HELLBLAZER:DCF Chapter 5: The Jesus Christ Killer, a vertigo fanfic

THE DCFutures Underground Fan Fiction group acknowledges that DC Comics owns the concepts behind John Constantine and all DC characters that may be used here. These concepts are used WITHOUT permission for NO PROFIT, but rather a strong desire to peer into the future of the DC Universe. However, the original concepts presented here are the intellectual property of the author.

HELLBLAZER:DCF #5

"The Jesus Christ Killer"

Written by David Lee
Edited by Tommy Hancock

"IN LATE FEBRUARY OF THE YEAR 2112, A MAN WAS FOUND MURDERED ON THE STEPS OF THE FORMER CHURCH OF THE SERVANTS TO THE KING IN NEW YORK CITY. WHETHER THIS MAN WAS ACTUALLY MURDERED THERE OR PLACED THERE AFTER HIS MURDER REMAINS A POINT OF CONJECTURE AND DEBATE IN THESE DIFFICULT TIMES. SUCH AN OCCURRENCE WOULD BE CONSIDERED UNREMARKABLE IF NOT FOR THE IDENTITY OF THE VICTIM AND THE MANNER OF HIS EXECUTION. CHARLES MONAHAN WAS A NEW YORK POLICE OFFICER AND A KNOWN DEVOTEE OF THE REVEREND HORATIO ROBERTS. HE WAS FOUND NAKED ON THE STEPS OF THE CHURCH, AND THE CAUSE OF DEATH WAS VIOLENT ANAL INTRUSION. THE LETTERS J AND C WERE FOUND CARVED INTO HIS BUTTOCKS, AND THE PRESENCE OF THESE INITIALS HAS SPARKED MUCH CONTROVERSY IN THE THEOLOGICAL COMMUNITY THROUGHOUT THE WORLD. AND ALTHOUGH I DID NOT KNOW THE MAN PERSONALLY, EITHER IN THAT VEIN OR IN THAT CAPACITY, I FEEL COMPELLED TO TELL HIS STORY. MY NAME IS GERALDO CHUNG."

I decided to begin my investigation with the family of the deceased. Considerably surprised to find that Monahan had no family to speak of other than his mother, I was even more surprised to find that he had still been living with his mother upto the time of his death at the age of 38. Mrs. Monahan lives in a small apartment in what used to be called the Bronx. A graying woman in her sixties, she was quite amenable to my request for an interview, perhaps a bit too amenable in retrospect.

Interview with Mrs. Mathilda Monahan

"Good evening, Mrs. Monahan. My condolences on the tragic loss of your son." I do my best to look distressed as I offer my sympathies but find it extremely difficult to maintain my composure when she displays antipathy.

"Don't make no never mind to me. My boy Charlie was a bad seed from day one. Damned doctors had to rip open my stomach on account o' he was already so damned fat. Almost 11 pounds he was when they finally cut him out." She scowls vehemently at the unpleasant memory, and I chuckle weakly, not wanting to offend.

"Am I to understand that you are not upset by your son's... untimely demise?" I try not to look abashed at her utter lack of sentiment, but I am not a trained actor, and my efforts were not entirely successful.

"Untimely? Hah! It was bound to happen sooner or later. Always picking fights with the wrong people, getting into trouble. If he wasn't so damned big, he'd have bit the bullet a long time ago. Mind you, I never expected it to happen the way it did, but I wasn't surprised. Upset? I'm collecting his pension. The way I figure it, he's finally doing right by his mama now that he's dead."

"I see." I can hear the contempt creeping into my voice so I cough into my hand, doing my best to restore my journalistic neutrality. "I've been given to understand that you have no other family. Trying to be thorough, I've looked through the death records, along with the genealogical records. Even so, I could find no record of the identity of Charles' father."

"Ain't no record. Even I don't remember his first name, seein' as how we were only married a little while. And even then, he was always on the move. Might be he's still alive and kicking somewheres." She scowls menacingly, and I am forced to avert my gaze to the Elvis-related paraphernalia lining the walls.

