Chapter 16: Blood and Iron
Disclaimer: Hellboy characters do not belong to me. However, Erica Schwarz, Richard, Agatha, Luke, Brittany, and the plot that isn't from the movie belong to me.
Author's Notes: A BIG thank you to those that reviewed, and thank you all for your patience, I know it's been a long wait for this chapter! I'm in college, and have practically no time to write, but was able to finish this chapter because of winter break. So I suppose you all can think of this as a belated Christmas present. Cheers! In this chapter I have once more involved the werewolves in the plot, and I've answered my own question as to what Ilsa was doing while Kroenen and the Sammaels were running around in the tunnels causing havoc. German to English translations: 'Nein' is no. Enjoy the chapter!
Note: In order to get on with the story ASAP, in this chapter I'm going to skip replying to everyone that reviewed. Sorry—I promise I'll do it in the next chapter.
"O, wonderful, when demons tell the truth! More wonderful, when angels are so angry."—Shakespeare's Richard III
Abandoned Subway Platform
Morning
The collective mood on the platform was thick with tension. Agents Quarry and Moss were trying to project an air of calm, but their nervousness showed as they continuously checked and re-checked their weapons. Hellboy idly flicked his lighter open and closed; the sharp metallic click echoed in the enclosed concrete space.
HONK! HONK!
Agent Moss jumped as a subway train raced by in a rush of air and then was gone, rattling off into the darkness of the subway system. Moss self-consciously straightened his jacket and tie, trying to regain his composure. He had recovered from the wounds he had sustained during the incidents with the vampire and the werewolves, but was, understandably, a bit jumpy as a result. In the middle of the platform Abe hadn't moved a muscle; he was resting on a crazily tilting, three-legged bench, skimming the morning newspaper. The front headline proclaimed: Six Dead after Break-in at Machen Library. Erica was over by one of the walls, eyeing some old movie posters and garish graffiti. Her hair was even again, thanks to Marie Baker's efforts with a pair of scissors; apparently the head custodian dabbled in cosmetology in her spare time.
Hellboy flicked his lighter open and shut again and Abe lowered the newspaper just enough so that the demon could see his friend's disapproving stare. Hellboy only smiled and pulled the stump of a cigar out of his pocket; he flicked his lighter open again and lit it. He took a deep breath and breathed out a cloud of smoke, then deliberately flicked his lighter shut as hard as he could. Beside him Agent Clay winced.
"What time did your sister say they'd be here?" Hellboy asked, turning to Erica.
"Soon," she replied. The bruises on her throat had taken on a nasty yellow tinge, and she had dark circles under her eyes. Hellboy couldn't blame her; an undead assassin invading you dreams was sure to be a sleep wrecker. "When I called Brittany she said it might be hard to contact the other werewolves. Since they were out so late last night most of them are probably taking advantage of the weekend and sleeping in."
Hellboy grunted and shoved the lighter into one of his deep trench coat pockets. "Hope they show up. They'll be a good addition to our team."
There was a rustling as Abe folded his newspaper and set it aside. "They have some heightened senses and abilities, but they won't be able to shift shape," he reminded them as he stood up.
"Yeah, but Luke offered their help," Hellboy said. "And we could sure use some."
They were short by two members. Professor Broom had opted to stay behind, saying he wouldn't be much use hobbling around in underground passageways blocked by rubble. Hellboy had told his father that wasn't true, and that he was a valuable part of the team regardless of his age, but in his heart Hellboy knew his father was right. Agent Myers, on the other hand, had taken a taxi to Bellamie Mental Hospital—or, at least, what remained of it—to see Liz and try to convince her to return to the BPRD. Hellboy thought the agent might actually have a chance: it turned out that Myers's area of expertise was in hostage negotiations.
Couldn't be more perfect, Hellboy thought. Maybe father did know what he was doing when he hired the guy.
Hellboy hoped Myers was successful; he was worried about Liz. When he had visited her last night she had been so certain that she was learning to control her pyrokinetic abilities, and then, only hours after he left, she had burned down another building. As yet no one knew why; Liz had refused to talk to anyone since she had woken up.
She needs to be back here, Hellboy thought, back with people that understand her…people like me…
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of something moving in the subway tunnel beyond the edge of the platform. Everyone had jerked to attention, their eyes focused on the dark passageway and the sounds of scrabbling issuing from inside it.
"Stinky?" Hellboy asked, shooting a look at Abe. The fish-man was the only one that didn't look concerned.
"No," Abe replied. "It's—"
But he was cut off by the arrival of two forms that suddenly emerged from the tunnel, climbing across the ceiling; they abruptly swung down and dropped onto the platform, landing on their feet. Luke grinned at them, his expression lopsided and distorted as always by the slack side of his face; it made him look slightly insane. Beside him stood a young girl with chin-length blond hair, who gazed around with wide eyes at the people—especially Hellboy and Abe—assembled on the subway platform. Hellboy was just about to ask who she was, when the girl happily shouted, "ERICA!" and ran towards the shocked-looking special agent and enveloped her in a hug.
"Brittany?" Erica asked, looking confused and startled. She looked at Luke over the top of her sister's head. "Why—?"
"Thought you'd like to see her again," Luke replied. "And she told me she'd follow me here if I didn't let her come." He already had out his trademark deck of cards and was shuffling them. Hellboy eyed them with irritation; just like the last time he had met the werewolf the compulsive shuffling was really annoying him.
"What goes around comes around; that's what you get for irritating us by flicking your lighter open and closed," Abe said, clearly having picked up on his friend's thoughts.
Hellboy snorted. "Did I ask for your opinion?"
Erica was still staring between Luke and her sister, who was still hugging her. The agents were staring at Brittany as well. Hellboy saw Abe's mouth twitch as though he wanted to say something to Luke, but had stopped himself. Hellboy had a feeling he knew what the problem was, because he was definitely seeing one. And he, unlike Abe, did not hesitate to point it out.
"She's the only one you brought with you?" Hellboy asked Luke. Abe turned and stared at him in disbelief. "What?" Hellboy asked. Abe only shook his head as though Hellboy had said something incredibly stupid.
"I think the real question is why you have knowingly endangered the life of a fourteen-year-old by bringing her here," Abe said.
At this Brittany finally let go of her sister. "What? You think I can't take care of myself?" Brittany demanded.
Hellboy snorted to cover up a laugh. The sound drew Brittany's eyes to him, and this time Hellboy was unable to restrain a chuckle. "No offense, half-pint," he said, grinning.
"Um, Brittany, this is Hellboy and Abe. You remember me telling you about them?" Erica asked. Her sister crossed her arms and nodded, still shooting angry looks in Hellboy's direction. "And it's not that they don't think you can't take care of yourself, they're just concerned for your safety," Erica said, trying to be tactful.
