Hellboy: Odd Jobs Read Online Free PDF Page A

reminded her of the morning she'd first fallen for him.
    Sunday mornings let her drink him in at her own pace: softly, slowly, without feeling like a thief stealing glances. She savored the glow that filtered into the bedroom, gradually illuminated his close-cropped bristle of blond hair, the smooth curve of his brow and sculpted slopes of his child-like nose, the softness of his eyelashes, his thin lips, the gentle pulsing of his throat, the rise and fall of his hairless chest. He still looked like a teenage boy.
    The touch of dawn's rays invited her fingers to follow their lead.
    "Chéri ... "
    At times, he would sleep soundly despite her whispers and gentle caress; at times, she would rouse him, and the morning would be theirs. That was wonderful, too
    but when sleep veiled her touch, the hands of the
    clock ceased to move, he remained oblivious to Sunday church bells and the stirring of the Boulevard Richard'lenoir outside, and he was hers.
    Hers, as ever, it seemed.
    And as ever, she wondered what he was dreaming.
    He could barely see the outline of the tall man who plucked his face to pieces. Blood filled his eyes, and try as he might to blink and clear them, it did no good. Without eyelids, the urge to blink only pained him. Part of him didn't care to see, really. He could feel the heat of the blood, taste it in his mouth. How could he help it, now that his lips were gone?
    Despite the chanting and the crying of the infants, he could hear the music of the cutting tools and the insistent slushy whispers of the incisions. There was a metallic sting across his hairline, the furrow of the blade gliding into his brow and deep into his remaining cheek. The cutting seemed endless, though he knew there had to be an end to it soon. How much more could they remove before his skull was picked clean?
    Then he heard the cold clang of a saw, and felt its blade rest against his jaw.
    The chanting faded as if on cue, followed by the inviting gurgle of running water. Its cold bite spilled over and into his wounds, across his flayed rictus grin and between his remaining teeth. He instinctively gulped at it, embraced it with the stump of his tongue, straining his neck to move toward its source until the stream of water lifted and poured into his lidless eyes, washing his vision clear for a moment.
    The tall, gowned man still stood over him, bonesaw in hand, now held ceremoniously aloft.
    The gown was adorned with arcane symbols, their patterns confused by the spots of dark blood and bits of flesh. Among them, though, one stood out: an arc within a square, bisected by a sword.
    There were other figures behind and above him, and the sound of shrieking birds and yowling children, but only the surgeon was visible, methodically disassembling him, skin from muscle, tendon from bone, molar by molar.
    The surgeon leaned in close, and muttered in a low, almost inaudible Teutonic voice:
    "I will tell you of your father ... "
    He bolted awake, slamming the stumps of his horns against the headboard, inadvertently splintering it a second later as his outsized right fist flailed out. The stony knuckles shattered the dried wood like pasteboard.
    His tail lashed out from under the blankets, slamming against the night table, spilling lamp, phone, and note pad across the rug.
    "The BPRD isn't going to keep covering the damage deposit," said the cold man reading in the chair across the room.
    "Jeez," Hellboy whispered, clamping his left hand over his eyes.
    "You all right?" the cold man inquired, glancing up from his book.
    Hellboy touched his face tentatively, savoring the feel of bristle, brow, and the ridge of his pug nose. He shook his head to clear his mind, wincing at the vivid authenticity of the nightmare.
    His tongue slid over his teeth
    all in place
    and lips, blessedly intact. He leaned forward, head still in
    hand, and cleared his throat.
    "Yeah, Abe," he said, "I'm peachy."
    Abraham's gills fluttered as they always did before speaking.
    "Can