Chapter Twenty: Epilogue, Part Two: Relative Safety
Disclaimer: Hellboy characters do not belong to me. However, Erica and the plot are mine.
Author's Notes: What? No reviews? You made me sad :( Oh well; here it is, Part Two of the Epilogue, which finishes tying everything together, while throwing in a bunch of humor to lighten things up. There's also some slight humor at Kroenen's and Ilsa's expense—considering Ilsa ends up drunk and Kroenen is well on his way there! As always here are the German to English translations: 'Ja' is yes, 'Nein' is no, and 'Danke' is thank you. Enjoy the last chapter!
"The truth. It is a beautiful and terrible thing, and must therefore be treated with great caution."—J. K. Rowling
October10, 1944
The Ruins of Trondham Abbey, Scotland
1:00 in the Morning
Erica somehow knew she was lying on her back. Somehow meaning that she wasn't awake. She was somewhere between being awake and being asleep, just content with existing. She was dimly aware of herself: she knew her body felt…odd, like something was wrong. But she was too sleepy to care at the moment. She could hear distant murmuring voices and the sound of footsteps and a strange, bitter cold feeling on her chest and neck. She dreamily considered this feeling until she realized that it was her silver watch. The watch and its silver chain were very cool against her warm skin, and she could just barely feel the rhythmical ticking of gears that seemed to complement the distant and vague sound of her beating heart.
Erica was just starting to slide deeper into sleep when the sounds of someone breathing and walking nearer to her jerked her awake. Her eyes flew open, and even before she had oriented herself to the situation, her eyes spotted a man's foot a few inches from her face. Erica's right arm shot out instinctively and grabbed the man's ankle, causing the man to give a startled yelp. She reached for the baton sword strapped to her leg only to realize that it wasn't there—someone had taken all of her weapons. She heard the man clear his throat and she looked up and into a very shocked Professor Broom's face.
Relief flooded through her. "You startled me, Professor," she said, releasing her death grip on Broom's ankle, "Not a wise thing to do. I'm a light sleeper, and men much stronger that you have died most unpleasantly because they made the same mistake you just did." Erica fell silent and examined her surroundings from her position on the floor. She realized that she was in a tent, and she could hear soldiers moving and talking outside. "Where am I?" she asked, instantly trying to get up as all her fears from the battle flooded back to her. As she sat up a sharp pain lanced through her shoulder and into her chest, taking her breath away. She gasped for breath and fell back on the blankets. Professor Broom knelt next to her.
"Shhh. It's alright. We're in a makeshift camp near the ruins. You're safe." Broom said gently.
"Safe?" she repeated, uncomprehendingly. She looked at his good natured face and for a moment she believed him, but then she realized that safety, for her, was only a temporary thing if not completely nonexistent. "Safe?" Erica asked disbelievingly, as she propped herself up on her elbows, "Both Ilsa and Kroenen escaped and now I'm in the middle of a camp of Allied soldiers, all of which are probably cursing my name and secretly inventing plots to kill me."
"You're safe from the soldiers," Professor Broom said reassuringly. Then, seeing her expression of complete disbelief, he stood up and sat on a nearby crate. "I managed to prove to Sergeant Whitman that you betrayed the Nazis and the Thule Occult Society. He has forbidden the soldiers to harm you. But as for Ilsa and Kroenen…you're right. We haven't found their bodies. They're missing. So is General Von Krupt. We sent soldiers to search the ruins and surrounding area, but they haven't found anything. It's as if those three just disappeared."
Erica wasn't at all surprised by this news. She remembered seeing Ilsa run off into the night after Grigory had been pulled into the portal, and Kroenen had disappeared into the darkness after talking to her. As for Von Krupt, Erica hadn't seen him since a few minutes into the battle. All three had probably met up and escaped together.
"Our ships," Erica murmured.
"What?" Broom asked.
"Our ships. That's where they are. They've escaped you. You won't find them, they're gone," she said confidently, almost as if she was standing up for the people she had just betrayed. And in a way she was. I only wanted to stop them, not kill them. It's best this way, she thought. Then she considered what this meant. I might be safe from the soldiers, but Ilsa and Kroenen…She realized Professor Broom was peering at her expectantly through his glasses.
"Even if your soldiers don't kill me, Ilsa and Kroenen will. I trust that someone in your position knows what the Occult does to people like me who betray them?"
As she spoke he could see the fear in her eyes. And who could blame her for being afraid? He knew what must be going on in her head: she had to be terrified. He knew the Ogdru Jahad would be out for her blood, and from the look on her face, she clearly knew it too.
"Yes," he answered heavily, "Yes I do know what they do to traitors." He studied her face curiously. She was definitely unusual, and not just because she was a former Nazi who wasn't Aryan. Now that she was awake, he could see that her grey eyes were even more unusual and striking than in the black and white photograph in his book. And even with her just propped up on the floor, he could tell that she was very tall for a woman. If I stood next to her she'd probably stand several inches taller than myself, he thought. She also would have been fairly pretty if she didn't look like a group of thugs had beaten her half to death. Her voice was unusual and very pleasant at the same time: she had a peculiar accent, almost as if she had originally spoken English, but had then spent so much time in Germany that she had picked up a German accent. But that's impossible, he thought. But then he had a moment of doubt. So many things he had thought were true about her had ended up to be false. Is it possible? After all, no one knows anything about where she came from…But there would be time for that later. Right now he wanted to find out if his theory about her was right.
"Speaking of traitors, do you have any idea how the Allied Forces found out about Project Ragnarok?" Professor Broom asked, "Or was it a complete surprise to you when we attacked you? And tell the truth, please, because your answer will determine what will happen to you."
Erica looked at him sharply, instantly suspecting there was a trap hidden in his words. Why would he want to know that? She wondered, Does he think I would know? I mean, of course I know how they found out—I wrote the letter! But he'll never believe me, will he? Of course, if I lie, I could make things worse. Perhaps it's best to go along with him and tell him. It can't hurt me after all, even if he doesn't believe me. She sighed, surprised that she trusted him so much and that she felt so comfortable in the company of someone that had been an enemy.
"Ja, I know how the Allied Forces found out. And I wasn't surprised to see the Allied soldiers—I was expecting them," she admitted. She sighed. "This may be too much for you to believe, but four days ago I wrote a letter to the President of the United States, warning him about what was going to happen tonight."
"Go on," Broom encouraged, his voice betraying his excitement.