"That's the same thing!" Brittany insisted. "I helped scare off that assassin dude last night! Yeah, what's-his-name, Kroenen!"
"There were a lot more than two of you," Erica pointed out gently. "And we're not down here to find him. We're going after the Hell Hounds we were chasing last night."
"Yeah? So what's the problem?"
"When you kill one, two more show up."
"Oh," Brittany said, understanding in her eyes. She looked around at the others on the platform, and then her expression turned to one of bemusement. "You're going to kill these self replicating things with just six people?"
"That's where you were supposed to come in. Well, not you personally," Erica added hastily. "When I called you I only meant for you to relay my message to the other werewolves, not come in person."
"Oh." Brittany looked disappointed. Her shoulders slumped, and suddenly Hellboy felt sorry for the kid.
"Hey," he said, striding over to Brittany. He crouched down so he could look her in the eyes. "I know you just wanna help, but your sister really cares about you. She doesn't want you to get hurt, or someone else to get hurt because she's tryin' to keep you safe. Okay?" He patted her on the back, accidentally knocking her forward. "Sorry," he apologized, putting a steadying hand on her shoulder.
"So you're sending me home?" she asked, looking up at him.
"Yeah—"
Hellboy was interrupted by a strange roar that echoed down the subway tunnel and filled the platform. Everyone froze and the agents raised their weapons. The roar slowly died away, leaving them in an uneasy silence broken only by the soft bubbling of the water in Abe's breathing apparatus.
"Ooookay, I'm pretty sure that wasn't a train," Brittany said, backing up into Erica and nervously staring down the tracks that vanished into the darkness.
"Sammael," Abe said in explanation.
"Damn," Hellboy cursed. He looked at Erica. "We can't send her back now; it's not safe."
Erica nodded, biting her lip. Agent Clay's face was stony; he clearly wasn't happy about having to keep track of a civilian on top of everything else. If a werewolf even counted as a civilian…God, today was obviously going to be a weird one.
"Clay, give those two our spare locator belts and earphones," Hellboy said. He looked Luke up and down. "Need any weapons?"
The werewolf grinned; behind his human lips long canine-like teeth flashed in the light. "We should be good," he said, pausing in his card shuffling to hold up his hands, which ended in odd curving claw-like nails. "We'll smell and hear anything long before it gets near us. Our senses are many times better than a human's." He paused for a moment as another roar echoed up from the depths of the tunnel, this time louder and closer. "On second thought, got any spare guns?" he asked.
XXXXX
Abandoned Subway Area
They strode in single file through a tunnel dimly lit by the agents' flashlights and the blue light filtering in from the subway shaft. The walls and old steel columns were encrusted with rust and mold; here and there a dark, slimy sludge grew on surfaces, its existence sustained by the constant drip of water from overhead. Erica shuddered as a cold droplet hit the back of her neck and ran down, soaking the neck of her tank top. She pulled her black trench coat tighter around her. If it weren't for the walls around them, she would have thought they were in a cave.
Or a rainstorm, she thought darkly as more water dripped onto her head.
Hellboy was in front of her, and in front of him was Abe, leading the way. Under ordinary circumstances Erica would have been helping him with her visions, but besides Grigory's warning not to use them to spy on him or anything to do with him, she had her sister to keep an eye on. A scowl crossed her face as she mentally berated Luke for allowing Brittany to come. If anything happened to her sister, Luke would have to answer for it.
Erica stepped over a fallen steel beam and squeezed through the narrow space under some pipes and another steel beam that was leaning precariously against the wall. Hot steam gushed from a hole in the wall beside her, obscuring her vision. She waved at it and moved through it, narrowly avoiding stepping on Hellboy's tail in front of her. Unaware of the close call, the demon continued walking, breathing out a cloud of cigar smoke that added to the already low visibility in the tunnel.
"Hey!" Brittany yelped as she stumbled through the steam and right into Erica's back. Erica turned to make sure she was okay and then continued walking, stepping over huge chunks of jagged concrete and other rubble; stones and rusted wire crunching under the heels of her jackboots.
"You said those eggs needed dark and humid? Well, they've hit the jackpot," Clay said, his voice echoing loudly in the confined space.
Erica climbed over another pile of concrete caked with lichens and hopped down. To her surprise, the floor was covered in dirty black and white tiles in a checkerboard pattern.
"The subway lines, uh, they all converge right around here," Clay continued. "Right below us is the old reservoir; it was abandoned in the mid thirties."
The beams of the agents' flashlights swept over the room, revealing old wooden desks, all waterlogged and sagging with rot, piled against the walls beside a shelf of yellowed books. Typewriters were heaped everywhere. Erica guessed they must be in the basement or storage room of an old building.
Brittany was still standing on the pile of rubble, glancing dubiously down at the cracked tiles several feet below her.
"Uh, could someone give me a hand here?"
Erica suppressed a smile and helped her much shorter sister down to the floor. Luke scrambled down behind her, his claw-like nails skittering against the rough concrete. His feet on firm ground again, he brushed off his jeans and black leather jacket. Erica glared at him when he looked up.
"What?" he asked, feigning innocence.
BAMMM! BAMM!
Erica whirled around to see Hellboy pummeling a wall, pounding it like a jackhammer. The old bricks cracked and tumbled down in a cloud of dust accompanied by a cacophonous crash that made everyone except Hellboy wince.
The demon stood back and eyed his work, taking another drag on his cigar.
"What have you done?!" Erica hissed at him. "Why not just yell at the top of your lungs and announce ourselves?"
Hellboy shrugged; chips of concrete fell from his shoulders and stone dust rose from the surface of his trench coat. "Figured they knew we were here already, judging by the roaring. Now are you coming or not?" He gestured at the new hole in the wall.
Erica nodded but drew her baton swords before proceeding through. She ducked instinctively as she passed under the bricks and, once on the other side, moved sideways and flattened her back against the wall so she could safely inspect the abandoned, filthy shower room.
"All clear," she said after a moment. Hellboy had already stepped through.
"Quarry, Moss," he said, turning back to the hole, "You two, check that dump and then join us. And keep track of that flamethrower. Anything shows up, shoot first, shoot fast, don't miss. Everyone else, you're with us."
XXXXX
Abandoned Subway Area
Furnace Room
Dressed head to toe in black, Ilsa leaned against a rusty metal wall, toying with her handgun as she made certain it was clean and in working order. She had just gotten back from making a series of phone calls. As usual, she had acted as a front for Grigory and Kroenen; she handled all the social interactions for obvious reasons. Through bribery it had been relatively easy to acquire three plane tickets for a private flight to Russia. It had cost a considerable amount of gold, but it was worth it to avoid security procedures, and, most of all, metal detectors. It was essential that particular modern invention was avoided: beyond Ilsa's preference for traveling armed, Kroenen would never be able to explain why his entire body was laced with metal, and the last thing Ilsa or Grigory wanted was for Kroenen to leave a bread-crumb-like-trail of slaughtered guards throughout the airport and out onto the tarmac.
