Deathbed Ch. 5

Reaching around my head, he flipped my hair forward over my shoulders. I spread it out to veil my breasts and watched his face as I approached orgasm. With both his cock filling my vagina and his fingers stroking my clit I knew I would come soon, and when he bent his knees and began to move his hips to thrust up into me, I let out a moan.

"That feel good, baby?" he said through a smile.

"Y-yes…ohhh…"

"I love lookin' at your pretty face when you come. I love lookin' at all of ya. Holdin' you while you fuck me." Still working my clit with two fingers, he brushed my breasts with the other hand and flicked the nipples. "I wish I could keep ya, Irene..."

I answered him with a kiss, leaning down to meet his lips and fence with his tongue. The flutters of orgasm caught me by surprise and I cried out into his mouth, my body jerking with a sharp climax. Deadman let me writhe out the last paroxysms, then put his hands on my hips and made me ride him hard, ramming his cock into me from underneath.

My sensitive labia and entrance were pulled and stretched and compressed, engorging them with burning blood. I met every stroke with my own wild movements, panting and gasping and tossing my head. My clit rubbed against the hair at his groin and my breasts bounced, the hard dark nipples tingling and protruding through the veil of my hair.

"That's right, baby," he said through a sensual snarl. "Fuck me good, 'cause yer mine and you know it. Ain't ya?"

"Yes…" I moaned, Deadman's words provoking a great wash of feeling within me and in my hot, throbbing groin. "I'm yours. Take me; I want you so much…"

The admission burst from my lips, startling me, and I stared at him as he smiled half triumphantly, half with ardent happiness. He was about to come again as well, judging from the tremors in his body and the way his nostrils flared.

There was something else I longed to say to him, but I wasn't sure what it was. I would never truly part from him--he was an element of my being now; he always had been. I had never felt this way with any other man, and I knew no other man would evoke such emotions ever again.

Never knowing that I was capable of feelings like these, I had few words to describe them, or I might have let some kind of confession tear out of my deepest recesses, the way he would have done a little earlier without my intervention.

But I closed my teeth and climaxed again, feeling my spasms trigger his until we moaned and cried out together, his fingers digging into my hips. Again, for the last time, the rider shot into me, while the waves of muscular contractions shook my body and narrowed my mind's focus to nothing but the man beneath me. I fell forward onto his chest and into his arms and buried my face against his throat.

The rider stroked my hair and my back and buttocks, humming softly in my ear with a low note of utter contentment. I took a long gasping breath, and another, and kissed his throat with my eyes wet.

"Oh, baby, yer cryin'. Don't tell me I hurt you."

"No…"

"Why the tears? You thinkin' about--"

"You. I was thinking about you." That I would never wake to a sunrise in bed with him. That a few moments of physical pleasure was all I could give him. That I had to leave him to his fate, knowing that my passionate lover would inexorably become a monster. The tenderness and humor of which he was still capable would moulder away, distort into the blackest evil.

He would fight, rape, kill, rend and devour without compunction, with appetites even larger than those he had now. The last sight his victims would see was the mocking green eyes that burned in that compelling face. He would still be a big, handsome man in outward appearance, but within his decayed soul would live only a remnant of human consciousness, if anything remained of him at all. The man would be gone, perhaps truly dead, perhaps suffering still within the shell of his great frame. And I mourned for him.

"I…you're…I'm sorry, it's hard to say what I mean…"

"Don't worry about it none, darlin'." He kissed me with warm lips. "I think I know what yer sayin'."

"Do you?"

"Yep. I can read it in yer pretty eyes."

"Oh…" I hid my face again. "I hope…I wish I could help you. I wish I could do more…"

"Well, I don't think about nothin' but you when you're coming like that, baby," he said with a chuckle.

"I can't think about anything but you either," I said, snuggling my nose against his chest. "Nothing but you."

We lay relaxed for some time until I shook myself out of a doze. "What time is it?"

"Gotta be pushin' midnight, darlin'. You still want to go out?"

"How about you? I'm worried about my Papa, but--"

"Anything to chase those worries away, baby." Deadman took a deep breath and sat up with me. "You better fetch your stuff, if it's still there. If it ain't, I'll beat it out've 'em."

"OK." I began to get off the bed and he put a hand on my arm.

"Thanks, darlin'."

"Oh--" I knelt on the quilt and hugged him, kissing his shoulder. He patted my back.

