MYSTERY VOICE: Due to circumstances beyond our control, the Smarm Sluts are unable to introduce this installment of their story. We apologize for any inconvenience this may cause. The Smarm Sluts will rejoin us at an as yet undetermined future date, if they ever figure out how to get themselves out of the boiler room. That'll teach 'em to lock me in the closet...Well, anyway, here's the next part of the story. If anyone needs me I'll be rifling the offices for chocolate. Bye!

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Ashes of the Mind, pt 18
by the Smarm Sluts

The saloon was quiet in the nighttime darkness; the only sounds were the soft clinking and rustling as the bored barkeep cleaned the glasses at the bar, and the quiet mutterings of the small crowd in the back corner. It was a few hours til the closing time of midnight, and other than the crowd, there were only a few drunken citizens slouched in various stages of inebriation scattered about the room. Nobody was paying any attention to anyone else, which suited the huddled group just fine.

"There's a door here," JD was saying softly, pointing to a spot on the map they'd drawn. The five men and one woman gathered around him peered at the white piece of paper solemnly, listening carefully as the young man described the layout of the asylum.

"There were guards here, here an' here," he continued, making soft thumps with his finger as he indicated each spot. "About eight altogether, I guess. They were all armed with rifles."

"Eight men, even armed, won't be able to withstand a troop of Union soldiers," the Judge observed dryly as he stroked his chin and peered over his glasses at the paper.

Vin glanced at him. "You really think they'll send us some help, Judge?"

"I made sure of it," Travis said in a low, proud voice. "What Branford's doing is in violation of Federal law, and I have the authority to use any means necessary to stop him and apprehend the fugitive criminals. When we go in, we'll have two hundred Federal soldiers to back us up."

he paused, took off his glasses and looked at Maude, who had been watching the discussion silently. "Madame, you mentioned earlier that you might be able to facilitate our plan. I'd be most interested in hearing what you have in mind."

Maude leaned forward, her eyes deadly serious. "It sounds like my poor boy's in enough trouble already. If y'all go in there with guns blazin', they're liable to just kill him on the spot. You need someone on the inside who can get you in the back way quietly."

"An' that would be you," Chris said flatly, eying her with a stern expression.

She gave him a cold smile. "Precisely, Mr. Larabee. In my profession one learns all sorts of useful information, includin' the best places to hide out when things get, shall we say, uncomfortable. I never used any of this knowledge, of course-" here she fidgeted slightly-"but I heard it, nonetheless. I know exactly how to get into that place, and can easily persuade Mr. Branford to get me near enough to that gate to open it. Your men will then enter."

JD swallowed. "That place is awfully dangerous, Mrs. Standish. You sure you wanna go in there?"

She turned somber eyes to him. "My dear Mr. Dunne, Ezra is in very serious trouble, as you well know. I refuse to leave his rescue in any but the most capable hands, including mine. I will risk whatever it takes to ensure his release. He's all I have."

The other men nodded. Even Chris looked appreciative.

"Very well," Judge Travis coughed, sitting up. "Mrs. Standish, you will proceed tomorrow at 4:00. We will follow and be ready for your signal behind the building."

She nodded, her expression serious.

"We best get some sleep," Nathan said, standing up. "Tomorrow's gonna be a long day."

They all rose. Chris slapped Buck on the shoulder.

"You an' JD be careful gettin' to your room, we don't need any of Branford's goons spottin' 'im."

Buck nodded. "Right."

JD looked mildly annoyed, but said nothing, understanding the severity of the situation.

He felt a gentle touch at his shoulder."Mr. Dunne?"

JD turned to find himself looking into Maude's worried eyes.. "Yes, Mrs. Standish?"

She took his arm and gently pulled him to one side, her expression anxious. "I-I have to know, son. Really, how was Ezra when you last saw him?"

JD hesitated.

Maude squeezed his arm a little. "You don't have to sugar-coat anythin' for me, darlin'. I've seen it all. And it may surprise you to know, but I do have a mother's heart, and I need to know how my boy might be doing."

He sighed and looked her in the eyes. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Standish, it's pretty bad. He'd been pretty badly beaten up when I last saw him. Jed Maxwell an' Branford, they really seemed to hate him. I-I don't know how he'll be when we find him tomorrow, but-I think he'll probably be in pretty bad shape."

"I see," she whispered, dropping her eyes. Then she looked up. "Thank you, son. I know you've tried to help my boy, an' I do appreciate it. He will, too."

JD shook his head. "I sure hope so, ma'am. There's nothin' I want more than gettin' Ezra out of that place safe an' sound."

"Oh, we will, Mr. Dunne, we will," Maude assured him. "Branford and this Maxwell person, on the other hand, won't be so lucky."

