MYSTERY VOICE: Hello once again, and welcome to the
next part of our story. I'd, uh, I'd just like to
assure you all that the situation here is under
control, and there's no chance that those mischievous
Smarmsluts getting out of the closet I locked them in.
I will thus be able to present you with the rest of
this story without any troublesome interruptions.
Thank you.
(Sound of screwdriver being worked on the hinges of
the closet)
******************
Ashes of the Mind, pt 22
by the Smarm Sluts
Disclaimer: See pt 1
Lem watched nervously as the other criminals ran
around the room, gathering weapons and swearing
loudly. They could all hear the gunshots and knew
something was happening, but they also knew that they
were trapped. The only way out of the underground
room led right into where the shots were coming from.
"They ain't takin' us alive!" one of the criminals
cried.
Lem's eyes widened; he did not like the sound of
that. "Look, don't be a bunch of dang fools!" he
cried, trying to calm the waters. "Jail's gotta be
better'n gettin' shot!"
"For a coward like you, maybe," said the sullen
youth, hastily loading his gun. "I'd rather go out
blazin'."
The shouts and gunfire increased, its echoes
bouncing off of the hallway outside.
"Here they come!" one of the criminals cried, and
with shouts of profanity and defiance they poured out
into the hallway. Lem watched them go, terrified,
heard a thunderous explosion of bullets and the cries
turning to shrieks of pain. These quickly died away
as blue smoke drifted through the door; then through
that blue smoke stepped a black-clad demon with
blazing green eyes whose gaze swept the room until it
landed on Lem.
Lem instantly threw his hands into the air. "I give
up! Don't shoot me!" he cried, his heart pounding in
his ears. The demon glared at him, then with quick
strides came to where he knelt in the dirt and grabbed
his throat, hauling him to his feet. Lem swallowed,
certain that he was going to die. But instead of
killing him, the demon only asked him a question.
"Where," it snarled, "are Jed Maxwell and Ezra
Standish?"
Jed looked over his trembling prey and smiled. He
was winning, he had the stubborn, suave, indomitable
Southern Fancy-man cowering and gibbering at his feet.
He had won, and he hadn't even started burning
Standish yet!
Suddenly he realized the roar of loud noise
approaching the small room. Puzzled and angry, he
turned just in time to see the door fly open. Branford
stumbled in, carrying a small satchel stuffed with
papers, his appearance slightly disheveled. He slammed
the door shut.
"What the hell's going on?" Jed barked, irritated.
Branford gulped for air, shaking his head.
"Your little quest for revenge has brought the
entire Army down on this place," Branford choked.
"Standish's men came looking for him."
Jed started. "Shit!"
"Indeed," Branford said dryly. "So you'd best just
shoot the mangy devil and follow me. I-"
There was a crash from close by, and Branford
jumped. An inhuman howling filled the air, coming
from up the hallway.
"Now what?" Jed demanded, eager to begin torturing
Standish.
Branford opened the small hinged window on the steel
door and peered outside. Jed could see his face lose
a few shades of color. "The violents," he gasped.
"They've escaped from their room." he looked back at
Branford quickly. "For God's sake be done with your
business! We don't have time to wait."
Jed scowled at him. "Done, Hell! I'll take as long
as I want. They won't find us in here. I intend to
roast Standish alive. Feel free t'leave if you can't
take it."
Branford looked on in avid interest as Jed cornered
the fear-filled man in the corner of the wing. Jed
took the torch and walked maliciously towards his
prey.
Branford was all for punishing this traitor to the
South, but burning a man alive, piece by piece was a
little much even for him. But the money Jed had paid
him and the need for his own revenge allowed this to
happen.
Ezra was lost in the nightmare again. Fire, heat,
smoke, and pain all warred for attention in his abused
mind which refused to process them, and for the first
time in his life, Ezra lost all control.
Jed brought the fire closer, reveling in the fear he
saw rampantly displayed in the dull green eyes. One
last attempt to ward off the flames, an arm came up to
deflect the torch. Jed took sadistic pleasure in the
hoarse scream from his victim as he ran the fire down
the length of the arm from elbow to the back of his
hand.
"I think you have your pound of flesh." Branford
almost gagged the smell of the burning flesh. This
went beyond simple revenge into mindless torture of a
helpless individual. It was a leap even he was
unwilling to take. "Why not put the bastard out of
his misery and we can go back to enjoying life."
"What makes you think I'm not enjoying myself now?"
Jed smiled widely at the shock on Branford's face.
Jed knew this man was a weakling and deserved to be
removed from his comfy position. Jed had always
wanted to be the boss.
