Tom Piccirilli: Emerald Hell

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-"