by Mark Morris
On the walk back to the hotel he filled Abe and Liz in on his conversation with Rachel Turner and their plans to combat the threat.
“It worries me that we’re still not getting to the real heart of the problem, though,” said Liz. “We’re only tackling the symptoms, not the cause.”
“It’s all we can do for now,” said Hellboy. “Damage limitation.”
“Yeah, I know,” she sighed, “but still...”
“Maybe this homeless guy can lead us to our enemy,” said Abe.
The homeless guy was called Duggie. He was waiting nervously in the hotel foyer with a B.P.R.D. agent when they arrived. Duggie was tall and scrawny, with bad teeth and a bird’s nest of filthy-looking hair. One of his eyelids was red and swollen, as if it was infected.
To the disapproval of the snooty hotel manager, Mr. Trenchard, Hellboy ordered a pot each of tea and coffee and then, accompanied by Liz and Abe, led Duggie into the hotel bar.
“Okay, feller,” he said, “so what’s your story?”
Duggie looked nervous. He huddled into his threadbare tweed coat, retracting his head, turtle-like, as if he expected the ceiling to come crashing down at any moment.
When he finally spoke, they were all surprised at how soft and cultured his voice was.
“I had a friend,” he said. “Michael. He disappeared a few days ago. It’s not like him to just go off. Michael’s a man of habit.”
“Where did you last see this friend of yours?” Hellboy asked.
“It was at the homeless persons’ refuge on Sire Street, near King’s Cross Station. We slept there on Sunday night, but when I woke up on Monday morning, Michael had gone. Him and three others.”
Liz looked at Hellboy and raised her eyebrows. He, however, seemed unimpressed.
“Maybe he just upped and left early,” he said, “and maybe the others did too.”
Duggie shook his head vigorously. “I’ve told you, he wouldn’t have done that. Michael wouldn’t just go off without telling me. Mr. and Mrs. Hipkiss, who run the refuge, claimed that Michael had left early in the morning without saying where he was going, but I don’t believe them. What I think is that they drugged the food to make us all sleep, and then Michael and the others were taken. And I think the ones last night were taken too.”
This made them all sit up and take notice.
“Last night?” repeated Abe.
Duggie nodded. “I woke up feeling groggy again this morning, just like the last time, to find that exactly the same thing had happened. Four people gone. No one’s ever suspicious because ... well, because most of the people who stay at the refuge come and go as they please. Sometimes they move on to different towns. Sometimes they just leave without saying anything and you never see them again.”
“So four people go missing from the refuge on Sunday night, and the bodies of four homeless people are found on Monday morning,” said Liz. “Last night four more people go missing, and this morning more bodies are found.” She turned to Hellboy and Abe. “Now is it just me or is that a hell of a coincidence?”
“Only three bodies were found this morning,”Abe said.
“Which probably just means there’s one still to be discovered,” said Liz.
The drinks arrived. Abe poured coffee for Hellboy, Liz, and Duggie, and tea for himself. He offered a biscuit to Duggie, who took one and looked at the rest hungrily.
“Take them all,” said Liz, then watched as he scooped them up in two handfuls and dropped them into his pockets.
“Do you know the names of any of the people who disappeared at the same time as your friend?” Hellboy asked.
Duggie nodded. “Yes, there was a man called Big Ronnie ... er, Ronnie Marsden. And there was a girl ...Jenny something.”
“Not Jenny Campion?” said Hellboy quietly. “Young? About nineteen?”
“That’s her,” Duggie said. “You know her?”
Hellboy shook his head. “She was one of the murder victims. I remember her name from the forensics report.”
“Ah,” said Liz quietly. She placed a hand on Duggie’s arm. “I’m afraid you know what this means, Duggie?”
Duggie nodded. “Michael’s dead, isn’t he?”
“It looks that way,” said Liz. “I’m really sorry.”