"I used a transportation spell to get to an area near a military base belonging to the Allied Forces. I snuck in and knocked out a young man carrying a bag of urgent mail and managed to slip my letter into the bag. A few minutes later he woke up and put the bag of mail on a plane. The plane left that night. You might not believe me but—"
"It was you!" Broom exclaimed, no longer able to contain his joy that he had been right. "I knew it! I knew it! I knew you had to have written it! I knew this wasn't a trap like the soldiers said! I was wondering about the letter, you see, because I knew you would have caught any spies that tried to send it. Of course, the idea that you had written the letter never crossed my mind until tonight after the battle, mostly because I thought no one with a rank as high as yours would betray their own side. At least, it didn't occur to me until I saw you fighting Kroenen." Broom babbled on, more to himself then to Erica. "And a transportation spell! I did wonder how you would have gotten so far away without anyone noticing that you were missing."
"You knew? But how—?" she asked, surprised that he had been able to figure it out so quickly.
"It's a long story, I'll explain it later. But I will show you the thing that let me know for sure that you had been at that military base—besides the cuts on your face, of course."
Erica self-consciously put a hand to her cheek and neck, touching the thin scratches on her skin. She watched as Professor Broom turned away from her and picked up a long, thin wooden box from the top of one of the crates. He handed it to her.
"What is it?" she asked, curious.
"Open it."
She pushed back the lid and gasped as she recognized the black rose that lay inside. True, it might be slightly wilted, but there was no mistaking that rose with the crimson bow tied around its stem. Erica stared at it, remembering that when she had gotten back from the military base she had noticed the rose was missing from her pocket. I was right, she thought, I did lose it there!
Professor Broom watched Erica as she gently picked up the rose, her face clearly displaying that she recognized the rose.
"How did you get this?" she asked quietly.
"The Sergeant from the military base kept it after he found it by the hole in the fence. He gave it to me."
She nodded. "I thought that was where I might have lost it…But how did you know this belonged to me?"
"Simple. I just read the words on the ribbon."
"The words on the—?" Erica asked, glancing from him to the rose.
Broom thought she meant that she was surprised he could read German. "Yes. I know some German. I can speak it and read it. It was—"
Broom suddenly noticed she wasn't paying attention to him and was turning the rose over in her hands and squinting at it as if trying to find the words on the ribbon. But that's ridiculous, he thought, she must have known they were there. Or didn't she? He wondered, watching her expression as she found the words written on the ribbon.
"I never saw these before!" she exclaimed, anxiously scanning the spidery writing that she recognized as Kroenen's handwriting. To my Angel of Death, from Kroenen, she thought, reading the single sentence over and over again.
"How did I miss the words?" she said, more to herself then Broom, "I was so afraid that he had caught me just as I was going to send the letter that I guess—but it doesn't matter now. What's done is done, and I wouldn't take it back even if I could. But still…they must hate me. He must hate me."
She absentmindedly ran her hand over the "T" Kroenen had cut into her left cheek.
"What's that?" Broom asked, gesturing at the cut on her face, "It looks like someone did it on purpose to you."
"Ja. And that someone was Kroenen. It's a 'T' for traitor." she said, remembering what Kroenen had told her.
Erica glanced down at herself, examining her body for injuries. It wasn't hard to find them: her entire body felt like one huge bruise. Not surprising, considering what Kroenen was capable of doing to someone. I'm truly lucky to be alive, she thought, wincing as she gently touched the spot on her ribs that Kroenen had kicked repeatedly. Her ribs felt like they were fractured or badly bruised—or possibly both. Her wrist was swollen and probably sprained, thanks to Kroenen twisting her arm and then throwing her into a wall. Her left shoulder hurt worst of all. The entire area around the stab wound throbbed painfully with every breath, and every time she moved her arm slightly, sharp pains shot down her arm and across her chest. I can't remember ever feeling this bad, she thought. The last time she had felt anywhere close to this bad was how she had felt after a particularly vicious training session when Kroenen had literally tossed her off the balcony, and then jumped down and thrown her across the courtyard. Oh wait, she thought, That's what happened, more or less. Erica grinned wryly at Professor Broom.
"Kroenen wounded me worse than I thought." she said simply.
She noticed that Professor Broom was staring at her wounds and scars, obviously shocked at how many there were. She smiled lopsidedly at him, unable to smile properly because of the "T" cut into her cheek.
"This is nothing compared to what Kroenen looks like." she said.
What does she mean? Why would he look worse that that? Is that why he wears that mask? I wonder what happened to him—and her, Broom thought. Then a terrible thought struck him. Kroenen couldn't possibly have—
"Did Kroenen do that to you?" he asked in a horrified tone, gesturing at the revealed scars. He had a vaguely sick feeling those were only a fraction of the scars that covered her body.
"Some of them, yes, but he never intentionally hurt me—until tonight. Not that I blame him, of course. If he had killed me it wouldn't have surprised me."
"Did it surprise you that he didn't kill you?"
"Yes," she answered, her voice soft, "Yes it did." She fingered the silver watch pendent hanging from her necklace and glanced sadly at the initials engraved into the back: K.R.K.
"Do you have any idea why he didn't? That is what he was supposed to do, as the Head of the Thule Occult Society."
She shot him a stony look. "Why do you want to know?"
"Because Karl Kroenen wasn't known as a merciful man."
She regarded him for a moment. "What you really mean is you think he didn't kill me because he wanted me to spy on you."
"Well yes, some of the men are saying that." Broom was secretly surprised at how perceptive Erica was. It was like she could read what he was thinking. But that probably came of her hard life of having to anticipate the actions of assassins.
"You already know I'm not a spy—you proved it yourself. But I'll answer you anyway. I'm not exactly sure why he didn't kill me. I think—I think he couldn't bring himself to do it."
"Why?"
She turned fierce, stormy eyes on him. "Don't ask questions to which you already know the answers. You're a paranormal advisor to the president, and you know all about the Thule Occult Society and its members. You know all about me and Kroenen."
"I know it was said you were his favorite."
"Yes, I was. And that, perhaps, is why I'm still alive." she said grimly, "Though he certainly did a good job of beating the Hell out of me."
Broom watched as she fingered the watch pendent hanging from her necklace. The light caught on an engraving on the back of the watch, and a set of initials jumped out at him: K.R.K.
"Did he give that to you?" Broom asked, assuming that the initials stood for Karl Ruprecht Kroenen.
"Yes."
"May I see it?" he asked holding out his hand.
She gripped it tightly and took on a defensive posture. Or at least as defensive as an injured person propped up on their elbows can be. "Why?"
"To make sure some evil power isn't lurking around it."
"There isn't."
"I don't know that."
She considered him for a moment. "If I give it to you, do you promise to give it back?"
"Is it so precious to you, a gift from the man you betrayed?"
