Chapter 12: So Much to Do, So Little Time
Disclaimer: Hellboy characters do not belong to me, and neither does the song 'Bad Moon Rising'. However, Erica Schwarz, Luke, Volker, and the plot that isn't from the movie belong to me.
Author's Notes: Thanks again for the ton of reviews! At ten reviews, that's the most received for any chapter so far! I am also very pleased to say that at a total of 76 reviews, Though Heaven Bar the Way has the same number of reviews as A Shadow to a Heart. Thank you one and all for your dedication and support! I would also like to thank Psycho Llama for her fantastic fanart of the scene with the cursing book! As for this chapter, all I can say is there's a lot going on, fast. As always here are the German to English translations: 'Ja' is yes, 'Nein' is no, 'Alles für Deutschland' means Everything for Germany. Enjoy the chapter!
whitefang4ever: Yay! New reviewer! Yeah, Erica and Abe got together. I'm not entirely sure how it's going to work out though, because now there's kind of a love triangle.
Psycho Clowns: Yes, poor Abe. What ever will be Kroenen's reaction when he finds out?
Elena-Unduli: Wow! That has to be the biggest review I've ever received! Thank you for all of your feedback. By the way, I'm thinking I might use your idea about Erica's dream. And your English is perfect!
amyltrer: You liked her evil roughness? I think some of it will show up next chapter—I'm thinking she's going to sort of lose her sensibility when she runs into Kroenen.
musicamode: Good to know that you liked AxE, it give me more confidence for writing fluff in the future.
Psycho Llama: I love the Abe/Kroenen comics too! I also can't take Rasputin as seriously after reading them, all his impossible plans involving mushrooms and plumbing and giant spiders…! At least he's distracted enough not to notice AxK. And again, thank you for your fanart!
DarkCloudRider: I love your tiny script thing, it made me laugh! Especially 'hey you want to be my girlfriend even though you my die very soon and the world may be coming to an end and we should all be really depressed?' There's nothing like bonding while working together to find a way to save one of you from a murderous, undead assassin!
Cosmic Imaginer: Another new reviewer! Glad you're enjoying the story.
Schemergirl: 'The Silent Treatment' is the only thing I could think of that would even remotely bother Kroenen; in this chapter you'll see what happens as a result.
iluvrocknoll: It's not really juvenile for Rasputin to ignore Kroenen; what else is the guy going to do to punish someone who enjoys physical pain? And remember, Rasputin is also treating Kroenen like a servant and preventing him from killing Erica until Hellboy is in Russia.
"When you go home tonight and the lights have been turned out and you are afraid to look behind the curtains and you dread to see a face appear at the window—why, just pull yourself together and remember that after all there are such things."— Bram Stoker, Dracula
"What's coming will come and we'll just have to meet it when it does."—J. K. Rowling
"It isn't where you came from, it's where you're going that counts."—Ella Fitzgerald
The BPRD
Professor Broom's Study
Halloween
Noon
Abe looked down at Erica as they embraced, happy and content. She smells like leather and soap, he thought. She gazed up at him, smiling, and Abe wondered in a vague, content way what it would be like to kiss her—
"Professor Broom? I—oh."
Abe turned at the sudden interruption. Agent Clay stood in the doorway, astonishment plastered across his features. The corners of the Agent's mouth slowly turned up in a smile.
"Wow. I really missed a lot," Clay said, eyeing them up and down.
"Actually, you didn't," Erica said. Then she reconsidered, "Not with us, anyway."
"Yes. This just…sort of…" Abe trailed off.
"Happened?" Clay suggested, his grin broadening. They both nodded.
"Well then, I'll leave you two alone. I know I won't be able to get anything useful out of either of you for a while."
The doors swished shut behind him.
The mood broken, they stood still for a moment longer, and then Erica pulled away. She self consciously tucked a loose strand of brown hair behind her ear.
"So…I guess we better get started on finding those things for me to fight Kroenen with," she said softly. She felt awkward and lame, like she should have said something else.
Abe nodded and then smiled down at her. "Besides, if we don't, I'm sure everyone will be crowding in here to tease us."
She laughed and started up the spiral staircase with Abe right behind her.
