The word was:

Restraints

The Sentence I wrote was:

His wrists turned and pulled, gaining only an extra inch, these weren’t the types of restraints he was use to, handcuffs were a simple thing but the rope was more complicated than Maude Standish.

The Story is:


Ezra raised bound wrists to his mouth and tried to pull the rope apart with his teeth. The horsehair scraped against his tongue, the taste of the homemade rope causing him to gag, and before he knew it, he was throwing up.

The smell of vomit caused him to groan, or was it the headache that was pounding between his ears, maybe it was both. Whoever had hit him, had hit him hard. Ezra stood up, his intention to move as far away from the smell as he could, but he fell back down on his ass, the hard landing eliciting a sharp yelp of pain. He resorted to crawling to the far side of the room – which was a difficult thing to do with his hands tied – laid down on his side, and pulled his knees close to his chest.

Ezra sighed as his wrists continued to twist and pull within the tight confines of the rope. He wasn’t use to these types of restraints. Handcuffs were a simple thing but the rope was more complicated than Maude Standish.

He froze then blinked when the door opened. His eyes, unaccustomed to the light, began to water and his skull felt like it was being ripped apart. Ezra raised his arms, blocking out the light, preventing it from causing him any more pain; what he felt now was bad enough, he didn’t need it to become any worse. The door closed and when the pain receded to the back of his skull, Ezra stared up through the tears of pain at the man who towered over him.

“You alright?”

Ezra ran his tongue over his bottom lip before pressing them into a hard line and tried to force a simple thought to the front of his mind; it wouldn’t come. He wasn’t surprised. Someone had hit him hard enough to send his brain to another part of his body. His stomach most likely, it felt as though something heavy had settled in that region.

“No. Could you please,” Ezra lifted his hands so the man could see them, “remove the rope, I seem to be having some difficulty, ropes aren’t really my thing.”

“I’m not taking the rope off, Standish. I’ve told you that already.”

“Oh. Have you told me why I’m here?”

“Yeah, you’re just a means to an end.”

Ezra tried to lift his head so he could get a better look at the man but his head fell back to the floor with a soft thump. “And what end would that be?”

“Nothing you need to concern yourself about.”

“You could at least tell me your name.”

“Jack.”

“Ah,” Ezra smiled. “Very similar to Nathan, although you don’t look like him. You have an unattractive face. You should do something about that mole, very unsightly. Nathan has a--”

Jack knelt down and gripped Standish’s chin. He turned the man’s head so he could get a better look at the green eyes staring back at him. The pupils were unequal.

Letting go of Ezra’s chin, Jack sat back on his heels and said, “Sam must have hit you pretty hard.”

“Yes he did,” Ezra agreed. “I fully intend to hit him back with as much force as he used against me . . . when I can manage to stand without falling down that is.”

“I told her to be careful.”

Sam was a woman? That was a shame. He wouldn’t hit a woman; put her over his knee maybe . . .

“She must be very masculine,” said Ezra.

Jack ignored the sarcasm. “Do you want something to eat?”

When his stomach finished rebelling at the thought of food, Ezra said, “No.”

“Water then?”

“Please.”

Jack yelled, “Sam! You want to bring us some water?”

The loud voice caused Ezra to grimace.

“Sam!”

When Jack turned towards the door Ezra thought about hitting him so hard that Jack’s teeth would fall out. He lifted his hands, his shoulders followed, then he changed his mind; he didn’t have the strength to accomplish such an act. The best thing he could do right now was to lie back, relax and wait for the others. They were searching for him, he was sure of it.

“Hold your horses, Jack, I’m coming. I don’t move so fast anymore, you know that so quit yelling at me.”

Sam entered the room, a canteen in her left hand, and Ezra choked on the growing humiliation. Sam must have been at least ninety-years-old, if not older. She was skin and bones, her bent spine making her seem smaller than she actually was. This woman had hit him hard enough to give him a concussion.

The humiliation was overwhelming.

“Here.” Sam threw the canteen, not at Jack but at Ezra, hitting him in the face. Ezra jerked back, his head bouncing against the wall behind him.

“Be careful, Sam.”

“Nothing to be careful about.” Sam walked up to Ezra and kicked him in the back of the thigh. “He’s just a piece of cheating scum and when we’ve finished with him, I’m going to send him back to his maker.” She kicked Ezra again, and then left the room.

“She seems nice,” said Ezra.

Jack picked up the canteen, opened it and held it out to Ezra. “Don’t worry about Sam. Her bark is worse than her bite.”

“I’m surprised she could bite at all.” His vision was slightly blurred, but Sam had been close enough for Ezra to notice that Sam’s two front teeth were missing.

“Drink the water.”

Ezra looked at the canteen and then at the man who held it. Jack wasn’t going to offer any more assistance. Pushing himself up onto his right elbow, Ezra took the canteen, his arms shaking with the effort. At first, his stomach welcomed the water, and then it refused to take any more, threatening to send it back to where it came from.

When the water began to dribble down Ezra’s jaw and along his neck, Jack pulled the canteen away.

“You’ll make yourself sick.”

“It won’t make any difference, not when your old lady is threatening to kill me.” Ezra carefully lowered his upper body back onto the floor and wiped his mouth and chin on the sleeve of his coat.

“We’re not going to hurt you.”

“The old lady seems to have other ideas.”

