Hellboy: The God Machine (19 page)

"Never mind," Hellboy barked. "What do I do?" he asked the old man.

"Take the blade from the cloth."

He could feel all their eyes upon him--the BPRD agents, the ghost, Aubrey and Baxter, the possessed children waiting on the plastic-covered sofa--as he gripped the blade by its hilt and lifted it out of its yellowed wrapping.

"Okay, now wh..." Hellboy began, but his voice was momentarily sucked away. He felt the blade familiarizing itself with his body, making itself at home.

"Whoa!" He swayed slightly on his feet.

"That's all right," Baxter said reassuringly. "This too shall pass."

Hellboy felt himself grow tired, not devastatingly so, but enough that he'd give his eyeteeth for a little snooze time.

"Now point yourself toward the subjects," the old man directed. Aubrey had gone out to the kitchen and returned with a plate of breakfast for her husband. Baxter had started to eat, as Hellboy pointed the blade at the boy and girl sitting upon the sofa.

Almost at once his mind was filled with the most fantastic images: exorcisms done throughout the blade's existence, thousands of demons and spectral entities ripped from where they didn't belong, forced to return from whence they had come, or to at least move on to the next plane of existence.

"Get away from me!" the boy screamed, standing up from the couch again, only to be pushed back down. "I'll tell you anything you want to know. Just please, let me stay in this body, I'm begging you. Please!"

"Listen to you," the little girl said to her companion. "To think that I once believed you to be wise and brave. Accept your fate. You don't know anything that could possibly be useful to them. Absolom purposely didn't tell us our destination from this point, for just this reason. He told the drones, but he didn't tell us."

The boy was crying, praying for help to a god that did not appear to be listening.

"It makes me sick to realize how wrong I was about you--about everything," the girl said.

"Now take the blade and..." Baxter began again, handing his empty breakfast plate to his wife.

"I know how to do it," Hellboy said, his head jammed full of examples.

The possessed child pleaded one last time as Hellboy brought the blade toward him. He touched the tip of the knife to the exposed flesh of the boy's arm, drawing a single drop of blood.

The child screamed, a strange howling sound composed of two separate voices that gradually became one. Hellboy watched as a writhing green energy squirmed out from one of the kid's ears, attempting to escape out into the atmosphere, only to disperse like smoke in a gentle breeze.

The little girl had been watching the entire time, and she looked at him fearfully. "Promise me that it won't hurt," she asked.

"I can't do that," Hellboy told her, starting to bring the knife blade closer.

The girl shrugged, following the blade's approach as it neared the exposed flesh of her arm. "At least you were honest with me. That's more than most."

The dagger drew blood, and she started to shriek as the ghost that had been the dominant entity was forcibly evicted from the little girl's body.

But before it was gone completely, onto whatever afterlife awaited it, the spirit gave something to Hellboy. She touched his mind, and he filed the information away, certain that it would come in handy later.

He turned his attention back to the kids. It was horrible to watch, children appearing to be in such pain, but it had been necessary. They slumped limply on the old-fashioned couch, as if worn-out from a hard day of playing.

Aubrey was the first to go to them, gently removing their bonds, and slowly they began to stir, awakening from their ordeal. Hellboy wondered if they would remember, or if their time not in control would seem like just a bad dream.

The girl was the first to come fully awake, and seeing them she started to cry.

"It's okay, child," Aubrey said, consoling her. "We're here to help you. My name's Aubrey, what's yours?"

"Rebecca," said the small voice.

"Where's my mom and dad--I want my mom and dad," she asked, cuddled in Aubrey's arms. There was panic growing in her voice as she looked about the room filled with strangers.

Her brother was awake now, a dumbfounded expression on his handsome young features. He must have thought he was still asleep, in the middle of a very weird dream.

"What's your name?" Hellboy asked him.

The kid swallowed hard before answering. "Jack," he finally said.

"Hey, Jack, I want you to look after your sister," he said, pointing to the little girl with the Anyroda dagger. "Some bad stuff has happened to you and your folks, and we're going to try and fix it, okay?"

