Hellboy: Odd Jobs (18 page)

The others were not so lucky. Every person in that meeting, all movers and shakers in the government, had harbored these secret creatures within. If this was any indication, the demons were everywhere in this place.

"I think I might have to do some further investigation," Hellboy called to the others.

This time, he got no arguments.

"Ms. Gibbons? What say we start with the oval office?"

Hellboy had some work to do.

A Grim Fairy Tale

Nancy A. Collins

He was nursing his second cup of coffee when Liz Sherman walked into the conference room with the early edition tucked under her arm. "Have you looked at the morning paper?" she asked.

"No. Should I?" he grunted, arching an eyebrow.

"See for yourself," she replied, tossing the newspaper so it slid half the length of the table.

Even if he didn't have eyesight many times keener than average, he still could have made out the headlines from across the room:

Who's Hizzoner Gonna Call?

Mayor Taps BPRD For Missing Tots Case!

"Great," he growled, flashing a fang in disgust. "Who let the cat out of the bag?"

Liz shrugged. "It's the Big Apple

I'd rather fight poltergeists with Attention Deficit Disorder than get involved with the press in this town."

He sighed and, despite his better judgment, reached out to draw the tabloid closer for further inspection, setting aside his coffee in order to use his left hand. Using his right hand was not an option, as that particular appendage was only good for pile-driving or crushing cinderblocks, since it was made of living stone and disproportionately large for his body. The overall visual effect was not unlike that of a gibbon wearing a solitary boxing glove.

Then again, when it came to the rest of his body, none of it was exactly what anyone would mistake for

'normal', at least not outside of Dante's
Inferno.
Standing over seven feet, weighing in at close to five hundred pounds, with bright scarlet skin, cloven hooves, and a long, prehensile tail that looked like a cross between a lizard's and a monkey's, he certainly fit the only name he had ever known the only name he had, to his

memory, ever been called:

Hellboy.

He scanned the newspaper article, which was long on hysteria but short on real news, typical for the tabloids.

The only thing of real interest was the side bar, which featured pictures of the missing children twelve

total, so far.

It was clear, despite the overheated prose, that New Yorkers were genuinely worked up over the disappearances. While such concern might seem odd for a city that prided itself on its history of indifference, there were several factors that made it an emotionally volatile situation: First, the age of the missing children none older than six years; second, they had all been taken from Central Park, the city's most sacred reprieve from the concrete and glass that surrounds it; third, the abductions all happened in broad daylight, within feet of the children's parents or guardians; fourth, all the children were from good, upper-income families and were well cared for, even pampered; fifth, no ransom note had been received by any of the families in the six weeks since the disappearances began, giving the distinct impression that the motivation for the kidnappings was depraved, not financial. Someone was stealing the children of Midtown Manhattan, and now, four days after the twelfth child was plucked by unseen hands from one of the gaily painted horses on the Carousel, there was finally some evidence that pointed to a paranormal force behind it all.

Which was why Hellboy and the others from the Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defense had choppered in at the crack of dawn from their headquarters in nearby Fairfield, Connecticut to meet with the mayor at Gracie Mansion. Who had yet to show.

Typical. Hurry up and wait. Hellboy grunted.

Suddenly the doors to the conference room flew open and the Mayor entered, flanked by several of his aides and a personal secretary, and Professor Bruttenholm at his elbow. The mayor looked like a man trying to eat breakfast, finish dressing, and call his office for messages all at the same time. It was occasions like these that Hellboy was glad his job only required him to fight monsters.

"Look, Mitch

I don't care what you think, the Sanitation Workers' Union has our nuts in a vise and they know it!" The mayor barked into the cordless phone while giving his tie a final adjustment. "Life in this city is a big enough pain in the ass as it is without commuters crawling over trash bags to and from work. And let's not get into the tourist thing! Let the Budgetary Committee squawk! I refuse to have a garbage strike on my watch, and that's final! You don't make it to the Governor's mansion on a mountain of disposable diapers.

Look

I got other things to worry about right now. I'll get back to you on this later." Rolling his eyes in frustration, the mayor closed his phone and handed it back to one of his aides. "I'm so sorry to keep you waiting."

Hellboy rose from his seat, extending his left hand to the Mayor. "That's perfectly understandable, Mr. Mayor

... "

A true politician, Hizzoner didn't even blink as he shook the hand offered him.

"I'm honored to make your acquaintance, Mr. Hellboy."

"Just Hellboy, sir," he explained, returning to his seat, which groaned uneasily under his immense weight.

Professor Bruttenholm coughed dryly into his fist. The old man was physically quite frail after all, he was

well into his nineties

but the fire in his eyes belied whatever physical shortcomings his age had brought him. As the Bureau's founder and Hellboy's foster father, Trevor Bruttenholm was still a force to be reckoned with.

"I had my men sweep the area where the last abduction is reported to have taken place. The spectrogram results indicate without a doubt that occult energy was expended at the sight. Whatever is stealing these children is of a paranormal nature."

The mayor frowned. "You think it's Satanists?"

Bruttenholm shook his head. "Not of the nature you are suggesting, no. But demon worship as a motive for the abductions is not out of the question."

"So how soon do you think Hellboy can find these kids and get them back safe and sound?"

There was an uncomfortable silence and exchange of glances amongst the BPRD members. After a long moment, Hellboy spoke up.

