Hellboy: The God Machine (9 page)

By contrast, the man he had gone to see at the Mount Pleasant Rehabilitation Center had been a pale reflection of the uncle he had known. He'd found a scrawny scarecrow of man, not the merchant marine who had supposedly dined with headhunters in the Philippines. A sick-looking old man, tied to his bed with soft restraints, had somehow replaced him. It was heartbreaking, but there was really nothing anybody could do. His uncle was suffering from severe dementia, and was a danger not only to himself, but potentially to others as evidenced by his attempts to set fire to a house. It was only pure luck that the home was unoccupied and that there had recently been heavy rains that kept the structure from burning to the ground.

At first his uncle hadn't known Tom, but gradually he had seen the spark of recognition come into the old man's red, watery eyes.

"Can I go home now, Tommy?" Steve had asked him, the man's once-booming voice reduced to a croaking whisper.

He'd tried to explain to the old man that he was sick, and that he needed to stay in the hospital until he was well again, but Steve would hear nothing of it, demanding to be allowed to go back to his apartment at once.

It shamed Manning to recall how he had lost his temper, worn down by having the responsibility for his uncle's care thrust upon him so abruptly. In a condescending tone, he had explained to the old man that the reason he couldn't go home was that they were all afraid that he might hurt somebody.

Through tear-drenched eyes, Steve had tried to tell him why he had tried to burn down the farmhouse, some nonsense about how something bad had been attempted there a long time ago, when he was just a little boy. It had been stopped, Uncle Steve had told him, but with the house still standing, there was nothing to prevent it from happening again. By burning it down, Steve said he was making sure that the evil didn't have something to return to.

Manning had realized then that nothing had changed. His uncle's stories had simply become crazier. In the end he'd told his uncle that he understood, and that he would talk to the doctors about letting him go home, and that had seemed to calm him. He'd sat with Steve until the old man finally drifted off into a fitful sleep, then Manning had quietly left the room and signed the papers to have his uncle involuntarily committed. He'd had Steve's best interests in mind, for the man was obviously sick and would require professionals to care for him.

Steve had passed not too long after Manning had left the FBI and gone to work for the BPRD. The old man had died in his sleep. A decent way to go if you had to choose, Manning imagined, but it didn't change the fact that Uncle Steve had died alone.

Manning had always intended to visit, to spend more time with the old man in the last of his days. He'd wanted to share some of what he'd seen with the BPRD, wanted to tell his uncle that he finally understood some of those crazy stories he'd told during those early summer vacations, that they really did have some basis in fact. But he never quite seemed to be able to find the time.

The guilt Manning felt over what he had done--what he
hadn't
done--was as painful now as it was then.

"Why...?" he began, not sure really what to say to the specter from his past.

"Why am I here?" the ghost of Uncle Steve said, the words seeming to drift from his mouth, just as much phantoms as the man himself. "That's the million-dollar question, isn't it? There's something bad coming, Tommy."

There was an expression on his ethereal features that Manning could only guess was fear.
But what can ghosts possibly be afraid of?

"The Band of Electricizers," his uncle's ghost said. "They're back."

Chapter 7

Lynn, Massachusetts, Winter 1901

T
onight was the night.

Everything had happened so quickly.

The god Qemu'el had spoken to them, each and every one of his Band of Electricizers, and in his words they heard a promise of paradise.

Absolom hurried across the frozen yard and down the winding path to the barn, barely able to contain his excitement.

He turned up the collar of his woolen coat and held it tight around his throat against the biting winter wind. His Sally had loved the winter, and had looked forward to spending her first in New England. An image rose in Absolom's mind of Sally as he'd seen her last. She'd been nothing more than a horribly burned husk, and yet, her clothing had remained untouched from the heat. Sally had burned from within. Their god had ignited her inner fire, using her life force, feeding on her life spark so that he could speak to them of his plans for humanity. It saddened him that Sally had been taken, but he was also certain that if she had known the importance of the message that the god had wanted to share with them, she would have given her life up willingly.

He missed his Sally dearly, but what was being offered to them--offered to the world--was so much bigger than one man's love.

At the end of the path stood his barn, a sturdy structure of unfinished oak with a stone foundation. As their work flourished, the subbasement below the house had grown too cramped, forcing them to relocate to the barn. When the house was being constructed, Sally had worried about the additional expense of a barn, but somehow, he had always known that it would one day become necessary.

Absolom rapped on the barn door, a quick pattern to the knock that was a secret signal the Band of Electricizers shared. One could never be too careful. As Absolom and his followers had gone about gathering and purchasing the supplies they needed to fulfill the god's wishes, they had drawn the curiosity of the citizens of Lynn. He could not confide in them--their primitive minds were not prepared to comprehend something of this magnitude--so he'd assuaged their curiosity by telling them that he had decided to add on to his home. That had seemed to satisfy them for a time, but just the other day, he had chased away several young boys he'd found snooping about the barn.

