Part 4 – The Pain Of Death
Katie held the gun up, the barrel pointing towards John's face. Her hands trembled slightly, but the look in her eyes was that of determination. "Don't do this, love." John said to her, closing the door behind him without taking his eyes off the weapon.
"It's gotta be done." Katie told him. "He said so." John knew she was talking about the Antichrist.
"That guy was not your friend, he doesn't give a shit about you." John tried to convince her. "He'll kill you after you kill me."
"Then he's not unlike you, then, is he?" Katie replied. "Remember Ellie?" John couldn't find any words to say, shocked by Katie's knowledge of his old girlfriend. "You used her, got her killed, in order to save yourself, you selfish bastard. And she ain't the only one you've fucked about with, is she?"
"It ain't like that." John told her. "This guy needs me dead, and is using you as his murder weapon. Just like he did with Kelvin."
"Doesn't matter what you say, this has to be done." Katie stated. "And you can tell me what you want about your life, it won't change the fact that you're selfish, a liar, a cheat and a coward." Katie started to pull her finger back, and felt it press against something cold and smooth. The feeling ran around her hands, and she looked down at them. She was no longer holding a gun, but a python. She screamed, throwing the snake to the floor. She looked up at John, who looked back at her with an expressionless face.
"Sorry, love." He said. Katie ran past John, opened the door, and fled from his apartment. John walked over to his kitchen and opened the top drawer. He pulled out a new packet of Silk Cut, opened it, took one out and lit it. He turned around and looked at the gun lying on his carpet.
Katie ran down the street, rain hitting her in the face, stinging slightly with each tiny impact. She held the side of her head, staggering across the pavement. Her mind felt as if some arsehole had ripped it out, stuffed it into a blender and switched it on full power. She thought that her skull was shrinking, slowly crushing her brain. She stretched her hand out in search of a lamppost or anything else to lean on, and found the hand of somebody in front of her. She looked up into the person's face. He stared back down at her.
"You useless bitch." The Antichrist stated, and spun her around. He wrapped his arm around her neck, ready to squeeze, when another man calmly walked around the corner, gun in one hand, cigarette in the other. He blew out a cloud of smoke, which caught the light from the nearby lamppost. The Antichrist looked up at him. "Constantine…" he growled in an inhuman way. Katie struggled to free herself from his grip, but was unable to.
"'ad enough of killing kids, 'ave we?" John asked, facing the pair.
"How did I guess you'd turn up?" the Antichrist asked. John aimed the gun at him, put he pulled Katie in front of his body with lightning fast reactions. Katie cried out slightly, unable to form much noise due to an arm crushing her throat. The Antichrist was aware that bullets wouldn't kill him, but he thought it would be more fun to mess around with John for a while.
"Let go of her, son. Else I'll be 'aving your bollocks for breakfast." John threatened.
"Why'd you come here, eh?" the Antichrist asked, gripping Katie tighter. Her eyes started to bulge, and she found it almost impossible to breath. "To convince yourself you tried your best, but there was nothing you could do? Or because you actually wanted to save somebody besides yourself, for once?"
"You forgot about wanting to merge your face with the concrete." John replied, dropping his cigarette to the floor and crushing it with the front of his shoe. He looked back up at the pair, his eyes covered in shadow. The Antichrist gave him a cruel smile, showing the edges of his teeth.
A sickening crunch echoed through the night air, followed by the thud of Katie's lifeless body hitting the floor, her neck broken. The incident took another couple of seconds to sink in before John realised what had just occurred, and that he had just seen Katie be murdered in front of his eyes, and in cold blood. By then, the Antichrist had disappeared without a trace.
"You mother fucker!" John screamed out, despite the absence of Katie's killer. He dropped the gun to the ground and ran over to the body. It was lying face down in the gutter. He rolled her over, hoping that somehow she was still alive. Hoping that by some miracle, God had stopped her from perishing at the hands of the enemy. Katie's eyes stared up at John in a way that chilled him, as if to ask him Why didn't you do something, you bastard?
