w00t! finally got to this chapter! There's a scene in here that I am very proud of…hope you guys enjoy.
Real quick definitions:
Golem: sort of like a zombie made out of clay, spawned from Jewish mythology and possibly the base for 'Frankenstien'.
Glastonbury Scripts: general name given to a series of manuscripts produced via automatic writing between 1907-1912, mostly regarding the restoration of the monastery Glastonbury Alley.
Chapter Two-Enter the Monster
Chas was indeed there for Constantine at midnight, and by then he'd licked his wounds. Still, he didn't talk to John right away. John either didn't notice or chose to ignore Chas's cold shoulder.
"Sin District," John directed from the back.
That perked Chas's interest, as John had expected. He turned around in the driver's seat.
"The Sin District? You mean, where those murders have been happening?" Chas asked interestedly, before correcting himself, "Well, the recent ones, anyway."
"Just drive, Chas," John said dismissively.
Chas obeyed, but he couldn't stay quiet for very long. After about two minutes of quiet driving, Chas was bursting with questions. He knew John didn't like people asking questions, but he just couldn't help it.
"So, whaddaya think it is?" he asked curiously, looking at John via the rear-view mirror.
"Something evil," John said with purposeful vagueness.
"Well, yeah," Chas said, "But which something?"
John didn't answer, but turned his attention to lighting up a cigarette.
"Think it's a golem?" Chas said, venturing a guess.
John didn't let it slip that he was impressed that Chas guessed right first try, or that Chas had even come close to the right answer at all. "Why do you think it's a golem?" he asked as he took a drag.
"Well, no fingerprints at the scenes, right? But the people were beaten to death and they can't identify what weapon was used. They even found a large hand-shaped print in Sacramento, but still-no fingerprints, and no evidence of gloves."
"So?" John said, making it sound like Chas was completely off.
"So golem's don't have fingerprints, 'cause they're made out of clay," Chas said knowingly.
"Neither do half-breeds," John said, a fact that was obvious to him, and he wondered if it were so obvious to Chas.
"But bashing people's heads in ain't half-breed style," Chas said shrewdly."
John sent a stream of smoke into the car, his face suddenly very stony.
"Chas," he said very seriously, "Have you ever faced a half-breed?"
Chas's face fell. He said quietly, "No."
"Do you think you'd even survive if you did?"
"No," Chas admitted. While it was true that he had been reading up, he was smart enough to know his limitations. Hell, he couldn't even see the fuckers. Well he could-he just couldn't tell the difference between them and every other human.
"Right," John said, "So don't say you know their 'style'. This could easily be a half-breed, just looking for a new high."
Chas nodded. But he couldn't help but notice that John hadn't denied the idea that the killer was a golem…
The taxi drove up into an abandoned parking garage, surrounded by crumbled apartment buildings that were missing parts of their once-proud walls. It looked just like the kind of place you'd find someone or something you didn't want to find. Actually, that practically defined the entire Sin District itself.
John pulled the Dragon's Breath out from his coat. Beeman had come through...for the right price. But John was forgiving, but only because he'd heard many a rumor of the mystical product's imminent extinction.
Chas put the cab in park and was about to open his door to get out when John said, without even looking up, "Stay in the car, Chas."
Chas turned around, his face marked with disappointment. "Aw, come on, John," Chas said in that all-too-familiar tone, "Let me come."
John ignored Chas's plea and opened his own door. "Stay in the car, Chas," he repeated, his tone unwavering.
"Come on, John," Chas insisted, "What's the worst that could happen?"
"You could get your arms ripped out of your sockets and left to bleed to death in a dark alley," John replied without missing a beat. An image of Kristi Rolletti's body lying on the road flashed in his mind…his boot about to wade into one of the deep, red puddles of her blood…her unseeing eyes fixed at that certain angle, filled with sheer terror…her bloody arm being placed very professionally into a plastic evidence bag.
Chas almost swallowed his tongue at Constantine's quick, almost casual remark.
"Okay…I'll just stay here then…" he squeaked as John slammed the door behind him and walked out into the night.
Captain Sam Derden hung up the phone in his office. He was such a clichéd figure: he was wearing a work shirt, tie, and his holster as he sat in the squeaky chair behind his desk. He was lacking hair in the usual top of the head area, with a Caesar's crown of brown hair. He was rather thick in the mid-section, but he could kick your ass if he pleased, and he sure as hell let you know it.