Although, it would be amusing to a degree, she thought, smiling slightly.
During their flight they would make a brief detour to Germany and revisit the burned ruins of the mansion they had called home during WWII. There was a certain item they needed to retrieve from the underground maze of rooms: an enormous block of black stone. Ilsa smiled grimly. It would truly be a pleasure to see the expression on Erica's face when she saw the stone block and knew that bloody justice was about to be served.
Ilsa pulled six bullets from her pocket and began loading them into the chamber, one at a time. Each one was pure silver, and they shone coldly despite the firelight.
"Expecting werewolves?" Kroenen's voice said from across the room.
Ilsa raised her head. Kroenen's partially unmasked face met her gaze, his lidless eyes staring at her through two holes in the black cloth mask over his face, the flesh around his eye sockets red and raw. His nightmarish visage was disturbing, but she had long ago learned how to keep the shock and nausea she felt from showing on her face.
"A bullet is a bullet," she answered curtly. "They will be just as effective on any of the BPRD's agents if the werewolves don't appear."
The assassin nodded slightly and bent his head to his work; he had detached his mechanical hand from his wrist and it was hunched spider-like on the desk before him. He carefully prodded one of the gears, making a minute adjustment. The fingers twitched in response. "Erica is mine, Ilsa," he murmured.
"What makes you think I'd shoot her?" Ilsa asked quickly, trying to keep the surprise from her voice. It was true, she had entertained thoughts about going after the girl, but not seriously; it wasn't her duty. It was Kroenen's, and it would wait until Russia as Rasputin had ordered.
"Guilty conscience?" the assassin asked, slowly looking up at her so he could fix her with his lidless blue eyes.
"As if," she said dryly. But she couldn't meet his gaze; she looked at the floor instead.
Kroenen returned to his work. "What makes me think you would try to kill her? The same reason I would: revenge. But she's mine to do with as I please until Russia, short of killing her. The rest of the agents, feel free. They're yours."
Ilsa opened her mouth to reply when Kroenen sharply raised his head and held up his hand, silencing her. A pounding noise was coming from nearby.
"They're here," he hissed. Ilsa didn't have to ask whom he meant.
"Where?"
"Close. You should leave." He stood, leaving his hand on the table; it blindly drummed its fingers against the desk, as if expressing Kroenen's impatience to confront Erica again. One handed, he sorted through the papers on his desk, found an engraving depicting Sammael, and carefully placed it on top where it was certain to be seen by any trespassers. Then he picked up his mechanical hand and pushed it onto his wrist; there was a sharp metallic click as the pieces connected. He flexed his fingers experimentally, apparently pleased by his most recent adjustments.
Ilsa scowled slightly at the assassin's order, but she obeyed; she placed the last of the six silver bullets in her gun, clicked the chamber closed, put the weapon on her belt, and strode across the room to the door.
Behind her she heard Kroenen winding up his clockwork heart.
XXXXX
Abandoned Subway Area
Shower Room
Brittany was excited. Here she was, on a real adventure, exploring the forgotten underground passageways of New York! And not only that, but she was with her sister, who, until last night, Brittany had been convinced she would never see again. True, she was a little nervous—all right, a lot nervous—considering the roar they had heard on the platform, but she had her werewolf abilities to defend herself. How big can a Hell Hound be, anyways she thought. It sounds like a dog, so maybe the size of a German shepherd And even if they do double every time you kill one, these guys wouldn't be here if they didn't know how to kill them, right?
"You are real secret agents, aren't you?" she asked the only agent present. She thought she had heard the big red guy call him 'Clay'.
Agent Clay cracked a chemical flare and tossed it, watching it skitter across the filthy tile floor, before he answered her. "Yes we are. Didn't you believe your sister after you saw Abe and Hellboy?"
"Well, yes, but I just wanted to hear you say it."
Across the room, following Abe's directions, Hellboy had just lifted and dropped an enormous rusty manhole cover, and cockroaches were pouring out of the hole in the floor, running in all directions and disappearing into cracks in the tiles. Brittany wrinkled her nose in disgust and sat on the edge of a stained sink so her feet were a safe distance from the insects. Nobody else had bothered to move out of the way; Brittany had the sneaking suspicion that they might unfortunately be used to things like this. Gross, she thought.
"I'm glad I'm not human," Abe muttered. "This place would be an embarrassment."
Hellboy grunted in response, bringing his huge booted foot down on a group of the slower roaches and crushing them into oblivion. He cracked two more flares and dropped them through the hole and into the cistern below with a splash.
Brittany wrinkled her nose again. The smell from the water in the cistern was disgusting, something like stagnant rainwater mixed with diluted sewage and other dark, nameless underground smells.
"Be careful, Abe," Erica muttered, eyeing the water warily. "In the late thirties I dove into the water through a hole in a cave floor; I was almost eaten by giant eels called Sentinels. I still have the scars."
Brittany quickly looked up from inspecting the suspicious looking stains on the sink, hoping to hear more; Erica hadn't told her anything about that last night when she had been giving a synopsis of her life since her disappearance. Brittany, however, was disappointed; Hellboy spoke up before Erica had a chance to elaborate.
"Yeah, I've got that all taken care of," the demon said, breathing out another stream of cigar smoke. He reached into a pocket of his trench coat and began digging around. Brittany watched him closely, waiting to see what he was looking for, but was distracted as her swinging legs, which she'd been kicking back and forth while sitting on the sink, struck something beneath her that felt like paper. Curious, she leaned down and looked under the sink. Aside from the rusting pipes and a multicolored, thick layer of mold, a ripped newspaper lay in a heap on the floor, as though it had been carelessly tossed aside. She picked it up and turned it right side up, expecting to see headlines from decades past. Instead, to her surprise, she saw it was the previous day's paper, complete with the articles about the history behind Halloween traditions, the times and ages for trick-or-treaters, and the address for a public costume ball and contest.
How did yesterday's newspaper get down here? she wondered, brow furrowing. A plumber or some other city maintenance worker?
"Find something interesting to read?" a quiet, courteous voice asked.
Startled, Brittany looked up into Abe's black, almond shaped eyes. "Uh, hi," she said, somewhat nervously. "No, I just found this lying here. Kinda weird; it's yesterday's newspaper."
Abe's eyes widened. "May I see it?"
"Sure," she said, handing it over and eyeing Abe's webbed hands and long fingernails as she did so.
No sooner had the fish-man touched the newspaper then his black eyes turned glassy and his entire body went very still. Brittany stared at him, wondering if something was wrong.
