For Love of the Dead

by Hal Bodner

  A wordless roar of anger and pain exploded from him when he realized Lucy’s death was nothing but a calculated move in some warped game Mark was playing with him. He stormed into the living room, snatched up his car keys and in moments was flooring the accelerator and on his way. He didn’t know exactly what he intended to do to Mark when he found him; he was too angry to think things through.

  But somehow, he would make him pay.

  * * * *

  Mark carried no money with him, but he wasn’t concerned. A wink, a subtle promise to meet up later and a grope of the cashier’s dick through the thin fabric of his cotton pants sufficed to gain him admittance to The Crypt without paying the entry fee. He walked casually through the lobby toward the locker area, conscious of the admiring looks he was generating from the towel-clad men lounging on chairs and watching the porno film on the wide-screen television mounted on the wall.

  He dismissed their interest. Most of them were older, fat or out of shape, hairy and pasty-skinned. There was one though, younger and with the lanky build of a basketball player, who showed some possibility. The youth looked at Mark hungrily and with hopeful desperation. He had potential. If he had enough time, Mark resolved to get back to him on the way out.

  The stench of the place stirred memories within him, memories still unformed. He’d been here before many times, he knew, but the details were still fuzzy. The astringent, slightly evergreen scent of disinfectant tickled his nostrils and he inhaled deeply, the smell helping to conjure images of naked bodies pressed against his, of tongues lapping and teeth nipping. In his mind, he dimly recalled sounds of men moaning, even screaming in ecstasy as he had his way with them, dozens of them, one after another, as he left each partner unfulfilled and moved off in search of someone new.

  In the locker room he found two young men who, until he had entered, had been kissing while their hands busily explored each other’s bodies.

  What have we here? he thought, with malicious delight. Toys!

  Taking his time so as to put on a good show, he partially stripped, crossing his arms to tug his shirt over his head while making sure his back and chest muscles were fully flexed, enjoying the looks of unbridled lust on the faces of the two men. They sat with mouths gaping open at the sight of Mark’s revealed torso, their previous activity forgotten. He assessed them. One was dark-skinned and black-haired, lithe and muscled like a dancer, his slim dick jutting out from the folds of the towel around his waist. The other was brown-haired, short and compact, completely nude and sporting a cock that while not particularly long, was thick and plump and engorged with desire. Mark saw both the shorter man’s nipples were pierced and sported small gold rings decorating his impressively thick-muscled chest. Twin tattoos of daggers with handles wrapped in rose vines graced both pectorals, the blades pointing directly at the nipple rings. Another set of tattoos in a barbed wire pattern wound their way around both his biceps.

  These two would provide him with an adequate appetizer for the feast to come.

  He smiled, a come-hither look, and the two immediately sprang to their feet. The shorter one reached him first and, without preamble, pressed his lips to Mark’s mouth, tongue probing, his hands reaching behind and slipping past the waistband of Mark’s jeans to grope at his tight-muscled butt. The dancer knelt between them and had unzipped Mark’s jeans, gasping with delight when his erect dick sprang into view. His mouth enfolded the hard spire of pulsing flesh and he made eager slurping sounds while he sucked it.

  Mark relaxed and leaned back, allowing the cool metal locker doors to support his back while his fingers toyed with the nipple rings of the man kissing him. He shifted his hips slightly and the darker man seized the opportunity to peel his jeans over the swell of his butt and roll them down to his ankles. He kicked off the loafers he was wearing and stepped out of his pants, standing gloriously nude and open to the attentions of the other two.

  Absently, he tugged on the rings harder than he’d intended, and the kiss broke off to be replaced with a mild protest of grunted pain. An idea struck him, and when the dancer paused from sucking his dick to catch his breath, he grinned and began manipulating the players.