John closed her eyes with his palm gently, and knelt in the murky puddle beside her. A curtain in a nearby window was drawn shut, and the light died as quickly as Katie had. John squeezed her hand, and yelled out into the sky, up into the Heavens, and to God himself.
"Fucker!"
The First of the Fallen could watch anybody living on Earth that he wished. Sitting in the throne of Hell, ruler of the Underworld, he could look into the lives of any human living on the planet like it was some part of an interactive soap opera. However, there was one person out of billions that he continued to watch regularly; John Constantine. Ever since their first meeting, resulting in John tricking him into drinking Holy Water, he watched and waited for John to suffer. Now, he was watching a highlight in John's ongoing agony.
He watched John as he hid in some darkened alleyway, whilst the girl he cared most for was zipped up in a black body bag, nothing more to the police than another dead woman on the streets of London. "Probably a whore." They stated as they took the body away from the scene.
John's eyes were still a deep red from the burning tears and blinding anger, the first of which had stopped flowing now. Even though the Three Fallen had been forced to cure his cancer, John continued to smoke heavily. The First smiled to himself at the thought of John smoking himself to death again, this time unable to worm his way out of the inevitable. With the other two gone, John's soul was owed to just one of them, and the First couldn't wait to get his hands on it. He imagined how much he would enjoy tormenting John, causing him an eternity of pain and sorrow.
For now, however, he was content with watching John's pain from the knowledge that he let Katie die in front of him.
John knocked back another glass of whisky and banged it on the wooden counter in front of the barman. By now, John was feeling extremely drunk, and even more ill. He'd already thrown up twice; once on the way to the pub, and again shortly after arriving. He reeked of vomit, alcohol and cigarette smoke. He'd also filled up one ashtray and swapped it with another further along the bar. He looked a state, with his knees soaked, and his hair a total mess.
John raised his finger to the barman, who picked up the empty glass and proceeded to fill it up again. John snatched it out of his hand and poured it down his throat without waiting to take a breath.
Ten minutes and several more glasses of whisky later, John found himself back in the men's room, somehow managing to eject more liquid out of his mouth than had gone in. The force of which it was coming out seemed as though it should hurt a lot, but John couldn't feel anything. He did at one point think his insides were going to follow and end up staring up at him from the toilet bowl. Eventually, John stopped throwing up, and flushed the remains away. He put the lid down on the toilet, and sat on it. He put his head in his hands and sat in silence.
"You don't have much time." came a voice, calm and soothing. John's heart skipped a beat and he looked up. Katie stood in front of him, looking down into his eyes.
"You can't be her." John replied, looking down again. "I watched you die."
"I'm still dead, just a ghost." Katie told him. "But you have to hurry. We have little time before we get pulled into Hell. This bastard's killed a lot of people before us, but we'll be collected soon."
"What?" John stated, standing up. "How do I stop you from going to Hell?"
"I don't think you can." Katie said, sadly. "But you can stop everyone from getting sent there by stopping him, tonight."
"How do I stop him? I couldn't even save you." John asked. He walked past Katie's ghost and opened the cubicle door. Kelvin stood in front of him, looking up.
"Nor me, remember?" the boy stated. "But you didn't know how. It wasn't your fault, but we're here now to tell you that the Antichrist must die tonight. Hey, if you do kill him in time, maybe you'll save us from going to Hell. So quit bitching and go kick his arse."
"Look, I don't know if I can! Look at me! I'm pissed, I'm tired, and I'm fuckin' frustrated!" John shouted. "Tell me how to kill him!"
"Temper, John." Katie said, still in her calm manner. Her voice somehow managed to sooth John's soul, and make his anger vanish for the time being. "You mustn't get worked up. You must save that for the fight." John turned to face her, and noticed how beautiful she was, even when dead. She seemed to glow, and John couldn't take his eyes off her. "To kill him, you must use magic, but stronger magic than you usually use."
"Black magic?" John asked.
"If need be, yes." Katie replied.
"That's dangerous stuff to use, especially near this son of a bitch. But I'll give it a shot." John told her. "And I'll make sure he's toast before you get dragged downstairs." He added. Katie smiled at him, and John turned to leave the room. In the corner, he saw Darren hunched up, his baby son cradled in one arm, and his beloved crack pipe in between his other hand and his lips.