"Are you—?" she started to ask, but the words had barely left her lips when he snapped out of it.
"Erica," Abe said, turning suddenly to face her and the others, "they were here."
"What?" Hellboy asked. He paused, still digging around in his pocket. Everyone else had also gone very still.
"The newspaper Brittany found. They were here…There was a chair, there," he said, gesturing. "A blond woman with a newspaper."
"Ilsa," Erica said grimly.
Abe nodded. "The other two have recently passed through as well."
"Crap. That's not good," Hellboy said.
"Tell me about it," Erica replied, peering warily through the doorways and into the deep shadows. Her hands had strayed to the handles of her sheathed baton swords. "I suspected they might be down here, since the Hell Hounds are, but I was really hoping I would be wrong. I've personally seen far too much of Kroenen in the last twenty-four hours, and I'm not exactly looking forward to fighting him again."
"Can't blame you," said Luke. "You were losing pretty badly when we rescued you."
"Don't remind me," Erica said, scowling.
"Hey, E, I've been doing some thinkin'. If that pinhead shows up, use these," Hellboy said, holding out his stone hand and dropping what looked like two smooth black grenades into her cupped hands.
Erica turned them over, inspecting them. She located a small, grayish label and squinted at the miniscule type, reading it aloud: "Keep out of reach of children. Side affects of using this product on a living being may include burning, bleeding, screaming, oozing, scalding, etcetera. It is highly recommended that the injured party seek immediate medical attention."
"Yeah, that or keel over dead," Luke said dryly.
Erica ignored him. "What are—?"
"Greek fire," Hellboy said, smiling proudly around the cigar stump clamped between his teeth. "That should fix Kroenen. If he tries to put the flames out with water, they'll only get bigger. Just pull the pin and throw it. And when I say throw it, you better do it quick."
"Danke, but Kroenen isn't alive enough to die."
Hellboy shrugged. "Then he'll be busted up pretty bad, won't he?"
That made her smile, just a little. "Thank you." She turned to Brittany. "You heard all that?"
"Yeah. Why?"
"Because I'm giving you one." Erica dropped one of the capsules into her sister's hand and pocketed the other. Brittany stared at it, astonished and somewhat panicky that she was holding something that could kill someone.
"What?! Why?!"
"Just in case a Sammael shows up. And because if Kroenen is down here, he might come after you. And I might not be here to save you," Erica said. Then she added, "In truth, I don't know if you're in more danger alone or near me. So be careful, okay? And don't hesitate to use that."
Brittany gulped and nodded.
Meanwhile, Abe had gotten ready to enter the cistern; his black wetsuit shirt was folded neatly and lay beside his goggles and breathing apparatus on a spindly table Clay had found nearby. Currently Abe was tying the cord of a reliquary to his wrist; apparently Hellboy had finally located what he had been looking for in his pocket.
Abe cast another look down at the foul smelling water and frowned slightly as two more cockroaches crawled out of the hole. "Remind me why I keep doing this?"
"Rotten eggs and the safety of mankind," Hellboy replied, cracking some flares and tossing them randomly into a dark corner of the room.
"Ah."
"Be careful, okay?" Erica said, hugging Abe and looking up at him. She couldn't shake her memories of the Sentinels pursuing her through the water; she knew if anything went wrong and the Sammaels went after Abe, he would be on his own until he got out of the water. Being helpless to rescue him was a frightening and disturbing prospect.
"You too," Abe replied. He held her gaze for a moment, and leaned down and kissed her. Then he turned and plunged into the water, hardly making a splash.
Erica peered down into the water. A few bubbles surfaced, and for a brief, fleeting moment she thought she could see the dim blue glow of the light on his locator. But just as quickly as she had spotted it, it was gone and there was only the dark surface of the water, reflecting a ghostly image of herself as it sloshed loudly against the rim of the hole in the sudden silence.
"Awww! Erica has a boyfriend!" Brittany announced gleefully, as though revealing the secret of the century.
"They already know. I do live with all of them, remember?" Erica said, but she couldn't help smiling.
"Oh," Brittany said, looking slightly disappointed.
"Nothing to do now but wait," Luke said, leaning against a wall and looking bored. The chemical flares threw strange shadows over the slack side of his face.
"We'll be fortunate if that's all we have to do today," Erica muttered, casting dark looks at the shadowy doorways and tunnels that led from the room. Any one of them could conceal a lurking Sammael, or worse, Kroenen.
There was a rustling as Hellboy unwrapped a Baby Ruth bar and took bites of it between cracking more flares. "Mmmm…good. Anybody want some?"
XXXXX
Abandoned Subway Area
Shower Room
Kroenen studied the motley group in the shower room from his place in a dark adjoining tunnel, peering with one eye around the corner of a rusty row of lockers. He had only just arrived, and cursed himself for it; everyone present had fallen silent. If he had arrived earlier he might have overheard some sort of explanation for the very varied group of people.
One, a Native American, was clearly a werewolf, and judging by the slack side of his face and the two glittering gold rings in his ear, he was the same werewolf that had rescued Erica last night. The ghost of a scowl drifted over Kroenen's face, and then faded. He knew the werewolf would be a much less formidable opponent now that it was daylight. But it didn't really matter—he had no intention of engaging the man in battle today. Another man in a suit was clearly one of the BPRD's agents, and the red demon could be no other than Anung-un-Rama, even if he did appear to have cut off his own horns. Odd, Kroenen thought, eyeing the stumps. Then his eyes fell on the creature's stone hand; it was just as Rasputin had described, down to the marks and designs that covered it.
I wonder if he knows of his destiny? Kroenen thought, watching the demon pace back and forth, eating something that looked like chocolate. The demon held out the half-eaten chocolate to someone Kroenen couldn't see because of his position at the corner of the lockers; he shifted slightly, improving his view, and a saw a young, blond haired girl politely wave away the demon's offer of candy. The assassin frowned. The presence of the little girl puzzled him. Why would the BPRD endanger her life? he wondered. She doesn't look like anything but a civilian. But best to be cautious.
Suddenly Erica came into view, walking over to the girl. Kroenen's lipless grin widened; his target was present. That pleased him. He had plans…such plans for his Angel! But the presence of a water filled collar on a table beside Erica also confirmed the presence of the fish-man, which Kroenen was not happy about. He gritted his teeth. If the fish-man interfered…!
"This doesn't really look like doll's hair. Be honest, Red, what do you think?" the agent asked, breaking the silence. The man held up a small mirror. Kroenen slowly crept away from the lockers and out into the tunnel, beginning to execute his plan: he would show himself, lure them after him, and then lose them in the underground maze, separating them from each other.