Jack nodded, mouth agape, sliding over on the couch to sit next to the crying little girl. He gingerly put his arm around her shoulder, all the while never taking his eyes off Hellboy.

"Excellent," Hellboy said, then turned toward Baxter.

The old man had retrieved the dagger's wrapping and was waiting for it to be returned to him. "Couldn't have done better myself," he said, extending the nest of yellowed material.

Hellboy went to lay the knife down, but found that he couldn't let it go. It felt stuck to his hand.

"What's wrong?" Baxter asked.

"It doesn't want to be put away yet," Hellboy answered, now feeling a tug on the blade as if from some powerful magnet. "It knows there are others out there--like them."

He looked back to the kids. Aubrey was comforting them both, asking if either would like to have some breakfast.

"And it wants to deal with them too."

An icy wind blew off the sea and ripped across the stark and rocky surface of Egg Rock, causing his eyes to water. Absolom scanned the horizon for a sign of the boat that would carry the youngest of his followers, as well as the final objects of power needed to complete the birthing ritual. He saw nothing but the gray Atlantic and a foreboding sky above it, thick with dark clouds that hinted of another winter storm to come. Normally from this vantage, he would have been able to see the coast that stretched north of Boston from Winthrop to Marblehead, but this morning the land was obscured by an eerie fog.

He turned away from the view and walked over the rocks to the center of the island. Once upon a time, a lighthouse and a home had stood here. He had seen this island countless times in his dreams, throughout his life, never realizing its purpose. Sometimes it had been adorned with a lighthouse tower, and others it had been as it was now, as cold and barren as when it first surged up from beneath the ocean waves during the birth throes of the world. Recently he had started to see how it would be, a glimpse into a future that was gradually on its way toward becoming the present.

In the place where a beacon of light had once stood, the body of a god was being erected. He watched his drones scramble about the scaffolding erected around the fifty-foot-tall figure of metal. Searing white sparks exploded from welding guns as limbs were attached.

Things are progressing quite nicely,
Absolom thought, pulling up the sleeve on his heavy coat to check the time.
Now if only Tyler and Annabel would return...

The sudden pain was as if a piece of his soul was being cut away.

Absolom fell to the rocky ground, unable to breathe as the excruciating pain cut through him again. All at once he understood the source of his misery. He heard Annabel and Tyler scream as their spirits were banished from the world of the living. Their voices echoed inside his skull.

He tried to scream his anguish, feeling a piece of himself slip away with them, but he could not find his voice--the darkness of unconsciousness threatened to claim him. And on the periphery of his failing vision, he saw the ominous form of his adversary, its skin the color of dried blood. In its hand was a dagger.
This
ancient weapon--this is what was used to sever the ties of my acolytes to their new vessels.

In his mind's eye he saw Hellboy raise his arm and point the tip of the blade at Absolom.
He's coming,
Absolom realized, panic coursing through his body like raw current.
He knows where we are.

The high priest of the Band of Electricizers heard his name being called from somewhere off in the distance and felt something warm and wet upon his face. He awakened from his funk with a gasp, like a man breaking the surface from the depths of the sea.

Silas was worriedly licking his face. "Absolom, are you all right?" the dog asked, the question crackling from the speaker of the electronic voice box.

He pushed the dog away and scrambled to his feet. "I'm fine--but I'm afraid that the same cannot be said for Tyler and Annabel."

"What do you mean?" Silas asked, the hackles of fur around his neck bristling.

"They're gone," he replied, attempting to keep his own panic in check as the image of Hellboy flashed in his mind.

"What do you mean, 'gone'?" the dog begged. "How can they be gone--where did they go?"

Absolom glanced briefly toward the god's body, seeing that things still progressed, then turned his attentions to a makeshift shelter that had been erected to protect the more delicate machinery--and Mary as well--from the harsh elements.

"I have to speak with him," Absolom said, ignoring Silas's frantic questioning as he stalked toward the four-sided enclosure.

Wickham emerged, pulling aside one of the clear plastic sheets that made up the walls of the shelter. "He's asking for you," the attractive woman said, an unflattering look of panic in her beautiful blue eyes.

