Chapter 14: Bittersweet Memories
Disclaimer: Hellboy characters do not belong to me. However, Erica Schwarz, Luke, the other werewolves, Brittany, and the plot that isn't from the movie belong to me.
Author's Notes: A huge thank you to those who reviewed! I'll cut this short so you can get to reading, since I've been holding you all in suspense for two months! In this chapter Kroenen's confrontation with Erica continues, with a plot twist and a big surprise! As always here are the German to English translations: 'Ja' is yes, and 'Mein Gott' is My God. Enjoy the chapter!
Psycho Llama: Hehe! That belt buckle thing was in there for a reason! (wink wink) just me working in subtle hints to possibly play upon later…Oh dear, I can only imagine what you would have had Erica do to surprise Kroenen!
musicamode: Huge fight scene continued here, of course, and with lots more of the werewolves!
Elena Unduli: Eeek! If you thought that last chapter was late, I shall duck the pens bound to be chucked in my direction for the lateness of this one!
DarkCloudRider: Oh, don't worry, Abe will be angry. And he and Kroenen are going to have, shall we say, issues, in the near future. And I suppose you might be able to kill Kroenen by severing his brainstem, but as you have seen from their past fights, Erica can't get close enough to do any significant damage!
Syraka:A new reviewer! Yay! AndI agree! And she will…sort of.
amyltrer: Yes, can you imagine: Kroenen-Now that I've scared you half to death and tried to kill you, lets go out for dinner! Erica-Eep!
dontRememberMyName: Another new reviewer! Woohoo! Thanks, I really enjoy writing Kroenen's perspective; I like showing that he's a complex person, and not just and insane murderer.
"For here the lover and killer are mingled, Who had one body and one heart. And death who had the soldier singled, Has done the lover mortal hurt."—Keith Douglas
"From the deepest desires often come the deadliest hate."—Socrates
"When digging a ditch for your enemy, dig two."—American Proverb
An Alley in New York
Erica's eyes locked on Kroenen as he stalked towards her; the twin blades in his hands shone brightly in the moonlight, eager for her blood.
Oh God oh God oh GOD, Erica thought, squeezing her eyes shut as she pressed her back against the cold, concrete wall behind her. A tear trickled from the corner of her eyelids. I don't want to die like this… Suddenly, she paused; her thought was filling her with an overwhelming emotion that she could not name, but it was certainly not despair. I don't want to die like this, she thought again, seizing that one, desperate thought, that determination to live at all costs. One thought, one purpose entered her mind, spurring her to action: I am NOT going to die like this!
Her eyes flew open. They locked on Kroenen. And then something inside her snapped. A tide of murderous rage violently spewed out and swept her up.
The next thing she knew she was hurling herself at Kroenen, bridging the few remaining yards between them with her blades whirling towards his head.
Kroenen neatly sidestepped Erica's attack and kicked her feet out from under her; she crashed to the ground face-first. He looked down at her as she moaned and hissed and rolled over; he was surprised she still had enough energy to attack him. But then again, the fear of death made people do strange things, and rage often lent a few moments of extra energy. In any case he wasn't worried: on a good day Erica could injure him, but at the moment she was too tired to do any real damage. He decided he would torment her until she was too weak to move; it would be like harassing a chained dog. Once she's exhausted I'll cut off her hand and then leave, he thought; his skeletal grin widened.
He watched as Erica tried to push herself to her feet, and just as she started to get up, he kicked her in the ribs. HARD. She fell to the ground with a cry; Kroenen strode over to her and kicked her again, and again, his boot impacting her ribs each time with a dull thud. Erica shrieked and curled up on the ground; Kroenen stood over her, savoring her bloodcurdling scream, the sweet sound of revenge. And he had barely started.
He walked around her prone form, watching and waiting. Her breathing had changed to a hoarse gasp; he had knocked the air out of her. How lovely. He reached down and grabbed her face and forced her to look up at him, and raised his other hand to hit her—he stopped and stared, transfixed by her expression.
Erica was enraged. Her face was contorted by a snarl and murder flashed in her grey eyes. She didn't just want to hurt him, she wanted to kill him, as impossible as it might be. All reason, all sanity, had vanished from her face. Kroenen stared, entranced. He had seen that expression many times in the past.
On his Angel. As she had been. His Angel.
