"Love and Monsters Redux" - Part Three

Part Three

            Dangit! Kara mentally shouted as they were engaged in a staring contest with Dr. Hoffstetler. She expected him to sound the alarm, alert Strickland and all the other personnel in the facility to their location. He examined the laundry carts, finding both Hellboy and the Amphibian Man hidden within each one. “Where are you taking them?” he asked, though Kara wasn’t able to discern if it was by curiosity or an impromptu interrogation.

            In that second, she did something she knew would only put them in further danger: she spoke to Hoffstetler in perfect Russian. She didn’t exactly know why; her idea was to throw Hoffstetler off, perhaps get him to believe she and Mireya were actual Russian spies to scare him off.

            But then Hoffstetler surprised her by responding in Russian himself. “Did Mihalkov send you to extract the creatures?” he asked.

            Kara didn’t know who exactly he was referring to, but nonetheless acted as if she did, verifying with a firm nod. At first, Hoffstetler seemed upset, and then he took notice of Zelda and Elisa there among them. Nodding to the cleaning ladies, Hoffstetler inquired, “Are they involved as well?”

            “The mute and the negro?” Kara responded. “They are leverage.”

            Again, Hoffstetler was displeased but understood the assignment. “Are you taking them to the loading docks?”

            “No,” Kara said. “To the monolith. Where are the Americans keeping it?”

            Hoffstetler led them straight to the lab where Kara’s TARDIS had been placed after its discovery. It was positioned at the center and hooked to an array of machines that monitored it for radiation and determined its point of origin, neither of which would be found by such primitive devices. Mireya snickered at the effort.

            “I do not understand,” Hoffstetler told Kara. “How will this monolith help you?”

            Kara smirked at her unlikely ally. “You’ll see, comrade.”

            She proceeded to place her palm along the monolith’s structure, opening a door along its front that led into a much bigger space within. Hoffstetler was taken aback, as were Zelda and Elisa, who were just as skeptical of its use before then. Hellboy and the Amphibian Man climbed out of the carts and headed into the monolith, followed by Elisa, Zelda, Craig, Bryson, and Mireya.

            It rapidly dawned on Hoffstetler what was really going on. “You aren’t actually Russian spies, are you?” he asked Kara that in plain English.

            Kara felt terrible for using him like she did. “No, we’re not,” she admitted, expecting Hoffstetler to have retaliated for the betrayal, possibly still alert Strickland, even though he’d be risking outing himself as well.

            However, Hoffstetler chuckled with glee, much to Kara’s surprise.

            “This is brilliant!” he cheered, though not too loudly, so as not to draw attention. “The creatures will be safer with you than with either Strickland or Mihalkov.” He composed himself long enough to instruct Kara, “There are certain things you must know to care for the fish man – keep him in water that’s seventy-five to eighty-five percent salinity.” He handed Kara a bottle of pills and a few scientific measuring trinkets. “Mix one of these in every three days. Raw protein diet is a must.”

            Kara felt as if she was caring for another Mogwai with all these instructions. “Thank you, Dr. Hoffstetler,” she told him. “You’re a good man.”

            “My name is Dimitri. Honored to meet you.”

            He watched in wonder as she boarded the monolith ship, joining her friends and the two creatures they liberated. The door sealed shut behind her and shortly afterwards dematerialized right before Dimitri’s eyes. He marveled at the technological aspects of such a machine that could have possibly been extraterrestrial. His awe was short-lived, unfortunately, as security responded to the unearthly sounds that the monolith made upon its departure.

            Multiple rifles were aimed at his head, forcing him to surrender with his hands held up high.

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            Keeping a steady stroke across the canvas, Giles – a man in his late 60s, refined and prim, with a wool vest, bowtie, and tortoise-shell glasses – colored an illustration of a happy family around a bright red Jell-O mold. A sign read “The Future Is Here!” It was an advertisement, one of many half-finished illustrations that cluttered his apartment above the local movie theater. Other than his illustrations, he was also surrounded by books and his two cats, Snowflake and Lillie. Three other pairs of eyeglasses rested along his forehead, raising one and lowering another one. Beside his easel was a toupee resting atop an acrylic paint box.