"I'm afraid I have another interview scheduled today so time is pressing. Let me be direct and to the point. Do you have any ideas as to who might be responsible for the death of your son? Or why?"

"Nope, no idea. I figure it was probably the guy they're holding in jail. Too bad. Good-looking fella. Rich, too. By the by, how much do you make? The way I hear it, holo-novelists rake in the credits." The predatory look in her eyes is quite horrific, and I decide then and there that I've learned as much as I possibly can from this interviewee.

"Hehe... I... make a decent living. Oh, look at the time. I'll call you if I have any further queries." I excuse myself posthaste and make a strategic retreat. Later, I will learn through other records that Charles' father was actually one Bryce Monaghan, not Monahan, who abandoned his wife of six months many years ago. This author is not led to wonder why.

The next phase of my investigation led me to the steps of the Roman Catholic Church. The theological controversy surrounding the murder involved the mysterious initials aforementioned. Certain members of the press have already taken to calling our murderer the 'Jesus Christ Killer.' The ensuing sensationalism has generated much turmoil in religious circles. I spoke directly with Georges Thiers, a Roman Catholic priest and exorcist who had been called to assist the New York Police Dept. with their investigation. His offices were located in the New York Cathedral, elaborately adorned with shelves upon shelves of books and tomes, the works of the classical theologians and other sundries, easily worth several large fortunes.

Interview with Reverend Georges Thiers

"Good evening, Reverend. Thank you for taking the time to see me on such short notice." Always pleased to make the acquaintance of another erudite scholar, this Jesuit was no exception. In place of the commonplace black garb of modern priests, he was wearing a cassock, garb more traditional during the Inquisition than in 2112.

"Not at all. I'm a fan of your work, actually, and I've been looking forward to this meeting. The request for an interview was an unexpected but welcome surprise. And please, call me Father." He smiles disarmingly, but I can see that his words are carefully chosen.

"Um... yes... Father. It's always nice to meet a fan, especially an educated one. Why don't we begin with your involvement in the case. Why were you asked to assist?" My tongue stumbles over the antiquated honorific, one I'd never even used when addressing my own father.

"Well, it's actually a standard practice for the police to call in a Church consult when dealing with anything that could conceivably be related to cult practices. I investigate them on behalf of the Vatican so I am often consulted when such incidents occur."

"I see. I suppose this goes hand in hand with being an exorcist, an unusual calling if I may say so. Did you have an opportunity to examine the crime scene?" Thiers takes on a pained expression, and I assume that I've struck some kind of nerve.

"Yes, I did. I sensed an... unholy presence around the body. It was very strong and quite recent. I have never before felt its like. I must admit that I initially dismissed this 'Jesus Christ Killer' nonsense as little more than media hype, but I am now much less certain."

I'm surprised to see conviction on his face involving such an unusual comment. I would have thought that a Jesuit priest would be more reserved about making comments that might impinge upon their credibility. "Are you saying that there was some kind of demonic presence? I'm sorry, Father, but I find that difficult to accept. What did the police have to say about this... unholy presence?"

"Their opinion was much the same as yours is now. I can't really blame them. The truth is that once such corroboration by the Church is made public, occultists start popping out of the woodwork, and the last thing anyone wants is a string of copycat killings by fanatics running rampant through the city."

For the most part, I share his concern, regardless of how much such an occurrence might boost the sales of my holo-novel. "What about the man being held for the murder? The evidence seems to be fairly circumstantial. Do you have an opinion as to his guilt or innocence?"

Father Thiers takes on a grim expression before replying. "I am not a criminal investigator. That is not my specialty; neither is the law. However, I can say that the unholy presence I felt at the crime scene was quite strong, stronger than anything I had ever felt before. It was even stronger around the man being held in custody."

I must admit to having been a bit rattled by the preceding interview. I've never really put much stock in stories about demons or the occult, dismissing it as little more than supernatural nonsense. But hearing such affirmation from one of Father Thiers' reputation was quite disconcerting. Trying to ground my investigation in more familiar and solidly-grounded territory, my next interview candidate was one Donvan Bradley, the police investigator in charge of the Special Crimes Unit that first investigated the crime scene. I had some difficulty arranging this interview, Bradley not being very much enamored of the press in general, with few exceptions. Luckily, one of those exceptions is a colleague of mine who was able to convince him to speak with me.

