Emerald Hell (18 page)

“All apostles must face their masters on their own,” Ma'am McCulver said. “You two evil brothers are no different.”

Deeter stared at the granny witch and a crazed leer split his face. “I'll be back for you, darlin', and we'll have ourselves a good ole time, I promise. We'll have us some catfish and pumpkin pie for snackin'.”

“You'll be dead within the hour,” the three-eyed girl said.

Deeter looked back at his brother and said, “For swamp folk who know how to kick up a fine hootenanny, these people are startin' to work on my nerves some!”

“Mine too,” Duffy said. “We'll burn the whole place down before we leave.” He looked at Sarah and told her, “Come on along, little miss. Your daddy is waitin' on you.”

 
CHAPTER 24

—

You are many things,
the children said,
bonded of great love and extreme hatred. Power and resilience. Ego and narrowminded bias. Threatened and threat. Hopeful and hope. He is remote and He is not. He is vast and He is not. He is here within you and He is not.
You are. You are in need of acknowledgment and response. Your questions can never be answered because He is beyond understanding. You rely on faith. This is the distance between you and Him, you and the Almighty. We seek to bring the world closer. We seek to reopen Eden. We dream of taking down the flaming swords at the gates of the garden. It is our duty and our grace. We are mistaken, we have much to learn. We give thanks for your efforts. We love. He loves. You love.
The children wailed because it was what children do. Because they couldn't understand all they were and all that was around them in the great divine experiment of humanity. They were lost, in need of their father.

—

Hellboy came down like a sputtering V-2 rocket and crashed through another shanty.

This one wasn't empty. This one had a family in it. A pretty large family packed into a tiny place. A man and a woman, two children, an elderly lady, and an old dude in a rattan wheelchair. Everybody was huddled to one side of the shack holding on to each other. The roof was mostly gone. The little girl was wide-eyed and on the verge of tears. Hellboy's head was on fire.

He'd landed in the fireplace and the flames lashed at him. The precocious shadows weighed on top of him, still inquisitive, nosy even, tickling the underside of his mind. They were trying desperately to communicate, drilling into his brain.

It wasn't easy, just letting this kind of thing go on, kids making mudpies in your memories, but he decided not to fight them this time.

He let them take whatever pieces from him they wanted. Whatever memories they needed to sift, drawing up his experiences and holding them before their own interest and attention.

Maybe Jester was right and they were similar creatures. Hellboy thought about being the destroyed and the destroyer. It was the truth that always lay within him that he refused to acknowledge. It was how he lived. He never dealt with what he was. He never thought about it and just did what he was supposed to do.

He didn't know the shadow children, but they knew him.

“Ain't your head hurt?” the old lady asked. She bent and peered at him. “Pull it outta the fire. Ain't you got no sense?”

Hellboy sat up. “Ouch.”

“You ain't burned much. I got some salve if you need it.” Then she grunted and sucked at her gums. “Well, I did have some. Looks like you done mashed it beyond use.”

“Sorry.”

“Mama,” the little boy said, “it's the devil.”

“It ain't the devil, son.”

“It looks like the devil. His skin is red.”

“He just been out in the sun too long, and stickin' his head in the fire. You hush now, son.”

The girl stared at him, trying not to cry. He wanted to console her. He had no idea how.

Clambering up, he stood and looked around the shack. He'd seen a few miracles in his time and thought this might be one for the books. The room was maybe ten by ten. Six people in it. Hellboy had missed them all. What were the chances?

He said, “Sorry about the mess.”

“A mess is what you make when you spill the porridge,” the old man said, rolling forward. He couldn't get far because there was too much smashed lumber about. “This is a whole other matter now.”

“Sorry about the whole other matter.”

“It don't mean nothin', we'll fix it and get on by. What's of greater pertinence is you gettin' out there and kickin' them nasty fellas outta our village.”

“You're right. Consider it done.”

“I'll consider it done after you finish doin' it.”