"In a strange way, yes, it is. I don't know why…" She looked at her watch sadly and turned it over in her fingers, distantly amazed that she felt so comfortable revealing all of this to someone that had been an enemy. "In a way," she said, "I love this clock and hate it, just like the man that gave it to me."
"Could you really call Karl Kroenen a man?" asked Professor Broom quietly.
"He is more than a man, he is something else, though I can't name it and don't know whether it is entirely evil. He was my teacher—he was like a father to me," she sobbed suddenly, barely holding back her tears, "And I betrayed him—I knew I had no choice, there was nothing else I could do, no other way to stop them unless I openly fought against him." She clutched the silver watch so tightly that the metal bit into her palm. "In a way I hate myself for what I've done—and in another way, I know it was the right thing to do."
She took the necklace off and handed it to Professor Broom.
Broom examined the watch, and finding nothing, handed it back to her. Erica quickly slipped the chain over her head.
"Why did you do it? I mean, betray them?" Professor Broom asked quietly, but clearly deeply curious, "What changed your mind?"
Erica sighed deeply, and a look of sadness crept into her grey eyes, eyes that were as stormy and full of conflict as the sky outside. "Because I realized what I was doing was wrong. I realized I was a murderer. And I couldn't just stand by and let the world be destroyed. Even then, I didn't want to hurt Ilsa and Kroenen. I just wanted to stop them, not kill them. Perhaps that was a mistake. Even though I don't want to hurt them, they surely want to kill me. And now that they've missing—"
"What of it? You're safe with us. You don't have to be afraid of them. Grigory Rasputin is gone, and he's never coming back." Broom said, trying to reassure her.
A mental image of a worn leather book came into Erica's mind—the book Grigory had given to Ilsa. The book that would bring him back— The book I didn't get away from her! Oh no!
"Nein! Damn it!" Erica suddenly shouted, sitting up. She immediately regretted it as her shoulder twinged painfully.
"What?" asked Broom, looking very shocked.
"The book Grigory gave to Ilsa—I didn't get it away from her! Rasputin will be coming back! And once that happens nothing will stop them from coming after me! I won't be able to escape from them a second time, they'll make sure of it!"
"We defeated them once, we can do it again. And next time we'll have you on our side, and you'll be able to use more of your knowledge against them. We will not let them destroy the world, have no doubt of that."
Erica nodded. There was nothing else to say.
Broom smiled at her, and then remembered something.
"There's someone I'd like you to meet." he said.
"Who?" Erica asked, instantly curious.
Professor Broom limped over to the space behind the desk of crates. He bent down and picked up something that at first glance appeared to be nothing but a balled up blanket. Erica pushed herself up on her arms in order to see better and brushed several loose strands of her hair out of her face. She was just about to ask what he was doing, when he stepped into the glow of lantern light and turned the bundle towards her. Erica stared at the red 'thing' cradled in the Professor's arms. If someone else had been watching, they might have found the contrast amusing: the Professor was smiling like a proud father, and Erica was staring in horror at the cooing and gurgling red demon that Broom was holding in his arms.
"Good Lord!" Erica exclaimed.
"Shhh! You'll scare the baby!"
"Baby!" Erica said, disbelievingly, her eyes wide.
"Isn't he sweet? I just found him tonight."
But Erica's mind was somewhere else entirely from where Broom's was.
"The books said you were Catholic." Erica said, her eyes fixed on Professor Broom and the wriggling 'baby'.
"I am."
She raised an eyebrow. "And yet you carry a demon around in your arms."
Broom half-scowled at her. "And how would you know he's a demon?" he asked.
"Please, think who you're talking to, Professor. If I didn't know what a demon looked like I'd have been dead long ago."
Professor Broom walked around the desk and took a seat on a crate, all the while cooing to the 'baby'. Erica followed him with her eyes.
"Not that anyone around here cares what I have to say, but that's a demon. Or, actually, a half demon, if you want to get technical." she said.
Broom ignored her. "Don't listen to a word she says," Broom said to the demon child, using the over-exaggerated voice people use when talking to babies. "You're just the cutest little boy I've ever seen."
Erica rolled her eyes and sighed. "Where did you find him?" she asked.
"In the ruins." Broom answered.
"And it didn't occur to you that he came through the portal? That Rasputin sent him through?"
"Yes, it did." he admitted. He absentmindedly arranged the blanket that the 'baby' was wrapped in.
"Then why didn't you kill him?"
"In cold blood!" exclaimed the Professor, shocked, "That's murder! He's just a child!"
"He's a demon," Erica insisted, "And Grigory Rasputin sent him here with a purpose—to destroy the world!"
"And you're a wanted murderer who was working for Grigory Rasputin on a plan to destroy the world!" retorted Professor Broom.
"Then the demon and I should make great friends." Erica said sarcastically, gazing at the Hell child distrustfully.
Broom gently put the baby down on his bed of blankets and then turned to face Erica.
"Erica, listen. I know he's a demon. That's something that I can't change. But I can raise him to be one of us—I know I can! No one is in a better position than myself to raise a demon so he isn't evil. I know you don't trust him, but think about it, if I don't take care of him, what will happen to him?"
Erica lay back and closed her eyes. Her headache was getting worse, and their short conversation had left her feeling weak. I really don't need a demon on top of how bad I feel, she thought, I just can't deal with both!
"Professor Broom, I wish you the best of luck," she said, "Believe me, you're going to need it."
"What do you mean, the best of luck?" Broom asked, walking closer to her, "I'm not going to be doing it alone."
Erica heard the clever tone in his voice and opened her eyes to look at him. She knew from the expression on his face what he was suggesting. "Oh no!" Erica said, shaking her head.
"Oh yes. You're going to help me. Who else better to help me than someone who knows so much about demons? And it'll give the Allied Forces a reason not to throw you in jail."
Erica grimaced. Thanks to Kroenen's training, she knew she could break out of any jail the Allied Forces threw her in, but what would be the point? She would have nowhere to go. "Fine. But if anything happens, don't say I didn't warn you."
Broom grinned at her and then limped over to his desk and sat down. She watched as he pulled out a journal from his wooden box and started writing in it. Erica closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep, listening to the sound of book pages being turned and the intermittent scratching of a pen as the Professor wrote in his journal.
XXXXX
The first thing Erica became aware of was that she was standing somewhere. She couldn't tell where she was, other than she had never been anywhere like it before.
Wherever 'here' is, she thought, examining her peculiar surroundings.
She was surrounded by a darkness that was pitch black, except somehow there seemed to be enough dim light for her to see the copious amounts of a dull, blood red mist. The mist floated around her like fog, contorting into shapes that played tricks on her eyes. The ground was indistinguishable from the sky or anything else around her. She couldn't even see if she was standing on anything, it just felt like it. She gazed cautiously around her, having the vague sensation that something was wrong and that she was in danger.
