WORD OF THE DHARKESIDE

Yet another massive thanks to Silverbloodrain and Jim, plus newcomers shangri-la-gypsy and Loopylou. Cheers! In the following chapter, I have disrespectfully molested Jamie Delano's beautiful words. I apologise for mutilating the Hellblazer graphic novels

Chapter Six

"I really am an idiot," Angela declared.

If only she'd alerted the local authorities; they would have arrested the bathroom trespasser. Right now, the police should be solving this problem, whilst she enjoyed her sunny vacation. What wishful thinking! She hated choosing the easiest escape, especially after becoming a distinguished detective. So she'd conducted this investigation by herself. Regret. How very painful.

"I-uh, um. Uh, excuse me, Miss. Dod-uhm, Dogson," Lester sputtered. "Do you think I could, uh, h-have a few ice cubes in this, uh, Coke?"

"For the last time," she sighed. "It's Dodson!"

Every time he uttered another word, her regret grew worse and worse. Nothing sinister though. He was just incredibly irritating, more so than Constantine and his indecipherable mood swings. And to think they were friends? How was this even possible? John would never tolerate this man's incessant whinging, nor his persistent requests. How had Lester escaped unharmed?

Of course, she wasn't childish. She didn't direct her anger at others. Instead she hovered over a nearby armchair, trying not to communicate her annoyance. She was grabbing the ashen headrest with furious, trembling fists. The gritty fabric grated away her patience, like figuratively flogged flesh. But she didn't voice these complaints. Unlike Lester and Constantine, she had manners and would suffer in silence.

Ironically enough, she lingered inside the antechamber. She'd originally stood there for hours, worrying about that loathsome bathroom door. Given the present situation, she'd wasted too much time over nothing. And it seemed God was now punishing her stupidity in the guise of a lanky, balding faultfinder.

"So, uh," Lester hesitated. "H-how about that, uhm, i-ice?"

"Later," she exhaled sharply.

"Why not noooooow?" he bleated.

Angela grinded her teeth together, feeling absolutely exasperated. She'd soon discovered Lester's most powerful weapon; he could wail continually for hours. It sounded like demonic fingernails scraping against multiple blackboards.

"You're not a very good host," he whinged.

Just one retort… No! She wouldn't resort to petty name calling.

Despite her mature, self reliance, she needed Constantine. She needed his stubborn demeanour, his quick wits and most of all his company. Or maybe it was the former? With one intimidating scowl or threat, he easily got honest answers from dishonest lowlifes. Having John destroy those repulsive insects would've been useful. Like most people, she hated bugs.

"The things I do by myself," she whispered softly.

Following her short conversation with Lester, Angela had slammed the bathroom door shut. For several minutes she'd fluttered outside the chamber, acting like a panicked butterfly. She'd finally calmed down and had concocted a promising plan. At the time, contacting the district police had never even crossed her mind.

Never saying a single word, Angela had abandoned the hotel room. She'd taken her expensive valuables too. She didn't trust bathroom trespassers, especially if they knew, or were John Constantine. Nothing personal.

Leaving the resort altogether, she had found a neighbouring Evening Standard. She'd purchased twelve insecticide cans. Her wallet had felt considerably lighter and her fears significantly heavier. So much for holiday souvenirs.

She'd returned to the hotel room and had attacked the bugs. Every single canister had dealt death. Throughout this operation, Lester had sat in the bathtub, whinging constantly. The Pondlife cans and his mouth had probably damaged the ozone layer beyond repair.

"Forget the cans," she murmured quietly. "His mouth did all the damage."

A natural disaster had struck the antechamber. White, vaporous mists circled the ceiling, resembling vulturous apparitions. Wispy beaks occasionally prodded her visage and stabbed at her vulnerable eyes. A painful headache throbbed just behind the sockets. The insecticide's deadly stench didn't help matters either. These noxious fumes were probably deducting years from her life. On second thoughts, her unwanted guest did most of the harm. Just by being himself. Irritating.