Absolom tried to pass, but Wickham blocked his path.

"What's happening?" he demanded, grabbing hold of Absolom's arm. "Is everything all right? Where are Tyler and Annabel? Have they returned? Tell me that they've returned."

Wickham had always been a nervous old man, prone to attacks of panic, and Absolom knew that would never change, no matter what body the man wore.

"Let go of my arm, Geoffrey," he warned. "And I would prefer if you waited outside. Qemu'el and I have some important things to discuss."

Wickham released his grip and slowly stepped out of the way. "It has to work this time," he said, desperation in his voice. "Tell me that it's going to work."

But Absolom said nothing. Turning his back on his disciple, he allowed the plastic curtain to fall closed behind him as he entered the shelter. It was warmer inside. A portable heater, also powered by the energy of the departed, hummed in the corner, filling the enclosure with a dry, artificial warmth.

"Is that you, Absolom Spearz?" asked Qemu'el.

Absolom circumvented the crowded set up, walking around the various machines to find Mary Hudnell's skeletal form lying upon a cot. Her heavy woolen nightgown had been pulled up over her bulbous stomach, exposing the veined, taut flesh. The apparatus that he had designed to allow the god to speak to them had been reattached, the voice of the future again coming through the horn of the ancient phonograph.

"It is I," he answered.

His god was silent, and for a moment Absolom feared that somehow his device had malfunctioned. But that wasn't the case at all.

"I felt something," the Archon at last said. "A disturbance in the ether. Are you aware of this?"

"I am aware," Absolom replied. "Two of my disciples--
our
disciples," he corrected, "have been vanquished by the enemy."

The only sound from the flower-shaped speaker was a faint hissing.

"And how will this affect my coming?" Qemu'el finally asked in an ancient voice filled with caution.

"I...I'm not sure," Absolom answered. "They were to bring the last of the items of power and..."

His god began to scream, the unearthly sound causing the communications device to tremble. Absolom blocked his ears from the chilling sound of a divine entity enraged, watching as Mary's body thrashed upon the cot, a victim of his deity's fury. If Qemu'el was not careful, he would damage his vessel, and put his survival at even greater risk.

"Please, my lord," Absolom begged, moving closer to Mary Hudnell's thrashing form. He reached out and placed the palms of his hands upon the flesh. "Calm yourself, before irreparable harm is done."

It was as if he'd placed his hands into molten lava, his head jerking, the spastic movement causing him to bite into his tongue, filling his mouth with the coppery taste of blood.

"Calm myself, you say!" the ancient being screamed. "Perhaps I have chosen unwisely! Perhaps another of the pitiful multitude who infest this planet would have appreciated the gifts that I have bestowed upon you more."

"Please," Absolom begged, trying to break the connection between himself and his angry savior, but it was as if his flesh and Mary's were one and the same. "I beg your mercy."

"I will not be disappointed again," Qemu'el growled, the sound of his angry voice like the deafening boom of creation. "You will find a way--you will utilize the gifts that I have so generously given to you, and you will find a way!"

Absolom was at last allowed to pull his hands away, and he fell backward against one of the many machines that crowded the enclosure. His body trembled as if every ligament, every muscle and tendon, had been strained to the maximum level of their elasticity. He wasn't sure if he could remain standing and began to slide to the floor, like a marionette whose strings had been cut.

A battery of spectral energy toppled from atop the machine and struck the metal corner of an adjoining device. The glass cracked, releasing an explosion of ghostly fire into the air. Absolom recoiled. The spirit that had been contained streaked up through the plastic ceiling and into the afterlife from which it had been detained. As he watched its escape, Absolom began to recognize the germ of an idea forming inside his head.

"Yes," he hissed, struggling to regain the strength in his arms and legs, pulling himself up from the ground. "Yes, it's possible--that could work."

"Tell me," Qemu'el demanded.

Absolom looked around for a piece of paper, found a notepad, and pulled a pencil from his pocket. The image inside his brain was taking form, and as it did, he sketched the design on the piece of paper.