Erica noticed that one of the contorting mist shapes was coming closer to her and getting more solid the closer it got to her. She studied it and soon realized it wasn't mist at all. But what is it? she wondered, staring at the approaching thing.
Suddenly the veil of mist parted and Grigory strode towards her out of the blackness, the red fog swirling around him and his long, red embroidered black robes trailing on the ground. Erica instinctively jumped back, staring at him. Her sense of dread and terror was unimaginable.
How can he be here? She thought wildly, He's gone! He can't be here!
"Welcome, Erica." Grigory said mockingly, holding his arms out at his sides as if to embrace her, "We've been waiting for you."
Grigory's smile was disturbing and his dark eyes glittered strangely.
Wait, Erica thought, studying his face with a growing horror, he doesn't have eyes. She stared at his empty eye sockets. They were so dark that the holes seemed to go far deeper than was possible. It was like standing on the edge of an abyss and staring down into its depths.
"As you might imagine, I'm not very pleased with you, Erica." he said, turning his head so that his empty eye sockets were staring at her.
A roaring sound rose from the darkness around them and quickly grew in volume. It was louder than anything Erica had ever heard in her life. She put her hands to her ears in a vain attempt to shut out the terrible noise. The roar was so intense that everything around her seemed to be shaking and vibrating in place. Even her heart seemed to tremble, as if the noise was so loud that the vibrations were disrupting the normal rhythms of her heart. Her head was pounding, but the noise continued to grow louder until it seemed to be crushing the very breath from her lungs and she couldn't hear her own terrified thoughts. Grigory didn't seem to be affected. He stood in place, watching her with those terrible empty eye sockets as the sound pounded at her body. Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the noise stopped, though the echoes hung in the air for several moments before they completely faded.
Erica took her hands away from her ears and gasped for breath. Her ears were ringing and felt like they were bleeding, though she knew they were not. Nothing can make that much noise—except the Ogdru Jahad, she thought, And they sound like they're way beyond being furious.
Grigory Rasputin smiled at her as if absolutely nothing had happened. "The Ogdru Jahad are extremely displeased with you." he said. His voice was soft and very calm, but it had an overlying poisonous quality to it that made Erica back away from him, truly afraid of what he might do to her. Grigory chuckled darkly. "You can't run from me." he said.
Despite his words she turned her back on him and ran—and stopped abruptly, less than an inch from running into him. She stumbled backwards, staring at him in confusion and fear. How did he get there? It's impossible! She thought wildly.
Rasputin smiled again, and she felt her stomach turn. "You can't run from me. I am a part of you." he gestured at her and she felt—no, saw—a faint shadow writhe over her skin and then settle and finally disappear. She stared in horror.
"I must congratulate you on your cleverness. But as you see, you're not quite as clever as you thought."
Grigory appeared next to her and she jumped back only to find that he had disappeared again. She turned her head and saw him striding toward her again, his black robes billowing around him.
"You thought you had escaped us! Fool!" he spat.
She tried to run, but he appeared in front of her again, his angry face inches from her own as she cowered back, feeling his dark power pouring out at her. His empty eye sockets seemed to blaze with fire.
"Did you think I would let you go so easily? Traitor! You can never escape! You broke a pact sealed in blood! You belong to us! Our blood is in your veins, just as yours is in ours! You can never escape us! Your oath was made in blood, and you know that breaking it can only be paid by spilling all of your life's blood! The Ogdru Jahad will never rest until you are dead!" he yelled. His voice echoed horribly in the blackness around them.
Erica had never seen Rasputin so angry. She was afraid, but something inside her surged up, demanding that she stand up against him.
"Oaths are made to catch fools with!" she replied.
"Really!" Grigory shouted, "And what of your oath not to harm the Allied soldiers? Is that a lie too? You know it isn't! And when you swore to help us you weren't lying, and you know it! You meant it! Your blood oath still binds you to us! It is something you can never escape from! Your very blood will lead us to you, wherever you are."
Grigory vanished and appeared a few feet away, looking somewhat calmer. Erica could feel herself shaking. "So, it comes to a choice." he said.
"Choice?" she asked cautiously, unsure of what he meant.
"Yes. You can either die as a sacrifice, or you can come back to us and die serving the Ogdru Jahad upon my return."
"Come back? Come back! Never!" she shouted at him, anger welling up inside her, "I'll never serve you again! I'll never bow to you or those things you call gods!"
Everything went dead silent. Her own pounding heartbeat was as loud as thunder in the absolute silence. She knew she had gone too far. Grigory froze, standing perfectly still, watching her. It was obvious that he could hear her heart racing with fear. A small, knowing, and very disquieting smile suddenly appeared on Grigory's lips. "Oh no, Erica, that's where you're wrong. One day you'll come back to us. I'll make you."
"I'll never return to you. Never!"
"You'll be back! You'll come back to us, crawling and begging to be taken back, pleading for our forgiveness!"
"In your dreams!" she retorted.
"I wouldn't be rude, if I were you. I'm the only one that can save you from death."
"I can save myself," she said, full of determination, "I won't give you a chance to get anywhere near me!"
"Save yourself? Yes, you were very successful with that tonight weren't you?" Grigory said sarcastically, "If it hadn't been for Kroenen's moment of weakness, you'd be dead now! And because you're alive, because of what you are—what's in you—I know that one day, one day Acire, you'll be kneeling on the floor at my feet whimpering like a dog, imploring me to take you back."
Erica stood stiffly, her back ramrod straight. "I'll never beg you for anything, least of all to take me back! And as far as I'm concerned you can go to Hell!" she spat defiantly.
Grigory only shook his head slowly and smiled at her. "I must admit, you are brave. Perhaps too much so. But I'll still break you. Pride will be the death of you."
"I'd rather die than come crawling back to you!"
"I assure you that can be easily arranged," Grigory said in an ominous tone of voice, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have much to do."
He turned as if to leave and then paused and turned back to face her.
"I forgot something." he said.
Erica intuitively she knew the tone in his voice meant trouble. She felt her stomach clench and her body tense. Grigory walked towards her until he was only a few feet away. "Consider it a…'parting gift'," he said, "I give you the gift of your life and of keeping your immortality and eternal youth, since it suits my own purposes for you, and because I can't kill you here. However, that doesn't mean I won't punish you."
He smiled wickedly at her and she began to slowly back away. Her eyes darted back and forth, searching her surroundings. For some reason she had a feeling that Grigory himself wouldn't be the thing that was going to 'punish' her. The swirling red mist contorted into monstrous shapes, only to fade away. In the background Grigory was quietly laughing at her. Her mind was filled with an unidentifiable sense of fear and dread. Come on, she thought, where are y—?
