Hey everyone. Here's chapter four. Scuse my awful Hollywood humour. Hope you enjoy it…
"'Oh Henny Penny!' cheeps Chicken Licken. 'The sky is falling down. I'm off to tell the king.'" –Traditional Folk Tale
It was three days before he looked at the laptop.
He'd been sorting through the books slowly, placing them in large stacks on his table, according to genre. He had no idea what he was going to do with them in the long run.
Did the kid want them back? If he did, then why hadn't he gone to the apartment and got them himself? Did this mean Constantine was going to have to buy a bookshelf?
He didn't think he could survive a visit to the Pottery Barn.
The laptop seemed more personal than the books, more private. It was almost as if Chas had died, and John was having to sort through his belongings.
It gave him the creeps.
He sighed, slumped at the table, whisky and cigarettes on tap, and pulled the computer towards him. It took him a few moments to find the button which turned it on (John was not a computer person) and he watched as the thing fired to life, making insignificant bleeping noises, the screen flickering from black to bright blue.
The backdrop had an over blown, half naked picture of Angelina Jolie on it, and Constantine had to smirk, shaking his head.
At least the kid had taste.
He manoeuvred the built in mouse around the screen, clicking on files at random, searching through the list for anything that would catch his eye.
The Sparkling Personality of John Constantine.
Like that.
Constantine clicked on the file, and several pages of short paragraphs filled the screen.
May 7th, 2003. John climbs into the cab, covered in goo and smelling something sweet. "How'd it go?" I say. "Just drive."
June 23rd, 2003. After watching John propel a large wooden chair out of a third story window, I feel I'm right to be concerned. "Are you okay?" I ask. "Just drive."
Constantine scrolled down a couple of pages
July 5th, 2004. Watched John (almost) get mowed down by a motorbike. Again, am only being concerned. "Just drive."
Constantine stared at the screen.
The kid had written down every freaking job they'd been on. Every single one. It was obviously meant to be amusing, but Constantine could only see the dismissal in each case. "Just drive." Was that really the only thing he ever said to the kid? He could remember that motorbike, the asshole had nearly broken his legs. Had he really just brushed off Chas's concern?
He closed the document down, pushing the computer back.
God, why the hell had Chas bothered? Why hadn't he just up and left? Was John really the only thing he had?
The idea disturbed him, and he turned to another file, trying to put the thought from his mind.
War of The Worlds. What was that about?
"Your life was right and good from the day you were created, until evil was found in you. Because you traded with countries far away, you learned to be cruel, and you sinned. So I threw you down in disgrace from the mountain of God. And the living creature who guarded you forced you out from among the gems that shone like fire. You became too proud because of your beauty. You ruined your wisdom because of your greatness. I threw you down to the ground. Your example taught a lesson to other kings." Ezekiel 28, vs 15-17.
"O Lucifer, morning star, you have fallen from heaven, even though you were as bright as the rising sun! In the past all the nations on earth bowed down before you, but now you have been cut down. You told yourself, "I will go up to heaven. I will put my throne above God's stars. I will sit on top of the mountain of the gods, on the slopes of the sacred mountain. I will be like the God Most High." But you were brought down to the grave, to the deep places where the dead are." Isaiah 14, vs 12-15.
"Then there was a war in heaven. Michael and his angels fought against the dragon, and the dragon and his angles fought back. But the dragon was not strong enough, and he and his angels lost their place in heaven. The giant dragon was thrown down out of heaven. He is that old snake called the devil or Satan, who tricks the whole world. The dragon with his angels was thrown down to earth." Revelation 12, vs 7-9.
"People worshipped the dragon because he had given his power to the beast. And they also worshipped the beast, asking "Who is like the beast? Who can make war against it?"" Revelation 13, v 5.
Constantine frowned, reading the passages. Why was Chas interested in Lucifer's fall? What did it mean? He read the final sentence on the page, a little further down from the scripture.
The war of the worlds is coming.
The war of the worlds? What the hell did that mean?
He closed his eyes for a second, and, unbidden, the words the demon had spoken to him in Bel Air floated into his mind.
"They will wager a great war. The Final War of the dimensions."
Could that be the same thing Chas was referring to?
At the time he'd dismissed the demon's words as last minute bullshit, but now he began to doubt. Was there truth to them? Had Chas known something he didn't?
He checked through the rest of the files, but couldn't find anymore on the War of The Worlds, or anything similar. Rubbing a tired hand across his eyes, he was about to turn the damn thing off, when another file caught his eye. It was named Lilith.
