A short story inspired by the 'Constantine' movie, a prologue to an online roleplay I'm in, featuring a half-breed demon named Matthias. (I am aware there are significant details between the 'Constantine' movie and the comics. I'm also not too clear on the exact 'rules' which define how half-breed demons act and operate. If there are any glaring mistakes,feel free tolet me know.)
"Here's your boarding pass, sir. Have a pleasant flight!"
"Thank you. I'm sure I will."
The man grinned and accepted the ticket over the counter, genuine warmth radiating from his kind smile, his eyes sparkling as he smirked at the airline employee. He knew all about her indiscretions last night with her husband's older brother; he had watched as she had coupled energetically with the other man behind her spouse's back, all thoughts of her married partner vanishing in a wave of orgasmic pleasure. There was something deliciously voyeuristic about knowing peoples' dirty little secrets.
Humming a pleasant tune to himself, the man stepped through the barrier towards the departure lounge where he would wait for two hours before boarding his flight. He didn't bat an eyelid as his small shoulder bag was passed through security. They wouldn't find anything incriminating inside its stitched leather exterior. No-one ever did.
"Passport, sir?"
"Sure. Here y'go."
With firm hands, he offered his photo I.D. to another servile airline assistant, who passed her eyes briefly over the faded photograph and noted the similarity between the image and the figure standing before her. A pronounced nose, slender cheekbones and gentle yet intense eyes framed by a barely-trimmed mop of black hair; he was not young, but time seemed to have been kind to his features. Satisfied, the woman nodded him through, and Matthias took his seat amongst the countless rows of humankind.
It was a perfect place for one in his particular line of work. Nearly every facet of human existence could be glimpsed here (save for the beggars, junkies and drunks whom he had already communed with earlier that morning, hidden in the nearby slums behind the liquor store.) Cheating husbands, struggling housewives, honest businessmen, supposedly innocent children hiding the candy they'd managed to steal from the airport stores; he spoke to them all, and enjoyed every word, even though they seldom answered.
He already knew that he people seated either side of him had their own stories to tell. The old couple on his left were worried about their only child, currently in a critical condition after a serious car collision; with barely a whisper, Matthias leaned over to breathe his words of advice into the old man's ear. Yes, it would be alright to squander the last of their meagre savings on alcohol to numb the pain. After all, mortal flesh was weak and needed earthly comforts, did it not? It was so enjoyable to toy with the affairs of humans; much as children made the lives and deaths of small animals nothing more than a cruel game, so too did Matthias and his kind direct the affairs of mortal creatures.
Matthias was not here merely for fun, however. There was one man in particular whom he was here to talk to, an informant working against the goals of Hell, and by a stroke of luck - some might say by careful and delicate manipulation of human cattle along the way - the demon would be seated right beside him when the flight took to the air.
The informant's name was Jeremy Kilpatrick, a one-time Catholic priest who had abandoned the cloth after being exposed for pocketing church funds, but who still had connections within the clergy; he was ignorant enough to be manipulated, but still he knew too much. Kilpatrick had been in touch with John Constantine – how it churned Matthias' stomach to even think of that man's name! - and it seemed that Constantine was sending Kilpatrick to Los Angeles in order to meet up with another of his contacts, an occult specialist by the name of Magdalena. Matthias' task was to prevent the meeting ever taking place, an order he was confident he could carry out successfully.
He looked up as his flight was called, watching the hordes of mortals gathering their things and heading towards the boarding gate. Here, in the pen-like enclosures of the airport, they seemed more like sheep than ever, bleating and whimpering in various states of jet-lag and impatience; it brought him comfort to know that he could butcher them just as easily, like a trusted sheep-dog turned suddenly rabid.
"Ditch your wife and move in with your new secretary. The stupid cow's been sleeping with your best friend, anyway; oh, and while you're at it, amend your will to benefit your younger lover. Don't wait until you land, call them up and do it on the plane. It'll be of great benefit in the long run - trust me."
