Hellblazer – Guardian Angel Part 1 - Consequences

                The pub stank of stale sweat, tobacco smoke and ale. The voices of old and young drinkers swept through the room like a noisy wave that never dies down. In the corner, behind part of the wall that jutted out, John Constantine stubbed his cigarette out in the almost-full ashtray. As soon as his fingers left the used cigarette, he fumbled into his pocket, pulled out a slightly crushed packet of Silk Cut, pulled one out slowly, placed the filter in between his dry lips, and struck a match. He raised his eyes slightly to the woman sitting on the other side of the table to him, then brought the flame to the end of the cigarette.

                "So, you from around here?" the woman asked, resting her elbow on the table, looking into John's eyes. He took the cigarette between his fore and middle fingers, took the cigarette from his lips, and breathed out a cloud of light-grey smoke. He looked back at the woman.

                She was dressed up, like she was supposed to be going to a club or a party, but got sidetracked. She had long, dark brown hair, an almost perfect complexion and bright green eyes. John smiled very slightly at the question. He didn't care how he looked. His short, spiky blonde hair drooped downwards at their tips. He hadn't shaved for a few days, and felt the stubble scratching his thumb and forefinger as he rubbed them along his chin. He took another drag of his cigarette before answering her question.

                "Used to be." He replied in a deep, fairly gravely London accent. "I've been away from this place for a fair ol' time, though." The woman smiled shyly at him.

                "Where have you been?" she asked, raising her glass of wine to her lips as she spoke.

                "America." Came the reply. John wondered whether or not he should tell the woman what he'd been doing there. He'd been back in England for nearly two weeks, and this was the first half-decent conversation he'd had with anyone. He wasn't keen on the idea of cutting it short by declaring he'd been put in a prison under a murder charge.

                "What's it like?" asked the woman. Keen on the questions, aren't ya, love? John thought.

                "It's not all it's cracked up to be, really." He told her, sighing slightly as he spoke. "So, what's your name?"

                "Katie." She replied, her smile seeming to grow slightly. "What's yours?"

                "John." He reached into his pocket again, and pulled the packet of Silk Cut out. "Smoke?" The woman shook her head.

                "No thank you. Those things'll kill ya."

                Don't I know it…

                The words reminded John of how he'd been diagnosed with terminal lung cancer, and had to cheat death. Crafty, but costly. The Unholy Trinity, Balthazar, Beelzebub and Lucifer, would no doubt be thinking of ways to avoid a war which would end up with all three being slaves to God. And it's not wise to mess around with the darkest forces in creation.

                John nodded, and put the packet back into his pocket. Katie leaned towards him slightly. "So, are you, like, seeing anyone?" John looked around.

                "I see lots of people. Wherever you go, people are always there." He replied, trying to avoid the question. The last girl he was involved with died because of him, and the others didn't exactly leave with a smile on their face.

                "I mean like a girlfriend." Katie stated.

                "I can't go down that road again, love, sorry to disappoint ya." John told her, breaking eye contact by looking down at his half empty pint glass. "Too much pain's come from that road." Katie looked down slightly.

                "Bad past?" she asked.

Christ, she's still talking.

"You could say that." John replied, and took a mouthful of his beer. "Another way to say it would be that I got my last girlfriend killed." Katie looked up at him again, shocked.

"What do you mean?" she asked, her voice wavering slightly.

"I did some stupid things. As a result, she got the penalty instead of me." Because I can't die yet, else the bastards down below are in deep shit.

"And you blame yourself?" Katie asked, almost sweetly, as if she understood what he'd gone through. John looked at her again.

"It was my fault, so yeah." There was silence. Suddenly, two similar aged women stood next to Katie, looking down at her.

"Come on, Katie, we gotta get going to the club if we want to get in early." The taller one said. They were both dressed up, like Katie was. She nodded, then faced John again.

