For Love of the Dead

by Hal Bodner

  And what if Mark had managed to run into Mario? He knew what the psychotic freak was capable of.

  Panic rising in his throat, he thought of Mario’s lithe, dark-skinned body ravaged the way Hartner had violated those young, innocent men. He saw his face dumb with shock, his tears matching the tears of youths who Hartner had destroyed in the past. He saw a dull glaze in Mario’s eyes like the eyes of the boy he’d discovered dead in the bath house shower.

  Jake cried out, a long wailing cry of agony and frustration. It echoed across the placid lawn, disturbing the flowers even less than the modest breeze which caused them to sway. Though the embodiment of Jake’s pain and emotion was contained in his howl, birthed by everything he had gone through in the past day and a half, filled with his confusion and his awe at the magic he had witnessed in the cavern and imbibed with his sense of purpose and his frustration in not being able to find Hartner, the sound affected nothing.

  He dashed the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand. Crying would accomplish nothing. He had to think, to figure out where—

  Jake’s mind stopped racing as understanding dawned. It was quite literally staring him in the face and yet he’d almost overlooked it. Directly across the lawn from the cottage, at the back of the Gentle Rest property, stood a ramshackle old barn left over from Lucy’s grandfather or great-grandfather’s day. It was isolated from the rest of the buildings, far enough from both the cottage and the main house and located behind a thick hedge so that it seemed almost to stand alone. If Mark Hartner had indeed taken Mario and if he wanted time to play with him without Jake interrupting, the barn would be the perfect place to do it.

  Jake surged forward, his powerful legs churning as he raced across the vast span of grass, hoping he was not already too late. He seized the handle of the barn’s main door and tugged, cursing when he realized Lucy kept it chained and padlocked shut against trespassers and he didn’t know where she kept the key. A memory stirred and with a grunt of satisfaction, he slipped around the corner to where, as he’d recalled, another much smaller wooden door was set into the side of the building. He rattled the door, finding it was locked as well, and slammed his fist against the ancient wood. Stepping back, he flung his body against it, expecting resistance, and was surprised when the thin panel splintered and cracked. The next thing he knew, he was sprawled out in the dirt and shreds of long-rotted hay on the earthen floor.

  “Good thing you and I hadn’t planned on dinner reservations, or you’d have been late for that too.”

  Hartner’s voice echoed from the heavy, dusty beams over head, bouncing from the wood-slat walls in powerful and rounded tones, no less evil for the beauty of its timbre. The stained leather harnesses and reins hanging on the walls seemed to stir, metal bits jingling. Jake heard a clatter as some ancient farm implements stacked against one of the old stalls slipped to the floor. His muscles tensed defensively. The barn was filled with sharp, broken tools, shattered boards with protruding nails, and heavy machinery coated with rust.

  There were simply too many things available for Hartner to use as weapons.

  Jake snatched up a decrepit hammer lying on one of the wooden benches lining the walls and snorted in frustration when the iron head dropped right off the rotted handle and clunked to the floor. He dropped to his knees and began rooting through a pile of discarded lumber, grey with mold, finally finding one with a few nails already driven through it. He stood, hefting it like a club, uncertain of what to do next, when Hartner began to giggle.

  “What do you think you are? Some kind of caveman? Me beat up bad man with big stick,” he mocked. “Fat lot of good it’ll do you. Besides” The voice grew cunning. “If you don’t drop it, I won’t tell you where I’ve hidden the little surprise I planned for you.”

  “Mario.” Jake thought he’d whispered the word but somehow Hartner heard him.

  “I do believe that was his name! Er...I meant...that is his name. For a little while longer, at least.”

  Jake felt his cheeks flush. Mario had proven himself to be special. He seemed instinctively to understand Jake’s commitment to the pictures. The boy was sweet and loving and during their passionate lovemaking, Jake had felt a connection between them – a real connection this time, not just wishful thinking. For a few wonderful hours until Hartner had come into his life to wreak havoc, he had hoped he might be able to find love with Mario, to embrace the possibilities the living had to offer. He still intended to continue honoring the dead and cherishing their memories, but he hoped he might finally be able to throw himself into the exciting uncertainty of a relationship with the living, brimming with possibilities and more magic and wonder and happiness than his fantasies and regrets could ever bring him.

