Deathbed Ch. 6

“Can we get on with this?” hissed Aitch.

“Ohh yess, in due course,” said the Bearer of Indictments in his eerie voice.

Papa flinched at the sound. His eyes fell on the elderly Mexican priest, who had risen to his feet but still muttered prayers in a desperate tone, and an intimation of suspicion began to enter his face. “What in the name of Jesus, Mary and Joseph is going on here?”

“It’s some kind of trial, Papa. I’m a witness--”

“Padre?” said my father, addressing the priest. “Can you give me an explanation of these goings-on?”

The priest burst into a torrent of mixed Spanish and English from which I caught only the words ‘demonio’ and ‘El Muerto’ many times repeated among nearly incoherent warnings to run as fast as we could. The brother cuffed him and he whimpered and fell silent.

Papa looked peeved and turned back to me. “Honey? Who are these people? Who is this ‘Taker person, other than the biggest, scruffiest-looking biker Ah’ve ever seen in my life?” He dropped his voice only slightly and Deadman pushed his tongue into one cheek and chewed his jaw back and forth for a moment. “You know Ah don’t like you to associate with that kind of fellow, and you know why.”

“Yes, Papa.”

“Ah don’t know what it is about motorcycle riders, but they tend to lack a complete set of moral principles and they don't treat women well. Ah have to say, it was unwise to accept a ride from him, honey.”

Papa and Deadman exchanged chilly glances. “Though Ah know you can defend yourself, that was too trusting of you. Men are animals, and you’re so pretty, so innocent still. You’re just a child, really!” Deadman gave him a slow blink and stare with indrawn chin, obviously somewhat taken aback. “Ah hope he hasn’t made unwelcome advances to you while you’ve been here.”

“Shee-it,” said the rider in disgust.

“Uh…well…” I dropped my gaze and flushed guiltily again.

“Undertaker,” said the Bearer of Indictments, who had remained silent until now. “Do you wish to continue your cross-examination of the alleged victim?”

“Damn straight I do!” he shot back. “Let’s get this goddamn kangaroo court over with!”

“No--wait--” I gasped. “Not here!” Papa gave me a strange look. “Can you…can you wait until later? Without my--” I broke off; the fat man’s smile had become a vicious grin.

“This court is still in session,” he said. “Undertaker, in your capacity as your own representative, continue the cross-examination of the witness.”

“All right, woman,” said Deadman, pointing to me with a tone of barely controlled impatience and anger. “You wanted it all along, didn’t ya? You let down your hair and you kept lookin’ at me. I knew you were thinkin’ just what I was thinkin’--you wanted me to take you down an’ spread your legs. Right?”

I looked at the gathering thunder in Papa’s face and at the wide-eyed priest and my tongue clove to the roof of my mouth.

“Come on, woman. Tell the man,” persisted Deadman in a harsh voice. “You like gettin’ persuaded, kind of under compulsion. I did it just the way you wanted me to, an’ you got off so many times I guess I lost count. You loved fucking me, didn’t you?”

“What is he sayin’, honey?” said Papa in a dangerous tone, his accent thickening. “This hoodlum’s done wrong to you? Is that what he said?”

“Papa…”

“Honey, he said he’s had you. Is he a liar, or did he force you? Ah know you’re a good girl--you wouldn’t sleep with some man you just met, not of your own free will.” His expression said ‘especially not a man like this’. “Is he lyin’?”

“N-no…he’s not lying...”

“No shit!” snorted Deadman. “This lady likes it any way you can think of an’ probably plenty that ain’t occurred to me yet! I had her in every hole she’s got!”

“Santa Maria!” gasped the priest.

“Oh, honey…!” Papa looked stricken to the heart. “If only Ah’d got here sooner! Ah blame myself! Ah’ve failed you again, honey! Ah didn’t keep you safe!” He drew me into his arms and patted my hair, tears in his eyes. “Ah know it’s not your fault, sweetheart. He’s abused you day and night since he got hold of you? Ah promise you, he won’t get away with this!”

“N-no…it wasn’t…I…he…” I couldn’t go on, wrapped in my father’s loving arms.

“Does this conclude your cross-examination, Undertaker?” inquired the fat man with a malicious smile.