The storeroom wasn't locked when they got there; Erica had left it open with the intention of taking the box of books back when she was finished with them. Her hand groped along the wall and made contact with the light switch. Instantly the lights snapped on and flooded the white room with bright, harsh light.
"So…what exactly are we looking for?" Abe asked.
"My original baton swords," she answered, speaking over her shoulder. She scanned the tags hanging off various containers as she moved along one of the rows of dull grey metal shelves.
"Original?" he asked; he fell in step behind her.
"Ja. I had copies made—minus the engraved phrase Alles für Deutschland, for obvious reasons—to use in the field, on missions; that way I could avoid losing the ones Kroenen made."
Abe nodded. "I knew that. But why do you want them instead of the copies?"
"I'm better off fighting Kroenen with the weapons he made for me. They're less likely to break; even I don't know what kind of metal they're made from."
She ran her finger along the metal shelf as she walked; every now and again she snatched at a tag to check the printed label. "And I'd like my wrist-blades too…Ah ha!" she cried triumphantly. She had spotted the label she was looking for: Erica Schwarz. 1944.
Erica grasped one end of the large, heavy rectangular container and started to slide it forward. Beside her Abe reached up to help her, and Erica felt a sudden stab of fear mixed with guilt. What will he see if he…?
"You might not want to touch this, Abe," she warned.
Abe looked at her quizzically, his outstretched webbed fingers barely an inch from the box. He saw the distress and concern on her face and realized what she meant. She's worried about the memories and events attached to the things inside, he thought, What I might think of her if I see them.
"It's alright," he said reassuringly, "It's the past; I won't condemn you for it. That isn't you anymore."
Erica bit her lip but nodded, and Abe grabbed the other end of the box. The moment his webbed hands made contact with the black plastic he felt like he was holding onto a Pandora's Box filled with whispering demons. The memories inside are still clear, despite their age, Abe thought. And from the darkness in their whispers, they were nightmarish. Fortunately the thick plastic blocked them from assaulting his brain, but Abe reinforced his mental defenses, just in case.
They put the box on the floor and knelt down beside it. Erica ran her hands over the rough, heavy duty black plastic as she flipped up the metal catches that held the box closed. She opened it.
The box smelled strongly of leather and old paper, and Abe saw why when he looked inside. Erica's peaked SS hat was on the top, perched on her neatly folded SS uniform and trench coat. Erica looked uncomfortable as her hands brushed over the soft leather; she quickly but gently laid them aside. She pushed aside a folder that contained yellowed newspaper clippings and old photographs, revealing some smaller odds and ends that she picked up quickly, averting her eyes from them. She laid them on the tile floor and returned to rummaging through the box.
Abe studied the objects on the floor: an Iron Cross on a black ribbon, and a necklace consisting of a small silver watch on a chain. He took a glove out of his pocket and slipped it on before he picked up the necklace and turned it over; on the back there was an engraved crescent, Kroenen's initials, and the date of the day he had given it to Erica: her twenty second birthday. The watch was a little tarnished but still ticking, and—eerily—the tiny silver hands pointed to the correct time.
"You really don't want to touch these," Erica said, her guilt and shame strong in her voice. "Even I'm not entirely sure how many people I murdered with these."
The fish man's eyes flicked over the baton swords and wrist blades she held in her hands. The blades radiated hints and glimpses of events; none were pleasant. The only one he identified and felt was completely justified was her fight with Kroenen:
Erica cannoned into Kroenen; he lost his balance and crashed into a wall. She stabbed the assassin's left arm and the blade went all the way through, pinning his wrist to the wall—He twisted her arm and threw her to the ground. Erica's face crashed into the cold cobblestones—
Abe strengthened his defenses and blocked out the memory. Beside him Erica had repacked the box and closed the latches that held it shut.
"Help me with this," she said, grabbing one end.
Abe obligingly stood up and then reached down for the other end of the box, taking a step forward as he did so. He felt his bare foot come down on a small, hard object lying on the floor—
The portal generator stood in the center of an enormous, dimly lit concrete and steel workroom. Arcs of electric blue blazed in the dark where technicians wearing oil- stained white lab coats welded metal parts onto the machine.