Erica lunged at him and her blade sank into his arm. Kroenen pulled away; long dead emotions and memories stirred inside him, broke their restraints, and surged through him, and suddenly he wasn't sure how he wanted to respond. He backed away but she came at him, and, desperate for time to deal with his rampant emotions and memories, Kroenen abruptly sheathed his baton swords, sidestepped, and seized her arms as she passed him. Quickly, he twisted one of her arms up behind her back and slammed her front into the nearest wall; he leaned all his weight against her, securely pinning her there.
Erica's body was crushed against the cold, rough brick by Kroenen's weight. Blinded by anger she thrashed and struggled and bucked, trying to get free—and then Kroenen twisted her arm. Erica hissed in pain and instinctively tried to pull away—he twisted again. Erica felt her muscles and ligaments straining; they were on the verge of ripping.
"Drop your blades," the assassin demanded.
Erica snarled defiantly in response and then had to stifle a scream as he, with the precision of a doctor, twisted her arm until it was on the threshold of being wrenched from its socket.
"Drop. Your. Swords," he growled in her ear. This time she couldn't help but obey—the blades were already slipping from her pain-weakened fingers. Her baton swords clanged against the pavement as they landed.
Kroenen released his grip and grabbed her by the shoulders and roughly spun her around. He stared down at her face; angry, predatory eyes the color of the craters on the moon stared back at him.
He stared at her. Simply stared. Something akin to panic bubbled up inside him. Am I doing the right thing? he wondered. Of course he was. Or was he? Was this, Erica's pain, her suffering, and eventually her death, really what he wanted to happen to his Angel? His closest friend? His student? He had sworn he would never hurt her. And though she had betrayed him, here she was; she wasn't gone as he had thought, wasn't the alien being he had expected, wasn't changed beyond recognition or empathy. Perhaps she still cared about—
NO! Kroenen thought angrily, I will NOT let this happen AGAIN! But his determination faded as fast as it had appeared and was replaced by more doubts that spawned rage—at himself. Why was this happening again? He had to do something; he had to—no, wanted to—complete what he had set out to do, but the anger and hate that had driven him for the past sixty years was fading fast. He needed that anger, he clung to it; he desperately needed it back in full force so he could follow through with what he had set out to do. Kroenen dug his fingers into Erica's shoulders and he slammed her back against the wall as hard as he could.
"Tell me you hate me!" he yelled.
Kroenen's words cut through Erica's red fog of bloodlust like a cold shard of ice. It jarred her so much that her reasoning her mind surfaced again and was immediately confronted with the alien—yet disturbingly familiar—murderous rage coursing through her veins; an animal presence sharing her skin with her. What the HELL am I DOING?! she wondered frantically.
"Tell me you hate me! Say it!" he demanded; he shook her so hard that her head smacked into the wall behind her.
Erica, her head now throbbing with pain, stared up at Kroenen in astonishment. Is he insane? What does he mean? Why would he say something like that? Then she knew. The other presence in her; her uncontrolled rage—she was acting like she had during WWII. No restraint. No fear. No mercy. Kroenen had pushed her to the point that, for her to survive, her past self had broken free. And to judge by how Kroenen was acting, she was not the only one who had noticed.
"SAY it!" Kroenen's harsh voice was hoarse with anger and something else that vaguely resembled pleading.
Erica stared at him, shocked by a sudden thought: she was afraid of him—but did she truly hate him? He had committed horrible acts, had tried to kill her, and she despised those acts, but did she despise him? How could she, when his actions against her were partially her own fault?
"Erica—Angel—SAY IT! TELL ME YOU HATE ME!"
Kroenen waited, breathing hard, hoping—no, knowing—she would curse at him, denounce him, threaten him, swear terrible oaths. Erica's blood covered lips parted as she started to speak.
"But, I—I don't hate you."
Kroenen felt something shatter explosively inside him—like a glass globe bursting at a sudden change in temperature. Disbelief and shock shot through him as he stared at her.
"What…did…you…say?" he whispered; his voice trembled. His mask was now so close to her face that her eyelashes were nearly brushing against the smooth, dark glass that hid his eyes.
"I don't hate you," she murmured. Her voice was barely audible.
The clockwork assassin knew she was telling the truth; there was no lie in the grey eyes he could read so well. She doesn't hate me, he thought, staring at her. She doesn't hate me! Kroenen's shock abruptly transformed into anger—at himself—at Erica—How dare she not hate him! How DARE she!