“No, it don’t!” Deadman insisted. “Woman, talk to me! Tell the fuckin’ truth!” I looked at him with panicked eyes. “Tell him, dammit!” he shouted at my silence. “Tell him you wanted me!”

I glanced up at Papa, who seemed incredulous, and my tongue remained paralyzed. I couldn’t say it. I had said it only once in my life, and to repeat it in front of Papa and a priest--it was impossible, though the world depended on it. By admitting my desires to my lover, I had begun the final phase of my transformation, but it had been only a few tentative steps down a steep precipice.

I looked into the abyss below me, and the fear of the unknown took away all resolve, all voice, all intentions. My long-forgotten religion closed around me like an iron wall. “What the hell is the matter with you, Irene? Tell him!”

“Irene?” said Papa. “Why on earth is he callin’ you Irene, honey?”

“IRENE!” Deadman yelled. “TELL HIM YOU WANTED ME TO FUCK YOU!”

Part Twenty-Nine

I hid myself from him, burying my face against my father’s shirt, my breath coming in sobbing gasps.

Papa held me close, one hand pressing my head into his chest and the other patting my shoulder. I could feel his heart beating furiously against my cheek. “Honey, Ah’m taking you out of here. Ah don’t care who these people are or what they think they’re doin’. Let’s go to my car.” Loosening his grip on me, he threw aside the left-hand flap of his jacket. “Ah’ve got my Colt, honey, and there’s a shotgun and rifle in the rack. They are not going to stop us, you understand? Papa’s takin’ care of it.”

“Yes, Papa,” I whispered.

“Irene,” said the rider, his voice shaking.

*“Por favor, señor,”* cried the priest, “do not leave me here!”

“’Course I’ll give you a ride, Padre,” said my father. “Don’t run, now.” He glanced from side to side at Deadman, the family, and the grinning fat man. “Take it easy and walk slow. Get in the back seat.”

“Irene,” the rider repeated.

“It would seem, Undertaker,” said the Bearer of Indictments, “that this young woman is unable to corroborate your contention that she willingly submitted to sexual intercourse with you. In light of that failure, the court now finds--”

“Irene, you have to speak. If you don’t, I’m condemned. You understand that?” I looked around Papa and met Deadman’s eyes. They were all ablaze with acid fire, glowing baleful and green in his twitching face. “Speak now, or I’m done for.”

Desperately, I tried to find my tongue. “I…I…”

“Don’t you say one word, honey,” said Papa, touching the shoulder holster under his jacket. “Listen to me, you foul-mouthed ruffian. You’ve raped my precious daughter. If you speak to her one more time, so help me God, Ah will shoot you dead right where you stand!”

He pulled me to his Range Rover and opened the front passenger door. At his urging I began to get in. The priest dashed over and fumbled with a rear door. When Shane objected, raising his automatic, my father reached into the car and grabbed for his shotgun, giving it a hard jerk to slide the grip and cock the weapon with an ominous ‘shhklick’.

“The verdict of the court will now be rendered,” said the Bearer of Indictments.

“Irene,” gasped the rider, his face going blank with shock. “You can’t go running out on me now! You faithless bitch--”

“Shut your vile mouth!” yelled my father. “You will not speak that way to my daughter!” He began to level the shotgun.

“What are you, woman?” said Deadman through gritted teeth. “Who do you belong to? What was your *job?* START TALKING!”

“No, Papa!” I seized the end of the shotgun’s barrel. “He d-d-didn’t rape me,” I blurted out, shaking and stuttering with the awful tension. “I…I resisted, but I w-w-wanted him…to m-m-make me…have-have-have s-s-sex with h-him.”

“Oh, thank God!” said Deadman with a sagging breath, face tilting up to the stars.

“Indeed,” said the fat man. “A game of witheld consent? For purposes of titillation?”

“S-s-something like that…” Papa looked at me in horror. I began to hyperventilate and sob, awful noises accompanying every gasping breath.

“And yet you shot the Hellrider with the intention of killing him. Yess?”

“Y-yes. B-because I was afraid the…p-police would…find me here…if he kept me too long!”

“In other words, your witholding of consent was entirely serious.”

