Adam Pool
The highways roared on somewhere in the distance and the streets clamored of horns and engines, stopping buses and rumbling semis. There weren't too many places to hide, and she had a nice home no doubt; yet somehow Ellie had preferred the streets of late.
She often dwelled in the corners of old withered brick buildings, scowling and hissing Constantine's name in the night. She dashed about from street to street like a rat scavenging for some morsel. She hated and spat at the mere thought of him and when the hour of Midnight struck, she would begin a long wailing like a clock wound to go off.
Her hair was damp, tangled and matted and her clothes were stained from lingering too long on the streets of Los Angeles. Her high heels had ached her feet and now they were laying somewhere in a trashcan just waiting for some homeless leech to find them. But Ellie didn't care - she hardly cared for anything, even her own survival - she only cared for her wretched thoughts of John Constantine.
"Damn you! Damn you!"
In the late hours her voice would often grow so loud and hardened until her cursing would wake up the project dwellers.
"Hey lady! Shut the fuck up! People's trying to sleep around here!" People would shout at her from the windows of the over-lived apartments, sneering at her as if she were a tramp. Ellie, weakened and stolen of her once feisty spirit, would piteously hiss at them and crawl to a quieter place.
"Oh John!" she cried out once, squeezed and cradled between a number of empty refrigerator boxes behind an old appliance store. "What have you done to me?!" she sobbed. "It's all your fault! You made me like this! You brought me to do it! If only you were there for me, I wouldn't have had to choose them over you like you chose her over me!"
Ellie was a sick, selfish little thing; caught and trapped like vermin by her own possessive thoughts. But she didn't see it that way. It was all John's fault. If he hadn't supposedly chose to help Angela Dodson, Ellie wouldn't have turned on him - what a load of crock that was.
He had ripped her from her sanity, turning the table on her and all of her pathetic Half-Breed groupies. She had gathered them there, all of them, waiting for Mammon to come like he was some kind of Messiah. But when John showed up, everything went sour and out of spite he let Ellie live as if she was unworthy of his bullets. Often she wished he had just shot her - but no, John was too cold to make things easy - and Ellie didn't have the backbone to end it herself.
Then, just when all the world was shrouded in darkness around her and for the first time she un-welcomed the dark, a new light daunted in her, stirring in her black heart a yearning, a curiosity. So, like a creature with no more reason for living, Ellie's bare feet carried her down the withered roads, past brownstones and rotted trees, by a Cemetery and a Church, till she stood in utter silence before a great sight - Ravenscar.
Why she was here was an almost numbness. She walked on, a gall still within her, and the bewildered people, what few mingled in the waiting room, watched with curious eyes as this withered, small-framed woman trailed to the front desk.
The woman, who sat behind the desk, was shocked at the sight of her. As the stout old thing removed her glasses, she looked on to this girl who looked broken and lost and in her hazel eyes there was an emptiness.
"Can I -" she paused, "Can I help you?"
"Yes." Ellie spoke at length, her voice slightly shaken. "I want to turn myself in…as insane."
†††
The trickling of the Vodka being poured into the glass was like a long missed melody to the old man's ear. When the glass was sat before him, he drank it joyously, and by the time he had finished, John had just diminished the contents of his own glass. Their thirsts were quenched and at length the old man spoke as his grey eyes traveled about the room.
"Nice place you got here. Doing well for yourself I see."
John sneered.
"It's a rat hole, but it's home I guess."
Better than being on the streets, Adam thought to himself.
"More?" John asked him and Adam nodded, quickly sliding his glass towards the generosity and retrieving it in the same haste.
"Got a cigarette on ya, lad?"
"I quit."
"What?"
"I quit." John repeated. At first, Adam looked onto him in disbelief, but when he said,
"John Constantine quit smoking? That's the biggest load of shit I've heard." he broke out into an annoying laughter, his voice shrill and rattling. "Tell me, John; what urged you to quit?"
"Got scared I guess."
"You scared? Now I've heard everything."
"Yea, well; let's just say I nearly died…we'll leave it at that." John took a final sip from his glass and once empty, he sat it down again and looked on to the old man before him.
"Where've you been all these years, John? Tell an old man what hell your eyes have seen."
"You mean since our departure?"
"Begin where your heart desires." The old bloke leant himself back, crossing his legs beneath the table and using his palms as a pillow. There was just one problem; placing his palms behind his head meant that he would lift his arms, and it was not a delightful smell.
"You uh," John scrunched his nose, "want to rinse off?" he gestured towards the bathroom. "The sink still works anyway." He hadn't forgotten the inccident with Angela; submerging her literally into Hell - whilst losing a good tub.
"Oh, well," the old man rested his arms at his sides. "I ain't got anything clean to change in to."
John took a moment to render him, studying the new aspects of this old mule, and Adam was growing anxious in his seat, frequently rubbing the back of his neck then remembering the stench.
"What happened to you? How'd you get like this?"