Hellboy marched out the door, tasting blood and glancing once more at the family behind, the children scared but both slightly grinning, the old woman nodding to him once.

When he turned to look outside once more, Brother Jester was stroking black flames from his chin, and Lament was there playing his mouth-harp.

—

Lament stood facing Brother Jester beneath the brightening moonlight, neither of them looking particularly upset or angry. In fact, they appeared rather relaxed. Like two old friends at odds for the moment, after a bitter but brief quarrel, who knew they'd make up soon. Lament kept plucking away, making his strange music.

The rain had stopped. The storm drifted above but the clouds had spun aside leaving a hole almost directly above. Lament had cleaned up and had fresh clothes on, his suspenders tight around his shoulders, his arms crossed against his chest as he held the mouth-harp. It took Hellboy a moment to realize that Lament was actively ignoring Jester.

Hellboy kept his gaze on the dark preacher, getting ready for the next game. He said quietly to Lament, “What are you doing here?”

It took a few seconds for him to finish his song. “Oh, I came to help.”

“Go on back to Sarah. Don't you want to be there when she gives birth?”

“She's fine. Had the baby without any fuss and hardly no pain. Fifteen minutes and it was all over and done with. Doc Wayburn did little more than watch the proceedings. Granny McCulver's medicines are powerful.”

“And the baby?”

“A beautiful girl.”

“Congratulations.”

Lament merely smiled, but there was a deeper frustration rising into his features now, something Hellboy hadn't fully picked up on before. He remembered then that Lament had never said he was the father of the child.

There was more to talk about but now didn't seem the time. “Anyway, this is my fight.”

That got Lament chuckling. His laughter drifted on the breeze, real and wholesome. Jester flinched at the sound of it. “Son, you're a wonder, you truly are. But you can let it go now. This don't concern you.”

“Sure it does.”

“But it ain't your place. I appreciate your company more than I can say, and you helped out plenty in the swamp there, saved my life you did, but you can go on and get yourself some viddles and rest now.”

Viddles?

“You've got to be kidding. I know what I'm doing. You just leave this to me, all right?”

Hellboy stood in a half-crouch, preparing to bound forward. Maybe if he covered the ground between him and Jester fast enough the guy wouldn't be able to pull that mirror routine. Ten feet separated them. All he needed was to get in one good punch. He thought he could make it this time. And if he couldn't, he'd just take another thrashing and come back and try again.

“Stop,” Lament said.

Hellboy thought, Ten feet. I can do it easy. I've knocked down ice dragons, twelve-foot-tall werewolves, giant walking stone men, polar bear gods, bridge trolls, cave djinn. He wasn't about to let one gaunt preacher with a silly trick up his sleeve get the better of him.

“Stop,” Lament repeated.

“What?”

“Stop fighting. You can't argue the dead back into the ground.”

“What's that mean?”

“Exactly what I say. Quit it now.”

Like that was even possible. “I never quit.”

“When you're playin' a loser's game, you should.”

Raising the mouth-harp back to his lips, Lament played on. Hellboy watched Brother Jester over there, and he did look dead. Hellboy had fought zombie hordes before, and a couple of immortal magicians that just kept resurrecting themselves, but he'd never felt like his enemy might truly be trapped just this side of oblivion.

The dark preacher stepped up and Hellboy cocked his fist back.

But he'd been out of his element from the beginning with these people. Lament waited so Hellboy decided to do the same. His head was still heavy with the murmurs of the shadows.
Threatened and threat. Hopeful and hope.

“I want to see my grandchild,” Jester said.

Gators roared in the scrub, sounding close. Hellboy hoped he didn't break any kind of spell by engaging Jester in conversation, but he had something to say. “You have no family here.”

“I want the newborn.”

Genuinely curious, Hellboy asked, “Why?”

“Did you ask me why?”

Lament pulled the mouth-harp away and said, “I reckon your hearing's just fine for a dead man. He asked you, what do you want with Sarah's child?”