Matthias smiled and cooed into the ear of the man walking ahead of him, patting him on the shoulder as they stepped on board the plane. Having been greeted by the helpful air hostess awaiting him at the door, the man headed right, towards the cheaper seats, whilst Matthias went to his left. He would be sitting in First Class, where his target would be. No objections there; the demon liked to think that after several thousand years of service, he at least deserved as much complimentary alcohol as his system could process. His own seat was situated by a window, and he took a moment to enjoy the view of the Heathrow concrete, already considering which words to use against Jeremy Kilpatrick.
"Are you comfortable, sir?"
A hostess was walking the aisles now, offering complimentary drinks to those already seated; Matthias chose a cup of grapefruit juice and savoured its acidic taste against his tongue.
"Yes, thank you. Very much so."
"Have you flown before?"
"Oh yes, many times, but not with this particular airline."
That much was true, at least. Where possible, it was quicker for Matthias to travel from place to place using his wings, hideous bat-like appendages which protruded from his back, like sickly skin stretched between charred bone. Normal mortals were unable to see that aspect of his being, but it was still safer now to take a plane. Sometimes, the demon longed for the good old simple days before photographs and video recorders had been invented. There was no knowing who would catch you on film these days.
"I hope you enjoy flying with us! We'll try and make it as enjoyable an experience as possible!"
"I look forward to it. Truly, I do."
Matthias smirked after her as she danced away, the tray of drinks carefully balanced on her slim fingers. There was still no sign of Kilpatrick. Maybe he'd had some kind of warning; maybe an angelic half-breed had found out what the legions of Hell had planned, and had warned the wayward Catholic what would happen if he flew today.
"Excuse me. Pardon me. Sorry."
He needn't have worried. The burly man staggering up the aisle with a bulky suitcase had to be his charge, judging from the fuzzy photograph he'd glimpsed, the murky aura surrounding him. The demon tried to keep the contempt from his face as Kilpatrick squeezed himself into the seat beside him, jabbing him with his elbows and doing his best to stow his coat in the overhead locker; in the end, he gave up and shoved it under the seat. That done, he turned to Matthias with a weak smile and a nod of acknowledgement, puffing and panting until he was brought a glass of water.
By now, Matthias had his plan of action, and he set it into motion, starting with drivel and small talk in a bid to win the Catholic's trust. The British always loved to discuss the weather and their dull little office jobs, and the demon sneered inwardly as he adopted a false smile, detesting the way in which mortals conducted their interpersonal relationships. He turned to Kilpatrick in what he hoped was a welcoming manner.
"Not having much luck today, huh?"
Matthias held out his fingers in a gesture of greeting, shaking Kilpatrick's hand.
"Looks like you almost missed your flight. Lucky you got here in time, or I'd be eating twice as much of that vile airplane stuff that tastes of pink! Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't introduce myself; my name's Matthew. You can call me Matt."
"Oh. Um. Hi. I'm – I'm Jeremy. Call me Jim."
Perfect. He already seemed nervous and guilty, as if he feared he were being watched, which would make Matthias' task that much easier.
"Jim. Got it."
The demon took another sip of his juice and nodded casually, building up a feeling of companionship between the two of them. As far as Kilpatrick knew, they would be seated together the whole flight; it was strange how humans felt the need to form temporary bonds with their travelling companions. However, it was those very emotions that Matthias relied upon at this moment, using them to stalk closer until his verbal trap could be sprung.
"So, where y'headed, Jim? What would take you from Britain's precious shores? I'm here on business myself."
"Really? Who do you work for?"
Good. The one-time priest was warming to him already, seemingly put at ease by the demon's warm and honest manner.
"Oh, it's a pretty big organisation. I'd rather not say. You know how secretive some corporations can be."
"I guess so."
Jeremy even cracked a smile now, and flagged down a stewardess to bring him another glass of water; Matthias' question about his purpose had shaken him a little, but he was still stable enough to bluff convincingly.
"I'm here on business too, I guess. Someone higher up is sending me across the pond for some sort of training. Not sure what, exactly… I suppose I'll find out when I get there."
"I bet you will."
Training? The demon hadn't heard anything about training. He'd have to look into it when Kilpatrick was taken care of. Maybe he'd find out if he indulged in more mindless droning conversation. Sighing, Matthias sat back and prepared for several hours of verbal exchange. The things he did for Hell.
