SERPENTS: THE IN-BETWEEN


Ezra stood totally still, a stunned look on his face, as Chris swept past him. The black clad gunslinger shot a withering stare at the southerner making him believe that he was about to be chewed up and spit out. From where had all these ill feelings suddenly appeared?

He looked on as Chris and JD manhandled Liver-Eating Jones towards the jail. Had he made an error in judgment by not following the disgusting man into the outhouse or was the animosity coming his way just cause and effect because of his rather vocal opinion on what should be done with the money? Ezra shook his head. He wasn't sure anymore.

His friends didn't trust him; Mr. Larabee wanted to shoot him and right now all he felt like doing was screaming into the night that he was being wronged. This was certainly one day he would just as soon forget.

As he rubbed his throbbing temples, he wished he had not imbibed so much. He wasn't receiving the result he had hoped for. He wanted to just forget how much his friends had hurt him with their lack of trust. Why was this happening to him? He thought he had finally found a place where he fit in, but now...

He pushed through the bat-winged doors of the saloon and retrieved his hat from the bar and slowly made his way upstairs to his room. He was feeling worn out and all he wanted was to lay down on his feather bed, sink into his "pilla" and just shut out the world--at least for a few hours.

He entered his room and quietly closed the door. Leaning his forehead against the rough wood surface, he felt a few tears form in his eyes. Why didn't his associates trust him? After all the things he had done for this town and for the group, wasn't he deserving of just a little certitude and respect?

Straightening himself, he brushed at the few tears that had managed to escape. He removed his jacket and hung it on the closet door. Then he carefully removed the gun from his shoulder holster and placed it on the dresser. Shrugging out of the harness, he draped it and his gun belt over the rocker in the corner of his room. His mind whirled with a thousand different thoughts. Unfortunately, all the whiskey he had downed, was clouding his thinking.

Stripping off his vest and shirt, he tossed them onto the chair then pulled off his boots and placed them next to it. Next, he collapsed onto the bed and just stared at the ceiling. As he lay there, he could hear Nathan's voice from earlier in the day..."You know I wish I knew what to say Ezra?" and then there was that look on young JD's face as he shrugged his shoulders and shook his head.

That was the blow that really stung. With Nathan, he had almost come to expect some measure of distrust. They had started out on the wrong foot after all. Their relationship just always seemed to have some form of conflict. Yet, he thought JD was his friend. The kid liked to be around him and he just assumed it was out of friendship.

Ezra brushed at the new tears falling from his eyes. How could he have been so wrong in the observations of his fellow compatriots? He even thought he had started to make inroads with the darkly, emotional Mr. Larabee. While Chris hadn't said he didn't trust him, he had refused to let him watch over the money, preferring instead to let Josiah take it to the church for safekeeping.

Only Buck and Vin hadn't commented on how they felt about his honesty, but then that was because Buck was busy courting the Governor's lovely assistant and Vin...well, he seemed to have retreated into his own little world after the shooting at the bank.

Of the seven, Ezra felt closest to Buck. They seemed to share a like temperament and he enjoyed being in the ladies man's company. If Buck took him for a larcenist, Ezra knew it would kill him. At this particular moment, Ezra just didn't want to know.

As for Vin, while the two of them had experienced some differing opinions, like Buck, the southerner enjoyed the quiet tracker's company. He seemed to be the steadying force in the septet. Vin was always the one to come to the aid and comfort of anyone in the group.

Why just this morning after the saloon brawl, when Ezra had been knocked unconscious, Vin had been the first to offer his assistance. The tracker had helped the gambler onto the porch and found a wet cloth for the wound on his neck. That was how Vin operated. He could be incredibly stubborn when the mood took him, but he always took care of his friends.

Unable to sleep, Ezra got to his feet and moved over to the rocker by the window. He wanted to sleep, needed to sleep, but his mind refused to shut down. With the room lights dimmed, he stared out the window into the darkness. Why was this happening to him now? Had the fates decided perhaps that it was time for him to move on? Was he destined to always be on the outside looking in?

For the first time in his life, he had found a place that he considered home. These six men, with their unique personalities and abilities, had come to mean something to him. Ezra knew that was why his heart ached with their perceived mistrust. Was his love of money and his sometimes-mercenary opinions finally coming home to roost?