"I'll come out to the barn with ya this time, Irene," he said with a sidewise smile. "I ain't lettin' you out've my sight until I have to."

Part Twenty-Four

I found a comb in the bathroom and worked the snarls out of my hair, then coiled it and used my clip to hold it in a chignon. We dressed and headed downstairs, Deadman picking up his motorcycle saddlebags and throwing them over his shoulder. I located my boots in the front room and put them on as well as my jacket.

"I hope none of them touched my gun, not to mention my bank cards, but if they did, it's my fault," I said, going out the kitchen door as Deadman opened it for me and put his long coat on over his denim shirt. He pulled a bandanna out of one of the pockets and tied it over his forehead to keep his hair out of his eyes. "I can't believe I just left it out there. I don't usually like being separated from my gun."

"He's right here with ya, darlin'," said Deadman, grabbing my hand and placing it against his crotch. "He'll go off any time you pull the trigger."

I rolled my eyes and laughed, but saw his answering grin cover up a resurgent pain. What we had just done had been wonderful, but it still was the last time.

Face changing, the rider pulled me to him with gentle hands and bent down. He gave me a soft kiss with mouth closed, which I returned with a sense of farewell, pressing my lips against his for a few moments.

When we parted his eyes were closed and a slight inward smile moved on his face. My heart constricted and filled again, accompanied by a liquid sensation in my groin.

"Darlin'," the rider murmured, his eyes opening, and stroked the back of one hand against my cheekbone. The only fire I could see in his eyes at that moment, the light of the exterior floodlights white on his pale face, was the glow of a passion both new-minted and a lifetime old.

We descended the side steps with my arm around his waist and his draped over my shoulders, putting the saddlebags on his parked bike, and went up the drive past the garage. It was dark and silent inside, no television glowing in the window, and we saw nothing move except the lazing dog-demons, their tongues lolling out as they rolled in the dust.

"Where are they, anyway?" I asked. "Did they all go out somewhere?" Perhaps Stephanie was having a shopping spree on my credit cards! I didn't precisely grudge it to her, but I was more concerned about my gun.

"Dunno," replied Deadman, peering at the dark shape of the barn as it loomed up before us. "Did I put the damn lantern back where it goes?"

He had wrapped me in his coat and swept me up, paying no attention to anything else. "Um…no, I don't think you did."

"I don't think I did either. Shit, I'm gonna bark my shins on everything in there lookin' for it."

"We could get a lamp from the house," I suggested.

He snorted and pushed the barn door open. "Yeah, let's bring an open flame into a barn full've old straw bales. Could be more fun than watchin' it fall down for the next fifty years, I guess."

"True. Papa always warned me about fire. Aren't there any flashlights?"

"Maybe." Deadman felt the wall to the side of the door. "Hey, the lantern's here. Somebody put it back." Clicking the battery lantern on, he turned the beam and sent the light out through the structure; everything looked exactly as it had the night before, the rats scattering to the dark corners and into the long shadow of the derelict tractor. I saw my purse still sitting on the workbench, snapped closed over the revolver.

"There it is," I said, letting go of Deadman and picking my way around the debris. He followed, passing me with a few strides, and and before I could stop him, picked up the purse with the apparent intention of handing it to me. "Oh--! Don't touch that--!" I ran forward.

"Shit!" he hissed in surprised pain, dropping it back on the workbench. "What the hell?" I grabbed his hand and saw the scorches emerging in the pattern of the purse's seams. "That thing burned me!" Darting a look at me, he lowered his brows. "You knew it was gonna do that? What the hell's in there?"

The taped cardboard box was still on the workbench as well, its top open to show the other cartridges. "I--I'm sorry. I should have told you. It's these cartridges. Aitch made them."

Deadman took his burned hand out of my grasp and shook it with a grimace, glancing in the direction of the garage. "Aitch, huh?"

"These are made with silver bullets, he says, and he had them blessed by a priest so they'd affect the undead. He…he made them to kill you." The rider's head jerked around to face me and I took a step backwards at the look in his eyes. "That's why I talked to him for a while. He heard the shots in the house, so he knew I had a gun, and I could tell there was something up when he came out here…I mean, besides the fact he was interested in a newcomer…"

I trailed off; Deadman's eyes were slits of green fire.

"You just now gettin' around to tellin' me this? That you loaded yer little gun with bullets made to kill me?"