"Time to go." She told him. He nodded, and took another drag from his cigarette. "It's been nice talking to you, John." She added. He looked up at her as she rose to her feet.

"You too, Katie." John replied. She smiled, then followed her two friends as they left the pub. John leaned back against the wall, rubbed his face and sighed.

It was past midnight when John returned to his flat. He stumbled slightly up the stairs, and read the numbers on the doors to find his room. Eventually, he found it, and slotted his key into the lock. He twisted it, and there was a dull, metallic clunk sound. He pushed at the door as he pushed the handle down, and almost fell through the doorway.

He was tired, and wanted to sleep. The only way he could achieve this now was by spending most of the night in the local pub until closing time. It got so boring in there, that he found it hard to stay awake by the time he returned.

John pulled out his packet of cigarettes, laid them on the table, and pulled his long trench-coat off. He lifted it up and hung it on the coat-hook. Then he picked up his cigarettes, and fell onto the couch. He reached for his remote, and pressed the standby button. A habit he'd picked up from living in America for a while. The television flickered to life, and the sound of car tires screeching as they skid across roads in some over-blown car chase sequence in some action film filled the room. John took another cigarette from the packet, and lit it. The room was illuminated solely by the television screen, and John lay on the sofa, his eyes facing in the direction of the screen, but not concentrating on the events occurring.

John reached out for the ashtray on the floor in front of him, and dragged it closer. He flicked the ash from the end of the burning cigarette, and brought it back to his lips. He sighed, the memories of his dark and shady past haunting him. He longed for them to stop. He couldn't help what had happened in the past. He'd done a hell of a lot of stupid things in his life. But he'd also done a lot of good, too. But those memories rarely came to him.

He finished his cigarette, and stubbed it out onto the base of the metal, worn-out ashtray. He squirmed around on the couch, trying to find a comfortable position, and closed his eyes. He started to drift to sleep to the sound of two men arguing about some terrorist situation.

John groaned, which then turned into a hoarse cough. He brought his hand to his face and felt the stubble covering his jaw, then sat up. He stretched his arms upwards, listening to the cracking sounds they made, then picked up the packet of cigarettes. He pulled one out, and threw the empty packet to the floor. He lit the cigarette, took one drag into his lungs, and calmly breathed it out again.

"What do you want?" he asked, not bothering to look up. He knew who it was anyway.

The ghostly figure of Richard Fermin, or 'Lucky' as he was once known, stood silently before him. John heard the faint scratching of pencil lead against paper. The only way Lucky could communicate, after he'd blown it off in a public restroom in front of John, who then was promptly sentenced for his murder. Thirty-five years. Only he'd been let out by some smart-arsed FBI agent after John managed to bring the prison down and take control. John liked to leave with a good exit.

"So, you my Guardian Angel or somethin'?" John mocked as Lucky finished writing the message. "My fairy fuckin' godmother?" John flicked the small layer of ash from the end of his burning cigarette into the ashtray on the floor, and leant towards Lucky's pad of paper to se what he's scrawled on it.

'Apocalypse'

"The man upstairs send you to tell me that?" John asked, smiling as if amused, but instead he was pissed off. "Fuck off. I'm in no mood for bloody jokes today." Lucky scrawled another word down.

'Antichrist'

John rolled his eyes back in his head, sighed, and stood up. He looked at what was left of Lucky, then started walking towards the bathroom door. "No need for name calling." He muttered at him, before closing the door behind him.

As John walked out of the bathroom, he saw Lucky still standing where he had been before. "You're getting on my fuckin' tits now, mate." He told him. "Leave me alone." Lucky had written a new message.

'Please Help'

"For Christ's sake!" John cursed. "Go back to whoever sent ya here, and tell 'im to send someone who can fuckin' talk. Then I'll consider it." He sat down on his couch again, and raised the cigarette to his lips.

"Quite a mouth on you, ain't there?" Brendan Finn stated, his thick Irish accent startling John, causing him to drop the remaining half of his cigarette on the floor between his bare feet.