Something rustled behind her.
She turned around and stood frozen at the sight that met her eyes. Her jaw dropped. Something that looked like a fifteen foot high wave of darkness was pouring and racing towards her. By the time it occurred to her to run, she was knocked to the ground and the blackness was pressing in on all sides. The wave of shadow blinded her and wrapped tightly around her, cutting off her breathing. It was like a huge, cold ebony constricting snake was wrapped around her, crushing her, but she could still thrash around as easily as if nothing was there. Erica gasped for air and felt the freezing cold shadow thing pour into her mouth and try to go down her throat. She gagged violently and forcibly spit it back out. She could hear Grigory laughing at her. His dark, mirthless laughter seared her soul. Suddenly, the blankness disappeared, and as she gasped for breath she realized she was lying flat on her back at Grigory's feet. He looked down at her, clearly amused by her completely futile efforts to escape.
"Don't care for my parting gift, my dear? Believe me, it's only a fraction of the suffering I will cause you upon my return. And when that happens, may whatever god you believe in have mercy on your soul. Until then, pleasant dreams."
He laughed and suddenly the shadow thing was back, pouncing on her like a panther and then enfolding her in its smothering depths. The thing blinded her, so she couldn't see that Grigory was gone, but she could feel that he was. But something else had her full attention to the point where she was starting to panic: she couldn't breathe! And still the blackness tightened its grip on her. Erica thrashed and struggled, but all her efforts were useless. She screamed in frustration.
"AAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhh!"
The scream scared Professor Broom half to death. He spun around and jumped to his feet, yelling in pain as his knee twinged painfully. His eyes quickly darted over to where Erica lay, immediately expecting the worst: that one of the soldiers was trying to kill her or that Kroenen had come back to finish her off. But no one was there, only Erica. Broom was surprised at the amount of relief he felt at finding her safe, but he was also extremely alarmed. Erica was convulsing and tearing at the air with her hands. He limped over to her side as fast as his injured knee would allow and shook her.
"Erica! Wake up!"
She jerked awake, gasping for breath. Her pupils were so dilated that the grey iris was barely visible. Over by the desk the demon baby chirped in a concerned manner, and looked at Erica with huge, frightened eyes. She glanced over at the demon and then up at the Professor.
"Was it a nightmare?" Professor Broom asked.
"Ja. Nein. It was real. Grigory was there, he can get into my dreams, though he can't kill me there. He told me he's coming back."
Broom could only look at her, his mind full of worry.
"We'll be ready for him," he assured her, "We'll be ready for him."
XXXXX
October 10, 1944
An Abandoned Castle in Norway
5:00 in the Morning
Ilsa and Kroenen had arrived at last.
Kroenen was in much worse shape then when they had departed from Scotland. And he was in an even fouler mood.
All thanks to his Angel.
"Damn her!" Kroenen raged, limping and pulling himself along by holding on to one of the sparse furnishings in the castle with his right hand. He stumbled awkwardly over to a chair, barely catching himself before he fell. Behind him Ilsa dazedly wandered into the castle carrying the worn leather book Grigory had given to her. She shut and bolted the huge wooden doors, before sitting in a chair front of the cold, empty fireplace. She stared straight ahead, her face blank and her blue eyes faraway.
Kroenen stumbled over to a table, his top half flopping around because of his extensive back injuries. Not much was holding his torso together since he had cut himself free of the spike that had impaled him.
He held onto the edge of the table with his right hand and tried to push himself over to the railing of the stairs that led to the upper levels of the castle. He missed and crashed to the stone floor in a heap.
"Scheiße!" he yelled gutturally.
He tried to stand up but only collapsed again. From his position on the floor he looked at Ilsa for help, but she was too dazed to realize he needed help, and probably wouldn't have been able to motivate herself if she had. It was like she was off in another world. But Kroenen had to get to his lab so he could repair himself, so he did the only thing he could do: he half crawled, half dragged himself up the stone steps and down the hall to his lab. He pushed at the door to his lab. It didn't move.
"Scheiße!" he cursed again.
He was angry, and even angrier that he had been reduced to crawling, and now this door dared to defy him! Driven by determination and anger, he grabbed a dagger from his belt and swung it at the door.
SMASH!
The lock broke and the door swung open. He crawled inside and dragged himself up and onto the stainless steel work surface of the operating table in the center of the room. He collapsed on the table and lay there for a moment, panting and gasping for breath. He listened to the harsh rasping sound that breathing through his mask produced and thought how loud it was in the almost eerie stillness. Even the gentle pitter patter of his sand-like blood spilling out onto the table was loud in the silence.
How weak I must look, Hitler's top assassin reduced to scrambling and struggling about like a spider missing half of its legs, he thought cynically.
Kroenen knew his body was a wreck. He could feel the multiple bullets lodged in his torso and knew that several of his vertebrae had been crushed by the pole that had impaled him. His left hand was probably in shreds and several of his ribs had broken when he had wrenched himself off the pole. He knew he desperately needed to repair himself, but he just couldn't concentrate on that at the moment. Despite his ability to ignore physical pain, his injuries were so severe that it was impossible for him to do so now. Even worse than his physical pain was the mental and emotional anguish he was experiencing. He had never felt so weak in his entire life. He was grateful for Ilsa's presence, even if she was downstairs with her mind in some other plane of existence. After all, he was going to need Ilsa's help for some of his repairs, since the best person to help him with his repairs had betrayed him.
He rolled over on his stomach, shed his trench coat and pushed up the sleeve of his black body suit. He carefully pulled off the remains of his black leather gloves. The sight that met him was exactly what he had expected, but seeing that it was the truth made it a hundred times worse. His left hand was in shreds, the five fingers barely recognizable among the blood and tatters of skin and muscle. A long cut ran from his wrist down to the middle of his forearm on opposite sides of his arm, marking the place where she had stabbed his arm.
"Damn her! Damn her!" he cursed, staring at the mangled ruin that had once been his left hand. "I taught her and how did she repay me? With this!"
It's ironic, really, he thought wryly, The first day I met her, she bit my hand to the bone. And now, the last day, she's completely destroyed it.
He bitterly wondered how long Erica had contemplated her treachery, how long she had played them false. It had probably all begun the day he had found her in her wrecked study with tearstains on her cheeks. That was when she had started acting strangely. Why didn't I guess what had happened before it was too late? he berated himself. He could have averted last night's disaster if he had only dared to suspect that she was a traitor. But he secretly knew he would never have even thought about it.
I trusted her so much, he thought angrily, So much!
