Hellboy history, Part 2.
Bruttenholm's Tapes: November 18th, 1979
I fear for my son like I have never feared before. He has come to me, today, and made mention of work he did a few months ago -- at an Archaeological dig in Zimbabwe; Anastasia Bakersfield was our client; her dig had run afoul of local spirits.
But they had not yet cut contact, it seems. They have been exchanging letters and phone calls for at least three months, and apparently they met here in Fairfield just two weeks ago; she stayed here three days, and apparently, he spent the entirety of her stay with her.
And he has come to me and confessed he believes he is in love with her, and that his feelings are completely reciprocated. He's taken her as his lover, and intends to join her, on a leave of absence, for her digs.
I worry for him.
* * *
Bruttenholm's Tapes: April 4th, 1981
If I ever see Anastasia Bakersfield, it will be too soon! My son has returned to the bureau the way a kicked dog returns to his master, needing reassurance and kindness. He was unwilling to speak of their relationship, or time together, until last night I found him having emptied out a great deal of my Chivas Regale. I have never seen him so utterly... lost!
He confessed then, that he broke it off with Anastasia, and that she was upset with him. That he had tired of the looks, the snide remarks -- that they could not go anywhere... her peer group constantly blocked her own and that as their relationship progressed, her social acceptability in the world had steadily declined. She loved him, he said, but she could not defend him from man's constant disapproval... and so their relationship began to crumble.
Why she could not stand up for my son, I do not understand. Perhaps she was weak in the face of such accusations. Perhaps she secretly began to wonder if they were not well-founded. But if she could not be sure that she could be strong in the face of adversity, then why, why did she take my son out into the world so, and bare him to the cruelty of the world in so intimate a fashion?
Perhaps the fault lies with me. I did not prepare him for these things; I, married to my work rather then a woman, did not provide an example or what love could -- should -- be. But now, I only know that he feels less human then he ever has in his life... to the point that he actually /said it to me/! His own father! His father, who fought and bled and cried for him! Who stood before God and Man and said, "This is my son!" Not even when he was young, and first feeling out what it was like to be human, and sanding the stumps of his horns so they would not grow back... Even then, he never said to me, "I do not feel like a man, anymore. I don't even feel human."
Even if she did not break his heart intentionally, surely, his pain will break mine.
* * *
Active Duty: 1981-1994
Hellboy returns his to exemplary service as an agent for these years; rather then nurse his broken heart, he throws himself back into his work full force for the next thirteen years, working hard and forgetting about his attempt at a normal life and relationship. Such things are not for him, he decides, and such things hurt when they fail, more so then missions that go wrong. His body can heal easily. His heart? Not so much.
He continues to pursue the corpse of the vampire Ilona Kakosy, who he had originally began pursuing in 1975; however, when he finds here, he must deal with strange visions and experiences that he cannot explain. He keeps these to himself, troubled, but manages to slay her in 1982. She's hardly the first vampire to fall to his stake, and won't be the last. He continues on his work, and breaks in a new agent in 1984.
Kate Corrigan has come on as consultant, however, she shows great interest in actual investigation. However, she has little field training. Hellboy and she become close; Bruttenholm watches and worries -- the break up with Anastasia and Hellboy's non-human feelings, however, seem to keep him from being anything but good friends with Kate, and Bruttenholm does not interfere. That same year, Hellboy gains a presidential commission, and gains national recognition for his service.
It doesn't seem to matter, though, as another of Anastasia's digs has happened upon trouble in 1986-- Hellboy goes solo, and comes back still at peace with his decision, despite Anastasia's desire to have him back in her life, despite the social difficulty. He refuses, however, and wraps himself back up in the cocoon of his work.
Trevor returned to active work -- finding that with his nest empty and his company well in hand, he desired to return to a more active, field oriented life style. He places the agency in the hands of it's field directior, Prof. Manning -- a slightly less ethical and definitely less compassionate man -- and heads out into the world with Hellboy, Abe Sapien, and Liz Sherman, along with other agents, and enjoys his work, culminating in what would be his last mission with the Cavendish family in 1993.
In 1994, he would be dead, and Hellboy would loose the central pillar of support. Everything would change, over the next ten years, as everything Hellboy thought he knew, understood, or was begins to get stripped away, layer by layer, like the skin of an onion, till he was stripped bare at it's center, wondering when things had changed so much.