"Jesus Christ," John muttered, picking up the cigarette and continuing to smoke it. "How's it going, mate?"

"Aye, just peachy up there." Brendan replied, cheery as the night he died. It was thanks to John he'd been able to go to Heaven. One of the few things John could be proud of. "But the big man himself's getting worried. Whole end of the world thing."

"Yeah, I can imagine. Overpopulation worries?" John asked, smiling. It was good to talk to an old friend.

"That's the one." Brendan nodded, almost wildly. "And The Almighty himself wants you to deal with it."

"Lucky ol' me." John muttered. "But how the bloody hell do I stop The Antichrist?"

"Tell ya the truth, mate, I don't know. But hey, you're a smart lad; you'll figure it out, aye?" Brendan replied, still smiling. "Anyway, me time's up, gotta return upstairs. You be careful, John. Save these people down here for me, will ya?"

"Tell you what. I stop the fucker, you save me a seat at Heaven's Bar. How's that?" John told him. Brendan laughed out loud, and nodded again.

"Sure thing!" he answered. Suddenly, he was engulfed in a bright white light, and John shielded his eyes from its intensity. When he looked at the same spot moments later, Brendan was gone. He was alone in his apartment again.

"The usual please, squire." John said as he stood in front of the newsagent counter. The large, burly, white haired African man nodded, then passed him a packet of twenty Silk Cut cigarettes. "Cheers." He muttered as he handed the man a crumpled fiver. The shopkeeper opened the cash register, fumbled around inside it, and handed John his change. John pocketed the money and left the shop. As soon as he set foot outside, he peeled off the plastic wrapping and let it float down the street as the breeze caught it. John pulled one cigarette from the packet and lit it.

"Dangerous habit, that." Katie said, walking up beside him. This startled John, almost making him drop his cigarette for the second time that morning. "Sorry. Didn't mean to startle ya."

"It's alright, love. Just a bit on edge, is all." John told her. He surprised himself. He was never normally this polite around people. Why was he with this woman?

"I know the feeling." Katie replied, sounding a little upset. "Bad night?"

John looked at her, but before he could reply, he noticed the small cut above her right eye. It was slightly swollen, but the bruising had been covered up as best as possible with make-up. "Apparently not as bad as yours." He stated. "What happened?" Katie looked down at her feet. She clearly didn't want to talk about it. "If you don't wanna tell me, I understand. But I may be able to help."

"I doubt it." Katie muttered, taking a deep breath before she spoke.

"Try me." John replied calmly. Katie looked up, and he saw her eyes glisten more than usual. She was holding back tears.

"I was raped." She told him. There was a deathly silence. John didn't know what to say, but he could feel a rage inside him growing intensely. He forgot about his little meeting with Brendan hours before. Now all he could think of was Katie's pain, and wanted more than anything to find the bastard who did this to her.

"You want a cuppa coffee?" he asked her. Discussing matters like this outside a newsagent seemed somewhat an unpleasant idea. Katie silently nodded, and John flicked the ash from his burning cigarette onto the floor. He started walking in the direction of the café he sometimes went to when he wanted to think his problems, of which he had plenty, over.

"So," John started, lighting another cigarette. "You know who it was?" Katie looked up from her half-empty cup of warm coffee at John.

"No." she answered, then sighed. "He seemed like a nice guy. We met at the bar of the club, started making small talk, stuff like that. After a few drinks, he suggested going for a walk. I agreed to go, I mean, I haven't had any form of relationship for so long now. We started kissing, then he tried to go further. When I tried to stop him, he…" She trailed off at the end, trying not to break into tears in the middle of a café. John could guess how her story was going to end, anyway.

"Would you be able to point him out if you saw him again?" he asked, then sipped his cooled down coffee. It was warm now, and he resisted the urge to drink the whole thing in one go.