He knew that he aggravated the hell out of both Nathan and Chris with his pecuniary interests. And while he felt he was better about letting that side of himself show since joining the group, the $10,000 they had discovered this morning had him drooling. He couldn't help it. He had felt an almost orgasmic pleasure just being in the same room with it.

Sighing heavily, he let his head drop back against the rocker. He had to stop fretting about this or he would never get any sleep. Closing his eyes, he began to rock slowly. Perhaps in the morning he would pay a visit to Mr. Sanchez and seek out his sage advice. For now, all he wanted was to make the pain of this dreadful day fade away into the night.



SERPENTS: HIDDEN DEMONS


Josiah clutched his large hands tightly in front of him, his head bowed low as he sat on the church pew. It just didn't seem possible that he could crave the money in his possession as much as he did. Yet here he was, agonizing over it as dawn broke over Four Corners. He couldn't rationalize why he wanted it. Money meant nothing to him--it never had.

Yet the strange dream had shocked him awake. What could it possibly mean? If he cared for money at all, it was because he needed it to care for his sister. That much money would certainly insure that Hanna was provided for. He wouldn't have to worry about the financial side of her upkeep ever again. As he stewed over his problem, he began to wonder if perhaps some hidden demon was rearing its ugly head. Lord knows, he sometimes felt he had demons to spare. Yet, if that was what this was, it was a new one on him. He was unable to find a sane rationale for it. If this was God's way of testing him then he knew he was failing miserably.

Josiah hadn't been able to return to sleep after waking from the crazed nightmare. Frustrated, he had begun to pace, hoping it would tire him. When that had failed, he sat down and tried to decipher his dream. Was it possible that he wanted the money that much? And why in God's name had Mary Travis been the one holding the satchel? Could it be that along with lusting for the money, he also harbored some feelings for her? By all the heavens, he knew he was no saint, but he couldn't wrap his mind around some of the implications of this vision.

When Chris gave him the job of protecting the money, he thought it wouldn't be a problem. Yet not long after arriving back at the church, he found he couldn't keep his eyes or his thoughts from the little brown satchel. He had tried several distractions, including vigorous exercise, but nothing had helped. He continued to eye the $10,000. It seemed to tempt and taunt him all at the same time. Why was he having these feelings? He wasn't Ezra for God's sake! Standish was the one whose lust for money drove him. Josiah thought he was above all that. Or was he?

As the sun rose outside, the church's interior slowly began to brighten. Josiah stared trance-like at the wall in front of him. The obvious attraction he was feeling towards the money made him madder then he had ever been. He was almost physically sick from the feelings the ill-gotten blood money gave him. He had tried moving the satchel to the pulpit, putting as much distance as was possible between him and the sums. Yet, even now, he caught himself gazing across the room toward the bag.

Sighing, he rose and walked to the bench directly in front of the pulpit and sat down. Staring up at his tormentor, Josiah realized he needed to purge the lustful feelings. That was the only way he could see to rid himself of this unnatural desire. But how could he accomplish this and still guard the money as Chris had requested? There had to be a way.

Suddenly the door to the church opened and the ex-preacher heard Ezra's voice cry out, "HARK!"

Ignoring the southerner, Josiah continued to stare straight-ahead, as the younger man's footsteps scraped across the wooden floor toward him.

Sliding into the bench behind the big man, Ezra gave him a friendly tap on the shoulder before sitting down. "You're always so willin to dispense advice to others in need," he began, his voice echoing in the quiet church, "See it's just that...um...all my life, I've always gotten that...look...you know that tilt of the head, that...that question in the eye. Can I trust him? You know I always...hoped that...my friends knew me betta."

The ex-preacher continued to stare at the satchel perched before him on the pulpit as Ezra's quiet words filled the church. He could hear the torment in the younger man's voice. He was in pain and needed help and advice. Yet, Josiah felt an anger bubble to the surface, anger at himself and toward the young southerner. This money was evil and should be cleansed from their hearts and minds before it was too late.

Getting to his feet, he heard himself say as if from outside his body, "Let the wicked forsake his ways and the unrighteous man...his thoughts!" Turning to face his friend, Josiah watched as the young man got to his feet. His pain clearly etched across his face.

Slapping his hat in disgust, Ezra moved toward the door, but Josiah strode across the floor and grabbed his arm. The ex-preacher jerked the southerner back in his direction. Staring into the big man's face, Ezra couldn't fathom what he had done to provoke him.