He frowned, trying to ignore the slight stirring in his stomach. Who was Lilith? Chas's mom? His girlfriend? Why did the name ring a bell? Had Chas mentioned her before?
He clicked on the file, and a grey box flashed, requesting a password.
The files were protected.
Crap. He had no idea how to break into encrypted files. Maybe Beeman would?
Constantine tossed a few passwords round; demons, Kramer, asshole, a couple of things in Latin, but to no avail.
He hesitated, fingers over the keys, then tried one more.
Constantine.
He let out a breath of relief when access was denied. He didn't think he could have handled that.
Lilith.
A sudden idea striking him, he abandoned the laptop, leaning over to reach for one of the books stacked randomly on a pile.
Angels and Demons, A Brief Synopsis.
He flipped through to the index, and indeed found a reference to Lilith, page 87.
Lilith, the Demon Queen, wife of Samael, King of Death and Destruction, does not appear in Genesis, nor is she mentioned in the Bible or other major religious works. But the story of her as Adam's first wife, and her subsequent "occupation" as a demoness, has existed for centuries. In Genesis we read: And God created man in His own image, in the image of God He created them male and female. But soon after we read the familiar account of God creating man alone, out of the dust, and in then the well-known story of the creation of Eve from Adam's rib.
The first woman, it is said, was Lilith, created at the same time and in the same way as Adam, just as all the animals, male and female, were made at the same time and in the same way. But Lilith wasn't like Eve. She argued with Adam constantly (particularly over sexual position), claiming that they were equal in every respect, and he should make no claims to the contrary.
Eventually, enraged, she uttered the Name of God, grew wings, and flew away from the Garden of Eden. She hid in a cave by (or under) the sea, where she had (presumably more liberated) relations with demons, and bore them children, known as the Lilim.
Constantine read the passage, then sat back in his chair, trying to make sense of it all.
Why on earth did Chas have encrypted files on his computer about the Demon Queen?
Constantine lit up a cigarette, contemplating the mystery before him.
The best thing to do, of course, would be to ask Chas. But as he still had no clue where Chas was, he would have to seek other sources.
He took a swig of whisky, making a face at the cheap taste.
Perhaps somewhere he could get a decent drink.
Midnite's was crowded when Constantine got there.
He peered through the darkened room, the vaguely fluorescent blue lights giving the club a slightly eerie feel, serving the dual purpose of creating atmosphere and hiding the less than pleasant appearances of some of Midnite's regulars.
Through the dimness, a pointed tail snaked from underneath a tan trench coat, the owner a perfectly respectable banker from the more upmarket side of town. Hanging on his arm was a slim legged, large breasted, blonde model-slash-actress, her eyes black and soulless, pointed teeth bared over full, luscious lips.
Constantine shuddered and turned away, avoiding a group of Bob Marley look a likes, currently involved in skinning several rats, placing them methodically in a suspicious looking glass bowl, filled with a dark, sticky looking substance.
At the bar, several angels were participating in some kind of drinking game, taking it in turns to colour their shots bright, glowing fluorescents, before downing them.
Constantine shook his head in disgust. Fucking angels, loved turning up to piss on everyone else's bonfires, but had no trouble deviating from the moral high ground themselves. He knew that wasn't exactly fair, that some angel half breeds, for example fucking Gabriel, would never be caught dead in Midnite's flaunting the rules so brazenly, but Constantine never had been one for fair.
He pushed his way through the gathered hoards of demons, vampires, and angels alike, trying not to let his distaste show too much as each scene was revealed to him, every one more unsettling in its own way.
He always forgot how much he hated this place.
He made his way to Midnite's private office door and waited, the solid bulk standing firm before him, impenetrable. Naturally. There was nothing he could do but wait, wait for Midnite to feel he'd waited enough.
Constantine frowned, the door blurring in front of him slightly, a flurry of dizziness passing through him as he felt the witch doctor's mind ghost over his presence, sensing his unique signature, recognising him. There was a second of resistance, then the door gave way, swinging open for him.
He stepped into the room, the red, padded walls giving him the uncanny feeling of being in an insane asylum.
Super.
"John."
Midnite was behind his desk, feet resting on the surface, trilby hat pulled low over his eyes.
"What brings you here?"
"Angels. Demons. The usual."
