The sun had only just begun scorching its way up but this, as all else was, went unnoticed. The exorcism almost felt like it had, in entirety, lasted for weeks on end. She was drained, starved of both rest and the sweet privilege of sleep. She wouldn't, couldn't lie – it was becoming a real hazard as she drove blindly through clouds of sand.
Something was ringing. It was the phone, or her head – which exactly she couldn't quite tell. Bruised hands left the wheel in search of the source of the offending noise, but eyes of green remained glued to the road, or what little of the road she could make out through the dancing sand.
Shouts rang – most likely a whole motley collection of colourful words. She figured it to be close call, a near miss. Alandra really actually couldn't quite care for the number of road signage she had almost and was most probably going to mow down, possibly even flatten to nothingness now that she thought about it, in her tired stupor. She supposed a tad bit of effort she could try, at the very most. Fat load of good that would do, of course.
The red cell phone somehow found its way into her hand. She pressed, squeezed, made a half-hearted attempt at stifling the stupid piece of junk. That was what it was, alright, junk. She really needed to work on holding her own. It wasn't that she couldn't, period, but she'd just worked so hard on dividing her worlds, on holding them apart and separate. She'd used 'yes' way, way too many times in this one, this of all the many little worlds she'd constructed, that it had became too hard, painful even, to utter that single 'no'. And that, simply, was how she foolishly acquired the bothersome piece of crap that was a phone.
¡Hola!
The ringing had ceased, but Spanish, oh Lord there was Spanish in its place. Could no one yet comprehend that she hadn't just deliberately flunked the language in high school simply because she fancied doing so? Chinese and French had no greater outcomes. Languages in general were just obviously not her thing. She wished she could kick the idiot who now had words blasting away from the cell phone. Really, Spanish?
¡Hola!
Alandra was annoyed. She was sleepy, she was exhausted, she was hungry even, and now she was just utterly annoyed. The car came to an abrupt halt – she earned herself the blare of a truck's horn, a possibility that she wasn't the only pathetic inhabitant on Earth who's day had been – or was going to be actually, seeing as it was morning - absolutely terrible. She couldn't, however, be particularly sure that she'd managed to bring the car to the side, or if she'd stopped it right in the middle of the road and clogged the whole thing right up.
¿Hola?
Alejandro. The name flashed repeatedly, mockingly across the phone's screen. Alejandro. Alejandro. Alejandro.
Utter idiot.
'What?'
She'd pressed the phone so far against her ear, she could clearly make out the deep steady breathing from the other end.
¿Y bien?
Her head was pounding.
'Well? Well? Well what? How else could it have gone? I'm here aren't I?'
Oh, she was touchy. She knew that perfectly well. The sound of her voice was coarse against her ears – scratchy, deep, hoarse.
¿Qué pasa?
How could he so easily bring about the guilt?
Idiot.
'What's wrong? No, nothing's wrong. Alright, I'm sorry I snapped at you. Now what do you want?'
A laugh rumbled from the other end and a whole string of words followed, none of which she could comprehend.
'Could we lose the español please?'
Another rumble of laughter. Lord, this conversation was getting nowhere.
You've been here for two years, Alandra.
'Yes, my parents lived here, my grandparents lived here and so on so forth. It's been said one too many times, Jandro. Get on with you have to say, twit – I have a feeling my car is parked in the middle of the Camino Real.'
You're nasty today. No time for pleasantries?
Alandra's teeth clenched painfully. She really did wish she could kick him now.
'Alejandro, spit it out or I swear, I'll hang up and fling this piece of crap you forced on me right out the window. It feels like Heaven and Hell are waging a vicious war in my head.'
Her words came on fluidly, no longer coarse, no longer rough. She supposed the prolonged conversation helped some.
A quiet chuckle floated over.
The police came by.
The pounding in her head was getting worse – it was almost full onset drilling in her skull right now.
'Again?'