  Ten minutes later, after a few final thrusts into flesh no longer capable of either resisting or responding, Mark pulled out before coming and stood in the center of the carnage, grimacing at the splotches of blood on his hands and stomach but, on the whole, taking satisfaction from a job well done. He seized an abandoned towel from a nearby bench and wiped himself clean. For the first time, he noticed a third young man huddling terrified in the corner, mouth hanging open, eyes bulging at the double murder he had just witnessed. He was perhaps in his early twenties, blondish and slim, with nicely proportioned muscles which had not quite yet developed into the hardness of full maturity. His skin was deeply tanned but he was still young enough that his flesh had a healthy, supple quality to the bronzed glow and the sun had not yet dried his skin. In a few years he’d be quite the hunk, but for now, he was merely and, unluckily for him, convenient. Mark gifted him with his most dazzling smile and enjoyed the effect when the boy’s face drained of color.

  “Help me clean this up, will you?” He relished the gibbering terror he saw on his face and thrilled at it, accepting it as an unexpected bonus. He knew immediately that the youngster would be putty in his hands; he would obey Mark implicitly for fear he would be attacked next.

  Mark’s suspicions about the youth’s character were confirmed by his whispered, “Please. Please don’t hurt me,” as he moved forward with reluctant, jerky steps.

  His eyes contained broadcasting the plea silently and Mark took malicious glee in indulging himself in a small growl of warning, just to throw the lad into more of a tizzy. He stepped disdainfully over two corpses on the floor and approached. The tanned boy shrank into the corner, cowering and casting silent eyes in Mark’s direction, asking for mercy.

  Mark felt invigorated by his crime and was eager to indulge himself even more. But, with regret, he knew he really should finish playing and move on. He was sure Jake had already found the little surprise Mark had left for him back at the funeral home and was undoubtedly already on his way.

  Still, he thought he might be able to spare a few more minutes to teach this delightfully youthful and attractive blond boy a few tricks. Sadly, the youth would not have much time left to fully appreciate them.

  “So, what do you say? Join me in a shower?”

  The boy swallowed convulsively and the whites of his eyes showed as he frantically shook his head. But fright had turned his muscles to jelly and Mark had no trouble physically maneuvering him into the stall before getting in with him. The boy’s body was limp and heavy, and Mark had to hold him up to prevent him from tripping. Perhaps it was the scene he’d just witnessed or perhaps it was his youth, but in either case, he was proving himself to be the quintessential sheep-like follower as Mark had suspected. Mark turned on the water, ignoring the swirl of fresh blood down the drain, and placed his hands on the boy’s shoulders, holding him firmly.

  “You’re very beautiful,” he told him. “I think I’ll take my time with you.”

  He reached out to the soap dispenser and pumped out a handful of the slimy liquid.

  “Do try to enjoy this, will you? It’s going to be your last chance, after all, so I want you to have a good time.”

  He placed his hand on the left side of the boy’s chest, feeling his heart pounding rapid-fire within and smoothed the slippery liquid across his skin, massaging it in, slicking the nipple and teasing it with the tip of his fingernail. Filling his free hand with another pump of soap, he smeared it over the boy’s stomach, which he could feel had the beginnings of nice definition, and slowly smeared it down into his groin. The young man’s only response was a gratifying whimper.

  Enjoying himself immensely, Mark eagerly immersed himself in the task of destroying the young man’s lithely muscled body as painfully and as efficiently as possible.

  It w
as over very quickly, not because of any innate sense of mercy on Mark’s part, but merely because he was growing bored and, if truth be told, a little impatient for Jake’s arrival.

  “What the hell is taking him so long?” he muttered, annoyed.

  Mark twisted the handles to increase the flow of water and stepped over the tanned young man’s corpse to exit the stall, being careful to make sure the curtain was closed. Hopefully, any passersby would assume the shower was already occupied by men having sex, the closed curtain signifying they did not wish to be disturbed, and would hesitate to interrupt. He knew his actions would be discovered, and fairly soon, but he wanted to buy a little more time. Just enough until Jake Marshall arrived.

