Hellboy: The God Machine (13 page)

She is still swollen with life.

Mary lurched toward him, tubes still dangling from her bony arms.

"Mrs. Burchett, please be careful," cried a nurse who followed her, reaching out to take hold of her arm. The old woman's assistant was there as well, trying to keep her from injury.

"Take your hands off me!" she spit, turning to glare at the two.

The nurse pulled away, an expression of shock and concern spreading across her face.

Mary turned back to Absolom, her snarling features immediately softening as she spread her arms to take him in her embrace. He wrapped his arms around her, careful with her delicate frame. She looked as though she just might shatter if one was too rough.

"I knew you would come back to me," she said, her body shuddering with what he hoped was joy. There was a medicinal smell about the woman, and something else.

A smell of decay.

Holding her in his arms, feeling the fragility of the woman's body against his, he knew that there was no reason for her to still be alive other than to provide refuge for the godly presence nestling within her. Absolom slowly brought down his hand from the crook of Mary's bony back, placing the flat of it against the side of her belly.

And his mind was suddenly filled with the ire of an angry god, bombarding him with images that nearly sent him to the brink of madness.

He quickly pulled his hand away, stumbling backward and falling into a nearby wing chair. Absolom's entire body tingled, his brain feeling as though it were swollen, pressing against the inside of his skull.

So angry,
he thought, tears of joy and pain streaming down his face.
So impatient to be born.

The god was aware of all that had transpired, aware even of the threat posed to his birth by the BPRD and its attack dog, Hellboy. The threat was real, and time was of the essence.

His followers came to him to see if he was all right. Silas Udell's warm tongue licked affectionately at his hand. Absolom pushed them all away as he climbed from the chair. Mary still stood there, a visage of death, yet radiating life. He had felt the god's panic; there was only so much that could be done to keep the body of the ancient woman alive. If Mary was to die, than Qemu'el would most assuredly die with her, and that could not be allowed.

"Are you ready, Mary?" he asked, holding out his hand to her. "Are you ready to change the world?"

The nurse produced a cell phone, placing it to her ear. "I'm calling the police," she said, and proceeded to dial the phone.

"You'll do no such thing," Mary Hudnell cried, spinning deftly around on spindly legs, reaching out to snatch the phone from the caregiver's grasp and smashing it to the hardwood floor.

"As of today I'll no longer be needing your services, Rosalyn," she said to the woman, turning then to look at her assistant. "Nor yours, Stewart. I want you both to leave at once. You are both dismissed."

The two appeared stunned, speechless.

"My family will take care of me now," she said, turning to gaze lovingly at Absolom.

The nurse and secretary did not move, seemingly rooted in place, unsure how to react. Silas Udell began to growl, baring his fangs as he slowly padded toward the pair. Wide-eyed, they began to back from the room.

"Get out of my home this instant," Mary Hudnell commanded. "Before
I'm
forced to call the police."

Absolom stood watching as the two at last departed. His Electricizers gathered around him. They were all together now--their number complete. At last he had been able to communicate with his god. He knew what had to be done, but they needed to move quickly.

It wasn't at all good manners to keep a god waiting.

Chapter 9

L
iz had no idea why she had volunteered to be a temporary puppet for the hideously burned spirit.

Guilt, maybe. A kind of twisted penance for all the lives incinerated when she'd lost control so many years ago.
It's as good an answer as any,
she thought. She wasn't quite sure what she'd expected, but it had been rather gentle, like sharing a seat built only for one, but if you squeezed over...

"Liz? You sure you're all right?"

She smiled, unable to put the real answer to that question into words.

Sally's dark, haunted gaze fell on her, and something passed between them. Where before she felt a kind of revulsion toward the woman's ghost, perhaps even fear, now all she felt was sadness. Sadness over how horribly her young life had been taken, betrayed by the man whom she loved, and sadness over how that same man now wanted to hurt the world.

Liz wanted to stop Absolom Spearz, not only to keep the world from harm, but so that poor, sad Sally could finally rest.

The lab tech Hellboy had sent to get a map finally returned to the meeting. He unfolded it to its full size and laid it down in the center of the table. The ghost of Uncle Steve hovered over the map of New England, arms folded in deep concentration.

"The locations of the thefts that we're aware of are here, here, here and the medicine bag here," Kate Corrigan said, marking off the places with a blue highlighter.

Steve continued to study the map, a ghostly hand rubbing at his spectral chin. From this angle, Liz could see his resemblance to Tom Manning, the way they both furrowed their brows when they were deep in thought.

"What've we got, Steve, buddy?" Hellboy asked.

She could tell he was getting antsy. He didn't care for the sitting around and planning stuff. Just tell him where to go and what to hit, and hopefully everything would work out for the best.

"Don't rush me, guys," Steve said, as he adjusted his spectral glasses on his equally ghostly nose. "Remember, I was being sucked into that spirit battery the last time I got a gander at their map."

