SMARMSLUT QUEEN: Ah! Hello, and welcome to this week's installation of our story. We see that many of you have tried to guess our identities. Some of you have made some very good guesses! We're flattered to see all of the very talented authors you've connected our work to!

MASTER: And there have even been a few guesses which were right!

ADEPT: Yeah, we really got to hand it to-

QUEEN: *bop* Don't tell them yet who guessed right!

ADEPT: Ow! My dose!

QUEEN: When this story is over we'll be notifying the correct guessers. In the meantime, please enjoy this week's chapter!

ADEPT: Dat ittle greep boke by dose!

MASTER: Oh stop whining! You think that's bad? Just take a look at what happens to Ezra this time around!!

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Ashes of the Mind, pt 6
by the Smarm Sluts

Ezra took one last look around as he finished his inspection, trying to hide his disappointment that nothing out of the ordinary had turned up. If there were escaped criminals here, they must be in another part of the building, and getting access to it would be damn tricky.

He motioned to JD and shivered as his gaze swept the room again. Despite his warning words to JD, Ezra felt himself becoming affected by this place as well. It was so dark here, so close, so overhanging with a sense of hopelessness and despair.

An odd feeling was pressing at Ezra's heart, one he recognized immediately: it was the same strangling sensation he experienced whenever he had that horrible, inexplicable nightmare, only now he was wide awake and there was no escape from it.

Ezra took a deep breath, trying to collect himself; it would be just his luck to finally rid himself of that nightmare only to endure new ones from the sights he'd seen here. If he didn't steel himself, he'd never get a good night's rest again. By the time JD had picked his way to where Ezra was standing, Ezra had succeeded in calming himself; but the odd, strangling sensation lingered. He tried to ignore it.

JD came up, still a little pale. "Nothing to report, sir."

The other man nodded. "Let's go see if we can get into any other areas of the building," he said in a low voice. "I definitely feel this Branford is hiding something."

They stepped out into the hallway, greeting Branford as he and the guards came down the corridor.

"Finished, gentlemen?" their host inquired, smiling in a congenial manner.

"Yes, thank you," Ezra replied, his tone dry and official and completely Northern. "We're ready to continue our tour."

He was ready to hear Branford say that there was nothing else to see, or that the rest of the facility was closed off; but instead, the man simply extended his arm down the hallway and continued to smile.

"Certainly, gentlemen. This way."

Ezra paused, feeling suddenly very uneasy; after a moment he followed, making sure to keep his back clear.

They walked down the hall, through a large door and down a narrow flight of stairs. After going about halfway down Ezra suddenly stopped; his instincts were on fire. Something wasn't right.

"Mr. Branford?"

The other men were at the bottom of the stairs; they turned and looked at him expectantly.

Ezra was checking his pocket watch and casually put it back in his pocket.

"This looks as if it will take some time, and I fear we must end our session for today. Mr. Stowe and I will discuss our findings and report back to you tomorrow."

Branford's eyes darted a bit, but he nodded smoothly. "Very well."

JD was confused, but followed Ezra's lead as they backed up the stairs. The gambler's expression was perfectly calm, but his green eyes were full of suspicion.

They emerged into the hallway once again and began to walk quickly towards the door. JD looked at Ezra, a question on his lips, and received a severe warning look: Don't.

They were almost to the door when six rifle-toting guards appeared from the other end of the hallway and blocked their way. The two men stopped, JD itching to pull out his Colt.

"Excuse me, gentlemen," Ezra said politely, although his heart was pounding, "we really must go."

"I beg to differ, I'm afraid, Mr. Standish."

Ezra tried not to jump, and smoothly turned to see Branford and six more guards coming towards them.

He laughed. "I'm sorry?"

"Well, it appears," Branford said in a conversational tone as he folded his arms, "that you're not a government official at all. That you're a lawman by the name of Ezra Standish."

