Note: The quoted Bible verse is Mark 9:43, New International Version. The line "steal my daddy's cue and make a living out of playing pool" is a lyric from the song "Maggie May" by Rod Stewart.
Hellboy's voice: Leaving
"--I can't do it anymore. It's all too difficult. I always knew I'd hurt the children, and now I did. I won't let what happened to my family happen to them. They'll be better off without me, and so will you. Tell them I'm sorry. When they can understand, tell them I loved them more by leaving. My love always to you. Liz.--"
She's left a handful of money on the kitchen counter, tucked under a jar of dry macaroni with the note. It's been hours since she left for work. I call both of her offices -- she went in early in the morning, turned in her resignation, and left. She left.
First things first.
Naw, screw that. I chain-smoke about a dozen cigars and watch tv. Trevor's looking at me funny, but not asking any questions. He won't know his mom's gone till tonight. Maybe tomorrow, if I play it right.
Now, first things.
I put all the food in the house out on the tables, and calculate how long it will take us to finish it. A few days. A week, tops. I say, what if I eat half what I usually do, and the kids eat normally. There's a couple of weeks then. I say, what if I don't eat anything, and the kids eat normally. Maybe that'll stretch out to a month. I wonder vaguely if I can eat cat food. Crap. It's too damn short.
I've got this money, but I can't just go walking into a grocery store. And once that money's gone... I've used the ATM to withdraw from Liz's account a few times, but I can't remember the PIN number -- and I wouldn't steal from Liz anyway.
Haven't heard from Abe in months. Guess he's happy, out in the ocean eating krill or whatever the hell he does. Can't count on him for advice. Johann's been good for cash in the past... but he's more of the go-to guy to misappropriate a few hundred dollars on a one-time purchase. He can't be shelling out an allowance for groceries. One more person left.
I wait a couple of days, to see if I can think of something else, but I can't. I take the kids over to Dr. Page's place. She's not happy.
"I've been giving your children medical care for years, often for free let me remind you, but I am simply, absolutely unable to take care of your daily needs and keep it a secret."
"Hey now, I'm not asking much. Take this money here and go to the grocery store for us. Just one time. Keep whatever you don't spend. That'll give me enough time to think of something else. Or Liz will come back."
"Mr. Sherman, this is an extremely difficult thing to say, but listen to me. You can't wait around and hope Liz comes back. She was your one source of income, aren't I right? Children need safety and stability. I'm sorry, but I don't think you're able to care for them anymore."
Bugger and damnation. "Doctor, here's how it is. Liz left me. This is the woman I love more than life. This is the woman who chose me over the whole world. You think I'm being poetic. I'm not. Okay? She's gone. You can't take my kids away from me too."
"I can't imagine how hard it is, but try to think of what's best for them. They shouldn't have to live in such an unstable situation. They're six years old, they should be in school. They need to have a routine, to play with other children, to have a home where... STOP THAT!"
I look at her in shock and open my mouth to say "What?" Something falls into my lap. It's the chewed-up end of a cigar. I go to pick it up, and find out there's a lighter in my hand.
Dr. Page is pissed. "Don't smoke in my house! Are you smoking at home, too? Your daughter is recovering from some fairly serious burns -- the last thing she needs is to be breathing second-hand smoke."
"Uh... I'm sorry, I didn't realize..."
"This is exactly what I'm talking about! You're distraught. You're so upset you don't even know what you're doing. That's dangerous for the children."
"Hey! I'm not gonna hurt my kids!"
She gives me that look, cold and steady. "Children are like cats -- they're often under foot. Haven't you ever been distracted and kicked a cat by accident?"
"That's different."
"Your feet are rather sharp. Was the cat all right?"
"Cat was fine."
"Imagine this. It's late at night, the children are in bed, and you're smoking and drinking beer. You do like beer, don't you? You have a little too much and fall asleep without putting out your cigar. It lights something on fire. You won't wake up -- you're fireproof. What happens to them?"
"I'm not that stupid. I'd never do that." I appreciate everything she's done for us, but she's starting to piss me off.
"Something ordinary, then. You're cooking, and your mind is elsewhere. Katie comes up behind you, and when you turn to her you forget that your hand is on the handle of a pot. Whatever's boiling in the pot falls on her."
"I'm careful when I'm cooking."
"What if you're just walking through the house, and you don't realize that Trevor is right behind you, and you turn suddenly. That stone hand of yours -- that's about the same height as Trevor's head, isn't it?"
"Stop it! ...All right, I get your point. But you couldn't take them away anyway. Who else is gonna care for them? They're my kids -- they're not human."