"Well, I just got off the phone with the Sacramento P.D.," he said, his voice and face filled with faux-pleasantness.
His audience consisted of five men, all of whom were involved in the Sin District murders, all of them cops. Two of them were none other than Detectives Phelps and Herts. They looked like convicted men awaiting a ruthless judge's sentence. Another man, who looked about thirty, looked perfectly calm, his legs crossed casually. A shred of cheerfulness could even be found lurking in his face. His hair was a reddish brown, a little curly on the ends, especially hear his face.
"And you now what they told me?" Capt. Derden said, his faux-pleasantry practically terrifying the officers, "Why, they told me that they never sent anyone up here, and the only officer named 'Johns' in their district is an Asian rookie who was down with his partner arresting a drug dealer last." Capt. Derden stood. "So, you know what I want to know? I want to know WHO THE HELL WALKED ONTO OUR CRIME SCENE LAST NIGHT!"
The Captain's composure changed at the drop of a hat. His face was red with rage, and his voice was loud and threatening.
"I mean, jesus christ, you didn't even ask for his badge! How fucking stupid can you be?" he demanded, towering over Herts and Phelps.
Phelps looked like he was seeing his future fall to pieces before his eyes, but Herts kept calm, having dealt with Derden many times before.
"Sir, in our defense it was late and we were trying to get things cleaned up before the press arrived. We couldn't have that girl's body on the front page, now could we, sir?"
This didn't calm down Derden at all, but Herts hadn't expected it to. "Oh yeah, Herts? How's this for the front page: 'Unknown Man Walks Right Into Crime Scene Without Any Trouble From Police' 'Evidence In Entire Sin District Case All Questionable'. Goddamn it, you've compromised our entire case!"
"Not yet, sir," said the calm, reddish-brown haired man. His voice had a slight British tint to it.
Derden's fierce gaze looked to the man. "What the fuck are you talking about, Acton?"
"Well, sir," Acton said, completely unfazed, "Does anyone else know about this incident besides those in this room?"
Derden paused while the other officers in the room looked uncertain as Acton's proposal sunk in.
"Besides," Acton said, "According to Herts and Phelps, all he did was ask some questions. Probably didn't touch a thing. But even the DA will say the case is ruined…that is, if anyone tells the DA."
Aside from Acton, no one else in the room seemed to know what to do. Yes, they had all been thinking about a code of silence, but none of them had had the guts to say it out loud.
"Well…" Derden said, as the color in his face turned back to normal and his tone switched to a quiet, uncertain tone, "I still wanna know who the guy was. Jesus, he may even be the killer himself."
"I doubt that, sir," Herts said. His tone was less confident then it had been a minute ago, "He was nowhere near the physique to…to commit the brutality that we've seen."
"A little old lady doesn't look like she could lift up a car," Derden pointed out, "But if her grandson's stuck under one, she will."
Herts shook his head. "Sir, I'm telling you. This guy couldn't have ripped the arms off of Kristi Rolletti."
"Sir," Acton said, "I believe I know who our 'visitor' was, based on Herts and Phelp's description."
All eyes went to Acton, then to Derden.
"Oh yeah?" Derden sneered, "Who?"
"John Constantine, sir. Also known as 'The Exorcist'," Acton replied, "He's an infamous figure in the underground. Involved in the occult, Satanism and all that."
Derden snorted. "And a scam artist to boot, I bet. Well, any idea what he was doing at our crime scene?"
"Well," Acton said, shrugging, "I suppose he felt that demonic forces were behind the murders, sir."
Derden looked at Acton carefully. "That's what you think, huh?"
Acton raised an eyebrow. "Demonic forces, sir? Certainly not."
"Yeah. Well…let's keep an eye on this Constantine guy," Derden said, sitting back in his chair, creating a loud 'squeak', "If he shows up within a mile of our crime scenes again, we'll arrest him as a suspect, ask him some questions. Maybe he knows the sick son-of-a-bitch that's been doing all of this."
Chas sat alone in the cab for about twenty minutes, his feet propped up on the dashboard and 'Occult Zine' in hand. When he finished reading the article on the Glastonbury Scripts, he put down the magazine and checked his watch.
What the hell is taking him? Chas thought to himself. And suddenly, he realized how clichéd that thought would be in a horror movie… In fact, so would being left alone at night…
Chas mentally slapped himself. What the fuck was he doing? Was he seriously going to have a panic attack, here in the fucking cab? No. Hell, if this was how he acted when he was alone, how could he possibly think he could tag along with John?
