Nathan

I found him. I look across Ezra's slumped head at Vin and know that my face must mirror his. Panic, almost terror, as we half carry, half drags him to the Expedition. I'm scared that we're too late. It's taken us ten weeks to find him and we may well be ten minutes too late.

The two of us push Ezra gently into the back seat. He's easy to wrestle around, doesn't seem to weigh more than a kid now but looks like an old man. I know he's unconscious and I've never been more thankful. I couldn't bear to look him in the eyes, to let him know I've seen him filthy, bloodied and beaten. The smell alone is nauseating and I don't think I could keep that from showing in my face.

I watch as Chris, J.D. and Buck make their way out of the other tenement and come trotting over. Josiah is by the Durango calling ahead to the nearest hospital from his cell phone. Vin tries to head off J.D. but can't stop him from stickin' his head into the back of the SUV. I know the boy fully expected to see his friend and co-worker sitting there smiling at him. I hear a strangled noise caught deep in his throat. Vin pulls him back out of the car and hugs him tightly. J.D. can't speak, he can't move.

I can't do anything for Ezra; he needs a hospital...now...and our prayers. I see Chris opening his mouth to protest but even he can see Ezra's in dire straits. Although we had discussed trying to keep everything under wraps at his ranch, I know the man is too far out of my reach medically and maybe too far gone even for a well-staffed ER.

Vin pushes Ezra's legs further in and sits down beside him, pulling the unconscious man into a sitting position. He wraps his arm protectively around the bony shoulders and Ezra's head comes to rest on his shoulder. Josiah sits next to me in the passenger seat barking out instructions. I can't seem to remember how to start the SUV. The big man slaps a bubble light on the roof and we take off, the Durango right on my ass. I can see Chris' face in my mirror. It looks like stone.

Chris

I cannot fucking believe this! God damn you, Ezra, God damn you! I can't believe the anger that wells up in me, threatening to drown me. I feel this way when I'm helpless and that's the way I feel at this moment...if not most of the time with him. Helpless against his fortifications, his caustic wit, his seeming indifference, the way he freezes a body out. I, too, feel beaten, bloodied going up against his defenses again and again, the walls he builds around himself. He's a busy one all right, erecting thicker, stronger walls to replace each one we breach.

Only Vin seems to be able to pass through the barriers at will and talk face to face with the man behind. He warned me that Ezra was in too deep but I wanted to get that bastard Cain so bad I could taste it. I couldn't let him come out and, after awhile, Cain wouldn't let him go. J.D. saw it too, telling me Ez was lookin' bad and talkin' crazy the last time they were able to have any contact with him. Before that sadistic son of a bitch took my undercover man to hell with him.

The fucker kept Ezra with him night and day. Running Vin and J.D. off at the point of a gun. That's when Vin saw it, Ezra begging to come out, not with his voice but with his eyes. But things were in motion and I wanted the kill. I know now that trying to get the prick wasn't worth what Ezra's gone through, what we've all gone through, what we will still go through to see this through to the end. I should have listened to my men.

Vin

I saw it in his eyes. God, his eyes. They been hauntin' me for weeks. I lay my head back on the headrest and remember his eyes. One minute they were pleading, the next confused, drug dead. I saw Ez fadin' away right before ma eyes. Ma friend, twisted and jacked up by Cain and his drugs. Told us to get the fuck out. His words were tough but I saw his scared eyes. That scumbag Cain was usin' his power over 'im, over us all, forcin' J.D. 'n' me out leaving Ezra unprotected, alone. We hadda leave 'im; hadda follow orders. Cain would've killed us otherwise. J.D. was all for turnin' around and blastin' our way back in. Kid's probably going crazy 'bout now. Maybe we shoulda done something, anything to keep 'im from endin' up like this.

J.D.

I knew we shouldn't have left him; we shoulda gotten him out of there. I told Vin, I told Chris, I told everybody but who listens to a "kid". I may not have much experience but I know when someone's goin' down for the third time. It was like Cain had his hand in Ezra's back workin' him like a puppet, tellin' us that our services were no longer needed. Cain's people would keep him safe until the buy. Still playing the game even though they probably knew we were ATF all the time. Either Cain's one smart S.O.B. or someone on our end screwed up big time and gave us bad intel.

