For Love of the Dead

by Hal Bodner

  “He killed himself?”

  Jake looked at Tyler and saw he was subtly different. At some point during his tale of his brother’s humiliation and rape, he had shed the briefs. He stood now completely naked, and within the vision of his body, oiled and glistening in the flickering light, Jake could see a reflection of the mighty gods he served. Tyler Deauxfines was proud and beautiful, a paragon of manhood, an exquisite creature created by nature—or perhaps by the gods of whom Tyler spoke—as an embodiment of divine perfection. Yes, Tyler was gorgeous and proud, wounded and sorrowful, determined and powerful. He was also very angry.

  “We found Tito in a tidal pool by the shore, broken. He had jumped from the cliffs above, unable to bear his shame any longer. My brother...” There was a catch in his voice. “My beautiful, adored brother was murdered. Yes! Murdered by a demon in pleasing form. Mark Hartner may not have been on the cliffs with Tito when he jumped but, he supplied the push all the same.”

  “And you brought him back anyway?” Mark asked the question aloud this time, dumbfounded and still unable to fathom Tyler’s motivation.

  Deauxfines nodded. “A zombie. But a very special zombie. He retains his soul even though his memory has been damaged by the process. In time, he would recover most of it. He would become even worse than the man he was. And he would be virtually unstoppable. I do not intend to give him that time—with your help.”

  “My help?”

  Jake wanted to leave. Now. He had no intention of taking part in anything involving living corpses. His job, of course, had long inured him against most of the superstitions many people had about the deceased and he was long past the creepiness factor. Nevertheless, he didn’t think it was unreasonable for him to prefer that the dead people he came in contact with would stay dead. The chill running up and down his spine at Tyler’s suggestion that Jake get involved was even more intense than what he’d felt when he’d first seen the chains and the altar and thought Tyler had tricked him into this dungeon in order to bind him to it.

  “Hear what I have to tell you first,” Tyler said calmly. “Then, if you wish no part of these affairs, I will not stop you from going. But I must warn you. Putting all of this behind you will be no easy task. Mark Hartner has already entered your life and you are the key to his salvation or his damnation. He has a way of ruining everything he touches and getting rid of him without...consequences, without making the choices you are destined to make, may not be possible.”

  Tyler seemed sadly sincere about what he was saying, to truly regret he had brought the calamity known as Mark Hartner into innocent lives. But, as he looked at Jake, his eyes narrowed and Jake thought he saw a scintilla of cunning in the handsome priest’s expression.

  “You must be very warm.” Tyler crooned the incongruous statement like the snake in the garden tempting Eve. “You’re covered with sweat. I cannot bank the fire. The potion heating on it is too important for what I must do. But I will not be offended if you join me as the gods intended us to be.”

  He smiled and with an all-encompassing motion of his hands, he indicated his own nudity. Jake felt a flush starting in his chest and his dick jumped at the idea of being naked with this magnificent man, of pressing his hairy chest against the smooth flesh of Tyler’s body, of mingling their hot breath, of reaching down and grasping the thick shaft of Tyler’s manhood in his moist palm, exploring it with his hands and mouth, of—

  Barely conscious of what he was doing, Jake rose from the stool and with clumsy fingers fumbled at his belt buckle, wondering how he would manage to unzip his fly with hands that didn’t seem to be working properly. Tyler gently moved in.

  “Allow me.”

  He stood awkwardly, not wanting to take his eyes from the vision of Tyler’s amazing physique, as Tyler stooped, undid the belt and unzipped him. He moaned when his pants were pulled to his ankles and placed his hands on Tyler’s shoulders, feeling the hard, sinewy muscles, while his briefs were rolled over his waist and down his legs. His dick leapt once it was free of the confining cloth and his balls grew even heavier with their accumulating juices.

  “Impressive.”