How could she have lied to him with a straight face, knowing full well he would know she was lying? How could she have done this to them? To him? After all their hard work and sacrifice? No, the question wasn't how. It was why. It didn't matter to him how she had done it, he only cared about why.
It was a simple word, a simple question. But the answer was far from being simple.
Why? Why would Erica, his Angel, betray him? Why? WHY? He didn't understand. There had been no warning and no reason to her actions. Why would she do this? He wondered angrily. As far as he knew he had been nothing but kind to her. Yes, he could be demanding, and yes, he could be strict, but still! She had never seemed anything but happy. So why did she do it? he wondered. He was more than simply her teacher. He was her friend. Why would she just throw that away? What did she have to gain from her treachery? In his eyes it was nothing.
Nothing!
But then why would she do it? That one question plagued him: Why? That question would drive him even further into insanity than Ilsa claimed he already was. But all brilliant people are slightly insane. They had to be.
Something else a lot of brilliant people suffered from was an inability to understand human emotions. He himself had never been good with emotions, particularly with those of other people, which was probably why he never suffered any pangs of guilt after torturing or murdering someone. True, he understood that emotions could drive a person to do one thing or the other, but he didn't really comprehend them, and didn't want to. Emotions only got in the way of people doing things. He was comfortable with metal and gears and science because he understood them, but he was thrown into confusion because he couldn't understand what had made one of his closest friends suddenly decide to turn on him.
He began to consider what had happened during the battle. He remembered she had said: "I'm sorry. My God I'm sorry, Kroenen! Forgive me! ...I don't want to fight you, Kroenen, but I don't have a choice anymore."
She hadn't turned on them because she was angry at them, her words proved that much. And even when she had been fighting him, she hadn't seemed to want to hurt him. So what was her motivating factor then? Religion? He scowled at the idea. He had seen the crucifix around her neck, he had even ripped it away to make sure that what he was seeing was true. How had she decided to return to her former religion? He had been sure that he, Ilsa, and Grigory had managed to banish any Christian ideas from her mind by encouraging her to ask critical questions of her religion. In the end she had found things at fault, and when she came to them for advice, they had encouraged her to reject her religion. She had done so willingly, apparently without ever looking back. Then what had caused her to accept it again?
Wait, he thought, how did she even find her crucifix necklace to begin with? After she dropped it when she was dancing, Ilsa hid it in the attic. He suddenly remembered that Ilsa had offhandedly remarked about sending Erica up to the attic with some boxes. Kroenen mentally groaned. He could practically picture what had happened. Erica had probably gone up to the attic and gotten curious enough to start poking around in things. And then she had found her necklace. No doubt the instant she touched it she had had a vision that looked at her actions from the point of view she had had when she first arrived in Germany. That also explained why she had lied about not having a vision and refused to let him into her mind. She had been afraid he would go poking around in her head and discover her vision.
So that's it, he thought half furiously, half despondently, She gave everything up for a religion! For a Christian ideal! How frustratingly typical!
Kroenen usually displayed so little emotion that it came as a surprise to him when he discovered the unmistakable feeling of grief welling up inside him. He had known he could feel a certain level of concern, could feel anger and wrath—but grief? So much for being a cold blooded murderer, he thought, grimacing. He reflected that it was fortunate he had cut off his eyelids all those years ago—it made crying impossible because he didn't have any tear ducts. And he knew that if he still had tear ducts he would be crying.
On the other hand, not being able to cry meant that all those horrible feelings stayed bottled up inside him. It prevented his frustration, his anger, his grief, and his hate from escaping. Or did it?
She gave everything up—she betrayed us—her friends—all for nothing! For nothing
A despairing sob escaped from his mouth and he tried in vain to stop it. But he had he had no lips to close to muffle his gasping, harsh sobs.
It was then that Kroenen decided he was the first person to ever cry without tears.
"My Angel of Death, my Angel—Curse her!" he murmured, his words trailing off until he was silent. He was completely miserable, more so because he was embarrassed. He briefly wondered if he would feel better if he could really cry. But it was pointless to wonder. He had no tear ducts, so he couldn't cry—even if he had permitted himself that display of weakness. In that respect he was better off than Ilsa, who had gone pale and quiet during the journey to Norway, except for random bursts of temper that showed how her pent up grief was affecting her.
He held his head in his remaining hand and lay there hunched over and shuddering, an occasional heart wrenching moan issuing from his lipless mouth. His sobs steamed up the lenses of his mask and he tried to take his mask off. He awkwardly fumbled at the straps and buckles with one hand, wishing Erica was there to help him as she had in the past. But you wouldn't even be in this situation if it wasn't for her, he thought, This is all her fault.
He soon gave up and dropped his hand to the table. Kroenen took several deep, calming breaths and on a whim reached into a pocket of his trench coat. He pulled out the black and white photograph of himself, Ilsa, and Erica and gazed at the smile on Erica's face. It was almost like she was mocking his misery.
"Erica, my Angel of Death." he whispered, staring at the black and white photograph.
Why had she done this to him? He still couldn't believe he had tried to kill her—her—his Angel. He had hurt her. He had almost killed her. He remembered the expression of agony in Erica's grey eyes when he had stabbed her. The look of fear and pain in her eyes was heart-wrenching—even though he didn't have one. Her scream echoed distantly in his head. He knew her blood was on his hands, and it was in more ways than one. Her blood stained his clothes and his weapons.
But in the end he hadn't killed her. He had marked her instead, and left her to her fate. He expected she would survive. But if she did survive, he knew that when Grigory came back, he would be forced to kill her. Erica would have to pay the price the Ogdru Jahad demanded for her betrayal, and he would have to be the one that killed her. He scowled. He was torn between hating her and wanting to forgive her. But her actions were unforgivable! She had known the consequences, and she deserved what she got! He wanted revenge.
But how would I ever get revenge? He wondered, I can't even force myself to kill her when everything is at stake and the Ogdru Jahad order me to kill her! And They are sure to punish me for not following their orders! Damn emotions! It's all her fault!
But was that true? When it came down to it, she had betrayed them, but she hadn't wanted to fight him. He had been the one that forced the fight. What had happened was as much her fault as his. He had brought her to Germany in the first place, and in a fatalistic view, it had only been a matter of time before something had happened. Both sides had to share the blame.
Sometimes I hate logic, he sighed, It's so much easier to blame her for everything.
Karl didn't know whether to pity Erica or to curse her. He wasn't even sure if he wanted to kill her. He knew he was very angry with her—and in one very strange way he was proud of her. He couldn't help it. She had taken the skills he had taught her and fooled him so completely that he hadn't figured out what was going on until it was too late. He had taught her well.