Maybe someone turned us, set us up. I think Cain knew it all the time, knew who we were, that smug smile always on his face and things comin' together so easy. He was probably just messing with us all along.

God, my shoulder hurts. My leg's bouncin' a mile a minute and Buck's usin' all his will power to not punch me in the thigh so I'll stop. Instead he puts his arm around me and hugs me fiercely, takin' care not to hurt my shoulder. God, I'm so thankful for a friend like him.

Buck

I don't know what J.D.'s gonna do if he dies. What we're all gonna do if he dies? Even though he shot the kid and Vin, I don't wish him dead. Maybe I did at first but now that I see him so fucked up, I wouldn't wish this on anyone. Since that day in Purgatorio I've half-assed thought about shooting him myself. He gunned down two of us but he's so messed up now I wonder if he even remembers that he did it much less why?

Maybe he's been usin' to help forget what he did to us? I don't know if I can ever forgive or forget. Trust him again? I don't know that either. It'll be hard, real hard. Vin and J.D. are both shining examples of true goodness, neither one having any animosity toward the man, satisfied to wait for Ezra to vindicate himself. Hell, I hope he does, otherwise he never deserved friends like these two boys. As for me, I truly have my doubts. I know how money and power and drugs can entice a man. Plenty of good cops have turned darksider with less incentive.

I feel the kid shakin' in my arms. If only to spare J.D. more suffering, I hope Ezra pulls through. Maybe Josiah will put in a good word with the man upstairs. He seems to always be on speakin' terms with the Almighty.

Josiah

I don't always agree with his motives or his methods but he's basically a good man. There has to be a good explanation for what has come to pass and I think Cain is the key. It's been touch and go since we brought him to the emergency room but these doctors are doing their damnedest to keep him alive. Beside the infection, dehydration, irregular heartbeat and a plethora of other problems, they have to deal with the heroin and his psychotic episodes. We'll be leaving him here until he's fit to travel. A couple of FBI agents will fly out and escort him back to a drug rehab hospital in Denver. They have jurisdiction now. The bastards will probably go for the glory. They're welcome to it. There's no glory in bringing in Brother Ezra.

Ezra

I have the same dream again and again. This is a new hospital, a new room but it's the same dream. I don't know how I get to Purgatorio; I'm just there. My skin is on fire, ants crawling beneath it biting the bloody masses of muscle in my arms, my legs, everywhere. Then the voice is there with me.

"Our father, Who art in heaven..."

'Kill them!'

"Hallowed be thy name..."

'Will the pain go if I do?'

"Thy kingdom come..."

'Yes!'

"Thy will be done..."

'How will I know them?'

"on earth as it is in heaven.'

'You just will.'

"Give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our trespasses..."

Two men round the corner. They hesitate momentarily when they see me. They both smile and speak but I cannot understand either of them. They start to hurry toward me. Bile rises in my throat, burning. I know for a certainty that they will kill me if I let them. Suddenly they are still, one face up on the sidewalk, the other against the wall of the building. Something heavy falls from my hand clattering noisily on the cracked sidewalk.

"as we forgive those who trespass against us; and lead us not into temptation,"

Buildings start to flash by me out a window and I taste rubber in my mouth, feel the pinprick, the tear of my skin. He was right; the pain is gone. Is it a dream? A memory?

"but deliver us from evil. Amen."

Josiah

I watch Ezra lie here in this hospital, eyes shut. I don't know what else to do so I pray. I pray aloud for strength, for answers, for a miracle. I can't believe God would further forsake a tortured soul like Ezra Standish. I know Nathan and Buck both believe he's just a cop gone bad, a would-be murdering junkie. But three months ago he was a fine, upstanding agent, doing a good job. He was our friend. He would have taken any number of bullets for any one of us. Lord, why are you testing him? Why are you testing me? Testing all of us?