"What do you mean?" Katie asked, surprised by his question.

"Take me to this club. Tonight. Show me this guy. I'll take it from there." John explained.

"I can't." Katie replied. "I don't want you getting into trouble over me. I mean, we only met last night." John shrugged, breathing out a cloud of smoke.

"Type of trouble I've been in before, this'll be more like a walk in the park." He reassured her. "So, what do ya say?"

The thud, thud, thud, of the music pounded against John's brain irritatingly.

Dance Music. If I didn't know any better, I'd not believe in God if an abomination like this could ever enter the music world. What a load of shit.

"You see him?" John asked Katie, raising his voice over the music. She was dressed similarly to the previous night, whilst John still wore his dirty-green jumper, and dark, mustard-like trench coat. He looked out of place, but he couldn't care less.

"Over there. At the bar." Katie replied, nodding in the direction of the man. "Blue shirt, black hair. See him?"

"Uh-huh. Wait here." John replied. Katie nodded, and took a sip of her drink. John pushed his way past the groups of teenaged drunkards, all the while not taking his eyes off the man.

The man paid the barman for his drink, and started to turn around. John realised this was his best chance.

"Woah! Sorry, mate." John bellowed in a drunken state as he fell into him. The impact almost made the man pour his drink over himself.

"Watch it, arsehole." He muttered, pushing John back angrily, then walking away. As he vanished into the crowd, John smiled to himself slightly. He turned to the barman.

"Pint of Stella, mate." He said, no longer in a drunken manner. The barman nodded, and picked up a clean pint glass. John opened up the man's wallet, and pulled out a ten pound note.

John carefully made his way back to Katie, avoiding spilling a drop of his pint. "What happened?" she asked. John silently pulled the man's wallet out of his pocket. "You stole his wallet?" she asked. She didn't know what John would do, but she certainly didn't expect him to do anything like that.

"My work ain't done yet." John replied. Suddenly, they heard someone fall to the ground, and the surrounding people either gasp or cheer. Katie spun around to look, whilst John casually took a mouthful of his pint.

The man was lying on the floor, holding his bleeding nose. Above him towered a large, muscle-bound thug, clenching his fist. "Touch my arse again, you fuckin' faggot, I'll rip your fuckin' arms off." He warned him in a deep, gravely voice before walking away to the bar. The people around the falling man started to laugh and jeer at him, and he crawled away from the embarrassing scene.

Katie looked back to John, who was chuckling slightly. "How did you…?" she started.

"Magic, love." John replied. He lit the cigarette that he'd placed between his lips during the scenario. "Magic." Katie gave him a puzzled look. "C'mon. Let's get outta this dump."

John walked into his apartment room, followed by Katie. He hung the trench coat on the coat rack, and then took Katie's jacket. He hung it beside his. "Welcome to my humble home." He joked. "Ain't much, I'm afraid."

"Better than mine." Katie replied. John smiled, then walked into the living room. He flicked on the television, and sat on the couch. Katie sat beside him.

"Don't think there's much on at this time of night." John stated, flicking through the four channels he had. He didn't want to fork out money on digital channels. Not when that same money could buy him cigarettes and alcohol, as well as food and drink.

"Never is." Katie replied. "And thank you." She added. John looked at her. "Nobody's ever done something like that for me."

"I couldn't sit back and do nothing." John replied, rubbing his face. It's been a while since I've done anything for someone else."

Katie took John's hand in her own, and they looked into each other's eyes. Moments later, their lips met, and all their problems vanished in an instant.

The man who had raped the girl the night before tried to back away from the large man in front of him. However, he was unable to. Two other strong men held his arms to prevent his escape. "So," the large man boomed, smiling in a twisted way. "You like men, huh?" The man was too afraid to give any kind of verbal reply. The other two men ripped his jeans down to his ankles. It was now his turn to get raped. But he knew that he wouldn't be as lucky as the girl. He wouldn't escape with his life.