4:52:21 – 20 – 19.
"Five hours left." The sound of his voice startled him. Not just the break in the oppressive silence, but the rawness. He supposed that was to be expected, under the circumstances, but it angered him. "You couldn't have left a damned bottle of water?" he shouted at his absent abductors. "That would have been too much to ask!"
Of course, he was greeted by nothing but more silence. He pounded a fist into the lid of his prison. Then pounded it again. He didn't care anymore about the consequences. He doubted he'd be crushed and have this all end quickly. No, he wasn't that lucky. He was going to lie here for the next five hours, probably more since there would still be air in the coffin. Air that would start to go stale, go bad, slowly poisoning him. This was not the way he was supposed to die damn it. He'd never had delusions of living to a ripe old age, but this? This was embarrassing. Humiliating. He was supposed to go out in a blaze of glory. A spectacular shoot out with a notorious criminal. A heroic deed, saving the lives of innocents, or of his friends.
His friends. God, this was so unfair to them. He couldn't begin to imagine what they were going through. They must be driving themselves mad, searching. Unless they had given up on him. Why wouldn't they? This was insane. A lost cause if ever there was one. Finding a needle in a haystack was a veritable walk in the park next to this. Finding a small coffin, buried somewhere – anywhere. They couldn't find him in time, so why even bother looking.
"Wait!" He startled himself again. "What if I'm not buried? Just because this is a coffin does not necessarily prove I am in the ground." He pounded on the lid again, then on the sides. What if, all this time, he was above ground? All he had to do was break this damned box and he'd be free. Even if there was someone out there, and least he'd have a fighting chance. He pounded again, using every bit of energy he could find, the hits becoming more frantic, more frenzied. He tried to kick, but his legs had gone numb. Hours of stillness, tension and cold had rendered them useless as a tool. Running was going to be a challenge when he got free, but he would deal with that later. One crisis at a time.
He felt a warm liquid on his hands and, taking a deep breath, recognized the smell. Blood. He wasn't doing much damage to the pine, but he was beating his hands to a pulp. He didn't care. None of that mattered. He began pounding again, hearing the dull thud each time he made contact. A thud. A dull thud. "Shit." The realization hit him like a ton of – well, like the ton of dirt and stone he was once again certain covered him. The sound should be hollow. If there was nothing around the coffin, the sound would be hollow. He was buried. He was trapped. He was dying.
The silence was as heavy as the earth above him, and he couldn't stand it any longer. "NO! NO! Damn it!" He shouted, screamed and shrieked till his throat was raw. "NO! NO! NO!" The word echoed in the chamber until he simply couldn't speak. He didn't have to deal with the silence though. He ears rang with the sound of his sobs.
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"This can't be all there is." Chris looked at the files spread out over the boardroom table. "There has got to be something we've missed."
"JD's back to searching on line, and Nathan is at the hall of records but yeah Chris, this is everything we can find so far on properties and business with ties to Tolliver and his operation." Vin leaned back in exhaustion, the chair creaking with sudden move. "Nothing that brings us any closer."
"What about the land around the cabin where we found the guns?"
"There are search dogs patrolling it now, along with heat seeking radar from the search and rescue helicopter. Nothing yet, and they've covered most of the territory."
"Damn near 24 hours and we are no closer to finding him."
"Nobody's stopping Chris. We haven't given up, and we won't" Josiah's determined words didn't match the tone of voice, or the fatigue evident on his face.
"I know. I just – God, it's driving me crazy."
"Having that effect on all of us." Buck stood and stretched. He didn't want to dwell on what it must be doing to Ezra. He was about to say more when a tap at the door interrupted. Chris stepped over to open it to let in Steve Petrie, the leader of one of the other ATF teams.
"Sorry to interrupt, but I have a lady here who wants to talk to you. Says it's important."
"If it isn't about Ezra I really don't care." Chris turned away and started back to the table.
"She's Tolliver's daughter." He froze in mid-step and spun back.
"Get her the hell out of here." Buck wanted nothing to do with anyone with that name.
"Where is she?" Chris asked, ignoring his friend for the moment. Petrie stepped aside to show a young woman standing behind him. She looked shaken and uncomfortable, yet with a determination on her face that said she wouldn't be denied her chance to speak.
"What can we do for you?" Chris asked roughly.