  Now, the thought of that innocent beautiful young man being subjected to the whims of a fiend like Hartner infuriated him. If Mark had so much as laid a finger on the boy—or worse, if he’d already taken advantage of him the way he’d manipulated Jake in the shower—

  “Yawn.” Hartner stepped around the corner of the ancient wagon-style hearse that was taking up most of the front part of the barn.

  Fifty or perhaps a hundred years ago, the conveyance had been a testament to proud hand-craftsmanship. Now its polished silver trim was dull and dented; strips of it had come off entirely in places. The lacquered paint was peeling, in some cases worn clear down to the half-rotted wood. The windows, once etched around the edges with dainty floral patterns by a master artist, were opaque with crusted grime and were mostly broken; even those few that had survived intact bore evident cracks caused by extreme age. The lacy curtains, originally intended to shield the casket from view and to provide privacy for the mourners inside, were naught but gray and ragged remnants of cloth which could easily have been mistaken for thick cobwebs. At the front, the yokes used for the horses had separated from the frame and lay broken on the floor, and the entire rear of the coffin-bed sagged.

  Studiously casual, Hartner made as if to lean up against one of the huge spoked wooden wheels but he was quick to move away when the hearse groaned under even that slight pressure.

  “You have no imagination, young Mr. Marshall. Did you know that?” He shook his head, feigning disappointment with Jake, and waved to indicate Mark should walk around the hearse and move toward the rear of the building where the old horse stalls were located. “The reality is always much worse than we fear.”

  The nail-studded board dropped from his hands; the fiend practically glowed with whatever strange seductive power he had at his beck and call, and Jake had the sinking feeling a board pierced by a few rusty and bent nails would prove useless. He walked forward, unresisting, resolving to give the appearance of meekness while keeping his wits sharp and looking for any opportunity. He was anxious for Mario’s safety, and whatever Mark Hartner had done to the young Greek, Jake was determined to rescue him.

  Like a butler at some fancy ball, Hartner bowed and motioned Jake to proceed ahead of him.

  “Now, turn around. The curtain’s about to go up.”

  With another flourish, Hartner tugged on a grimy length of rope that dangled from the rafters. With a muffled crash, a trap door in the roof opened, raining showers of dust down upon them, and the sunlight streamed through and illuminated some of the barn’s murky shadows. The scene that greeted Jake’s eyes caused a lump to form in his throat and his heart to pound. He made as if to dart forward, but the strange paralysis was on him again.

  “I’m quite proud of myself for coming up with this one,” Mark gloated. “The creativity is...inspired, don’t you agree? I think of it as a variation on an old and tested theme.”

  Mario was standing on top of the hearse, stripped naked. His tanned skin glistened and the hair on his chest was matted with sweat. Had the vehicle been maintained over the years, the roof section just above where the coffin would have rested in bygone days would probably have been intact enough to support him. But the thing had been terribly neglected and it was a minor miracle
that Mario had not already broken through the termite- and rot-ridden wood above the casket section.

  At first, all Jake could register were the dusty sides of the hearse body which already bore marks from where rivulets of Mario’s perspiration had pooled on the roof and trickled down the sides; if it kept up, his sweating would start to turn the ground underneath the car muddy. Every one of his lean muscles were exposed in harsh relief, clenched and straining, futilely tensing his body against the agony he must be feeling. A dingy rag was jammed into his mouth, splitting the darkness of his features with its dubious whiteness. Though he heard nothing but muffled grunts, from the expression in Mario’s tormented eyes and the way his jaw moved and his throat moved convulsively, Jake could see the young Greek was screaming into the cloth.

  He was standing with arms lashed behind his back. From less than fifteen feet away, Jake could see he’d been bound from wrist to elbow, and he winced when he realized Mark had used some kind of very thin cord, twisting it tightly so it dug into Mario’s skin. He had also hobbled the boy with rough hemp rope wrapped around his ankles, securing them but giving him enough slack so his bare feet could shift to maintain his balance on the rickety roof. Barely.