“Uh…” My head spun; I reeled from my uncontrollable breathing. “N-no…I…It wasn’t b-because--”

“It is logical to conclude,” said the fat man in his horrible piping voice, “nay, it is a fact, that when a woman shoots a man who has made advances to her, she is unwilling to submit to him. Your feeble attempt to exonerate him of the charges, at his instigation, is prima faciae absurd and points to either coercion or confusion of mind. Ohh yess. This portion of the victim’s testimony is therefore stricken from the record of this trial.”

“No--NO!” I cried. “I’m t-t-telling the truth!”

“You can’t throw that out!” yelled the rider in utter shock. “This is BULLSHIT!”

“He’s drugged you, honey! That’s it--Ah knew it had to be something like that!” Papa dropped the shotgun on the seat, seized my shoulders and looked into my face, pulling down one of my lower eyelids. “He’s fed you something!”

“The verdict of the court will now be rendered,” said the Bearer of Indictments. “By testimony and his own admission, the Hellrider is adjudged guilty of the crime of rape, which constitutes in one act the mortal sins of lust, anger and greed. He is therefore in primary violation of the contract imposed fifty years ago this night, and stands liable to all penalties, sanctions, and disadvantages appertaining thereto.” He clapped his hands. “This court is adjourned.”

“YEAH!” whooped Aitch, leaping into the air and shadow-boxing. “Got you, you son of a bitch!” Stephanie screeched with laughter, embracing Shane, and Vince grabbed Aitch’s hand and pumped it in congratulations.

“NO!” roared Deadman, swinging a fist in a furious gesture. “This ain’t over! That ain’t the truth, and you KNOW it!”

“On the contrary. This verdict cannot be appealed.”

The rider charged at him, and when the Bearer dodged behind the hearse he vaulted over the hood and landed in front of him with a crash, stalking forward and forcing him to retreat. “Like HELL! It’s a goddamn lie! You can’t ignore her testimony! She told you the truth! Irene--!”

“Not at all,” squeaked the fat man. “It is her former silence that is instructive! If she meant to exonerate you, she would have spoken when first asked! You threatened her in the court’s hearing, and she has fabricated an implausible story meant to appease your wrath!” He paused, his eyes blazing with red fire. “Even if such a story were believable, telling it in such a manner would destroy any impression of its truthfulness. Which it has!”

“I don’t care who you are, you piece of shit,” hissed Deadman, throwing off his coat and grabbing the Bearer by the collar. “I’m gonna pound you into the dirt until you listen--”

“Aid me!” shrieked the fat man, pinwheeling his arms.

The driver’s door of the hearse flew open, and a man stepped out. Huge, muscular, even larger than the rider, and dressed from head to foot in close-fitting red and black. He wore a mask over his face and his hair was long and straggling. He and Deadman stared at each other for a moment.

“I know you,” said the rider. “You were ridin’ a bike the last time I saw you.”

“I was,” said the man in a rasping voice. “Release the Bearer of Indictments.”

“And if I don’t?”

“The verdict has been rendered. You invite the direct wrath of our Lord and Master.”

“Let him come!” shouted the rider, his temples turning red. “Let him come, and I’ll smash his face for him, if he’s even got a face! What did he do to my darlin’ Irene?”

Suddenly he shoved the fat man to the ground, ran around the hearse and came straight at me. “Irene! Tell him again! Tell him--” His eyes were blazing green, his flaming hair backlit by the floodlights as he charged; I let out an involuntary scream of panic.

*“El Muerto!”* quavered the priest. “Santa Maria, protect us!”

Deadman broke off, breathing hard and advancing more slowly as I huddled in my father’s arms, and began again in a quieter tone. “Darlin’…I know I scared you, and I’m sick about it. You know I’m sorry. I’d never hurt you, darlin’--don’t you know that? You gave me everything you had to give, and I’m grateful. I guess I ain’t supposed to say how much. But you got to tell him again how it was!” His deep voice broke; I almost thought he was going to weep. “Why didn’t you say it straight off? That you an’ me were makin’ real love?”

The priest chose that moment to begin another prayer. *“Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum,” he muttered, quivering in horror at the rider’s approach. “Benedicta tu in mulieribus, et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Iesus. Sancta Maria, Mater Dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc, et in hora mortis nostrae. Amen.”* My father recited the prayer out loud as well, defending me in his arms, his body stiff.

“Irene?” Deadman begged. “Please?”