"You think you know what kind of a man you are?" Josiah questioned.

"I know I've earned some measure of respect...of trust!" Ezra replied, punctuating his words by nodding his head in the affirmative.

"You blame your friends? BLAME YOURSELF!" Sanchez snarled into Ezra's face. Poking the younger man roughly in the chest he continued, "LOOK INSIDE YOUR OWN HEART EZRA! FACE YOUR OWN DEMONS!"

Finished with his rant, Josiah turned away. The southerner's face collapsed as tears gathered in his pain-filled eyes. The ex-preacher stalked back across the room, Standish's face burned into his brain.

"NOW YOU HOLD ON JUST ONE MINUTE JOSIAH!" Ezra shot back, as he followed the big man across the church.

Stopping in front of the pulpit, Sanchez snatched the satchel of money from its resting place. "I am the serpent, Ezra," he turned to face the southerner, "and this is the apple." Throwing the bag at the startled man, he spat, "Take a bite!"

Without saying another word, Josiah turned and exited the sanctuary into a side room. As he left, he heard Ezra cry out to him, "WAIT!" Ignoring the plea, the big man slammed the door behind him.

Stopping just inside the room, Josiah felt his pent-up rage drain away from his body. Where had this sudden anger come from? Why had he been so cruel? Certainly, Ezra had done nothing to warrant his attack. All he had wanted was some help and instead, he had been verbally assaulted.

Opening the sanctuary door, Josiah reentered the room, hoping, but not really expecting to find Ezra. He was correct; the gambler was gone, along with the money. He couldn't blame the ex-con for beating a hasty retreat after the tongue-lashing he had received.

Feeling incredibly old, Josiah sat down heavily in one of the wooden pews. He replayed what had occurred over and over in his mind, realizing it wasn't so much what Ezra had said that had set him off--it was what he represented. Money. His lust for it, his greed, and his want of it. What he needed to do now was locate the southerner and apologize...try to listen to his problem with an open mind. Wasn't the southerner deserving of the same courtesy he bestowed on the others when they approached him in need of his advice?

Josiah started to leave, but stopped. He decided to wait--give Ezra time to calm down. He only hoped the younger man could forgive him.

Laying back on the hard wooden surface of the pew, he closed his weary eyes. His list of atonements just seemed to get longer all the time.

M7**M7**M7**M7**M7**M7**M7**M7**M7**M7**M7**M7**M7**M7**M7


Josiah wasn't sure how long he had been sleeping when he felt a gentle shake on his shoulder. Opening his bleary eyes, he realized JD was hovering over him.

"Hey Josiah, wake up! Chris needs us over at the newspaper. We got a lead on the assassin!"

Sitting up slowly, he felt the muscles in his neck and back tighten. Falling asleep on the wooden pews had been a bad idea, but it just seemed to happen. He brushed a hand across his face as if trying to remove invisible cobwebs. Sighing deeply, he rose grabbed his gun-belt, hat, and coat before following JD into the bright sunshine.

Blinking from the glare, he figured it must be after noon some time. He made a mental note to speak to Ezra as soon as he was able. He needed to try to set things right with the young southerner.

When Josiah and JD arrived at the newspaper, he noticed that everyone, including Ezra, was already there. Chris waved the twosome over. "JD and Nathan found out that Stutts wasn't working alone. He has a son that kills as he does. According to 'our friend' Mr. Jones, his son has a glass eye."

Josiah drew in his breath sharply. "Glass eye? I've seen that guy! He was sellin bibles." The big man was aware of Ezra's presence behind him, standing slightly away from the group. He seemed withdrawn, not his usual jovial self.

Chris said, "All right then, let's find him. Buck, JD--stick with the Governor. The rest of you spread out. Check every rooftop, every window--"

"Every eyeball!" interjected JD.

"We want to know who hired him," Chris continued, "so take him alive."

JD, Buck, and Vin moved to follow Chris's instructions. Josiah turned to leave, but caught sight of the southerner, moving slowly down the ally. It was obvious that the gambler was hurting. He sighed deeply.

Suddenly Chris spoke again, regaining his attention. "Josiah, the money well hid?"

Placing his hat on his head, he stared at Chris, "I give it to Ezra."

"Ezra?" the black-clad gunslinger questioned in a shocked voice, "What's the matter with you?"

