Dead and Back
Chapter 1

Copyright© 2011 by Veritas

Action/Adventure Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Young Desmond died a violent death. He didn't stay that way though - somehow, he came back a vampire. He must now adapt to his new condition, while investigating his own murder and how he was turned.

Caution: This Action/Adventure Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Fa/Fa   Consensual   Reluctant   Hypnosis   BiSexual   Heterosexual   Horror   Vampires   MaleDom   Violence  

Dying really isn't what you'd expect it to be. In many ways, it's actually quite the disappointment.

For me, there was no life flashing before my eyes, no bright white light at the end of a long tunnel, no long departed loved ones beckoning me towards them with welcome arms, not even a group seventy virgins waiting to feed me grapes and fulfill my every desire for all of eternity.

Looking back now, the only thing I can clearly remember from my death was pain, confusion, fear ... followed by nothing. No, not darkness, but a whole lot of nothingness. The complete and utter absence of anything.

But then, I came back.


Waking up brought a violent assault down onto my senses.

Bright and burning light pierced straight through my eyes, burning into my brain. Blowing wind violently assaulted my ears, echoing throughout my mind. Uncountable scents of earth, wood, smoke, animals and plants overwhelmed my nose. The sour taste of stale vomit and sweet coppery blood filled my mouth. The course feeling of tightly constricting rope grated painfully at my wrists.

Only the surprise and suddenness of the sensations kept me from screaming out loud in pain, fear and confusion. And then, it all gently faded away ... my senses slowly returning to normal.

I groaned, blinking my eyes open and shaking my head slightly as to clear it. My head was pounding and I had a serious case of cottonmouth. My thoughts seemed muddy and stubbornly slow to form. Little by little, I gradually started to take stock of my surroundings and make sense of my situation.

I wasn't at home in my bed as I had expected, or hoped. Staring through the dark, blinking away what was left of unconsciousness from my eyes and mind, it gradually dawned on me that I had somehow fallen asleep in an old, abandoned barn. The lack of animal smells told me it hadn't been used for some time. There was one large opened door directly in front of me, as well as a few missing boards, planks and sections of metal siding, giving me an occasional and unobstructed view of the night sky above and of the tall grass covered field all around with trees in the distance. Over to one side there was a hint of flickering light, as if coming from a distant campfire.

I must have been really out of it, because only after that did I realize that I wasn't even lying down. I was suspended by my wrists in the middle of the building, at least two feet from the dirt and straw covered floor by ropes tied somewhere in the rafters above me. I must have been here for some time, seeing as I was starving and thirsty.

Yet, somehow I wasn't all that uncomfortable.

Don't get me wrong, it was no day at the beach, but I didn't feel any joint or muscle pain from my unnatural position.

"What the fuck..." I croaked out.

Needless to say, I was pretty damn confused and just a bit pissed off. I wasn't much of a drinker, and definitely not to the point of blacking out. This whole situation was a definite first for me.

"What the hell did you do Desmond?" I asked myself.

Memories came to me, but they were blurry and disjointed, and a serious boost to my headache followed right behind. Working through the pain and concentrating as much as I could, I remembered being dragged behind a motorcycle and severely beaten, with a crowd of people looking on, yelling and cheering. There were too many people and too much noise to make anything else out. Tired, broken, bleeding and in great pain, I was then taken to this barn and strung up.

Some time later, I have no way of knowing how long, a man came to me. For some reason I could remember him perfectly. A good looking guy, with dark tanned skin, clean shaven face, long dark hair pulled back in a ponytail and cold, ice blue eyes. I could see dark and intricate tattoos on his exposed arms. He was built like a heavyweight boxer and was dressed in denim and leather – a biker. Others gathered silently around him, but they maintained their distance. He was obviously the leader.

He asked me questions in a calm and surprisingly cultured voice - "Who are you?" "What are you doing here?" and more of the same, always repeating. I don't know what exactly I answered, or even if it was at all coherent ... all I know is that occasionally, when he apparently didn't like or believe my answers, pain would follow.

Eventually he was satisfied. Or maybe he was just bored or even angry ... I honestly couldn't tell. All I could see was his expressionless face and cold, unmoving eyes. The interrogation ended abruptly as he pulled a gun from behind his back, pointed it at me and pulled the trigger.

Even greater pain blossomed in my chest. I tried to breathe, but I choked on some thick liquid. The panic seemed to last for an eternity, until I thankfully passed out.

Oh God ... I was shot...