“Her name is Sam, and we just want our friend back, that’s all.”

“What makes you think I have your friend?”

“You don’t . . . your Sheriff does.”

“And you want to trade me for your friend?”

“Something like that.” Jack stood up and walked away but before he closed the door he smiled – only the left side of his face moved – and said, “If the Sheriff won’t trade, I’ll let Sam return you to your maker.”

Ezra muttered, “Mother would be pleased.”


                                                                      ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


A voice spoke in the darkness, so quiet that Ezra had almost missed it. He slowed his breathing, and listened, hoping that the voice had been real and not part of his imagination. Silence filled the room, there was no voice; he had imagined it. His friends weren’t here, not yet, but he was confident that they would soon find him. Ezra pushed himself up against the wall and closed his eyes against the nausea.

“Hey.” A voice whispered in his ear.

Ezra’s heart jumped into his throat and before he could yell out in surprise, a hand covered his mouth, forcing the back of his head against the wall. His eyes, wide with surprise, turned to look at the man kneeling next to him. He forced his breath out against the hand.

It was Jack.

“Time to go, Standish.”

Jack removed his hand, pulled Ezra to his feet and then held on when the man threatened to fall back down. Once he was sure Standish had gotten his balance he led him out of the room and into the main area of the building where Sam was waiting.

Ezra squinted against the natural light and tried to lift his arms so he could cover his eyes, but Jack held his arms down in front of him. The pain in his skull increased.

“I still say we just kill him.”

“You dear lady,” said Ezra, “should have died of old age years ago.”

Sam moved closer and slapped Ezra across the face, causing Ezra to take a step back when he lost his balance. It was humiliating.

“If we kill him, we’ll have nothing to trade,” Jack argued with her.

“Not sure I even want Dolan back, stupid dumb ass that he is.”

“It’s not his fault he’s in jail.”

“He’s the one that got drunk, he’s the one that started the fight, and he’s the one that’s wanted for murder . . . stupid piece of--”

Ezra’s eyes followed the conversation, moving from Jack to Sam and back again. His stomach didn’t like what his eyes were doing. “Excuse me.”

“What?” Jack tightened his grip on Ezra’s arm, keeping him upright when it was obvious to him that all Standish wanted to do was sit down.

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Get him outside, Jack, now!” Sam moved as quickly as her old body would allow and opened the door. “I don’t want him--”

A man dressed from head to toe in black stood in the doorway. She narrowed her eyes, maybe the shirt was a very dark blue, but she couldn’t be sure, not with her eyesight.

“Who the hell are you?”

“Chris Larabee and I’ve come to get Ezra,” Chris smiled. “Thought he might like to come out and play.”

Ezra relaxed; he knew they would find him.

“Chris, if you could shoot this . . . this woman, I would be forever grateful.” Ezra felt the grip on his arm tighten even more and wondered if Jack was about to do something stupid.

The corner of Chris’s mouth twitched. “I don’t shoot old women, Ezra.”

“Perhaps not, but if you don’t, I am certain that she will shoot you.”

“And if she doesn’t,” said Jack, “I will.”

“Are you going to shoot all six of us?”

Confusion swept across the old woman’s face. “I only see one of you,” she snapped.

“That would be the old age sneaking up on you,” Ezra told her.

“Jack, shut that stupid son-of-a-bitch up!”

Jack reached for his gun.

Ezra’s shoulders gathered around his ears, and his arms reached up to cover his face in an attempt to protect his skull when he heard a gunshot. He froze, waiting for death to take him.

It didn’t.

He looked down and saw Jack, who was lying on his back, a hole in the middle of his forehead . . .

The sight of blood and the smell of death had Ezra falling to his knees and gagging on the bile that filled his mouth. He heard a scream, Sam was reacting to the death of Jack, but Ezra was too tired to see what she was attempting to achieve. Maybe Chris would shoot her as he had requested. Then he felt the hands clawing at his back, at his head, his face, and then just as quickly they were gone.

But the screams continued. Sam was yelling at Chris, threatening to take his heart out, because Chris had killed Jack, her only son and then she became silent.

“Ezra, come on, time to go, the others are outside.”

Ezra spat out the bile, looked up at Vin, who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, and said, “Thank you for your timely intervention.”

“Bet you thought we wouldn’t come for you?” Vin used his knife to cut the rope from Ezra’s wrists.

“I had every confidence in your ability to find me.”

“Sorry it took us so long.”

“No apologies necessary.” Ezra began to lean to the left but a strong grip kept him from falling onto his side.

Ezra spared a quick glance at the old woman who was now cradling her dead son’s head in her lap. The blood and brain matter that covered her hands and clothing didn’t seem to bother her. It bothered Ezra so he looked away, toward Chris Larabee stood beside Sam. Chris held his gun by his side, his eyes on Ezra and not the woman; he no longer thought of her as a threat.

“You okay, Ezra?” Chris asked him.

Ezra was about to tell Chris that the old woman had given him a concussion, and then thought that maybe it would be best if he didn’t. His gaze drifted to the doorway where Buck and Nathan were now standing, the concern they felt showed in their body language.

He knew if he told them they would tease him endlessly about an old woman getting the better of him. Then he realized that he would let them tease him, and he would enjoy the banter, because these men were friends, his friends.

“No, I’m not alright. That woman hit me hard enough to give me a concussion.”



The End