Part 2": The Belltower

Kate stood in line in wait of a tour of Notre Dame, surrounded by tourists. Two young girls, in dresses with a slight "Boho" look, quietly sang "God help the outcasts" to themselves while waiting for their tour, swishing their skirts as they walked between the columns. The tour would show nothing, yet Kate felt it necessary to see where the figure had been reported firsthand. Besides, it was entertaining to watch the young tourists act foolish.

After about fifteen minutes of chattering about how to not fall from Notre Dame, the guide began to walk the group through the church. Kate carefully observed the angles and columns for moving shadows. About twenty minutes later, the tour group entered the towers. The guide talked on and on about a small bell, one that was in a cage, destined to never ring again. He described to a spellbound group how Victor Hugo's historic novel saved the Cathedral in the early 1800's. He spoke of how that small bell would have once sounded out at Quasimodo's hand to drive the lightening away from Paris.

Kate shook her head; the guide himself didn't even know the truth. Many bellringers had been electrocuted in this way, throughout Europe. In reality, the guide was an engineering student from the University. She glanced at the spire, which was essentially a giant lightening rod. One would want to be on the other end of the wooden bell in a thunderstorm or risk certain death.

The student continued to talk, mangling several stories, both fictional and factual, into a nonsensical mish-mash and Kate knew it. She softly shook her head disapprovingly, yet subtle enough that no one could notice. The student continued his speech.

"Quasimodo was the only bellringer from 1470 to 1482, when he committed suicide."

"This guy needs to read more." Thought Kate to herself, yet her expression reading as if she wanted to cry out of pity. "Three towers at once. Not bad for one guy." Yet she looked at the spellbound young girls and realized, maybe, he was merely trying to get a date.

Suddenly, Kate felt the eyes of another on her. There was someone in the tower above, a silent observer tracing her every move through the darkness of the tower. She followed the feeling of the stare, watching closely for a figure in the shadows. Kate snapped several images with her infrared camera. It did not wish to be seen. Suddenly it disappeared into the shadows, out of view. Whatever it was, it was certainly human, or at least somewhat.

Kate soon left the tour, wandering deep into the tower from where she'd sensed the eyes set upon her.

Hellboy was already in the North tower, carefully exploring the many floors and beams nestled around the great bells, and had been since early that morning. He'd already been through the South tower and found nothing. Earplugs were in place, to protect him from the erratic pealing. There was very little dust high in the towers and surprisingly little pigeon dung despite an abundance of birds. Invariably, some landed on his coat.

Soon, Hellboy climbed a small, neatly hidden ladder behind the largest bell in the tower. Latin verse lay etched in the bronze, yet was difficult to read in the darkness, he merely felt the cold letters beneath his palm. At the top of the ladder, an entire section was barred off with a lock on a thick wooden door and solid wooden walls higher than himself. The lock was very old and apparently well oiled. It was almost a shame to break it. Hellboy broke it. He slowly pulled the door open.

Behind the door was a series of small rooms, each remarkably neat and clean with most of the essentials of daily life. They all reeked of age and time, as many old libraries do. The place contained an eeriness that Hellboy'd not seen or felt before, in that it held an aura of calm rather than malice. The whole place was modern, yet at the same time woefully out of date. Even more remarkable was a lack of dust on any surface but the highest bookshelves.

Plastic peanut butter and margarine pails lined one wall, each full of clean water. A few empty buckets sat stacked in a neat pile amongst broken sculptures. The bed was unmade and clothed with a mix of wool and cotton blankets on a pillow-top mattress. Candles, at various lengths, smoldered from their unique fastenings to makeshift holders. Scrolls, books, carvings, woodcuts and modern novels lined the shelves. A straight razor, free of rust, sat near a chamois and china basin with a bar of "Irish Spring" soap.

Modern objects sat intermingled with the old. A Maglite and some batteries sat next to the stack of old books, as did a disassembled green Coleman lantern with a broken mantle. Bottles of different coloured ink sat amongst quills, ballpoint pens, mechanical pencils and various grades of paper in neat piles. Camp fuel, a wrought iron fireplace and a stack of birch logs sat in the middle of one of the largest rooms. This room also bordered the large metal slats at the side of the tower, likely to allow smoke to dissipate safely.

Hellboy sighed deeply. The smell, the neatness together with the inevitable collection of various junk reminded him of Trevor Bruttenholms' study. The one factor that defied this similarity was the absence of any photographs, art or mirrors on the walls. He touched nothing as he passed through. There was no ghost in Notre Dame, the "ghost" was alive, and the clergy knew it. He stood for a moment, eyes closed and running the rosary through his fingers.

