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Deathbed	By : MadameManga Category: WWF/WWE > General Views: 2322 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the celebrities of WWE/WWF. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 10
- 11
- 12
This story is very loosely inspired by the plot of the opera “The Flying Dutchman”. I’ve cast a number of familiar people in the roles; they are not intended to be seen as their real selves, but as actors playing parts. All recognizable characters are the property of WWE, and no infringement is intended. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only.
Written in 2001.
Deathbed

by Madame Manga
Eventually he raised his head and pulled a few strands of my hair out of his mouth. “You’re such a little thing, Irene,” he said through a sardonic grin. “And you knock me down like a real fighter. Every damn time.” The rider settled on his back and urged me over to him, resting my head against his chest. “Sorry. I didn’t give you a chance to come.”
“That’s all right. I wanted you to lose control…” I rose up on my elbows and leaned for his mouth.
“You oughta be careful about that, baby,” he said, chuckling. Our lips met. “Mmmm…you know what?”
“What?…Mmmm.”
“You kiss good.”
“So do you,” I said, throwing a leg on top of him. He put one hand on the small of my back, tucked the other in the crook of my knee and kept kissing me. Our tongues slid together and wrapped around each other; I tasted his warm saltiness with dizzy pleasure and nibbled softly on his lips.
Again I was conscious of a new feeling—a simple delight in a man’s body and in his caresses. I was here because I wanted to be with him and for no other reason. I had nothing material to gain in this bed, nothing but my pleasure and his, no advantage to win or message to convey but our expression of pure desire and longing.
Glimpsing, so briefly, a kind of connection between man and woman that I had not believed existed, at least for me, all I wanted to do was make him some return for the love he had given to me, though it was almost unspoken and would remain so. Although I had a vast experience in bedding all sorts of men, I began to wonder while wrapped in Deadman’s arms if I had ever realized the true purposes of sex.
His penis, sandwiched between us, began to rise again in slow surges. “That’s a talented cock you have there,” I teased him.
“You just ignore him, baby. He’s got a mind of his own.”
“Now why would I want to do that?” I replied, snaking a hand down to clasp his cock. “Especially whe he gets such good ideas…” Moving entirely on top of Deadman, I sat on his thighs and took his burgeoning erection in both hands, my fists fitting between base and head with room to spare.
With gentle squeezes, I firmed the erection entirely while its owner watched in mild astonishment. I kissed the tip of his penis and rose up on my knees to fit it against my dripping vulva.
“You ain’t worn out or anything yet? God damn.” The rider shook his head slightly, smiling, and I leaned down to kiss him.
“I know…I can’t get enough. Why?”
His lips muffled me. “Well, I’d be takin’ a lot on myself to answer that question, darlin’,” he muttered when he ended the kiss. “Don’t want to brag or nothin’…” I used one hand to hold his cock steady and pushed downwards. Parting me again, his stiff penis entered me to the hilt with one smooth slide.
“Aaahh!” I moaned, throwing my head back and beginning to move on his shaft. “I love…the way that feels…”
“Yeah, I kinda got that impression,” said Deadman, grabbing my hips, a few beads of sweat springing out on his forehead. “Irene, I ever mention you are one incredible lay?”
I couldn’t answer, occupied as I was with undulating my body up and down on his cock. Riding him, I rose and fell, my buttocks flattening against his thighs when I drove him as deep as he would go.
Deadman kept his gaxe level, watching his cock go in and out of me, and slightly flexed his hips at the top and bottom of my thrusts. Although he didn’t move much, I could tell he was utterly absorbed in what I was doing; his face flushed and his left eyebrow twitched.
He stroked my thighs along their length, curving his palms over my bent knees. Back and forth, his calloused hands sweeping over my skin. Traveling higher, his hands smoothed my waist and sides and breasts.
When he reached to touch my face, I caught one of his big thumbs in my mouth and closed my lips to suck it and twirl my tongue along it. My motions accelerated when I did so, my pelvis rotating around his cock.
The rider chuckled and slid the other hand from my hip to the top of my widely-parted sex, and when he touched my clit, I let go of his thumb and threw my head back so far that my hair pooled behind me on his thighs. 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.”
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. The rider put the saddlebags on his parked bike and we went up the drive past the garage. It sat dark and silent, no television glowing in the window. Nothing moved 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 put 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 moved 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.”
“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.
I gazed back at him with hand still clamped over my mouth, my eyes wide, and his misgiving began to harden into suspicion.
