SMARMSLUT QUEEN: Hello again, friends. Just a short greeting here, as
I'm sure you're all anxious to find out how Ezra's doing. I'd just like
to assure everyone that things are under control now, and my fellow Smarm
Sluts have learned their lesson about stealing my Halloween candy from my
office. They'll rejoin us next time-assuming they can figure out how to
pick the lock on the basement door. Now on with our story!
**************
Ashes of the Mind, pt 12
by the Smarm Sluts
Ezra hit the ground with a solid OOF! but fortunately years of having to
extricate himself from tricky spots had taught him how to leap from high
windows without too much damage. He straightened, brushing himself off and
looking around; he was on the south side of the building, in shadow. The
perimeter of the compound was not far away, and he could see a small opening
in the wall directly in front of him, closed by a gate that didn't appear
to be locked...
BANG!
Ezra gasped in shock as a bullet whizzed past his face. He whipped
his head around to see three guards running towards him from around the
corner of the building.
Damn! He looked around, then to the small opening in the gate. It was his
only chance.
Taking off at as fast a speed as his exhaustion would allow, Ezra sprinted
for the gate, trying to ignore the bullets now flying all around him. He
reached the gate and tried it, only to find it locked. Spurred by desperation,
he hiked himself up and climbed over the rusted metal, paying no heed to
the scratches and cuts he received from its sharp edges.
He dropped to the ground on the other side and quickly regained his feet;
they were almost on top of him, but the gate would slow them down. Ezra
turned and took a quick stock of the terrain. A large pit lay before him,
with the rocky terrain of the open desert beyond it. He quickly began to
run along its perimeter, stumbling on the large, loose rocks which littered
the ground. His exhausted body screamed in protest, but he pushed it on.
A rushing noise caught his ear, a loud sound of flapping wings and terrible
squawking. Ezra glanced into the pit for the source of the noise, and stopped,
horrified.
Several vultures were hovering in and around the pit, fighting each other
and bickering in their ugly voices. Hovering around a bloated, dark-haired
body, barely discernible through the crowd of birds as they picked at its
flesh and tore its clothing. A crumpled bowler hat lay nearby.
Ezra felt as if someone had torn his guts out. The body was some distance
away and he couldn't clearly make it out, but it looked like...
"JD", he whispered in a choked, mournful voice. No, he wasn't
going to accept that-
Another gunshot, then several, the bullets spraying the dusty ground around
him. He stumbled and began running again, encouraged by the freedom which
lay beyond the sun-baked rocks and eager to put the haunting image out of
his mind. His foot struck another rock; he went down one more time, and
they were on him. He fought back furiously, firing his gun twice; but the
weapon was soon wrestled from his grasp and tossed away.
A fist crashed across Ezra's jaw, snapping his head back. Then another,
and soon a rain of kicks and blows were showered on him, viciously driven
into his side, his stomach, his arms and legs, his head. Sharp, burning
pain erupted with each blow, and by the time they stopped Ezra had been
thoroughly subdued.
"Nice try, Standish," one of the guards snarled as they wrenched
his arms behind his back and handcuffed his wrists together. "Just
so you know, if Maxwell hadn't wanted you alive so bad, you'd be dead right
now."
"My gratitude to him is boundless, I'm sure," Ezra gasped as they
pulled him to his feet. He wobbled unsteadily, the escape attempt and beating
having sapped most of his strength. Every bone and muscle ached, and he
felt certain that at least a rib or two had been broken in the assault.
Adding to his misery was an overwhelming anguish-what if that was JD-
"We better get him back inside fast," another said fretfully.
"If Branford finds out about this-"
"Let's go, then," was the rough reply, and Ezra was hauled back
along the pit's edge towards the gate.
"Yeah, if it wasn't for Jed you'd probably be in there," one of
the guards said casually, grabbing Ezra's head and forcing his gaze to the
pit. "That's where we like to throw our less cooperative inmates."
"Like that dark-haired little shit that got it last night," one
of the other guards laughed. "Look, you can see his body right there.
Buzzards are havin' a feast."
Ezra swallowed and turned away, too sickened to even look. He didn't want
to look and know that it was JD.
The first guard joined in the merriment; they both knew that the corpse
was really their hapless fellow guard, but they were enjoying Ezra's suffering
too much to stop now. "Oh, yeah, look at 'em go. They got the face
off already, heh. They should've let us watch 'im die. Bet you've never
seen a hundred scorpions sting a man to death, have you, Standish?"
Ezra brought his head up and stared at the laughing men in open hatred.
How dare they mock the death of someone as brave as JD. He struggled in
their grasp, desperate to get in at least one good kick.
"Hey, hey, enough of that!" one of the guards growled, grabbing
Ezra by the hair tightly and wrenching his head around. "Wanna end
up like that kid?"