Sally was beside him, staring at the map as well.

"I just want to be sure," he said. "What do you think, doll face?" he asked. "Your memory any better than mine?"

Sally lifted her arm and pointed to an area on the map, the same area Steve appeared to be pondering.

"Yeah, me too," Steve said.

He looked up, his finger on a spot that at first glance looked to be all ocean, not far from Buzzard's Bay, but upon closer examination showed a chain of a dozen tiny islands.

"There were other areas, I'm sure," he explained. "But I seem to remember the largest section of push-pins being right around here."

Manning got up from his seat, checking out the location.

"What the hell could be out there?" Hellboy asked, craning his neck to see the map.

"Those are the Gosnolt Islands," Moe explained to Hellboy, as if that would mean something to him.

Liz knew all too well that Hellboy didn't do much homework, and his memory wasn't the best either. Not that she could criticize. She wasn't much better. Even so, Gosnolt did sound familiar, and it definitely had something to do with the BPRD.

"Yeah, and what's so special about the Gosnolt Islands?" Hellboy asked them.

"Are you sure, Steve?" Manning asked.

The ghost nodded. "Can't be one hundred percent, but that area was pretty heavily marked."

Hellboy sighed, throwing his hands into the air. "Would somebody please let me in on the big secret."

The Stooges looked too worried to answer.

"Not all the islands," Abe explained. "Just one of them."

And then Liz remembered. She'd seen the location written on many shipping labels, as items acquired on their various missions, too dangerous to be kept around, were shipped out to be stored someplace where they couldn't do any harm.

Gosnolt.

"The Depot," Liz suddenly said, surprised that she had spoken it aloud. The Stooges and Abe were slowly nodding, waiting for Hellboy to catch on.

"The Depot?" he echoed, looking to Manning and his ghostly uncle for some kind of clarification.

"The Depot," Manning said, and then she saw the look in Hellboy's eyes as it hit him.

"Aw, hell, the Depot."

It was freezing outside her home, the hint of yet another snowstorm present in the cold January air.
Looks to be another harsh New England winter,
Mary thought, as Absolom pushed her wheelchair down the partially snow-covered brick path.

"Are you warm enough, Mary?" Absolom asked her, and she turned in her seat to look up into the new face of the man she loved. She wasn't quite sure if she cared for his new appearance, but she loved him no matter what.
Look at what poor Silas is stuck with,
she thought, glancing at the dog that walked obediently alongside her wheelchair with the other members of her restored family.

"I'm fine now," she said, pulling the heavy quilt tighter around her. "Now that you've come back to me."

"To find you like this...our lord truly works in mysterious ways," Absolom said.

Mary rubbed her bulging stomach beneath the comforter. It throbbed with life--a vibrancy that she had not experienced since that fateful night when all had gone horribly wrong.

"Even when it seemed likely that you were dead," she said, watching from her chair as the structure at the end of the path came into view, "I never gave up hope that somehow, you'd find a way to come back to me."

She reached out from beneath her covers to stroke his hand lovingly.

"Is this where we're going?" he asked, propelling her closer to the gray building built of corrugated steel.

It had been ages since she was last out here. "It is," she told him. "Inside you'll see a true example of my faith."

"I never doubted your faith, my dear," he said, and she felt her heart flutter with his tender words.

They came to a stop in front of the black metal door. It was padlocked, but she had brought her key. Mary removed the key from her pocket and attempted to stand up from the chair.

"Some assistance please, Absolom, I'm not as young as I once was," she said, and she felt his gentle touch, supporting her as she stiffly rose.

Standing at the door, she grabbed hold of the cold, metal lock, slipping the key into the slot.

"Time is of the essence, sister," Absolom said as he placed his arm lovingly around her and pulled her close. "There is still much that must be accomplished if we are to meet the needs of our god, and if this...surprise you wish to show us doesn't aid us in our cause, we really should..."

She removed the lock, giving it to him to hold.

"You'll have to trust me when I say that this has everything to do with our cause," she said, and pulled open the door. It was dark inside, and a stale, musty smell wafted out to greet them.

"My husband enjoyed making sailboats," she said, carefully entering the darkened space. "In between dalliances with teenage boys. It was a hobby that he had since before we became involved. After we were married, he had this space constructed so that he could continue his second great passion."

Her hand fumbled at the wall inside the doorway, remembering where the light switch was the last time she was out here.

"But then I developed a passion of my own, you see," Mary said, flicking on a series of overhead lights, illuminating the large space.

It was exactly as she had left it.

Mary looked at Absolom, attempting to read the expression upon his face.

"Are you pleased?" she asked him tentatively, unsure how she would react if he wasn't.

"What is this?" he asked, his gaze darting about the expanse of the space. The others had now entered, and they were just as taken aback as he.

"After the barn was destroyed...everything that we had worked so hard to build ruined, I was crushed, swallowed by despair--but
he
inspired me," she said, running her hands over herself. "He made me realize that this was only a temporary problem--a bump in the road if you will. That we...
I
would have to start again in preparation for your eventual return."