His eyes open and I think I see a small spark of recognition. Is that a smile? I just can't tell. Maybe I'm praying too hard for a miracle. His eyes close again. I check to see if he's still breathing, like a mother checks on her baby when he lies so quiet in his crib. They pulled him from death's door at the hospital in California...but did they do him a favor?

Chris

I hate places like this. God, the smell of it. Disinfectant barely covering the ever-present smell of piss. My boots echo as I walk down the deserted hallway. It's rainin' out and my duster rustles quietly in the silence. This hospital is different. No bustling nurses or concerned family members, no gift shop or cafeteria. Just room after room with a common area stuck in the middle now and then. The place where all the crazies get together to weave baskets. I hear screaming and know I'm heading in the right direction. Detox.

Ezra's room is number seven. The door is painted puke green like the walls. The only thing out of place is the armed FBI agent sitting in a chair by the door, standard procedure when you're under arrest for the attempted murder of two federal agents. Bet those good old boys of Ezra's back at the Bureau are getting a kick out of this. I flash my credentials and the guard checks his list of authorized visitors, then grunts.

Signing in I drop the clipboard back on the small desk that's evidently been set up expressly for the prick to put his feet up on. I hand over my Colt and look through the window, ignoring the asshole's "cowboy" comment. Two pieces of thick glass with wire mesh pressed in between. In the small room there's a bed with a blanket covered figure, two chairs and a small sink.

I push open the door and a different smell hits me full in the face. Sweat. Not the clean sweat of a healthy workout but the sickly sweet smell of sweat laced with drugs. He's been bathed and is clean-shaven now. Looks more like a skinny boy than the man I knew. So thin, cheeks and closed eyes sunken. His hands and legs are secured to the bed with leather straps with synthetic lamb's wool inside but still his bone thin wrists are red. One of his legs is also shackled to the bed's metal side. His fingers twitch constantly.

I pull up one of the chairs and sit next to the bed. I slip my fingers into those twitching hands and touch his palm. His fingers close tightly around mine, the way my son's did when he was a baby. A groan escapes his cracked lips. He must be dreaming again.

I sit with him for an hour or so. He's out the whole time. I have things to take care of back at the office and Buck's on his way in. I don't feel too bad about leavin' him. Buck's still on the fence but at least he won't be alone.

Buck

I walk by Chris on the steps of the hospital where we only nod in passing. When it comes to this whole cluster fuck, the two of us find it hard to talk. Other cases and other days, things go on but not as usual. We retreat into ourselves, here at the hospital and sometimes back at work, especially when one of us spends too much time lookin' at Ezra's empty desk.

I don't know how the others feel but I'm pissed. Maybe it would have been better if the doctors had just let him go instead of resuscitating him...so this nightmare could end. None of us can do his job. We snap and snipe at one another. We're all rubbed raw and the SAC and the FBI and the courts are gonna start pickin' at the scabs soon makin' us bleed all over again. I look at the man I once considered my friend and see a stone cold junkie who tried to kill two of my closest friends. What the fuck am I doing here?

Vin

I can't figure out what he's doin' here? He all but hates Ez now. Can't seem to get by what he sees as betrayal. Refuses to even look past and find the reasons. They're so quick to believe the worst but I saw his eyes, the silent plea. Chris and the department ignored my warnin's. No one stood by 'im. We let 'im sink so far in; we couldn't get 'im back out without blowing his cover and getting all of us whacked. Somehow he managed to get away by himself, but after what? What could drive a man to turn on his friends? Why'd ya shoot J.D.? Why'd ya shoot me, pard?

I check in with the fed and he demands my firearm. I pull the Smith 699 outta the holster in the small of ma back. He smiles a snotty smile. What'd the jerk-off think? That I haul my Score High Custom around with me everywhere I go? I flip 'im off and push the door open motioning for Buck to stay put. I pull up the other chair next to 'im and ask 'im the same question. Why?

Buck has his own answers, his own reasons. The lure of easy money 'n' drugs, maybe revenge, maybe even power. Cain's organization is more powerful than we knew. Maybe Ezra wanted a piece of it an' sold his soul to the devil to get it. Maybe it was just to get his next fix. Buck shakes his head sadly not really knowin'.

