Opening Doors.

Series: Hellboy. (Comic.)

His power has only ever gotten him into trouble.

Which is not to imply he doesn't enjoy his unique skills; quite the opposite. With, of course, an exception. Well, two exceptions.

-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-

"There was the only time to date I've ever been on-location since I joined the B.P.R.D. Yeah, the occasion where I more or less killed off both Miss Liz Sherman and Mister Bud Waller. By more or less I mean that Mister Waller is dead, never to return, whereas Miss Sherman's demise was only a temporary one. It was at that time that I burned my hands grabbing onto Miss Sherman's shoulders, which rendered me powerless. Still am. Not that I'm bitter or anything, but that whole thing was a bummer.

"And then there was that time when I was ten and the door to my parent's room was locked. Being the curious kid I was, I just had to open it…"

He pauses a moment and pushes his mirror-lens glasses up higher on his nose.

"At first, I didn't see anything but darkness, but I pushed forward a bit and saw my mother crouched over my father, not really paying any attention to me, rocking back and forth. There was blood everywhere, so I realized that something was wrong…

"'Mommy?' That was all I said. She didn't seem to pay me any mind, which was probably for the best, in retrospect. She kept making this weird noise, and I realized that it was a slurping noise; like when you eat, or drink, whatever, soup. 'Chhppp'. Can you imagine such a gruesome sight? I didn't scream or cry; I just backed out of the room, closed and locked up the door. But, I was just a kid, you know. I wasn't in complete control of my powers, and I wasn't exactly thinking rationally. Whatever it was, for some reason I locked the door from the outside and effectively locked my psychotic mother in that room for three days before I finally left my room. I was too scared to leave. I used my closet for a restroom, ate my stash of Halloween candy and drank rain water. No joke. Kind of desperate, I was."

At this point he removes his green generic baseball cap, exposing his hair. It's brown, like his goatee, but there are speckles of gray shimmering through.

"When I did leave my room, after three days… did I already say that? Oh, well. The smell… that's how I noticed. It smelled foul. Now, I had been using my closet for a toilet, so you can imagine how bad it would have to smell to be worse off than the stench in my little room. After a few minutes, I just ran until I reached my grandmother's house; she lived about five blocks away, so I was running for quite some time.

"She wasn't home, though; go figure. I waited two hours for her to come home before I gave up; good thing, too. She was in Las Vegas, didn't come home for another week. I would have been waiting a long time.

"I wasn't quite sure where to go, then. I meandered until I was picked up by a cop; thank goodness, eh? That it was a cop, I mean, and not some child murderer/molester. He took me down to the station and I told him the fuzzy details; I say fuzzy because, at the time, my mind was still trying to block the whole traumatic experience out, so I didn't recall the exact details until later. He sent some people to check out the house. When they got back, they explained to him the horrific scene; the door, locked from the outside, my father's mutilated remains, and my mother. She had eaten most of my father's arm before she died of thirst. Why she never busted through I window I'll never know. Perhaps she wasn't sane enough.

"Of course, they never told me this. I had to learn it from my grandmother several years later. That was an awkward little talk, let me tell you. Even so, I'm glad someone did tell me, albeit in quite a delayed form. Not to mention that it haunts me in the same way I would assume Miss Sherman is haunted by the memories of her family.

"This may sound a bit crazy, but; I wish I knew why my mother did it. Is that sad? No matter what it was it would be depressing. If something horrible happened to her, well, that'd be bad. Or if it was just nothing or a little bother that caused her to snap; that'd be sad as well, in its own right. How their lives were wasted over, say, a dispute about which way the toilet paper should hang."

He runs a red, raw hand through his dust-coloured hair. "Sorry for wasting so much of your time. It was nice talking to you, though." Sidney Leach exchanges a pleasantry and then exits the office.

-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-

He knows why she did it.

It was painful, sitting there with Sidney, because he could see all the hurt of a lifetime flashing by. He didn't block it; he wished to ease the pain of the one who had carried Liz's still body with his burned hands back to the helicopter. The one who had been there with him while she died. Sidney Leach was a good person, and, despite his somewhat carefree attitude, he had experienced things no human, especially a child, should be put through.

So he stayed, listening to Sidney relate the experience, even though he could see through his eyes, watch the drama play out.

He didn't want to tell Sidney that he knew why she had done it, even though everyone knew he was psychic.

Abe Sapien knows.

It was over which way the toilet paper should hang.