* * *
Hellboy's Tapes: December 23rd, 1994
This is very odd; to be continuing my father's record of my life. He began these years ago, to record my discovery and my life since, and I've discovered them since his death at the hands of the Cavendish frogmen, apparently at this 'Rasputin's' behest. I'm not sure what to think of these -- really, it's hard to say, 'Oh, thanks for letting the Osiris Club test me for their own purposes', but... What's done is done, and I try not to dwell in the past.
And I hope the past goes away, too. I really hope Rasputin stays dead. He's one those types, you just get the sinking feeling is never, ever going to go away. He's a damned man, that thing -- but... Eh. Abe put a harpoon through him, and I beat the ever lovin' crap out of what was left of him. Liz fared the worse, though -- she was very ill for sometime after that. She left again -- this is Exit #13 for her. I know she'll come back.
But life went on; my father's death was avenged, and while I... found out some strange things, I don't really know what to make of them. This Rasputin summoned me, he says -- brought me to be the key to the Nazi Ragna Rok... I was to be his key, his seed of destruction, and wake these Ogdru Jahad -- seven elder chaos gods in some prison somewhere.
He called me Anung un Rama. I'm not sure why, but that name -- hearing it... was like... it was wrong and right all at the same time. Saying it into this tape makes me... It honestly makes me kinda sick. I don't care to think of that as my 'true' name. I'll stay Hellboy, thanks. He tried to tell me that it was who I was, what I was going to be, that if I destroyed him... none of my mysteries would ever be solved.
So much for that. He's dead, I'm not. Case closed, as far as I'm concerned.
It's been relatively quiet since then; I'm not sure how I feel about how Manning's been running the show here, especially since Father's death, but everything's all right. I'm worried about seeing Aickman at Father's funeral, though -- him showing up is NEVER a good sign. Yeah, you could say I'm a little peeved about him using me as wolf-bait for King Vold... Just a little.
What else have I done, this year? I went back to the Church in East Bromwich, in the summer. I needed some time away, after that deal with Rasputin, and found work didn't cut it. I went there -- and made the mistake of sleeping there. Visions of strange things -- the nun and the priest that Lady Eden-Jones had seen just before my arrival. Seems I ... may sort of be their half-sibling if what I saw, with that devil -- THE Devil? I'm not sure -- and the witch was correct.
Not sure if I really want to contemplate that.
Anyway, I really need to go make myself presentable. Made the cover of TIME for my fiftieth birthday and now there's a big event.
Goddamn, that makes me feel old. But I guess I'm in pretty damn good shape for my age.
* * *
Hellboy's Tapes: October 19th, 1996
Have I mentioned this has been the worst year ever?
If it wasn't one thing, it was another. The Giurescu case -- it nearly killed Liz, Sidney, and myself, and did kill Bud Waller, who's been with the agency nearly twenty years. I've had to mourn some good men in my time, and Bud was one of the best. I feel really bad for poor Roger -- bad again for giving him such a lame name -- but ... He wasn't a bad guy. Still, the agency says they're gonna work on him -- I just hope 'work on him' doesn't mean they're gonna cut him up into pieces. Cause if it does, there's gonna be some answerin' to my big right hand.
I wonder; Abe was really upset over Liz. At times I've really wondered about those two, but... it doesn't warrant me prying. Abe's a big man; I'm sure he'll do what he needs to, if he feel he should. Liz, though...
I don't know.
I still dream of the Lamia, Giurescu's vampire mother... goddess... thing. Hecate, I suppose. The one who rebirthed him, time and time again, with the power of the moon.. She said we'd be together when we'd -- I'd -- destroyed everything. I told her then, that I wouldn't be doing anything of the sort... but she very nearly killed me for it. Were it not for the Daoine Sidhe speaking that name -- that name that Rasputin called me... I think I would be dead.
Funny, they're awful helpful, despite the fact that I kept them from stealing babies years ago.
But I don't want to think about that, either. I'm not sure what all of this means. I ... I suppose there must've been some purpose behind my appearance -- but this isn't what I've been hoping. Does this make me a man, or a ...