JD gulped but stayed calm, sizing up the odds. Ezra laughed again, shaking his head.

"I assure you, sir, this is utter nonsense. I have my credentials right here-"

Branford smiled. "How kind of you to try and provide proof for your lie. Allow me to provide proof of the truth."

He stepped aside, and Ezra saw someone coming up the hallway, a tall figure, thin but powerfully built. The darkness made it indistinct at first, but as it neared Ezra felt himself go ice cold.

"Hey there, Standish," Jed Maxwell said in a low, angry voice. "Bet you thought you'd seen the last of me."

For an instant Ezra was seized with terror. Everything rushed back into his mind, the wounds he had suffered at Jed's hands, the horrible sight of Jed laughing as one of his men burned to death at Jed's feet, all mingled with the shattered scenes of Ezra's nightmare, the twin agony of burning and drowning overwhelming him.

But the silence lasted only for a moment, then Ezra fought down his fear, straightened his coat and looked merely perturbed.

"I assure you you're mistaken," Ezra insisted. "And I must strongly protest this shabby-"

Jed leapt forward and with lightning swiftness crashed his fist across Ezra's jaw, sending the gambler reeling backwards. As he staggered Jed grabbed his right arm and wrenched it outwards; with a solid click the hidden Derringer sprang into view, and it was quickly torn from Ezra's grasp.

"Bet it's been a while since they gave these to Federal inspectors, huh?" Jed cried angrily, throwing Ezra to the ground.

JD went for his Colt but was swiftly overpowered and disarmed. Ezra got to his feet, rubbing his sore jaw and glaring at Jed.

"Mr. Branford," he panted, still in character, "are you aware that this man is a wanted criminal?"

"Of course, sir," Branford replied smoothly. "I'm pleased to say that Mr. Maxwell was a good deal more honest about his identity than you were, and therefore he has earned my trust. He tells me you're a lawman working for the Yankee government, and the evidence seems to point in that direction."

Silence fell for a moment; the hallway seemed to turn deadly cold.

Finally Ezra cleared his throat and spoke, the Northern accent gone now. "My assistant knows nothing of this. Let him go."

JD started a bit, but knew enough not to look at Ezra. But both Branford and Jed simply laughed.

"Nice try, Standish," Branford said, "but even if that's true I'm hardly going to release him. I have far too much at stake to risk being discovered. Fortunately in this region there are myriad ways for a man to die a perfectly natural-looking death." He looked back at the guards and nodded; one of them grabbed JD, who responded by throwing a punch. The result was several of the armed men descending on the young man, using their fists and rifle butts to put an end to JD's feistiness.

Through it all, Ezra's mind was working furiously; there was a way out of this, there had to be. He turned to Branford and Jed.

"All right, you've got me. But he wasn't part of this. I'm willing to cut any deal to allow his release."

Jed laughed. "Damn noble of you, Standish, I wondered if you'd pull that old 'do what you want with me' trick. But I'll tell you what. We'll do what we want with you AND get rid of the kid, how does that sound?"

"Look," Ezra replied, licking his lips, "be reasonable-you can gain nothing in this boy's death-"

"You're wrong there, Standish," was Jed's cold reply. "See, not only is he one of your Goddamned group who destroyed my gang, but I got plans for you, an' killin' him is only the beginnin'. But cheer up-you'll have at least a few days to be alive an' think on the fact that he's dead cause of you."

Ezra heard JD gasp a bit, but when he looked at the young man he saw JD had adopted an expression of defiance. But he'd been badly bruised; blood was coming from his nose, and one eye was swelling shut. He wouldn't last long in a fight, and they both knew it.

Ezra looked back at his two adversaries. "Listen, gentlemen-I have a private fund of $400 which I will gladly relinquish to you in exchange for this man's safe release."

Jed seemed to get nervous and looked at Branford; but the warden was staring at Ezra with such burning hatred that the criminal relaxed. With slow steps Branford approached Ezra, his face becoming increasingly agitated.