Absolom left her side to walk among the great metal pieces, and the other Electricizers silently followed in awe.

"I knew nothing of building fabulous machines and mechanisms, and asked the savior how I could contribute to the cause, but as always he was silent to me."

Mary remembered the day like it was yesterday. She and her husband had been attending an event for one of the local charities that was taking place at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston. She had been bored as usual, annoyed by the curious stares of people wondering about her
condition,
and proceeded to wander about the museum, losing herself among the great works of art.

The essence of the god inside her belly had fluttered happily as she came across the exhibit of metalwork done by a local artist. At first she had not understood, but as she studied the magnificent sculptures of iron and bronze, it came to her. The exhibit was called, interestingly enough,
Gods,
and at that moment Mary had known how she would contribute to the savior's eventual arrival.

"The sculptor's name was Berringer," she told Absolom, who was now standing in front of the large, disembodied head of iron. He stroked its featureless face. "I saw his work on display in Boston and knew that he would be perfect."

That night, despite the late hour, she had contacted the artist and immediately set up plans for him to work for her.
I want a sculpture,
she had told him.
Fifty feet high, the finest you have ever created--a creation befitting a god.
And the artist had done just as she had asked, taking up residence in one of the servants' quarters in her home, working out of the boat workshop, which Mary had had converted into an artist's studio.

"The way in which he approached his work," she said, "it was almost as if he understood the importance of what I'd asked of him--that he somehow knew that he was building the body of a god."

Absolom traveled from piece to piece, admiring Berringer's craftsmanship: the muscular torso, legs and arms of the unassembled armature.

"It's beautiful," he said to her, and she could have sworn that there were tears in his eyes.

She nodded, caught up in his emotions. "But never assembled," she said with a sad shake of her head. "It wasn't long after Berringer completed the work...I believe it was the head that was done last, that he took his own life."

Mary pointed to an area in the corner where a large black smelting furnace squatted, cold and unused for many a decade. "It was right over there--that beam," she explained. "That's where he did it--where he hanged himself."

She had been the one who found him, a ladder lying on its side beneath his dangling form. Mary wasn't sure exactly why Berringer had taken his life, but always believed that it was somehow his final gift to a powerful force that he knew would someday change the world.

Absolom came to her, taking her in his powerful arms, and he kissed her as she always imagined that someday he would. She had been anticipating this longer than the coming of Qemu'el.

"What we built before," he said, looking longingly into her eyes, "would have been more than sufficient. But this...this truly is a vessel befitting a god."

Absolom placed his hand upon her stomach, his head jerking back, his eyes rolling to the back of his head, as the divine being she carried spoke with him.

"But is
he
happy, Absolom?" she asked cautiously.

"Oh yes, he
is
happy," the high priest of the Band of Electricizers exclaimed, held in the grip of rapture, a euphoric grin spreading across his face.

"And so very eager to be born."

Tom Manning was at his desk, so caught up in the reams of paperwork necessary to begin the BPRD's next course of action that he didn't even notice the sudden drop in temperature until his hand and fingers grew numb.

Flinching, he looked up to see the ghost of his uncle floating around his office, looking at the framed photographs, certificates and commendations hanging on the walls. Manning was still a bit disconcerted by the spirit's appearance, for this wasn't the broken man he'd left in the care of the staff at the Mount Pleasant Rehabilitation Center. It was, instead, the eccentric uncle he remembered from those summer vacations that seemed so long ago.

"From the FBI to the BPRD," Uncle Steve said, moving from one framed piece to the next. "I'm really proud of you, Tommy."

Manning didn't know how to respond.
What do you say to somebody that you had institutionalized--someone you left to die alone?

The guilt was like acid, bubbling just beneath the surface.

"I was keeping an eye on you," the ghost said, drifting closer. "Watching you climb the ranks." Steve smiled, allowing himself to drift into one of the chairs in front of Manning's desk. "Look at ya now! Big office, telling Hellboy what to do. Hellboy!" The ghost shook his head in disbelief. "Friggin' Hellboy, I can't get over it."

Manning tried to find his voice, his brain sparking and misfiring. He had never been very good at things like this.

"Always wanted to let you know how proud I was of you, but I doubt you would've heard me," Steve said, using a ghostly finger to push his slipping glasses back up onto his nose. "You know what I'm saying, Tommy?"

The shame was like a lead weight, growing larger--heavier in Tom's chest, the painful images of the last time he'd seen his uncle adding to its mass. If he didn't do something, he was positive that it would suffocate him.

"What's up, Tommy?" Steve asked from his seat. "Looks as though you might have something to say."

Manning had faced serial killers in their lairs, had shoot-outs with hardened criminals, dealt with supernatural threats that could very well have destroyed the world, but nothing compared to this.

"I..."

The first word was like a knife, cutting into the soft flesh of his belly.