  Jake moaned when Tyler came forward and ran his hands down the sides of his arms, then reached behind him to cup his ass and pull him closer. They stood, their erect dicks touching, two flagpoles of flesh side by side, and all along the length where Tyler’s rod made contact with the sensitive skin of Jake’s own, it was as if tingles of electricity were leaping back and forth. Jake shuddered and felt his knees grow week and when Tyler helped him sit down, he hardly noticed that this time, the tall island man had ignored the stool and instead maneuvered him to a seat on the edge of the altar.

  “In my religion,” he continued as if they were engaged in a casual conversation at a cocktail party in someone’s living room and not completely naked in a basement with chains bolted to the walls. “We believe the soul ascends to be with the gods after death. It does not matter if the person filled his life with good acts or with evil ones. These distinctions matter only to the living. The gods will still welcome him. But...”

  He placed one arm across Jake’s back and with his free hand pressed to the center of Jake’s chest, he guided him into a prone position so the beefy mortician was lying face up atop the altar. Jake was conscious of what was happening and some small voice deep within him cried out against it. But a languid quality had taken hold and he could not seem to summon the strength to protest. He was afraid—afraid to be strapped down, to be pinioned spread-eagled so he was helpless, to feel the cold stone of the altar on his back and buttocks. Yet he was lulled by Tyler’s casual tone, almost hypnotized. To lie there as the priest wrapped the heavy leather cuffs around his wrists and ankles, stretching him out, seemed strangely...natural.

  “If an evil man rises as a zombie and is then killed again—under certain circumstances—the soul remains trapped within his body. He is forced to feel himself rotting, returning to the earth while he screams in torment within. After much time, when his physical being has completely dissolved to dust, those gods who we do not speak of, the dark and unfriendly gods, come to collect his tortured soul. They take it for a plaything, creating for it a new body from the fabric of the place they call home. And they afflict it with the worst tortures they can concoct, dooming the soul to an eternity of pain much worse than the legends of your Christian hell.”

  Tyler smiled, not a reassuring look, and suddenly, the cobwebs were gone from Jake’s mind.

  “And they do love to play with pretty things, to ruin them and destroy them, over and over. My gift to them of Hartner will be well received. But…” His tone grew stern. “He will try to corrupt you, to seduce you in order to preserve his miserable existence. You must be made strong so you have a chance of resisting.”

  He touched Jake lightly in the very center of his chest and suddenly, the mortician’s mind cleared of its fog.

  “What the f—?” Jake stammered. He yanked his arms in their restraints, his stomach sinking at the clatter of the heavy chain links against the stone. His legs thrashed and kicked but the Velcro had served its purpose of assuaging his initial fright. Tyler had not used it and instead had buckled him in tightly.

  “Relax, my friend. I told you I must have your permission.”

  As if to belie his words, Tyler took a metal crank from the mantle and inserted it into a hole on the top of the altar next to his head. Jake had not noticed it before. The priest turned it, using both hands, and Jake felt the slack in the chains taken up. He grunted and cursed as his arms and legs were stretched out tighter. He thrashed, his muscles bunching with the strain of trying to release himself, but mere human flesh and muscle could not overcome the tug of the iron links.

  “I apologize for the discomfort but I must make sure you cannot move or things could go...wrong.”

  Shoulders screaming with the tension, Jake felt like his backbone was being forcibly lengthened. The muscles in his thighs cramped and even his belly grew taut wi
th the strain.

  “Relax or you will tear something,” Tyler cautioned, seemingly immune to Jake’s yelling and begging.

  When Jake was splayed out like a giant human X and felt he could handle no more pressure without dislocating a shoulder or ripping a muscle in his back or legs, the cranking finally stopped. He whipped his head from side to side, frantically and futilely searching for anything, anyone who might save him. But they were completely alone, underground, and Jake felt his spirits sink even further when he realized there was no chance of rescue.

  “That won’t do.” Tyler frowned.

  He moved to the top of the altar, where Jake could not see what he was doing, and from the sound of it, he took something else from the top of the mantel. An instant later, Jake felt a leather strap being wrapped around his forehead. His head was lifted gently and there was a slight click when Tyler connected it somehow to a bolt or link imbedded in the altar just behind where his head rested. Suddenly, Jake found he could not turn his neck; all movement of his head was restricted and he could do nothing but look up at the stones and pebbles embedded in the dirt ceiling.

