Part 5

Three days later
Denver

The harsh ringing of the phone pulled Buck from the first restful sleep he'd had in what seemed like forever. By the time he got his eyelids unglued and his fuzzy brain sent a message to his leaden arm to move, the phone answering machine had engaged. Buck groaned as he rolled over and looked at the clock. Nine a.m. He snatched the phone anyway, but whoever it was had already disconnected.

Buck flopped back over onto his side. His stomach muscles ached from the last three days of sickness and fatigue pulled at his body. His eyes drifted closed. He wasn't asleep, but close to it.

What the paper had tritely described as "a mild form of food poisoning" was a vicious little bug that started with nausea, chills, and vomiting, and went downhill from there. At one point Buck had felt so rotten he'd even called the local minor emergency center to see if he should see a doctor or maybe just shoot himself-only to be assured his illness was behaving exactly as expected and he should "turn the corner" at any time.

And apparently he had. Buck now figured he was going to live, and he was even happy about it. The evening before he'd managed to keep down a can of Seven-Up and a handful of crackers so stale they must have been older than JD.

Then, when the unfamiliar but welcome pangs of hunger had stirred at midnight, he'd boiled an egg and made a slice of toast. The bread was molded but he cut that part off and it actually tasted good. Then he'd fallen into bed and immediately slipped into deep sleep.

Sleep beckoned seductively again. He wanted to give in to the siren call but something nibbled at the edge of his consciousness. It took him quite a while to think what it was. Then it hit him like a sudden splash of cold water. Ezra.

He forced his eyes open to look at the clock again. He'd talked to the undercover agent last at...what? Ten the night before? No, earlier...Eight-thirty, maybe nine. Whereas Buck was starting to feel better, Ezra had sounded worse than before. 'He's probably better this morning,' Buck tried to reassure himself as he fumbled for the phone and punched in the number. It rang four times and then the answering machine picked up. Oddly enough, Ezra had never replaced the computerized "Please leave a message" with a more personal greeting. "Ezra, it's Buck. Pick up the damn phone."

He waited, only to be rewarded by another beep as the message time ran out. He punched the redial with the same results. Worry shivered at his spine. No matter how sick either of them had got over the last three days, they'd both answered the phone. They'd alternated calling each other a couple of times a day. Chris called daily from Wyoming, although Buck thought he'd finally managed to convince his old friend that the worst was over.

The third time he tried to call, the phone was picked up. Buck's feeling of relief was short-lived when no one spoke. "Ezra? Ezra!"

Silence. No, not silence...something in the background...

Breathing. Erratic, tortured breathing.

"Ezra!" Buck shouted on my way. "I'm on my way. Hear me? I'll be there in fifteen...ten minutes. Just hang on. And if nothing's wrong you better tell me now!"

Nothing.

Buck pulled himself out of bed, grabbing the table until a wave of dizziness passed, then grabbed jeans and a sweater out of his closet.

~+~+~+~

Ezra knew he was in trouble.

After speaking with Buck the night before, he'd been certain that his illness would have to wane soon. If Wilmington-who had eaten two servings of the tainted soup as compared to his one-was on the mend, surely he'd have to feel better himself soon. With that thought in mind, he'd dragged his aching body to the kitchen and made a pot of his herbal tea. It usually quieted his nerves and his stomach. With it he tried a couple bites of some Dutch shortbread cookies one of his ex-step-sisters had sent him upon hearing of his move to Denver over two years earlier. The snack set off another round of violent vomiting that continued long after there was anything to bring up. Several more times during the night shooting pains in his abdomen had forced his weary body from bed to stagger to the bathroom for more bouts of relentless retching. Finally, he just dragged a blanket in there and curled up on the cold tile floor between bouts of vomiting and agonizing fiery cramps in his belly.

He must have dozed a little, to wake up before seven. All of his muscles ached from spending the night on the cold floor; when he finally managed to gain his feet shooting pains cramped his legs. His arms trembled violently when he tried to grab the side of the sink to stabilize himself. His face in the mirror was white, with harsh lines engraved around his mouth and sickly shadows under the eyes. His hair, dirty and unkempt, stood up in little spikes.

'Mother would be aghast if she saw me now.' Maude placed great stock in appearances. He'd always suspected she had prepared for his own birth by having a facial and her hair freshly done.

He twisted the faucet and cold water gushed from the tap. Still hanging on to the sink with one hand for balance, he used the other to scoop handfuls of water over his face and into his hair. The cold water felt wonderful to his clammy skin. He eyed the shower longingly, but knew he didn't have enough energy to stay upright for any amount of time.

Pain struck again-sudden and fierce and deadly. Ezra crumpled, his forehead striking the sink a glancing blow as he fell. He curled in a fetal position as the agony twisted through his guts. Nausea tore through him. Anything he could bring up long since gone, he succumbed helplessly to dry heaves. It seemed to last forever. His body was out of control. All Ezra could do was try to endure it.

Finally, as suddenly as it had attacked him, the pain was gone again. Ezra went limp, clouds of blackness swirling around him. Something was in his mouth and he tried to spit it out, feeling wetness dribble over his chin. Unable to open his eyes, he drifted away, face pressed against the cold tile floor.

How long he was out he didn't know. Finally cold chills dragged him from the relative peace of unconsciousness and he blinked awake, trying to clear his vision. The room swam into focus around him. Moving cautiously-afraid to rouse the dragon of fiery pain that seemed to have taken permanent residence in his stomach-he shifted back a few inches.

His eyes locked on the crimson splatters on the floor.

'Oh shit-'

He convulsed again, angry claws of pain tearing deep inside, twisting him helplessly before the onslaught. He gagged and choked, his mouth filling with the metallic taste of blood. Something wet and sticky dribbled over his chin and more crimson drops joined the others on the floor.

This time when it stopped he stayed conscious, but barely. He gasped for breath. One thought forced itself into his mind.

Buck. Buck would help him.

Unable to rise, he dragged himself-inch by painful inch-into his bedroom. He had to stop three times to force back the cloying blackness that threatened to overwhelm him. Every bit of carpet conquered a triumph between him and the enemy trying to destroy him from inside.

Finally-it could have been minutes or hours later-he reached his bed. Exhausted-unable now to even lift his head-he summoned up the strength to reach up and yank the cordless phone down to the floor.

Ice cold and shaking fingers punched in the numbers. He couldn't see. Couldn't think. Could only hope he dialed the right number.

No answer. Defeated, Ezra dropped the phone.

The pain struck. Ezra had nothing left to fight it. He rolled over as his stomach twisted again. The tearing claws raked upward through his stomach and throat, burning pain in the wake. This time he embraced the darkness with a sob of relief.

~+~+~+~

He moaned. Something was trying to drag him from the safety of blackness. 'No.' He didn't want to wake up again. Waking brought pain. Darkness was better.

But whatever it was kept on. A familiar sound. Urgent. A sound that demanded an answer.

'Phone.'

Unable to open his eyes, his hand felt around, fingers touching the cold plastic. Bringing it to his face he clicked the "on" button. He tried to find words but it was too difficult. He couldn't seem to catch his breath...

"Ezra!" Buck's voice, harsh and full of panic. "I'm on my way-"

Buck. Buck knew he was in trouble. Buck was coming. Buck could take care of it.

Ezra dropped the phone and let everything slip away

tbc...