"Nothing. But I am hoping I can do something for you. Agent Petrie found me, and told me what Alexander and the idiots who follow him have done. I can't believe it. Well, I can I guess, but – well that doesn't matter now. I want to help. I don't know at a personal level, thank God, but I might be able to find something, see something, that could help."
"Don't take this the wrong way," Buck stated as he came up behind her, "but why should we trust you?"
"How could I possibly take that the wrong way?" She had the faintest hint of a smile as she looked at her accuser. "I have had as little to do with that man as possible. I was raised by an aunt after my mother 'disappeared'. I am certain Alexander killed her. What I know of him has come from years of research trying to prove that fact. My only regret when he dies tomorrow is that he won't be dying for that crime. Well, that and the fact that he has drawn your friend into his demented little web."
Chris walked past her to talk to Petrie again. "Checks out Chris. That's why I went to see her. She knows a lot about him, and I figured any advice might help."
"Thanks. At this point, I'm considering psychics, so this is definitely a step up." He headed back into to room. "Talk to us. Tell us anything you can."
She pulled over a chair at sat at the table. "Tell me what you have, and I'll see if I can add anything." Buck reluctantly sat beside her and began going over everything again.
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He couldn't believe he had fallen asleep, that he had worn himself out. There was so little time left, it seemed wasteful to miss a moment of them. Besides, what was it Chris would remind him of whenever he had to be roused from the comfort of his bed – "plenty of time to sleep when you're dead". He hoped Chris would not remember saying that to him. He hoped Chris would not remember any number of things that had been said, and done, since they had met. The early days and weeks especially, had been difficult. They were uncertain of him, and he was less than willing to accept them as well. But time, and circumstance worked away at that. A lot of time, and some occasionally very strange circumstances. None quite as strange as the current situation, but more that bizarre enough to break through the barriers. He activated the phone, trying to ignore the 2:07:32 that he saw. He turned the recorder on again and allowed himself a small grin. Might as well go out with a bit of the Standish flourish.
"I have been thinking of ways you might consider immortalizing me, since I have no doubt you will want to do so. I beg of you, do not name a child after me. No young man should have to go through life living down such a moniker, although I do concede it provided me with early training as a pugilist.
Of course, there is no need, or I am sure plan, to devise any honours. I neither need or deserve them. You might all be eligible for some degree of beatification for putting up with me, but there are enough quirks within all of our characters to make that unlikely as well.
I hope this is still a coherent, albeit rambling, message. I fear the fatigue and stress are starting to wear on me. The time indicated there are still hours of air, but I have begun to doubt its accuracy. My instincts, which rarely fail me, are telling me time is short.
If anyone had suggested to me, at any time in my life, that I would die with these feelings in my heart, I would have thought them to be, at the very least, delusional. But now, I find myself with an unexpected blending of peace and anger, of joy and sorrow. I have peace from a sense of self that never should have been my right to claim. And an anger that, now that it has been found, I will not have the chance to experience it fully. I have joy in the memories I have gathered, and sorrow that there will not be more. It will more definitely surprise you to know there is also a great, almost all consuming feeling of relief. At knowing that I will not have to face the reactions you will have to this maudlin display I have forced you to listen to. I can well imagine the comments and jibes that would resu-" Ezra stopped speaking as the light went out on the phone. He had been right about time running out, but not in the way he expected. He pushed repeatedly at the button, refusing to acknowledge the reality that he had exhausted the battery, and his hope.
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"You're missing a lot of the businesses."
"Businesses? What kind of business was he involved in?" Buck asked. Rachel had been an amazing source of information. She'd provided several more locations for them to search, and offered likely locations to start for each. While reluctant to dismiss anything, she had helped them rule out areas and options in an effort to focus their limited time and manpower on the best bets. What impressed the men the most was her failure to back down at any point. Chris's impatience, Buck's tantrums, Josiah increasing melancholy and all of the general insanity that was happening all seemed to have no affect on her whatsoever. Her focus was almost frightening. Now, here she was, hours later, still providing information.
"Alexander" – she had not referred to him as father or dad even once – "took over the businesses of all of his followers. Some were sold, but if he thought he could use them, or make an easy profit, he held on to them. Usually put them under an umbrella numbered company. There should be a list in one of the files." She had provided JD with the flash-drive containing most of the information she had gleaned over the years of research.
