Uh huh." The guard pushed the boys away and gave a few of them some choice blows with the club. "C'mon, fun's over."

Ezra watched them leave and sighed, rubbing his eyes and wincing at they smarted at the dirt on his hands. He wandered back to the wall and sat down again, very weary but still determined.

Suddenly he felt eyes on him, and turning saw the girl staring at him. He smiled a bit. She said nothing, simply looked at him with her huge blue eyes, her breath coming in uneven gasps as if she was on the verge of a violent crying fit. After a few moments of no response, he looked away.

"Robert?"

The voice was small, the word no more than a frightened whisper, and as Ezra turned his head to locate the sound's source he was not even sure that he had heard anything. He looked back at the young woman, who was still staring steadily at him with her huge blue eyes.

He frowned. "Excuse me?"

She continued to fix him with her desperate gaze. A small smile crawled onto her lips. "Robert, my darling, I'm so glad to see you. Have you forgiven me?"

She thinks I'm someone she knows, Ezra thought awkwardly. He liked his lips. "No, my dear, I'm not-"

The woman choked a bit and drew back, feverishly clutching the rag doll as she watched Ezra with anguished eyes. "I knew it," she gasped, her words tumbling out in frantic, mumbled spurts. "You'll never be able to forgive me, will you, Robert? Helen's gone, and I was her mother, and there must have been something I could have done, though the doctor said there wasn't but I know he was wrong. I must have sinned or done something wrong, and God punished me for it by taking Helen. I would have done anything for your forgiveness, anything. Why did you leave me, I didn't even get to ask you...I'm sorry, Robert, I'm so sorry..."

Her voice trailed off into miserable, sobbing whimpers as Ezra watched her rock the rag doll, stroking it with her hand and staring into space as the tears streamed down her wasted cheeks. She was ignoring him completely now.

Ezra kept his distance, uncertain how to react. He felt a surge of pity for the poor creature, but struggled to push it back; if he got to feeling sorry for every sad case in the asylum, he would soon be swallowed up in sorrow.

"Thank you for saving my baby."

The words were said softly and with great timidity, but Ezra heard them. He looked over to the girl, certain that she had been the speaker. She had recovered, and was eying him with clear eyes now, her earlier tears still glistening on her cheeks. He smiled a little.

"You're quite welcome, my dear," he said.

She crept towards him a little, still clutching the doll. "I'm Madeline."

Ezra nodded. "Ezra Standish."

She made a face. "That's a funny name, Ezra."

He laughed slightly. "I have several others I also go by, if you prefer."

She laughed too, although it sounded more like an imitation of him than anything else. "We have other people here like that, with lots of names. They're one person, but different people, all at once."

"Oh-" Ezra swallowed. "Well, I assure you, I'm not one of those."

She looked puzzled. "Then why would you have other names?"

"It's very complicated," he said patiently.

She considered this a moment, then shrugged and held out her doll. "This is Helen. She's six months old."

Ezra glanced at the rags. "Yes. Charming child."

"She's so grateful you rescued her," Madeline went on, hugging the doll to her again. "You knew, didn't you?"

Ezra looked at her, puzzled. "Knew what, my dear?"

"That she wanted to be with me again," the girl replied. "She was just telling me that you knew all about how she couldn't bear to be away from me another second. It's in your eyes, she said."

He started, suddenly overwhelmed by a recollection; the feeling from his nightmare, searching for someone while caught in a terrifying situation. Mingled with it were memories of himself, as a child, watching his mother leave him time and again, with relatives who didn't care. Yes, he knew what it felt like, to be a child wanting its mother. Madeline was fairly perceptive, he realized, even if she was insane.

Ezra looked at her and tried to smile. "She's a remarkably talkative child for six months."

Madeline smiled proudly and resumed cuddling the doll, obliviously happy even while the tears from her recent trauma were wet on her cheeks. Ezra found himself gazing at her, envious of the obvious love she had for the baby, even if it was all imaginary and she was mad.

He shook himself fiercely; what the hell was he doing? He jumped up and quickly walked away from the girl, determined not to get mired in sentimentality. He could not get emotionally connected with any of these people, it would only hurt his chances of escape.

He looked around at the guards. There were four, wandering around the huge room, dispensing kicks and punches seemingly at random. he took a closer look at their weaponry. In addition to the rifle each man had a smaller gun worn in a holster.

As he stood thinking, Ezra quickly formulated a plan.

The fat guard noticed Ezra staring at him and made his way over to him, scowling. "Somp'n on yer mind, Standish?"

Ezra sighed. "Oh, no, I was just wondering-your boss must make a great deal of money off this little operation he's running."