Again. There was a detective with them, not from around here. Officers usually take the truth in stride.
Usually. She didn't like that term. Usually.
'But?'
This one is a man of reason.
'A stubborn fool, you mean.'
¡Exacto! Utter dimwit.
Well, there was no surprise there. One was going to turn up sooner or later.
'Pay him off.'
I could try. Might not come up to anything. Might want more, might want none at all.
Oh lord, she couldn't handle this, not now. The pounding hadn't ceased; it was now accompanied by a sickening bout of nausea.
'Look, Jandro, we'll –'
She paused and blinked momentarily. Her stomach turned and twisted nastily before she proceeded to empty what little there was in her stomach on the empty seat beside her. Yellow plastered and seeped into the sides of the seat, leaving small revolting lumps of what had been a snack of lollies.
Alandra?
'Yeah?'
The word came out in a croak.
I'm coming to get you.
Simply put. There was an urgent need to be selfless, the need to stand down, but she could barely suppress the huge wave of relief that swept over.
'Yes. Yes, please.'
She hung up, allowed herself a long low sigh and collapsed with a thud in her seat. The dance of the sands hadn't yet died down. There were swirls and twirls, and clouds that twisted and turned to form what she made out to be a whole array of animals. A cat, an elephant, a walrus, a lion, a swan. She could already make out colours – a white swan, a black swan, a blue swan, a green swan, a red swan, blood red, crimson, two crimson swans, five crimson swans, ten, fifty, a hundred, a thousand.
One.
Nada.
None.
'Alandra?'
They went, left, dived under, flew away.
The swans were gone, a curtain of darkest blue, or perhaps black, swallowing them all up. It looked like hair – her hair? Maybe, maybe not. It could be fur. But fur couldn't grow that long, and it was unlikely that there was a cat, or dog, attempting to suffocate her.
'Ally, you're a tad bit stuck.'
She started at that, now sleepy and confused. Hands were on her, strong arms wrapped around her waist. What was this? A kidnapping? Oh, she'd give this little bugger a nasty piece of her mind. Her mouth fell right open – an attempt at a curse, a threat, a scream even – but nothing happened. It was dry, much too dry in there. Itched. Burned.
Water. She needed water.
'Move, Alandra!'
A thud.
She hadn't meant to hit him; it was a reflex. He shouldn't have shouted. Her fist caught him in ear, and she felt the impact throw his head to the side. A string of curses flew by, peppered noticeably with anger, with rage. She shrunk back, cowered. All she wanted was to sleep, why couldn't Daddy leave her alone? And she just had to go make him mad.
'Wake up, you dodo.'
She didn't want to, didn't want to face an angry Daddy. She wanted sleep. She hadn't slept in days, months, weeks, years. She wanted sleep. Alandra curled tightly into a ball, hands over ears. Daddy was mumbling to himself. She didn't want to hear. She wanted to sleep.
'Alandra, it's Alejandro. You bloody well wake up, or I'll leave you here till the cartels come.'
That had her. She shot up. It was much too bright. A headache. Pounding. Lord, she felt like absolute crap.
'Good, now come on, I'll carry you up.'
It wasn't Daddy, it was Jandro! Sweet sweet Jandro. The idiot who got her that phone. She hated that phone.
Jandro.
Idiot.
Fool.
Strong arms – arms of steel, that's what they were – found their way around her, under the backs of her knees, around her shoulders.
'I can walk.'
It came out a croak from cracked lips.
'Don't be foolish. You'll –'
She wasn't foolish. Who dared call her foolish? She most certainly wasn't.
'I'll – I'll kick you, that's what I'll do.'
Yet another string of curses followed, then a loud hesitating huff of agreement was heard. Alandra was helped out of the backseat – wait, the back seat? How in the name of the Lord did she get there? Perhaps she'd been able to drag herself into it in the midst of her drowsy daze. Who knew she'd be that capable? She, certainly, did not.
'You said you could walk. So move already.'
