Chapter Three AKA Not If I Can Help It

The steady mechanical beeping of the cardiograph sounded like a haunting tone of impending doom to her ears, it's steady pace echoing in the empty hospital room. According to the doctor there was no medical explanation for what had induced his coma. His vital signs had been stable, there was no indication of violence or trauma on his person, and according to the police there was no evidence of a break in. It was as if Malcolm had simply dropped into a coma where he stood.

Standing beside his prostrated form, Jessica couldn't help but feel the swell of unfiltered worry coursing through her. What made it worse was the fact that there seemed to be nothing she could do to help him.

"Are you sure you can't do anything else?" She asked the doctor.

"We're keeping Mr. Ducasse here for observation, but other than that there's not much else we can do." He responded with a subdued frustration. "I'm sorry Ms. Jones, Ms. Walker."

Trish nodded and said her thanks to the doctor as Jessica remained silent, her eyes focused squarely on Malcolm.

"Jess…" Trish started, trying to find the right words to say.

"He's going to be fine." Jessica finished, a dead set look of determination in her eyes.

With a worried sigh, she placed a hand on Jess's shoulder not knowing what else she could do to help. "I've got to prepare for a charity event downtown soon. Are you going to be alright here on your own?

"I'm a big girl, Trish. I'll be fine." Jessica replied, her usual brand of sarcasm indicating that she was somewhat okay.

The door slammed shut, leaving only the electronic beat of the heart monitor and Jess's thoughts.

Crap-ass luck, eh? No asshole villain to pin this shit on this time Jones.

"You'll be alright Malcolm." The deathly silence that served as his reply could only add to her growing concern.

Taking a breath, she started to turn away until she halted at the sight of the silent television in the room that was broadcasting a news story. Grabbing the remote, she pressed turned on the volume.

" – only last week. With several cases reported in Brooklyn, Queens, and Manhattan, doctors have yet to identify the official cause of this outbreak of comas. As of yet, there has been no move by the CDC or the Mayor's office to begin any quarantine, but the cause still remains unkno – "

Shutting the TV off, Jessica stepped out of Malcolm's room and left the hospital with more stress than she was happy to have.

And it's barely noon. So much for breakfast.

Under the broad daylight and myriad shadows of Manhattan, the crusty old dive bar where she glimpsed what may have been Hell, seemed less threatening or even imposing. There was a calm and an eeriness to it that made it stand out, but also allowed it blend into the character of New York.

Opening the door, she stepped inside and cautiously walked into the building. The whole room where the bloody flaying had occurred seemed quite different under the scrutiny of daylight hours. The few rays of sun that managed to find the frosted door of the drinking joint managed to illuminate the center of the room in a soft light, darkness surrounding the rest of the bar.

Cringing at the sudden creak that sounded as if it reverberated throughout the building, she cautiously stepped further inside and glanced over every inch of the room. Her brow furrowed in confusion, immediately recognizing that something was wrong.

She navigated the scattered seats and walked up to the bar, dragging her finger against its dusty surface.

That's the thing; dust.

Like it hasn't been touched in months, years even.

And even through the darkness, there was one simple fact that didn't escape her observations.

No blood? That's impossible. She felt a surge of adrenaline, her thoughts trying to piece together her contradictory observations. But then it shouldn't be possible for this place to be so crusty after the shit that happened that night.

Just as she reached the peak of her confusion, she heard a rattling noise to her left. The only thing to her left was a hallway, the same one she hid in the other night. Walking into the growing darkness, she heard another series of rattles and thuds, followed by what sounded like footsteps. Opening the door at the end, she quickly and quietly made her way up the stairs and into the rooms above. Clearly, she wasn't alone.

As she navigated the destitute building, she noticed that the sounds slowly getting louder as she traced an all too familiar path back up the stairs and stopping at the door of the same room she used to enter from her last visit.

While she'd never admit it, Jessica could feel her heart begin to pound in her chest. The possibility that those creatures that killed Katie were real was a concept that she dared not even entertain further than she already had. Sure, she had her fair share of dealing with weird shit. And in this day and age of Norse gods and ageless super-soldiers, it felt like anything was possible.

Aliens I can get, and psychotic mind-controlling rapists are at least plausible, but this shit? I mean…

The sensation of stepping on a section of uneven floor halted her thoughts. Looking down at her boots, she saw the old crucifix that she had held the night of the incident. Picking it up, she felt for the briefest moment the same curiosity that drew her to it in the first place. But it left her as soon as it arrived.

Inspecting it, she didn't notice anything remarkable about the piece. It was old, and a bit worn, with rather ornate carving done to it. Other than that, it looked like something you'd expect to be hanging from a convent wall.

But she knew that there was something off about it. Thinking back to the events of the other night, she remembered running into one of those creatures. She remembered jumping out the window and ending up at the front door of her building, as if she teleported there. She remembered all of that happening after she threw away the crucifix.

Without another thought, she placed it inside her bag.

The creak of a door opening brought her back to reality as she quickly hid herself away inside the room. She could just about hear the faint noise of footsteps and a voice coming from downstairs. Someone else was inside the building.