Midnite didn't bother to look up, and Constantine was aware of the mild irritation that usually accompanied having any contact with Midnite.
As if sensing Constantine's displeasure, Midnite tipped his hat back, gesturing to the chair in front of him, and Constantine sat down, wary of the unusual courtesy.
"It has been some time," Midnite murmured.
Constantine nodded. "Not much has been happening," he replied casually.
"I heard you were in an accident," Midnite countered, just as casual. "I trust you were not hurt?"
Constantine wasn't fooled by the faux concern. As if Midnite gave a fuck about his health. He just wanted to stay on top of the information line.
"I'm fine," he replied stiffly.
"And your apprentice?" Midnite pressed.
Constantine clenched his jaw in irritation. He hated it when anyone other than himself referred to Chas as his apprentice. It was almost like a private joke between the two of them. Or would be, if Constantine ever indulged in private jokes.
"He's fine."
Midnite regarded him perceptively. Constantine resisted a very strong urge to squirm. It was as if the bastard could see straight through him.
"As you say."
Constantine scowled. Enough chit chat.
"What do you know about the War of The Worlds?"
Midnite narrowed his eyes.
"What do you know, John?"
Constantine's scowl deepened.
"No fucking games, okay? A demon spoke to me the other night, yeah that's right, fucking spoke to me in fucking Hellspeak." He resisted an urge to shudder, the memory of those words piercing him like glass all too fresh. "It told me the sides were gathering, that there was going to be a final war of the dimensions."
Midnite nodded sagely.
"I too have heard rumours of this gathering. The wind whispers of unease. The skies grow restless."
Constantine tightened his jaw slightly. He hated it when Midnite got all nature boy.
"I feel that this cannot be good for us."
Constantine wondered idly who Midnite considered as 'us'. His loyalties were too blurred.
"I found some stuff on Chas's computer, passages from the bible, about Lucifer's fall and the rising of the beast. Do you think that's what this is about?"
Midnite shook his head slowly.
"It is too yet soon for the final Revelation."
"But that demon said-"
"It is too soon."
Constantine fell silent.
"This is something else," Midnite said finally. "This is something that should not concern us."
"I don't like the sound of that should," Constantine muttered.
"There is something coming. You must be prepared."
"For what?"
But Midnite only shook his head.
"I cannot see that far."
Impatience rose in Constantine.
"That's the fucking thing though, you could. If you tried. If you could be fucking
bothered."
Midnite slammed his fists down on the table, but Constantine didn't flinch.
"You know my rules," Midnite warned.
"Yeah, you're Switzerland, neutral," Constantine responded dryly. "I've heard that bull shit a thousand times before. You know what I think?" He leant towards Midnite, invading his personal space. "I think it's just an excuse not to get fucking involved. Not to have to pick a fucking side. That way you always fucking win, huh?"
Midnite's hand shot out, wrapping around Constantine's throat, pulling him viciously to his feet.
"Do you dare to presume to tell me my own mind?" he hissed, leaning across the table, their faces only centimetres apart. "Do you dare to question my logic?"
"I think I just did," Constantine rasped, his hands on Midnite's, trying in vain to loosen the pressure around his windpipe.
Midnite's hand tightened, then he let go, sending Constantine sprawling back into his chair.
"It is not wise to question others' loyalties when one's own are undecided," he said icily.
Constantine rubbed his throat, briefly, then straightened his thin, black tie.
"I need you tell me what's coming," he said.
Midnite shook his head firmly.
"I have already said too much. I cannot upset the balance."
Constantine felt his temper rising. He hated it when Midnite pulled the 'balance' bullshit.
"There is no fucking balance," he snapped. "The balance is well and truly fucked."
"Enough!"
Midnite stood in a quick, easy motion, and Constantine reached a protective hand to his
throat, despite himself.
"I have said all I can."
Constantine glared at him for a few moments, their wills battling silently, then sighed, getting to his feet. He would get nothing more here.
As he was turning to leave, a thought occurred to him.
"What do you know about Lilith?"
Midnite, watching him, became very still.
"Why do you want to know?"
Constantine shrugged, nonchalant. "Just curious. The Demon Queen, right?"
Midnite nodded.
"An irresistible combination of beauty, magic and evil. She has ensnared many a man
into her deadly traps."
"But she couldn't be here, on earth, right? Demons stay in Hell, those are the rules."
Midnite drew himself up slightly.
"I assure you, if Lilith was walking this earth, I would know about it. And so would you, and every other God forsaken soul on this planet."