"It's servin a purpose." the ex-preacher replied flatly.

"Yeah, to make Ezra rich!" added Nathan.

Sanchez glanced back and forth at the two men. No wonder Ezra had come to him for help. What had he done? Just added to the poor man's misery. What was worse, he wasn't that far down the ally-way. It would have been impossible for him not to overhear the current conversation.

"All right. We'll deal with this later," Chris replied with some emphasis.

Josiah nodded, "Let's go catch some bad guys."

As the three men separated, Josiah took one last look at Ezra's lonely figure. He was still standing in the ally-way, unmoving. His shoulders were slumped and the ex-preacher knew he was partially responsible for his pain. He only hoped that once he was able to speak to him, Ezra would forgive his part.


M7**M7**M7**M7**M7**M7**M7**M7**M7**M7**M7**M7**M7**M7**M7


Sitting quietly on the stairs leading into the church, Josiah peered into the night sky. Darkness had fallen and he had been trying to decide how best to apologize to his friend.

What a day Ezra had endured! After all the pain and distrust he had suffered at the hands of his so-called 'friends', he had managed to save Mary Travis from the assassin. It seems that the Governor was never his intended target. It had been Mary all along.

Ezra had spotted the man in the crowd at the Governor's speech and had managed to prevent him from killing the newspaperwoman, but unfortunately, he had been shot instead. He would have died too, except for what Josiah considered an ironic twist of fate.

For reasons unknown, except to Ezra, he had stuffed the $10,000 inside the lining of his jacket. Perhaps he felt he could best protect it by keeping it on his person. By putting it there, the money had slowed the bullet, keeping the southerner from dying. Then brother Nate had managed to patch up the former con man before ordering him to rest. The gambler had quietly complied and returned to his room in the saloon. That was three hours ago.

Josiah finally got to his feet and crossed the street, heading for the saloon. It was time he set things straight or the guilt he felt for his part in the day's events would eat him alive.

M7**M7**M7**M7**M7**M7**M7**M7**M7**M7**M7**M7**M7**M7**M7


Josiah stood a moment outside of Ezra's door debating with himself. Squaring his shoulders, he finally knocked softly and waited for a response. He was immediately rewarded with a muffled "Come in". Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and stepped into the room.

Ezra was propped comfortably on his bed, a book lying in his lap. He straightened slightly as the ex-preacher entered the room. Marking his place, he closed the book and put it aside.

"Mr. Sanchez, is there something I can do for you?"

Removing his hat, the big man grabbed a chair and pulled it next to the bed, "No, but I believe there is something I can do for you."

"What might that be?" the gambler inquired with some curiosity.

"I wanted to apologize for the way I treated you earlier. You came to me for help and I behaved in a most shameful fashion. I let my anger at a problem I was having, transfer onto you," Josiah paused then continued, "I can't speak for the others, but I'm sorry Ezra. Sorry for the part I played in any pain you suffered. I can't ask you to forgive me right now, but I hope--"

The southerner held up his good hand to stop his speech. "Mr. Sanchez, there is no need for this. What was done and said has been forgotten. I was angry, but now I believe what you said to me was in my best interests." Grinning crookedly, the gambler continued, "however, I would suggest that perhaps in the future, you work on your advice giving technique. I think you need to soften your approach somewhat. This, of course, is just my opinion."

A huge grin covered Josiah's face. "You're right Ezra. I'll work on it." As he got to his feet to leave, he asked, "So how are you feeling? Is there anything you need? Can I get you anything?"

Smiling, Ezra replied, "No, I don't require anything at this time, but thank you for asking."

Putting the chair back in its place, the big man turned to leave then stopped. Looking back at the southerner, he said, "If you ever need to talk in the future, I promise I'll be a better listener."

"You know," Ezra, said quietly, "you were right about one thing. I did need to face my demons about the money. I wanted it...even thought about taking off with it."

Josiah gazed at his friend. "You're not the only one who had thoughts about the money. I needed to face a few demons of my own. It would seem that some demons are better at hiding than others."

"Hidden demons are the worse ones. Demons out in the open are sometimes easier to deal with," grinned the ex-con man.

Josiah nodded in agreement, "Truer words were never spoken. Feel up to my company for a bit longer?"

The southerner nodded.

"Good!" the ex-preacher replied as he retrieved his chair, "You and I can compare thoughts on how to fight those hidden demons."