A/N: I briefly considered putting up a short summary of the Magnificent Seven TV series for those who have never seen or heard of the Mag7, but I decided that there was really no point. If you have never heard of the show, but read this and enjoy it anyway, then you can go look it up afterwards. If you HAVE heard of it, and are in fact an avid fan, then you'll already know all the details. Whatever the case, I hope you all enjoy it.

Disclaimer: Any words not in the Magnificent Seven series belong to the neologists/lexicographers who discovered them. Everything else belongs to their respective creators.

Dream... or Nightmare? (Part One)

He was dreaming. He had to be.

This inhumane, piercing pain; these feelings of shock, grief, disbelief, and gut-wrenching horror that were rushing through his body, overwhelming his senses, freezing him in place; this could not be real. It just wasn't possible.

For if this were truly real, then surely he would be drowning by now, floundering futilely against this suffocating tidal wave of emotions--against this new reality, this horrible, horrible betrayal--swallowing him... choking him... crushing him... until the very thought of continuing to live, to exist through this agony, was enough to send him spiraling helplessly into madness.

Maybe that's why he couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.

Ezra Standish sat slumped over the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees and his hands idly shuffling a deck of cards. His head was down, his eyes unfocused, and his thoughts were far, far away.

It was cold, dreary, and down right depressing outside; it was one of those days where no matter how many layers of clothing you tried to smother yourself with, the cold air still managed to get under everything, freezing you solid. Truthfully, it had been like this most of the week, but it seemed to be worse than usual today.

Ezra disliked the cold; he liked being out in it even less. On a day like today, it was only logical for one to curl up in a chair by the fire, nice and snug, and sleep the day away; one was most assuredly not supposed to be out in the icy weather (likely to freeze to death or die of exposure) like the insane few he could see stumbling into the entrance of the saloon next to the hotel.

Despite the awful weather, the saloon stayed as full as ever, with travelers stopping by to get warm, buy a drink, and maybe try their hand at a game or two of chance before moving on again.

Maude (his mother), never one to pass up an opportunity of the lucrative nature, was always very insistent that he drag himself out of bed and make himself useful by running a game of poker while she conned and flirted money off of the many unfortunate patrons of the saloon, never mind if felt like he'd been run over by a station wagon. Almost always, anyway.

Today had been one of those 'unusual' days.

He had woken up that morning tired and irritable, feeling ghastly and horribly under the weather. When Maude had tried to get him up, he hadn't been able to summon the energy to be civilized. As a result, he had been uncommonly rude and emotional, even going so far as to ask, if Maude wanted money so badly, why didn't she just go rob a bank, or perhaps the national treasury?

Maude had seemed to take that comment personally. After a scathing lecture on control, appearances, and gentlemanly behavior, with an added "We-are-not-robbers-so-how-dare-you-insinuate-such-a-thing", she had told him dismissively that if that's how he was going to act, well, he could just stay up here for the rest of the evening. With one last disapproving glare, she had stormed off in a huff.

Ezra wasn't certain what it was exactly that had ticked her off; though Maude was of a rather flighty nature and more prone to mood swings than anyone he had ever had the misfortune to meet, he hadn't thought that his comment would offend her so much. Perhaps something he said had triggered a bad memory. Than again, even if he had said something different and less offensive, because of the rude way he had presented it, it would probably have garnered the same reaction from her; his mother had the amazing gift of somehow managing to turn every accusation thrown at her person completely around to the point where she somehow became the injured party. He had been unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end of that 'righteous' indignation several times himself, and it was not an experience he wished to repeat.

Perhaps robbing is a touchy subject for her, he thought absently, switching the cards to one hand and shifting his body marginally to the right to allow him to deal out the cards onto the bedspread.

It hadn't been his fault, really; he was just naturally bad-tempered in the mornings, and the recent cold spell hadn't helped. Truthfully, he was beginning to feel restless; they had been here for over two weeks and this town was beginning to tire him. He sincerely wished that they would move on soon.

There was nothing particularly wrong about it; all things considered, it did have a passable hotel, as far as hotels go, plus a large selection of travelers passing through daily, providing a constant stream of ignorant victims for their money-earning schemes, but… something about this place… It just didn't sit right with him. Something about it--or something in it perhaps--gave off a faint sense of unease, tinged with foreboding. It made him feel uncomfortable, and constantly on edge. It would be a relief to finally leave this place.

He flipped a card over, revealing the ten of hearts. He wondered where they would be going next. San Francisco? They had pulled off a great con last time they had gone, and Ezra had enjoyed himself immensely. He flipped another card, this time revealing the three of spades. Paris? They had gone there once, over three years ago, with one of Maude's latest husbands. He remembered feeling awed at all the sites, people, and the many foreign attractions, most especially the beautiful gambling halls. Maude had played in a high-stakes game while there, and she had raked in more money than they had ever managed to get in one setting.

At that moment, for some inexplicable reason, he felt a sudden wave of disquiet and revulsion flow through him. Was it a normal thing for a person to automatically attribute happiness and content with conning people and, essentially, stealing their hard earned money from them? Was this all his life would ever be about? Finding pleasure in others' misery and loss?