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The guard patrolling the nonviolent ward sighed with boredom; another dull night, he thought, as his gaze wandered over the ragged, motionless throng. Most of the inmates were sleeping now; a few here and there were wandering about, but they were causing no trouble so he left them alone.

The door opened, and he swung his gaze over eagerly in the hopes of something new to attract his interest. A tall, lanky fellow guard walked halfway in the door and grinned at his comrade.

"Wait'll ya see this," the man chuckled, and he came all the way in, accompanied by another guard. Between the two of them they were supporting the limp, bruised, bloodied form of Ezra Standish.

"Jesus!" the first guard gasped, amused. "What did they do to him?"

"Just about everything," the third guard snickered. "He's been gettin' acquainted with Branford's 'guests', and boy, did they want a piece of him. Maxwell wanted to leave 'im with the violents all night but they got too rowdy-he's afraid they'll kill 'im before he gets the chance. C'mon, we can go for a cigar outside, Watkins outside can stand watch. I'll tell you all about it."

"You bet," was the impressed reply. "Just put 'im in the corner and let's go."


Ezra was jarred awake by the painful sensation of his body slamming down onto the hard, cold asylum floor. For a moment he heard only the laughter of the guards, felt only the pain and the dirty stone scraping against his bruised cheek. Nothing else in the world existed. Then the laughter faded, and he was alone.

He lay motionless for a moment, unable to think. Everything hurt, and he found himself momentarily confused, powerless to remember anything.

Then, as his sense returned, vague memories crawled across his mind, dim recollections of what had happened. Nothing was clear, and it all seemed to be mixed together. The asylum-he and JD-no, not JD, JD was dead, Ezra was certain of that now. His gut twisted with remorse. JD was dead and he had been here for several years now, suffering without being allowed to die. Maybe this was hell after all...

Other memories pounded through his feverish brain; Branford and Maxwell coming to his cell, devilish grins on their faces, dragging him away once more. A day that had lasted for years, a room full of angry, vengeful faces. Ezra could only remember a chorus of furious voices, Jed telling the demonic creatures around him that Ezra was part of Larabee's crew and they could do what they wanted to him. Dimly Ezra realized that he was in the room where the fugitive criminals were hiding; but then it had all dissolved into a churning ocean of agony. He could remember nothing more.

He tried to move a bit, thankful at least that they had untied his hands. What would be the point of leaving him bound, he thought wryly; he did not even have the strength to open his eyes, much less escape again. He could feel that his clothes were stiff with blood, his skin on fire from wounds and deep bruises. The act of slight motion was too difficult, and he remained still, trying desperately to think through the dark haze that had enveloped his mind.

Fear choked him as more scenes replayed themselves in his mind, brief but terrifying and unreal in their horror. Sheets of flame danced before him on all sides, their heat singing his skin; had that happened or was it a nightmare of his own creation? Ezra was unsure until he perceived the new searing sensations flaring from his arms, his chest, his legs. Jed must have allowed the fugitive criminals to burn him, he realized, and moaned softly to himself. What else had they done to him? The fresh wounds and tortuous pain which now assaulted told him that it was a good thing he couldn't remember the things which had occurred in that room. The only impression which remained was a blinding fear, that this would go on forever.

He could recall that there had been times when he lapsed back into his nightmare, called up by his terrified mind. That urgent feeling suffused his soul, the sensation that he was trapped in a fatal situation, desperately seeking the one person who could rescue him from it-a person whose identity remained a mystery, just as it had in his dream. Each time the odd feeling returned it became more intense, until he felt choked with its utter futility. He knew she was there somewhere if only he could find her; but the search was endless and, he now realized, hopeless.

I'm going mad, he thought simply, and was seized with dread. His mind had always been his most reliable ally and weapon, he couldn't lose it now. But it was becoming more difficult to stay focused and clear, and so much easier to retreat into a blank state of mindlessness where nothing could reach him. Ezra had found himself in that state more than once today, and it was becoming more and more difficult to rouse himself from it. Pain and fear had assaulted him on all sides, with no rest or escape in sight. He barely felt human.

Like a dream the image from the afternoon returned, a room whose walls were consumed with flames, and Ezra lying in the middle of it with Jed circling him like a predatory demon. Over the roar of the flames came Jed's voice, mocking and laughing, and although a part of Ezra's mind told him it was only a nightmare vision, he knew the words had been spoken.

"You thought you and your gunmen friends had beaten me," Jed had said as Ezra lay motionless on the floor. "Guess you know better now. Bet you're sorry you even tried. We'll always come out on top, Standish, so you might as well stop trying to lick us. Men like me, we'll always win in the end. Just like I've won over you."

Something stirred in Ezra's weary soul, something small and wounded but still alive. He tried to focus on the starlike point of light shining in the darkness. Had Jed won out over him? Using every ounce of strength, Ezra tried to fight that notion. He would not crawl before Maxwell like an animal, cowed and defeated, and he would not regret having tried to stop him. Ezra only regretted the failure, and he knew he would probably pay for that failure throughout eternity, if he wasn't paying for it already.