Erica stood beside the hulking contraption; she was angry, and her hands were on her hips in a way that screamed danger. A Nazi technician was trying to explain something to her in German; he gestured wildly at the portal generator—and his hand collided with a seven-foot high pile of haphazardly balanced parts.
CRASH!
Erica shrieked as the weight of the falling pile knocked her to the floor. The technician froze, dismayed and terrified; he had the look of a condemned man in his eyes. Erica, half buried in the metal parts, glared at the Nazi technician; her gray eyes were murderous.
"I'm sorry—I didn't mean to—" the technician babbled, pleading and backing away from her. "Please don't—it was an accident—"
"Start running! And you better pray I'm slow!" Erica snarled as she clumsily disentangled herself from the parts. She drew one of her baton swords.
"Mercy!" the man begged. He backed away from her, holding up his hands as if he was praying.
Erica was deaf to his begging. The technician cried out in horror and despair as she stalked towards him; desperate to save his life, he threw a hammer at her and ran. Erica dodged the hammer and sprinted after the fleeing man, who was tripping in his haste.
Erica overtook him in less than ten paces. She grabbed his shoulder, spun him around, and stabbed him in the stomach. She held him for a moment as the man shrieked and gurgled in pain; when she released him he collapsed and lay unmoving at her feet. Erica kicked him aside disdainfully. Scarlet blood dripped off her sword as she stared at the other scientists in the room, who hurriedly returned to work, pretending they hadn't been watching. Kroenen approached her, his footsteps loud and echoing—
A hand seized Abe's ankle and pulled, breaking his contact with the object beneath his foot. Abe blinked and his two sets of transparent eyelids slid down and up again, clearing away the last of the disturbing images. Erica quickly scooped up the Iron Cross lying on the floor near his foot and put it in her trench coat pocket with the silver watch necklace. When she straightened up again she was clearly worried; there was shame in her grey eyes.
"What did you see?" she asked softly, afraid of the answer. She gazed at the floor, unable to look him in the face.
Abe paused; the memory flickered pale and ghostly in his mind, but he dismissed it. "Nothing I will ever hold against you," Abe said, pulling her into a hug. Her uncertainty vanished at the physical contact. "That's not you anymore. Let the past stay in the past."
"I'd like to," she said, "I really would. And I could if people from it weren't trying to kill me."
XXXXX
A Black Mercedes
The Return Drive from the Lexington Oncology Center, New York
Afternoon
The hum of the black Mercedes engine would have been comforting under any other circumstances; Broom had often dozed off during the drive back to the BPRD. But not this time.
His fears had been confirmed: he was dying.
The Professor had taken the doctors' news calmly; he had been expecting it. And now that he knew… he sighed. There was no point in dwelling on his death; he had known it was coming. Now he just wanted to make use of every minute he had left.
I won't tell anyone, he thought, I don't want them worried about me. They need to focus on fighting Rasputin, not on an ill old man. The other six billion lives in the world are too precious.
The autumnal landscape rolled by, the usually brilliant colors dulled by the overcast sky. A few dry leaves caught in the car's draft whirled past the windows. Through the windshield Broom spotted the white buildings of the above ground portion of the BPRD; he was almost home. The Professor ran his fingers over the beads of his rosary, silently praying everyone was still safe.
Rasputin doesn't have a habit of staying dead; I knew he would come back eventually, Broom thought, I just didn't expect it would be so soon, or now, when I'm dying. And now Rasputin is ahead of us. We're in the dark. We will only know what he chooses to reveal, and he will only reveal enough to ensure we fall into his trap.
And Hellboy…what does Rasputin want with my son? The question, fueled by his fatherly protective instincts, was pointless: Broom had always known, as a father and a paranormal expert. He hadn't needed Erica to tell him the truth when he had found Hellboy in the ruins of Trondham Abbey.
Rasputin was back to claim Hellboy as his own. To make Hellboy the Prince of Hell on Earth.
Professor Broom stared blindly out the window, imagining his son standing tall and defiant before Rasputin. The image filled him with pride.
It was true he couldn't be sure that Hellboy would refuse to cooperate. A demon was a demon; nothing would ever change that. But Professor Broom had faith in his son; he had brought Hellboy up as best he could. In the end only Hellboy could decide what he would do.
And Broom was certain his son would make the right choice.