Jessica quietly steeled herself as she made out through the silence, the faint noise of footsteps making their way up the stairs. The wooden floors started creaking with the weight of whatever was in the building with her. Curling up her fist, she waited until the footsteps stopped at the entrance of the room she was in. And just as the figure walked into the room, Jessica immediately had it pinned against the wall with her fist up ready to strike.

The scant glimpses of daylight making their way through the nailed-up windows revealed the face of a frightened middle-aged man.

"Jesus! What the hell?" He cried out, his shoulder under her grip.

"Shut up." She replied hastily. "Who are you and what the hell are you doing here?"

"Ow! I'm the landlord! Who the hell are you?"

"I'm a P.I. You own this place?"

"Yeah, lady. Christ, are you going to let me go or – AH!"

"Just answer my questions and I won't snap you in two." Her frustration starting to seep as her grip on his shoulder tightened. "Is anyone renting this place out?"

"What? No!"

"How about the bar downstairs?"

"That bar shutdown months ago! No one's using it! The whole building's been vacant for the past few months! I'm getting ready to sell it to some big property management firm."

"Really, huh?" She frowned in disbelief.

"Yes, now can you let go of me please?"

"If you've already sold the place," She started ignoring the man's plea, "what the hell are you doing here?"

The man seemed hesitant to answer, but a quick shove back against the wall seemed to end any sense of reluctance or indeed burgeoning resistance.

"Okay! Okay! Okay, some guy approached me a few days ago. He asks me if he can rent out the building for a day, no questions asked. I tell him he must be crazy, but then he brings out five thousand bucks all in an envelope and he tells me that there'll be an extra thousand once he's done. Now, I'm not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, so I took the deal and told him there better be no property damage once he's through with whatever shit he was up to."

Taking all this information in, Jessica slowly released the fidgety landlord. "So, you're here to make sure there's no property damage."

"Yeah, after that little Limey prick conned me out of the deal." The man muttered, dusting himself off.

Limey? Jessica immediately perked up at those words. "He was British? And what do you mean conned you?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah. He was a Brit. Really weird accent too." He growled slightly to himself as he recalled the man. "And by conned me I mean, that the envelope that was supposed to carry the extra thousand he promised only had a deck of cards in it."

He complained, as he tossed out a whole mess of playing cards from his pocket onto the floor.

"What did he look like?"

"Um… blonde. Brown eyes too. He was wearing a cheap suit and a trench coat. He also smelled like cigarettes too."

Shit. "Did he leave a name or anything?"

"He left a business card."

Digging through his other pocket, he got out a crumpled business card. It was stark white, with everything she needed to know in plain black font.

I got you now asshole.

Jess:

I got a name.

Trish:

?

Jess:

The asshole in the trench coat.

Jess:

I finally have a name. He has a business card.

Jess:

[image of John Constantine's business card, reads:

JOHN CONSTANTINE

Exorcist, Demonologist, and Master of the Dark Arts

(404) 248 -7182]

Trish:

"Master of the Dark Arts?"

Jess:

He's a con-artist.

Trish:

And that makes things better?

Jess:

It makes things normal.

Trish:

Well, you have the guy's number. So, now what are you going to do?

Jess:

Now I hunt him to the ends of the earth and kick his slimy, English, pretty-boy ass.

Jess:

I might be busy for a while. Can you make sure to check on Malcolm later tonight?

Trish:

Sure thing Jess.

Trish:

Love you.

Jess:

Ugh

Read 5:30 p.m.

Trish sighed as she walked out of Malcolm's room at the hospital. The doctors had said that he still hadn't shown any signs of responsiveness. And given how he was just one in a slowly mounting series of unexplained coma cases.

Now I hunt him to the ends of the earth and kick his slimy, English, pretty-boy ass.

Trish shook her head as she re-read her recent text exchange with Jessica, slightly worried about just how far she was willing to go to find this mystery man. It wasn't the first time that she could tell when a case got to her friend, but there seemed to be an air of abnormality that seemed different from her other cases.

She put her phone back in her coat pocket as she walked down the hall toward the elevator. A single noise shook her out of her thoughts.

DING!

Quickening her pace, she held her hand out and called, "Hold the elevator!"

The lone figure standing inside seemed to regard her with a touch of amusement, seeing as he made no effort to hold the elevator for her.

"Wait! Wait! Are you going down?" And just as the words left her mouth, she got a good look at the man inside.

Her eyes widened in shock, as she took in the sight of a blonde man with tired eyes and a bemused expression staring back at her. He was dressed in a ruffled-up suit and a dirty trench coat and his mouth curled up in response, as he answered her question in a rough and, surprisingly, familiar English accent.

"Not if I can help it, luv."

As the doors closed in front of her, Trish felt her mouth gaping open in shock as it dawned on her where she had heard that voice before.

"Not a bloody superhero, that's for damn sure."

The Englishman from Jess's recording.

The picture of the business card.

She was lost for words at the encounter as the realization of who she had just seen settled in.

That was him. That was the man that Jess was investigating.

That was John Constantine.

Wow. I owe you guys an explanation. Essentially, life got in the way.

But I'm back with this story! And I do want you to know that while it might take a while to finish (there really isn't a schedule for this story), I'm not abandoning this story anytime soon. It's just going to progress at a snail's pace. Or rather, a very erratic pace. Really, it all depends on my schedule.

But I do hope you enjoy!