WORD OF THE DHARKESIDE
An enormous thank you to Silverbloodrain, jeaynie, fanficgeek, Ink Splash, Jim and Xelena. I am extremely grateful for your kind feedback. Cheers! Also just a general warning; the following character in this chapter originates from the comic book and the deleted scenes. I'll let you guess who this is…
Chapter Three
Henry Wambach. It had been his name. Now his wife was a widow, and his children were fatherless.
"Thank God that's over," Constantine remarked.
He strolled into the apartment, slamming the door behind him. Solid wood struck solid wood. A deafening crash reverberated throughout the high, hollow sepulchre. When the echo eventually subsided, answering calls resounded from the ground floor.
The bowling alley was open twenty four hours a day. Like a cacophonous lullaby, the thunderous collisions rocked him out of sleep. He spent half the night chasing unconsciousness…
"… And the other half trapped in nightmares," he sulked.
"You poor old soul!" giggled a familiar voice. "Pitiable little Johnny!"
He ignored the speaker's presence and the perspicuous comments. He inwardly rebuked himself for muttering aloud. These miserable musings always engaged his attention, right until he surrendered defence's protective shield.
He paced deeper into the chamber. His solid shoe soles clomped against the resonant, wooden floorboards. Words. The brisk crunches and the bowling crashes, chanted a forlorn mantra together. Gone. Gone. Gone. They are all gone.
"I don't need reminding," he whispered.
"Jaaaaaahn," the voice cooed.
He feigned nonchalance.
He reached the oak table, marking the room's halfway point. Several chairs were tucked into its wooden slits. He removed his overcoat, and slung it across the head chair. His belligerent shoulders suddenly seemed lighter. The coat fabric wasn't very heavy, so he blamed the items weighing down his interior pockets. Now dressed in his thin, formal shirt, he experienced additional relief from the day's suffocating ardour. Although evening had arrived, the heat refused to die. Unrelenting.
He stooped over the chair, making his spine complain angrily. After his confrontation with Wambach, a relentless pain had munched through his backbone. And continued to do so. He felt like an expiring man; not quite dead, not quite alive. So what's new?
He grabbed the chair, thus reducing the irksome discomfort. His hands tightened around the oaken frame, until the wood's rigidity stung his palms. The overcoat partially blunted the bite. Pleasure and pain. Lately the latter filled his life. But he'd force this intruder to provide the former.
He'd already unbuttoned his shirt cuffs. Removing his existing clothes would guarantee instantaneous pleasure. But it wasn't time. Yet. Instead he studied his bare arms, particularly the blackened tattoos, scorched into his ashen flesh. Another flame had burnt through his egotistical epidermis and malicious memory.
"Jaaaaaahn," called the sultry voice.
"Ellie," he growled.
"Oh John," she admonished. "Aren't you pleased to see me?"
Yes.
Constantine stopped staring at his scarred wrists, and instead studied Ellie's stunning silhouette. God! He needed love. Not the mental kind, just the physical release. He wanted his abraded heart to be drowned in blood. She knew where the wounds existed, and had reopened them for years. Again! Soon sharp claws would wrench twisted scabs from maimed membranes. Again! Then she would feast on the gushing red fluid. Again! And he'd enjoy the conglomeration of pain and pleasure. Again and again and again!
Willing and waiting. She sat on his wide, double bed. Long brown hair encompassed her shoulders, exaggerating the pallid complexion. She returned his gaze and beamed seductively. Her facial features were soft and vulnerable, yet solidarity and menace existed underneath.
"Come join me, John," she beckoned.
He nodded slowly. "I'll come soon."
"Make sure you do," she smirked.
She rested against his bedstead. The large sheets practically engulfed her petite frame, but somehow, her mischievous presence filled the entire room. And his sexual hunger followed closely behind. Unlike her luscious, pouting lips, her clothes communicated the real truth about their relationship. She wore a black miniskirt, which barely hid her outstretched legs. A scarlet chemise hugged her chest tightly, emphasising the two prominent peaks, pointing upwards. His voracious eyes were spoilt for choice. Top or bottom?