            It was a quiet evening – too quiet for Giles. He put on the TV in the next room to serve as background noise, in order to help him focus. He heard music and dancing, though he couldn’t quite see who it was onscreen that did the dancing, not with his easel in the way. Then he heard strange humming and grinding; it didn’t come from the television. It came from next door…Elisa’s apartment.

            Curious, Giles left his place and headed across to the door. The shadowing of old brass letters was there, reading “Deliveries,” just as it read “processing” on his. Remnants of what the space in those areas were before they were reserved as living space for Giles and Elisa.

            “Elisa?” He thought it best to knock before entering. “Honey, are you OK? What’s that weird sound?”

            Eventually, the humming and grinding stopped, but Giles was still curious, regardless. He used a key (only for emergencies) to let himself in. He walked into quite the bizarre scene in Elisa’s apartment: a tall, black rectangular block of marble that resembled a giant domino, without the white dots. It stood in the middle of the area, its tip hugging the ceiling. Various individuals stepped out of it – two young women, a couple of negro boys, Zelda (Elisa’s coworker), and Elisa herself.

            “What in the name of…?” Giles gasped. Seeing him there, Elisa panicked. She frantically signed something to him that he could barely keep up with. “S-Slow down!” His ever-so-slight stutter got worse when he was nervous, like he was in that very moment.

            “How did we get here in Elisa’s apartment?” Zelda specifically asked Kara and Mireya. “One minute, we’re at the lab, and the next, we’re here? How’s that even possible?”

            “My TARDIS can go just about anywhere with a proper destination,” Kara said. “I just used the first place Elisa thought of in her mind.”

            Receiving a brief albeit baffling explanation from Elisa, Giles gazed on the monolith that was brought to her apartment. “So…it’s some kind of…spaceship?” He could barely grasp the concept, yet he was somehow utterly fascinated by the alien structure. “It looks…like a masterpiece…a wild…crazy…beautiful…masterpiece.”

            “That’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said about my work!” Mireya gushed, genuinely touched by Giles’s words.

            Looking on the stunning Latin woman, Giles’ fascination amplified tenfold. “You invented this machine?!” He tried not to sound so surprised. He wanted to talk more about it with her, but the emergence of two more passengers stunted his words.

            Monsters. Big ones.

            One being some kind of red demon in a trench coat, the other a humanoid fish.

            Giles wanted to scream but was too terrified to make even a squeal.

            Kara quickly stepped into his line of sight and urged, “Don’t freak out, sir. I promise you these guys mean you no harm. They’re just looking for a place to crash ‘til we find a safer haven for them – well, one of them.”

            “A place to crash?” Giles echoed the idiom nervously, assuming it to be literal.

            “It’s only temporary,” Kara elaborated.

            “You bet it’s only temporary,” Hellboy told Kara. “I don’t plan on stayin’ any longer than I have to. Your future self’s countin’ on me to get a job done.”

            “And you will, H.B.,” Kara reassured. “But not until we’ve ensured the full deliverance of our new amphibious friend here.” She gestured to the Amphibian Man, who was being guided by Elisa into her bathroom.

            Seeing them, Mireya grinned. “Yeah, and I wanna see where their romance goes.”

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            Under different circumstances, Strickland would’ve handled a torture session a lot better with both of his hands. Unfortunately, with the injury he recently sustained to his still-healing left hand, he had to rely on his right to get the results he wanted. It was a pain in more ways than one, considering that he was left-handed to start with.

            He dipped his right in the available washbowl at the corner of the room. His knuckles were red, welted, and covered in blood – not his own. It belonged to the man he once knew as Robert “Bob” Hoffstetler but was now nothing more than a Russian spy. Hoffstetler sat drooped in a chair situated in the middle of the room. An MP stood behind him to keep him sitting upright. He was half-conscious, his face bloodied and bruised from Strickland’s savage interrogation.

