Deathbed

Part Thirty

Four white crosses on the embankment of a ditch. Four members of a family, hand picked for a purpose. As I had been? Picked for the Hellrider’s service, and for his ultimate downfall?

Everyone but Deadman looked at me as I wept, wailing in an agony of regret; Stephanie stopped her ears and a couple of the dog-demons set up a consonant howling. Gradually I subsided, wiping my nose on my sleeve, but the tears kept streaming silently down my face.

“OK, get the priest into the house with the guns,” Aitch ordered his in-laws. They seized him and hustled him away from the Range Rover; my father clutched at me, seeming to need my support. He was still shaking with terror and didn’t even seem to recall that he was armed. I’d recovered far more quickly than he, because the strangeness of this place and its denizens had become so familiar over the last thirty hours.

“I *am* that damn good,” gloated Aitch. “As for this little lady…” He smiled at me and then looked at his wife, who eagerly pulled guns and boxes of ammunition from the Firebird. “She did good, and it seems she’s just like we are. Do we kill her too, or get some use out of her?” He took a double-barrelled shotgun and loaded it.

“Dear God…I didn’t know…” I moaned. “Why did this happen? No…please…give me another chance! Please, God!”

“Whatever you want, baby,” cooed Stephanie, looking up at him with a worshipful gaze. “You do anything with her you like.” Aitch gave me a slow, salacious grin, his eyes glinting reddish in the floodlights. “I wonder if she knows how to cook…”

“Who cares?” replied Aitch, loosening his tie with an eloquent yank.

“No,” I repeated, my throat gradually unbinding. Some alien oppression had lifted from me, though everything seemed dim in my sight since the rider had given in to the verdict.

The tightness was easing, and the Bearer of Indictments was paying no more attention to me. Now that I didn’t matter to his purposes? My mind clarified with every passing moment. “No…”

He had done something to me; constricted and limited my speech to the ‘facts’ of my liason with Deadman--which added up to a lie. He’d seen that my father’s presence would make it almost impossible for me to admit my sexual preferences. And so he had orchestrated this trial to give the appearance of impartiality, when it could not have been more unjust.

The Hellrider had been railroaded; perhaps that was why he still had to be bargained with before they could take his soul. I knew exactly what was going to happen to him: my lover’s memories and humanity destroyed, immediately and forever, and it was my fault.

Maybe the Bearer of Indictments couldn’t tell a direct falsehood, but like any lawyer worth his salt he could make a lie out of truth and hatred out of love. A fitting servant of Satan, for the Devil could quote Scripture!

Never had the cruel nonsense of Deadman’s redemption seemed more obvious, for what had seemed to be something strong, undying, wonderful, a force of light and warmth miraculously generated between two people devoted to darkness, had turned to ashes in a few moments.

A flash in the void, no more, as it seemed to me at that moment were all faith and hope. Evil and despair were stronger than love. Love could not conquer the darkness.

I stared at the rider’s back, everything that had passed between us washing over me. I knew what my unfamiliar emotions were; now that it was too late, I had no shame, no barriers in my mind, and at last I could call everything by its right name. Too late, I was transformed.

Deadman stood by himself, fists clenched at his sides and facing out into the night. “Why?” he raged in a whisper. He didn’t seem to speak to anyone present. “Why? I hadn’t had a woman in fifty years, and I had to be tempted? Why? To put the last nail in the coffin of my hopes? To make sure I wasn’t going to find my phantom redeemer? You’ve tortured me for fifty years! When does it END?!”

He stamped on the earth, his voice rising to a cry. “Why did you put her there to wait for me? A woman with blood-red eyes, a woman who smells of death? You knew I couldn’t resist her!” he howled. “Not when she let down her hair like a waterfall of blood and told me she knew about death! Not when she put those eyes on me and wouldn’t look away! A demon temptress who’s killed men and bathed in their blood! The only kind of woman I couldn’t walk away from! WHY?!”

Aitch walked up to me with the shotgun and pointed at my purse. “Drop it on the ground.” I brushed the strap from my shoulder and let it fall.

He seized me by the arm, wrenching me away from my helpless father. I braced myself for the sizzle, but there was none; the cartridges lay on the ground and I wasn’t touching Papa’s crucifix. I had no more protection from the undead. Aitch smiled into my face, took the clip from my hair and put the shotgun on his shoulder.

“Come on inside, ma’am,” he said mockingly as my hair fell slowly down my back, uncoiling with a soft sound like a whispering voice. “We got us some catching up to do.”