With a rough twist the guard forced Ezra's gaze towards the pit.
Ezra could only make out a blur, a dark shape obscured by the bobbing, writhing
flock of the feasting carrion birds. He felt the bile rise in his throat
and he screwed his eyes shut against the sight, unable to suppress a choking
moan of horror. Please, God, don't let that be JD.
"Heh, that's better," the guard chuckled, pushing Ezra away. "Although
y'know, the boss likes it when folks got a little fight in 'em. Makes it
more fun that way."
They dragged him through the gate and back towards the asylum.
Ezra was half-aware of being dragged back inside; his mind was too busy
reassessing his dismal situation. The metallic restraints were cold and
chafing against his wrists, and his limbs ached with fatigue and soreness
from the punches and kicks. Blood spattered his mouth and clothes, mingling
with the stains from the day before. He could never try to escape again
in this condition, but he did not want to think what the alternative was.
He felt himself being dropped on the floor again; opening his eyes, he saw
that he was back in the non-violent's ward. The door was shut and locked
again, the sound thundering in Ezra's ears. He swallowed, unable to accept
the fact that he was now irrevocably trapped.
Ezra found the same image returning to his mind over and over, the nightmare
scene in the pit, the vultures floating around a body that looked like...
but no, Ezra firmly told himself, he wouldn't let himself think that that
was JD's body he saw. It could have been anyone's body. But Ezra found himself
drowning in doubt; if it could be anyone's body it could also have been
JD's. The scene refused to leave him, hanging over his mind like the carrion
birds which inhabited it. JD was probably dead, and Ezra was responsible.
He closed his eyes, trying to push away the burning guilt clawing at his
soul. A plan was needed, but nothing was coming, except the realization
that unless a miracle happened, he was most likely about to be tortured
to death. That is, if he was lucky enough for them to let him die.
He felt a cold finger touch his face and he jumped, letting out an involuntary
cry of surprise as he jumped back. He found himself staring into the wide
blue eyes of Madeline, who drew back a bit.
"I'm sorry," she said in a small voice. "Helen thought you
might need some help. You're hurt."
Ezra stared at her, shaken, knowing that he was covered with blood and bruises.
Then, slowly, he nodded.
"Yes, my dear," he said softly, "I fear I may need some help.
My situation does not look good at this point."
"Ooooh," she said in sympathy. Then she held out her hand with
hesitation. "I was trying to help you the way I do when Helen's sad.
It seems to calm her so well. May I? She says you need a friend."
Ezra looked at her, speechless for a moment. He was trying to think of a
reply when a violent wave of dizziness and nausea swept over him. His entire
body pounded with pain, and he forgot everything as he doubled up on the
floor, gritting his teeth to avoid crying out. They were not going to get
that satisfaction.
Then he felt it: cool fingertips softly stroking his face. As the pain ebbed,
Ezra opened his eyes to see Madeline gazing at him tenderly as she ran her
hand over his bruised cheek.
She smiled. "Better?"
He took a deep breath. "Yes," he whispered, amazed at how soothing
the touch felt. It was such a simple act, but one which Ezra had rarely
experienced in his life; even his mother had taught him to deal directly
with pain rather than expect comforting hugs or kisses. Trapped and suffering,
Ezra found himself eagerly accepting the kindness, and to his surprise the
emotional connection brought a sense of release. The pain subsided, although
a dull ache still remained. He closed his eyes, trying to focus on the soft
caress, drinking in the unexpected strength it seemed to give him.
Madeline's shriek startled him, and he jerked his eyes open; had he fallen
asleep? A foot was driven viciously into his side and he cried out, unable
to stop himself. When his vision cleared, he saw Madeline cowering in the
corner, hugging the doll to her and watching him with huge, tear-filled
eyes. Ezra didn't even have to look up to know who had kicked him, but he
did anyway.
"Heard you took a little trip today, Standish," Jed Maxwell sneered
down at the helpless Southerner. "Damn gutsy of you, but damn stupid
too."
"Although I must say," Branford's voice said, and Ezra saw the
warden standing behind Jed, his arms folded, "that noone has ever gotten
as far as Mr. Standish. Very impressive."
Ezra smiled a little. "I appreciate your adulation," he gasped.
"I will happily provide a repeat performance, if you like."
Branford smiled. "Not possible, I'm afraid, as the guard who so stupidly
assisted you has, ah, been made an example of. The violents should be about
finished with him by now, so I think we can proceed."
Jed grinned and hauled Ezra to his feet by the collar, pulling him up so
that their faces almost touched. Ezra steeled himself, determined to hold
out. Even if he wasn't rescued, he was not going to give this bastard the
satisfaction of seeing Ezra Standish break. But what Jed said next caused
a chill to course through him.
"I think you've had enough of Purgatory, Standish," he growled.
"Now I'm gonna take you to Hell."