  “You son of a...” Jake said, but Tyler ignored him, merely standing, looming over him and looking down, taking in every detail of his bound body with an expression that, to Jake’s mind, seemed almost hungry.

  “You may scream and curse until you are hoarse,” Tyler told him, not unkindly. “But it will do no good. Or you may quiet down and listen to what I have to tell you. When I am finished, if you do not agree to help, you will be released. You have my word.”

  “Your word!” Jake was angry, pissed at himself for allowing himself to be duped into this position and furious at Tyler for what he had done.

  Tyler seemed amused by the sarcasm. “The word of a houngan is not something to be taken lightly.”

  His placed both hands on Jake’s chest and his fingers lightly roved across the bound young man’s torso, idly and just barely touching the skin. He ruffled the hair on his chest, washing softly across the tips of his nipples, almost tickling the sensitive skin of his upper ribs, teasing the hair under his exposed armpits, moving downwards to stroke across the head of Jake’s dick—which, to Jake’s dismay, was still rock hard!—stroking the inside of his thighs and moving along his calves. Jake felt the muscles of his butt twitch at the touch of Tyler’s fingers on his dick and when the black man disturbed the tiny hairs on his balls. He was angry, terrified, ashamed at himself, but despite all else, he was turned on.

  “Hartner must be killed again.” Tyler seemed unconcerned by Jake’s plight. “I am forbidden to do it as I am the one who called him away from Father Death’s embrace. Not only did I raise him from his grave but my heart is too full of hatred. He must be put back in his grave by one who, though he has been wronged by him, has a heart that has remained pure.”

  He leaned over, his lips brushing Jake’s, and in spite of everything, Jake’s mouth opened, desperate for Tyler’s kiss. But he would be denied the pleasure.

  “Your heart, Jake Marshall,” Tyler whispered, his breath flowing into Jake’s mouth so that his prisoner could almost, but not quite, taste him. “Your heart is pure.”

  Too quickly for Jake to respond, he kissed him and withdrew.

  “You may hate Hartner for what he did to you but in time, you would forgive him. You would realize he is a monster and could not help himself. You would loathe what he is, what he represents, but you would pity the man he is. You would retain confidence in the possibility of his...salvation. Eventually, there would be no thoughts of revenge in you. Oh! You might want to, how can I put it? You might want to ‘get back’ at him, but true revenge, revenge that eats at your innards until you can think of nothing else, that emotion is not in your nature.”

  Tyler smiled, as if at a child’s foolishness. “No, you would forgive him and try to help him. You would wish him to see the error of his ways and eventually realize he could not. But...” He paused. “You would have no desire to punish him.”

  “I’m not killing anyone, you psycho!” Jake tried to keep the fear from his voice and show Tyler his resolve. “Let me go or I’ll...I’ll...” He realized how foolish and melodramatic he sounded and gave up, finishing his sentence with a frustrated and angry growl.

  Tyler ignored him in favor of leaning over and looking deeply into his flashing blue eyes.

  “He will try to seduce you. To corrupt you. If he succeeds in warping the instrument of his destruction, he can save himself from eternal torment at the hands of the gods. He can roam the Earth, doing what he wishes, with his soul intact and with no thought to the consequences. But you are merely human and he has strange powers you cannot hope to withstand. Yet you have a weapon Hartner is unaware you possess...”

  He placed his lips close to Jake’s ear and whispered with quiet intensity. “The Dead love you.”

  Whatever Jake had expected him to say, that wasn’t it!

  “Wha—what?” he stammered.

  Almost tenderly, Tyler traced the line of his captive’s cheek with one finger, smoothing it across his lips.

  “You hold them in your heart. The forgotten ones. Their souls watch from Father Death’s house and they are not ungrateful. They speak of you, Jake Marshall. They know how you have often sacrificed your own happiness in favor of preserving their memory. In your yearning to know them, to love them, they experience what they missed in life. The love they could have known, had the gods allowed you to meet. Though you may not have realized it, love has come into your life sometimes and has been frightened away by your commitment to remembering those lonely souls who have passed before you. Sacrificed by your commitment to the Might Have Been.”