  The final showdown between them, he had decided, would not occur here. He supposed he should just seduce the big lout, get things out of the way, corrupt him, and get on with his newly restored life. But there was something about the blue-eyed youth, something that appealed to Mark’s desire to warp anything good he encountered into something vile and depraved. And Jake was just too much of a goody-goody for Mark to resist. Besides, Mark sensed that the mortician’s innate nobility would shield him against any attempt to twist his psyche permanently. Even if Mark succeeded, unless Jake were dead, Mark would never be completely safe from reprisals. So the goal would have to be reached in two steps: corruption for fun, then a quick destruction to ensure safety.

  First, instill hatred in that hunky chest, then stoke it and pervert Jake’s selfless purpose into pure, highly personal revenge. Then the part Mark Hartner was looking forward to: the seduction, making Jake beg for his touch, for his kisses, to receive his manhood again. And finally, once he’d dispensed with the troublesome purity of the man, he somehow knew he’d be granted the pleasure of the final dispatch.

  Mark hadn’t given much thought to how he’d murder Jake; he supposed he’d just see what tools were handy when the time was right. After that was taken care of, well, there was a city full of attractive young men just waiting.

  His resurrection was truly a marvel, and not solely because of his physical return from the dead. The remarkable thing was that his personality had managed to survive the transition as well as his body had. He’d always thought zombies – for he was fairly sure that was what he was – to be mindless hulks, brain dead and completely subservient to the resurrectionist’s will. Evidently, he was under no such curse of passive compulsion. The only thing that seemed to be missing was something which, for lack of a better word, he thought of as his soul – and since he’d had little morality while alive the first time, he really didn’t miss its absence.

  The gift of increased strength was also nothing to sneeze at. Still, he sensed he could be injured or even killed, though not easily. For the moment, Jake Marshall seemed to be the only obvious threat; something within the mortician struck Mark as extremely dangerous to him. Yet Jake could not possibly be working alone. Mark got the distinct impression that forces were in play, powerful forces on both sides, moving both of them toward a final decisive confrontation – one which Mark intended to win.

  And there were penalties to consider. The feeling could not be ignored that some dark entities stood behind him and relished each of his atrocities only for so long as he maintained his strength. They would turn on him in a heartbeat should he weaken, or should he allow Jake to triumph, and the consequences to himself, he suspected, would be unpleasant and severe.

  There was also the matter of who had brought him back from the grave. It certainly hadn’t been Tall, Blue-Eyed and Hunky. To even imagine that Jake had the requisite knowledge and skill to do it was simply laughable. No, there had to be another player in the game, a human one, and fairly soon, Mark would need to begin devoting his attention to rooting him out. But for now, Marshall was his top priority. After he was eliminated, there would be leisure for further investigations as well as time to indulge his darker urges, desires beyond even those he would have considered fulfilling in life. With guile, craft and a little luck, there might very well be nothing to stop him!

  Humming to himself at the pleasantries he was rolling around in his mind, he left the shower room and strolled through the locker room and into the hallway in search of someone else with whom he might momentarily amuse himself in the few minutes he had left to wait. While he browsed for his next target, he was surprised by the intrusion of a new memory, and suddenly, he knew who the third chess piece was.

  Ask yourself the right questions, he thought, pleased at himself, and you shall receive the answers.

  His first meeting with Tyler Deauxfines, had not been an entirely pleasant one, though in the end, their encounter was imminently satisfying. The voodoo priest had somehow tracked him down and was waiting for him when he came home from work not too long ago, having somehow managed to break into Mark’s apartment. Tyler fully intended to kill him that night, Mark had no doubt of that. But Mark’s thwarting the will of Tyler’s gods seemed to have struck a pleasing chord with other, different gods who fortunately chose to support Mark as their champion. These gods, he knew suddenly, were the black and treacherous patrons he’d sensed lurking in the background ever since he’d risen into his new life. They were on his side – for now – but their hunger would be equally satisfied with him should he slip up.