Chas shook his head like he could just shake the thoughts out of his head.
"I'm fine…" he said to the cab, "Everything's cool."
Then a thought struck him.
"Oh shit. Now I'm talking to myself."
He looked out the windows nervously, like he expected an army of ghouls to come charging out of the shadows at any minute.
"Something always happens to the guy who's talking to himself."
So he waited, tensed up, almost begging for something to happen, just so he could die knowing he was secure in his sanity.
But nothing happened. Not a single thing happened for a full five minutes. Chas relaxed, mentally slapping himself yet again.
"I'm such a frickin' paranoid," he announced to the cab's interior.
BAM!
The cab rocked with the impact, and Chas grabbed the wheel to keep from falling onto his side.
Really, really not wanting to, but being forced to, Chas turned his head to the left. His knuckles on the steering wheel were blaringly white. His throat was suddenly dry, and his eyes were as big as dinner plates.
You couldn't make out any details because it was still in the shadows, but what you could see was its size, the sheer hulking mass of the thing. It was about seven and a half feet tall, and was the width about one and a half men. It looked like it weighed over 300 pounds. It was shaped like a man, or a gorilla. Or both.
Chas was frozen stiff, his mouth open, his eyes wide. This gigantic thing was only feet away, separated from him by mere glass and steel, which were likely to not be very challenging obstacles for the beast.
"Oh shit…" Chas said in terrfied awe as these things sunk in.
The thing let loose an inhuman roar of fury, then charged, colossal head first.
"Oh, shit!"
Chas was able to collect his thoughts quickly enough to react. He moved, mostly on his butt, to the passenger side of the cab. The thing and the cab made contact. The cab rocked again, and Chas thought it would turn on its side for sure, but the cab leaned back and was stable…for a few seconds.
The beast tried a new approach: just throwing the weight of its body against the cab over and over again Metal was bent and crushed, creating horrifying sounds that mingled with the beast's grunts, growls, and occasional roars. Glass cracked, preparing to shatter.
Chas wasn't even sitting up right. He had run into the passenger side door and had known he was trapped. Staying in the car was risky, but getting out of the car was death.
His legs were out in front of him, his right leg raised slightly for defense. His arms were up against the passenger door, his fingers gripping the arm rest.
The beast continued to ram against the door, and with every new hit, the window threatened to shatter and allow the beast entry.
Chas's mind raced. He had to defend himself…but with what? He had nothing!
John's words floated to the surface of his mind, haunting him: "…get your arms ripped out of your sockets and left to bleed to death in a dark alley…"
Damn it-he needed Constantine. He was the one with the Dragon's Breath, he was the one who had made Chas drive him out here in the first place.
A small, cruel voice in Chas's mind replied to these complaints: You wanted to come, you wanted to get into this…So now what, Apprentice?
Chas gritted his teeth as the beast hit the cab again. The windows was thoroughly cracked, and it was only a matter of time before it shattered… Chas had to do something now.
Chas's gaze fell on the steering wheel…and he realized how close his feet were to it, particularly his right foot. He then looked to the beast as it let loose another roar of rage. It was going to charge again and the window would be gone. Now was his only chance…
As the beast charged, Chas's right leg shot out, but a little too late. As his right foot was about to reach the wheel, the beast hit the cab and the glass shattered. A rush of the cool outside air hit Chas in the face, but so did a horrible smell…something that smelled of…rotting flesh.
Chas yelled in pain as glass cut into his leg. The beast snarled as its massive, gray arm reached in through the broken window. The arm looked vaguely human, at least by shape. The hand, two times that of a normal human's, reached out for Chas. But Chas's foot had hit the target: the horn. The car horn blared out into the night, a trumpet from heaven to Chas.
The beast howled, as if in pain. The arm disappeared and Chas closed his eye as, muffled from the car horn, he heard the gigantic beast retreat. He didn't see where the creature went and he didn't want to.
Chas leaned back against the car door and his arms relaxed. But he kept his foot on the horn, letting it scream into the night. That is, until it was cut short when the car door suddenly disappeared and he fell back. His upper torso was hanging out of the car door. Blood rushed to his head, but the cool air was caressing his face, as if to assure him the nightmare was over.
He looked up-well, technically, down-and saw an angry face that Chas had never been happier to see.
"Hi, John," he said with a grateful smile that made him look even more foolish than he already did.
Yes! It's done! whoohoo! did you guys like it? I know it's long, but it's worth it, right?