They will be of no help to anyone, least of all themselves, he thought. And when I have taken care of the others, and Erica is alone…
The demon cracked another flare and tossed it into Kroenen's tunnel. If the assassin had had lips to smile at the perfection of the moment, he would have, as the demon's golden eyes followed the flare's sliding path—and stopped at Kroenen's boots. The demon raised his eyes slowly, staring at Kroenen. The assassin cocked his head—a subtle challenge. His clockwork whirred and hissed in the silence.
Across the room, Erica heard and whirled around to face the tunnel. The expression of horror and shock on her suddenly pale face was priceless as she stared speechlessly at him through the gloom.
That was when Anung-un-Rama went into action: he whipped out a huge gun and Kroenen darted away, running with Hellboy tearing after him, gun in one massive red hand.
"Red's on the move, I'll cover him!" Clay yelled, following Hellboy at a run.
Erica took a step after the agent and then hesitated, looking back at Brittany and the waters that concealed Abe. She was torn. If she left Brittany and Abe, she wouldn't be there to protect them if something happened. But if she stayed, her presence would surely lure Kroenen to them, and that was a situation she didn't even want to think about. Hellboy's loud running footsteps called to her from the tunnels, and she hesitated only a second longer.
"Luke, you are not to leave Brittany or Abe alone," she said slowly and seriously, fixing him with her intense gaze. "If you get the chance, get out of here."
For the briefest moment she saw him nod and then she was running into the darkness after the echoes of Hellboy and Clay's pursuit of Kroenen. She ran as though a pack of Hell Hounds were on her heels, following the sounds and paying no attention to her surroundings until she realized she had absolutely no idea where she was. Erica paused and looked around, chest heaving. She was in an intersection of sewer tunnels that created a veritable labyrinth reminiscent of catacombs. She could hear running footsteps all around her in the half-darkness, but could see no one. Nor could she tell how close the sounds actually were to her; they echoed off the walls, each time distorting crazily as they bounced off in a new direction. Erica instantly realized her mistake: she wouldn't know who was near her, friend or foe, until she literally ran into him.
"Crap!" she cursed. She drew her baton swords from their sheaths so fast that they made a sharp singing noise as they sliced through the air. "Kroenen certainly knew what he was doing," she muttered as she slowly stalked off into the maze, eyes darting in all directions. The assassin could be anywhere, and she had no intention of allowing him to sneak up on her as he had in the alleys.
The sounds of running seemed to be getting further away and she tried to follow them, running as quietly as she could and sticking close to the walls to prevent splashing through the water and giving away her position. Erica peered uselessly into the shadows, wishing she could see what was around her, but it was too dark to see very far. She had no idea how she was going to find Kroenen in this maze, even with their blood bond: it only gave a general feeling of nearness, not 'he's-ten-steps-to-your-left-hanging-from-the-ceiling'. Someone with his training was only found when they wanted to be, and clearly he had planned this out; he was the one in control, probably watching her and the others from some dark corner, silently laughing as they ran around like rats in his maze.
It's almost a better idea to save my energy and go sit somewhere and wait for him to find me, she thought darkly as she cautiously edged her way around a wall.
Footsteps came toward her and she paused, waiting tensely as they approached at a run—and then abruptly stopped. She listened for what felt like an agonizing eternity, but the sound didn't come again. Erica's heart was in her throat. She let out the lungful of air she had been holding and took a deep breath, trying to calm herself a little. It didn't work. Her hands were still hot and moist around the hilts of her blades and her heart was racing at the pace of a runaway train.
Someone was nearby, she just knew it. The problem was that she didn't know if it was Kroenen or Clay or Hellboy, and she certainly wasn't going to risk calling out. Erica slowly backed away from where she had last heard the footsteps. She thought she heard a soft ticking sound, but wasn't sure if it was real or if her imagination, fueled by fear, was creating the very sound she dreaded hearing. Cold water dripped from the ceiling onto the back of her neck, startling her and then making her shudder as it soaked into her shirt.
Now it felt like someone was breathing on the back of her neck. Erica froze, unsure whether it really was breathing, or simply the cold water evaporating and causing the goosebumps and tingling sensation on the back of her neck. If it was Kroenen I would hear him breathing, she told herself, it's raspy, and I don't hear anything…but better to check then be dead…
She tensed and then spun around, blades raised. Nothing. Only more tunnels and a light layer of fog-like steam hovering around near the ceiling. But that's typical of Kroenen, a voice in her head told her. You know he likes to distract people and then get behind them and stab them in the back…
Feeling a cold stab of fear, she whirled around, just to make sure. Still nothing. She was very unsettled and started walking, picking up her pace. Staying in one place would be stupid; encountering Kroenen while she was alone would mean her death. Even if someone heard her scream, they wouldn't be able to find her in time—abruptly she stopped, listening.
Tick tickticktickticktick… The sound of Kroenen's clockwork echoed, menacingly close.
This time she knew the ticking wasn't a hallucination. But as she looked around, she saw only more damned tunnels and archways and rubble. She forced down the panic welling up inside her and walked faster, turning randomly on the spot, expecting to see the assassin coming at her at any moment, and desperately hoping she would see Hellboy or Clay instead. Now she heard breathing, raspy and ragged, sucked through the black metal mask he wore. She knew he was behind her, following her, hunting her down; his breathing was practically in her ear! Her heart hammered with fear and she was sure he could hear it; the breathing and ticking were so close she could imagine closing her eyes and reaching out into the darkness and touching him. And still she couldn't see him!
He was scaring the hell out of her; she turned to face the sound of the ticking and backed away from it, but now she couldn't be sure where it was coming from, because it seemed to have moved. Erica swallowed thickly and cautiously turned in a circle, her heart slamming against her ribcage. Nothing.
"Damn it! Where are you?" she muttered.
As if in answer to her question a gloved hand snaked around her neck, abruptly cutting off her scream and the cry of pain that followed as iron-hard fingers dug into the bruises on her throat. Another powerful arm wrapped around her waist, trapping her arms and baton swords at her sides; she flinched and her body arched as her back was pulled firmly against Kroenen's body. Erica flat out panicked as she recognized the move that had trapped her the night before, leaving her at the assassin's mercy. She tried to scream, but Kroenen's fingers tightened and she gurgled and choked horribly. She struggled against him, but it was useless: he just held her tighter, crushing her body against his and tightening his grip on her throat until she couldn't move anymore and she couldn't breathe; it was like being crushed in a vise. Tears of pain sprang into her eyes.
"I'll stop choking you if you promise not to scream," he whispered coaxingly in her ear.