Kroenen backhanded her across the face so hard that the sound of his leather glove hitting her cheek made a sharp crack. Erica only stared up at him, her grey eyes wide. Her lack of response infuriated him even more; without knowing what he was doing or why, he hit her again and hurled her away from him; he suddenly couldn't bear to touch her. Erica reeled backwards, her arms out flung as she tried to regain her balance.
Erica's head spun as bright stars exploded in front of her eyes and her ears rang; she shakily put a hand up to her face and felt warm, slippery blood trickling down from her nose and over her lips.
"DAMN YOU!" Kroenen yelled.
Confused by his reaction, Erica blinked dizzily at him, which only seemed to feed his anger; Kroenen raised his hand again and Erica flinched, expecting another blow—instead his hands closed around her throat and tightened mercilessly, his fingers as unyielding as metal as they pressed into her skin. The assassin picked her up with unnerving ease and pushed her against the wall—and held her there. Erica tore at his iron fingers, trying desperately to pry them from her throat as she choked and her feet dangled above the ground like those of a marionette left hanging on a peg.
"Karl…!" she gasped.
"Hold your tongue or I'll cut it OUT!"
Erica kicked at him and felt her foot smash into his ribs—
"AAARRROOOooooooooooh!" A piercing, unearthly howl shattered the night.
Erica and Kroenen froze. Another howl went up into the air, followed a moment later by another, and another, and another, the baying drawing nearer by the moment. Werewolves, Erica thought. And they were close. Very close. Abruptly several werewolves appeared on the roofs surrounding the dead end; their teeth glittered and their eyes gleamed in the moonlight. A few began climbing down the walls of the buildings to make room for the others quickly arriving behind them.
"Hey, cutie!" Erica's eyes darted upwards at the familiar voice. Luke, her air starved brain thought as she spotted the scruffy werewolf with the half-slack face above her on the roof. He winked at her and grinned, displaying a mouth full of long, sharp teeth.
"The cavalry's here, girl!" Luke yelled down, grinning.
Kroenen glanced quickly up at the werewolves, and then the dark voids that covered his eyes focused on Erica again. His fingers tightened around her throat, crushing her windpipe, and tears of pain ran from the corners of her eyes.
"YOU HELLSPAWN!" Kroenen snarled at her.
"Get him!" Luke yelled.
The werewolves leapt from the rooftops and landed in a scattering of dirt and loose stones from the pavement. Kroenen hesitated, looking from Erica to the oncoming werewolves and back again—and then he dropped her. Before she hit the ground he was climbing up the sheer wall; the werewolves snapped and snarled at him, a few even started up after him. But the clockwork assassin had reached the roof. He paused for a moment, silhouetted against the moon, and looked down at them, as if committing the werewolves' snarling faces to memory so he could slaughter them in revenge later.
"I left a little gift for you at the library, Erica," Kroenen hissed, "Watch for me in your dreams; I'll be in your head. Sleep with one eye open."
Then he was gone.
"Yeah! We kick butt!" a werewolf yelled, breaking the tense silence. He stood up on his hind legs and performed an impromptu victory dance.
As the werewolves laughed and slapped each others' paws in celebration, Erica knelt on the ground on all fours, taking in big, dizzying gulps of the cold, delicious air. A shiver danced its way down her spine as Kroenen's foreboding parting words repeated themselves over and over her head, like a record that had gotten stuck.
"Baby, I think someone's got it in for you," Luke said. Erica looked up and met Luke's honey brown eyes and wolfish muzzle as he peered down into her face.
"No, really?" Erica said sarcastically.
Luke only grinned. "Obviously you're okay, then."
Erica spit out the blood in her mouth and licked cautiously at her split lip. "I'll live," she said, and cracked a smile at him through the dried blood on her face. Then she paused. "I'm alive," she said, barely able to believe it.
"Glad to hear it," Luke grinned, showing off his sharp canine teeth. "Oh, by the way, saying 'I told you so' doesn't quite cover this."
"Your warning was more than a little vague."
Luke shrugged. "Well, the paranormal underground information—more like rumor—network isn't very specific about these things…"
He held out a paw to Erica; she gripped it and, with lots of wincing and a great deal of effort, managed to haul herself to her feet.
"Thanks," she said. He nodded and handed her baton swords to her; she slid them into the sheaths on her legs.
"We'll help you get wherever you're going," Luke said. "Don't want him following you again." He nodded meaningfully in the direction of the rooftops.