As if the situation wasn't terrifying and life-threatening enough.

Struggling to suppress my growing panic, I quickly looked down at myself trying to assess the damage. Only tatters of my shirt remained around my arms, my jeans had several gaping holes and were missing the last foot or so of each leg, and for some reason, my shoes and socks were missing. Try as I might, I couldn't see any wounds, or even feel them, but the vast amount of dried, dark blood on my chest, body and clothes, as well as in drying pools below me, told me I was in serious trouble.

But I was still alive. Maybe the bullet missed everything vital. I'd heard of stuff like that before – against all odds, would-be fatal wounds end up being relatively minor ... or at least survivable.

Still ... it was the lack of pain that really threw me. I felt pretty damn good for a guy who had been beaten within an inch of his life, strung up and shot in the chest, all in one night. At worst, I was a bit weak, had an empty stomach and a dry throat.

"Shock ... I'm in shock..." I mumbled, hoping that saying it out loud would make it so and staying focused would keep me alive. "That's what it is ... I have to move while I can. I have to call 911 ... I need to get to a hospital."

Unfortunately, it seemed that I wouldn't be going anywhere, anytime soon. Seeing as I was suspended in the air, there was no way to get the leverage to pull on the ropes binding my wrists. The only thing that I could do was swing myself, trying to gain enough momentum to stress or even break either the ropes or whatever they were attached to.

I was distracted from planning my escape when I noticed the near and approaching sounds of footsteps and a light coming through the gaps in the barn walls.

My first impulse was to desperately call out for help, but I stopped myself before I could make a sound. Whoever was approaching could very well be with the people who beat me and left me here to die. I decided that my best bet was to play dead and to wait and see, so I relaxed my body, let my head fall forward toward my chest and held my breath.

It took only a few moments for whoever the stranger was to enter the barn. With my eyes closed and head down, I couldn't see him, but I could easily follow his progress by sound. I really shouldn't have been able to hear him mumbling complaints under his breath, but I did, almost as if his gravely voice had been whispering right into my ear.

"Damnit, why am I supposed to do all the work? Dig a fucking hole in the middle of nowhere ... cut down the stiff and burry him ... one of these says I'll get even with that fat fuck..."

He kept complaining the entire time he made his way toward me, making a short detour on the way. I was momentarily worried that I would not be able to hold my breath long enough, or that he would somehow hear my beating heart, but I noticed something weird - though I was understandably scared, I was nowhere near the panic that I should have been, my heart wasn't hammering in my ears as expected and my lungs weren't straining for oxygen. I don't even think that I sweating.

He stopped before me and, after a creaking sound of straining wood, he was suddenly level with me and uncomfortably close.

I needed to know who he was and what were his intentions, so I decided to chance a look squinted eyes. It took just a mere moment for my eyes to adapt to the sudden presence of light, coming from the electric lantern now hanging from a nail on a wood post some yards away. The man was standing somewhat unsteadily on an old wooden crate, while lifting a knife over my head to cut at my bonds.

He was older, in his forties or fifties, dressed mostly in old and worn denim and leather, with long and greasy-looking graying brown hair tied back in a ponytail and close cropped beard. His was face marred by several scars and severely weathered by a lifetime spent outdoors. A fuzzy memory focused into crystal clarity. I recognized him from my beating. His face had been twisted into an ugly sneer as he ground a lit cigarette into my forehead, his eyes showing plainly that he was enjoying my fear and pain.

I suddenly felt a rage I had never felt before wash over me. I didn't merely hate this man who had taken such great pleasure from my suffering, I wanted him to know pain. I wanted revenge and I wanted it by my own hands.

Something changed in me, or maybe the change had always been there and it had simply been awaken, let free by the circumstances I found myself in. My fear evaporated and I simply acted, unhesitatingly and violently. Before his knife could completely cut through the rope, I kicked my knee straight up into his crotch, with as much force as I could muster, while letting out a growl of such pure fury and ferocity, that I even frightened myself somewhat.

I didn't let it stop me though ... I had work to do.

As the blow landed, I swear that I could hear and feel a crunch. His eyes shot open in surprise and then shut tight from the excruciating pain. He let loose a very uncharacteristic squeal as he was projected back off the box some several feet away.

With a violent jerk of my arms and body, what was left of the rope keeping me aloft snapped and I fell to the ground. As soon as my feet landed I was moving, rushing the still airborne man. The same instant his body thudded dully on the floor, I was upon him pummeling his face over and over again.

