Emerald Hell

by Mike Mignola

  “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 li
ke 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.”

  “From you?”

  “From God. And you don’t remember a whit. I was too late to stop you from murdering your wife. But you were moving off from her and going after the baby in the crib. You don’t love Sarah. You nearly murdered her when she was an infant.”

  “No. No, that’s not true.”

  “After you nearly brained me with a hatchet, I crawled through your house. I prayed for your enlightenment. It was all I could do, bleeding near to death on your rug. But you heard me. You let her live.” Lament drew out a knotted piece of rope from his back pocket. “This bring back any memories?”

  “Yes. No. What is it?”

  “You recollect what happened later that day?”

  “No. Yes. I was . . . I was hanged.”

  “You know who done it?”

  “You did.”

  “No, I was a dying child. No, it wasn’t me.”

  “Bliss Nail did it.”

  “He was rushin’ over to save his woman and daughter, but no, it wasn’t him. He showed up a little while later, and watched you danglin’ for a bit. No, wasn’t him who done it.”

  Jester’s eyes widened, staring at the knot. “No.”

  “You done it yourself. You lashed the rope around the rafter and kicked off into purgatory. I crawled to you, blinded by my own blood. Bliss Nail was there, watching you swing. He held Sarah to his chest. I’m the one who cut you down. I prayed over you. Bleeding to death, I prayed over you.”

  “No.”

  “I ministered to you. I wanted to save you.”

  “No.”

  “And the healin’ was strong in me. God wanted it so. Couldn’t heal myself, but you . . . for you . . . I tended your body but couldn’t do nothin’ for your soul. Bliss Nail carried me to his car and got me to Doc Wayburn. And when he went back to that house later on . . . you was gone. You came back. You came back, but you learned nothing from your journey through oblivion.”

  “No,” said Jester, a whine working through his awful voice.

  “It’s not too late. Ask forgiveness.”

  “No.”

  “It’s my fault. I brought you back. My secret heart is that I’d never done it. That I’d left you to swing and sent you on your way. But we all got our sins. You’re mine, Jester.”

  They all turned then as the Ferris boys walked up to them, bracketing Sarah and the child, their knives hooking the moonlight.

  CHAPTER 25

  —

  “Well, here she is,” said Deeter, who pressed his stubbled cheek to Sarah’s, “the little miss that caused such a stir.”

  Duffy said, “I been a jot nibbled on, but I ain’t complain’, preacher. Here’s your girl. We done what was asked of us, my brother and me.”

  Proud of themselves, the Ferris boys leered and drew back, the shotgun aimed loosely in Hellboy’s direction.

  Lament grinned and Sarah returned the smile. Her movements still held a defiant air, as she lifted the sleeping child and held her closer. Hellboy wondered where it came from, such faith and belief and love in the middle of a hellish day like today. But he already knew the answer. It was the only answer.

  “Should you be up and about?” Hellboy asked her.

  “When harvest is being brought in, there’s women bear their children, then go bring in the sugar cane or tobacco. Or the peanuts. Mrs. Hoopkins wouldn’t have let me lay around, I can tell you that for sure.”

  Brother Jester moved to Sarah as if to embrace her, “Daughter, I’m here.”

  “Begging your pardon, preacher, but you ain’t my father. The man who raised me is in the ground. The man who sowed me is Bliss Nail. I don’t see what bloom you’ve got on me at’all.”

  “Your mother—”

  “The woman who raised me is in the ground. The woman who sowed me is closer to twenty years dead.”

  Again that unearthly mewl entered Jester’s decimated voice. “Your mother was my wife.”

  “Don’t see how that makes me any of yer business, reverend,” Sarah said.

  “You come two decades and thousands of miles in and out of mountains and valleys for naught, Jester,” Lament said.

  “But the child—”

  “Is mine,” Sarah said. “Ain’t yours. Nothing here is, though you feel you got a right to whoever and whatever you wanna take. You put your black mark on many. You cursed my half-sisters, the six other daughters of Bliss Nail.”

  “I did no such thing. His children suffer for his sins, not mine!”

  “Who suffers for yours then?”

  That seemed to stop Brother Jester for a moment, his eyes puzzled but fierce, as though he’d never stopped to ponder the question before. “I only want my daughter and grandchild.”

  “She’s not your daughter,” Hellboy said, gearing up and angling to move on the Ferris boys. He could probably handle a shotgun blast, but he had to protect the girl and the baby. He’d have to be fast.

  “Of course she is. She was born from my wife. What else could she be, but my daughter?”

  “Her father is Bliss Nail.”

  “He did nothing but spend a night of lies with a woman not his. His house was too crowded with their voices, that’s why he left.” As Jester spoke, he rubbed his hands together as if he wanted to clasp his palms in prayer. “And when he returned, their laughter and voices were gone. He called the Word down on himself.”

  Hellboy said, “I’ve seen some guys in deep denial, but you, pal, you take the whole freakin’ cake.”

  “I have had wrong done to me!”

  “Everyone has. What makes you so
special?”

  “I am a vessel for the Lord. My enemies called down the whirlwind upon themselves . . . my wife and Bliss Nail. He suffers through his daughters the way I suffer through mine.”

  “You don’t have a daughter,” Lament said.

  “Mock me no more! I only wish to hold my grandchild!”

  The Ferris boys tightened their ring around Sarah, their knives very close to her throat now. As Jester moved, Lament dogged his step, closing the space between them.

  “You do this!” Jester screamed. “You blind her to the truth. You’re jealous and hoard your child!”

  “Me?” Lament said, then added casually, “but I’m not the father.”

  The grin never left his face but something lurking within him, an inescapable pain, began to bleed out. Hellboy’s chin snapped up.

  “I was raped,” Sarah said, also speaking with an easygoing manner, but the seething anger was barely contained within her. Her long brown hair flowed in the wind, and the silver edging seemed molten beneath the moon. She pointed to the Ferris boys. “By them two right there. Your minions. Your servants. Your lackeys. They done raped me.”

  Jester’s face became wreathed in black sparks. “What?”

  Duffy scratched his head. “What’s that you say? When’d we do that?”

  Deeter said, “I’m havin’ trouble recallin’ that myself.”

  Gliding forward, Sarah balled her fist and cracked Duffy in the face. Blood burst and flew from his nostrils.

  “Goddamn! You broke my nose, girl!”

  “You two morons were drunk on moon. You caught me out at the cemetery, where I was putting flowers on the graves of my parents. You chased me near a mile through the woods.”

  “We must’ve had more than a couple’a jugs iffun we didn’t take you out to a wooly patch afterward,” Deeter said, scratching his chin. “We hardly ever let a gal go.”

  “Told the sheriff, I did. He dragged them in the next day, hung over, with no memory. They weren’t even lyin’ when they said they didn’t do it, ’cause they couldn’t truly recall. And what evidence did I have? A gutter girl with no family, with no man in town, no husband.”

  “My daughter?” Jester said, trembling, throwing flames. “You two . . . savaged my daughter?”