"U-uh, w-w-when are you getting the i-i-ice?" Lester nagged.

"That's quite enough," she inhaled forcefully. "You've stalled me several times now. All morning and all afternoon. Now I need some answers."

"I-I-I told you," he moaned. "I, uhm, have no answers. I, uh, don't even know the q-q-questions either!"

"I'll be asking the questions," she breathed. "I need to know how you got covered in those, those, those – things!"

"Oh, d-d-do I have to, uh, answer?" he lamented. "It's a, uhm, long story!"

Angela's temper flared. Whenever she approached the subject, he'd always use the same, unoriginal excuse. She needed John. No. She just needed her interrogative skills. Now, what did she remember from her police training? Patience. Authoritativeness. Eye contact.

She looked. Lester didn't return the gaze. Since she had escorted him from the tub, he'd sat in the same, neighbouring armchair. Insect free, of course. He hadn't even helped spray the bathroom afterwards. He'd just slumped in that grubby chair, grimy skull rubbing against grainy cotton.

"He still hasn't moved," she whispered faintly. "He's like some - some unthawed corpse!"

His drooped, frightened posture communicated grave foreboding, as though he expected the chair to open and swallow him whole. If he could choose between this fate and her questions, she knew he'd select the former. At least she wouldn't have to bear his company any longer. They'd both be winners. Until then, she needed answers. For this useful information, she would sacrifice her peace and quiet. And perhaps her maturity too.

Lester feared her questions. She could tell. His battered fingernails fidgeted with the stained armrests, like emaciated worms foraging for food. His other hand grasped a glass, containing no ice whatsoever. She wasn't planning on getting any either. He nervously swished the Coke backwards and forwards, the mottled liquid almost spilling over the sides.

"Yet another potential mess," she murmured angrily.

Angela's look became a glare, but he didn't even notice. His cavernous eyes studied the bathroom door. It was shut. She hated seeing dying insects, particularly the larger ones twisted into mangled shapes, and the twitching innards of crushed unfortunates. It had taken hours to destroy all creeping, crawling creatures.

"So how did it happen?" she repeated.

"H-huh? What happened?" he faltered. "What a-a-are you, uh, talking about, Miss. Dobson?"

"Dodson," she sighed in exasperation. "How did you get covered in bugs?"

"I-I-I'd rather not, uh, talk about this," he moaned. "It's a, uhm, long story!"

Angela's temper flared momentarily. She removed her grip from the armchair, and fingered the gun tucked into her holster. The metal still felt freezing. So did the antechamber. Since she'd opened the bathroom door, the unusual coldness had seeped through everything. It had even permeated her bones, icing and knifing the very marrow. Only her fiery anger blunted the bitter blade's chilling cut. Who was Lester? Was he dangerous? Did he really know John? She needed these answers.

She felt like threatening him with her gun, but it would just cause more pointless pleading and whinging. How could she get effective answers? Just be stubborn.

"I'm in the mood for hearing long stories," she stated. "I'm not moving from this spot, until you tell me everything."

"Uh, everything? B-but that'll take ages!" he complained. "And I-I-I need to leave, uh, shortly, Miss. Dotson."

"Dodson," she corrected. "You can't leave. Yet."

"B-b-but, I need to buy some, uh," he mumbled quietly. "I-I-I need to buy some, uhm, g-g-gear."

"Gear?" she repeated. "What kind of gear?"

"Uh," he trailed. "You know… Juuunk. Uhm. He-hero-heroin."

"Heroin?" she sighed. "That's great. Just great! You do know that I'm a cop?"

"You are?" he gasped. "But I thought you were John's friend!"

"I am! Besides I've told you at least ten times already!" she exhaled brusquely. "You really don't listen, do you?"

Lester didn't respond. He just shrunk deeper into the armchair, like a gigantic, withered worm. Angela's temper flared violently. Despite the cold room and her summery clothing, she found herself boiling with irate rage.

