Hellboy

by Yvonne Navarro

  At the other edge, corridors radiated outward like the spokes of a wheel, each interspersed with glass partitions and leading to offices and God knew what else. With Myers and her suitcases at her side, Liz realized it had been some time since her last visit to the B.P.R.D., and a lot had changed. Still, some things never did.

  There was Professor Broom, headed their way from one of the satellite corridors.

  But on second glance, he looked…impossibly old, stooped, and thin, as if the weight of his own knowledge was beating him into the ground and sucking the meat right off his bones. He was wearing a dark shirt and slacks, and the burgundy wool vest he had on over his shirt was hanging loose on his frame; Liz couldn’t ever remember having seen him in clothing that didn’t fit impeccably. Nevertheless, he was, as always, completely congenial, painfully courteous. “Welcome back.”

  She nodded, then felt compelled to remind him, “It’s only for the weekend, Professor Broom. Then I’ll be on my way.”

  He didn’t even blink. “Come and go as you please.” He waved a hand at their quietly efficient surroundings. “Find your way back. We’ve made quite a few changes—”

  The rest of what he was saying was lost in an explosion of broken glass. Myers yanked out his weapon as Liz gave a small, surprised scream; then a mangled metal locker slammed to the floor in one of the corridors, leaving behind it a rim of thick safety glass and bent aluminum studs.

  A second later, Dr. Manning came hightailing it out of a door in front of where the locker had landed. He saw Broom and made a beeline for him, gasping and sputtering, jabbing a forefinger at the air in indignation. “I want that thing locked up, starting now! Now! You hear me?” He fled to parts unknown without waiting for an answer.

  Liz looked in Broom’s direction and raised one dark eyebrow. “Nothing’s changed,” she said wryly. “Home, sweet home.”

  Broom looked aghast at the mess in the corridor, then hurried after Manning. Amused, Liz watched him go, then turned to see Hellboy calmly stepping through the hole he’d made in the corridor’s glass wall. When he saw her, he froze, but only for a moment. “Liz?” He stared, then his mouth stretched into a grin. “Liz!”

  Oh no. She didn’t want to give explanations to Hellboy right now, couldn’t deal with the emotional strain of their whole relationship…not that that’s what it actually was or had been, or even ever would be. Instead of staying to talk to him, she gripped her suitcases harder, turned on her heel, and strode off in the opposite direction.

  Behind her, Myers slid his gun back into his holster as Hellboy skidded to a stop next to him. “You!” he chortled. “You did it, buddy!”

  Not knowing what to say, Myers only nodded, then turned and followed Liz. He wasn’t sure what was up with these two, but he had to make sure it didn’t trip a switch in her mind and make her change her tune about staying around the research facility for the weekend.

  Behind them, Hellboy was left standing all alone in the center of the B.P.R.D. logo. He didn’t seem to mind as he grinned toward anyone who happened to be passing by or coming in to do yet another Hellboy-created cleanup.

  “Whoo hoo!”

  Been here, done this.

  Yeah, Liz thought. Nothing’s changed.

  The same fourteen-by-fourteen room—although the black, back part of her mind wanted to call it a cell—with the same supposedly mentally calming cream paint and the thinly disguised fireproof insulation covering the walls. The same furniture, also fireproof, in pastel colors that she found more hospital-like than comforting. There were fresh white sheets on the bed and an oversized pillow, and while someone had placed a small glass bowl of pistachios on the night stand, there were no pictures on the walls, no sense of permanence or home. The B.P.R.D. could hardly be blamed for that; she had abandoned the organization so many times that Dr. Broom had finally given up on keeping a place for her here; his female child, so to speak, had left the nest and was unlikely to return.

  Or so he had thought.

  She tossed her bags on the end of the bed, then turned and flounced down on it. The mattress felt good. Myers was lingering in the doorway, watching her, doing his agently duty in getting her settled. Most of the time, she preferred being alone; for right now, though, Liz felt like him being there was an okay thing. Who knew how long that feeling would last.