The first punch crushed his nose, bloodying my fist and his face. The second broke his jaw and sent some teeth flying. He tried to struggle, to fight back, but he had dropped his knife with my initial blow to his groin and his clenched fists just seemed to flow ineffectually off of me. I think the forth punch much have reached his brain, because he convulsed suddenly and violently, blood gurgling out from his shattered mouth. He died somewhere between the sixth and tenth blows. I'm not exactly sure, since I wasn't exactly focused on what I was doing.

Still crouching over the now dead man, I finally regained a semblance of control over myself, understandably shocked at what I had done ... at what I had undoubtedly enjoyed.

I had admittedly thrown a punch or two in real fights several times before, but it had mostly been in my youth and teenage years. I had never actually injured someone so thoroughly, let alone kill them. I know that I had lost control in a fit of fear and righteous anger, but how had I done it?

Though my mind and soul was troubled, I peripherally noticed that I was physically fine. There was still no pain in my body and there was no strain or trembling to my muscles, from the incredible effort I had put in or from the adrenaline that had to be coursing through my veins. I had been holding my breath this entire time, but there was still no burning ache for air in my lungs.

I finally took a deep breath in through my nose, hoping that this simple act would center me. The smell of stale sweat, cigarettes, alcohol and some other unidentifiable chemicals assaulted my nose, but through it all what really caught my attention was the coppery sweet smell of blood. Something writhed deep within me, a craving more primal than any other I had ever felt, and I involuntarily licked my lips in response.

The taste of a few drops of his spattered blood hit me then, and I lost myself in the unexpected sensation, closing my eyes in sudden pleasure and relief.

I felt something strange in my mouth, as if it was suddenly too full. I slowly and unconsciously lent down toward the fallen man. I wanted ... no, needed something. I didn't know what though.

No ... that's not right. I think I knew even then, I just couldn't yet admit it to myself.

"Hey Al! What's taking so long with the stiff?" The nearby yelling voice effectively broke me out of my trance and refocused me on the situation at hand.

I wasn't safe yet.

I turned my head in the direction of where I suspected the voice had come from and focused my attention. Through the wooden planked walls of the dilapidated barn, I could hear footsteps approaching from no more than ten yards away. They were slow and ponderous, sounding like the steps of someone big, and would reach the entranceway in moments.

I needed a plan, maybe a place to hide. Before I could finish my line of reasoning, I realized that I was already in motion. With more swiftness and coordination than I ever imagined having, I rushed towards the lantern hanging from the wood post and struck it. It broke easily with just one hit, small shattered pieces now falling to the ground, and the barn's interior was once again blanketed in thick darkness.

The blindness lasted only a second, my eyes adapting at an incredible speed. As quickly as darkness fell, my sight seemed to shift, allowing me to see my surroundings as if I was outside during the middle of the day. I didn't have time to wonder or question yet another strange occurrence, though.

"Did you break the goddamn light, you clumsy fuck?" The voice conveyed equal parts scorn and annoyance.

There was the slight sound of rustling clothes, and then a small click. A small and weak beam of light pierced the dark from what I assumed was a pocket flashlight. Good, that should ruin his night vision.

I ran silently toward a corner of the barn, near the open doorway, stooping slightly to pick up Al's discarded knife on the way. Upon reaching my chosen hiding spot just in time, I crouched down low to the ground as my new opponent entered the barn, a short and thin cone of light illuminating the path immediately ahead of him. He was a big man, taller, wider and younger than Al. He was clearly in much worse shape though, rolls of fat bulging and peaking under his clothing. I could hear his labored breathing and I immediately regretted letting myself breathe again – if possible he smelt even worse than the now deceased Al.

I remembered him too. A spectator to my beating, though he wore a disinterested expression on his face, it didn't stop him from egging the others on. I felt the rage return and I welcomed it, all the while keeping it under a modicum of control and focus. I wouldn't go berserk this time - instead of simply wild, I now felt predatory.

I kinda liked the new feeling.

Carefully, I slipped the knife into a pocket. I didn't want to kill him. Well ... I did, but I needed some answers first.

"Al!" The fat man called out exasperated, walking slowly past me.

I moved forward slightly, and looked outside the barn. The immediate area around the building looked pretty torn up, as if a big crowd and several vehicles had been there some time ago. Further out was what looked like long abandoned farmland, surrounded by some lightly wooded areas. Over thirty yards away, between me and the only visible road, I could see a camp fire burning next to a small RV and a motorcycle. It didn't look like there was anyone else around.