XXXXX
Gate Entrance to the BPRD
Late Afternoon
Myers's moped growled down the street, the tires kicking up dry brown leaves and pieces of garbage lying on the pavement. He shivered as the chill autumn wind buffeted him; overhead the grey cloudy sky seemed to promise rain.
What am I getting myself into? Myers wondered. He knew next to nothing about his new job, and yet, here he was. Driving into the unknown, with nothing but two suitcases and a duffle bag strapped to the back of his moped. He spotted a gate up ahead, and an unusually shaped white building.
Am I in the right place? He stopped his moped at the gate and gazed past the metal bars at the building; there were two huge statues to the left and right, and a fire-filled metal basin on a high pedestal in front of the building. Myers turned away from the unusual sight and inspected the tarnished brass sign on one of the white stone gate posts. The sign proclaimed "Squeaky Clean WASTE MANAGEMENT Services".
Myers dug a crinkled paper out of his pocket and checked the address, then the directions. He had followed them correctly. Somebody must have really screwed up on this, he thought, pushing the paper back into his pocket. He was about to turn around and leave when it occurred to him that the top secret government facility might be hiding under a false name. The rest of the information he had gotten had been very sparse, so it made sense.
Besides, a place that proclaims 'Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defense' for the entire world to see would probably be too mobbed to get anything done, he thought. He glanced at the call buttons below the sign. It won't hurt to ask. And if I'm wrong, maybe they can give me directions.
He reached for one of the buttons.
Here goes nothing.
XXXXX
Abandoned Subway Area
Furnace Room
Late Afternoon
The hellish glow of a raging inferno was thrown against the rusty metal walls of the furnace room; the light from the flames in the furnace escaped through two square windows set into the boiler's thick doors. Shadows danced through the room accompanied by the flickering, red light.
Kroenen liked it that way. He was quite at home among the steam and the smoke that seeped out through cracks in the ancient furnace. It reminded him of his goal: the release of the Ogdru Jahad, who would burn the Earth and create a paradise from the ashes of the old world.
He sat at a worm-eaten wooden desk he had found in the nearby basement of a closed orphanage; Grigory had chosen to stay in the underground, abandoned parts of the city to avoid detection by the BPRD. An old overhead light dangled from the ceiling by a fraying cord; it cast a harsh, dim glow on Kroenen's current work: he was sharpening his blades in preparation for nightfall. They didn't really need it—he never allowed his equipment to fall into anything resembling disrepair—but he needed something to keep him occupied.
Ilsa leaned casually against one of the walls, smoking a cigarette and watching Kroenen. He was not a pretty sight. He had his shirt off and the cadaverous, scarred flesh of his torso was crisscrossed with fresh cuts and black stitches—all evidence of his surgical addiction. Rasputin's disregard for Kroenen had finally gotten to the clockwork assassin; Kroenen had turned to his only source of pleasure in an effort to alleviate his mental pain.
Ilsa waited for him to acknowledge her presence, though she knew from long experience that he would not. Then again, he might not know she was there; the harsh grating sound of his dagger on the whetstone was more than loud enough to have covered the sound of her footsteps when she had arrived.
"Looking forward to meeting your Angel, I see," Ilsa finally said, exhaling a stream of cigarette smoke.
Kroenen continued working, but answered her. "Ja. Finally, after all these years, someone actually worth killing."
"But not before you have some fun first, over the next few days," Ilsa said, smiling wickedly. "I wish I could be there with you tonight. I would relish the sight of her blood."
"So will I. And there will be so many opportunities for me to spill more of it between now and when we finish with her in Russia." He held the blade up to the light so he could admire the razor sharp edge. "I'll make her beg me to kill her before I'm through with her," he murmured.
"Ilsa…" Grigory called; his voice snaked sinuously through the underground maze.
Ilsa half-turned, intent on leaving to answer her Master's summons. "It would appear he doesn't want me talking to you, too."
Kroenen shrugged in answer. He was thinking positively; focused on the night ahead and his first opportunity at revenge.
"You don't care, do you?" Ilsa asked. She knew it wasn't true; the new slashes on his chest proved it. But some sadistic part of her wanted to hear him admit it, to hear him admit that he needed Rasputin—that he needed her.