"Guess he is," was the sullen reply, as the man's eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"So money talks with him, is that it?" Ezra continued, eyes wide with curiosity.

The man laughed. "Talks everywhere, don't it?"

Ezra joined in the laughter. "Indeed it does-we must have learned the same hard lessons in life, my friend. Now-" Ezra stepped closer and began to speak in a confidential tone, "-since I have so unfortunately lost my cover, I am interested in cutting a deal with your warden, Mr.- Branford, was it?"

The guard looked at him and began to laugh uproariously. "Real funny, Standish, that's reeeeeal funny. Like the boss would do anything to help scum like you."

Ezra smiled. "For the kind of money I'm able to offer, I imagine Mr. Branford would be quite willing to assist any scum-even myself."

The other man snorted. "I was there, ya only got $400. The boss wouldn't wipe his nose on that."

"Ah," Ezra said, steeping a little closer, "but that was in truth only a trifle of my fortune. It's not the sort of information I give out lightly, and I do this quite reluctantly, but the situation demands it. In fact, I have funds hidden which would total-well, let's just say it's more than $400. Would your 'boss' find that a bit more interesting?"

The fat man thought a bit, then nodded. He seemed to be trying to tell if Ezra was bluffing. "Yeah, I guess, sure he would. What sort of deal you talkin'?"

Ezra shrugged. "My freedom is worth more to me than this failed mission, and your operation here is quite intriguing to me. You'd be surprised how little lawkeeping pays these days."

"Uh huh," was the dull reply.

"Truth is, I have information I'm willing to sell concerning what my colleagues are planning to do should I and my associate fail to return. I will gladly divulge this information to Mr. Branford, along with my money, in exchange for an opportunity to join your lucrative organization. I have ideas which would ensure this institution's moneymaking success for decades to come."

The guard eyed him. "Y'mean, you're sellin' out the men who sent you?"

"Handsomely, yes," was Ezra's smiling reply.

"We could just beat that information outta ya, ya know," the guard reminded him.

Ezra shrugged. "I'm sure, but then you wouldn't get the money. And just think how disappointed that would make your boss."

"He would be pretty mad," his companion admitted. "Say, though-doesn't that Maxwell creep want to kill you?"

Ezra laughed. "For the type of money I can offer, I'm sure he'll gladly accept the situation. Now would it be possible to see Mr. Branford?"

The fat guard fidgeted. "He's busy whippin' the violents."

"I am sure he won't mind being bothered for this, my friend," Ezra said smoothly. "We are talking a vast amount of money, here. He'll doubtless reward you for bringing this to his attention so soon."

The other man pursed his lips and looked at his pocket watch. "Well...he's almost done. C'mon, we'll wait out in the hall. An' don't try nothin' or I'll bash your skull in."

"And miss the opportunity of working with such fine individuals as yourself?" Ezra protested. "I wouldn't dream of it. Lead on."


They stepped out into the hall. Ezra glanced quickly up and down the expanse; no other guards in sight. They must all be helping Branford, Ezra surmised. He looked back at the guard, and with deft swiftness he reached out and smoothly lifted the gun from the man's holster.

"OK," the guard said as he locked up the door again. "Now you just-"

His sentence was cut short as Ezra soundly clubbed him over the head with the butt of the pistol. As the man slumped to the floor, Ezra grabbed him, groaning softly under the man's weight as he tried to keep him from hitting the floor and making noise. Carefully Ezra lowered the man to the floor, then he stepped away quickly and contemplated his position, his heart hammering in his ears.

There were guards outside the front door; that was no good. Perhaps there was a side entrance or door, or an unguarded window he could slip out of. He quickly checked the chamber of his gun-it was fully loaded, of course-and made his way swiftly up the hallway.

He turned the corner and saw a huge, closed wooden door, which he recognized as Branford's office. That would be perfect; the man was still busy elsewhere, perhaps he could escape through one of the windows there. He went up to the door and tried it, not surprised to find it locked. Ezra's hands went swiftly to the wooden doorframe, and he soon found what he was looking for: a loose nail. Prying it from the woodwork, he quickly inserted it into the lock and within moments had picked it open.

Thank you, Mother, for teaching me the fine ways of thievery, he thought as he pocketed the nail and slipped into the office. It was dark inside, but Ezra ignored everything but the windows; as he suspected, they were not barred and covered with wire as the others were. Moving quickly to one he unlocked it and silently slid it open. Leaning out a little, he saw it was a one-story drop to the ground. Damn, he gulped, but he had to move, they doubtless had realized his ruse by now. Climbing out of the window, he leapt to the ground.