He tore his eyes away from mine and glared at the fat man. “So. You think I’ve broken the terms. What’s your evidence? Pile of steaming horseshit, I’ll bet.”
“Unfortunately, my evidence is incontrovertible.” The fat man didn’t look as if he thought it was particularly unfortunate. “Ohh yess. However, the situation may be resolvable—”
“You mean, I’m immediately released from the contract? That’s about the only damn resolution I’m interested in.”
“That is of course impossible—but perhaps we could conduct our negotiations in the house?” The fat man made a move toward the steps, but as Deadman didn’t seem inclined to step aside and let him pass, he halted a few feet away. “Won’t you introduce me to your new acquaintance?”
He smiled smarmily at me; I saw pure malice in his eyes. “I am the Bearer of Indictments, madam.”
“Fuck you,” Deadman replied with a snarl.
“That, alas, is not the problem. Applied to this young woman, however—”
“Shut your damn face,” hissed Deadman. “We’ll talk in the yard, and you are going to leave her out of it.”
“That is also impossible, Undertaker. She is an integral part of the problem, ohh yess. You are not allowed to have any kind of physical or emotional involvement with anyone, especially not with your charges. There is only one person that you may attach yourself to, as you know—the true, faithful love of your redemption. If, that is, you manage to find her within a few hours.”
He smirked. “This commandment you have repeatedly broken in regard to the young woman here present, in addition to many other misdemeanor infractions and major violations.”
“Says who? I know my rights—you’ve got to prove what you say or you can’t do jack.”
“Indeed, it is my function to establish the proofs. You are not interested in mediation? Then we shall hold a formal proceeding immediately. Is this your desire, as it is your right?”
“Yep. Let’s get the stink out in the open.”
“Very well. I declare this court to be in session, and will proceed to business.” The fat man brought out the scroll, partially unrolled it and began to read. “The indictments pertaining to the case of the present occupant of the function of the Hellrider, also known as the Undertaker. Dated this night of twoscore and ten years since the imposition of the contract pursuant to that function, by the grace and sufferance of our Lord and Master. Herein is contained an itemized list of the accusations, indictments and charges against the aforesaid Hellrider.”
He cleared his throat. “Synopsis. It is alleged that the Hellrider has committed numerous offenses against Clauses VII, VIII and XII of the aforesaid contract, and in addition has violated the major terms of aforesaid contract in such manner as to render himself open to a charge of primary malfeasance, subject to immediate termination, or such action as our Lord and Master may deem sufficient and necessary, at his pleasure and discretion alone, or at that of his duly appointed—”
“Fuck that shit,” said Deadman impatiently. “Read the charges.”
I looked at the irregular edges of the scroll. It seemed to be made of some kind of parchment, a treated animal skin, and was fairly long and narrow with a dark seam up the middle.
“As you wish. Item. The Hellrider encountered this woman, self-identified as ‘Irene’ and now present, at the scene of an accident while in the performance of his duty. He allowed her to take nourishment and transported her to a public place, attested to by many witnesses, although he is well aware that is strictly prohibited for the newly departed while they still linger on the earth.”
“WHAT?” the rider exploded. “She’s not—”
“Kindly do not interrupt me, Undertaker. This is a formal proceeding. Item. He—”
“No! Explain that! This woman ISN’T dead!”
“Indeed, she is not dead now.” The Bearer of Indictments smiled. “But she died when her car ran off the road. It is a treacherous curve, as you know, and your initial conclusion was correct. She was killed. Ohh yess.”
I felt a dreadful throb of blood in my temples and looked at my hands and body in horror. The jolt, the tearing sensation, the flash of light…I had died after all? All this time, I had been dead? Or—
“Undead?” gasped Deadman. “The bastard’s done that to her?”
The fat man inspected his fingernails, his tone slightly evasive. “It has been done before, ohh yess.”
The rider looked flabbergasted, gesturing over his shoulder to me. “But she doesn’t heal. I saw her put a mark on herself last night that isn’t gone yet. She ain’t nothing like me.”
“It is a measure of your arrogance, Undertaker, that you discount the possibility that any other sort of revenant human exists. Because you were made a certain way does not require that our Lord and Master make all of his servants after the same pattern.”
“His servants?” Deadman looked at me with a horrible blaze starting in his eyes; my jaw dropped and I shook my head slightly, trying to deny the accusation that formed in the air between us. “This woman’s one of his creatures?”

Continued...
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Deathbed