Hellboy: Odd Jobs (9 page)

Guy furtively glanced down the hall. What was the
Faculté Directeur
doing here this time of morning? It was barely three o'clock.

Catching sight of Guy, the
Directeur
waved. Guy nervously waved back, and turned to return to the archives.

He had to reach the
bibliothèque.
He had to get the head his head

out of here.

As he continued down the hall, adjusting the empty backpack he'd brought to take the head home, he heard the
Directeur's
voice. Turning, terrified the old man was following him and wanted to engage in some small talk, Guy was further alarmed when he heard other voices.

Sweating, he stole his way back to the end of the corridor.

The
Directeur's
voice was raised now, boisterous: his public voice, representative of the institution. A woman responded, followed by a deep, guttural growl, like that of a mastiff, and a soft, barely audible gurgling voice.

Guy quietly lay flat on the floor, and slowly, ever so slowly stole a glance around the corner.

There were three figures standing with the
Directeur,
who seemed somewhat intimidated while checking identification papers the woman had in her hand. No wonder he was intimidated: the two men with her were strange. The one looked normal enough, but wore a hat, sunglasses, a scarf, and gloves, baring not a fraction of his skin.

The other wore a trench coat, but that was his least impressive aspect. He was gigantic, fiery red, like some sort of demon. He dwarfed the
Directeur
completely.

As Guy stole a final look, he could have sworn the red man had hooves.

They didn't see him, not even when he scraped himself away from the corner and stood on shaky legs, his hands at his face.

They were here for the head, he knew it. They were here for his treasure, with an entourage of demons to spirit it away.

As the
Directeur's
voice raised anew and their collective footsteps reverberated through the hall, nearing the labs, Guy darted away. He could hear the distinctive tap of the
Directeur's
cane as he walked, and something else:

Hooves.

He had to get to the
bibliothèque.
He had to rescue his savior, and be off, but they were between him and the library. He wasn't thinking straight; all he could think of was getting to the archival lab before they did.

He would think of something there.

"What's in the backpack, Guy?" the
Directeur
inquired. He gently prodded the pack with his cane.

"I brought some books. To read. Later," Guy stammered. The
Directeur
seemed satisfied and left the pack alone, resting there by the door.

"We like to hire readers," the
Directeur
explained. "Even our janitors are educated men, you see?"

The woman had been eyeing Guy ever since she'd set foot in the room. Guy busied himself with sorting the files, arranging the stacks from the middle sections of shelves, but he couldn't stop sweating.

The red giant eyed the shelves opposite Guy, while the man in the hat, scarf, glasses, and gloves simply stood in the doorway.

"And you say all you've found so far seems in order?" the
Directeur
asked. "Nothing unusual?"

"Well, the shark embryos gave me a start the first night," Guy chuckled. And sweated.

He furtively glanced over his shoulder at the woman, who stood her ground and held her implacable glare.

The
Directeur
seemed satisfied, but the woman touched the old man's sleeve.

"May I?" she asked, still pinning Guy with her gaze.

Ever affable, the
Directeur
said, "But, of course."

Guy looked away. Sweating. He could feel her staring as she moved behind him and took a position between himself and the far door, where the muffled man still stood.

"Guy, I'm Dr. Kate Corrigan

"

"Doctor of?" he stammered, afraid to face her, still stooping over the files he uselessly shuffled. The
Directeur's
cane tapped Guy's elbow.

"Guy, you are to fully cooperate. We have nothing to hide, have we?"

"Guy," she continued, her voice flat and dark as slate, "we are investigating some archival materials we have reason to believe found their way here over fifty years ago."

Guy finally turned and glanced at her legs. He was sweating, sweating still. The demon turned its attention from the odd collection on the shelves to him, now. The muffled man was facing him. The
Directeur
looked stern, his brow furrowed over his wire rim glasses.

"What is it, then, can you tell me?" Guy shakily asked, gathering the nerve to look her in the eye. "Can't you tell me what it is?"

The demon spoke, his bass voice causing Guy to flinch.

"We're not sure. It was a head, but made of stone or metal, and

"

"In pieces, it was in pieces,
oui
?" Guy stammered, stepping over to the shelves behind him, the shelves that led to the doorway where the muffled man stood. The muffled man was stepping into the room now. Guy had their rapt interest, all eyes were on him.

"You know of such a thing, Guy?" the
Directeur
whispered. "Why didn't you bring it to someone's attention?"

He stumbled over to the shelves, running his hand along the upper ridge of the highest shelf he could reach.

The shelves by the door weren't attached to the wall, they were free standing; if he could reach them Kate stepped between Guy and the doorway as the muffled man moved in closer. Guy stole a glance at the red giant, who seemed less interested in Guy than what might be up on the shelves Guy seemed to be motioning to.

"I

I thought it was a puzzle, just a puzzle," Guy blurted out, finally gaining hold of the edge of the free-standing shelves. "I thought it was just a teaching tool, or a puzzle."

"Where did you put it," the woman named Corrigan said without inflection.

"Here, up here, right up here by these

"

For a moment, all eyes moved to the shelf above Guy.