Erica nodded, then leaned against the wall for support and rubbed at her bruised throat; she could feel Luke's eyes studying her. She knew she was a mess—her entire body felt like one big ache. She closed her eyes and rested her forehead on the cool brick; all she wanted to do was to go home, take some aspirin, and go to sleep.
"So…where to?" asked a small black werewolf. Erica raised her head and blinked as she recognized the werewolf as the large 'dog' she had run into in the alley.
"Um…the Machen Library," Erica answered wearily. She felt very far away and hoped the feeling wasn't due to blood loss from internal bleeding; Kroenen had kicked her ribs pretty hard. "I hope you know how to get there—I'm lost."
"No problem. Are you meeting anyone there?"
"Ja. Some of the agents, Hellboy, Abe—" she stopped as reality woke her up like a bucket of ice water thrown over her head; her body stiffened. "Mein Gott! Abe will know I'm missing! He's probably freaking out! And I can't tell him I'm safe: Kroenen took my earphone!"
"Then we'd better be fast. Can you walk?" Luke asked.
"Uh…sure," Erica said, feeling unsure. She pushed away from the wall and took a few unsteady steps. "As long as it isn't far."
"I could always carry you," Luke said, winking. The other werewolves chuckled.
Erica was too tired to be irritated or find any humor in the situation, so she just shook her head and started walking. A moment later she was surrounded by a surge of furry bodies as her escort of werewolves led the way, some on two legs and some on four. When they left the dead end and stepped into the dark alley, they left the moonlight behind, and Erica was briefly startled as the werewolves shifted shape; she was suddenly surrounded by a ragtag group of humans of all ages and races. Luke adjusted his leather jacket and she caught a glimpse of the black thorn tattoos on his shoulders and arms.
"I didn't know you were Native American," she remarked.
He grinned; his smile was just as maniacal as it was in his werewolf form. "And after the incident with you fighting Ezekiel and crew, I didn't expect you'd have trouble fighting anything."
Erica looked away from his intense gaze and reflexively scanned the rooftops for Kroenen's dark form. "It's a long story. He's an old friend; I betrayed him decades ago."
Luke's brow furrowed at 'decades', but to Erica's relief, he didn't ask her to explain.
"A ghost from your past back to haunt you?" Luke asked, quirking an eyebrow.
"As you saw, he's more interested in bloodshed than in haunting," she said darkly.
Luke grimaced. "Why did you betray him?"
Erica put a hand to her throbbing head and sighed; she was too tired to deal with this. "I don't have time to explain. And it's not a particularly pleasant memory—"
She paused mid-sentence as her eyes fell on the group of younger werewolves that was leading the way. One of them was a young girl with chin length blond hair; she appeared to be in her early teens, probably in her last year of middle school. Erica stared at the back of the girl's head; there was something instinctively familiar about the girl, the way she walked, that laugh…It was impossible, but Erica had a feeling she knew the girl from somewhere, that the girl was extremely important to her in some way. If only she could see the girl's face—!
"Luke," she said, whispering without knowing why, "That blond girl up there, what's her name?"
Luke glanced at the girl idly. "Brittany. Why?"
Erica's stomach clenched and her heart pounded as her throat constricted, holding back a sob. She froze in place and stared ahead at the girl, hardly believing that what she was seeing was real. My sister! She's my sister! My little SISTER Erica forgot her own injuries and pain as tears of joy welled up in her eyes; she ran towards Brittany and threw her arms around her, hugging her tightly.
"What the hell?!" Brittany yelped; she struggled and pulled away and turned around to glare at Erica. Erica didn't care; she stood smiling through the tears running down her cheeks, just looking at her little sister.
"What's wrong with you?" Brittany demanded.
"Brittany," Erica said, and tried to hug her again, but Brittany backed away. "I thought I'd never see you again!"
"What? How do you know my name?" Brittany's brow furrowed and she frowned.
"I'm your sister!"
Brittany looked at her doubtfully; a cold stab of desperation interrupted Erica's joy as she saw the suspicion in her sister's eyes. "Don't you recognize me?" Erica asked.
Brittany looked her up and down, and it suddenly dawned on Erica that recognizing her would be a difficult task: she'd been barely sixteen when Kroenen had magically dragged her into the past, and now she looked like she was twenty two. And on top of that, she was dressed head to foot in black, and her unevenly shorn hair was hanging around a face that was bruised and scarred and bloodied. She looked nothing like the teenage girl that had disappeared at the train station all those years ago.