There was the question and Adam's heart squeezed.
"Well," he sighed, trying to hide his cares behind the awkward smile beneath his mustache, "I suppose that sometimes things change for the better and other times for the worst."
"For the worst? For you apparently."
"After our last escapade I sort of let my life slip out from under me. My brother was killed in a robbery, shot four times in the chest. After that I went into a rebellion with myself, breaking apart from everyone and everything I once knew and loved. I got slow in my exorcisms, the drinks were doing me more bad than good. I couldn't stop drinking. For a while, it was all I did…drink. I lost everything, John. I was no good for exorcisms being a sot, and Carol got tired of my ruthlessness towards her and the world. I was a sick bastard, throwing all my rage at her…she didn't deserve it." He paused, a long sigh escaping him as his wife's face reappeared. "I don't blame her for washing her hands of me."
"Carol. I remember her. Good looking for a woman her age."
"She was everything I had and I just let her slip away. Dammit."
"I can't believe you'd do that; let your life go down the drain."
"What life? What life, John? It was fucked up." Adam's fingers twitched, drumming the surface of the table while he ran his other hand through his hair. His eyes were baggy, full of sorrow and grief.
John pitied him and it made him sick; sick to know that such a man went to waste.
"Adam," John said, trying to gather him from the dark cloud that seemed to drift above his head, "I'm sorry. I am."
When Adam's eyes met John's, for a second he was sure that there was sympathy. Then something struck the old man like a match lighting a fire. He banged his fists against the table once and jolted upward, fighting the tears playing at his eyes. John saw him now in a new light just that quick. The old man seemed to lash at him like a poisonous snake.
"Listen here!" he shouted. John kept his cool, knowing Adam was only expressing the pain he kept hidden. "I don't want your damn sympathy! That's all I've gotten out of life…pity and handouts! Got a pitiful job working for Midnite, because like you he feels sorry for the poor old bum!" Now Adam was pointing his old crooked finger in John's face, "Damn you! I'm sick of the handouts, but you know what? I can't do a damn thing about it because this bloody world wasn't made for me!"
Adam rounded the table, throwing himself now and bearing his hands against the kitchen counter. His eyes were wavering at the sink and the kettle that rested on the stove top. Many emotions flashed through him like daggers against a dartboard, then he inhaled and the breath that escaped him seemed to release him from the anger, and when he looked back at John who remained quiet at the table, he suddenly looked weak and withered as he had on his arrival.
"Oh John," he gasped, his eyes spilling the tears of misery that he could hold in no longer, "John, forgive me. You took me in, gave me a drink and I lashed out like an ungrateful fool. I'm sorry," he sobbed, sitting again at the table and bearing his face into his hands, "I'm sorry." He was like a hyped up nut job, not knowing if he was coming or going, up and down like a roller coaster. One minute he was relaxed, the next he was angry. It was years of hard drinking that had done this to him, not to mention losing everything he had.
As he sat there crying to himself, John looked away, finding better joy in the sight of the floorboards. He couldn't stand to see Adam like this. He was once something big in his eyes, a hero maybe. Now he looked like a sympathetically pitiful beast, seeking crumbs and hiding from guilt.
Constantine wanted a cigarette badly, but instead his hand retrieved a fresh pack of nicoderm. Silently, Adam watched blandly as John slipped it into his mouth and chewed, his brown eyes still trained on the floor.
Adam could see the disappointment on John's face. Here before him was a man who was once a boy, a boy without the love of a father. He had found a sort of guardian in Adam some years long ago. For a long time he had been the closest thing John had ever felt of paternal love and guidance.
He knew how John's parents had done him - sticking him in mental wards and driving him to his own insanity. It took place a year before they met, but Adam knew about the suicide. He knew what drove John Constantine mad. Now the old man was looking at the situation before him - the dark haired man with a dreadful frown on his face. So Adam stood, making way for the door, no longer wishing to show his face here again.
"I should go." Adam clutched the doorknob, hoping to escape the bitter air in the room, but John halted him.
"Running away again." It wasn't a question, it was a statement. Adam dared not to look at John, not yet; but he was coming up behind him and again he spoke, his next words bringing the old man's face back upon him. "You aren't the great Exorcist you used to be. I remember once when Half-Breeds cowered in your shadow... But that was long ago…"
"I'm sorry I've disappointed you." Adam coughed up.
"I always wondered where you were," John spoke over him, "what might've happened to Adam Pool, Exorcist Extraordinaire… Now I know."
"Thanks for the drink." Adam brought the door to an open crack, then John paused him once more.
"Wait." he said, standing from the table.
"What?" the old man asked.
"This doesn't have to be our last visit. I'm not much for company but…I thought you'd like to hear my story sometime."
Adam hesitated for a moment, then at last he replied,
"I'd…I'd like that, John."