He scrolled through the file index until she told him to stop and one labelled 'Enterprises'. Screen after screen of corporate webpages and logos appeared on the monitor.
"Sorry," she apologized quickly. "I have it set to open to show pages with recent activity. Haven't looked at this one for a while"
"Smart programing." JD smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. "I'll clean it up." He began clicking one by one shutting down the pages. He was startled into immobility by Chris's shout.
"Hold it. That one – what is it?" He was pointing at an image on the left side of the monitor.
JD took a moment to look at the site. "It's an excavation company."
Rachel nodded. "I know it. One of Alexander's top minions owns – owned – it. They do a lot of contract work. I think they still have a city contract, thought God knows I complained to the mayor – "
Chris cut her off. "I've seen the trucks."
"We all have Chris." Vin commented. "They're all over town."
"No. Recently. Near the ranch. There's some kind of ditch digging. We all got notices about infrastructure work being done."
Josiah stood quickly. "Right in front of us. Remember. Tolliver said our answers were right in front of us."
"Son of a bitch. He's at the ranch." Chris grabbed for his coat and keys. Nathan was already on the phone for rescue services while Vin was sending out the helicopters to start scanning for heat sources. All action stopped when the alarm went off.
"Ten o'clock." Josiah spoke in a hushed tone. "Time's up."
"No, it isn't" Nathan corrected. "He'll still have air in there. Could be hours worth."
"Unless they shut it off earlier, so he'd run out now." JD replied, his face going pale at the image that was entering his mind.
"Doesn't matter. We move. We find him. And, if it helps, we pray a little." Chris headed out the door, the others following. Buck paused in front of Rachel, giving her a weak smile.
"Thank you. We would never have got to this…" he couldn't finish.
"Go. Find your friend. There'll be time to thank me when he's safe."
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He wondered again how much time had passed. Nothing seemed to increase the desire to know something more than the certainty there was no way to obtain that information. One thing he did know beyond a doubt, he was losing his mind - again. He wasn't surprised by that, but was a little disappointed. He had always imagined he would be noble and stoic when he faced his final moments on earth. Certainly, he would have something witty and of great importance to say. Now, even if that had turned out to be the case, there would be no one to hear it. That didn't bother him as much as the voices. At first, when this had started, he had taken comfort in Josiah's guidance, Vin's encouragement and even Chris's frustration with him. But now, the distant sounds were annoying. Too faint to really hear, and nothing calming or soothing about them. That was the proof he needed that he was losing it. Only a crazy man would summon his friends to his imagination so that they could torture him with their distance.
He needed to find something else to do, to keep him occupied. He'd recited poetry in his head, reviewed mathematical formulas that allowed him to calculate the odds on almost anything (except his survival – that was far too long shot to even bother with), and drafted a report to Judge Travis on this, his final case. He realized with regret he had failed to thank Travis on the recording he made. An unforgivable oversight. Without Travis's foolish faith in him, he would never have found a home here. Found a place he could finally belong. He fumbled for the phone again, wondering why it wasn't working. Wondering, for a moment, what he was doing here at all. Something was wrong. Something was missing.
The air around him was still. He hadn't noticed when that changed. The soft slow movement of air past his face wasn't happening now. When he held his breath – yes, he was right. There was no air flowing in. How long had this been happening? He tried to focus but had no recollection of the change in his environment. It must have happened while he slept. While he wasted more of that precious time. It would explain the voices that kept distracting him. Of course, his mind wasn't quite as sharp. He'd likely been breathing in carbon dioxide for some time now. He remembered reading somewhere, he had no idea the source, that one could possibly survive 5 hours in a coffin underground depending on the size and other details he could not now recall. Did he have that much time, now that the air supply was gone? Had he slept through some, or most, of that? And most importantly, what did any of that matter?
The distant voices persisted, slightly louder at times, but still too far off to be understood. "Of course!" he suddenly uttered, surprised by the loudness of his own voice in the small space. These were the voices from the other side. Josiah had been right – something, someone, was waiting for him after death. Ezra decided he was not looking forward to the encounter, even as he acknowledged there was not a damn thing he could do about it. He gripped the phone tightly in his hand, his final link to those he was leaving, and closed his eyes one last time.
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tbc