  Tyler had exploded with frustrated rage, waving the knife which his own allies somehow prevented him from using on his hated adversary. Mark soon realized he was safe from attack and had laughed at his predicament and mocked him. Perhaps, in retrospect, he’d pushed the black man too far. Unable to take direct action, Tyler chose a subtler course, exploiting what Mark now saw was a loophole but one of which he’d been unaware at the time. Though Tyler’s gods had not allowed him a direct kill, they permitted him to perform a transformation, and if killing Mark a first time was simply a tangential part of the process, it seemed the gods would have no objection.

  Had Mark known the purpose for Tyler’s impromptu pseudo-religious ceremony, he would have stopped him. But he’d not truly believed any of that voodoo junk and enjoyed himself immensely by ridiculing the priest while he set the fire and threw in the pungent herbs to burn. He laughed uproariously at the silliness of Tyler’s stripping naked in his living room and daubing himself with paint, and he bent almost double with hilarity when, skin glistening with sweat and fury in his eyes, Tyler Deauxfines began pleading with his so-called gods. He supposed he should have called the police to haul the madman away, but once he thought he was in no immediate danger, he delighted in rubbing in the loss of Tyler’s brother with every sarcastic quip he could think of.

  It wasn’t until he felt the first twinge of pain behind his eyes and saw Tyler’s look of triumph that he knew he’d made a mistake. A lightning-hot spear transfixed his brain, and his last conscious living moment had been looking up at Tyler’s satisfied smirk while the room grew dim around him and blackness overtook him. The short time intervening until he woke up in the prep room at Gentle Rest was largely a blur of similar darkness.

  He could not remember many details about his supporters on the Other Side, though his mission on their behalf was becoming clearer by the moment. A fleeting pain at his temples made him wince. It seemed the dark gods were reinforcing their threats, bringing them to the fore of his mind, impressing him with the direness of his fate should he fail them. If Jake Marshall slipped through the web of seduction and pleasure Mark would offer and managed to kill him, Mark Hartner would die a second and final time. Trapped within his own rotting body, he would be conscious of what was happening to him through the long years until he returned to dust and his soul could be restored and seized by the gods he’d offended with Tito’s rape.

  Their revenge would be agonizing and eternal. From what he’d been able to glean during the period he was dead the first time, the vengeance of his own victims would be only an appetizer when compared to the feast of pain that would follow once the angry gods got their talons into his soul. It was an experience Mark long
ed to avoid with every fiber of his being. He would use every tool he possessed, all the skills he’d developed during a lifetime of selfish and malicious debauchery, to corrupt Jake. Then, and only then, he would be able to kill him.

  “Stop!”

  The shout came from behind Mark. He recognized the voice instantly and a small smile of satisfaction played about his lips. Mildly disappointed that his playtime had been cut short by Jake’s early arrival – he was just building up a good head of steam – he was nonetheless gratified that the blue-eyed, muscle-bound lout had finally deigned to appear. Patience, he thought with rueful amusement, had never been his strong point.

  After casting a glance of regret at the dark corridors lined with doorways to rooms he had yet to explore, he brought his full attention back to Jake. If he played his cards right and got the troublesome funeral director out of the way, he’d have all the time in the world to return to this fascinating establishment filled with naked young men, and resume the festivities.

  “I thought I’d closed that shower curtain,” he tsked, as if mildly upset with himself at some trivial oversight.

  “Bloody footprints,” Jake snarled and pointed.

  “My, my!” Mark placed one hand demurely in the center of his chest, fingers splayed, in imitation of a shocked coquette. “I really must speak to the maid about that.”

  The mortician made no attempt to disguise his disgust and horror he felt when he’d discovered the corpses in the locker room and shower scant moments earlier.

  “You’re an animal,” Jake spat. “You need to be put down.”

  Mark quirked an eyebrow. “I see you’ve finally come up to speed. Who filled you in, I wonder?” He made a great show of scratching his head in thought. “Could it be...a certain angry islander with a chip on his shoulder?” He feigned surprised realization. “Why, Jake! I’d never have thought he was your type at all! I suppose you’ll just have to break my heart now, won’t you? After all, you know what they say, ‘Once you go black, you never go back.’ Though, I have a confession to make. After I had his brother, I didn’t seem to have any problems.”