It was several hours before Jeremy Kilpatrick dozed off, due to a combination of free alcohol and a dull in-flight movie. Matthias seized his moment, leaning over the other man's seat and grinning.
"So tell me, Jeremy. Why are you really here?"
The demon's mouth curled into a vicious sneer, his words tasting like honey to his own thin lips as he dropped his voice to a tone which only the man seated beside him could hear. This was the way in which he spoke to mortals when he persuaded them to walk darker paths, suggested to them things which would warp them and further the goals of Hell, and they would never even realise why the thoughts would spring to mind. Maliciously, sibilantly, Matthias continued to speak.
"Why are you on this flight, Jeremy? Why does anybody care? Does Constantine ever consider your well-being, or are you just another useful piece of flesh to him, hmm? He is Hell-touched, you know. His soul has been scorched with Satan's fire. Who is to say which side he and his allies truly fight for? Once you tell him about the reliquary, he'll just let you walk off into the darkness and he won't look back – and then we'll take you. Oh yes, we'll take you, and we'll rend you into a thousand pieces, and feast upon your soul time and time again. You're nothing but a walking, talking shit-bag, a tasty piece of maggot-bait."
For reasons unknown to himself, Jeremy Kilpatrick's eyes flickered open and his hands began to sweat and shake, fear taking ahold of his mind. He had been so sure of himself when he had begun this flight; he would find Magdalena, impart the information he had promised to deliver, information far too sensitive to send via e-mail or by courier. Now, though, worry and terror clutched at his heart. What if his concerns were founded in truth? What if Constantine was secretly in league with Hell? What if…
"He's watching you, Jeremy. Even now, his spies are on board, relaying your every move, your every action. He's making sure you can't escape."
Seeing that his whispered words were already having an effect on the terrified man, Matthias continued to purr and hiss into his ear, further poisoning Kilpatrick's thoughts and turning his initial fear into burning, choking paranoia. Whimpering, Jeremy had begun to glance nervously about the cabin, gaining a few concerned glances. Of course Constantine would be watching him. His information was valuable. He would talk to him and them throw his soul away, maybe toss him to a pack of demons, making sure his prey couldn't escape.
"You! It's you, isn't it! He sent you to watch me!"
Shrieking, Jeremy grabbed his empty glass and swung itat the woman seated across the aisle from him, slamming it into her cheek with a sickening 'crunch' which made even Matthias wince as blood poured over the man's hands. She fell screaming to the floor, clutching at her face, scrabbling frantically to crawl away from the crazed passenger – but Jeremy was far from finished. Thewoman's cries for help were to his ears mere proof of her guilt, and he roared in anger as he rose to his feet, grabbingher by the legs and dragging her back towards him.
"Stop screaming! STOP! I know he's watching me! He's making you watch me!"
It was clear by now that Jeremy Kilpatrick was out of his mind. The passengers around him had already begun screaming and running for safety, convinced that the madman in their midst would go for them next, and they fled in ones and twos down the narrow aisle towards the economy section, despite the pleas and cries from the cabin crew asking them to stay in their seats. In all honesty, the flight crew were just as scared as the passengers, and were barely able to contain their own fright.
Matthias was quite impressed with Kilpatrick's violent outburst; even he could not have anticipated the havoc that the man would cause, screaming and yelling, his eyes wide and scared as he lashed out again and again at anyone who tried to contain him. Still, the demon felt that something was missing. Much as the scene amused him, it wasn't quite the tragedy he had been hoping for. Shrugging, walking un-noticed amongst the chaos, he moved to one of the emergency exits and pressed his hand down on the handle. Disappointingly, the door didn't give, and so the demon resorted to brute strength; bunching his inhuman shoulders, he dug his nails into the reinforced plastic and pulled.
Matthias watched impassively as debris rained down around him, his arms folded across his chest, his dark wings beating at his back, keeping him airborne. The plane couldn't have come down in a better place; those who hadn't been killed in the initial crash now faced a painful, slow death from exposure, hypothermia and starvation, not to mention the danger of facing down one of the huge white bears which roamed this area of the world. It would be some time before rescue crews found the wreckage, if they even found it at all, and the constantly shifting ice would help to put them off the scent. By the time Magdalena realised her contact wasn't going to show up, it would be far too late.