  He didn’t say anything so she felt compelled to fill in the silence. Reflexively she pulled on one of the heavy rubber bands on one wrist, then let it snap back against the skin. “A little something I learned in therapy,” she said. He winced, but she ignored that. “I’m depressed, one rubber band.” She added another rubber band to the layer over her fingers, pulled back, then released them. “I’m impatient, two rubber bands.”

  When she’d started talking, Myers had come in and sat next to her on the edge of the bed, careful not to touch her. He watched solemnly as she pulled on the bands, then released them. Finally, he said, “I’ll get you a fresh pack.”

  Hellboy watched one of the cats, a big, formerly muscular tabby that was now running toward pudgy, bat playfully at Hellboy’s latest failure, a wad of paper on which only two words were visible—Dear Liz. Morosely, Hellboy scooped up the crumpled paper with his tail and dropped it into a wastebasket already brimming with more of the same; it was only a matter of time before one of cats realized the potential in the trash bin and upended it. Not that it made any difference—the floor around Hellboy’s stainless steel desk was littered with yet more botched attempts at letter writing.

  As the projector played Duck Soup in the background, Hellboy pulled out another piece of paper and started fresh. Dear Liz. There were so many things he wanted to say to her, but he’d never been good with the writing part. Hell, he’d never been good with the saying part, either. Still, he had to try. He couldn’t let a little thing like communication bring a big red guy like him down.

  He’d gotten a few more words scrawled out when he heard the door open and the squeaky wheels of the food cart. Hellboy bent lower, trying to ignore it, then Myers’s voice cut into his concentration. “Where do you—”

  “Shhh! Just a second.”

  The agent obligingly lapsed into silence and chose his own spot, hefting the tray loaded with chili and slices of bread onto the dining table on the other side of the room. After a moment, Hellboy said, “Myers, you’re a talker. What’s a good word—a solid word—for ‘need’?”

  Myers thought about it. “Need is a good, solid word.”

  Hellboy scowled at the paper in front of him. “Nah. Sounds too needy.”

  Myers shrugged, then inclined his head at the waiting chili. “Start in. You’ve got nachos coming.”

  He started out the door, then moved to the side as Liz came through. Hellboy’s eyes widened as he saw her, but he didn’t say anything—hell, he couldn’t say anything—as she surveyed the room and all his cats.

  “Oh, my God,” she said with a grin. “Look at them all! Who had babies?” She knelt on the floor and several of them came running immediately. “Come here, Tiger.” She petted and scratched at whichever one came within range as they twined about her, rubbing against her knees and soaking up the attention.

  Hellboy screwed up his courage. “Uh…Liz? I, uh, there’s something I’d like you to…something I need you to hear.”

  Liz was still scratching Tiger on the head. “Well, is it long? I’m going out, but—”

  Hellboy sat up straight. “Out? Out out?”

  Liz stopped fooling with the cat and looked at him quizzically. “For a cup of coffee. But go ahead—read.”

  Suspicion bloomed in his head and suddenly his letter confession didn’t seem so important. “You’re going alone?”

  Liz stood, smiling a little as the four or five cats that had been gathered around her mewled plaintively. “No. Myers is taking me.”

  Hellboy was on his feet and headed toward her instantly, and never mind that he felt like she’d slapped him across the face. “Him? Why him?
Why not me?”

  Whatever she was going to say in response was cut off by the sound of the food cart’s wheels again—squeak! squeak! squeak! Hellboy jerked toward the sound, then his shoulders slumped as Myers came in with the promised nachos.

  “Hey,” Myers said, frowning at the still-untouched tray on the table. “Your chili’s getting cold.”

  Hellboy sucked in air, then slowly lowered himself back onto his chair. He had a brief vision of what the chili and nachos might look like thrown against the wall, but even he knew that would score him really high on the petulant child scale. “Not hungry.”

  Liz glanced at Myers, then back at Hellboy. “What did you want me to hear?”

  Swallowing, Hellboy folded his piece of paper in half, then in quarters. He could feel his emotions starting a slow burn, but it wouldn’t take long to go to high heat. It would be best if they both left before his thermostat went to red. “It’s nothing. Just a list. It’s…not finished.”