Ezra's been so anti drugs that I can't imagine 'im startin' a $1000.00 a day habit on his own. The docs said they never saw a body so fucked up on so many drugs and still breathin'. Don't know if he'll ever be right again. Won't know if he has AIDS for a 'nother couple a months. I know it was the drugs Cain used that turned Ez to the dark side...as J.D. likes to say. I think a the goofy kid an' laugh, the muscles the bullet tore up hurtin' a bit.

A nurse comes in, checks Ez's vitals and injects methadone into the line. Exchanging one drug for another. When he's stronger, he'll have to go cold turkey. She hangs another bag a goo on the hooks. Ez does look better, startin' to fill out a little. Only looks like death warmed over now. Wakes up every now and than, mostly when they clean the infections on his arms or draw blood for tests. He don't seem to know me or where he is. Doesn't speak. They think he's still sufferin' from drug induced paranoid schiz...whatever the fuck it's called. He could be this way forever. Buck an' me stay a while longer, then walk out in silence. There ain't nothin' to say.

Nathan

I don't carry my gun when I'm off duty. The FBI agent looks at me like I'm some kind of pussy. He's a big, southern, good ol' boy with no neck. Looks at me like I'm not fit to clean his shoes. I wish I did have my gun with me so I could see his expression when I shove it up his nose. What is it with some Southerners, like this jackass...like Ezra? The wars over and we've been freed for Christ's sake. What a dick.

I see our very own 'Cracker' lyin' in the hospital bed. The FBI agent has put me in a foul mood and seein' Ezra doesn't make it any better. I stand next to the bed staring down at him, the man it's taken us almost three months to find. A veritable vegetable now, his body ravaged by drugs and infection, a list of charges as long as my arm to be filed against him. Why'd you turn away from us? Why'd you shoot J.D. and Vin? And for what, Ezra? Was all this about fucking money?

I leave after only a few minutes, the guard surprised to see me going so soon. I stomp down the hall toward the entrance thankful I don't have a dog. I'd kick the shit out of it if I did.

J.D.

I tell the FBI agent I'm here to see Ezra Standish. John Dunne. He smirks and runs his finger down the list. I can see the others have come and gone. He checks his watch and writes the time next to my name. Tells me to sign in and to leave my P-35 on the desk. I'm almost afraid to open the door but the goddamn FBI agent is leaning back in his chair, watchin' me. Well, fuck you buddy! I go inside.

There's all kinds of tubes and wires connected to him. His arms and legs are strapped down. He watches me as I come nearer to the bed, not Ezra's usual unreadable stare; more like a deer caught in headlights. He's scared shitless.

"Ez, it's okay. It's me, J.D.," I tell him. His breathing picks up; he's almost panting now, his hands pulling at the straps. One of the monitor blips starts jumpin' all over the screen and a sound comes out of him I'll never forget as long as I live. Kinda' like the high-pitched keening of an animal is serious trouble. Ez's in trouble and I think I'm the cause. I start to back away lifting my hands to show him I don't mean him any harm. Sweat starts to roll between my shoulder blades and down my back. Fuck! What do I do now?

A nurse opens the door and comes in moving quickly around me. She has a syringe in her hand and loads it into the tube stuck in the vein on the top of his hand. The ungodly noise stops and his eyes close. Why are they givin' him more drugs?

Why'd he react like that to me? The others never mentioned anything like it happenin' to them. The nurse tells me he's been out almost the whole time he's been here, since they brought him in from DIA. This is the first day he's been awake for any length of time she adds. Why'd he cry out like that? I wanna know. She tells me he's afraid and I let her know he's never been afraid of anything in his life and if he was he'd never show it.

She then says he has paranoid delusions...from the drugs he's been injectin'. "He didn't take them on his own!" I say and she looks at me like she's heard it all before but tells me it's nice that I have faith in my friend. She wonders about the others. She's heard the talk...especially the FBI agents. They want to hang him out to dry...but I'm not gonna let it happen.