"Brittany, please, it's me, Erica," she pleaded, "Don't you remember? I disappeared—"
"My sister," Brittany said stiffly, "hasn't been gone long enough to look like you."
"What can I say to convince you?"
Brittany thought for a moment. "Tell me what we had for breakfast the morning you disappeared."
"We had pancakes," Erica said, smiling as she remembered, "And you told me I'd get sick if I kept eating so fast. And a few days before, the musical at my high school got cancelled because Natalie fell off the stage. You told me not to feel responsible and that I could come to your sixth grade concert instead—"
Brittany gasped. "OH MY GOD! It IS you!" She hugged Erica and buried her face in Erica's leather trench coat. When Brittany looked up again there were tears in her eyes, and she hugged Erica tightly, as if she were afraid Erica would disappear again if she let go for a moment; Erica winced and gritted her teeth at the pressure exerted on her freshly bruised ribs.
"Where did you go?" Brittany asked. "And what the hell happened to you? You shouldn't look this much older; you've only been gone for a little over two years!"
"What happened to me? What happened to you? Since when have you been a werewolf?"
Brittany grinned. "Since you disappeared. My friend, Alice, was—is—a werewolf. Her whole family is. She knew I was depressed about you disappearing—I thought you'd been kidnapped or something—anyway, she asked if I wanted to be like her so we could sneak out and have fun. I thought she was just playing around, trying to cheer me up, so I agreed, and—and she bit me. That was when I found out she was telling the truth." Brittany shrugged and smiled. "It is fun, though. I wouldn't want it any other way."
Erica tore her eyes away from her sister to look at the pack of werewolves surrounding them; every single one was staring with their mouth hanging open.
"So…I guess you weren't at Richard and Agatha's house when I was there a few days ago with Abe, hmm?" Erica asked.
"No. I was late getting there—wait; you're the Erica who helped Luke kill off Ezekiel and those other werewolves?!" Erica nodded and Brittany looked up at her in awe. "Since when can you do that?!"
"Let's just say it's a long, long story," Erica said, smiling. Despite her wounds a warm, happy, glow-like feeling was settling over her. She knew she needed to get back to Professor Broom and the others, though. "I'll tell you while we walk to the Machen Library, how about that?"
Brittany nodded and they started walking, their arms around each other's shoulders. The other werewolves didn't move and continued to stare at the sisters.
"What?" Brittany demanded. "Come on!" Then to Erica, "So, does this story include why that masked guy was trying to kill you in the alley back there?"
"Ja."
"What?"
"Sorry. Force of habit. It's German for 'yes'. Now, the first thing we have to get straight is that I've really been gone for sixty years…"
XXXXX
The Rooftops of New York
Kroenen followed Erica's escort of werewolves from a distance; he had to stay downwind and out of hearing range so the werewolves wouldn't smell Erica's blood on his clothes, or detect the ticking of his clockwork heart.
The clockwork assassin walked the length of an apartment roof, and then took a running leap onto the sloped, slate roof of a church. He easily scaled the smooth surface, then grasped a column that supported the open bell tower, and swung himself onto the peak of the roof. He grinned manically up at the crucifix affixed to the bell tower, taking pride in how his presence desecrated the building. Then he turned his gaze earthwards again and peered into the night.
There she was, Erica and the werewolves, just a few alleys over, illuminated clearly in the blue moonlight. They were headed towards the library.
Kroenen didn't know why he was following Erica, or what he hoped to gain from it. It was just something he was doing. And in his current state of confusion and anger, he really didn't want to think at all. He stared at Erica's distant figure, remembering her haunting eyes—those eyes!—he had seen moments ago in the alley before the werewolves—damn them—had interrupted.
Angel…he thought, watching her. The sentimental nickname stirred the seething nest of angry snakes that seemed to have settled around his clockwork heart; they constricted, and a spark of fury exploded inside him.
"Stupid!" he snarled quietly, cursing himself. "Coward! Weak! Emotions make you weak!" He had trusted her, befriended her, allowed himself to become emotionally attached to her, and what had it gotten him? Betrayal, and this—this damned inability to dispense justice, to take revenge!
And why? Why couldn't he harm her when she deserved it? Why this—this emotion that stopped him?