She wanted to snap back, wanted to punch Alejandro, but she wouldn't – couldn't, rather – and complied rather easily. Her steps were hesitant, slow; the sun, after all, enveloped her with such warmth that she felt like turning back to the car and sleeping forever. She leaned against him unwillingly. She could walk, sure, but not without his help.
How had it come to this? She couldn't quite remember. She hadn't slept for days, hadn't had a proper meal in days, that much she knew. Maybe it was caffeine withdrawal. But she hated coffee, hadn't so much as touched a cup of it since she was six. She'd gotten hooked on it, lived off it for a whole two days, got sick all over her grandmother's rug, and that had been the end of her caffeine addiction. It had to be the candy then. That's what it was. And now there was no more sugar. No more rush. It was no wonder she felt crappy.
Alejandro had somehow gotten her in the house, up the stairs to the second floor, and into her room. The white drapes were drawn as she had left them. There was slight shuffling to her left and she tensed against him, ready despite her weariness. His grip on her tightened, a reflex, she supposed, towards her sudden caution. Two gleaming eyes materialize in the now diminishing darkness, bringing quiet calm; she relaxed her stance.
'Hey, Momo.'
Lord, she hoped the blithering nitwit who had left the poor ball of fur at the pound with nothing but a fairly idiotic name would be damned for the rest of his wretched life.
Honestly, Momo?
She received a rather pathetic mew in reply, befitting of a Momo really.
'The bed?'
'What bed?'
What in the world was in that man's mind? There was no bed, only Momo. She squinted, found difficulty in adjusting to the dimly lit room. Ah the bed, the one that had remained unmade, again, just as she had left it.
'Lord, you must really feel as bad as you look.'
That was nice of Jandro. She shoved him weakly.
'Like crap, actually. And I reek.'
Alandra could still smell the sweat cloaking her, and the filthy stench of blood that was hardly her own.
'Agreed. So, no bed?'
Bath scents, those were want she wanted.
'No. Bath.'
He helped her out of her coat; let a hiss escape from her cracked lips as the collar grazed long gashes on her neck left by her previous adversary. She felt callused fingers run gently over them, examining the damage done. She'd have to remember to fix it later, or have him help her do so, but she was going to leave it for now – highly improbable a minor wound would give her much trouble.
She pushed away from him.
'Left or right?'
'What?'
What? What what? What exactly she had she been asking for, she couldn't quite remember. Left. Right. Left or right. What is to the left or to the right? Where exactly had she wanted to go?
Oh.
'Bathroom.'
She received a loud sigh of frustration, then felt hands roughly pull her in the correct direction. She was gently shoved into the bathroom before the door clicked close behind her.
'Thanks!'
No reply was received. Alandra turned the taps, allowing water to spill wildly into the white tub, and emptied what numerous bottles of bath scents and soaps she had into the now rising water. Her clothes were shed unhesitatingly, left to pool in a mess at her feet.
She didn't like what she now saw in the mirror. Ribs wanted to be seen, collar bones strained noticeably against bloody skin, the grime was smeared everywhere, eyes were bloodshot. She scowled, and her reflection scowled right back.
It didn't take her long to shuffle over to the tub and lower herself into the warm scented water. The open cuts on her neck and hands stung slightly, but the aches and bruises that covered her eased away quickly. She felt relaxed, more so than she'd been in weeks, and smiled happily as the number of bubbles in the water with her increased. They were like the dancing sands she'd seen, only these were now doing some sort of jive, or jig – growing, popping, multiplying madly. The animals and the colours were back. The swans.
One.
Ebony.
Two.
Ivory.
Three.
Crimson.
There were just three, and they moved about in the sea, the ocean, the river, a lake. A melodious chorus; an angel arose, female, the epitome of beauty – a Snow White that lived, only she was one with hair an ice blue and lips so pink. A dance – the swans danced, the angel danced, Alandra danced. How could she not? The snow kissed her cracked lips; she no longer thirsted, no longer hungered, was no longer drunk with weariness. A dance with such beauty. Such freedom.