Interview with Donvan Bradley

We talked in a police interrogation room. I walked in to find the lights turned down and the lamplight directed towards my seat at the table. Was this done on purpose to make me feel uncomfortable? I believe so. I've played this game with police officers before, and I've used the tactic myself in my own line of work on many an occasion.

"Good afternoon, Detective Bradley. As I'm sure you're aware, my name is Geraldo Chung, the man that Darian told you about." I offer my hand as I squint my eyes against the light, trying to get a good look at Bradley's face and record a better image for the holo-novel. But he doesn't take my hand, and all that I can make of his appearance is that he's a very large man.

"You mean you're the man who's been pestering my office for an interview all week." His tone is quite matter-of-fact, and his demeanor is quite stern. I still can't make out his face, but even through the shadows, he's the very picture of an honest and overworked police detective. I can't quite help chuckling.

"Heh. Well, I'm nothing if not persistent as I'm sure Mr. Order has informed you. As such, the sooner you answer my questions, the sooner I'll be out of your hair." I see him lean back in his chair, preparing himself for the chore at hand.

"You're the head of the Special Crimes Unit, are you not? The one also responsible for tracking down the LegendKiller?"

"Yes." His eyes narrow together ever so slightly, and that, in combination with the one word answer, tells me that I've touched upon sensitive subject matter.

"Do you think there was any relationship between the LegendKiller and the death of Officer Monahan?" I expect some surprise or anger in response to this question. The response that I actually do get is quite unexpected.

"Bwa ha ha!" He bursts out laughing. "Charlie Monahan? A descendant of superheroes? Do you know how ludicrous that sounds?" Having gone over the late police officer's record and met his mother, I share Detective Bradley's skepticism, but my research does indicate the possibility of a link.

"Well, I believe that this LegendKiller was infatuated with the descendants of twencen heroes. My research has identified Monahan's father as one Bryce Monaghan. This Bryce Monaghan was the son of one Thomas Monaghan, better known as the Hitman, a super-powered assassin once based in Gotham City, most famous for having... regurgitated... onto the Batman." As I say this, I peek up over my datapad to look at Detective Bradley and am rewarded with an expression of stunned disbelief.

"You're sure about this? My people didn't come up with any of this on Monahan." He leans towards me, a meaty hand stretched out on the table in my direction.

"I'm not surprised. I was only able to figure this out by going through old, printed documents that my publisher has access to. The information wasn't contained in any computer records. And yes, it is true." I sometimes count it as a blessing that the owner of Hobbes Enterprises is such an old-fashioned fellow. Most major corporations destroyed print documentation decades ago in favor of computerized records. I would have to thank Gadling for his foresight.

After some time lost in thought, Bradley finally answers my initial query. "No, I don't think the two incidents are related. For one thing, an assassin for hire is hardly the picture of a hero, super-powered or not, and LK only hit targets specifically associated with heroes. For another, our mutual friend would have informed me if LK was involved in this somehow. Besides, Monahan was killed about a month too late."

"Our mutual friend? How is Darian Order involved in this?" I think to myself. It looks like I may have lots of questions for him at our next staff meeting. "Were there any clues found at the scene of the crime?"

"Nothing beyond what the press already knows. His body was found on the steps of the Church of the Elvis nuts. No clothing was found so he was probably killed somewhere else and dropped there. The autopsy showed he'd been dead less than 48 hours and killed by a bladed instrument thrust through the anal cavity. And if not for the fact that he was naked with the initials JC carved into his ass, I probably wouldn't be speaking with you now."

I have to admit that he's probably right, but I'll be damned if I'm going to say that to him out loud. "Perhaps. Perhaps not. In any case, I have just one last question for you: Do you believe that Officer Monahan was an honest policeman?" It's a simple question, but one that causes the detective's brow to furrow.