With exaggerated movements, she skilfully leant forwards. This generous aerial view made his starvation become intolerable. He examined her succulent chest again and again and again.
She stroked the leopard print duvet, further capturing his watchful attention. Her manicured fingernails scratched the grainy sheet, creating harsh, swishing sounds. He imagined those nails, gorging the flesh from his back.
"You don't usually visit my apartment," he observed. "You said it smelt like a chimney."
"And it still does," she sniggered. "Have you ever thought about purchasing an air freshener, or two?"
"I already tried them," he grumbled. "Open windows too. Not much luck though."
He actually liked the stale stench, although it made his tobacco cravings grow worse. Several times he had almost succumbed to his nicotine urges. He'd even removed his emergency cigarettes from the cupboard, but alcohol had prevented any further action.
"You need to wash your blinds," she admonished. "And the floor needs a good scrub. Honestly John, you need a maid!"
"Quit trying to change the subject," he ordered. "What do you really want? Are you looking for another favour? Money, perhaps?"
"Oh, John!" she mocked. "Why would I ask you for money? I can just steal your wallet, like last time. Do you really think so little of me?"
"There's always a catch," he grunted.
His jaw worked agitatedly. He had some nicotine gum lodged between his back molars, but he couldn't taste anything. The original, acrid flavour had disappeared long ago. His present piece had lasted an hour, although he usually replaced them every thirty minutes. So far today, he'd wasted forty strips. All in good reason.
Shortly after Wambach's death, the emergency services had arrived. Much to the exorcist's chagrin, Detective Weiss had conducted the investigation. Constantine and Weiss were sworn enemies. They had initially met when he'd been arrested for assaulting an allegedly possessed bishop. Since then they'd encountered a problem, where one would interrupt the other's work. Weiss would disrupt exorcisms, and Constantine would interfere with bizarre crime scenes. They drove each other mad.
The rivalry had invaded their personal lives. Weiss worshipped Angela like a Goddess; he serenaded her with expensive gifts. Flowers? Chocolates? Champagne? What an ass kisser! Because Angela had befriended John, Weiss's possessiveness had grown intolerable. Whenever John left his apartment, the jealous detective would hover nearby. John threatened California's society and Weiss's social life. One day she'd have to choose between them. Frankly the exorcist couldn't care less. He didn't fancy buying her expensive presents, when he could finance his selfish desires instead.
Owing to the detective's resentment, Constantine had found himself in police custody. He'd spent today at the station, being interrogated by Weiss. Angela's name had reoccurred thirty-three times. After recounting the restaurant incident, Constantine had been allowed to leave. He'd promptly returned to his apartment. Ironically enough, it felt far gloomier than the station, but at least the prison warden was an attractive woman.
"I haven't seen you for awhile," he mentioned. "Since I deported your friends at the hospital."
"You certainly know how to gatecrash a party," Ellie teased. "Do you want to gatecrash another?"
"Not really in the gate crashing mood," he declined.
"You're hurting my feelings, John!" she goaded. "What a gentleman!"
He straightened brusquely.
Abandoning the table, he cautiously approached his bed. As he drew nearer, True Sight took effect. Reality seared his sensitive corneas. Ellie's luminous appearance flickered erratically, like a failing light bulb, or a dying sun.
The false radiance finally expired, plunging her into genuine darkness. Her smooth, pallid skin became rough and charred, whilst her glistening, velvety hair transformed into dull, leathery strands. Those moist, fleshy lips were now parched and cracked, and the mouth grinned at him with decayed, discoloured teeth. Above the gaping maw were two famished chasms. Sanguinary fires smouldered in these black, bleeding sockets.
Ellie's insufficient clothing made her actual identity especially unpleasant. The ill fitting top and miniskirt emphasised her noisome green skin. Entwined around her scaly thigh was a reptilian tail, the jagged tip swung backwards and forwards in a menacing arc. He disliked the way she lay on his bed, seducing his lustful appetite. He hated how his hazardous hunger could only be sated by masochistic sex. And he loathed himself, for actually favouring it over harmless human copulation.