The alleyway was almost pitch black, the moonlight blocked by the tall, ugly structures of brick and metal that were somehow classed as buildings. They looked as though they had been built and neglected for decades, which most had been. Metal stairs and ladders stuck out from the sides of the buildings, working their way towards the sky like rusty ivy. In the darkness, a single red glow grew brighter, lighting up a pair of lips and the end of a nose very slightly in a dusky red light.
Greg owned and ran his own shop, which specialised in magic and the occult. He didn't believe in it, but there were enough people out there who still bought items from him. Greg was satisfied with making a living from gullible twats who were trying to make a love potion to get laid. It was mostly younger people who bought things, probably for a laugh. Now, at the end of another easy day, Greg sat at the counter and counted the money he'd taken for the day.
His counting was suddenly disturbed by the crashing sound of the entrance door being forced open and slamming into the wall. Greg turned on the main lights and they lit the room for half a second before shorting out. The silhouette of a man stood in the middle of the doorway, and the red glow were his face was Greg guessed was a cigarette. The man walked into the shop and lit a match.
"Shame about the lights, eh squire?" a gravely sounding voice stated. "Must be the weather." Suddenly, the lights came back on again. "That's better." Greg could see the man clearly now; spiky blonde hair, stubble-covered chin, tanned trench coat, and an overall mess of a man.
"Who the fuck are you?" Greg asked, slowly reaching down for his pistol under the counter. Working in a London alleyway sometimes attracted all sorts of drug-fuelled thugs and psychopaths.
"Touch that gun, you'll be killing yourself." The man told him, and picked up a book. "Nice place you got here. Mind if I look around?" he asked.
"Yeah I mind, I'm closed, dickhead!" Greg stated. "Come back in the morning, with money for a new door."
"Are you just gonna whinge all fucking night?" the man asked, looking at him.
"If you don't leave now, you're f…" The man clicked his fingers, and Greg felt dizzy. Moments later, he passed out and fell to the floor in a heap.
"I can get used to this." John stated, and started to pull books and objects he knew he'd need off the shelves around him.
John finished setting up the spell in his apartment, and lit a cigarette. He knew that if things went badly, it could be his last one. He picked up one of the books from the magic shop, and looked through it, reminding himself on some attack spells he may need. He put the book down, and walked into his kitchen. He poured himself a glass of water, and sipped it. He leant up against the doorframe, and remembered making Katie breakfast their first morning together. He took another sip of water, and smashed the glass against the wall opposite him. He took another drag of his cigarette, and walked towards the pile of broken glass, dropping the cigarette butt in the sink on the way.
He picked up a large shard of glass, and walked back towards the chalk circle markings and candles. He placed the glass on the seat next to him, and took out a box of matches. He struck the head of one against the side of the box, and it erupted into a single flame. John knelt down and lit each candle quickly, and blew the match out. He put the matches back in his pocket, and picked up the glass. He held it in his right hand, and placed the sharp corner against his left palm. He took a deep breath to calm himself, then started to drag the glass down his palm, ripping through his own skin and muscle. Blood dripped down into the centre of the main circle, and John started to chant quietly in Latin. As each drop of blood hit the carpet, it burnt through and made a hole in the floor. But instead of leading to the apartment below him, the hole opened up a gateway to another dimension, where the Antichrist would be dragged into thanks to the chant. John stopped cutting at his hand, and looked down into the hole. He dropped the shard of glass to the floor, and pulled a bandage from one of his pockets. He wrapped it around the wound, and tied it up tightly, before jumping into the hole.
John landed with a thud onto a rusty red ground, causing a cloud of dust to rise up around him as he crashed to the floor. He pushed himself up onto his feet and looked around. The whole place looked like a canyon, coated in red and brown dust. The sky was black, but somehow the area was in daylight. The Antichrist was nowhere to be seen. John looked up, and realised that the hole was closed. "Shit…" he muttered to himself. Suddenly, he felt himself being thrown into the air, and landed hard against a rock nearby. He slid down to the floor and looked up. The Antichrist started walking over to him.