A shriek.
It startled her, had her cowering back from the swans, had her halt in her dance. The lake was shrinking, had shrunk. A well. That was all that was left. The swans screamed, a sound so frighteningly human. The ivory flew, escaped. Escape from what? The ebony disappeared down the well. Why did it go down there?
Another shriek. The angel was disappeared down the well as well, drowned in it, in the ice. Going. Going.
Gone.
Alandra wanted to help, wanted to reach out, wanted to run forth.
Blood.
So much blood, so much crimson. So much. From where? The crimson swan had melted away, like a wax figure that had been brought too close to flames. The blood. The swan had brought forth the waves of blood. It was the blood, the blood that held her down, seeped around her ankles, pulled her down against the earth. The soil. From she had once come. Earth. Soil.
Sand.
The sand! She had been in it, watched them dance. How'd she get here? She wanted to dance, needed to dance. The snow was gone; she thirsted again, hungered again. The swans. Where had they gone? Her dance was incomplete, unfinished. She had to dance, had to live again. But the blood held her, trapped her, caged her in. She wanted to go, wanted to be free. She'd only ever wanted to be free.
Ashes to ashes.
The words rang out, melodious but harsh against her ears. Yet another shriek.
The sun was extinguished. Sudden. Abrupt. Snuffed out effortlessly, like blowing the flame off a candle. The dark reigned; frightening, intimidating, a nightmare. She saw nothing, felt nothing, heard nothing. She was helpless, could almost smell her own fear and the stench of sulphur. Sulphur? There was sulphur! She heard it then - wings flapped, claws swiped. The demons had come out to play, and she was to play right along.
Dust to dust.
Hands were on her, nails digging into her skin. She pulled away, struggled to shrug them off. The claws stung, drawing the scent of copper, drawing more blood.
Midnite. He'd know what was going on.
And that, simply, was her last sober thought before she did the only thing she could think off in an attempt to get rid of the grasping hands.
Alandra swung.
Not that she had meant to shove her fist into Jandro's face so hard that blood came pouring out of his nose, of course. There was light again and there was not blood, but water that hugged her, that spilt over the sides of the tub and flooded the bathroom. Jandro was bent over very same tub, bent over her, almost as if in prayer.
And then he exploded.
'You bloody idiot! Once wasn't enough?!'
There was no time. None at all. She rose from the tub, watched bloodied water – her blood or his? - surge over Jandro's head. She was getting him angry, she knew that. But there just wasn't time.
'Something's coming.'
'Yes, more blood.'
She growled, annoyed that he took it lightly, then stormed off completely unabashed by her lack of clothing. She was running now, across the room, through the corridor, down the stairs. She heard the flap of winds behind her. The swans? No, her imagination. Something was coming, something was coming.
The receiver was already in her hand as fingers flew over the numbers. Cuts covered her arms. Where had they come from? They hadn't been there before.
Alejandro didn't have long nails.
A ring. Two rings. Several. There was no time. She hung up and redialled, punched in a different set of numbers altogether.
Ringing again. Was the man going to pick up? This was maddening.
Hello?
'Constantine.'
A pause.
Reeves.
'I can't get Midnite. We need to talk.'
Another pause.
Hunh. And we are doing what now, exactly?
She felt an urge to smack him smartly over the head, no matter how far away he was. She could make a voodoo doll – that's what she'd do.
'Not here, not over the phone. Some watch, some listen. It's urgent.'
She hoped he would catch the desperation in her voice. Calls weren't often made between them.
Look, Reeves –
'No, you look Constantine! Something's bloody wrong!'
Couldn't he just get it?
A pause.
I'll be down to get you. Text me the flight details. This better be worth it, Reeves.
'Trust me, I rather hope it isn't.'
A gruff chuckle sounded in reply. The line went dead.