... I'm not gonna finish that train of thought. I ... I thought I'd buried that, years ago. I'm Hellboy Bruttenholm, and that's all that matters.
Though, right now, I really wish my Father were here. I'd know he'd have something to say, some information, perhaps, that I was missing. But he's not. Goddamn it.
* * *
Hellboy's Tapes: September 6th, 1999
The last few years were blissfully quiet, on all fronts. It's was really nice that way; Kate's broken in beautifully as field director the last few years, and I really think my Father'd be pleased with her. I really enjoy working with her; she isn't full of shit like some of the people in the bureau.
But, this year Abe and I had to go back over a case from '69; it was weird to go back over a case with Abe that my Father and I had trouble with; that damn box with the demon -- miserable thing, that. It slipped through our fingers that year -- but it figures it was sitting under our noses all the time. This case went just as badly; Abe was shot by a monkey, I was nearly beaten to death. Seems that Saint Drustan doesn't really care much for me.
Seems that Hell, on the other hand, is waiting for me to get my ass back there. Met Astaroth, Duke of Hell. Said he was keeping my crown for me, waiting in the dark.
I said he could have it, I wasn't interested.
Strangely, I told Kate the whole thing. In fact--I've told her everything, the last few years. I haven't kept anything from her, really, and I find it good to be able to trust her. She makes me feel ...comfortable, I guess. Very comfortable. I just don't want to get too comfortable. Still, she's never judged me, and I won't lie to her. We're too close for that -- I think, if I tried to pull one over on her, she'd know off the bat. After all, if Liz could spot I was hiding something when we went to Romania on the Giurescu case, Kate really would know if I was lying; it's weird to have her know me better then Liz does. But Liz can also read Abe like a book, so I'm bettin' that's why...
Abe also did something... well, that I can't say I'm not proud of. We've now welcomed Roger back to the land of the living -- Roger and Liz have settled their difficulties, and he's been taken in as an agent. He's adjusting fast to the modern world; I wonder if it's not something he was... built for. But he's a homunculus; it's anybody's guess. I'm going to be glad to work with Roger, though; he was willing to put his life on the line to fix what he'd done wrong. Got to respect that in a man.
* * *
Letter to Abraham Sapien, dated August 21st, 2001
Abe;
Listen, I want to say up front I'm sorry. Sorry for leaving without saying goodbye, sorry for ditching you to take the brunt of the Bureau's 'need'. But I can't do this anymore; at least, not from within the Bureau. I've got to get out, get my equilibrium back. It's getting damned hard to do anything within the boundaries they've set for me; I've come to realize this isn't my father's agency anymore.
But I'm not my father's son, either, am I? The church in Bromwich proved that. So did that alien in Von Klempt's castle. This alien, he came to me. Said his people had sent him and watch me, that he was supposed to kill me, back in '44... and had thousands of chances, over the last fifty-seven years. But he chose to die, rather then destroy me. Said he'd seen lilies bloom in my blood, and that was proof enough for him.
Lilies. Bloom in my blood.
I remember the Osiris club case. The saint's blood fell from the battle of the dragon, and God marked each dripping stain with blossoms of lies, symbol of his purity and devotion to Heaven.
Lilies! Lilies, Abe! Lilies bloomed in my blood and I'm Hellboy! Emphasis on Hell!
Abe, what the hell is going on? They put in bomb in Roger. My blood is fertilizer. There are things you don't know about. Things that I left out of reports, major omissions that would have Manning pissing himself if he knew. But if I can't figure out what I am, and their years of science and prodding can't, why the hell should I tell him what I've learned through blood, sweat and tears?
Will he put a bomb in me, then?
Should he?
This is getting really morbid -- I'm sorry for that, too. But I'm headed for Africa; there's places in Egypt I'd like to see again, and I think I'll head south from there. I'm not sure. But I'd like to stick my head in the sand for a while, and Africa's got plenty of it. Maybe I'll trek the Sahara. Maybe I won't. Maybe I'll see if Ana will let me take up that offer of cryin' on her shoulder anytime I need it.
But I won't be back, Abe. At least I'm not sure if I'll come back. I'm not sure if I've got anything to come back too.
I'll make sure to keep in touch -- if you need me, I'll try to come for you.
Be well, my friend, and watch over Kate for me.
~H.B.
* * *