  Hartner had also salvaged a long length of filthy rope from somewhere, possibly one of the abandoned pieces of riding tack, and had tied it cruelly around Mario’s testicles before attaching the free end to a heavy hunk of iron which hung between the boy’s thighs. The plump orbs that Jake had taken into his mouth and kissed only last night – though it now seemed to have happened ages ago – were now lumps of purpled flesh swollen to more than twice the size Jake remembered.

  Mario’s calves bulged and his thigh muscles strained as he sought to stay on tiptoe; even now, the lean young man strove to lift his body higher as if to alleviate some kind of excruciating pain, but he seemed to have difficulty pushing himself up. Jake couldn’t understand why as it seemed like Mario would be desperate to squat in order to relieve the pressure on his tortured balls.

  Mark saw his confusion. “Oh, come on!” he sniffed, mildly irritated. “Look closer. You’re not getting the brilliance of the thing. And I worked so hard to get the effect just right for you.”

  Jake had no idea what the monster was talking about but, as he looked closer, he saw the true fiendishness of Mark’s hastily cobbled torture device and he gasped in horror.

  “Just as I said, don’t you think? Inspired.” Hartner waved one hand to take in the barn. “It’s not like I had a lot to work with, you know. I’m rather pleased with my improvisation. Working off the cuff was always one of my strong points but, even so, I think I was particularly clever this time, don’t you?”

  He had rigged some kind of pole by ramming it through the decrepit wooden roof so that the base was resting inside the coffin bed, supported by what remained of one of the rear axels. The protruding end of the contraption was planted deeply in Mario’s ass and as his footing was anything but secure, the boy had to be wary of his bare feet collapsing the roof beneath them. If they did, his body weight would drive him down and he would be impaled.

  “He seems stable. For the moment. I made sure of that.” Hartner grinned. “But if he moves, you know, if he does the foot shuffle thing, well...” His words trailed off for a moment. “There’s quite a bit of dry rot.”

  Mark demonstrated by taking a thin slat of broken wood he held in one hand and whipping across the boy’s taut lower belly, leaving a cruel red mark on the tanned skin and causing his victim to flinch from the sting. Mario’s body jerked as he stumbled there was an alarming creak from the hearse. A shrill whine started in the back of the boy’s throat while he fought to retain his balance, a sound which could not be muffled by the gag, and tears broke out anew, running down the sides of his face and mingling with the sweat dripping from his tortured frame.

  “Damn you!” Jake roared. He shot forward, intending to climb up and scoop Mario to safety. He was brought up short by Hartner stepping between them and lashing out with the wooden slat.

  “We’ll have none of that!”

  One of the monster’s hands reached up and lingered over the rope around the swollen testicles. It was already pulled taut and as Jake watched in horror, Mark playfully tugged on it slightly, smiling at the high-pitched squeal from the bound boy.

  “As much as it...pains him, I’m sure young Mario wants me to take my time, don’t you, boy?” The only response was another squeal. “Otherwise, he could simply relax and...well...” He grinned and made a ripping motion with his hands. “I think I’ve managed to achieve the perfect balance between the weight on his balls and the pain in his ass. But I’m not entirely sure. And speaking of pains in the ass...” He fixed his gaze on Jake’s horrified eyes. “If you move so much as an inch without my permission...one small push and his balls will be hanging like a piñata and you’ll be able to pull that spike out through his teeth. Did I mention I attached a little something extra to the end of the pole before I rammed it up inside him? I have no idea what it was – I’ve always been more of a city boy than a country boy – but it was very rusty and very sharp. I wonder how long he’ll last before he bleeds to death. Do we understand each other?”

  Jake nodded mutely, fury smoldering in his eyes. “What do you want?” he croaked.