Waiting for a response to his knock, he could not help but smile. Out of all the souls that toiled upon the world,
he
had picked them to be
his
ushers, guiding
him
into the world. The thought warmed Absolom against the frigid New England wind.

Geoffrey Wickham, his drooping, hound-dog face showing signs of stress, opened the barn door, his cheeks flushed pink and dappled with sweat. The old man was wearing the special armor that Absolom had designed, made from burnished strips of copper attached to a heavy suit of woven mail.
What a sight he is,
Absolom thought,
a knight of a glorious new order.

"Come in, come in," the old man said with urgency, his armor rattling. "We've been waiting for you--we think the time is near."

Absolom nodded, for the same feeling of imminence had touched him as well. He had been meditating at the house, opening himself to the ether in case the god should need to communicate any final instructions before his arrival. While deep in the grip of his trance he had once more been shown images of the world as it would be afterward, and how they could assist this messiah of a new age with its transcendence.

What a world it will be,
Absolom thought, enraptured by the vision still fresh in his mind. He saw great cities dwarfed by towering spires, crackling energy harnessed from the spirits of the dead connecting one tower to the next, filling the world with a power it had never known. And he saw people, no longer afraid, hands clasped and filled with the glory of the god, awaiting their transformation, faces turned to the heavens.

And it was all to start here, now.

"Yes. The time is near. And it shall be glorious," Absolom said as he entered.

He made a quick circuit of the barn, inspecting the machinery that had been assembled there, fabulous contraptions designed by the god but built by the human hands of the Band of Electricizers. He called them his god machines, for with them, he would deliver his savior unto the world.

Absolom watched Tyler, Annabel, and Silas as they went about their duties, each assigned vital tasks. In the armor he'd designed, they moved heavily from one device to the next, each of them checking and then rechecking the work of the other. Everything had to be perfect, or all of their work would be for naught.

"And the vessel?" he asked, removing his heavy woolen coat and letting it drop to the floor. He too wore the armor he had designed.

"Waiting to be filled," Wickham answered, hobbling over to join Absolom at a table in the center of the room.

This was the most important of their creations, and Absolom felt his heart flutter as he reached down to pull away the sheet that covered the object upon the table. It was built in the shape of a man. Made of metal and wood, this vessel would contain the spiritual essence of their savior, giving their god a mighty form in which to lead them.

Absolom ran his fingers over the rough surface of the mechanical body. He pricked his finger upon a jagged edge of steel, smearing the metal that composed its broad rib cage with blood.

"Do you think he'll like it?" Absolom asked Wickham, suddenly concerned with the crudity of the armature. He brought his bloody finger to his mouth, sucking upon the weeping gash.

"I have no doubt that he will," Wickham said. "Our messiah will leave all who look upon him breathless."

Absolom closed his eyes and imagined his god adorned in the body he and his band had made, preaching to the masses. They would sit at his right hand, of course, high priests of a new world order.

"It cannot come soon enough," Absolom said dreamily, opening his eyes. "And where is the Madonna?"

Wickham pointed with his cane to the far end of the barn, where a door stood slightly ajar. "It was becoming too warm for her in here. She said she had to step outside before she burned up like poor Sally."

Absolom flinched at the memory of his wife's demise. "I see," he said, proceeding toward the open door.

"I think she knows that the time draws near," the old man said, reaching beneath one of the copper plates of armor draped upon his chest and producing a handkerchief, "and is a tad...anxious."

"Mary Hudnell will do just fine," Absolom responded. "Remember, it was god who chose her to deliver him into this world."

"Let us hope that your assumptions are correct," he said. "I'd hate for the birth of god to be tainted somehow by the tirades of a spoiled heiress." Wickham turned, hobbling away to join the others in their preparations.

The draft that crept in from the open, rear door of the barn was wonderfully invigorating. Absolom stepped quietly outside, not wanting to startle the mother-to-be. The winter sun had faded quickly, and the only illumination came from the starlit patches of snow still clinging to the forest floor.

"Mary?" he called softly, his eyes searching the shadows.

He found her leaning against a birch tree, staring out into the woods. She was clothed in a heavy wool dress, a shawl draped over her head, and he wondered if she was purposefully adopting the look of the mother of god.

"Absolom," she said, picking her way toward him through what remained of the snow. From the way she waddled, he thought her belly might have grown even larger since he had seen her earlier that afternoon.

Mary threw her arms around him and held him in a tender embrace. He hugged her back, feeling the push of her hard, pregnant stomach against him.

Only days had passed since the first attempt to communicate with their god had resulted in the sacrifice of his wife--and
this.
From that moment of conception, Mary's belly had swollen by the hour. Using Sally's death as a source of power, the god had transferred his divine essence across the void to take root in Mary's womb.

A miracle--the first of many to come.

"How are we feeling?" Absolom asked, continuing to hold her close.

Mary was trembling, and he had to wonder how much of it was due to cold.