            “This could all be over soon, Bob,” Strickland hissed, drying off his hand with a towel. “You just have to tell me where your comrades took the assets.”

            Hoffstetler coughed up bits of blood that found their way down his throat. “You’ll never find them, Strickland,” he rasped. “They’re beyond either of our grasps now.”

            “Wanna bet?” Strickland reached into his pocket, taking out a piece of hard candy. He regarded it for a long moment, holding it between himself and Hoffstetler. “This candy…it’s cheap candy. I love it since I was a kid. Some favor more sophisticated snacks – nougat center and all that fu-fu stuff. But not me, Bob. This is it for me. Sometimes, if I’m feeling anxious, I just bite right into it…chew it into pieces. But, most of the time, I just take…my…time!” With every pause, he struck Hoffstetler across the face. “I make it last.”

            Hoffstetler passed out on the third punch. His head limped to the side, blood oozing from the corner of his mouth and staining his previously pristine white lab coat. The stationed MP attempted to wake him up but Strickland held him back. “Let him sleep it off for a few minutes and we’ll pick up from there,” he suggested. On that, he allowed himself and the MP a break, both of them walking out of the room.

            Strickland stood at the doorway, about to pop the hard candy into his mouth, until he detected someone briskly approaching from the right. He stiffened in attention when he saw General Hoyt, accompanied by a young man in a dark suit and fedora to match. Fleming caught up with them at the rear and belatedly alerted Strickland, “General Hoyt’s arrived, sir.”

            “I can see that, Fleming.” Idiot. “General, I can assure you that—”

            “Strickland, if your next words to me are ‘we have everything under control,’ I will knock the ever-loving stuffing out of you!” Hoyt roared. If there was one man Strickland truly feared, it was Hoyt; and, at the moment, the five-star general was a force to be reckoned with. “I didn’t plan on coming here. I thought what I had to say to you could be done in a phone call.”

            “What changed, sir?” Strickland asked.

            Hoyt looked to the young man who accompanied him. “This agent flew in all the way from D.C. to save my butt and especially yours. He has more knowledge about what’s happening here than you and all the pencil-pushers we got runnin’ around in this facility.”

            Strickland carefully studied the young government agent.

            He was in his late-twenties, handsome with chiseled features, a perfect cross between James Dean and Marlon Brando (more of the latter). To Strickland, he was a kid who looked like he just graduated from high school and should’ve been out dating girls or seeing a movie – or both.

            “May I ask one question, sir?” Strickland requested.

            “This wouldn’t be the appropriate time, I don’t think,” Hoyt denied.

            “I need to ask, sir…respectfully.”

            “Then go ahead, son.”

            “You’ve known me for…how long?”

            “Thirteen years. Battle of Pusan.”

            Strickland measured his next words carefully, stammering to find the right ones. “Yes, sir…and in all that time, I…I’ve never once…This is…what happened here is…A man is faithful, sir – loyal, efficient all of his life. All of it. And he is…useful. And he expects…He has certain expectations in return. And he fails then – once – only once. What does that make him? Does that make him a failure? When is a man done? Proving himself, sir? A good man. A decent man.”

            “Decent?” Hoyt frowned. “A man has the decency not to fowl up – that’s one thing. That is real decent of him. The other kind of decency? It doesn’t really matter. We sell it, sure, but it’s an export. And we sell it ‘cause we don’t use it. You see, Strickland, thirty-six hours from now, this entire episode will be over, and so will you. Our universe will have a hole in it with your outline. And you will have gone onto an alternate universe – a universe of nothing. You will be lost to civilization. You will be unborn…unmade…undone!”

            “Not unless I fix this mess for you,” the young agent spoke up.

            Strickland glared at him. “And who are you?”

            The young agent removed his fedora, brushing off the few bits of lint he found on it, and smiled. “My name is Krasko. But, for the next thirty-six hours, you will address me as ‘boss’.”