Constantine stared at him for a moment, then turned to leave, Midnite's words ringing in his ears.
He had to get into those encrypted files.
The skies were glittering with a thousand lights. Fire, fierce, unyielding. Stars, bright, shining, Suns, rolling, burning.
The sides faced each other across the great ravine, huge gusts of smoke and sulphur rising in clouds of suffocating smog. Through the clouds were brief glimpses of lights, buildings, oceans, fields. It was Earth, but the scale wasn't right. The ocean was like a pond next to the skyscraper, the fields barely visible under a heavy blanket of pollution. It was Earth, but the earth as it could only be seen from above, a rotting, festering, dying planet, riddled with pain and sin.
The sides were ready. They had their weapons of war, of destruction.
They were ready.
A signal from both; one pure, melodic, one coarse, painful to the ears.
War cries, then battle.
The sides swept forward, converging on the ravine above the planet they both fought so desperately to possess.
The fire, the sun, the stars, melding into blinding, brilliant, painful brightness.
The crunch of warrior against warrior, the air thick with raw, dark pain, the smash of body against body, some falling, falling below, screaming in pain, sudden, real, undeniable pain.
The fire, the sun, the stars, melding into blinding, brilliant, painful brightness. The brightness surrounding everything, everyone, the battle, earth, existence, so, so bright…
Constantine woke with a start, aware of a wetness sliding down his face, and his heart going away like a jack hammer.
He sat up, blinking blearily in the morning light, wincing as the wetness dripped into his eyes, stinging a sharp, fresh pain. He righted the bottle of vodka, hastily pushing Chas's computer back from the growing puddle that had begun to drip onto the floor.
Jesus, Mary and Joseph, what had that been about?
The dream still felt so real to him, so raw it was almost painful. He could still feel the Hell fires on his skin, the overpowering burning of the stars, the pain behind it all.
"They will wager a great war. The Final War of the dimensions."
The demon's words floated into his subconscious, and he shivered, sweat drying rapidly on his skin. Was he seeing the future? Was it some sort of vision? A warning?
Absently, he reached for the now empty bottle of vodka and raised it to his mouth, lip curling in disgust as he was presented with nothing. He must have knocked it over in his sleep, damnit. He trailed his fingers through the puddle on the table, the cool liquid permeating his awareness, providing relief from the still-too-fresh feel of his very skin burning amongst the flames of heaven and hell.
He sighed, rotating his neck around in as slow circle, trying to alleviate the stiffness
there.
He had stayed up most of the night trying to access the files on Chas's computer, fuelled by booze and cigarettes, but with no results save a nightmare and a hangover. He scowled at the vodka bottle. He didn't even like vodka.
And he was no closer to finding Chas.
He could barely focus. His eyes hurt, his head banged, his stomach roiled. The best thing for him to do right now would be to have a nice, quiet nap.
Goal and destination in mind, Constantine stood, raising his eyes toward the door and nearly swearing.
Chas was standing in the open door way.
He lurched, his hand slipping on the table top and knocking a pile of carefully balanced books onto the floor. He took his eyes off the doorway for a spilt second, just a flicker up and down, but when he looked back Chas had gone, the door firmly closed.
He lumbered to the doorway, yanking the door open, looking up and down the deserted hallway. Nothing.
A drunken hallucination?
He came back inside, closing the door and resting his head on it.
The shock of seeing, apparently seeing, Chas, so real, so close, made him feel unsteady, the pain in his head growing worse.
He opened his eyes, the fallen pile of books grabbing his attention. Swearing a blue streak, he carefully bent down, picking the books back up and flinging them onto the table, scowling as something got stuck to his fingers. He shook his hand, but the thing was stuck fast, and he blinked, trying to focus.
It was a bright pink post it note scrawled with barely legible handwriting.
Don't forget loser, midday at Starbucks, Hollywood Boulevard, 12th August. Mac.
Constantine frowned, staring at the message, the book it had fallen from, A Tale of Two Cities, clutched in the other hand.
Chas was supposed to be meeting someone at Starbucks on Hollywood Boulevard today. In about, he checked his watch, half an hour.
Crap.
If Constantine was going to make it he'd have to leave now. There was no way he'd get there in midday traffic; he'd have to take the subway.
It was crazy, he realised as he flung on his coat and left the apartment, heading toward the nearest subway station. He didn't even know who Mac was. How would he even recognise him? Yet he didn't turn around, the hardback book still in one hand. It could lead him to Chas. Maybe there had been some contact between Chas and this Mac.