With awful clarity, I realized he wasn’t bound by any contractual conditions--no one was going to put him on trial for what he meant to do to me. His free arm slid around my waist, the muscles hard as iron under his suit jacket.

“You will accompany me, Undertaker,” piped the Bearer of Indictments. “Bring the Hellrider to me,” he ordered his driver. The huge man in red and black walked over and laid a hand on the rider’s shoulder, but for the moment he didn’t move a step, seemingly oblivious.

“Irene…” he groaned, so low I barely heard him. “God, Irene…” He wasn’t calling to me; this was nothing but the last spark from the dying embers of his love. Deadman rolled his head irregularly from side to side, his shoulders heaving as if he were trying to suppress sobs. “You never…wanted me…”

The abyss yawned wide before us. In a moment, darkness would devour both of us and every hope we had ever possessed would be snuffed out forever. Though I knew all effort was futile, I had to rage against the dying of the light. Entirely unprompted, I had to tell him the truth.

With the last of my strength I pulled away from Aitch--I had my voice again, I had some power to move, and without even forming the resolve to descend the precipice, I leaped into the unknown.

“I LOVE YOU!” I screamed. “I LOVE YOU, DEADMAN!”

Aitch’s in-laws, who had taken the guns and were heading up the steps with the priest, suddenly froze.

“I never meant to betray you! I wanted you from the moment I saw you! I’ve wanted you all my life! I love you as I’ve never loved any man!”

“What?” said Papa.

“Huh?” said Stephanie, straightening up and hitting her head on the frame of the Firebird’s door. “Ow! What did she say?”

“I love you. *I…love…you!*”

It was the truth, the searing, agonizing, perfect truth, bursting from me like a life-force torn from my vitals, and the words seemed to change the very nature of the air. Deadman stood utterly motionless, his back still turned to me. He didn’t even seem to breathe.

“Stop!” screeched the Bearer of Indictments. “Be silent, woman!”

There was more I needed to say, as if a sweet voice whispered a liturgy in my ear. “I will always love you. I will be faithful to you unto death. I swear it before you and in the presence of this company!”

The man in red and black suddenly released Deadman and moved away. The rider staggered as if he’d had a support beam struck out from under him, a hand going to his forehead, then lurched around to look into my eyes.

“NOOO!” squealed the fat man with hideous wrath building in his face. “NOOOO!” He shook his fist at me, his eyes flaming red. “Daughter of Eve, beware! You’ll regret this, human sow! Your pitiful soul--”

“Shut up!” said Deadman, his expression mixing fury and an extraordinary piercing joy.

“Ohh…fuck,” moaned Aitch. He backed away from me as the family stood in shocked silence, the shotgun dropping from his nerveless hands. Obviously he knew only too well what had just happened, and the aghast look on his face suddenly slammed it home to me.

I was the Hellrider’s redeemer. I was his salvation--I, a woman who had used her body for any purpose but God’s before she had met her one undying love. I was the woman he had been seeking for nearly fifty years.

A horrible, ululating cry like that of a bird of prey went up from the direction of the hearse. I jumped, and everyone stared at the fat man’s gibbering rage. He danced and shrieked, tearing up his scroll. The bits vanished in puffs of flame. Screaming to his approaching driver, he opened the door of the hearse and jumped inside; the doors slammed and the hearse reversed down the drive.

The priest broke free from the paralyzed men and stumbled down the steps into the yard. Howling and whining, the dog-demons chased the big black car; Deadman kicked one as it went by.

“Hounds of hell!” he bellowed. “Run back to your master!” Ignoring the family, who milled in confusion around the yard, the rider took three long strides forward, pulled me into his arms and kissed me.

“What the hell is going on?” shrieked Stephanie. “I thought you said we were going to get rid of him! I thought you said you had it all figured out! What the hell happened?!”

“Goddammit!” yelled Aitch. “Goddammit!” He caught up the shotgun, leaped into the Firebird and took off after the hearse, making a wide detour around my father’s Range Rover.

His wife screamed and ran a few steps in pursuit, but the car was gone. “Daddy! Tell me what she said! Why did the Bearer leave? We’ve still got the priest--can we--?”

“No good now!” Vince yelled, seizing her by the hand. “Run! ‘Fore he gets us!” They all sprinted up the steps and vanished into the house, but Deadman had no eyes for anyone but me.

“Darlin’,” he whispered, kissing me and holding me close. “Darlin’ Irene…” Was it true? Was I his redeemer? Or was he mine? I felt cleansed, burned free of filth again, mind and body new as if reborn, and I surrendered my lips to him with no thought of anything but redemption and forgiveness. “I love you, Irene… You wouldn’t let me say it before. I love you.”