"What do you want, half breed?" he snarled.
"Always blunt and straight to the point," she chuckled. "Aren't you, John?"
He snorted. "It's the only way to get answers from slippery mongrels."
"Always filled with charming compliments!" she sang jovially.
He blinked forcefully, making Ellie's demonic image disappear. Her false, human form returned, soothing his weary retinas. The exorcist detested True Sight, but at least he could control this sixth sense. Aside from half breeds, he saw through various obstacles and hindrances, such as darkness, buildings and even clothes. He'd neglected to tell Angela about the latter ability. John enjoyed exploiting his Sight, particularly around the unsuspecting Miss. Dodson…
"If only Weiss knew," he snickered. "The great John Constantine wins again!"
Darkness enveloped the mausoleum, making his Sight particularly useful. Several windows surrounded the room, but they were obscured by black, Venetian blinds. Only a glimmer of dying sunlight was permitted into the shadowy chamber. These fading beams disfigured the squalid walls and the filthy flooring, further amplifying the bleak atmosphere.
"Oh, Johnny," Ellie teased. "You've never even cracked a smile. Can't you be pleased to see me, for once?"
"Can't you tell?" he mocked. "I am pleased to see you! I'm always pleased to find half breeds on my bed."
"You're a fantastic liar!" she laughed. "But there's really no need. I've already noticed your new whore."
"Who?" he demanded.
"Pretending to be dumb?" she giggled. "What an incredible actor!"
"No, really," he argued. "Who?"
"The cop!" she surrendered playfully. "The one with the American English accent."
"Angela?" he realised. "What about Angela?"
"I've seen you," Ellie flaunted. "I know how you look at her. I know the way you touch her. And I know what you'd do to her. You like assaulting humans as well as half breeds, don't you John?"
"Good, bad. Foreign, native. Human, demon. They all look the same to me," he shrugged. "I manipulate them equally."
"Good!" she grinned. "Now come over here and manipulate me!"
Constantine reached his final destination. Resisting his sexual cravings, he concentrated on keeping cool and collected. Success! He stood casually beside the bed, watching Ellie's impatience escalate. He was in control.
The half breed sat directly opposite, with her bare feet intentionally pointed in his direction. He felt like mentioning something crude regarding foot odour, but decided against it. Considering his apartment's smoky stench, he'd just seem hypocritical.
He suddenly noticed the fork. It wasn't Lucifer's spear, nor Poseidon's trident, but an ordinary cutlery fork. It lay beside Ellie's bare foot. Dried food covered the stained metal, like a second hand murder weapon. A dead fly was impaled through the three prongs. He recognised both fly and both fork.
"A man tried to eat me today," he stated.
Ellie giggled. "You do look delicious."
Constantine leant over the bed, so that he was eye level with Ellie. Toying with him, she brushed his cheek with her tail. Those roughened scales abraded his bare flesh, yet somehow it felt carnal. He suppressed the urge to shiver.
"Cut the crap," he growled. "You know something about the restaurant. What happened to the fat guy?"
"You're no fun!" Ellie sighed contemptuously.
"What happened?" he persisted.
"Oh, John. You know I'm not cheap," she crowed. "You've got to do something for me first."
"What?" he demanded.
"An exorcism," she sung.
"An exorcism?" he snorted. "Since when have you been interested in helping humankind?"
"Since something got into my friend's daughter," she replied.
"You have human friends?" he sneered.
"I am half human," she scoffed. "Doesn't that entitle me to some companionship? And besides, you're human."
"Yeah, but I'm not your friend," he disagreed.
"I know you love me, John," she smirked. "You care for my safety too."
And she was right.
"You're wrong," he declared. "I only care about myself! I don't care about the fat guy. I don't care about this possessed daughter. And I certainly don't care about you. I'm not helping! You can't make me! No way!"
She grinned. "Then I'll never have sex with you again."
ESTIMATED UPDATE: FRIDAY 2ND SEPTEMBER