"I earned my punishment through my actions. It is only fitting I be forced to bear it," he replied, neatly evading her question.
Ilsa's lips contorted in a snarl. "Fine, arschloch. Don't get carried away with your knives—we need you in one piece for tonight." She stubbed out her cigarette on the wall and threw a glare at him over her shoulder as she strode out. When she was gone the roar of the flames in the furnace was all the louder, as if compensating for the silence.
Kroenen didn't give Ilsa's words a second thought; she was just in one of her moods again. He restlessly ran his hands over the blades laid out on his desk. Blades that will soon be stained with my Angel's blood, he thought with satisfaction. He could barely contain his excitement; he would have paced the room if he didn't have so much self control.
This time compassion would not interfere. He didn't have any. He HATED Erica. There would be no consideration for their former friendship, no mercy for his rebelled student.
He impatiently tapped the fingertips of his mechanical hand against the table; his fingers moved like a spider's legs, impatient to pounce upon its prey. Kroenen's eyes fell on his left wrist and Erica's initials that he had gouged into his flesh sixty years ago. He would pay her back for the loss of his hand, too, he decided. Though he did almost appreciate that she had given him the chance to explore his talents with science and black magic…
Kroenen's skeletal grin widened as a brilliant idea came to him. Perhaps I should return the favor.
XXXXX
The BPRD
Repair Room
Evening
Erica hovered over the work table in one of the BPRD's repair rooms; most of the time the room was used by technicians who needed to fix equipment Hellboy had wrecked in the course of a mission. She was alone; Abe had left to swim in his tank while he waited for Agent Myers to arrive. He had wanted to meet the new Agent immediately, to see if the young man was up for his new job.
Erica had just finished sharpening her baton swords and oiling her wrist blades' release and locking mechanisms. She carefully replaced the baton swords in their black leather sheaths and wrapped each of the wrist blades in cloth so she wouldn't cut herself carrying them. I'll take these to the garage, she thought. That way they'll be in the garbage truck when I need them.
She picked up the small pile and stepped out into the hall. Two floors up, turn right, then left, she thought to herself, planning the shortest route. She heard voices around the next corner; two men. Agents, she thought. She didn't bother to listen to the voices; she was focused on her task. She started to turn the corner. I wonder how Clay is? I haven't see him since—
At that exact moment a young man came around the corner—and ran into her. The impact knocked the blades from her arms, but Erica stayed upright; she had braced herself a split second before the man ran into her. The young man, however, reeled backwards and nearly bumped into Professor Broom behind him.
"Sorry!" the young man said as he caught his balance. Without looking up at her he immediately knelt and reached for the scattered cloth-wrapped blades he'd knocked from her arms. "I'm so sorry! I didn't see you. It figures; my first day here and I already—is this a knife?"
He stood up, holding the blades. The one on top was a baton sword in its leather sheath; he stared at it like he'd just realized what he'd so hastily picked up. The young man finally directed his wide-eyed gaze at her.
"Ja. They're mine," she said, taking the blades from him as he held them out.
Professor Broom smiled and stepped up beside the young man. "Agent Myers, this is Erica Schwarz, another of our Special Agents."
"Uh, pleased to meet you," Myers said, shaking her hand. He ran a hand through his hair nervously. "I'm really sorry about your…knives."
"It's alright," she replied, smiling. Myers noticed her smiled was a little lopsided, distorted by the scar on her cheek, but it was sincere. Some of his nervousness evaporated. His eyes returned to the knives she held in her hands.
"What are they for?"
"Monster hunting," she said automatically. Then she realized Broom might not have told Myers what the BPRD did; she hastily looked at the Professor, who nodded reassuringly.
"It's alright," Professor Broom said, "I've been explaining our work."
"You really hunt monsters, huh?" Myers asked. He was obviously still getting used to the idea.
"Ja. I know something about monsters," she said darkly, averting her eyes from Myers and the blades in her arms; the knives suddenly reminded her too much of Kroenen.
"But why don't you use a gun?" Myers asked.
"Blades don't need to be reloaded."
Broom cleared his throat to get their attention. "We can talk as we continue on our way," Broom said, "Erica, come with us. I was explaining our current situation. Perhaps you could help fill in some details?"