“I know, my love,” I replied, tears streaking my cheeks. “I love you so…”

Part Thirty-One

Some undeterminable time later, the Firebird returned. The family hadn’t left the house; no lights were visible in the windows. My father and the Mexican priest huddled on the ground next to the Range Rover, heads in hands or faces lowered to their knees. Neither of them had said a word in a long time, either to each other or to us.

Deadman and I sat in the yard, I on his lap with his arms around me. He had fetched his coat and wrapped it around both of us to keep us warm, for in the hours before dawn the night had grown cold. We weren’t speaking or kissing; we only sat quietly, gazing up at the stars.

They glittered white, far above us, and all I felt, for the first time in my life, was peace. Deadman’s hand smoothed my hair away from my face and I rested my head on his breast. Still I felt no heartbeat, and I wondered vaguely what his release from servitude would mean to his undead nature.

Aitch’s headlights came up the drive and he stopped the car behind the Range Rover with an abrupt screech of brakes as if he were afraid to pass it or startled that we were still there. I could hear his agonized breathing when he got out, leaving the keys in the ignition to provide for a quick getaway.

“Where’s my wife?” he said with an attempt at belligerence.

“Right where ya ran off an’ left her,” said Deadman with amusement. “What, he wouldn’t come back for another shot?”

Aitch moaned; it was almost a sob. “How’d you do it? She hated you!”

“Afraid you got that one wrong, sport,” replied my lover, breathing in my ear. “Guess you ain’t too well versed in the minds o' women.”

Aitch let out another moan. “What are you gonna do to us?”

“I ain’t even thinkin’ about you,” said Deadman. “I got better things to do.” He leaned down and kissed me.

“Ah, get a room,” snapped Aitch, apparently emboldened, and went swiftly up the drive and into the house.

My father finally roused himself, his face pale, and stood up leaning on his car.

“Honey?” he said in a faint voice. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, Papa. Are you feeling better?”

“What was that? Why did you tell him that? I felt…something. It knocked the wind out of me.”

“I know, Papa. It was a condition he had to fulfill, to be released. Obviously the words had a lot of power.”

“What?” he said, uncomprehending.

“You asked me what I was,” I said to Deadman. He looked down at me. “I’m not really sure…but I don’t think the Devil raised me from the dead with black magic.”

“I kinda got that notion, darlin’,” he said with a smile.

“So what am I? What are you?”

Deadman stretched out a hand and looked at it. “I don’t feel so different. ‘Sides the obvious, that is.” The burns he had taken remained on his palm.

“I understand…you’re free, but you aren’t transformed. What happens now? Are you going to exist as undead forever?”

“I don’t know, darlin’.” He kissed the top of my head. “That might depend on you.”

“I said I’d be faithful to you until death, and it was the truth.” I reached up and stroked his cheek. “But how could I say that and have it mean what it meant, unless I’m alive?”

“You got a point there.” Deadman checked my throat pulse. “You sure seem alive to me, and you could handle those cartridges with no problem. That fat asshole never said flat out you were undead--that was me. I think there’s somethin’ else goin’ on here.”

“You must be right. Papa said my car was a mess and there was blood all over…Papa?” I stood up with Deadman and went over to my father, giving him a kiss.

“Honey?” He had helped the groggy priest to his feet and was straightening his clothes.

“Show me your crucifix, please.”

“Of course, honey.” He pulled the chain out of his shirt, the little gold cross and silver Christ tinkling against the gold ring that hung on the same chain, my mother’s wedding band. I took the crucifix in my hand and kissed it, warm from Papa’s body. “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, Amen.” Papa put a blessing hand on my head and made a cross on my forehead with his thumb.

“There. You see? I can’t be undead. There’s nothing of the Devil in me; I’d know it.”

“Yeah,” said Deadman, nodding. “So maybe he was lyin’ about the accident.”

“No, I don’t think he was. Not about my being killed. Just letting us make assumptions about the manner of my restoration. After all--”

“What?” said Papa. “Honey, you are making no sense. You’re wandering. Ah have to get you to a hospital.”

“I did have a job to do, and so I couldn’t be allowed to end there. The way things have turned out, it’s obvious whose purposes I had to achieve. You’re redeemed from Hell, and I…” I sighed quietly, biting my lips. “I have a great deal to be forgiven, if I’m ever to be saved. I can’t atone for what I’ve done--nothing but grace will take away my sins. But…perhaps, I’ve been given a wonderful grace already.”