He glanced at his ruined hand and felt anger boiling up inside him. Perhaps she excelled too much at being his student. His ruined hand, at least, was completely her fault. His Angel had done this to him. And it was her fault that Project Ragnarok had failed. He had failed because of her. The entire fate of the Nazis had hung in the balance, waiting for him to grab that grenade. And then she had distracted him and he had failed. There was no doubt in his mind that if he had retrieved the grenade that the outcome of the battle would have been very different. And now his failure was sure to lead to the defeat of the Nazis.
He had been betrayed. He would never forget what she had done. He would make sure of that, even as she had made sure of that by stabbing his arm.
With a steely, purposeful calm he reached out and picked up a scalpel lying on the table. He grasped it and furiously went to work on his left hand, cutting Erica's initials into his left wrist, just and inch or two below his wrecked hand, gouging and slicing deep into his skin so it would leave a scar that would never fade. E. S.—the initials would be a constant reminder of his plan for revenge.
And now to get to work, he thought, I have to do something about my wounds. I'll just bandage my left hand for now. I can't create a new one by myself, I'll need a hand.
His lipless grin grew ever wider as he saw the macabre humor in his thoughts, and then he began the task of repairing himself.
XXXXX
An Abandoned Castle in Norway
An Hour Later
It was close to dawn. The sun was just a few minutes away from peeking over the horizon. Kroenen stood at one of the castle's many windows, staring out at the landscape. The view was spectacular, but relatively empty. The castle was on a cliff, and the cliff was covered with tall golden grass frosted white by the cold air. Kroenen could hear the waves crashing on the base of the cliff and the screeching of various seabirds. There was a golden glow in the east.
It promises to be a glorious morning, Kroenen thought, How disgusting!
He turned away from the window and descended the stone stairs, though he still had to cling to the railing for support. He had repaired as much of himself as he could without Ilsa's help. The loss of his left hand had been a huge inconvenience to him when he started to repair himself. He was hoping that he could convince Ilsa to help him finish what he had started.
He reached the bottom of the stairs and started towards the kitchen where he suspected Ilsa would be.
Hopefully Ilsa will have recovered enough to help me, he thought as he pushed open the door.
Or maybe not.
Ilsa was sitting hunched over at the kitchen table, her head in her hands, sobbing hysterically. The leather book lay nearby on the table.
Kroenen paused in the door way, suddenly feeling unsure of himself. He was just about to turn around and leave, when the door bumped into the wall. At the sound Ilsa turned around and saw him.
Ilsa was a mess. Her eyes were all puffy and her eye makeup was smeared. There were long streaks of black running down her cheeks where her tears had made her mascara run. She wiped at her tears, smearing the streaks even further across her cheeks.
Kroenen took a seat next to her. Everything was silent for a few moments. He watched the tears trickle down her face, feeling lost. He didn't know what to do for Ilsa— what compassion and sympathy had existed in him he had mercilessly smothered over the years until it was practically non-existent. And on top of that he didn't know what Ilsa was crying about. True, Grigory was gone, but he could never truly die, though right now he was probably as close to it as he could get. Kroenen felt very awkward sitting there and not knowing what to do, but he knew he would feel even more awkward if he simply got up and left.
"He's dead!" Ilsa suddenly sobbed, breaking the silence.
"Ja, he is. But think, what did he tell you about that? Why did he give you that book?"
"He said that for him…death is never…never permanent." Ilsa replied, her voice cracking. "He told me the book would…would guide me back to him. Kroenen, I won't…won't be happy until that arschloch professor responsible for this is dead! He destroyed us!"
Kroenen wondered if he dared to ask Ilsa what she thought about Erica. "And Erica?" he asked quietly.
"Erica! That conniving bastard! I just want to—to kill her! I…I tried to…but she moved. The bullet missed." She looked at him. "How can you be so calm? Don't pretend to be so cold," Ilsa said, "Admit it, you have to feel something!"
"Ja. I feel like a failure. I missed the grenade. I know what impact that will have on our Nazi allies."
Ilsa looked at him, understanding bright in her tear filled eyes. "It's over now, isn't it?" she asked despondently.
"Nein, it's not," Kroenen said, his voice tinged with determination, "It has only begun! The Nazis may fall, but we will not!"
He noticed that Ilsa looked, well, odd. Besides her tears, she looked sort of vacant, like she was— His suspicions were confirmed when he realized that she smelled like wine and noticed the wine bottle and glasses sitting on the table. Ilsa was drunk. Or at least on her way there.
"You slobbering drunk," Kroenen said, but there was an affectionate tone in his voice. Ilsa stared back at him somewhat listlessly. "Why would you be drinking alcohol anyway?" he asked, trying to sound gentle.
Ilsa sniffled and a tear ran down her cheek. She ignored it and continued. "Grigory is gone, we're the only ones left, and now it's only a matter of time before the Nazis are defeated and the members of the Thule Society are killed or scattered across the face of the Earth."
Kroenen thought about it for a moment. It all was very depressing. And there was no way in Hell he was going to let Ilsa help him repair his wounds if she was even marginally drunk.
"Actually, when you put it that way, I think I'll join you." he said, pulling a wine glass towards him and filling both his and Ilsa's glasses with the blood red wine. Kroenen frankly didn't care if they both ended up drunk. It didn't matter if they did, no one would ever find them here, and it wasn't like they had any pressing matters to attend to right away. He reached up and managed to unbuckle the straps that held his mask on. He set it gently on the table. Ilsa stared at his face, unperturbed by his cadaverous appearance. They both picked up their wine glasses.
"To vengeance, then" Ilsa said, a strange fire burning in her icy blue eyes.
"To vengeance." agreed Kroenen.
XXXXX
Morning of October 10, 1944The Ruins of Trondham Abbey
"Okay! A little to the left! Hey! You in the back! Stand up straight! And you over there! Kneel down in front!"
The Allied soldiers stood in a smiling, if muddy and tired, group at the base of the crucifix as Matlin tried to organize them so he could take a picture. Professor Broom stood in the front with Sergeant Whitman. The air was filled with little puffs of white fog as the soldiers breathed.
The main part of the hurricane had passed, and though the sky was cloudy and overcast, the pale light of day filtered down though them. The ground was muddy and the rocks and ruins bare and cold, but the area still looked a lot friendlier by day then it had the previous night.
Erica, still dressed in her bloodstained SS uniform, was sitting on the ground a few feet away from Matlin. The demon baby the soldiers had named Hellboy was sitting contentedly on her lap, toying with her long brown hair and her newly repaired crucifix necklace that was hanging around her neck. The Professor knew Erica was still wary of Hellboy, but that she was also enchanted by him. Broom could tell from Erica's pale face that she was exhausted, but she had insisted on coming with him to watch the photograph being taken. And really, it was a good thing she had, because it allowed him and the rest of the soldiers to get ready without Hellboy being in the way. When they were all in place Erica would bring Hellboy over.