You already know why, whispered a voice in the back of his head, The question is, will you face it?
Kroenen uneasily contemplated this, then turned his gaze back to Erica. He would follow her, and after that…he didn't know.
XXXXX
Outside the Machen Library
New York
"Hey, time travel? Visions? Nazis? Fighting monsters? Just look at me; I'm a werewolf. I know weird," Brittany said, "Of course I believe you. I'm sure weirder things than that have happened to people."
"They have," Erica agreed, "I see weird stuff every day at the BPRD."
The sound of voices and sirens ahead announced the end of the alley and their arrival at the front of the Machen Library. Erica peered out of the end of the alley; there were still swarms of curious people and reporters being held back by mounted police. A helicopter hovered overhead, raking the ground with spotlights.
Erica turned to Luke and the other werewolves, meeting everyone's eyes in turn. "Thank you all for your help; you saved my life tonight." She looked back at the library. "I have to go. You all should probably stay here; Tom Manning, the Head of Special Operations, has some insane idea that you all are working for Rasputin and need to be interrogated. And all the agents will be on edge after the Hell Hound thing; if they saw you in the moonlight…things would get bad, fast."
Luke nodded; his gold earrings jangled together. He gestured at the werewolves; they transformed smoothly to their werewolf forms and began slinking away into the night.
"See you," Luke said, and winked at Erica. A moment later he was gone, leaving Erica alone with Brittany.
"So…this is it, isn't it?" Brittany said. Tears sparkled in her eyes, and she looked at the ground. "When will I see you again?"
"I'll make arrangements at the BPRD so you can come and visit me. Or I could come home." Erica's voice caught on her last word; she felt her throat tighten as tears threatened to spill from her eyes. Home: she had been dreaming of it forever; she had been wishing, though she knew there was almost no hope, that she could see her parents and her sister again.
Brittany shook her head. "No. You can't. Mom and Dad don't know about me. And I don't think they'd believe it even if I transformed right in front of them. They're normal people, stuck in their ways. They won't believe you either. It'd be heartbreaking to see them turn you away…" Brittany stopped and sniffled softly. "You can't come home, because it isn't home anymore. Your home is with your friends: Hellboy, Abe, Liz, the Professor. Somewhere you'll be accepted for who you are. The way Richard and Agatha accept me. I still love Mom and Dad, but Agatha and Richard are my parents more than Mom and Dad will ever be. And I'm happy that way. And I'm even happier now that I know you're safe."
Erica nodded slowly, then reached into her pocket and took out the BPRD's business card; she gave it to Brittany.
"Squeaky Clean Waste Management Services?"
"It's an alias. Call me?"
"Okay. If you call me, our home number's still the same. So is my email address."
They hugged one last time. "Brittany, don't be worried if you don't hear from me for a few days…"
"Yeah, I know. You're up against something big. You can do it. You've survived time travel, Nazis, assassins, monsters….you can do this."
Erica smiled as Brittany pulled away and backed away down the alley, transforming into a blond-furred werewolf as she went; she looked like a really big golden retriever with human eyes.
"Goodbye," Brittany said. She waved, and then turned and loped off into the night, her tail wagging behind her.
"Goodbye," Erica whispered. And then, sniffling back her tears, she turned and walked towards the Machen library.
XXXXX
The Machen Library
New York
Professor Broom stared off into space, running his hand over his rosary beads as his lips moved in a silent prayer. A little distance away, Abe was crouched on the floor, slowly turning over the bright slivers of glass on the stone tiles in an attempt to look like he was doing something helpful. But there was nothing they could do for Erica now but wait. Broom's heart went out to the fish man and he gently put a hand on Abe's slumped shoulders—they could touch, now that Abe knew about the cancer that was slowly consuming Broom's body.
"She'll be all right," Broom said assuringly. "I saw her fight Kroenen; she can hold her own."
Abe nodded listlessly and returned his gaze to the floor. He couldn't help but stare at the black rose and the baton sword lying there, side by side; couldn't help but imagine the assassin stabbing Erica with that blade—Abe abruptly raised his head and cocked it to one side, psychically sensing someone's approach at the same time that he heard the familiar click of jackboots striking the museum's stone floor. His heart leaped.
"Erica," he murmured; he moved towards the doors.
The agents snapping photographs of the room moved aside as he wove between them, and then his view of the figure in the doorway was clear.
"Erica!"
"Abe!"