Deadman’s forehead creased, comprehension dawning. “Pop said yer car was all smashed up. But you didn’t see it that way, and neither did I.”

“No. Your life was saved twice by the Devil, and the way he did it nearly drove you insane. My life was restored…by the Creator of all life. I saw an all-pervading flash of light. A tiny glimpse of ultimate power.”

A joyous sob caught in my throat. “It wasn’t traumatic, and it wasn’t meant to be. So I didn’t see that my car was wrecked and that my blood was everywhere, and since you and I were there together, you didn’t see it either.”

“But I could smell it on ya, darlin’. That’s why you smelled of death so strong.” He glanced at my father, who looked uneasy. “Don’t you worry, Pop. Sounds like she’s been in the best of hands all along.”

“Yes.” I raised my face to the dark sky, the stars twinkling coldly down at us. “I’m alive. Truly alive. But for a moment I was dead, and I was sent back. It wasn’t time for me to die.” I crossed myself, tears blurring the stars, and folded my hands. “Thank you. Thank you for giving me another chance at redemption.” God was merciful…and God was also just. What would I know of God in the end?

“You got a new life,” said Deadman in wonderment. “A real life.”

“And a new name. I christened myself. You see?”

“Yeah, I think I do. Want to celebrate?” He didn’t wait for my answer, but turned to the priest. “Yo, Padre. You got the stuff to do a marriage?”

*“Que?”* he said, apparently shocked into his native language.

“A marriage, Padre. A weddin’. Can you get us hitched?” He mimed putting a ring on my finger.

*“Matrimonio?”*

“Yeah, matrimony. Right here and now. I want to marry this woman. Irene?”

“I will,” I said without hesitation. “I’ll marry you.”

Deadman leaned down to kiss me, but my father’s furious objection halted him. “You’re insane,” said Papa. “You can’t marry my daughter!”

“Says who?” said Deadman.

“Papa, please--”

“Ah will not allow this, you insolent hoodlum,” said Papa. “You don’t have my consent to this!”

“Papa, I’m thirty years old and I’ve been married before. We don’t have to have your consent!”

“Honey, this man’s done something to you. Drugged you!” He grabbed me by the hand. “Come with me. We’ll get you to a hospital so you can press rape charges against him.”

*“Madre de Dios…”* muttered the priest.

“You mind pipin’ down, Pop?” said Deadman with a cold glare.

“I’m not going to do anything of the kind, Papa. Weren’t you listening? Leave me alone!” I pulled away from him and backed into Deadman’s arms. “I love him. Please believe me. I want to be his wife.”

“You met him yesterday! He isn’t even Catholic!” yelled Papa, his face turning red. “Roy had his little faults, sure, but he was a good Mass-going Roman Catholic!”

“I ain’t convertin’,” said Deadman with ironic humor. “I was always a true-blue Methodist.”

I rolled my eyes at the thought of a dead man changing his denomination, but before I could respond, I heard a sound of breaking window glass. Deadman and I were facing away from the house, a few yards from the Range Rover, and Papa and the priest stood with their backs against the car. Papa’s eyes opened wide and the brim of his hat went up. “Honey! Watch it!”

BKAM! A rifle spoke, and a round drilled itself into the side of the Range Rover inches from the priest’s hip.

It wasn’t immediately clear to me who Aitch was aiming at, but if the .308 had gone about a foot and a half to the left and hit Deadman in the back, it would have gone clean through his body and mine as well with barely a loss of velocity.

The rider apparently had the same thought, for the next moment I found myself flying through the air as he vaulted over the car with me and pulled me down. Shielding me, he growled deep in his chest. “Damn! Thought he was whipped!”

Part Thirty-Two

Papa and the priest scrambled around our side of the Range Rover in the next moment, the priest grey-faced under his natural tan and Papa sweating.

“This is no shelter!” yelled Papa. “He’s firing high-powered rounds and they will go right through the car!” He reached up and unlocked the rear door as another round shattered the rear side window. “Ah need my Remington!” BKAM! The windshield went out.

Papa jumped up immediately and grabbed the rifle from the rack, narrowly avoiding the next shot. BKAM! It tore through the broken window and the open door and buried itself in the earth six inches from my feet.”What is that maniac doing?!”

“I think he wants to kill us, Papa.”

“Ah got that! What Ah want to know is, why?!” BKAM! A tire sank and Papa jammed in the Remington’s magazine and pulled back the bolt.