Maybe he would know where Chas was.
Hollywood Boulevard was, predictably, crowded, and Constantine had to skirt around the groups of gob smacked tourists, taking pictures of the Hollywood Boulevard meets Vine Street intersection, the Hollywood Walk of Fame, Grauman's Theatre, all the things Constantine had never bothered to see, and had no desire to start looking at.
Celebrity look a likes were everywhere, from Michael Jackson to Peter Pan to Catwoman, the tourists flocking round them as if they were the actual real live versions.
Pathetic.
"Excuse me, mister."
Constantine tried to ignore the tugging on his sleeve, continuing to stride through the crowd.
"Please mister, please!"
The tugging increased and Constantine stopped, annoyance clear on his face.
A little kid of maybe nine or ten was staring up at him, brown eyes wide, shining with excitement.
"Mom I got him!" he yelled. "Mom!"
A large, smiling woman materialised from the crowd, a disposable camera in her hand.
"Oh sweetie!" she cried. "So you did! Go on then, pose for the picture."
Constantine blinked. Picture? Just who the fuck did they think he was?
"I think there's been a misunderstanding," he began, trying to be as tactful as he could.
"Nonsense," the woman said. "My son just adores you. Now smile!"
Constantine winced, the flash blinding him.
"Oops!" the woman giggled. "Forgot to turn the flash off. Let's try again."
"Mam," Constantine stepped forward, detangling himself from the little boy. "I'm not a celebrity."
"Oh sweetheart!" The woman's face took on a comical look of tragedy. "Don't you talk like that! You are as good as any of them out there."
"No," Constantine corrected, trying to sound firm and wishing his head would stop pounding. "I am not a celebrity. This is not my job."
"I know, I know! You're The One."
Constantine wondered what the fuck she was talking about. The one what?
"You know hun, you should really wear your dark glasses when you're working. The look just isn't quite right without them."
Constantine was beginning to doubt her sanity.
"Now come on, stand tall!"
The kid grabbed his arm again, and the camera made a little clicking noise.
"Cool!" the kid shouted. "Will you sign my book?"
He held out a little autograph book, the kind with designated spaces for each autograph and the words "My Autograph Book" on the front in gold.
A pen was thrust into Constantine's hand and he stared, having no clue who the hell he was supposed to be.
"My name's Billy," the kid added helpfully.
Great, but what's mine?
He hesitated, then scribbled something on the page.
"There you go, kid," he muttered, thrusting the book back at him and hightailing it up the street as fast as he could.
Behind him, Billy hugged the book to his chest, staring in wonder at the words written there.
The One.
Neo was the coolest.
The Starbucks was, predictably, as crowded as the street outside, and Constantine winced, wishing more than anything he could turn around and walk out again.
How the hell was he supposed to find Mac in all of this?
He surveyed each of the men sitting alone, but none of them looked right, they were all older than Chas, or wearing business suits (who wears a business suit on Hollywood Boulevard?) reading a newspaper. Chas hated the newspaper.
This was a fucking waste of time.
He turned to go, fed up and dispirited, when a slender figure sitting at a stool caught his eye. She was pale and skinny, dark hair cut short, almost boyish, her jeans frayed and ancient. She looked like that actress chick who'd been arrested for shoplifting. But most importantly, she had a book in her hands.
A Tale of Two Cities.
Constantine approached her slowly, circling her from behind, checking her from all angles.
She seemed absorbed in her book, but tensed slightly as Constantine's shadow fell over her.
"You're late loser," she murmured, without turning around.
"Mac," Constantine said.
She did turn then, eyes wide and startled at the unfamiliar voice.
"Who the fuck are you?" she snapped.
"You're waiting for Chas?"
He saw the surprise she tried so hard to cover up.
"What do you know about Chas?"
"My name's John Constantine. I work-"
"I know who you are," she interrupted.
For a moment the tension was sharp, delicate, liable to shatter at any second. Then Mac gesture to the empty stool beside her and the air eased, Constantine finding he could breathe again.
"He talks about you a lot," she said, dipping a lazy finger into her untouched cappuccino.
"He never talked about you," he replied.
"Talked?" she questioned.
She was sharp.
"How long has it been you since you saw him?"
She narrowed her eyes at him. "A month or two. Why?"
"He was in a car crash."