"Uh…I didn't have a chance to tell you. Well, I mean, when you came in here, that was the last thing I was thinking about!"

I saw him run over the evening in his mind, his eyes darting back and forth. "You talked about Aitch plenty tonight, girl, and you had to turn up that little nugget in yer mind while you were doin' so. Why the hell didn't you see fit to mention it?"

"I…I don't know. At the time I was thinking about it, I guess I…I still didn't trust you."

"Didn't *trust* me?" His face tilted and his expression slanted into something close to malevolent, lip curling up over his sharp teeth. "You thought you'd ever be able to trust the Hellrider?"

I hissed in a breath and retreated again, coming up against the rusty tractor. Where was the man who had not been able to stop himself from telling me he loved me? Right in front of me, that was where, with a look like the devil's own on his face.

The rider took a step towards me and I gasped. Throwing my hands up before me, I felt my heart pound like gunshots. "No--!"

Deadman stopped, squeezed his eyes shut and ground his jaw for a moment. "Sorry, Irene. You kinda sucker-punched me there."

With my fingers pressed to my dry mouth, I watched him consciously rein in his anger. "You told me a little late, but you told me. An' I guess you mean you got Aitch to tell you about these bullets and give 'em to you, which he might not have done otherwise. Right?"

"Yes," I said, still shaking.

"Irene," Deadman said, putting a hand towards me, the burns showing on his palm. "I'm sorry, darlin'." I remained where I was despite his apologetic expression and the abject sincerity in his voice. "I shouldn't've scared you like that."

When he reached out and took me in his arms I didn't resist, though my whole body felt stiff and wary. "Aitch is a goddamn skunk, all right. He's been out here to take a look and he left your things right where they were, 'cause he was hopin' you'd fetch the gun and shoot me. It ain't your fault; it's his."

He put my head on his breast and stroked my hair while my spine refused to relax, my eyes wide as I stared blankly over his arm. "He wants to send me straight to Hell, all right, and he'll do anything he can to get that done, including messin' with you. Guess I'm gonna hafta arrange me a little discussion with that backstabbin' son of a bitch.You realize what would happen to me if I got shot with those?"

"Um…Aitch claimed your soul would fade away into oblivion, since there wouldn't be anyone to take you to Hell."

"Did he now?" said the rider with an angry sneer. "That skunk--he's damn well figured who would turn up to take me. In person."

"What?"

"You think the Devil would miss a trick like that? He'd have first claim on me. If I hadn't been redeemed yet, that is, and I ain't gonna be redeemed. There ain't no angel going to fight Satan for my salvation." He looked down at me, again with a strange, desolate tenderness in his tone. "Guess I fucked that one up, huh?"

"I'll take Aitch's cartridges out of my revolver," I said, moving out of Deadman's embrace with a little shrug, or perhaps a shudder. "I'll get rid of them."

I felt rather than heard him give a deep, slumping sigh as I took the gun out of the purse. Taking a surreptitious glance over my shoulder, I saw that his head was hanging and his lips tight, sadness haunting his expression.

I looked away, heartsick but still uneasy. "Oh, no."

"What?"

"Aitch took the rest of my cartridges." They weren't anywhere on the workbench, or in the storage cupboard, which held reloading supplies. "If I take out the silver ones, I won't have any in the gun. I didn't bring any extra ammunition with me."

"Better keep 'em in there for now, Irene."

"What? Why?" I paused in the act of popping the cylinder.

"I don't know where the skunk's gotten to, or the rest of his damn family, but knowin' about this kinda puts a different complexion on them all being gone at once. There's somethin' up, all right. See, he's taken his rifle." Deadman nodded at the whittled gun pegs, which were empty.

"It's not hunting season," I said with a prickle of apprehension.

"Nope, and I figure he's got more firearms stashed around." He motioned for me to pick up my things. "Let's go. Just be careful how you hold that purse. If any of the bums show up and things get sticky, you've got a real good deterrent right there in that gun."

I looked at him; he had managed a slight smile. "Turnabout is fair play, you said. Use the damn things the way they were meant to be used. Against undead."

Part Twenty-Five

"I'll take the whole box," I said, tentatively returning the smile. "I won't leave them for Aitch, even though he says he can't use them himself." The box wouldn't fit in my purse, so I picked it up and slung the purse on my shoulder. "I guess they should be destroyed…but I can't just throw them away."

