Part Twenty-Six
“No--” I said in a strangled voice. “No, I’m not undead! I can touch holy objects!” My heartbeat pounded in my ears, another proof of life. What could the Bearer of Indictments mean? “Like these--” Deadman suddenly glanced at the cartridges I had been about to display, and I broke off and hid them inside my jacket.
Aitch hadn’t missed the exchange, though I wasn’t sure if he had noticed what I was holding before I concealed it; his sharp eyes went back and forth between us.
“How could I have died in the first place?” I scoffed. “My car didn’t even go in the ditch! All I had was a flat tire!”
“I assure you, madam, you were killed,” said the Bearer of Indictments, making an exaggerated bow in my direction. “You have passed through the valley of the shadow of Death. And, obviously, made a return from hence.”
“You’re lying!”
“No, he ain’t,” said Deadman unexpectedly. “He ain’t allowed to tell a downright lie.” I looked at him in startlement. “That don’t mean he can’t find some damn clever ways around it, ‘cause he’s a devious son of a bitch and I ain’t surprised in the least that ol’ Aitch has gone and took up with him. But if he says you died, woman, you died.”
He looked at me more carefully, again visibly restraining his fury. Perhaps all that held him back from the brink was the thought of his misstep in the barn--he’d bitterly regretted frightening me, though he had looked on me as an ordinary mortal at the time.
Was I indeed undead, and if I was, what did that mean? Of course he recalled that I could touch without harm something that had instantly attacked his sorcery-infused body, but since neither of us knew anything about the cartridges other than what Aitch had claimed, that evidence couldn’t be conclusive.
I put my hand on my pounding heart, pressing it slightly in the hope that my lover would remember its living beat against him. But could its action also be a necromantic trick? So recently, we had lain together, sharing everything, and now even I doubted what my motives might have been. He could see that doubt in my eyes, I knew, and his gaze struck into me like a knife.
“I dunno,” said Deadman slowly. “It seems likely you’re undead. There ain’t any other way you could have died and still be eating and drinkin’ an’ making…and so on. Far as I know, that is, that’s the only way, an’ I guess I know somethin’ about the Devil’s methods.”
“Er-hem.” The Bearer of Indictments cleared his throat somewhat awkwardly, seemingly anxious to get off the subject now that he had introduced it. “In any case, this woman arrived at that spot with a heavy burden of unatoned, unconfessed mortal sin, and so her death alerted you.”
“Yeah, something did,” said the rider. “That much fits, if she died. I got a call.” His first shocked reaction had given way to cautious suspicion; he might have been letting me have the benefit of the doubt, but it was impossible for us to convey much to each other with such an audience, and he turned and kept his back to me, facing the Bearer of Indictments. “What she is now--that’s a question. But I do know I got a call.”
“Ohh yess. She was legitimately one of your charges, if only for a moment. You arrived and found her there some hours later. That she was no longer dead--ah, technically dead, is immaterial. You believed her to be dead, and so the transgressions you committed are as serious as if she actually had--”
“Bullshit!” spat the rider. “Don’t give me your hair-splitting legal crap, you devil’s advocate! If that’s all you’ve got on me, shut the fuck up and get your fat ass out of here!”
“Very well. It is true that this is a venial offense, so we will proceed to more serious matters. Item. The Hellrider displayed a total lack of restraint in reaction to insults made to this woman, inflicting a severe beating on a person not directly interfering with the performance of his duty. Interviews with witnesses point to a possible major violation of the contract, as the mortal sin of anger constitutes--”
“Oh, come on! These witnesses tell ya ol’ Rattlesnake picked the fight?” Deadman looked around at me. “You gonna back me up here, Irene?” His eyes narrowed; this was a test. “Who took the first shot?”
“Rattlesnake did,” I replied. “Twice, because he tried to hit you with the door before you’d even gotten out of the bar. And he challenged you to the fight.”
With a slanting smile, he turned back to the Bearer of Indictments. “There ya go.”
The fat man seemed undisconcerted. “We will set this item aside as well, then, and proceed to the heart of the matter.” He began to read again. “Item. When the Hellrider brought the woman Irene to this place by way of the Road of the Dead, it was against her will, again attested to by many witnesses, and with the intention of sexual consummation. Item. He physically touched her and spoke to her in a seductive manner, attested to by a witness.” Aitch’s eavesdropping wife? Probably.
“Item. When she did not respond, he forced himself on her. Although she valiantly resisted, to the point of attempting to kill him to preserve her honor, he attacked her sexually, struck her in the face and raped her.”
The Bearer of Indictments unrolled another length of the scroll, its shape and details emerging more clearly, and I realized that it was made from a human pelt. A woman’s skin, the flayed legs sewn together to form the central seam and the groin still outlined with a patch of dark hair. My stomach roiled, an acid taste in my mouth. The foul hypocrisy of such an accusation written on such a surface!
Deadman was silent for a moment, then growled, “OK, the only thing you just proved is that your whole indictment is crap. *Rape?* Don’t make me laugh.”
The fat man looked up reprovingly. “Sexual contact is strictly forbidden for you, though technically, again a venial offense. But to force it on a defenseless woman is truly beyond the pale.” He looked down again at his piteous scroll. “Item. He repeated the attack--”
“Defenseless?” snorted Deadman. “A woman who can pull the trigger so quick I hadn’t even a chance to dodge?”
“Item,” the Bearer said again. “The Hellrider repeated the attack, even more violently, and has kept her captive for many hours while indulging in the satisfaction of his lusts.”
Deadman rolled his eyes with a scornful grin, looking sideways at me. “No shit. She just happened to love every second of my lustful satisfaction. That written down in your goddamn scroll?”
The fat man snarled at him, his eyes glowing with a fire similar to Deadman’s, but red in color. “Item. He spoke disrespectfully to the Bearer of Indictments--”
The rider flipped him off. “Fuck it on a stick, you fat-assed turd! This is bullshit from beginning to end! You’re accusing me of rape on hearsay? Why not ask the lady herself what she thought it was?”
“The point being, that she resisted your advances--”
“Sure, she shot me! She still wanted it! Irene’s not yer average all-American girl, you understand.” He chuckled. “Rape it wasn’t, and she’s said so to my face.”
The fat man returned to the scroll. “--And he denied the truth of the allegations made against him, in the face of all evidence to the contrary. This woman has accused you herself, and the testimony of many witnesses corroborates her.”
“Bull! She hasn’t accused me of jack-shit!”
The Bearer of Indictments unrolled another part of the scroll, exposing the distorted breasts of the flayed skin. “Herein, an account of a conversation between the alleged victim and a witness.” He indicated Aitch, who grinned.
“The witness inquired about the shots heard in the house, and asked the woman if she had angered you by shooting you. Her reply: ‘He hit me. But he was more interested in finishing what he’d started.’ The witness inquired if she meant a sexual advance on your part: ‘That’s right. It must be the whole reason he brought me here. I said no and I asked him to stop, but he didn’t. I shot him. When the wounds vanished and I realized what he was, I was petrified. He dragged me upstairs and…’ The witness expressed concern for her physical well-being: ‘Yes, thank you. I’m perfectly all right. He didn’t beat me up while he was doing it.’ The witness expressed a wish to have interfered with the attack: ‘It wasn’t your fault. I don’t think anything would have stopped him.’ A later comment by the witness: ‘But he’s treated you bad.’ The woman’s reply: ‘Yes, he has.’”
He rolled the scroll and put it under his arm. “What could be plainer?”
There was a long silence from Deadman, who stood with his back to me, his head moving slightly as if he were scanning back and forth with his eyes. His jaw compressed and he swallowed hard.