"Mister Mayor ... sir ... I don't like to make this situation any more distressing for the families than it already is, but there is less than a one percent chance any of those kids are still alive. Whatever is stealing them is doing it for one thing and one thing
only

consumption."

The mayor visibly blanched and his personal secretary looked like she was going to be sick.

"My God. You mean

a cannibal?"

"I don't know about the cannibal part

but we're certainly dealing with an anthropophagous entity,"

Bruttenholm explained.

The mayor's brow creased. "A
what?"

"Something that eats humans," Liz said helpfully.

"What kind of thing would do that?"

Bruttenholm rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "There are
numerous
creatures with a taste for human flesh but

given the types of victims and the circumstances of their disappearances, I'd hazard that we're dealing with an ogre

possibly a minor demon of some sort. Both are known for their fondness for child-flesh. Then again

... it also shows signs of classic fairy abduction."

"I
beg
your pardon?" said one of the aides, who wore a pink triangle button on his lapel.

"All legends and folklore have their basis in fact, young man," Bruttenholm replied sharply. "There are numerous accounts of children being charmed by the fairy folk and carried off to The Land Under The Hill Never-Never Land, if you will."

"Are you saying Peter Pan stole these children?"

"Not Peter Pan per se, because he was a work of fiction

but the reality on which such fanciful characters

have been based."

The Mayor shook his head in disbelief. "I thought I'd seen and heard it all after a lifetime of living on Manhattan, but this r
e
a
lly
takes the cake! Are you
sure
it's not Satanists?"

"Pretty sure."

"Damn." He stared at the ground for a few moments, then he began to smile, as if something had suddenly occurred to him. "If the children were abducted by leprechauns or whatever the hell they are at least

they're
okay,
right? I mean, fairies aren't
dangerous
they're just little women with butterfly wings, right?"

Hellboy glanced at the Professor, who shook his head. The old man was probably right. The less said the better in some cases, especially when it came to political types. The Mayor was desperate to find some kind of happy face to put on the situation should it go balls up. Telling grieving parents that their kids had been spirited away to Rock Candy Mountain by the Pied Piper certainly sounded better than saying they'd been eaten alive by an ogre.

It was decided that, given the size of Central Park, it would be better if the Bureau operatives placed themselves in strategic locations. Liz was stationed at the Children's Zoo, the Professor was keeping watch by the Carousel, while Hellboy found himself assigned to the Heckscher Playground.

With two jungle gyms, a sandpit, several sets of swings, and a Punch-and-Judy-style puppet house, Heckscher was the largest of the park's twenty different children's play areas; and given its easy access from Columbus Circle, it was considered the most likely target should whatever was preying on the park's young visitors strike again.

Dressed in his brown leather duster, his collar turned up, and with a wide-brimmed hat pulled low over his brow to hide the stumps of his amputated horns, Hellboy sat on a wooden bench not far from the swings and did his best not to look suspicious.

Thank goodness he was in New York City, or else he would have been failing miserably.

As he watched the hordes of children race back and forth amongst the swings and slides, it occurred to Hellboy that he had never before been exposed to such a large number of human children all in one place at one time. He was amazed by the energy and intensity they put into their play-time activities, as if the fate of the world hinged on how high they could ride the swings, or who went down the slide first.

Hellboy wasn't very comfortable around kids. His had been a solitary childhood if it could be called that at

all. However, Hellboy's uneasiness around children was not merely the result of his being raised apart from them. His biggest problem with rug-rats was they tended to break real easy. Given his bull-in-a-china-shop reputation, Hellboy was terrified of even touching them.

Since he had been raised in laboratory-like conditions, where his every development, both physical and mental, was measured, weighed, and documented, Hellboy had never been exposed to other children his own age, much less his own species. He had known of their existence, of course. He could still clearly remember when the Professor handed him that first copy of
Fun With Dick and Jane,
and how baffled and dismayed he had been to discover that not all little boys had bright red skin and cloven hooves.

Still, Hellboy did not consider his an unhappy childhood. The Professor had tried his best to raise him as he would a human child, given the unique conditions they found themselves in. And whenever Hellboy thought about how he might have turned out had his upbringing been left to the Nazis responsible for his deliverance upon this mortal plane, he shuddered. Still, these things did not keep him from experiencing a twinge of loss as he watched the children romp and play.

As the day wore on, Hellboy was surprised how many children were out enjoying the park, despite the dire events of the last few weeks. However, if the children were oblivious to the sinister cloud hanging over their favorite playground, the same could not be said for the adults accompanying them.

As he scanned the neighboring benches, Hellboy couldn't help but notice how intently the parents, nannies, and other care providers were watching their individual charges, eschewing the usual idle chitchat in favor of stony vigil. He understood their concern, but it would do little good, given the nature of the enemy they were up against. Mere human eyesight was of little use against forces more ancient than the standing stones of the Druids.

He sniffed the air, casting for the tell-tale stink of the paranormal, but all he caught was the odor of horse manure from the nearby Bridle Path and, when the wind blew from the east, the reek of far more exotic beasts that made their home at the zoo.

"Hellboy

come in, Hellboy. Do you copy?" Liz's voice buzzed in his pointed ear, thanks to the tiny headset he was wearing.

"Yeah, I hear you loud and clear," he growled into his lapel mike. " 'Sup?"