"I really couldn't say. He did his job, but I wouldn't say he did it well. He wanted to be involved in bigger things, but he just didn't have the ability. Even so, good or bad, he was a cop, and his killer is going to go down."

Hardly a committal answer, I decided to probe a bit further. "Then you believe the man in custody to be guilty?"

Bradley just smiles. "Sorry, Geraldo, but I've already answered your last question. Your going to have to look somewhere else for more answers." With that, he got up and left and had another policeman escort me out. Me and my big mouth.

My police investigation a dead end, I decided that it was finally time to explore the religious angle of this bizarre murder. My search took me to the New York Church of the Servants to the King, the location where Monahan's body was found. Telltale traces of the body outline were still visible although the blood had been wiped clean. The reverend in charge of the New York Church was actually eager to speak with me.

Interview with Reverend Nashville Jason Tippitt

I'm going to have to abandon my sense of professionalism for a moment and let you know that I've always thought of these Elvis freaks as a bunch of nutballs. They remind me of the fanatics involved in the Nouveaux Romantic Movement, but instead of worhipping twencen heroes, they worship a gaudily-dressed entertainer from the same era. And they've been doing it for over a century.

"Good evening... Reverend Tippitt. Thank you for taking the time to speak with me, especially considering your recent troubles and your current relocation activities." I try not to lose my professionalism while speaking with Tippitt, but sequins and sideburns combine to bring out the worst in me.

"Not at all, sahr. Ah am always glad to make the acquaintance of a non-believah, especially one of your famous reputation. In fact, Ah am a great fan of all your works as are most of my flock." Ouch. Nothing hurts a writer so much as the adulation of the mindless masses. Even so, they do help pay the bills. Tippitt's thick accent reminds me of that of a loud, cartoon chicken that was popular back in the twencen.

"Always... happy... to hear that I have fans among the faithful." I decide to try and get through this interview quickly, to keep from saying anything that I might regret later. As I avert my gaze to avoid looking him directly in the eyes, I notice computer equipment and other technological apparatus set up for installation.

"Ah believe you wanted to ask me some questions about poor Brother Monahan, may the King rest his poor soul." Despite the thick regional accent, the sincerity in his voice helps me recover my professionalism, just in the nick of time.

"Yes, of course. First of all, I would like to ask you whether you think the murder might have been committed by some other religious organization. The initials found on... Brother Monahan... have led the media to dub his murderer the Jesus Christ Killer. Some speculate that it may have been an act of vengeance in response to events that took place in Geneva earlier this month. What are your feelings in this regard?"

"Ah can only say that Ah hope this is not the case. What happened in Geneva was perpetrated by the Reformed Church of the Servants to the King, not by the King's true faithful. Any acts of violence directed against this flock would be terribly misguided. Ah am glad to say, howevah, that many who once followed Brother Horatio have since returned to the fold."

It amazes me how he can maintain such an unfaltering smile in a continuous fashion, but I suppose he gets lots of practice. "Did you know Brother Monahan well?" I ask, trying to break through the emotionless mask that was that smile.

"Ah am afraid that I have over 300 parishioners, sahr, and Ah did not know them all as well as Ah might have liked. But he will be missed, sahr." It's the standard non-committal answer I'd expect from someone in Tippitt's position. I could press the issue, but I choose not to. I must be getting soft in my old age.

"I am also given to understand that you are moving out of this building. Does that move have anything to do with the murder of Brother Monahan? Is the new ownership at all concerned about the incident?" I tried to contact the new ownership, but they were unavailable for comment. Perhaps Tippitt can help me out here.

"Ah am not at liberty to speak on behalf of the new ownership as you call them, sahr, but Ah can tell you that our decision to move was made before poor Brother Monahan's body was discovered on our doorstep." Well, so much for that idea.

"Well then, I guess those are all the questions I have. My condolences to you and your flock on the loss of Brother Monahan." I stand up and take his hand to hear the words "Not at all, sahr" voiced in reply.