"They've passed as humans before. Trevor looks completely human even with his clothes off, now that his horns have been ground down. We can't do anything about Katie's hooves, but that can be explained as a genetic deformity. There's a condition called ectrodactyly that can cause humans to have only two toes on each foot. The tail, though, that's a problem. If she were going to be adopted as a human child, that would have to be removed."
"Hold it right there! The tail, it's like a hand. You can't cut off my daughter's hand."
"Better to enter life with one hand..." she quotes.
"'If your hand causes you to sin', huh?"
Dr. Page looks confused. "... yes, I suppose..."
"I know that verse."
It's in the book of Mark. 'If your hand causes you to sin, cut it off. It is better for you to enter life maimed than with two hands to go into hell, where the fire never goes out.'
I hit Dr. Page.
I've only grazed her with the tips of the fingers on my left hand, but she falls backwards hard, and when she looks up at me in shock I can see welts starting to raise on her cheek. I feel a surge of power running up my arm, and it feels wonderful. At that moment, we both realize how stupidly easy it would be for me to kill her, right then and there.
But me and Liz, we sure know how to pick 'em. That doctor, she's got stones of steel. She gets up and looks me right in the eye.
"Selfish bastard! So you want to take them and run? Where will you go? How will you feed them? If you love your children at all, think about what they need, not what you want!"
She's right. I take the kids home to get their stuff. I can't stand to have them at home for one more night, if it's going to be the last night I'll see them. I'd change my mind and run off with them. I take them straight back to Dr. Page and say goodbye.
I go back to my empty house. Drink all the beer. Break some furniture. I herd up all the cats -- at least I can do right by them -- and leave them outside an animal shelter with a note asking whoever finds them to make sure they go to good homes.
Then I leave.
I can't rightly say what I did for the next few years. Wandered around. I have a little notoriety in some circles because of the whole stupid hello-world stunt I pulled right before leaving the Bureau. I can sometimes barter that into a few meals and a comfortable place to sleep. I'd do odd jobs where I could, dumb stunts -- steal my daddy's cue and make a living out of playing pool, that kind of crap. Steal sometimes -- hey, I saved the world more than once, I'd like to think I earned it. All the time, I'm wondering what I could have done different. God help me, I'm bitter at Liz. I'm bitter at Dr. Page, but all the same I'm wondering what's wrong with me that it felt so good when I hit her.
This one night, I'm in a field, numb and drunker than ever, and I see this Thing. It's a thing I've seen before -- it's that tall, skeletal thing, with the wings and the eyes, and the eyes on the wings, and the nasty smile. It's Death.
"I know you," I slur at it.
"Yes."
"Liz ain't here this time. You've come to take me?"
"No."
"You know, your prophecies weren't worth a steaming pile. No Apocalypse. Sorry to hafta tell you."
"The future is yet to be."
"Yeah, yeah. Shut up. I don't want to hear your 'ooh, ooh, suffering on the way' crap."
"Suffering has arrived."
That wakes me up real fast. "Did something happen to Liz? Tell me! What have you done with Liz!"
"Elizabeth Sherman has been suffering for many years. Before she ever saw me face-to-face she prayed for me to take her children."
Before I know it, my hands are in its robes, pulling that nasty face down so I can get my hands around its neck.
"Damn liar! Liz would never! Don't you dare touch my kids!"
"That was many years ago."
I have to stop. "What are you talking about? When?"
"Before she gave them birth."
It takes me a minute to figure that one out. "You mean... Liz didn't want to have our kids?"
"She feared that she would cause her children to suffer. She feared that she and you could not provide for them a life of security."
And so help me, I cried like a baby in front of all those eyes. Death just stands there and watches. And then I look back at her, and say "You know what...
... SCREW YOU!" And I punch her square in that ugly hatchet face of hers. Right hand.
She moves backwards with my fist like smoke, and I swear the bitch is smiling.
"I'm gonna fix it with my family, hear me, you crusty old crone? You listening? I'm gonna fix it!"
Then Death is gone. Just gone, no trace. And I've had what you might call an epiphany.
What's the one thing I've ever been good at my whole life? Hitting things. I was a damn good father too, until everything went down the toilet. Pretty crappy husband, but hey, two for three.
That's why hitting that doctor felt so good. I just hadn't done what I'm good at in so long. And where's the one place where I've gotten thanks and praise, and made a good living on top of it, by hitting things? The B.P.R.D. Sure, it'll be tough to see Manning's smug face, but at least I'll be crawling back myself instead of being dragged back. The Bureau probably knows where my kids are, too. It might not help me to make things up to them, but I'm sure as hell not helping anyone skunkity-drunk in a field.
I'm going back.