  He was incensed but at the same time, ashamed of himself. In his mind, he imagined what it would feel like to rend Hartner’s flesh from his bones with his bare hands, to watch his ethereally beautiful features swell and bloat as Jake slowly squeezed his neck, to see those grey eyes grow dim and glassy, to be covered with the milky film of death as they so justly deserved. Jake had not known he could reach such depths of wanting to commit violence against another person, even if that person wasn’t quite human. He was appalled at the urges he felt for destruction. Yes, Hartner must be stopped, but Jake hated himself for anticipating taking pleasure in doing it.

  Mark feigned coquettishness. “Me?” He placed one hand, fingers splayed, dramatically to his breast and fluttered his eyelids and affected the accent of a Southern belle. “Why, the thing I want most in this whole wide world is a big, strong man like you to love!” His tone hardened. “In fact...strip.”

  “Huh?” Jake wasn’t sure he’d heard what he thought he’d heard.

  Hartner’s hand poised above the rope and he flexed the muscles of his biceps as if about to tug it down with all of his strength and send Mario crashing through the wood. This time, the Greek screamed in horrified anticipation even before Hartner touched it.

  “I dislike repeating myself. Oh, look! That last bit was almost enough to knock him off balance. You’ve got some medical training in your line of work, right? How long does it take for someone to bleed to death internally?”

  Nonchalantly, he turned to face Jake once again. “I believe I told you to do something for me?”

  Jake crossed his arms, and with a swift angry motion, tugged his shirt over his head and threw it down. His fingers fumbled with his belt buckle.

  “Whoa there, fella!” Hartner leered. “Slowly. I wanna enjoy the view.”

  Jake’s naked chest rose and fell as he sucked air in and out, trying to calm himself. Not only was Hartner much too close for Jake to get at him before he could push Mario, but there was also the question of how much more damage Mario’s body could withstand. His mind raced as he drew the belt through the loops and discarded it. There must be something he could do to save his new lover. Hartner must have some weakness.

  He kicked off his shoes and tore his socks from his feet. His jeans dropped, followed by his briefs, and he stepped out of them.

  “My, my, my. Don’t we look the noble warrior from some adventure story? Standing there, all muscled and angry, fists clenched, rippling biceps and heaving chest.” Idly, Hartner reached down to the bulge in his own pants and rubbed his palm across his hardening dick. Mark knew Jake saw the movement, and with a lascivious grin, he thrust his hips forward and increased the tempo of his stroking. />
  “You want this, don’t you, boy?”

  “I’d rather die,” Jake spat.

  Hartner seemed to take his words as a legitimate proposal and considered. “Not just yet.” His eyes flashed with malicious glee. “Again. You want this, don’t you, boy?” With his free hand, he smacked Mario’s ass. Jake watched as Mario rose up onto the very ends of the tips of his toes and shrieked.

  Hartner released his grip. “The next time, I pull down. Now, if memory serves, I asked you a question.”

  “Yes.” Jake whispered, barely managing to choke out the word.

  “Sorry?” Mark took his hand from his crotch and cupped it over one ear. With the other, he drummed his fingers on his thigh as if patiently waiting for the answer he wanted to hear.

  “I want it,” Jake muttered.

  “Not very convincing.” He pursed his lips in a moue of disappointment and, waggling his fingers, his arm slowly moved closer to the bound boy.

  The mortician cleared his throat and steeled himself. He had nothing to lose; after all, they were just words. If he needed to humiliate himself before Hartner in order to gain time to figure out how to get Mario down, he’d do it gladly.

  “I want it. I want you.” Then, he added with inspiration. “Please?”

  Hartner smiled. “Beg.”

  “Huh?”

  “I know you’re smarter than you look. Beg me for it. Get down on your knees and crawl to me.”

  Stuffing down his pride, Jake sank to his knees on the hard-packed earth. He lowered his head and slowly began to crawl forward.

  “Get your head up, boy!” Hartner commanded. “I wanna see the look on your face.”

  Jake complied and watched while Hartner removed his own shirt, his bare torso pale with creamy skin, the muscles of his chest and stomach molded like some Renaissance masterpiece. For an instant, Jake’s breath caught in his throat; the sheer beauty of the man’s body was enough to bring tears of longing into his eyes. Then Hartner crudely thrust one hand past the waistband of his pants to help coax his dick to full arousal, spoiling the effect.