As I leave the Church, my unfortunate gaze passes sidelong to a stained-glass window depicting Elvis as Christ reborn, striking a pose at the right hand of God. God is depicted as a elderly man dressed in a white suit with a black bow tie. Those who have done enough research on the twencen would recognize the striking similarity to one Colonel Sanders, a fried-chicken mogul of that era. The metaphysical ramifications are quite disturbing to one of my delicate sensibilities.

The only interview left to be taken was that of the man being held in custody. Police records indicate that an anonymous phone call informed the police that Monahan's murderer would be found at the New York Church of the Servants to the King, seated in the rearmost pew, and smoking a cigarette. The suspect was found and arrested, and small traces of Monahan's DNA were found on him. I tracked him down to Three Mile Island, the NorAm correctional facility centrally located between Metropolis, Gotham, and New York City. It was transformed into a prison when nuclear power became obsolete, its radiation-proof walls well-suited to the containment of all manner of prisoners, including metas. Reserved for high-profile criminals, it was no surprise that the Jesus Christ Killer was being incarcerated there.

Interview with the Jesus Christ Killer

For the benefit of those readers who have never been to prison, there is a considerable difference in cell quality for voting citizens and non-voting citizens. Whereas the former could actually be considered lavish, the latter is nothing more than squalid. I found that my current interviewee was being held in the former, an individual cell complete with holovision and external communication lines. I took a seat outside the cell and signaled the guard when I was ready, and the force field was modulated to allow sound to pass through freely.

"...Yeah, Hob, I know I'm in a pickle, but it isn't my fault, mate." He was on the phone. Perhaps he was talking to his attorney. "Hell no, I was there on other business. How the hell was I supposed to know that fat fuck had been dumped there." He seemed quite irritable for some reason, but prison will do that, I suppose.

"Yes, I read the damned papers, but I skipped over that Jesus Christ Killer shite. Would you have put that name together with mine..?" At this point, he notices me seated outside his cell and turns his gaze from left to right before getting back to the phone. "Sorry about the rant, Hob. Call you back later." Lighting up a cigarette, he finally addresses me.

"What the hell do you want?" The look in his eyes is quite disconcerting, the steady gaze hard and unrelenting. My own eyes pass to the trench coat and Armani jacket hanging on the wall, and I whistle through my teeth considering the fabulous wealth that they represent. The way he was looking at me, I had no doubt that this man was capable of murder, but the question as to whether he was guilty of this particular murder remained unanswered.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to eavesdrop on your conversation. My name is Geraldo Chung, and I'm writing a holo-novel about the murder you're being held for. Perhaps you've heard of me?" I make a motion to shake his hand, but I stop, smile, wave, and chuckle before actually touching the force field.

"Geraldo? Nope. Haven't a clue as to who you are. But whatever you're selling, I'm not interested." I'm momentarily stunned by his rude comments. Hadn't he read any of my holo-novels? The man was obviously an uncultured boob despite his wealth.

"Well, I'm afraid you're interest has nothing to do with it. The Warden has agreed to allow this interview, and I'm not leaving until I get some answers." I try to sound determined, but I'm certain my efforts are pointless with this man.

"Suit yourself, but you may be in for a long wait." He lays himself down on the mattress in his cell and closes his eyes, apparently trying to shut me out.

"Be difficult if you want, but you'd be surprised how much public opinion can sway the opinions of a Judge. My holo-novel could do a lot to help your case." Maybe he would be more reasonable if he had something to gain. Judging by his clothes, money alone wouldn't do much to sway him in his decision. He ignores me for a few minutes before finally re-acknowledging my existence.

"Alright, then. Ask away. Just be quick about it. What do you want to know, Geraldo?" He says my name as if there's some stigma attached to it that I don't know about. Even so, I ignore the barbs. After all, he was willing to answer my questions.

"Did you kill a police officer named Charles Monahan?" Always ask the most pressing question first, I always say, at least when the interviewees are being difficult.

"Cut right to the quick, don't ya?" He actually has the audacity to smirk in my general direction. "No, I didn't kill him, and I didn't hire anyone to do it either. I'm going to say the same on the lie detector and pass. Anything else?"