I refocused my attention back inside. The fat man had moved deeper into the barn, his meager light searching back and forth, barely missing Al's dead body. Instead it revealed that the place where I had been hanging was now empty.

"Al ... where've you gone with the stiff?"

I moved then, while his back was still to me. I launched towards him at full speed and jumped halfway there, pointing my feet at his lower back while still in the air. I had a moment to admire my hang time before my bare feet impacted with a loud thud. As he let out a strangled and pain-filled groan and began to pitch forward, I reached forward and clamped my hand over his mouth to prevent any screams and rode that fat bastard to the ground. He hit the floor hard and actually managed to skid a couple of yards, plowing a shallow furrow through the dirt and straw. Thankfully, I was able to hang on with one hand gripping a shoulder, the other holding his head, over his mouth, and with both feet still firmly planted into his lower back.

Before he could recover, I shifted my hold on him, putting him in a headlock. I squeezed his thick neck just enough to cut off the blood flow to his brain. He struggled greatly for some time, throwing all his considerable weight into trying to buck me off or roll over onto me, but I held on. I wanted to keep tightening my hold until something broke, maybe even giving it a sharp twist, snapping his neck. I knew that I could do it, quite easily in fact, but I refrained myself.

Barely.

He eventually lay limp beneath me and I could hear his breathing and heartbeat slow to normal. Before releasing him, I held the headlock for an additional few moments, just to be sure. Then, using the remains of the same rope that had bound my hands, I tied his together tightly, behind his back.

I noticed that in the middle of the back of his denim jacket was a large patch. It was a shadowed armored warrior crouched and ready for battle, carrying a sword in one hand and an AK47 in the other. The metal in the armor and the sword were designed and colored in such a way to make it look like dark ice. I could just make out a smaller insignia on his shoulder of a snowflake intricately interwoven with bloodied barbed wire.

I recognized the design. It was the colors (the club logo or insignia) of the Winter Born – an outlaw motorcycle club on the FBI, ATF and DEA watch lists. They're suspected to be mostly involved in gun running and meth fabrication and distribution, though they're not above robbery, assault, breaking and entering, murder, rape and extortion. Apparently they're well on their way to becoming the new and improved version of Hell's Angels.

I paused for a minute in surprise and confusion.

Just how did I know that? For the life of me, I couldn't remember reading or hearing about it. It's not like I make a habit of studying up on criminal organizations in my free time.

I'd worry about that later. I had more pressing issues to deal with, now that I wasn't in any imminent danger. Issues like my gunshot wound for instance. I tentatively touched my chest with one hand, searching for the wound ... and failed. In a panic, I started using both hands, but beyond caked layers of dried blood, I could not find any injuries. Not even a sore spot.

Had I dreamed being shot? Had the trauma of the beating caused me to hallucinate? Perhaps, but there was a problem with that theory – no matter how much I felt and probed my body, there was no evidence whatsoever of the severe beating, the multiple wounds and quite a few breaks. My tattered and blood-soaked clothing seemed to be the only evidence that corroborated my terrible memories.

"What the hell happened?" I asked. Of course, there was nobody there to reply.

Seeing no way to find the answers I wanted, I decided that it was time to focus on more practical solutions. I did a quick search of the fat man's clothes, finding a few hundred dollars, some keys, a cell phone and a loaded revolver in a shoulder holster. I then went over to dead Al and searched his body as well, finding a nice silver lighter, some more money and his own cell phone and set of keys.

Searching Al's body took a bit longer, since I was constantly distracted by the scent and sight of his blood. It didn't disgust me, like I halfway expected, but instead it disturbingly drew me to it, making my stomach rumble and mouth water slightly. I controlled myself and turned away from the sight as quickly as possible, while pocketing my spoils.

I left the barn, heading to investigate the RV. On the way I couldn't help but notice how beautiful everything was. The stars were incredibly clear and bright in the sky, despite the bright lights from the city in the distance to the southwest. The greens of the country around me were stunningly vivid, even in the dark and the cool breeze carried a whole and previously unknown spectrum of scents.

I guess a near-death experience is the best way to begin appreciating the beauty in life.

Reaching the campsite, I saw a couple of lawn chairs sitting around the now dying fire, surrounded by a dozen empty beer cans. I opened the door to the old and beat-up RV and was about to enter, but rapidly retreated from the intense chemical smells from within. It took several moments of coughing and sneezing to completely remove the noxious smell and taste from my nose and mouth, and for my watering eyes to dry.