"I...I can feel him...growing inside me." She shivered, wrapping her arms tighter around him.

"As he should be," Absolom said, gently pushing her away to look into her eyes. He gave her his most reassuring smile. "He'll need to be strong to make the transition."

Absolom placed his hand gently upon her protruding belly, gasping aloud as his mind became filled with the god's presence.

"It is time,"
Qemu'el whispered in his mind, and Absolom was nearly driven to his knees by the intensity of the proclamation. He pulled his hand away, breaking the connection, his head still swimming from the sensory assault.

"Did he speak to you?" Mary asked. "What did he say? Is everything all right? Is he all right?"

Absolom gulped at the cold, winter air, desperate to catch his breath. "He seems to be fine. Eager to be born."

Mary placed her hands upon her bulbous stomach. "Is it time?" she asked, her voice little more than a whisper.

He nodded, reaching out to take one of her hands in his. "It is."

Her fingers were like ice and he gave them a gentle squeeze. "And are you ready?"

Mary began to cry, fat tears running down her pretty face. "Will he know me as his mother?" she asked, her voice trembling with emotion. "Will he love me?"

Absolom pulled her to him again in a tender embrace. "He will love us all. But I would not be surprised if he reserved a very special love just for you." And he began to lead her toward the door, the final steps toward a new destiny for the world.

"I would do anything to keep him safe," Mary said, as they entered through the doorway. "Does he know that?"

"I'm sure he does," Absolom reassured her, his mind already beginning to review the process that would transfer the divine spirit currently growing within the womb of Mary Hudnell to the body that had been constructed to contain it.

He closed the rear door of the barn behind them, cutting off the breeze. Absolom led Mary to a special chair, built to assist her in the process of birth, and helped her to lie upon it. He placed a red velvet pillow beneath her head and, seeing that she was comfortable, turned to his disciples. They all stood together now, the twinkle of anticipation showing in their eyes.

"It's time, brothers and sisters," he said, barely able to contain his own enthusiasm.

From beneath their robes they each withdrew the god's gift to them. The crystal cylinders contained the power to run the machines that would allow their holy savior to make the transition from spirit to corporeal. The energy within the cylinders churned and pulsed with the power of conviction, of belief, collected over these last years. Those who had contributed had been blissfully unaware that they were helping to change the world. It was a powerful gift from a god that loved them so.

On a makeshift altar covered with scarlet cloth they placed their gifts, the keys that unlocked the doorway to man's ascension. Silas and Tyler went together to fetch the final piece of the mechanism that would make it all happen. It was little more than a wooden box, its four sides inscribed with strange symbols provided to Absolom by his savior. Sigils of transition, the god had explained. The two men, clad in their ceremonial armor, wheeled the unassuming apparatus toward him.

Absolom instructed them to position the machine between Mary and the hollow body they had constructed to be the god's receptacle. He undid a copper clasp on the front of the box and exposed the contraption's innards--tubing and wires, gears and pistons, copper and rubber, and beneath it all a separate compartment left open for the power source--the crystal cylinders. He barely recollected its construction but knew that he had been responsible. In the grip of divine inspiration, he had toiled for seven days and seven nights to bring it forth from his fevered mind.

"The gifts!" Absolom said.

The Electricizers returned to the makeshift altar, retrieving their faith-engorged crystals. One after another, they fed the cylinders to the machine.

Absolom was the last to place his holy offering within the belly of the device. He held his breath as he experienced a moment of self-doubt over whether the machine would function, but function it did, the internal workings coming to life as soon as the last component was secured within it. Silently he thanked his lord and master for giving him the knowledge to build such a miraculous instrument.

Mary screamed, writhing upon her birth chair. He went to her, taking her hand in his.

"What is it, dear one?" he asked.

Her eyes were wide and glassy, her breathing coming in short gulps. "It hurts," she gasped. "As...as if there's a fire growing inside me." She squeezed his hand nearly crushing the bones within it. "Please don't let me burn."

Panic was setting in, and Absolom knew that it was time. Tearing his hand away from hers, he returned to the machine. Coiled beneath the throbbing mechanism were two sets of thick cables, and at the end of each was a needle, precisely twelve inches in length.

"Take these to the subjects," he instructed as Geoffrey and Annabel rushed forward to embrace their designated chore.

The disciples moved toward the subjects, Geoffrey toward the Madonna and Annabel the vessel.

"Insert the needles," Absolom ordered, closely monitoring the function of the transference apparatus.

Annabel carefully slid the long piece of metal through the rib cage and into the metal body of the vessel. "Done," she said, stepping away from the table, a triumphant smile upon her face.

Absolom waited to hear the same from Wickham, but it didn't come. Annoyed that the old man was keeping them waiting, keeping their god waiting, he looked up to see Geoffrey standing beside the panting Mary Hudnell, her eyes clamped tightly closed so as not to see the needle bearing toward her.