Erica realized she had no choice but to comply. She was unable to choke out a response because of his grip on her throat, so she signaled her answer by ceasing to struggle. Her heart boomed in her ears like thunder in the silence as she waited for him to let go. Her lungs were burning but she forced herself to hold still, even as stars appeared before her eyes and her throbbing, air-starved brain began to wonder if Kroenen had been lying, if he was going to strangle her to death—
Kroenen's fingers loosened, releasing some of the pressure on her throat, and she desperately sucked in a lungful of cold underground air that made her just as dizzy as choking. The assassin kept his gloved hand in place, wrapped tightly around her throat, ready to cut off her scream, but Erica was beyond caring as she focused on the task of gasping in as much air as she could, gagging as she inhaled his suddenly overpowering scent of leather and old blood.
"Amazing, isn't it? After all this time I still trust you to do as I say," he murmured, speaking over the sounds of her panting. "But then again, I'm too much of a gentleman to hold a grudge, aren't I, Erica?" He chuckled softly, and the sound sent chills down her spine. "Wait, of course I'm not. Which is why you're behaving yourself right now. You know what I am capable of…but I won't hurt you…"
Liar, Erica thought, all too aware of his fingers digging into her neck. She strained her ears for any sounds of her friends nearby, but there was only the sound of water dripping from the ceiling and the rhythmical ticking and whirring of the assassin's mechanical heart. She was on her own, and Kroenen was still crushing her against him, holding her arms and weapons perfectly still. The seconds ticked by and she and Kroenen simply stood there in the darkness, as if they had come to a standoff. Or as if he was waiting for something.
Or he's just enjoying having me at his mercy, she thought. Whatever his reason, she was frightened and angry and she certainly wasn't going to wait any longer.
"Kroenen," she choked out, her voice strained and hoarse because of the pressure on her throat. "What—do—you—want?"
"Making demands now? I hardly think you're in a position for that."
Suddenly he let go of her and pushed her forward so hard she stumbled through the water and her shoulder slammed painfully into the edge of a slimy stone wall. Quickly she turned to face him, her baton swords raised defensively. Kroenen stood before her, blades drawn; the assassin was nearly invisible in the shadows but for the faintly glinting glass circles of his mask and the light glimmering on his chest plate's intricate designs.
Abruptly her earphone crackled to life. It was Clay. "Erica? Red? Where are you?"
Erica hesitated to answer, eyeing Kroenen and wondering if she dared to reach for her locator belt so she could alert Clay that she was in trouble.
Kroenen seemed to read her mind. "No matter what you do, they won't find you."
He rushed at her. His attack was fierce and fast; Erica was forced backwards by the intensity of it and she stumbled over rocks and rubble as she rapidly retreated through the maze.
Suddenly the sound of footsteps came from somewhere to Erica's left; Kroenen paused in his attack to gaze in its direction. While he was distracted Erica ducked behind the nearest wall, sheathed her left baton sword, and pulled her handgun from her belt. She wasn't as good a shot with her left hand, but she was better a swordsman with her right, and there was no way she was putting herself at any further disadvantage with Kroenen nearby. Besides, she knew bullets wouldn't stop Kroenen. She was intending to play the only advantage she had: surprise.
She didn't hear the second set of footsteps anymore; she could only assume that whoever they belonged to was gone, or that the noise had been a distorted echo coming from somewhere else. She did, however, hear Kroenen's breathing on the other side of the wall. Clearly he was searching for her.
"Running away again?" Kroenen said softly, "Familiar. Haven't you learned anything new?" There was a hint of scorn in his voice.
She closed her eyes and pressed her back against the cold wall, and, ignoring the icy water that was trickling down her back, she concentrated on the sound of Kroenen's breathing and tried to pinpoint its location. She knew she would only get one shot and that she wouldn't have more than a second to look and correct her aim. Shaking, she gripped the trigger tightly and leapt out from behind the wall.
"How about this?!"
BANG!
The sound of gunfire roared like thunder in the underground space, followed almost immediately by the sharp crack of metal and glass. Triumph surged through Erica when she saw one side of Kroenen's mask was severely dented, the metal warped and the dark lens above it covered in a spider web of cracks. There was no bullet hole; apparently it had ricocheted off.
Kroenen swiftly recovered from his surprise and fixed her with a menacing stare made all the more ominous by the twin black voids of his mask's lenses; each one seemed to breathe the promise of painful retribution beyond imagination. Erica's blood froze with dread, chilling her to her very soul.
"That was not a wise move," he hissed, stalking towards her. "Nein, not at all."
XXXXX
Abandoned Subway Area
Shower Room
BANG!
Brittany jumped with alarm as the sound of gunfire echoed through the underground. Luke looked uneasy as well; as the sound faded no screams or voices or other noises reached them to explain what might have happened. The two exchanged looks and Brittany hurried over to her friend, who was now eyeing the dark tunnel that three members of their impromptu and ragtag team had disappeared into.
"What do you think that was?" Brittany asked in a whisper. Her voice seemed loud in the silence.
"Don't know. I just hope that whoever did the shooting is on our side, and that they hit their target," Luke said uneasily. He cast a glance at the hole in the floor. "I wish Abe would finish down there and get up here," he muttered.
As if his words had been a cue for some sadistic god, the blue lights on both of their locator belts started blinking and chirping.
"Crap," Luke cursed, eyeing the cistern. "It's Abe."
"What do we do?"
"Stay here."
This option was promptly canceled when Luke's werewolf gift of super-sensitive ears picked up the sound of four clawed feet coming in their direction from somewhere in the tunnel. And clearly, based on the sound of it, the thing was big. Really, really big.
"What's that?" Brittany whispered, pressing her back against his side as she stared wide-eyed and fearfully into the dark gaping maw of the tunnel. "A Hell Hound?"
"Don't know, and we're not hanging around to find out," Luke replied, drawing the handgun Agent Clay had given him. He wrapped his free arm protectively around Brittany and pulled her towards the doorway opposite the tunnel.
"But—Abe—!" she protested.
"Your sister told me to keep you both safe. I can't help Abe, so we're leaving," he said. They had already left the shower room and Luke kept walking, his ears straining for any sound that might signal danger. His task was made difficult by the constant dripping of water and the distant clatter of subway trains rattling down their tracks. But if he was nothing else, he was definitely certain that at least one Hell Hound was in the shower room. Then his stomach clenched as he remembered something.
"The Agents," Brittany whispered in horror, speaking his thoughts aloud. "They were in that other room, the one we came through! They don't know that thing is in there! We have to warn them!"
"We will when we're farther away. We don't want those monsters to hear our voices and follow them to us."
They hurried down a side tunnel, making sure to walk through the water. That, hopefully, would disguise their scent if the beasts tried to track them. The tunnel ended in what appeared to be the basement of a turn-of-the-century orphanage: old black and white pictures of sad looking children were tacked to the walls, yellowed by age and moisture; in the middle of the tile floor lay a small shoe and a water-logged book of nursery rhymes. Luke paused and listened to see if they had been followed; beside him Brittany was doing the same.
"Now?" Brittany asked urgently, looking up at him.