I tried entering again, only this time I held my breath and felt no ill effects. Inside I saw that the RV had been set up as a mobile lab, filled with liquids and equipment I didn't have the knowledge to even begin to identify. Information clicked in my mind, as I realized that it was a mobile meth lab.

I performed a quick search of the vehicle and found a small lockbox, a couple of kilos of what I assumed was finished crystal meth, and a shotgun from the front seat. Of those, I only took the lockbox with me.

I then checked out the motorcycle, a nice Harley Davidson. The bike itself yielded nothing, but in its saddle bags I found some semi-clean clothes, a roll of cash and a gun which I tentatively identified as a Colt .45.

Now I had to decide on what to do next. I briefly thought about using one of their cell phones to call the cops. Unfortunately, seeing as I had killed a man, even if he had been one of my attackers, I knew that I would be in a whole shit-storm of trouble. The whole situation would be investigated, the press would be involved, and the rest of the Winter Born were sure to find me and most likely finish the job of killing me.

Nope ... I was going to have to cover my tracks.

Then an idea came to me - a mental image - and I couldn't help but grin widely.

First, I stripped off the rags that were what was left of my clothing and put on the clothes I had found on the bike - a pair of jeans and a button up flannel shirt. There were no shoes though, so I continued to go barefoot. I got in the RV driver's seat and using one of the liberated keys, started it up and drove it into the barn. Momentarily entering the meth lab, I picked up a couple of bottles of liquid, clearly labeled flammable and began spreading them around. The outside of the RV, the wooden walls and support beams of the barn and Al's corpse were all doused.

I did pause to check Al's boots – they were a bit big, but better than nothing, so I took them and put them on my feet.

I was interrupted from my work by some mumbling and groaning. It looked like the fat man had woken up.

I walked over to him and as he heard me approach, he began cursing me out and saying how I was "going to regret fucking with the Winter Born".

"Hey fatso, remember me?" I asked, flipping him over on his back roughly.

Anger flashed over his face as he registered my words, but it quickly faded as he got a good look at me in the RVs rear lights and recognition hit.

"No ... You're dead!" He was understandably confused and scared. I think I could actually smell it coming off him.

My memories seemed to be correct – I had been shot. I almost effortlessly lifted him up to his feet by the collar, bringing his face close to mine.

"Why did you do this to me?" I stared him in the eyes and spoke low and slowly.

"You were snooping at our meeting yesterday. We caught you and brought you here to find out who you were and what you were doing." I was pretty surprised – I thought that it would take much more convincing to get him to talk. I had clearly caught him off-guard, or probably it was just the result of fear.

"And what did you find out?" I asked, the calm in my voice belaying my true feelings.

"Nothing man!" He said pleadingly. "You wouldn't tell us anything, at least nothing that made sense. And you had no ID." He gasped in surprise, so I looked at what he had spotted. Ahh ... he had caught sight of Al's body. The scent of fear went up several notches. He was panicking now.

"Oh God! This isn't happening! We strung you up and Leon shot you in the chest!"

Leon ... the dark man with cold eyes and tattooed arms. The familiar rage welled up in me once again. I snarled at him, showing my teeth and he went deathly pale, his mouth and eyes wide open in shock.

"You should have tried harder!" It came out as an almost animal-like growl. A whiff of urine hit my nose and I looked down. He had actually wet himself.

I pulled back my right arm and punched him in the face, breaking his nose and knocking him out again. I then pushed his unconscious body well into the barn and threw my last bottle of flammable fluid in his direction.

I lit Al's nice, silver lighter as I turned to leave and threw it over my shoulder. Thankfully, I heard a very satisfying -fwoosh- just as I excited the barn. I swung the large doors closed, the screeching hinges drowned out by the sounds of the growing fire, and wedged them shut with Al's knife.

I had left the drugs, weapons and my ruined clothing to burn inside the fire. I kept their money, the lockbox and their cell phones as spoils of war. The money –a little over one thousand dollars - would certainly come in handy and the lockbox and phones could yield some important information. These, I carried back to the campsite and stowed away into the Harley's saddlebags.

I looked back to the barn just in time to see a part of its roof collapse inward.

That problem was taken care of. Now it was finally time to head home, where I could rest safely. The fear and anxiety of the entire situation hadn't left, but now that I was leaving it had at least abated. I knew that there were many more problems I needed to handle and questions that I needed answered, but they would wait for a while.

I got on the Harley, gunned the engine and began my journey home, towards Toronto.

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