Duggie swallowed, rubbed a hand rapidly back and forth across his mouth, making his stubble rasp. Resignedly he said, “It’s okay. I knew he was dead. Deep down I knew he wouldn’t have just gone without saying anything.”
“Did you tell the police what you’ve told us?” Abe asked.
Duggie snorted. “Do you think they’d have believed me, or cared? They think people like me and Michael are animals. They think we’d slit each other’s throats for a crust of bread.”
“The question is, do we go to the police?” pondered Abe.
Hellboy pulled a face. “I say we deal with this one ourselves.”
“I agree,” said Liz. “This is our area. From what Abe found out last night, we know that this group who call themselves the All-Seeing Eye committed these murders, and we know too, from the attack on Abe in the factory, and from the one on Richard and me at Olusanya’s apartment, that they’ve got at least some measure of occult power.”
“My guess would be they’re tapping directly into the energy source beneath the city,” said Abe, “which means they have access to the energy’s point of focus, wherever that may be.”
“A lodestone?” said Liz.
“Exactly.”
Hellboy shook his head angrily. “Jeez, why don’t these idiots ever realize how stupid they’re being by messing with this stuff? Can’t they see they’re just like kids playing with fire?”
“But kids never realize how dangerous fire is until they get burned,” said Liz quietly.
Both Hellboy and Abe looked at her. There was a beat of silence. Then Hellboy said, “Okay. So we know these Eye guys have been to the refuge twice. Reckon they’ll chance a third visit?”
Abe looked thoughtful. “Possibly. But if I had to bet on when, I’d say sooner rather than later. Maybe even tonight.”
“Because, now that the Eye is opening, they’ll want to provide it with more victims, to speed up the process?” said Liz.
“Partly that, and partly because they might feel that the net is closing in on them. They know that we’re looking for them, plus they’ll be aware that the full remains of the first set of victims have now been found, which means it’s only a matter of time before the victims are identified and traced to the refuge. They might feel, therefore, that this is the last time they can take a gamble on visiting the place.”
“Or maybe they’ve already decided it’s a gamble not worth taking,” said Hellboy. “Maybe they’ll go someplace else.”
“Maybe,” mused Abe, “but you said, didn’t you, Duggie, that you thought the food was drugged? Which means that the people who run the refuge ... what did you say their name was again?”
“Hipkiss,” Duggie said.
“Hipkiss, right. So maybe the kidnappers have got a deal going with Mr. and Mrs. Hipkiss. Maybe the Hipkisses are even Eye members themselves.”
“There are still plenty of homeless people on the streets,” said Liz. “The kidnappers could just pick some up from there.”
“They could,” agreed Abe, “except for the fact that what they’ve caused to happen today might actually work against them. By tonight London will be in a state of emergency. The streets will be in virtual lockdown, swarming with soldiers and cops.”
“Hmm,” said Hellboy. “It’s all good reasoning, Abe. Still a lot of ifs, buts, and maybes, though.”
The ridges on Abe’s neck rippled gently — Liz recognized it as a sign of amusement. “Aren’t there always?”
“So what are we gonna do?” asked Liz. “Stake out the place?” She and Abe both looked to Hellboy.
“What time is lights out at this refuge place?” he asked Duggie.
“Ten,” Duggie said.
H
ellboy nodded. “Then we spend the rest of the day cleaning up the streets and we meet at the refuge at nine thirty. I’m guessing these guys have a vehicle of some sort to transport the victims — in which case, I’ll call Rachel Turner and tell her we need a car.”
Thoughtfully Liz said, “I’m thinking it would be a good idea if we had an inside man — or woman — on this job. How easy would it be for you to get me a bed for the night, Duggie?”
Duggie shrugged. “It’s first come, first served. I’m usually there about five.”
“Then that’s when I’ll be there too,” said Liz. “That’s if it’s okay with you, HB?”
Hellboy chewed the idea over for a moment, then he nodded. “Makes sense to me. It’ll give you a chance to look the place over, check out all the exits and entrances.”