The thudding of blood in his ears died away, and Ezra became aware of how quiet it was. Where was he, anyway? He summoned enough strength to open his eyes, and was surprised to find himself in the nonviolent's ward. The dark windows told him that it was night. Time, however, ceased to mean anything to him; he was not even sure how long he had been at the asylum any more.

A soft whimpering sound reached Ezra's ears, and a cool touch brushed across his bruised cheek. He flinched and opened his eyes again; Madeline was bending over him, her face wrung with sorrow.

"Robert," she sobbed quietly.

Ezra gazed up at her wordlessly as she continued to gently caress his cheek with the same softness she had used before. The touch felt heavenly after all of the abuse he'd suffered, and he found himself immeasurably strengthened by it, as he had been before. It was the sort of contact that he had always brushed off before, but here, alone and about to die, he suddenly realized the power of this simple act. True, the girl was confused, but the tenderness of her touch was still given with love and concern, and Ezra could not deny that they soothed his soul beyond description. A bit of humanity still remained in him, then, in a place where Maxwell hadn't reached it. That was reassuring.

He lay motionless for a while, lulled into an odd half-consciousness as Madeline lightly stroked his face and hair . An unfamiliar sense of empathy coursed through Ezra's beaten body as he rested beneath her caress, a strange sense of connection which he had never experienced before. They were both trapped, he realized, and each reaching out for help. Ezra had never reached out to anyone before, and he found the unaccustomed emotional reaction unusually comforting.

He looked up into Madeline's eyes; she smiled at him, still lost in her delusion. Tomorrow I'll be dead, he thought idly, and this poor gentle creature will still be trapped here. Hardly a fit repayment for her kindness, he thought; she should not be left to rot in her mad guilt forever.

He thought for a moment, then took a breath. "My dear?" he whispered, appalled at how hoarse and weak his voice sounded.

"Yes, Robert?" was the soft reply as she bent closer.

"I.." he grit his teeth as pain shot through his body, and waited for it to pass. "I will soon be leaving again, Madeline."

"Oh," she gasped, stricken, and picked up one of his bloodied hands and kissed it fervently. He winced at the pain.

"I want to repay your kindness to me," he finally said, when he had breath enough to continue. "Now, I am your husband, correct?"

She laughed a little. "Of course you are."

"Then you must listen to me," Ezra said softly, trying to form the words. "You must cease blaming yourself for the death of our child, as I have. Do you understand?"

She stared at him blankly. Finally she said in a still whisper, "Are you saying...you forgive me for the death of our child, Robert?"

Despite the pain, Ezra could not help but smile at the joy dawning in her eyes. "Yes, my dear, precisely. Your husband forgives you."

Madeline gasped and grabbed Ezra's hand again, kissing it even more violently than before as sobs poured from her body.

"Oh, Robert," she murmured through her tears, "if you only knew how happy that makes me! I've prayed for your forgiveness..."

"Yes, my dear, I know," Ezra said gently, trying not to cry out from the pain caused by the jostling of his hand. "And you must promise to always remember, you are not to blame yourself. You suffer enough without having to suffer from that as well."

She smiled and leaned down, gently kissing Ezra's cheek, wetting the battered flesh with her tears. "Thank you, Robert. Thank you."

"You deserve it, Madeline," Ezra replied, fighting down a sense of fear as his head began to spin. "You have been most kind...to someone who sorely needed it."

She smiled again and sat back, and Ezra could see through the window behind her that dawn was breaking. A new thought occurred to him.

"Madeline?"

She leaned towards him once more, expectantly.

He licked his lips. "I-may not see you again. Will you remember to do something, if I ask you?"

"Anything," she replied firmly, taking his hand.

"Do you remember a man you met recently, named Ezra?"

Madeline giggled. "Oh yes, I love that name! It's so lovely and old-fashioned!"

Ezra took a deep breath. "Some day, some men may come here looking for him. One may be dressed in black, or wear buckskin. They will ask for Ezra Standish."

She nodded.

He took a deep breath. "Tell them...he was sorry he failed. And that he was proud to ride with them. Will you do that for me?"

"For you, my darling Robert, anything," was the firm reply, and she kissed him again.

Ezra breathed a sigh of relief, which was cut short by the opening of the ward door. Jed strode in, looking particularly pleased, and began to pick his way through the drowsing inmates towards Ezra.

Ezra fought down the dread rising in his throat and kissed her hand one last time. He could already feel the mindless terror coming to seize his mind again, and fought it back as hard as he could.

"I know Ezra would thank you, my dear," he said quickly, and steeled himself for whatever lay ahead.

To be continued...