And then Erica was hugging him tightly, despite the respirator and equipment around his neck. She buried her face in his chest, and Abe wrapped his arms around her—
"Ow!" Erica cried, pulling away.
"What?"
"Not your fault," she gasped, "My ribs—"
Concerned, Abe ran his hand over her side. "They're only bruised."
"Good. I was worried…" she trailed off and looked up at him.
Abe felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as he looked down at her; she was a wreck. She was covered in smears of dirt and blood, and her hair—now several inches shorter than it should have been—hung in uneven strands around her face. Anger at the clockwork assassin flared up inside Abe as his gaze swept over Erica's bloody lips, the red marks on her cheeks from several direct punches to her face, and the ring of darkening bruises around her throat. A sudden desire to snap Kroenen's neck surfaced in Abe's mind as he assessed the damage to Erica's throat.
"Erica, I'm so s—
"Don't apologize," she interrupted, stopping him with a smile. She wiped at the blood on her lips with the back of her hand, then licked her lips and grimaced before she continued. "There was nothing you could do. Don't feel bad. I'm okay; considering I was expecting Kroenen to kill me, I'm happy to escape with a few bruises and scrapes."
"Hey, you're back too?"
They turned to see a very bedraggled Agent Myers standing in the museum's entrance.
"Oh my God," Myers said, staring at Erica. "You look like hell. What happened to you?"
"In layman's terms I just got my ass kicked by Kroenen," Erica said dryly. She tried in vain to push the short, uneven strands of hair out of her face.
"Did Kroenen ever actually manage to miss you?" Myers asked, still staring at her. He was clearly having second thoughts about his new job.
"Ja," Erica said, and looked past Myers. "Where's HB?"
Myers dropped his gaze and studied the floor, clearly embarrassed. "He ran off," the agent muttered.
"And we will be picking him up in a few moments," Professor Broom said, leaning heavily on his cane as he limped over. "Erica," he said, and smiled warmly, "You're back."
"And in one piece," she said, somehow managing a grin.
"And Kroenen?" the Professor asked.
"Gone. Luke and the other werewolves ran him off. They escorted me back."
Erica leaned against Abe, who still had his arms wrapped around her. It was so comforting to be back with him, to be in the artificial light of the museum, to feel safe. She closed her eyes; she was so tired…
"Erica, you and Abe will go back to the BPRD in the garbage truck," Professor Broom said, "Agent Myers and Agent Clay will accompany me to pick up my son. But before you leave, if you feel up to it, there's something here I'd like you to look at; I think it was left here for you…"
Erica's eyes snapped open. "Kroenen's gift," she murmured. Broom looked at her quizzically. "Before Kroenen vanished he told me he left something here for me, a 'gift'. Which probably means it's something dangerous and man-eating."
"Not quite," Broom said, and gestured with his cane at something on the floor inside the room.
Erica's eyes locked on the thing and she slipped out of Abe's embrace and over to the dark objects nestled among the glittering glass shards.
Outside the Machen Library, Kroenen stealthily climbed the last few feet of the Library's brick wall and grabbed the shallow lip of the windowsill, then cautiously peered over it into the brightly lit room where, barely an hour ago, he had slaughtered the library guards. He was unsurprised to find the room full of men painstakingly recording the scene as if it were an ordinary crime investigation. Kroenen's eyes flicked over the room, instantly picking out his target. Erica, he thought. She was standing over the objects he had left for her. Beside her was some sort of half man, half fish creature with a water filled collar around his neck; Kroenen studied the being with interest, wishing he had the opportunity to dissect the fish man. But perhaps another time.
"His baton sword," Erica said; her voice was muffled slightly through the glass. "He must have left it on purpose; he doesn't just leave his blades lying around. He doesn't like to leave evidence."
"Scare tactics?" Suggested an old man leaning on a cane. Despite the man's advanced age, and that the man had been soaking wet and bleeding the last time they had met, Kroenen recognized him: Professor Bruttenholm. I was going to kill you. How fortunate for you that Erica intervened.
Erica shrugged. "Probably," she agreed. From his vantage point, Kroenen's detail obsessed eyes spotted the bruises and blood on her face, and instead of triumph, felt a nagging sense of regret that irked him greatly.
Inside the library, Erica gazed down at the single black rose that lay beside the baton sword; she shuddered as a cold, unsettling sensation shot down her spine. Memories—all bittersweet and now reeking of poison—flooded her mind. She trembled as she picked up the rose and turned it over in her hands.