Erica nodded and fell in step beside them; she and Myers slowed their pace so they stayed even with the limping Professor.
"You're a Special Agent? Like the fish guy?" Myers asked. Erica nodded. "Have you worked here long? Wait, you couldn't have. I mean, you're what? Twenty-two?"
Erica felt a little tense; she was already imagining what Myers's reaction to her would be when he found out she wasn't as 'normal' as he thought she was. New Agents always ended up asking questions that brought up unpleasant personal things, unintentionally throwing salt on the Special Agents' already open wounds. But if Abe can endure Myers's questions, I can, she thought, It's only the umpteenth time we've gotten a new Agent, after all.
"Nein, I'm eighty two," Erica replied.
Myers came to a sudden stop. He looked at her disbelievingly, but then his lips slid into a smile. "I see how it is, pick on the new guy. Very funny."
"I'm not joking," she gently insisted.
"That's impossible. You'd have been alive during WWII—"
"And she was," Professor Broom said, clearing his throat, "She's a former member of the Thule Occult Society that I mentioned earlier."
Erica flinched. Myers didn't notice, but Broom cast a sympathetic glance her way.
"You can't be serious," Myers insisted, "She'd look old; she'd have to be immortal—"
"I am," she said, "And before you say you don't believe me, it's no more unlikely than monster hunting. Which you are currently being employed to help with."
Myers was about to protest when he realized she had a point. "Okay," he said, taking a deep breath. He ran a hand through his hair again. "You're eighty two."
"To return to our current situation…" Broom said. "Background information: our current problem is the result of a battle that took place sixty years ago. At the time, Erica was a member of the Thule Society and the National Socialist German Workers' Party—"
"You're a Nazi?!" Myers blurted out. He stared at her with a mixture of shock and anger.
Erica shot the new Agent a look full of poison, despite knowing that Myers would have found out eventually. "Ex-Nazi," she insisted, her voice harsh, "Let the Professor continue."
"At least that explains why you speak German," Myers muttered; he looked at her mistrustfully.
"As I was saying," Broom continued, "Erica was an assassin for both, known commonly as the Angel of Death. But she betrayed the Nazis."
Myers raised his eyebrows in surprise and looked at her; Erica returned his gaze with a look that said 'I-told-you-so'. Professor Broom continued, "She sent information to me that would allow the Allied Forces to prevent the Thule Society and Grigory Rasputin from unleashing the Seven Gods of Chaos. We succeeded, and Rasputin was—so we thought—destroyed."
"And now he's back?" Myers guessed.
The Professor nodded and rewarded him with a proud smile. "As well as his accomplices Karl Kroenen and Ilsa Haupstien. Of the two, the former is the one we're most concerned about. Kroenen is undead, and an assassin; he has a personal vendetta against Erica because of her betrayal."
"After sixty years? He has one hell of a grudge against you," Myers observed.
"He was the Head of the Thule Occult Society. And my friend. Of course he does."
"So he's trying to kill you?"
"Yes. Which is another reason I'm carrying these knives."
"So you want me to help you fight them?" Myers asked the Professor.
"Not exactly. We want you to be part of the BPRD, part of the big machine that supports the ones that do the fighting," Broom explained.
"This is a lot to take in," Myers said, "I think it'll make more sense when I can actually see some of it."
"Sometimes the realest things in life are the things you can't see; the things you haven't seen," Erica said.
"Like ghosts?" Myers asked skeptically.
"Exactly."
"Jesus. Ghosts are real, too?"
"Ja."
"Really."
"You don't believe in ghosts because you haven't seen one, correct?" Erica said. Myers nodded. "But you believe in God, don't you, Agent Myers? And I'm willing to bet you've never seen Him either. Or Hell, or Heaven. Yet you believe."
Professor Broom smiled. Myers was simply lost for words. He was humbled. How am I supposed to answer that? He wondered.
Erica's expression softened. "Keep an open mind, Agent Myers. Your transition here will be easier that way." She looked up and realized where they were; the stairs to the floor the garage was on were only a few feet away. "I have to be going; I need to take these blades up to the garage," she told the Professor. She turned to Myers. "It was nice meeting you. I hope you decide to stay; I think you'd be a valuable addition to our team." She smiled at Myers and started for the stairs.