  “The photos?”

  Tyler nodded.

  “They’re just pictures.”

  “No,” Tyler grew stern. “You know they are not ‘just’ pictures. The Dead love you for that and will be willing to help you, to lend you their strength to resist Hartner’s foul seductions and to make an end to him.”

  Jake clenched his jaw and gritted his teeth. He knew what he was going to say might anger Tyler, might make him take out his rage on Jake’s bound and helpless body, might subject him to tortures until his throat was raw with screaming and his body was nothing but a mangled hulk of bleeding flesh and raw nerves. But he was compelled to say it anyway.

  “I’m...not...killing... anyone!” he muttered. “You can torture me all you want. I may even agree to do it when I can’t stand the pain anymore. But the minute I get outta here, I’m going right to the police. So...” Jake squeezed his eyes shut, clenched his fists and tensed his muscles in anticipation. “Go ahead and do your worst.”

  He was astounded at Tyler’s laughter, rich and full, booming out in the confines of the chamber.

  “Oh, Jake! Poor, innocent, misguided Jake!” He kissed his forehead. “There will be some discomfort. It cannot be avoided. But, I have no intention of torturing you!” he said, once his chuckles had subsided. “You, on the other hand, will torture Mark Hartner for me once you are consecrated as an instrument of the gods. You will resist his temptations and watch that evil, handsome face twist in agony while you work until finally you will rip his wretched black heart from his pulsing chest. Yes, you will do that, though you don’t believe you will. And...” His voice grew kind, almost affectionate. “You will do it without hatred and without rancor. You will take no pleasure in it. You will do it because by that time, you will know it must be done.”

  “Will not!” Jake knew he sounded like a truculent child.

  Tyler just nodded with a superior knowing expression and moved out of Jake’s sight line.

  From the sound, Jake guessed he was fiddling with the cauldron on the fire.

  “It is time to begin.”

  “I thought you needed my cooperation.” Jake didn’t bother to hide his skepticism, and even though he was very aware of his vulnerable position and leery of pissing Tyler off, the comment came out sounding snide and sarcas
tic.

  “I do. But I must prepare you first. You need to know what you would be agreeing to. I need not give you any choice in the preparation. Your agreement can be obtained...afterwards.”

  He placed the cauldron on the stone bench next to Jake’s head. Frightened anew, Jake could feel the heat emanating from the iron pot reddening his cheek.

  “Brace yourself,” Tyler seemed concerned. “There will be some pain at first, for both of us.”

  The priest dipped his bare hand into the steaming kettle and brought up a handful of thick white fluid. He winced at the contact with the heat. Jake had the odd impression that it looked like nothing so much as a boiling pot of come and in spite of his fear, he giggled. It turned into a gasp when Tyler moved his hand over Jake’s chest and stinging droplets dripped onto his exposed flesh, like hot wax dripped from a candle. He screamed when the semi-gelid, steaming mass was plopped onto the center of his chest, writhing in his bonds against the pain. He struggled and begged, praying the heat would dissipate, but upon contact with his naked skin, the stuff seemed to grow even hotter. It was like a molten spike had been driven between his pecs and his shrieking grew louder with every passing second until he felt the back of his throat grow raw.

  Tyler seemed unaffected by his torment and simply began chanting. He dipped into the pot again and dropped another handful onto his prisoner, causing the wailing to increase intensity. Slowly, with exquisite patience and impervious to Jake’s agony, he smeared the concoction over Jake’s torso. When the brew first touched the highly sensitive skin of his nipples, bringing them immediately to the height of engorged sensitivity, Jake thought there could be no more intense pain than that. It was like the buds had been clamped with red-hot pliers, the pain searing through his chest until even his screams did nothing to alleviate the torment. But even that torture was as nothing to when the priest rubbed the potion into the tender skin of his exposed underarms. The agony was so severe, Jake thought he might pass out, and he fervently wished he would so as to spare himself the pain.