"Does it mean anything to you?" Abe asked quietly.
"He used to give these to me, before I—But I don't know why he would leave one now."
"According to Victorian tradition, a black rose symbolizes death," said Professor Broom.
Erica nodded. "Ja, I know. He gave them to me as a sort of sick mockery; an inside joke. I was his Angel, Death's Angel. It was a gesture of friendship, and I used to like the roses…but now…" she shuddered and stared out the window into the blackness of the night, running her fingers over the red silk ribbon bow around the rose's stalk. Her fingertips detected a slight texture on the ribbon, and, curious, she turned it over. Her stomach clenched as she read Kroenen's spidery handwriting:
Traitor. Your debt is due.
"Why won't he leave me alone? Why?" Erica murmured.
Abe's comforting arms encircled her so they were face to face. "Because he hates you."
"Does he?" Erica murmured, looking away. Kroenen had been so desperate for her to justify his actions—Why? Why had his voice trembled, and why had he pleaded with her? Erica slowly shook her head in a gesture of confusion. "He acted so strangely when I attacked him that last time—"
"He's tried to kill you at least twice," the fish man reminded her. "Whatever it seemed to be, it was a trick; he hates you. But you're safe now; I won't let anything happen to you. I love you," Abe said, and kissed her on the cheek.
Kroenen nearly fell off the wall as the fish man's words came through the window and slammed into his ears with the force of a sledgehammer, followed by the sight of the fish man KISSING Erica. Kroenen's vision was obscured by a red fog of sudden rage; he started to reach for his baton swords and then cursed as his fingers slipped off the window ledge and he almost fell again. He clung to the rough brick and pulled himself back to just above eyelevel with the windowsill, staring daggers at the fish man on the other side of the glass as Erica laughed and smiled. Kroenen fervently wished his hands were free; it would be the work of a moment to gut the fish man the way his scaly relatives were eviscerated by fishermen.
Inside the Machen Library, Erica laughed and smiled at Abe; the fish man smiled back, blushing slightly. Several feet away Manning frowned disapprovingly at her and Abe, and Myers openly gaped, his mouth hanging open. Erica ignored them and raised herself up on her tiptoes to return the kiss—the room blurred and shifted sickeningly before her eyes, and she swayed as her head began to pound. Her blood seemed to be shoved aside, interrupted in its course by other blood that boiled in her veins and rushed dizzyingly through her with a rage that was completely foreign. A furious shadow forced itself over her heart, nearly choking her with its depth of hate and wrath. Erica gasped as she recognized the shadow's identity: Kroenen. His emotions were streaming through the blood bond he shared with her.
"Erica…?" Abe asked, staring at her with concern.
"Kroenen is enraged," she said, holding her head in her hands in a futile attempt to stop her pounding headache and to block the influx of Kroenen's emotions.
Abe looked at her with unease, and then glanced around the room as if expecting to see the clockwork man crouched in some dark corner. "Because you escaped?"
"Ja. And—something else," Erica said, then muttered uneasily, "Mein Gott he's angry, Abe."
"Let's go home," Abe suggested, his brow creased with worry.
Erica nodded. "On the way I want to tell you something. You wouldn't believe who I met tonight…"
Abe. So the fish creature has a name, Kroenen thought furiously as he watched Erica, the fish man, and the Professor exit the room. The assassin's hands gripped the windowsill as if he had become part of the architecture, some spying, enraged gargoyle gnashing its teeth. Kroenen suddenly and violently shoved away from the windowsill and descended the wall with the speed of an attacking panther. He stalked through the night, rage roiling within him, blind to his surroundings as he mechanically turned his feet towards his underground lair while his mind lost itself in a storm of wrath and hate-laced emotional chaos.
ERICA…FISH THING…EMOTIONS…I…DAMN THEM ALL AND MYSELF!
Author's Notes: How's that for an action packed and plot twist filled chapter? Brittany is back as a werewolf, and Kroenen has a multitude of problems, to say the least. And, oh my, I think Abe may be in trouble soon, judging by Kroenen's—shall we say, hostile—reaction. Also, I would like to thank Psycho Clown, Aquas98, and everyone else who suggested I have Erica get back in touch with her family! And please, please review! I need the encouragement, as this is my senior year in high school, and I'm graduating on June 8; finding time to write between graduation activities is a strain!