"Sir, your attempt at a bribe is admirable, and in most circumstances I would accept it. But-do I detect the tones of our fair South in your speech?"

Ezra blinked and said nothing, wondering if he knew Branford or something.

"During the war," the other man continued, his voice becoming rough with rage, "the damned Yankees burned my home to the ground and forever separated me from my sainted wife. I might have accepted your money at one time, sir, but for any son of the South who would work for the vile Yankee race, I have nothing but unutterable loathing and contempt."

With that he grabbed Ezra and threw him against the wall, slamming his fist into his stomach in blind fury. The gambler made an attempt to defend himself but swiftly grew so breathless and stunned that when Branford grabbed his collar and peered into his face, the warden's grip was the only thing holding Ezra upright.

"You, sir," Branford finally gasped, his black hair falling into his scorching eyes, "are a damned traitor to our homeland, and I will do nothing to prevent Mr. Maxwell from sending you and your Yankee assistant straight to the Hell you so richly deserve."

He stared at Ezra for a second in a half-mad glare, then looked at the guards holding JD and nodded. Ezra heard a commotion behind him. Turning, he saw to his horror that JD was being dragged down the hall, still struggling ineffectually against the men holding him.

Ezra stood motionless in anguish, a million thoughts coursing through his mind, and a growing rage at his own helplessness boiling through his soul. There had to be something he could do, and he tore himself from Branford's grasp and lunged forward after JD; but he had gone only a few feet when he was thrown to the ground and showered with punches and kicks. The guards were obviously well-practiced in their craft, and by the time they backed away the gambler's face and clothes were spotted with blood. Trying to catch his breath, Ezra painfully lifted his head; he saw JD looking at him as they rounded the corner. Then he was gone.

He was still staring after his young friend when Jed's huge hand closed on his collar and hauled him to his feet. The man's ugly face was less than four inches from Ezra's, and there was a burning rage in his eyes.

"You cost me everything, you bastard," the felon hissed, shaking Ezra in rage. "I've thought of nothin' but gettin' my hands on you since I went on the run, an' now God's dumped you right in my lap."

He gave a small, anticipatory grin, then heaved Ezra at the two guards behind him. Battered and dazed, Ezra had little strength with which to struggle as they grabbed him and began to drag him away, towards the darker end of the hallway and a large iron door which loomed at the end of it.

"This is lunacy, Maxwell," he groaned, trying to free himself from his captors' grasps. Jed only chuckled.

"Damn appropriate place for it, eh, Standish?" was the cheerful reply.

"You must know you won't get away with this," Ezra gasped, still struggling, as they stopped to unlock the door. "We're bound to be missed."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that," Branford said casually, picking through the keys on his large silver ring. "If anyone comes looking for you, we'll merely say you never arrived. This is a large, unmapped wilderness. Plenty of places for accidents and people to disappear, as your young friend is finding out now."

There was a pause, during which Ezra seemed to be contemplating the warden's words. Then his struggles began anew as he tried to wrench himself free from his captors' grip. But pain and exhaustion had weakened his efforts. Annoyed, Branford sighed and gave a glaring nod to one of the guards. The burly man smiled and slammed the butt of his rifle between Ezra's shoulder blades with a considerable force.

Ezra cried out as he staggered beneath the blow, pain exploding through every part of his body as he sagged, stunned, in the guards' grasp. Branford and Jed exchanged glances and chuckled.

Ezra tried to pull himself upright, his mind spinning; this was a nightmare, his nightmare coming to life. He swallowed, his throat painfully dry.

"JD-", he gasped, afraid to ask further. Jed laughed out loud.

"Don't you worry about him, Standish, he'll be dead soon enough. Save your worry for yourself. You're gonna need it."

The huge door was unlocked and opened; the group went through and the door was pulled shut once more, the booming echo of its closure rolling down the empty hallway to finally die away in silence.