  Liz nodded, apparently oblivious to the turmoil Hellboy was enduring. Wasn’t that always the way? “Oh, okay.” She gave him a little good-bye wave. “Maybe later then.”

  And then she was out the door, leaving Hellboy to stare at Agent Myers. The guy had the nerve to smile at him. “Anything else you—”

  “Not from you,” Hellboy snapped.

  Myers blinked. “Well, good ni—”

  “Good night.” Hellboy intentionally swiveled his chair so that his back was to Myers, signaling a definitive end to any more of the man’s chitchat.

  It seemed Agent Myers had turned into the competition.

  17

  BACK IN ONE OF THE MEDICAL BAYS, PROFESSOR BROOM stood in front of the stainless steel autopsy table on which lay Kroenen’s cold, naked body.

  Eyeing the corpse impassively, Broom raised a tape recorder and depressed the Record button. “The subject, Karl Ruprecht Kroenen.” The old man stopped for a moment and scanned the body critically. Except for a neatly folded sheet across the hip and genital area, Kroenen was naked. It was anything but an attractive sight, but it was certainly intriguing.

  Broom depressed the button and spoke again as he examined the intricate silver hand and harness lying on a smaller table off to the side. “The subject suffered a masochistic compulsion known as surgical addiction. Both eyelids were surgically removed along with his upper and lower lips, making it difficult for him to speak and even more challenging for others to understand him. I would presume he stopped talking shortly after the surgery was performed. The blood in his veins dried up decades ago. Only dust remains.”

  The professor left the body and crossed the room to where he could study a set of X-rays hanging against a light board. “Four pulverized vertebrae,” he continued. “A steel rod inserted into his pelvis held him up.” He paused to shake his head as he turned back to stare at the dead man. There was a video camera at each corner of the room, recording the autopsy from all four points of view, and Broom couldn’t help but wonder if the agents who’d pulled safety monitoring duty had the answer to his next question. “What horrible willpower could keep a thing like this alive?”

  Glancing back to Kroenen’s hand, Broom noticed the belt and pouch on the table. Curious, he set down his recorder and slipped his fingers into the pouch.

  And pulled out two small, strange pieces of paper.

  Agent Lime checked his watch. Time to go pick up Hellboy’s dishes and take them back to the kitchen. Myers was supposed to be the big guy’s new babysitter, but he was out with that firestarter woman, Liz Sherman, so Lime had pulled backup duty. Actually, he didn’t mind so much. Hellboy could be a handful, but he was a pretty good sport—a good thing considering he could probably smash them all to a pulp if he got pissed. Visiting him was always interesting; he might be watching Dumb and Dumber or some Bruce Willis flick—Die Hard was always a good bet, and Lime could settle in and relax for a while under the guise of keeping the big red guy company. He wasn’t so high on all those cats, but he also wasn’t stupid enough to say that out loud. At least he wasn’t allergic, like some of the other agents.

  Whistling, Lime went through the security door that led into Hellboy’s living quarters. Pushing the cart in front of him, the agent took all of three steps inside before he jerked to a stop. What he saw across the room was enough to make his jaw drop open.

  At the far end of the space, a couple of the heavier pieces of furniture had been shoved aside. Where there had once been a wall, there was now only a huge, ragged hole; rimmed with rebar and broken concrete. Lime knew instantly that it was more than large enough for Hellboy to squeeze into.

  “Jesus!”

  The agent shoved the cart out of the way and ran to the opening. Beyond it was—scratch that—had been the outer wall of a metal service shaft. The metal separator had been peeled open like a sardine can, and he could see all the way into the shaft. It went farther down, but it also went up…all the way to ground level. Lime was betting that was the direction Hellboy had headed. He twisted around so he could see upward, but the only thing in sight was darkness.

  Hellboy was long gone.

  Although it was the largest city in New Jersey, there wasn’t much that was impressive about Newark’s skyline. At around 270,000 people, it was fairly crowded but still a small city; Myers didn’t want to think about what Newark had been like at its peak in the 1930s, when the census had recorded its population at over 440,000. For some reason the numbers had gone steadily downward since then; even so, there was precious little room to breathe around here. It wasn’t Myers’s favorite city…but then he’d always seen it from the perspective of an FBI agent, always on the run, going somewhere, checking or tracking someone—office buildings, dark rooms, dirty alleyways, smoke-and booze-filled bars.