“I want to pass on my wisdom, to teach what I have learned. To love and be loved. To hold and be held. To have a family. It is my secret heart.” Aiming a talon-like finger, Jester pointed at Hellboy. “It is his as well.”

“Sure,” Hellboy said. “I think it's pretty much everybody's. That's not much of a damn secret. Did you expect me to be ashamed of that?”

Lips twisting, Jester couldn't seem to answer.

“Now you know why you don't argue with the dead,” Lament said.

“Gotcha.”

Eyes igniting with black furious power once more, Jester shifted his finger and pointed at Lament now. Sparks and flame played among his fingers. They licked out toward Lament but never reached him. “I know your—”

“Ayup, my secret heart. Not much to take pride in, a thing like that,” Lament said. “A man's true heart is between his own sinful soul and the forgiveness of the Lord. The rest is just petty hate. It's how you creep into a good person's life.”

“You speak like a preacher.”

“Mayhap you remember I done my share, once upon a time.” He raised his mouth-harp, plucked it a few more times, then placed it in his pocket. “Same as you. Before you lost your way and found greater satisfaction in ruining lives than in saving them. Or mayhap you don't recollect at all.”

“I am not a destroyer. I am the destroyed.”

“Call yourself whatever you like. I know you for a jealous, bitter, heart-wrenched killer. I seen your cruel nature rise up.”

“I only did as I was bid to do by the Lord.”

With no wasted movement, Lament's hand flashed out and he caught Jester with a vicious blow across the mouth.

The dark preacher twirled around once and landed on his back in the mud. He was grinning, but it was a false front. His eyes were spooked. He spat blood and black fire rose where his spittle landed.

Lament said, “Time you took responsibility for your own frailty, don't you think? Instead of blaming Heaven for all your failings?”

Hellboy thought, Now why couldn't I do that? Why couldn't I just smack him in the mouth?

Jester drew the back of his fist against his bleeding lip, and the blood shone on his flesh like a slick of oil. “More sinned against I was—”

“You forget I was there. I watched you murder your wife. You even tried to kill me.”

“John, that was . . . an accident . . . an—”

“So you do remember.”

“I recall . . . some things . . . but—”

“It was the act of a furious man following his own evil heart.”

Turning, Jester saw that the ghost of his wife was there again, standing to the right of Lament—
she'd said she would not appear at Jester's side anymore
—facing away and almost oblivious to the proceedings.

Hellboy saw the woman and knew she was a spirit, and figured it was the preacher's dead wife. But how was she going to help?

Lament saw her too and out of respect, perhaps even affection, nodded his head and whispered to her. “You go on now, you deserve your peace. Don't you worry about this little grief we got here, it'll be over soon.”

“Save him if you can,” she said, and slowly, very slowly, the way a woman full of love for her embittered husband is likely to finally give up on him after decades, that slowly, she faded into the wind.

—

“I am alone but for the cold, merciful angels,” Jester said. “That's why I need my daughter and grandchild.”

“Reckon you ain't never been alone, and that's been the trouble. Like with Saul and David, God blessed you too early on.”

Hellboy was antsy, surprised there was so much talking going on. He had a need for action, and all this standing around was getting on his nerves.

But something seemed to be getting resolved, even though he wasn't sure what or exactly how. He glanced up the track and spotted a lot of the swamp folk in the scrub and on their porches and peering from their windows, the party lights glazing their figures. They stood and waited in the palmettos and palm fronds.

Not far from him, lingering back in the emerald hell, he spotted the kid with eyes like an insect, the beautiful girl without bones in her legs, the dwarf with the big feet, and the
really
weird conjoined twins. Somehow, knowing they were nearby made him feel better.

Lament stood tall, a young man strong in the night, making an appeal to the mentor who'd once taught him in the humble ways of helping a neighbor. “You recall your foul doings and they don't tug at your conscience at all. That's why your redemption lies so far from hand. You ain't even asked for forgiveness.”