I'm not a very good person. I'm willing to admit that, and it's a fact I have to face every day. But that doesn't mean I don't believe in second chances. If someone's willing to take it, that is. Second chances are rare things among criminals. But that doesn't mean they don't exist. Strictly speaking, I'm not doing Sara any favours. This is going to be hard work, and it's going to go dark, unpleasant places. But now she's going to have people there for her. She's been to dark, unpleasant places before. Hell, she lives in one. But I'll be damned twice over if I can't help her out.

I set Sara up in a modest office with Johnny Powell working nearby. I figure the two supernatural geeks will hit it off after a while. They can hopefully get that device working. I'm not one for magic, but I know it's not complete, because when we tried getting it to work it set Johnny's desk on fire and covered me in ooze. In the meantime, I've got to try contacting Jenny again. But the list of crap I have to get…

One chicken egg, okay, that's easy. Powdered silver? That's harder, but I'm sure some cheap rings from a pawn shop would do if I ground them up. 32 grams of wolfsbane? REALLY?

Okay, fine, there are easier ways. One of which involves a mirror. But I have to use it in a place of great emotion and solitude. Somewhere where I could feel real emotions and not just the casual fits of pleasure and mild annoyance of the typical New Yorker.

So that's why I'm currently sitting in the burnt-out wreckage of the orphanage, on a floor that's a dark mix of bloodstains and ashes, the smell of high explosives never having quite left. The wind whispers through the corridors and in some buried part of me I half expect Mother Superior to chew me out for being out of bed.

Then I remember Mother Superior's probably all over the floor of this place, literally.

It's times like these where I wonder if I couldn't have picked a safer career, like skydiving.

The mood in the place is a real downer, I'm not gonna lie. It feels like hell in here…no, wait, that's not right. I've been to hell. They're similar, though. Both have this feeling of emptiness. Like all the happiness in my life, what little I had left, was sucked out of me. I'd do anything to avoid feeling it again…

But I have to. I have to do it for her. For Jenny…the only woman I ever loved.

I take the mirror, trying to find the best place for it. And then I realize where I am…

This is Jenny's old room. She kissed me for the first time, right outside here. Yeah, sure, the nuns didn't like us getting too close. But…even the most fundamentalist sisters didn't seem to mind that day. It had been one hell of a bad day for me, and that kiss was the only thing that got me through it.

I think about her kiss. Now, it tastes like ashes.

I place the mirror up on the wall, just below where the fires have burned a cross into it. A holy symbol for the added power of faith, coupled with powerful emotions—love, fear, and anger.

"Jenny…I sit here in your memory. I need to speak with you. I come without fear. Please…if you can hear me…come talk to me."

I wait. The wind around me rushes like a hurricane, and then, finally, my hair stops blowing backward for a moment, and Jenny's face appears in the mirror.

"Jenny…" I speak, practically a sigh.

"Jackie…I miss you…"

Those words are like knives to me. It's not bad…it's in fact exactly what I want to hear, but…it hurts all the same because she's gone. And it's all my fault.

"Jenny…I know I'm no fuckin' good. But I promise…I promise I'll make it right…I promise I'll get you back, set you free…we're gonna be together again…"

I can't contain myself. I'm crying. It all just flows. In my memory, my 21-year-old self draws the 1911 and shoves it against his head.

"Shh…Jackie…I know how you feel…Stop punishing yourself. It's not your fault."

That just makes me cry even more. Shit, what's with all the crying? This isn't like me…

And then it hits me. I haven't had a decent night's sleep in a month, I've been to hell and back, and I've had my heart metaphorically ripped out and stomped on. So it's only natural I feel like crap. I'm tired of feeling broken up. Tired of feeling like death's all I ever know…I really just ought to take my gun and—

"Jackie, no!"

Jenny's voice cuts through to me and I realize I'm two seconds from shooting myself. Something isn't right.

And that's when I feel warmth on my shoulders, venomous lips on my cheek, and a sigh in my ear.

"I'm sorry, am I interrupting something?"

The Angelus.

"Get out." I snarl at her. "This doesn't concern you. I'm just trying to have a little last bit of happiness before you ruin my life completely, you know? Does being "Order" and "Light" also make you a total dick with no concern for anyone's feelings? Because you know, you are a first-class bitch. You're the kind of person the word "cunt" was invented for."

She just laughs that same smug little laugh she always does. The fact that the laugh is coming from my girlfriend's shape really doesn't help matters.

"Very well, Jackie. It seems my attempts had no effect."

She flies off, leaving me alone with Jenny and my tears.

"I'm sorry, Jackie, I wish I could stop her."

"Jenny, I can't ask you to do anything. You've done everything a guy could ever ask for. You loved even a scumbag like me."

Her voice begins to soothe me as she speaks.

"Jackie, are you…worried about me?"

"Of course I am…it's just, there's this other thing…"

"What is it, Jackie?"

"The Angelus said…said you had a bad side, that she kept drawing all her sadism from it. That…that can't be true. It's not like you…"

"Jackie…she's been awakening things in me…things I didn't even know existed…she wants to hurt you, Jackie, and she'll do it anyway she can, no matter how low."

Shit. That isn't good. If The Angelus has found a way of bringing out…hold on. Her bad side…wouldn't that mean…

"We TRIED to warn YOU JACKIE…"

"Oh no…No…No…."

I grab the first Darkness tendril that comes out of me, and begin choking it.

"WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO TO HER, YOU BASTARD?!"

I begin shooting it. I don't care what happens. It has to pay. It has to.

Another tendril comes around my neck, strangling me until it all goes black.

And that was the fifth time I died, or something