"Why the hell not? Drop 'em in the septic tank." Deadman smiled a little more broadly.

"He said a priest blessed them. Obviously they've become holy objects, and…"

A slight hint of derision entered his smile. "Whatever you say, darlin'. Just don't get absent-minded and hand me that box."

Was I being foolish? I realized that the supernatural happenings and atmosphere of the place had stimulated a growing resurgence of my childhood religious feelings, which had once been intense. Since I had discarded my faith in adolescence, my remembered Catholicism was still that of a child: dogmatic, literal, unexamined, with a strong undercurrent of superstition.

Knowing that there were such things as undead, demons, and a Hellrider had done nothing to dispel that. I had a deep dread of what might happen if I simply cast the cartridges aside. Blasphemy and desecration? Wasn't it a greater desecration to have forced a priest to bless something meant for such a purpose?

"Do you…do you think I can put these in the saddlebag?"

"I dunno. If they burn me right through the gun and the purse, maybe not. 'Long as you're holding 'em, I might not even be able to touch you." The rider frowned at me. "I ain't gonna try it out right now, so don't look at me like that." Turning to the door, he reached for the battery lantern.

I followed, and nearly bumped into him when he halted in the doorway, hand poised at the switch. "What the fuck?" he said, sounding incredulous and angry. His nostrils twitched as if he smelt something on the breeze. "Son of a bitch! It ain't time yet!"

He whirled around and met my questioning eyes. He wasn't angry with me, I knew, but the look burned like acid. "Not time yet!" he hissed, and ran out of the barn. I stood puzzled for a moment, then went after him.

Outside, the dogs had lined up along the drive, tails wagging, and headlights were coming up the drive. A long black car emerged around the bend as we passed the garage and came up alongside the house, a hearse with tinted windows. I couldn't see the driver's face. It pulled into the yard and stopped. Deadman slowed his pace, and so did I.

After a moment, the back opened and a man clambered out, a very fat man with jet-black hair and a small mustache. He wore a black suit and red shirt with a red tie, and under his arm he bore a long rolled-up scroll with irregular edges.

One look at his dark-rimmed eyes and smug triple chins, and I retreated up the side steps to the veranda, fear roiling in my guts and a strange tightness in my throat.

Deadman came slowly past his parked bike and alongside the house, fists clenching and unclenching. He halted at the bottom of the front steps, between me and the fat man, and folded his arms as if tempted to belt him but wanting to restrain himself for the moment. "What the fuck are you doing here?" he said.

"Undertaker," said the fat man in a formal manner, making a bow so slight it was an insult. "I greet you in the name of our mutual Lord and awesome Master."

"Your lord and master, not mine! Go to hell. You got no right to be here!"

"Ah, but I have." The fat man indicated the scroll under his arm and smiled a hideous, toothy smile. His voice was eerily high-pitched and sibilant. "Ohh yess. There have been serious allegations made concerning the Hellrider's personal and professional conduct during the last twenty-four hours, ohh yess. Considering the pivotal event that is about to take place, this matter cannot be delayed. And so…"

"Allegations? What allegations?"

The fat man glanced up at the veranda where I stood. "I believe you are well aware of the contractual limitations on your behavior. Both for major and for minor matters, ohh yess."

"Who's accusing me?" Deadman spat. Aitch emerged from the hearse, grinning, and dressed in what obviously had been his Sunday best fifty years before--a rusty dark suit and tie, his hair slicked back. "You," said Deadman, pointing aggressively to him, his lip curling. "You sneaking, belly-crawling--"

"Hey," said Aitch, holding up his palms with an exaggerated air of sober probity. "I only know what I heard. Straight from the lady's mouth." I put my hand over my lips in sudden uneasiness.

"From you, that's rich," retorted Deadman. "Goddamn skunk! Yer white stripe is a yard wide--or is that a yellow streak?"

"Oh, but she talked a blue streak in the barn with me," said Aitch. He looked the rider up and down. "I'm such a good listener, you know. She had a lot to get off her mind. And you ain't hardly got off her since you brought her here. Makes a man sick to his stomach to see a lady mistreated like that." Aitch shook his head with a nasty grin, not even bothering to fake a convincing sense of moral outrage.

"You're a damn liar," said the rider through his teeth. "She ain't told you nothing of the kind." But he glanced over his shoulder at me with the beginnings of misgiving.