"You are sick." Branford recognized the maniacal
gleam in the man's eyes and tried to regain his
control of the situation. "Get out, I will shelter
you no longer!"
Jed laughed and grabbed Branford's shirt, pulling
the man off balance and towards him.
"And what if I say no?" Jed laughed and took the
torch and lighted his host on fire. The flames licked
at the wool and soon the man was covered in flames.
Shocked, Branford staggered back and screamed,
trying to beat the flames out. He crashed backwards
into the door, forcing it open. As he tumbled out into
the hallway, thrashing, the flames began to ignite the
straw spread on the stone floor.
There was a strange roar, and Branford looked up to
see the violents surrounding him, staring at him in
open hatred. he gasped and flailed, trying to run
away, knowing what the men were thinking, but the pain
and shock froze him in place. With a chorus of animal
howls the violents descended on him, clawing at his
fancy suit, now in smoldering tatters, his skin, his
hair. Branford's shrieks were soon drowned out by the
triumphal howls of the men he had gotten spent years
torturing, and in a matter of minutes they had torn
him apart.
The burning remnants of Branford's wardrobe fell
to the ground. Straw became lit and soon the whole
asylum, long in disrepair, became a bonfire.
Jed went into the hallway, determined to watch the
man who had dared to challenge him destroyed; it would
be a delight second only to watching Ezra die.The
entire world could burn down, as long as he got his
revenge. Besides, he thought, it would just give the
gambler a few more moments alone to contemplate his
coming fate. All the better.
Ezra stared at the walls of his prison. The other
inmates were fleeing the fire in terror, but Ezra was
just too damned tired and sore to do much more than
lay on the floor and stare at the approaching flames.
It was his nightmare come true, except this time he
was trapped in it forever, never to escape. No one was
coming, he knew that now, and the agonizing pain which
scorched his burned arm would soon consume his whole
being.
Everything hurt, the bruises, breaks and burns all
warred for attention in his overloaded nerves, but all
Ezra saw was the flames, they were coming for him. He
was mesmerizes by their color and shape. He knew it
was going to hurt when they found his flesh, but he
didn't care anymore. He hurt enough already, how bad
could it be?
And it was just like before, they were all leaving
him here to die.... Ezra started to let himself fade
away, the darkness that beckoned was so enticing, he
started to let his mind slip away from the pain, it
was too much.
A familiar voice shouting in anger stopped him. Who
was it? He must be hearing things. Then it came
again.
"Where is he you son of a bitch!" The voice was
hard as ice, and the tone could kill a man in its
intensity.
The answering voice laughed and sent a chill up
Ezra's spine. It was the voice of his Tormentor.
Ezra struggled to quell the terror it invoked in him.
Maybe the other would come... maybe he would kill
him.....
"He's already dead Larabee!" Jed shouted. "And so
are you!"
A gunshot sounded and Ezra flinched. The familiar
voice cried out in pain and Ezra could only lay there,
shivering. Powerless to do anything but exist in his
fear. The tormentors voice returned, filled with hate
and triumph.
"Not so powerful with a bullet in ya are ya
Larabee!" Jed snarled, aiming his gun again at the
staggering Chris. The shot had grazed his head, blood
coursed down his face, getting into his eyes.
"Still got enough to take you down" He said through
clenched teeth.
"Really?" Jed picked up a fallen timber, hefting it
in front of him. "Then come and get me! You know
your gambling friend thought he could outlast me...
but he didn't. I broke him up good!"
With a cry of rage Chris rushed Jed, both men
dropped to the floor and rolled , punching and kicking
each other in an effort to gain dominance.
Ezra listened to the fight happening not too far
from him with a detached sense of worry. What if his
friend failed? What could Ezra do? He could barely
move.....
Chris uttered a groan as Jed gained the upper hand
and used the timber to knock the younger man senseless
into the wall. Right in front of Ezra's unmoving
form. Chris was out so fast he never registered the
fact that it was Ezra on the floor.
Jed stood over his victim, not seeing Ezra was
awake, and aimed his gun right at Chris's unconscious
head. With a roar of rage, summoned from his last
reserves, Ezra bolted off the floor, knocking the gun
from Jed's hand and neatly catching it himself. Ezra
would be damned if he would let the Tormentor get his
friend! With a savagery that he didn't know he
possessed, but born of too much assault on his psyche,
Ezra snapped. All the hurt faded away into a black,
all encompassing pit, all the pain, all the terror.
The only thing that mattered was killing this man.
Ezra's world narrowed into one sight, one thought, one
purpose.
Ezra pulled the trigger.