“My thoughts exactly,” said Liz. “I’ll wear a big coat and smuggle my phone in, let you know if I find anything useful.”
“Take your gun too,” said Abe.
“Goes without saying. Hey, you don’t get searched on the way in, do you, Duggie?”
Duggie shook his head. “The Hipkisses are very laid back.”
“That’s settled then,” said Hellboy. “Now all we need is the info from Rachel, and we can get rollin’.”
Right on cue, the hotel’s personnel manager, the same woman who had appeared at breakfast that morning to inform them that Richard had arrived, entered the coffee lounge and came over to their table.
“There’s a fax coming through for you, Mr. Hellboy,” she said. All three B.P.R.D. operatives jumped instantly to their feet, followed, a few seconds later, by a hesitant Duggie.
“Time to go,” remarked Abe.
“No rest for the wicked,” added Hellboy, an expectant gleam in his eye.
———
Cassie felt a little overwhelmed by it all. This was definitely the strangest day of her life. It was as if meeting Hellboy had tipped reality on its head. She was usually so practical, but her thoughts were currently in a whirl, her emotions all over the place.
Even so, she put her empty glass down on the table, having come to a decision.
“Another drink?” asked Richard, who was sitting opposite her.
Cassie shook her head. “I’m not staying here,” she told him.
He looked taken aback. “But Hellboy said to sit tight, didn’t he? He said it wasn’t safe out there.”
“I don’t care,” Cassie said. “My car’s parked just round the corner on Bedford Square, and I only live in Camden. No offense, Richard, but if I’ve got to be stuck anywhere, I’d rather be stuck at home than in some smoky pub.”
“But you might not make it home,” Richard said. “I mean, I don’t want to scare you, but — “
“That’s a risk I’m prepared to take.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Well... it’s your decision, I suppose ...”
“Yes it is,” she said. “So what are you going to do?”
He looked around. The pub was packed now, largely with people who had either witnessed the incident in Tottenham Court Road or who had fled from it, and were now attempting to steady their nerves with a drink or two.
“Stay here, I suppose,” he said. “Wait for news.”
“You could be waiting all night.”
He shrugged. “There are worse places to be.”
Cassie thought of how unbearable this poky little pub would become six or seven hours from now if the all clear failed to materialize. It would be hot, and so smoky you would barely be able to breathe. And it would be full of drunken people with frayed nerves ... she shuddered at the prospect.
“You sure I can’t drop you off somewhere?” she asked.
“No thanks. I’ll take my chances here.”
“Okay, well ... nice to meet you.” She took his hand and shook it.
Richard’s eyes looked big and dark behind his spectacles.”Good luck,” he said quietly. “I hope we meet again.”
She left him there, perched on a stool by the bar, and shouldered her way through the crowd. Oddly it was almost like a party atmosphere in the pub, people standing with drinks, chatting excitedly about Hellboy’s exploits. Cassie had pieced together what had happened from various eyewitness reports even before Hellboy himself had called to let her know what was going on. She had been mightily relieved to hear his voice. According to what some people had said, he had been smashed up pretty bad.
She liked Hellboy. She’d heard of him before she met him, of course, and like most people had always found him a fascinating character. She had only seen him on TV a couple of times, and on those occasions had thought how ill at ease he looked with a camera pointing into his face. The impression he had always left her with was of a brooding, taciturn man, who valued his privacy, and whose friendship and respect you probably had to work hard to earn.
There was undoubtedly something attractive about that, if only in the sense that it made you want to get under his skin and find out what made him tick. When he had turned up that morning with that creep, Reynolds, Cassie had been shocked, thrilled, fearful, and excited all at the same time, but she had somehow managed to rise above it, to just be herself and speak to him as an equal.
And he’d liked that, she could tell. She suspected he got tired of the fact that people found it hard to be “normal” around him; in fact, he had said as much during their disrupted breakfast together. The thing that had most surprised Cassie about him — apart from his sheer physical presence; in the flesh he was massive and impressive and far redder than she’d expected — was how gentle and shy and diffident he was, and how easy to relate to.