“She’s a good girl,” said my father between his teeth. I could feel his frantic heart rate and the sweat beneath his shirt. “She’s a baptized Christian, and she’s my daughter. She wouldn’t ever consent to lie down with scum like you.”

“I didn’t ask you, Pop,” said the rider, turning his eyes to Papa. “I asked her.” My father closed his mouth with a snap; he was terrified to an extent I had never seen before. “My darlin’…it ain’t too late. Just tell that you wanted it with me. Nothin’ more than that. I ain’t askin’ for you to say that you feel…”

He compressed his lips, his eyes filled with all the adoration he had shown me, mixed with acid fire. “Didn’t you want it with me, Irene? Just say yes.” I said nothing, mesmerized with both fear and guilt, and yet unable to take my eyes off him. My father’s terror and religious dread was contagious--I had always been closely attuned to his emotions, and the tightness in my throat was almost strangling now. The abyss loomed below me and I held like death to the only refuge I still had.

“One word,” my demon lover prompted me. “’Yes’.”

I still had the cartridges in their box, pressed against my chest, and I could feel Papa’s crucifix in the opening of his shirt. I put my hand on it just as Deadman reached out to touch me. His fingers hovered above the skin of my cheek; he stared into my eyes, pleading silently, and then brushed his palm softly against my face.

I felt only the contact, but a horrid sizzle hissed in my ear and Deadman jerked back with the hellish light flaring in his eyes. Looking in disbelief at his hand, he displayed a new set of burns, black and smoking with a sickening smell. I dropped the box on the ground and it broke open.

“It appears that you have received your answer, Undertaker,” said the Bearer of Indictments with a furious squeak, struggling dusty and disheveled to his feet with the huge man’s help. “Accept the verdict, and there is still room for negotiation. Resist it further, and there will be nothing for you but the FIRE!” His voice rose to a high-pitched scream on the last word, echoing eerily through the yard and reverberating from every surface.

“Negotiation?” Shane began in an aggrieved tone. “I thought they were just gonna take him an’--”

“Hush,” hissed Aitch. “That’s why I had ya fetch the priest!” The son shut up.

For several minutes, the silence was oppressive. The family stood tensely by the house, the Bearer and his driver waited by the hearse. My father and the priest seemed paralyzed and I was motionless as well, all staring at the rider. He looked only at his burned hand, his desolate eyes glowing with the flame of Satan.

“So you say she’s sent me straight to the pits of Hell,” he finally said in a dead-flat tone. “I’ve broken the terms of my employment, put myself in Satan’s absolute power, and I’ve no more rights than any other condemned soul. You say my mortal sin’s given me over to the Author of Sin. A few more hours, and I’d have been untouchable even by the Devil himself. You say this woman’s destroyed me.”

“That is indeed what I say.” The Bearer of Indictments rubbed his hands. “And now. You admit that my bargaining position is immeasurably superior to yours, Undertaker. But the result of your crimes is not set in stone. Shall we go inside? We must discuss the new terms that our Lord and Master has provided for you.” He smiled his horrible smile again. “We are inclined to be generous. Ohh yesss. We have been well pleased with your performance, Hellrider. All we require…is your mortal soul.”

“Get the mackerel-snapper,” said Aitch to his in-laws, and they began to advance with their firearms.

“I’ll make a counter-claim,” said the rider, still toneless, his great shoulders sagging. “About the tactics that got used to make me break the terms.” It didn’t sound as if that would gain him anything.

“No…” I whispered, finally finding my voice. It had all been twisted; my own perversion, calculation and ambiguity of mind used against him in a diabolical design. “No…I never meant…”

Aitch bared his teeth at Deadman and Stephanie tried to embrace all her relatives at once, pulling the family into a tight knot. The rider looked at me and them, putting us together in one category. His eyes returned to me. “You deceitful slut. I thought--well, I’m a fool. You told me yourself how treacherous you are.”

His eyes closed. “I see now. For once that fat asshole’s told the whole truth, because you’re Satan’s creature, and you’ve done the job you were sent to do. A flat tire on that left-hand curve?”

My lover slowly shook his head. “No more an accident than Aitch’s was. In the same place they all died--I should have known. All of you are his servants. You were given to me by the Devil, the pack of you, and you’ve destroyed me.”

He turned his back on me, and I collapsed in racking sobs.