He immediately brushed that thought away, surprised at himself. They didn't steal from people, not really; they gained their funds through legitimate means. It's not like they asked people to ­give them their money; people came to them, as good as throwing away their earnings when they indulged in his offered games of chance. It wasn't their fault that people enjoyed a good card game from time to time. And if someone was foolish enough to be pulled into one of their cons, well… he wasn't about to let a good opportunity like that go to waste. He ignored the little voice in the back of his head that told him he sounded suspiciously like he was making excuses for himself.

Trying to get his mind away from that dangerous train of thought, he sat up off the bed, gently placing his cards on the bedside table, and snatched his evening jacket to change into before going outside. Maybe a few games of poker or Three-card Monte would be enough to get him out of his current line of thinking. If, of course, Maude had forgiven him enough to let him join in on the game. Knowing her, she would probably make some derisive comment about his age and lack of experience in an attempt to drive him off and get back at him for his earlier behavior. It was getting late, anyhow, and she should have been back by now, so he figured that was enough of an excuse as any to make his presence known to the evening population.

Ezra sighed. Dealing with Maude was like trying to keep a pet snake; it may be your pet, but that didn't change the fact that it would bite you without regrets, given the opportunity. Not to mention its uncanny ability to slither out of situations…

He brushed invisible lint off of his emerald green jacket (his favorite, because it brought out his eyes), straightening his clothing until he was satisfied he looked presentable. With a last shake of his head, Ezra snatched his cards off the table and exited the room, shutting and locking the door behind him.

He'd just have to hang on to the hope that the snake would wait to strike until they were back in the privacy of their quarters.

This... pain.

It was a new sensation for him; though no stranger to the occasional punch or slap by a vindictive victim of a con or the occasional angry stepfather, this... this pain was different. It seemed to be centered within his very being; burning, yet at the same time freezing, blazing through his veins with ferocious abandon; seeping out, slowly... treacherously; engulfing him, surrounding him in it's entirety. He could find no better words to describe it than pure and unforgiving agony.

He stared at the paper in his hands, seemingly harmless and innocent, staring mockingly up at him, taunting him; this, if nothing else, proved to him undeniably that this wa, indee, real; that this was not--no matter how much he might wish for it to be--a dream.

For this pain was too real not be reality.

Ezra entered the saloon through a side entrance, sliding cautiously towards an empty barstool at the end of the counter. As he moved, he silently scanned the faces of the many people occupying the tables, searching for the inevitable crowd that would be seated at the largest table, from the center of which would emanate the tell-tale Southern drawl of his mother as she entertained her 'customers'.

Only, he didn't find it.

He scanned the crowded room again, more thoroughly this time, and, as he again failed to find the face he was searching for, began to experience a strange sinking feeling in his stomach.

After another minute of fruitless searching, he gave up, ignoring his uneasiness. She had most likely stepped out for a moment, and would undoubtedly return soon. He may as well make use of the time she was gone; perhaps, if he could manage to procure a large enough sum of money in the time she was absent, she would be more inclined to forgive him for whatever it was that he had done to upset her.

He picked a promising looking table, and after drawing a suitable crowd with his unique shuffling abilities and promises of an excellent game, was soon immersed in a game of poker with a group of highly intoxicated gentlemen.

Though playing against people who had imbibed a bit too much alchohal had it's dangers, it was almost always worth it in the end, as the alchohal tended to dull the players' senses, giving them a false sense courage and making them cockier and more willing to bet large amounts of cash. It also served to make them horrible players, insuring Ezra's ability to control and win the games at his leisure.

Just as he was about to win another round--and gain a very large amount of money in the process--he was disturbed by a voice coming from directly behind him.

"Excuse me... sir, are you by any chance a Mr. Ezra Standish?"

It took all of Ezra's will power not to jump in fright and make an utter fool of himself.

Carefully erasing any traces of surprise from his face, he casually turned around to face the owner of the Hotel, Mr. Wycliff--whose family had owned the saloon for countless generations--who was presently looking down at him with undisguised curiousity.

"Yes sir, that is correct; what is it, exactly, that you requia' of mah person?" He drawled, unobtrusively slipping his winnings into a hidden pocket in his jacket.

The older man took a moment to decipher that. "I was given this letter by a Miss Maude Standish, and asked to give this to a young man named Ezra Standish. She said I might find you down here."

Ezra hid a grimace. If she was sending a letter, than she must have really been offended. The last time he had been 'granted' a letter, she had left him at a relative's house for three months. He hoped it wouldn't be as bad this time. Maybe she would give him a chance to explain.

More like grovel, really.

He gave the owner a tight smile, and forced out a pleasant, "Ah appreciate you taking the time to find me; ah am much obliged."

The man nodded, looking at him curiously again for a moment before handing him the letter. "She also gave me half of the fee for your room, said that you would be paying the rest. Also said she was in quite a hurry, and didn't have the time to tell you herself, so she left all her instructions in the letter."

Ezra couldn't quite manage to stifle a sigh; yes, definitely offended. It seemed he would have to continue this game some other day.

After giving a halfhearted apology to the two remaining gentlemen who had yet to pass out, he somehow managed to muster up a polite smile, telling the owner he would he down in a few minutes to give him the rest of the money.

He would need to read the letter first, before he could decide what to do next.

TBC

A/N: This was a bit short, but the next part will be longer. On to number two! Please feel free to review! - Achillies

Up next: Ezra has a flashback, reads a letter, and makes a horrible discovery.