Constantine didn't mean to give her the wrong impression, but at his words her face paled dramatically, hands gripping the counter top.
"He was okay," he added quickly. "Was in a coma, had to have some surgery, but fine."
"Sounds it," she replied, voice sharp.
He ignored her tone.
"He was staying with me after the crash, and then he just…left. I've been trying to find
him."
"What did you do to him?" she asked.
Constantine blinked.
"Excuse me?"
"You're the only one I ever knew that could affect him. Not even his bastard parents, after they left. If he left, it must have been something you did."
An unbidden flash of flesh on flesh, harsh, desperate kisses, pleasure and pain mingled in an incomprehensible swirl.
"He was different," he said. "After the accident. He was cold, distant. It was like he wasn't there."
"Did you take him to the doctor?" she asked, in the tone of someone dealing with a world
class idiot.
"Yes," he snapped, annoyed at himself for losing self control.
"And you have no idea where he is now?"
Constantine shook his head.
"I went to his apartment, but his landlord said he hadn't been there since before the accident, he was re renting the room."
He rubbed a hand across his eyes, feeling suddenly so, so weary.
"I'm worried."
It was the first time he'd admitted it to himself since the accident, and saying it gave him a sudden feeling of relief. He, John Constantine, was worried, concerned, about another human being. And the sky hadn't fallen.
He felt Mac scrutinising him, then abruptly she held out her hand.
"Eva Mackenzie. Friends call me Mac."
Constantine stared a moment, then accepted the handshake.
"John Constantine. You can call me whatever the hell you want."
Mac grinned.
"I might just hold you to that."
"Chas and I get together every once in a while. We like to read together. Sort of a mini book club." Mac laughed, embarrassed. "Lame, I know, but it's fun."
They were walking back along the Boulevard, cups of iced coffee firmly in hand.
"We arranged to meet today a couple of months ago, but I knew Chas would forget. He usually does." She took a sip of coffee. "I drive him mad by sticking those post it notes everywhere."
"You haven't been in contact since?"
She shook her head.
"I just presumed he was busy. Tried calling a couple of times but no one was there. Now I know why."
Was it Constantine's imagination, or did she sound slightly bitter?
"Had he been acting strange, before he disappeared?"
No matter how hard he tried, Constantine couldn't shake that last image of Chas, so cold, so unfeeling. He desperately didn't want to be the one that had made Chas like that.
Mac seemed to be considering.
"He had been having those dreams."
Constantine raised an eyebrow.
"What dreams?"
Mac shook her head. "I don't know, he would never say. Just wake up screaming and crying, sweating. Even kicked me out of bed once."
Constantine froze, the implication of the words rattling around in his head, his skull suddenly feeling empty yet heavy at the same time.
Mac wasn't just Chas's friend. She was his girlfriend.
Jesus.
"I think they were about war."
"What?"
Constantine's mind was entangled in a picture of Chas with his pretty, slender girlfriend.
Chas had a fucking girlfriend.
"The dreams. I think they were about war."
Constantine shook his head, trying to physically remove the image.
"Why?"
She shrugged. "There was this stained glass window in a church he liked to go to sometimes. He always sat by that window, said it reminded him of his nightmares."
"Show me."
Mac raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Right now?"
Constantine nodded, once. "Right now."
The took the subway to the church, a small stone building, Anglican, Constantine noted, half falling down. Inside was hushed and still, a few people sitting in the pews, watching
the choir rehearse.
"The Lord's my Shepherd I'll not want."
Constantine closed his eyes, the beautiful soprano soloist's voice flowing over him, her gentle notes trembling in the air.
"He makes me lie in pastures green."
Psalm 23. Written to give ultimate comfort, to show the true goodness of God's nature.
"He leads me by the still, still waters. His goodness will lead me home."
Constantine closed his mind off, filtering out the sound, the words. He no longer believed in the goodness of God's nature. And he had been led anywhere but home.
Mac led him over to the window she'd described, and he stared up at the stained glass, the bright reds, whites, yellows blurring angrily at him for a moment, before he could focus.
It depicted a scene above the clouds, two armies standing either side of a huge ravine in the sky, one divine, one from hell.
In the ravine was Earth.
Constantine swore, loudly, drawing the angered looks of people in the pews, the choir master looking scandalised.
Mac muttered a quick apology and grabbed his arm, practically dragging him from the church.
"What the hell was that?" she demanded once they were back on the sidewalk. "Don't you have any respect?"