He was starting to nod when the screaming started, loud and horrible and full of agony; an animal's scream as it was devoured alive. Luke instinctively hugged a suddenly white-faced and shaking Brittany and pulled her away from the tunnel's mouth—the only exit and entrance—so they were out of sight in a cramped but more protected area under a set of rickety wooden stairs against a wall. He pulled his leather coat around her in a futile attempt to cover her ears and offer comfort, and they stayed pressed up against the wall for what felt like an eternity as the screaming went on and on, and then abruptly ceased, leaving a silence just as horrible. Water dripped from the ceiling into a puddle with a soft sound, scattering droplets. In the corner a rat stirred and skittered away. Luke could hear Brittany's heart pounding; she was frightened and on the verge of tears.
Luke felt guilty beyond belief. What had he been thinking, bringing her down here? She might be a werewolf, but she was a kid and had never seen real violence; they spent most nights at Richard and Agatha's, relaxing and partying. What on earth had he done?
"Luke?" she whispered.
"Yeah?"
"I don't think we can warn them anymore," she said, her voice low and rough from holding back a sob.
"No, no we can't," he said softly, still hugging her. Somewhere else in the room something shifted—more rats, no doubt, scuttling among old papers. "Come on," Luke said softly, moving out from under the stairs and pulling Brittany with him. "If we go now maybe we can get out without making targets of ourselves—"
"I'd say it's a bit too late for that," said a curt female voice behind them.
There was the unmistakable metallic click of a handgun being cocked. Luke whirled around and stopped short, the muzzle of a gun in his face. He stared at it, swallowing thickly, and then looked beyond it into the face of an arrogant blond woman. She had a cruel, satisfied smile on her face. Luke instantly pushed Brittany behind him and out of harm's way.
"Going somewhere?" the woman asked, arching a thin eyebrow. She pushed the gun against the slack side of Luke's face and he winced as the bitingly cold metal hit his skin.
"Oh CRAP," he muttered emphatically.
The woman's smile only widened. "I wouldn't move if I were you, werewolf, not unless you want to smell the stink of silver mixing with your blood."
XXXXX
Abandoned Subway Area
Furnace Room
Hellboy stared down at the jumble of objects littering the desk. They belonged to Kroenen, judging by the masks. Hellboy wished he could radio Erica to warn her that Abe had been right about them being down here, but he was out of range; there was something underground that was blocking communications. He was cut off from everyone but Clay, and the agent was lost somewhere in the maze of sewer tunnels, trying to find his way out. Clay had lost contact with Erica only minutes before; her earphone had received the transmission, but she hadn't replied.
That's not a good sign, Hellboy thought, eyeing the empty room for any trace of the assassin that had taken up residence there. Instead his eyes fell on the desk and an engraving of Sammael. His brows knit together as he picked it up in one massive hand and examined it.
A shifting noise came from somewhere above his head, accompanied by a thick string of drool. The demon looked up—and right into the crazed, rolling eyes of Sammael.
"Didn't I kill you already?" Hellboy asked.
The Hell Hound roared and lunged in reply, and they both tumbled backwards, locked together. Hellboy saw the open service shaft in the floor too late to avoid it; his boots slipped over the edge and suddenly he and Sammael were hurtling downwards, grappling as they fell.
XXXXX
Abandoned Subway Area
Erica had no idea what to do. She was still retreating from Kroenen as they fought, but he didn't really seem to be trying to hurt her. It was more like he was determined to drive her retreat in a particular direction. That can't mean anything good, she thought grimly as she blocked another blow from his blades.
She could feel the capsule of Greek fire in her trench coat pocket, but she couldn't see herself actually getting a chance to use it: she had both of her baton swords out, and there was no way she could hold off Kroenen's onslaught long enough to drop one blade and pull the capsule out, let alone pull the pin.
Abruptly she realized that the walls around her were more brightly lit up than the others she had passed before; it was an odd, flickering red light, like from a fire. Erica risked a glance over her shoulder and saw the light pouring out of a doorway framed by open, rust-covered doors. So this was where Kroenen wanted her to go. He was trying to trap her!
Erica held still a second too long; Kroenen seized his chance and threw himself bodily against her, pushing her into the room despite her attempts to resist. The assassin stood framed in the doorway as she stumbled backwards and fell heavily against a steel support beam, panting. And then, to her horror, he tugged the doors closed with a horrendous shriek of rusty hinges that made her skin crawl. He pulled a lever beside the doors and with the grinding of ancient gears a long, thick bolt slid across the doors and slammed into its slot with a thud that sounded like doom; a turn of an iron key secured it in its place. Now not only were any of her friends locked out, she was locked in!
She stared at Kroenen with dread as he slid the key up inside the arm of his shirt for safe keeping and then turned to face her, the firelight playing oddly over his dented mask. He had put away one of his baton swords and he held the other in a relaxed position at his side.
"Do you like my quarters?" he asked conversationally, as though they hadn't been fighting only moments before.
Erica didn't answer. Instead she slipped around the steel beam and then behind his desk, keeping it between them. She could feel the heat from the furnace on her back as her eyes darted around the room, searching for an exit, even if it was only a ventilation duct. She did spot an open service shaft sunk into the floor, but from where she stood she could see it was a long way down, and she couldn't see the bottom; the impact with the ground would surely kill her.
Kroenen slowly crossed the room and stood behind the desk, studying her. Keeping one wary eye on him, Erica's other eye roved over the room, searching for anything she could use against him. Then she saw it: to the right of one of the windows set into the furnace a long, heavy chain hung from the ceiling of oxidized ducts and pipes. If she retreated slowly enough she could grab it before the assassin knew what she was doing.
"I definitely liked your long hair better," Kroenen observed.
"Not that I give a damn what you think, but it's your own fault it's short," Erica snapped, backing away slowly and raising her blades in warning. Kroenen followed her, moving around the desk to stand in front of her. He took a step toward her for every step she took away from him.
"Need I remind you that it was you, Erica, not me, that cut it off."
"Only because you were about to slit my throat."
"I'd never do something like that. And had I actually been in the mood that evening to kill you, there's always the detail that I don't think you deserve to die that messily."
Erica stared at him. His words were becoming more cryptic by the moment. All this talk of not hurting her...it had to be a lie, doublespeak designed to get her to drop her guard. She maneuvered one of her arms behind her and slipped one of her blades into the leather sheath strapped to her leg. Kroenen didn't notice. Good. Behind her back her fingertips reached out and brushed against the chain dangling from the ceiling. She grabbed it tightly. Kroenen was almost in range. He took a step forward, then another.
And then she stepped to the side and lashed out with the chain. It caught him around his torso and wrapped around him, pinning his arms loosely at his sides. Erica caught only a glimpse of the surprised stance of his body before she kicked him, knocking his legs out from under him. The assassin crashed to the floor in a rattle of chains and, propelled by fear and adrenaline, Erica ran across the room and threw herself at the doors, slamming her baton sword down on the rusty bolt mechanism in an attempt to break it.