With that he left John; left him to dwell in memories long passed. It was sad, truly sad how life crept you by, sneaking past you without a hint, without a warning…
†††
At fifteen, John's parents pushed their youngest child and only son to the extremes - but more than anything it was the world around him he wanted to escape, even if killing himself was a one way trip to Hell. He didn't care. When he was a kid, he could see things. Things he didn't want to see. Things one shouldn't have to see. His parents were normal, doing what they thought was best - by making things worse. Once John thought he was crazy long enough, he searched for a way out - and he was certain he had found it.
The knife. It was the key, the escape. Officially he was dead for two minutes; but when he crossed over, time stopped. He was in Hell. For him, two minutes in Hell was a lifetime. When he came back, he knew. All the things he had seen were real. Heaven and Hell were right there, behind every wall, every window…The world behind the world, and he was smack in the middle. But the revelation of his own purpose was yet to be revealed to him.
When John's two minute trip to Hell was over, he came back anew. It was strange, his new state. No longer was he the timid and terrified little boy he was before.
His parents were petrified in frustration, his sister concerned, and John didn't care. He rebelled, this time it was serious. He started making friends, strange ones at that. He met a boy named Aaron Barns who had a band called Mucus Membrane. Aaron was two years older than John, a high school dropout and a boy who drabbled in things unheard of. He smoked like a siff, and it was he who inspired the habit in fifteen year old Constantine.
John took a liking to Aaron and found a new calling in music. He started out writing songs for Aaron's band and not long after, Aaron showed John how to string a guitar. After that, it was history.
They took gigs in old clubs, or any other shady place that would have them. Often in the crowds John would catch glimpses of Half-Breeds scowling and sneering; but he pretended not to see, until one day…
"John,"
"What?"
"Can I talk to ya for a second?" Aaron asked, casually; yet there was concern in his eyes. "John, we're friends right?"
"Well, yeah."
"I can trust yous and yous can trust me, right?" Aaron was a fast talker, a kid who cut the bull. He had a slain New York tone and he wore his hair slick and greasy.
"What's on your mind?" John asked as Aaron's eyes scanned the room, ensuring that they were in fact alone.
"John, tell me somethin' and tell me no lie. You see things."
"What?"
"John, come on man. Tell me the truth. I won't squeal. None of the boys will know."
"How would -"
"Because I see a lot of shit too."
"Like what?"
"This is gonna sound freakin' crazy…but I see people that have died, people I once knew."
John wanted to fake a laugh but for some reason he couldn't. Maybe it was because Aaron's serious glare made him feel too uneasy, not to mention the confession of him being aware of John's secret.
"I also have visions John. Visions about people I know…and you were in my vision."
"I don't want to talk about it."
"John, listen. I know it's fucked up, but before ya turn the lights out, I want ya to meet someone."
"Like who?"
"My Uncle. I think he may be able to help ya."
John was shocked, a little dry at the mouth. How on Earth Aaron had come to know this he was still uncertain. He had kept it to himself rather well, he thought; but later, Aaron told him that it came to him in a dream and he believed it for a reason - all of it. So a week later they drove to a place, an old stuffy building full of slums and welfare cases - not to mention a few drug pushers. On the fourth floor, the boys found themselves before a door numbered 128.
When the door was opened a tall, sandy blond haired man stood before them. He seemed pleased at the sight of his Nephew and within a days time, he took an interest in John. By the time two weeks rolled around that interest had become a liking.
Curiously, Adam, unlike Aaron, boasted a British accent. But in time, John learned that Aaron's mother was also British, though now deceased. Apparently she had died when he was very little and his father, who was from New York City, had been the obvious influence on his son's slain talk.
Adam Pool had been searching high and low for a willing apprentice, and John Constantine was just what he was looking for. But John was afraid, afraid of the truth that Adam told him. He revealed to John what he was and why, and the boy didn't welcome it.
"What other choice do you have? You can't run, John. You can't hide. It's always going to bloody be there, lad. Accept who and what you are. Put your gift to use."
"It's not a gift! It's a curse!"
"It's not a curse! Listen to me, lad." He gripped John's shoulders, shaking sense into him, "There is good and evil all around us. You're the wager between Heaven and Hell. You committed a mortal sin upon yourself and it's up to you to use your second chance to make things right between you and God. Use it, become what you were born to be. Use it in a selfless act to save others…There are few of us that walk the Earth that can see them. Don't fear it, muster and master it. They can't stand us because we can see the wolf in sheep's clothing. Let it be said that you and I will keep them at bay…assist me."
Only, John had not heeded to the term 'selfless'. All his life he exorcised victims, deported Half-Breeds and it was all for his own ticket into Heaven. In a way, Angela coming to him with the desperation she had was a savior for his own good.
Angela…he hoped that she was safe.
To Be Continued.
A/N: For those of you who are unfamiliar with Ellie, she is the Half-Breed who says "Holy Water?" in the Hospital scene where John deports the Half-Breeds. She is in the deleted scenes also of the uncut DVD. The band Mucus Membrane was mentioned in the Hellblazer comics.