"That looked painful." He stated, grinning. "Wanna go again?"
"Don't look so smug, you arsehole," John told him, in pain from the impact of the rock. "We're stuck here now. Kill me, you still can't do any harm." The Antichrist laughed at him.
"I know the spell you used to get us here, you Burk." He said. "It's a spell designed specifically for duels to the death and all that bollocks. The winner returns to wherever he was before this." Relief swept over John for a split second before he felt himself thrown into the air again. He landed on the ground and rolled onto his side, away from the Antichrist. He felt a sharp pain in his side as one of his ribs cracked.
The Antichrist slowly walked over to John and raised his hands to throw John again, when he suddenly felt a force push him hard, knocking him backwards. He landed sideways awkwardly, and his elbow bent backwards. John jumped up and used the same spell to force the Antichrist headfirst into another large rock, splitting his scalp open. Dark blood splattered up against the rusty coloured rock, and the Antichrist picked himself up, dazed but otherwise unphased. "That all you got?" he mocked, and lifted his arms again. John readied himself to be flung backwards again, but noticed two sharp rock pillars raise from the ground either side of the antichrist. They spun slightly so they faced John, ready to spear him.
John muttered another word in Latin as the two spikes hurtled towards him. They shattered into tiny pieces inches from his body. The Antichrist fired another rock spear at him, only for the same to happen. John pushed his arms forward, and the Antichrist flew backwards again, but landed on his feet. He looked up at John with a smug grin before a huge boulder emerged out of the sky and landed on top of him at great speed. Pieces of bone and muscle sprayed out from beneath the boulder and smouldered slightly around it.
John walked over to the messy pulp and touched it with his foot. It stuck to the front of his shoe like the remains of a boulder-flattened dead Antichrist. John smiled to himself, and pulled out a packet of cigarettes from his pocket. They were slightly crushed by his beatings, so he threw the rest away after taking the only surviving one out of the packet. He placed it in his mouth and lit a match against the boulder. His rib still caused him great pain, but he lit the cigarette anyway. He sucked on the end and inhaled a large amount of smoke and held it in. He slowly blew it out of his nostrils, and flicked the ash onto what looked like part of an eye. Suddenly, John was surrounded by a blinding white light.
In an instant, John was back in his apartment. He looked around, checking he was really where he thought he was, and walked over to the sofa, knocking a candle over with his foot. He dropped himself onto the middle cushion arse-first, and sighed loudly. He drew in another lungful of smoke and closed his eyes.
"Nice work there, John." Brendan stated, startling John. He looked up to see the chubby Irish ghost smiling at him. "You did good."
"Yeah, cheers mate." John replied. "So he's dead, then?"
"You flattened him with a big fuck-off rock, I should say he ain't walking away in a hurry." Brendan replied. John nodded, but wasn't in the mood for celebrations yet.
"What about Katie?" he asked, not looking up. "And Kelvin, and the others who died? Are they safe?" Brendan's smile faded from his face. The silence told John he was too late. "So they're in Hell?"
"'Fraid so." Brendan replied. "Sorry."
"You told me that if I finished the job, I'd have a free ticket to Heaven when I pop me clogs eventually, yeah?" John asked, suddenly remembering the deal. "How about I swap that around so Katie gets there instead?" Brendan shook his head.
"Can't be done, John." He told him. "What's done is done. There's nothing we can do now." John stood up quickly and went to grab Brendan, but his hands passed straight through him.
"Bollocks you can't, get her outta there!" he shouted, dropping his cigarette without realising.
"Look, John, I know what she meant to you, but there ain't nothing we can do to help her now. I'm sorry, but there are rules!" Brendan tried to explain.
"Fuck your rules! You can stick them up your arse, along with my free ticket." John declared. Brendan looked confused as to why John would give up a guarantee of eternal peace and happiness, especially after the life he'd had. "I'm not gonna go up there because others died instead and didn't get so lucky. I'm through with that." He picked the cigarette up off the floor. "Go back to him upstairs with a message from me." John stuck his middle finger up at Brendan, and said "Up yours."
THE END
