Brain Damage Page #3

- Attaboy!

Feels like you've got

a real monster in there.

Hey. Hey.

Don't pass out on me now.

Here.

Barbara?

No, he still isn't in.

No, not a word.

Well, I don't know. I haven't seen him.

Well, I don't know.

You tell me what happened in there.

I don't know. He's... he's not here.

What do you want me to tell you?

Good God!

What the hell happened tonight?

You fool!

You're feeding him human brains.

You're making him strong.

I knew someone in the building had him,

but I didn't think it was you.

Where is he? Is he on you now?

I don't know what you're talking about.

Nor do you know what you're dealing with.

You're an amateur.

It takes years to control him.

He'll drain you.

Use you till you waste away.

Yeah? Then what do you want him for?

Because he's mine. Aylmer belongs to me.

"Elmer"?

You f***ing named him "Elmer"?

Not "Elmer".

Aylmer.

A-Y-L-M-E-R.

An Old English word meaning

"the awe-inspiring famous one".

And that he is, indeed.

For the Aylmer is a creature

of endless histories.

A living relic of civilizations

long since forgotten.

You're crazy.

Am I?

The Aylmer's origins can be traced back

to the Fourth Crusade

where he was snatched

from the Emperor Alexius

during the sack of Byzantium in 1203.

It's believed a Venetian mercenary

named Matteo Grimaldi

brought the creature to Europe,

but he had to surrender it

almost immediately

to a renegade cardinal, a Borgia

who wanted the Aylmer all to himself.

In 1699, the Aylmer reappeared in the

possession of one Don Manuel Perolta,

a Spanish viceroy and freelance corsair.

He lost the Aylmer to a Portuguese admiral

off the Barbary Coast

who himself was murdered within days

by a young midshipman

who fled with his prize to Africa.

There the Aylmer quickly fell

into the hands of a Mabootoo chief

whose tribe placed a deep religious value

in the Aylmer's many talents.

Then, during the Second World War,

a German munitions tycoon

bribed a battalion commander

to obtain the Aylmer for himself.

It didn't work out that way.

The Aylmer was brought to Berlin all right,

but he passed from host to host

for over three decades

until I tracked him down.

Until I paid for him

in both money and blood.

Until I made him mine.

- You're out of your mind.

- Give him to me!

He's mine, damn you.

Mine! Mine!

Mine, mine! Mine!

Mine, mine, mine!

Brian?

Hey, Brian, where were you?

Hey, Barbara's been calling.

She's called a couple of times already.

She's all upset and crying.

What happened with you two tonight?

What are you doing? Where are you going?

We've gotta get out of here.

"We"? Who's "we"?

Me and Elmer, or Ulmer,

or whatever the hell he's called.

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