"You do?" Myers asked.
Erica paused on the bottom step. "Ja, I do. I think you've handled all the information rather well. No screaming, cursing, tears…" she grinned, "Good luck, Agent."
And with that she started up the stairs, her footsteps echoing loudly off the grey concrete walls.
XXXXX
New York
The Machen Library
Night
CRACK!
The wet sound of the library guard's skull shattering under the blow of the sledgehammer was deafening in the silence of the dark alley. Ilsa smiled as the man collapsed; she wiped a drop of his warm blood from her cheek and then casually reached down and relieved the dead man of his ring of keys. She ignored the mass of blood and bone that had been the guard's head and gracefully stepped over him to reach the back door of the Machen Library. The key turned soundlessly in the well oiled lock and in a moment she was inside. The library was dead quiet. But not for long, she thought, smiling secretively. She avoided the security cameras and edged open the door to a back staircase. She slipped inside and started climbing; she only needed to go up a floor or two.
Kroenen, meanwhile, was on the roof. The concrete was wet from the brief rain earlier in the day, and dead leaves lay plastered against the rough surface. Kroenen knelt among them, peering down through a yellow tinted skylight. Inside the museum the lights were dim and the room was empty, save for the statues staring with empty eyes from the glass cases.
The clockwork man inspected the skylight; like the others on the roof, the museum curator had neglected to have security devices put on it when he'd had the museum's security system installed. Kroenen quickly removed the rusted bolts that held the skylight down and then set the edge of a crowbar under the lip of the skylight. He levered down; the edge of the skylight separated from the roof with a soft cracking sound as the old caulk gave way. He paused, waiting to see if any of the guards inside had heard. When no one appeared on the floor below, Kroenen returned to his task, working his way around the four sides of the skylight. The cold wind blew away the shreds of cracked, dry caulk that fell to the roof.
When I get inside I'll climb down the wall, cross the floor, and climb one of the balcony columns, he thought, inspecting the room from his vantage point as he worked. I can wait there unseen until Ilsa is on the same floor.
He slid his gloved fingers under the edge of the skylight and pulled it up enough so he could slip inside when he was ready.
A few simple murders to start the night off right, Kroenen thought. He felt exhilarated. Below him, a bored and unsuspecting guard passed through the room, doing his rounds. Give life to the Hound of Resurrection. And then to meet with Erica.
His scarred face twitched as he unconsciously tried to grin. He would enjoy this. Immensely.
XXXXX
The BPRD
Garage
Night
Within minutes of the alarms screaming out "CODE RED!" at the volume of an air raid siren, Hellboy and Agent Clay strode into the BPRD's garage with Myers in tow. As usual the huge concrete room was a beehive of activity. Myers looked around, obviously dizzied by the hustle and bustle as agents raced by with their ties flapping.
Hellboy spotted Erica and Abe—both smiling—carrying Abe's respirator and other equipment up the ramp of the renovated garbage truck.
"Nice to see somebody's happy around here," Hellboy said, pausing in the middle of the doorway. His tail swished from side to side and nearly tripped a passing agent.
"Abe and Erica, you mean?" Clay asked; he looked sideways at Hellboy. "You haven't heard?"
"Heard what?"
"They're…together," the Agent said and nodded at the truck.
"Really? Huh." Hellboy grinned and started towards the truck just as Erica left it, headed for a pile of crates a few meters from the truck.
Hellboy stomped up the ramp, grinning at the fish man. "Blue, all these years I thought you were a fish. Turns out you're really a lovebird, huh?"
As Hellboy had expected, Abe's gills fluttered rapidly and turned a dark red-orange; his face flushed to a deep blue. "I—um—" the fish man stuttered, caught off guard by Hellboy's words.
"Good to know you two finally got it together," Hellboy said, genuinely happy. He clapped his friend on the back so hard Abe was knocked forward a few inches. "I was worried you were too shy!"
"…Thanks?" Abe replied.
Meanwhile Myers was still standing in the doorway to the garage, feeling lost and stupid and sheepish. What am I supposed to be doing? he wondered as he watched the agents making their own preparations for the mission.
