AN: Hello! My first Constantine fanfiction! Yay! Anyways, Anything related to Constantine is not M-I-N-E (darn it!). Um, I will mention a small town near Sacramento called Placerville. I know nothing of the place. I just saw it on the map and it caught my attention. So if someone lives in Placerville, California, good for you! I don't live there! …Anyways,… Please enjoy and THANK YOU!!!!!!!
Ch. 1:
True to his word, John Constantine did se Angela Dodson around--almost everyday, actually. At first it had been just coincidence, then, they actually started to do out for dinner and sometimes even do exorcisms together.
They became good friends and even better partners. Then he kissed her, and she kissed him. A flurry of instinctual emotions happened and then they were inseparable.
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One Year Later:
Placerville, California:
Suzanne Constantine, a lady already in her late fifties, sat in her living room staring at a book. No, not a book…an album. The album was filled with pictures 16 years old or more. In each and everyone, a little boy was present. He had pale skin and black hair. Hair just like his father's when he was younger. His eyes, which were just like hers, were of a brown so dark, it could've been confused with black.
As she turned the pages, the boy in the pictures appeared to start getting older. As the boy grew, his face became grimmer, paler, sadder, more desperate. Finally, she reached the last two pictures in he album. They were of the boy's 18th birthday.
His eyes looked scared, and his face was absolutely gaunt. You could make out the bones jutting out from underneath the visible skin. He wore a simple white short sleeve shirt with one blue stripe going across his torso. His hair was long enough to be just an inch away from reaching his shoulders. He could've been so handsome if he didn't look so sickly.
A cake was placed in front of him with exactly 18 candles. He should have been happy, but instead he was just staring into the camera with an emotionless face and scared eyes. The second picture was similar, but the 18-year-old was holding a plate with a slice of cake on it. He was picking at it with a fork…completely concentrated on the piece of food.
Tears fell on the plastic-covered pages as she looked at that specific picture. The boy's wrists were wrapped tightly with white bandages. It was proof of what he had done to himself.
Mrs. Constantine wished with all her might that there were more pictures of her son to look at. Pictures of him graduating from college, marrying a pretty girl, his children…but no, John Constantine vanished from her and her husband's lives the day after the his birthday.
The book suddenly closed shut and she gripped it tightly, her knuckles turning white. More tears fell.
"I'm so sorry, John," she whispered to herself as she leaned against the couch, holding a couch pillow instead of the album. Silent tears still flowed from her eyes.