Nothing happened. Despite the rust that encrusted the mechanism's surface, apparently it was still solid. Erica quickly sheathed the blade and rammed her shoulder against the doors, praying the corroded brackets that the bolt passed through would break away from the doors so they would then open. The metal doors rattled and shuddered slightly under the impact, but they too were obviously not going anywhere; all her efforts had earned her was a throbbing shoulder sure to be covered in a massive bruise. Erica stared at the doors in despair, her breath coming in short, shallow pants; her chest rose and fell sharply with each gasping inhalation. Behind her she heard a rattle and then the shriek of metal; she whirled around and her breath caught in her throat as she saw Kroenen's ominous, slender black form kneeling on the floor, cutting himself free of the chain with vicious, violent strokes of his baton sword.
Erica knew she had to hurry; she threw herself at the doors again. They shuddered and rust flaked off, but they held firm. Behind her she heard the pieces of the chain drop to the floor in a crash of metal. Her stomach twisted sickeningly as she heard him coming for her. There was no escape, and after what she had done, Kroenen was bound to be in a towering temper. She would be lucky if all he did was kill her.
She was just turning around, her hands beginning to draw her blades, when he seized her roughly and slammed her back against the doors. Rough rust cut into the side of her face and the bolt dug painfully into her spine as he held her there, forcing her to stare into the lenses of his mask; beyond the wraithlike reflection of her terrified face she could just barely see his lidless, bulging blue eyes.
"All I want is to talk to you," he said, his raspy voice filled with frustration. "And since you refused to listen to me last night, and continue to insist on fighting me—"
"You keep attacking me!" she snarled, anger getting the better of her fear.
"—you have left me no other alternative but to force you to listen!"
Erica had no time to contemplate the meaning of his words; his fingers tightened mercilessly on her arms and then he threw her to the floor with such force that the back of her head slammed into the ground and vibrantly white stars burst before her eyes, obscuring her vision. She moaned in pain and tried to move, but her limbs felt like lead. The impact had stunned her. The room swam before her eyes, and somewhere nearby she heard the sound of something heavy being dragged across the floor towards her.
Come on! Move! she thought at herself. I have to get away! But she felt so numb… She blinked rapidly and at last the room settled and ceased moving, though everything was still blurred. She detected movement that was far too close for comfort and tried to force her eyes to focus—
A huge weight crashed down on her chest, knocking the air from her lungs and cutting off her howl of pain as the thing hit her bruised ribs.
Gasping, Erica looked down at her body and saw a rust-streaked section of metal lockers, like the ones in the shower room, was pinning her to the floor. She strained desperately against the weight, but couldn't escape. The most she could move was her head and legs; the lockers were only on her torso, holding her arms against the floor. She was completely helpless. Horrified, she heard Kroenen's footsteps approaching, his boots sending vibrations through the floor. She turned her head to one side; a pair of jackboots stopped inches from her face.
Kroenen crouched on the floor beside her. Her dark grey eyes glittered as she looked up at him, reflecting the furnace flames and her own desperation; he could hear her ragged breathing as she struggled and squirmed against the dead weight pressing down on her chest. He sighed.
"I truly am sorry," he apologized, meaning every word, "but you left me no other choice. I hope you will forgive me."
He reached down and gently pulled the earphone off her ear, then moved around the lockers to her waist and relieved her of her locator belt and all the weaponry attached to it. He took her baton swords too, pulling them from their sheaths despite her vicious attempts to kick him. Ignoring her furious glare, he dropped her things in a drawer of his desk and locked it.
He turned his back to her and idly ran his fingers over the surface of his desk, taking a moment to enjoy his satisfaction. Erica was right where he wanted her; so far, everything was going according to plan. Behind him he heard a series of muffled thuds as she tried uselessly to shift the lockers.
"Just think, Erica, if you had permitted me to make the alterations to your muscles and bone structure that I had so meticulously planned out, you wouldn't be in this predicament, would you?" he said, speaking over his shoulder as he selected a mask from the row on his desk and, somewhat awkwardly, unbuckled the damaged one he was wearing.
His words were met by a string of vehement swearing. His skeletal grin widened and he slipped on the new mask and buckled it on before turning to face her again. "Fiery as always, hmm?" he asked, musing. "Usually a trait I admire in you, but it has made it most difficult to talk to you when you continue to assume my only goal is to kill you."
"Then maybe you should stop sneaking around and attacking me!" she shot back angrily, but when he turned to look at her he could see the utter confusion on her face caused by his words. His lipless grin widened. Finally, he was getting somewhere! She was actually listening! He turned back to his desk and calmly, slowly sorted through a few old records, selected one, and placed it on the phonograph. He felt her eyes on him the whole time, watching his every move.
It's a trick, Erica told herself. A trick. He's playing with my head. Of course he wants to kill me!
But the demon of doubt had settled in her ear and crouched there, whispering. Kroenen already had her trapped, unable to fight back. Why talk to her and play mind games if he was only going to kill her? To torment her, perhaps? That seemed unlikely; he'd had her at his complete mercy multiple times today and hadn't made any attempt at murder or torture. Why was that? Could he possibly be telling the truth?
And if he is, what could he possibly have to say to me? she wondered. The thought instantly brought up memories of his odd behavior, and particularly of his words in her dream last night: "All I want is to talk to you. You made me realize something wonderful. An epiphany, if you like."
She cast a glance at his back. He was running his hand slowly over the gleaming metal that supported the phonograph's needle, keeping his eyes focused on the unmoving record. It couldn't hurt her to listen, she decided, and besides, it wasn't as if she had a choice, trapped as she was. She would be cautious, of course; it could be that he intended to do nothing but lie to her and deceive her, his motives as yet unknown. But on the other hand, he might really have something to say to her. She would risk it. After all she had done to him, she owed it to him to listen. And beyond that, depending on what he had to say, she wasn't sure she could risk not listening to him.
Kroenen watched her through his peripheral vision, subtly so she would not know he was doing so. The anger and defiance had vanished, and she was now eyeing him with a wary curiosity. She would listen, now, he knew. Pleased, he approached her again and stood over her, gazing down at her lying vulnerable at his feet.
"Decided to forgo the attack?" he asked.
"For now," she replied tersely, the warning clear in her voice.
"Good." Behind his mask a satisfied grin ghosted across Kroenen's scarred features. "Now that I have your undivided attention…"
Author's Notes: Ahhh! Cliffhanger! What will happen to Erica? What will Luke and Brittany do? Also, if anyone's interested, I now have a deviantart website under the name FlyingFish15, and I have posted some fanart for my story there. Please review!