Stealing his chance, he pulled with all his might on the free-standing shelving unit, and suddenly the woman, the muffled man, and the
Directeur
were lost in a shower of paper and cardboard and jars and fetuses and glass.

As the heavy shelving toppled onto them, Guy leapt over the racks. The red demon took a swipe at Guy, but he was clear of the monster's reach with the shelving taking up almost half the floor space now. Guy snatched up his empty backpack and darted out of the archives and down the corridor.

Hellboy rushed to lift the shelving unit off the trio. Free of its decades-old burdens, the shelving was light and lifted easily, but the contents had buried all but Kate's head and Abe's legs. Kate was coughing, but Abe was making a horrible sound.

"Katie! Abe

are you all right?"

"The
Directeur
," Kate managed to sputter, "help the
Directeur

"

Abe was in trouble. All around him was broken glass, some of it jutting from oversized jar lids. A tangle of fins and fur and tentacles lay over his coat and head, and the one gloved hand Hellboy could see was twitching in agony. The smell of formaldehyde was pungent and ever-present.

"Jeez, Abe," Hellboy muttered as he lifted his friend up from the debris with one arm, and spun the other to unwrap the scarf from his throat. The formaldehyde had saturated the scarf, Abe's clothes, and his gills were making a wrenching sucking sound.

"Christ, help the
Directeur
," Kate shouted, pulling herself free of the wreckage.

"We're losing Abe," Hellboy insisted, prompting Kate to take her first look at their partner since they'd entered the
Faculté.
Hellboy had succeeded in getting the wraps and headgear off Abe's head and neck, but he was clearly in trouble.

Kate rushed to Hellboy's side. "There were some bathroom showers down the corridor," she recalled, "I'll get him to them. Help the
Directeur,
find out where that miserable little bastard lives."

With an exchange of looks and Abe's trembling self, Kate and Hellboy switched places. By the time Kate had managed to hustle Abe out of the room, Hellboy had uncovered the
Directeur.
Shards of broken glass pierced the old man's face and there was blood everywhere, but the cuts seemed superficial. The state of shock the old man was in, however, was deepening.

Hellboy didn't try to lift the old man. He swept the debris laying on and around him aside, clearing a space for the
Directeur.
Hellboy took off his trench coat and draped it over the old man. It looked huge over the frail

fellow, covering him completely like a blanket.

"Try not to move,
Directeur
," Hellboy whispered. "We'll have a doctor here in no time."

"Guy

" the old man whispered back.

"I'm after him. Do you know where he lives?"

The
Directeur
swallowed once, twice, then raised his voice.

"He takes the Metro

to Boulevard
Richard'lenoir

a second floor
appartement

the number

"

Guy cradled the head in his lap. Thankfully, no one else was on the Metro this morning, so he could pull the edge of his backpack down and look at it now and again. Even when it was covered, it spoke to him, soothed him, comforted him.

It whispered fortune and infamy, purges and pyres, and chuckled at the threat of women and demons. They were nothing to fret over, it assured him.

It offered more predictions, and told Guy of the armies they would sire together. But first, it was hungry.

He made his way to the door, which was partially open. He could see the backpack, empty on the rug, and heard something crooning inside. Hellboy eased to the door of the
appartement,
hoping to get a look at whatever was inside. There was a light on, and Guy sat in an odd position in the middle of the bed at the far side of the room. He was still sweating like a pig and moaning softly, and seemed to be cradling something in his lap.

The fellow remained oblivious to Hellboy's presence as he stole further over the threshold to gain a better vantage point. Now he could make out the bandages across Guy's chest, blood-stained in the front; some of the stains were fresh, shiny wet amid broader expanses of dried rusty hues.

Guy was rocking gently and groaning like an idiot, one arm bent back and braced against the bed to support him, the other cupping something that looked like a pink-tinged bowling ball at his crotch. Coiled around his legs were more bandages, stained with blood.

"Guy?" Hellboy whispered.

The spell was broken. The emaciated young fellow cocked his head in Hellboy's direction, his eyes narrowing in fear and rage.

"Get owwwwwwwwt!" Guy hissed, leaning protectively over the thing at his crotch, throwing both of his spindly arms over it.

His brow furrowing, Hellboy strode into the
appartement,
straining to get a look at the object Guy was so protective of. Whatever it was, it seemed to struggle against Guy's grasp, turning of its own volition to face Hellboy. Startled, Guy let it go and shuddered as the head sought a new position on his lap.

Hellboy bared his teeth at the sight of the thing.

"You sick freak," Hellboy gagged. "How dumb can you get? You fed the damned thing blood and

"

"

unborn infants," the head exulted, licking its bruised lips, "man's milk."

Guy bent over as if he'd been kicked in the groin. He began wailing like a baby and tumbled off the bed, spilling the head from its precarious perch in his lap.

Hellboy hunkered to follow its progress, and in two steps was standing over the reddish ball as it came to rest in the center of the dingy room.

"Moro?" Hellboy rasped.

The swollen lids pulled back from the glowing orbs as it gazed at Hellboy. The widening eyes flickered with recognition, then flared with renewed hunger.