"Well, that's going to reduce some interest," I think to myself. Maybe there's some way to salvage that. "Alright, then. You're not guilty. If that's true, then why are the police holding you? What were you doing in the Church of the Servants to the King when they found you?"

He grimaces distastefully as if disgusted by his own stupidity. "It was just a bloody coincidence. I got a phone call telling me that Elvis' ghost wanted to talk to me there so I went. Or maybe it was Elvis' angel. Something like that."

I can't help being amused. "You went? How gullible are you?" I momentarily lose my professionalism again but quickly recover. "I'm sorry, but you're answer surprised me. Who did the call come from?"

"Haven't the foggiest. I was kinda in my cups at the time. Otherwise, I would never have made such a stupid mistake. Well, maybe not."

I find it difficult to believe that anyone could have bad luck on this high a scale. "So it was a mysterious phone call that sent you to the church that nigh? My information says that it was an anonymous phone call that told the police that they would find Monahan's killer there. What do you make of that?"

At this, he narrows his eyes, and you can sort of tell that he's screaming bloody murder, despite the fact that he makes no sound. "Probably just another coincidence. Shit happens, mate, and when it does, it usually happens to me."

"Yeah, right" I think to myself, but I can tell I'm not going to get any further with this conversation. "Alright then, just one more question. I need a name besides Jesus Christ Killer for my book, and the authorities are surprisingly closed mouthed about revealing your identity. What do you call yourself?"

He levels his gaze at me again and takes a long drag off of his cigarette before replying. "My name is Constantine. John Constantine. Make sure ya get it spelled right."

"Very well. Thank you for your time, Mr. Constantine. I hope the trial goes well for you." Actually, I doubt that it will, but far be it from me to dash a doomed man's hopes, at least not in person. Perhaps he doesn't realize that the initials match.

"JOHN CONSTANTINE WILL SOON STAND TRIAL FOR THE MURDER OF OFFICER CHARLES MONAHAN. DETECTIVE BRADLEY AND HIS DEPARTMENT HAVE DISCONTINUED THEIR INVESTIGATION BECAUSE NO OTHER SUSPECTS OR EVIDENCE HAVE PRESENTED THEMSELVES. MONAHAN WILL NOT BE MISSED BY HIS MOTHER, BUT SHE WILL BE PRESENT AT THE TRIAL OF HIS SUPPOSED KILLER. BRYCE MONAGHAN COULD NOT BE FOUND FOR COMMENT, BUT PERHAPS HE WILL APPEAR AT THE TRIAL AS WELL. REVEREND TIPPITT AND HIS CONGREGATION REMEMBER HIM WELL SO PERHAPS HE IS A FLYING ELVIS NOW, A GUARDIAN ANGEL WATCHING OVER THE CITY HE ONCE SERVED AS A POLICE OFFICER. HAVING MET THE MAN, I AM FORCED TO WONDER WHETHER JOHN CONSTANTINE IS GUILTY OR INNOCENT, DESPITE HIS PROTESTATIONS INSISTING ON THE LATTER. THE PROSECUTION HAS CALLED FATHER THIERS TO TESTIFY AS THEIR WITNESS. AS SUCH, IT WOULD SEEM THAT THE JUSTICE DEPARTMENT IS GIVING CREDENCE TO THE POSSIBILITY THAT JOHN CONSTANTINE IS ASSOCIATED WITH AN OCCULTIST MOVEMENT. REGARDLESS, HIS STORY WILL BE CONTINUED, AND PERHAPS CONCLUDED, AT TRIAL NEXT MONTH."

About the Author: Geraldo Chung was born in Metropolis in the year 2065, the grandson of the twencen author José Chung. He graduated from Gotham University in the year 2085 and now holds several doctorates in Journalism, History, and Communications. A holo-novelist famous for documentaries, his previous works include Inside the UN and The Justice League Agenda. "The Jesus Christ Killer" is his 24th holo-novel. Geraldo Chung's next series, "Spandex Spotlight," will be available soon.

- End of HELLBLAZER:DCF #5 -