, She pushed open the door and stepped outside. After the dingy fug of the pub, the day seemed incredibly cool and fresh and bright, and she paused for a moment, breathing deeply, attempting to clear her head. After what Hellboy had told her, and from the snippets she had heard in the pub, Cassie had half expected to find London in chaos. She had been bracing herself for the sight of wrecked cars and buildings, and bodies lying in the streets, but at first everything seemed reassuringly normal.
The impression did not last long.
She had taken no more than a couple of steps when she heard a police siren. Almost instantly that was overlaid by another, further away. Attuning her ears, it suddenly occurred to her that the city was full of sirens, though most were so faint that they were barely audible. And yet, despite them, it was actually quieter on the streets than it usually was. There was not the underlying rumble of traffic that she was accustomed to. Uneasily she looked to her left, and realized that the cars further down the road had, in fact, been abandoned by their drivers. She was wondering whether all the roads in the city would be choked by discarded vehicles when, drifting on the breeze, she heard a voice, amplified and distorted by a megaphone.
“This is a state of emergency,” the voice said. “For your own safety, the government of Great Britain is advising all citizens to clear the streets of London. We suggest that you enter the nearest accessible building and remain there until further notice. Once you have found a safe place, please stay calm and await further advice. The British government would like to reassure everyone that it is using all available resources to bring the current situation under control. Thank you for your cooperation.”
There was a pause and then the message began again. Cassie shuddered. There was something horribly unreal about all this. She hunched her shoulders and hurried along the street, half expecting a patrol car or a military vehicle to come screeching round the corner, and for its inhabitants to arrest her for breaking some just-imposed curfew, or to surround her with weapons drawn.
She was relieved, therefore, when she turned on to Adeline Place, which led up towards Bedford Square, to find that other people were still out on the streets, after all. A small knot of them, two men and three women, were huddled on the steps of a townhouse that had been converted into the premises of a consulting agency upmarket enough to have a gold engraved plaque bearing i
ts name mounted beside its glossily black front door.
The people were conversing in hushed voices, as though to raise them any higher might bring some terrible retribution down on them all. As she walked past, Cassie caught the eye of one of the women and nodded a greeting. The woman offered Cassie a tight, cautious smile in response.
Further along the same street, at the intersection with Bedford Avenue, a man in a gray anorak was talking to a uniformed police officer, who was leaning against his parked panda car. The policeman had his arms folded and looked relaxed — so much so that Cassie decided to brazen it out and stroll past as if this were a normal day.
“Excuse me, miss,” the police officer said, breaking off from his conversation with the man in the anorak.
Cassie sighed inwardly, but smiled sweetly at the policeman. “Yes, officer?”
“Are you aware that a state of emergency has been declared? We’re advising people to stay indoors.”
“I just heard the announcement,” Cassie said truthfully. “That’s why I’m on my way back to my car.”
“Where is your car, miss, if you don’t mind me asking?” the policeman said.
“Literally at the end of this road. Just the other side of Bedford Square.”
“And where are you heading?”
“Camden,” Cassie said. “Mandela Street.”
“If you’ll just wait a moment, miss, I’ll check that it’s safe for you to proceed.”
Cassie waited while the officer reached into his car and unhooked the radio from its housing. He made several inquiries and received tinny, static-filled responses, which Cassie couldn’t make out. Finally he leaned back into the car and placed the radio back in its bracket beneath the dashboard.
“That’s fine, miss. But stick to the most direct route and go straight home. And once you’re there, stay there.”
“Will I get arrested if I don’t?” Cassie asked cheekily.
She meant the question as a joke, but the policeman didn’t seem to find it funny. “I’m offering this advice for your own safety, miss.”
“Thank you, officer. I appreciate your concern,” Cassie said, suitably chastened.