Having found no life in the apartment, for that is what it was, Hellboy re-entered the open tower and turned on the Wood's lamp. Neon green footprints, large with flat leather soles, trailed through the maze of beams and bells.

Hellboy followed the creature with an eerie silence, his hooves barely making a sound on the aged wooden floors and ladders. Within a few minutes, Kate joined Hellboy at a large red wooden door, one locked from the inside.

"It's in there, Kate." Hellboy drew his oversized pistol, loaded with Holy water and clove leaf cartridges.

"I don't think we'll need it, Red." Kate smiled. "The wannabe-gypsies rubbed off on me."

Kate pulled a key from her pocket and inserted it into the lock. After some jiggling, the lock released and the door opened.

Hellboy peeked around the corner, his eyes flashing towards the figure in the far corner of the room.

All that could be heard was the snap of several large orange glowsticks as they hit the right hand of doom and landed onto the floor. A human leg and shoe could be seen pulling farther into the darkness.

Kate approached Hellboy from the side and walked into the orange darkness of the small room. It was slightly damp, large and smelled of incense and old linen.

"Please, go." A raspy voice pleaded.

"We're not here to hurt you." Urged Kate. "Perhaps you can help us."

Several moments later another few words came from the shadows.

"This is my…" a deep sigh was audible "…home."

"Screw this" Hellboy flipped a halogen beam into the corner of the room.

Kate rushed towards the stunned man, who could do naught but stare directly into the beam with his single functional eye. His body was frozen in motion, his jaw slightly lowered.

"Turn it off, Red."

Hellboy flipped the switch, yet otherwise remained motionless. He knew the figure that stood before them and could feel his terror. The question that rolled through his mind was how it was possible.

Meanwhile, Kate stood next to the man and reassured him that no harm would come to him. He appeared anxious about remaining, yet stood and watched Kate rather than running. His glance continually shifted to Hellboy, flashing with apprehension each time.

"He's a friend."

Hellboy slowly backed out of the room and closed the door, leaving it open a mere crack. "I'll be back, Katie."

Kate ignored the closure of the door, but rather struck a match and lit a single candle. The pale light of the candle, together with the eerie glow of the sticks on the floor, illuminated a face like none she had ever seen before. The red hair, single right eye. She recognized him immediately. It was impossible, but before her stood a man of about twenty with a hunchback and an expression of prolonged sadness.

"You're the Bellringer."

"Oui."

Kate glanced over his entire face and body, taking it in with a calm disbelief. His left eye was mostly hidden under a large growth, his jaw short, his teeth crooked and his back had a pronounced hunch. Yet he carried with him a sort of strength that, until now, she only associated with Hellboy. She turned off the camera and slid it into her pocket.

"Why do you stare at me so?" His voice, rough yet sweet, took Kate out of her trance. The man spoke again. "You already know who I am, you have not to ask. As for why I am here, I knew this day would eventually come."

Kate watched the man move about the room.

"I never imagined you would be here, alive, in these walls. It doesn't make sense at all. You shouldn't be here." Kate told him.

"I've been here a long time, rarely leaving, and have learned much from those who pass through." Kate watched his eye intently as he abruptly changed the subject. "Why do you come here?"

"Reports of a haunting, dating back close to 300 years." Kate replied flatly. Quasimodo smiled shyly, he was uglier than she ever thought he would be, yet his whole person appealed to her in an odd way. His manner seemed gentle and natural, his voice and aura calm throughout.

"It's been longer than that." He watched Kate with an intensity that seemed to cut right through to her soul. Kate remained where she was, studying his every movement yet not caring that he could read her so well. She reached out as he passed before her, grasping a warm, muscular arm in her hand.

"Just checking." The bellringer stopped in place, his eye locking into hers.

Quasimodo watched the words leave her lips and began to laugh to himself. Kate watched him closely, then relaxed almost instantaneously as he suddenly became much more comfortable around her.

"What do you plan to do?" he asked, the words almost forced from his youthful lips.

"Not what was originally planned." Kate sighed, yet a small smile slowly crept across her face. "There is no evil in this room."

Quasimodo stood. "What of your friend, the demon, who waits outside the door?"

Kate shifted her glance to the door, which a draft had blown open. Hellboy was gone.

Hopefully this isn't blasphemy to the rabid Quasimodo fans, or the rabid Hellboy fans. Tell e what you thin, please. Good or bad, I want to know. Forgot to mention "authors notes" on the first chapter, and it should seem obvious, but Hellboy, Kate and Quasimodo are not mine. I borrowed them for my own story-writing pleasure.