  Tonight was giving him an entirely different point of view.

  He and Liz came out of Starbucks to discover that a two-person jazz band had set up right there at the corner. They’d just started playing and hadn’t yet drawn a crowd—a good thing, because Liz had confessed that she hated crowds almost as much as she detested strangers who were gutsy enough to look her in the eye. Myers handed Liz her coffee as he unchained the moped, enjoying the background music but knowing they’d be better off heading away from the busier streets. She followed along, occasionally raising her ever-present Polaroid to take a snapshot of something that caught her eye; she’d hang on to it for a few minutes while it finished developing, then most of the time tuck it into her coat pocket without ever looking at it; he had the feeling she’d go over all the photographs very carefully later, once she was alone in her room. It wasn’t hard to make her laugh now that she was away from the B.P.R.D. and all the people who had already, as she put it, “tried and condemned me with their eyes.”

  He balanced his coffee cup in the circle of his thumb and forefinger and pushed the moped down the sidewalk, letting the machine force the people coming toward them to swerve around. Most of the shops they passed were closing down, especially as they headed toward a more residential neighborhood. Waiting for a stoplight, he and Liz continued the conversation started all the way back at Starbucks, a sort of back and forth, pros and cons about—who else?—Hellboy.

  “I admire him,” Myers said. He tried not to sound too stubborn. “He’s a force of nature.”

  Liz snickered. “He’s just pushy.”

  Myers shook his head. “No. He’s determined—unstoppable.”

  “Cocky.”

  “Strong.”

  “A brute.” Liz raised an eyebrow, as if daring him to find a comeback for that one.

  But Myers wasn’t giving up. “My uncle used to say that we like people for their qualities but love them for their defects.”

  A small, half smile worked its way across Liz’s mouth as she sipped her coffee, but she didn’t say anything.

  “He loves you,” Myers said bluntly.

  “I know.”

  “What about you?” Myers watched her carefully.


  She tilted her head and considered his question. “I don’t know. Really, I grew up with him.” She hesitated. “I’ve missed him, too, but now every time I see him, I get confused. Hardly a day goes by that he’s not on my mind. Even now, I feel like he’s here.”

  Following them was easy, so much so that Hellboy didn’t even think about it as he leaped from roof to roof along their path, always keeping either them or Myers’s moped within easy view. His stomach was churning as he watched them, and it sure wasn’t because he’d skipped dinner. With all the special abilities he had, why couldn’t he have super hearing? Like that Bionic Woman character…what had been her name? Jamie Somers, that’s right, played by Lindsay Wagner. Boy, she’d been able to hear everything. What he wouldn’t give to be a fly on the moped’s front fender right about now.

  They were talking back and forth, and while Hellboy couldn’t hear a thing, it seemed rapid fire to him, witty repartee. He’d never been able to do that. “What are you two talking about?” Frustrated, he found himself asking the question of empty air, waving a fist futilely in front of his own face. “What’s so fascinating? So important?”

  There was no answer, of course—good thing—and he got up and hopped to the next roof as they moved on down the sidewalk, clearly bent on leaving the crowds behind. Liz didn’t like crowds, no sir. As he watched, Myers reached into his pocket and pulled out a couple of those little plastic creamers, along with two sugar packets. “No cream and sugar,” Hellboy told him, even though the other man was obviously out of earshot. “She takes it black.” As Hellboy knew she would, Liz held up a hand and shook her head. “Told ya,” Hellboy muttered with a scowl. He was the one who knew Liz, not Myers. So why wasn’t it Myers instead of him playing hopscotch along the rooftops?

  Yeah, Hellboy thought as he paced them from above. I could teach this guy a thing or two about the likes and dislikes of Liz Sherman. He was actually starting to feel a little superior when he saw Liz’s hands cut through the air, a gesture too harsh for calm conversation. Was she upset? No, it didn’t seem so. What, then?