Sergeant Whitman was standing on Broom's right, watching Erica and the "baby".
"I never thought I'd say this," Whitman said, as he gazed at Hellboy sitting on Erica's lap, "But you've definitely made me a believer in the paranormal."
"Really. What changed your mind?" asked Broom, curious.
"Among other things, that." said Whitman, pointing to a smiling Erica and Hellboy. The other soldiers laughed good-naturedly.
"A little closer together now!" Matlin shouted. When everyone had moved to his satisfaction, he gestured to Erica.
"You can bring Hellboy over now."
Erica smiled and scooped up the toddler with her right arm, since her left shoulder hurt too much to use that arm. She put him down beside Broom before retreating to stand beside Matlin.
"Move a little to the center." Matlin said, gesturing to the soldiers, "Good! Hold that!"
Broom whispered Hellboy's name to get him to look at the camera.
"Look at the birdie!" Matlin said, smiling. He took the picture.
The soldiers smiled and then milled around, happily talking and getting ready for departure. Whitman came over to Erica with the Professor, who was carrying Hellboy.
"Good to know you're on our side," Whitman said gruffly to her, "I must say you've surprised me by being a whole Hell of a lot different than I expected."
"Danke. Very often, when you peel away all the rumors and superstitions, the horrible monster you thought someone to be turns out to be nothing but a story," Erica grinned wryly, "This applies to me, at least in a small way." She paused and smiled sadly. "With Kroenen, it's different. There are many rumors, and some aren't true, but the rest are. He truly is the way you've heard, with the rare exception."
Whitman turned to the Professor. "Get ready to go, Broom, we're leaving in a few minutes."
Broom nodded and the Sergeant left to attend to his duties.
Erica looked at Broom and decided to ask a question that had been bothering her. "What is going to happen to me?" she asked.
Professor Broom sighed. "Well, I'm hoping that you're handed over to my department. Of course, you'll be forbidden to leave without an escort, but it's a lot better than being executed or imprisoned for life."
"Better than death? Ja. Better than prison? Forgive me if I say that no matter what, a prison is still a prison."
"It might seem that way for a while, but I think you'll get used to it. Besides, if you're up to it, there's a lot for you to do. We spend most of our time combating the forces of evil and killing monsters, exorcising evil spirits, that sort of thing."
"Demons, monsters, ghosts—no big deal. I've dealt with them before, though I was usually encouraging them to cause trouble instead of stopping them. Besides, I have to do something to make up for my past, and this seems the best way to me. I can put my skills to work on the side of good."
Broom smiled. "I hoped you would say that."
"Professor, I am also willing to give you any information I have about the Nazis and Thule Society's activities and plans. I'll use my visions to help you, too. The Nazis will lose this war."
"How do you know?" Broom asked, "You sound so confident."
"Project Ragnarok was the Nazis last hope. The failure of the Project will be a fatal blow to the Nazis."
"But how can you be sure?"
"I can see the future, remember?" Erica said, smiling.
Broom thought he saw the smallest smile on her lips, as if she had a secret. And of course she did. Besides her visions, Erica knew because it was what she had been taught in school. She already knew what the outcome of WWII had to be.
"Erica, I believe that together, we can accomplish great things." Professor Broom said, offering her his hand. She eyed his hand with a hint of mistrust. Who could blame her, considering what had happened because she had trusted Kroenen all those years ago? But she knew she didn't have to worry about Professor Broom, he was genuinely a good person trying to make a difference in the world. Erica smiled and shook his hands. Broom beamed at her.
"Come on. Let's go home." he said, turning toward the Allied ships.
"Home?" Erica asked.
Erica hadn't known a place that was truly home in what felt like an eternity. For a moment a mental image of the mansion in Germany appeared in her mind's eye, but she banished it. Home was where people cared about you—and clearly Grigory had only been using her to achieve his own goals. Ilsa probably hadn't cared about Erica either way. Kroenen had cared—at least in some way. Enough not to kill her. Somehow this still wasn't a very comforting thought. Erica had an uncomfortable feeling that if she ever met Kroenen again, that day would almost certainly be her last.
Erica wanted to have a home again. She wanted to have true friends and family who would care about her. She wanted to be happy and not have to be constantly afraid for her life.
Home, she thought, a huge smile on her face as she followed the Professor, I can't wait.
XXXXX
October 10, 1944
An Abandoned Castle in Norway
Kroenen sat at a table, wine sloshed down the front of his ragged SS uniform from where it had spilled out of his lipless mouth. He was more than a little drunk. Absentmindedly he licked at his exposed teeth and glanced at Ilsa. Her head rested on her folded arms on top of the table. She was asleep— or had passed out.
He wondered what was going on in the outside world, specifically whether or not Erica had survived the night. He had a feeling she had, call it intuition. And if she had survived, he knew there was going to be Hell to pay the first chance Grigory or the Ogdru Jahad got around to it.
But Erica wasn't the only thing he wondered about. He wondered what the people of Germany would be told about what had happened last night. Kroenen was sure that rumors about what had happened were spreading like wildfire, considering that the Ogdru Jahad not been released and the entire Nazi-Thule Society party that had been on the island had disappeared without a trace. Everyone probably assumed that all the soldiers had died, and that he, Ilsa, and Grigory had died along with them. Kroenen would do nothing to dispel the rumors of their deaths, it was far better that he and Ilsa just seem to have quietly disappeared off the face of the Earth. They would wait until the world thought them dead before they tried to bring Grigory back.
And the world would assume he and Ilsa were dead. The Nazis would be too busy fighting a losing war to miss them or bother to send people to look for them.
Erica will know, he thought, she'll know we're not dead. She'll be waiting for us. The only question, of course, is will she be ready when we appear?
Kroenen pulled the black and white photograph out of his pocket. He gazed at it blearily and a little drunkenly.
I'll find you my Angel of Death, he thought, I'll find you—though Heaven bar the way!
Author's Notes: Well, I hope you enjoyed the ending! And don't worry, Erica and Kroenen won't stay mad at each other forever. I'm still excepting ideas for my sequel, so please send them to me if you have any. At present I know that Grigory and Ilsa will have a bigger part in my sequel, but that's about all. Oh, by the way, I've decided to name the sequel "Though Heaven Bar the Way" in honor of Kroenen's thoughts at the end of this chapter, and you can expect to see the first chapter within a month. Please, please review this time!