"Myers!" someone called; the voice was undeniably seasoned with a German accent. Erica, Myers thought; he turned and, sure enough, saw Erica beckoning to him. He hesitated; now that he saw her from far away he realized that her clothes—especially the black trench coat—reminded him of an SS soldier. No, he thought, reassuring himself as he walked towards her, it's alright; she betrayed them. She works here. The Professor said she's nice…
"Here," Erica said; she tossed something at him. Myers caught it automatically and was a surprised to see he was holding a handgun and a packet of bullets.
"You'll need that," Erica explained, "It can get dangerous."
"Then why aren't you armed?" Myers asked.
"Hey, Boy Scout!" Hellboy yelled, leaning around the corner of the truck. Feeling humiliated, and even more so that he answered to the nickname, Myers turned around to see the red demon pointing at him with a stone finger. "I'd listen to her. You're in for a crash course in fightin' monsters."
"O-kay..." Myers muttered under his breath. When he turned back to Erica she was expertly flipping a long dagger into the air with one hand; there was a mischievous glint in her eyes.
"What the— Where did that come from?"
For answer she caught the blade in her left hand, then reached down into her right boot and, to Myer's surprise, drew the dagger's twin from somewhere inside. Erica flipped both knives into the air; Myers couldn't help but follow the blades' glittering arc until she skillfully caught them again by the hilts.
"I'm always armed," she said in explanation. In one fluid movement she slid the daggers back into her jackboots and bent over to rummage through the crate again. "Here. Standard issue," she said, handing him an earphone and a belt with equipment clipped to it.
"Uh, thanks…By the way—and you don't have to answer this, but—the knives…are you really an assassin?"
Erica grinned at him. "I'm not an assassin; I'm a health alteration specialist with a permit for concealed weapons," she said lightly. "Sounds much more positive than 'assassin', doesn't it?"
His reaction must have shown on his face because her smile widened and she said, "Just kidding. I used to be. Comes in handy now. Any other questions?"
Questions? My head is full of them! Myers thought. He picked the first that came to mind and nodded towards the garbage truck. "Does he really hate me?"
"Hellboy? I doubt it. He's always a little gruff after he's been grounded. By the way, when you're ready, get in the passenger's seat of the garbage truck. You're Hellboy's liaison; you travel with us."
She turned around and headed for the garbage truck's ramp, leaving Myers's head spinning. But at least I have a course of action now, he thought, clipping on the belt.
"Why is it always Halloween when these things happen?" Hellboy asked the air as Erica came up the ramp.
"I doubt it's a coincidence," Abe said as he pulled on his gloves. "Volker's warning, Rasputin's resurrection—" he was interrupted by the sound of the closing ramp and starting engine.
"Oh well. At least I get to shoot something," Hellboy said; he ran his hand over the battered box that contained his cannon-sized gun. The truck started forward and he braced himself against the sudden movement. He glanced at Erica, who was securing her wrist blades to her arms. She slipped a dagger into her belt and reached for her baton swords. "Uh, E? What're you doin'?"
"It doesn't hurt to be prepared," she answered. Her voice was muffled as she leaned over to strap the black leather sheaths to her legs. "Grigory and the others could be here by now. If I'm unprepared, with my luck that'll be when Kroenen decides to show up; I have no desire to be at his complete mercy again."
HB grunted in response and slid back the thick metal door that covered the one-way-mirror window. Bright city lights glared out from the darkness.
Erica's stomach twisted uneasily; a premonition. Or stress, given what's happened over the past day or so, she thought. But no. She knew better than to ignore her instincts; if something told her she was in danger, she had better listen. Kroenen had taught her that. An image of Kroenen's mask appeared in her mind's eye and she shuddered and pulled her trench coat tighter around her body. What if I do run into him?
You'll do exactly what you think you should, Abe thought at her.
Hellboy turned on the radio. "Bad Moon Risin'," he muttered, grimacing. He turned it off again. "Not a good omen."
Author's Notes: I hope everyone liked how Erica and Myers met; I felt having them meet in Broom's study was overdone, so I tried to be creative. And I always wondered how Ilsa got into the library, so I came up with my own answer. As for how Kroenen got in, there really is a skylight. You can see it when Sammael is hanging from the ceiling. I hope everyone enjoyed the chapter; please review!