"I need you to remember. Did Chas ever say anything about a War of the Worlds?"
She narrowed her eyes suspiciously at him.
"If you're about to tell me there's some sort of supernatural explanation for Chas's disappearance, I don't think I want to hear it."
"This is important," Constantine ground out.
"No, okay? No he fucking didn't. He never told me anything. Have you ever considered that he just didn't want to be your slave anymore?"
Constantine clenched his fist, tried to remember that it wasn't considered seemly to punch a girl in front of a church.
"Chas wasn't my slave."
"Like hell he wasn't! You just had to say the word and he would come running. He thought you were the best thing since fucking sliced bread, and you treated him like a piece of gum that got stuck to your shoe and won't come off."
She turned to storm down the street.
"Mac-"
"Just fucking don't okay? I care about Chas. More than I should. More than he cares about me. I care about him. Who do you care about John Constantine? Certainly not Chas. Obviously not God. Do you care about anyone but yourself?"
John didn't try to stop her this time as she walked away, her sneakers making an empty pounding on the sidewalk, each step a flat, angry sound.
He watched her until she turned the corner, her words ringing in his ears.
She had claimed he didn't care about Chas, but that was just the problem, wasn't it?
Because he did care about Chas. He cared about him a little too much.
Tired and pissed off, Constantine made his way back through the city, choosing to walk over the subway, despite the stuffy, hot sun seeping into his black jacket, making him less than comfortable.
He needed to clear his head, get rid of the last traces of his hangover, think about what Mac had told him.
Try not to think about Chas and Mac in bed together.
It wasn't that he was jealous, because John Constantine didn't get jealous. He wasn't jealous. He was…disturbed. Disturbed that he had slept with Chas when Chas had a girlfriend. Disturbed that Chas hadn't told him. Disturbed that Chas had slept with her.
"Stop it," he growled to himself, causing a passing woman to glance at him oddly, giving him slight berth as she passed him on the sidewalk.
He sighed, running a hand through his hair and across his face, suddenly aware that he needed to shave again. How long had it been? Days? Weeks? Time seemed to be blurring into one long, painful stretch at the moment, he could barely tell when he was asleep and when he was awake.
He thought back to the dream he'd had the night before, and the window Mac had shown him at the church.
How could he have seen that window? How could his subconscious have such a clear picture when he knew he'd never laid eyes on it before?
How was that possible?
Was someone trying to warn him? Would he be somehow a part of this oncoming war?
Why the hell couldn't he work out what was going on?
He crossed the road opposite a Subway, and briefly entertained the idea of stopping to
buy food, then shrugged it off. Who needed to eat?
God, he was hot. What he wouldn't give right now for a little rainfall.
He hated the fucking city.
Next to the Subway was a block of offices, stretching up into the sky, their windows large and paneless, bouncing his reflection back at him. He shook his head, finding amusement in the high rise flats next to the fast food joint. The lawyers could nip out for some food poisoning in between million dollar clients.
He saw the car, reflected in the window, but barely took any notice. It was black and expensive, that was all he could have said.
What happened, happened so quickly that afterwards he might have thought he'd imagined it, that he was going insane, had it not been for all the other, weird, stuff that had been happening to him recently.
One minute he was idly glancing at the reflection of the car in some smarmy suit's window, the next he felt as if he was being propelled backward on a roller coaster, sucked into the car itself, staring at himself through the tinted window. Time seemed to slow, and he stared at himself, stared at himself staring at himself in the car in the office window. Then, like the roller coaster had thrown the switch, he was rushing forward, back into his place on the street, back to staring at the car in the window.
The whole thing only lasted a split second, but Constantine was suddenly, vividly aware that someone in that car was watching him, had some kind of control over him.
And then he turned, and saw the slightest glimpse of a silhouette he'd been searching for.
"Chas!"
He lunged forward, pushing several kids out of the way, ignoring their mother's angered cries as he ran towards the car, moving fluidly despite the traffic.
"Chas!"
He knew it was Chas in there, somehow he just knew it, call it intuition or instinct or whatever. Chas was in that car.
"Chas!"
His lungs were burning, the heat wrapping around him, choking his lungs as a bone grating cough caught him, causing him to pause, hands on his knees, hacking God knows what up into the gutter.
When it had finished, when the eye watering pain and loss of control had subsided, the car was gone, out of sight, taking Chas with it.
But Constantine had something, and that something would bring him one step closer.