Hellboy: Odd Jobs by Christopher Golden, Mike Mignola Read Free Book Online Page B

down, sobbing, and forced himself to reach into the darkness beneath the desk.
    It was still there, beneath the filthy wrap. Guy tenderly picked the bits of dust and dirt away, and slowly peeled back the rag. Its lone eye fixed him, a reservoir of unspeakable sorrow.
    Is this all he had feared?
    He held it just so for a long, long time. Gradually, his breathing steadied, and he continued to unwrap the thing.
    Guy cradled the head in his arms, studying its features. It was handsome, in its way, he thought. There was a coppery burnish to the skin that made it seem strong, ageless.
    The eye held its gaze, and Guy met it, now unafraid.
    This time, when it spoke, he did not drop it or flee.
    He listened.
    It promised him much he'd never had, many things he'd always wanted.
    It promised him things he'd never dreamed of. Never. Ever.
    It wanted so little in exchange.
    As if in a dream, Guy reached for the unlabeled manila envelope he had hidden away with the object that fateful night of discovery. He reached inside, and as the head whispered to him, Guy methodically coaxed each one of the remaining gray pieces into place. As he felt the round gray piece shift into position in the socket opposite the single eye, sliding between calloused lids with a satisfying pop, he looked down with pride on his work.
    The gray orb swelled into the socket and gradually moistened and glowed with the same baleful gold of the other eye.
    It promised him more, and more. It needed so little.
    "Feed me," it begged, "and I will make of you a king."
    As it whispered, Guy nestled the head into the crook of his arm. It wanted such a trifle, and promised him so

    much. What could it hurt to try?
    Guy unbuttoned his shirt, and lifted the head toward his chest. He tilted his own head back as he felt the desiccated lips slide over his nipple and begin to suck.
    He felt weak as he stepped off at the Richard'lenoir. The Metro had nearly rocked him to sleep, and he felt tired, so tired. He stepped off the train and had to hold onto the pillar as the doors slid shut and the train raced on to its next destination. Fumbling with his buttons, his wrist accidentally brushed against his chest and a bolt of agony cleared his mind for a moment.
    His nipples were sore, terribly sore. He dared a peek at the pinkish stains on his undershirt. He peeled one side back to wince at the raw blotchy skin beneath. Band-Aids, he needed two Band-Aids.
    Suddenly aware of his surroundings again, Guy buttoned up his shirt and made his way off the platform and up the stairs to the boulevard. The morning air was crisp and helped him to focus. Above, the dawn breeze stirred the leaves of the trees. Guy took a deep breath and closed his eyes. The soft wind felt good, and the rustling leaves were soothing. He would make it to the appartemente, and he would be all right. Guy's head lolled, bringing his gaze to rest on the sidewalk.
    There, amid the fallen leaves, was a twenty-franc note.
    Guy chuckled, and bent to pick it up. Twenty francs! He stood up and admired it for a moment before folding it with care and tucking it into his shirt pocket. He patted the pocket and moved on. His step was a little surer now, and he was smiling.
    As the dawn light asserted itself, something else caught Guy's eye on the sidewalk. Another note another
    twenty-franc note. And another.
    He nervously looked up the boulevard. Surely, there was some mistake. Finding one note was an occasion, but three was unlikely. He strained to see if someone were walking up ahead, someone the notes belonged to.
    Or a bank car, with its back doors swinging open. But there was no one, nothing.
    Guy furtively bent down to pick up the notes. He inspected them carefully, held them up to be sure of what he was seeing. One was indeed a twenty-franc note, but the other was fifty francs. Perhaps he could take Francine out for coffee this morning, if he could stay awake, if she had time.
    Further up the street, at the base of the stairway