"Okay," she breathed, taking deep gasps. "You've got some cheek. I was having a peaceful holiday, until you made an appearance. Trespassing in my bathroom, frightening me witless. I've already had my fair share of scares this month! Making me waste cash on resolving your mess. I didn't even get a single thank you! I even brought you a drink, but no, you still weren't satisfied. And now after ruining my day, you want to buy some drugs! You didn't even invent any lousy excuses for those insects! My life's already filled with enough problems! I didn't need another!"

"Uhm," he coughed. "Miss. Don-"

"Dodson!" she snapped. "Learn my goddamned name! Angela Dodson! Detective Dodson! Now I want some answers! No more stalling! No more excuses! No more shit! Tell me everything! How did you get covered in insects?"

His eyes flashed fearfully, widening into two, sickly, green pools. Those gangrenous sockets suddenly found Angela's face. The stare was so very cold, but she met his gaze anyway. He straightened in surprise, defeat and despair leaving his lanky limbs. At long last! No more hopeless bullshit.

A solemn expression furrowed his facial features. Long shadows covered his emaciated cheek bones, intensifying his eerie visage. Neither light nor heat touched his eyes. They were made from impenetrable ice. He looked like an animate corpse, slowly thawing.

"I-I-I went to Tangier," he managed. "Like the, uh, the M-Med-Medina."

"You went to North Africa?" she verified. "Why?"

"I-I-I needed drugs," he mumbled. "B-b-but I was broke. I-I-I-I wandered for hours, rubbing shoulders with, uh, life. Everyone had something to sell, and I had something to steal."

He hesitated momentarily, drinking deeply from his glass. She waited for some time, her impatience quickly returning.

"Urgh!" he moaned. "This needs i-i-ice!"

"Get on with the story," she commanded.

"I, uh, I," he faltered foolishly. "Found a mute without a, uh, tongue. He looked Arab, uh, or maybe Sudanese. I-I-I-I guess he was somebody's slave. I took him back t-t-to England."

"Why?" she demanded.

"S-s-s-som-something wasn't right," he stammered. "He was, uh, he was possessed! I-I-I-I could see it in his eyes. Just like Newcastle."

"Newcastle?" she repeated.

"It's another, uh, another long story," he complained. "You'd better ask John about, uhm, Newcastle."

"Why?" she persevered. "John's not English."

"N-n-n-no," he mumbled. "But John worked in England with uh, B-b-beeman. Supernatural work, uh, of course. It's a good place to find rel-relics and, uhm, demons. He's even lived in uh, Liverpool, Newcastle and m-m-maybe even London too. I-I-I met him in Newcastle. It used to be filled with the p-p-possessed."

"Possessed?" she mused. "Oh! So you exorcised this mute?"

"Y-y-y-yes," he admitted. "It was, uh, it was horrible! The b-b-boy writhed and s-sh-shook. His skin uh, b-b-b-blistered. And they came right out of his flesh. Thousands of them. Swarming."

"What came out of his flesh?" she gasped.

He didn't answer.

"Mr. Lester?" she tried. "Mr. Lester?"

"Have you ever," he hesitated. "Heard a mute trying to scream?"

Now Angela fell silent.

"I-I-I didn't think so," he slurred.

"What came out of his flesh?" she repeated.

"Insects," he managed. "Thousands of insects. Millions of insects. Mm-may-maybe even b-b-billions. It flailed me with a million wings. And I felt its power. B-b-but I was stronger. I-I-I imprisoned it inside a bottle."

"What about the mute?" she asked.

"The mmm-mu-mute?" he mumbled. "The mute died. It looked like he'd been, uh, he'd been flayed."

Her stomach churned sickeningly.

"B-b-but the, uh, the, uh, thing…" he trailed. "Inside the magic flask, the uh, the thing writhed like smoke. I-I-I could feel it through the glass. It was hungry. And it still is. It wanted me. A-a-and it still does. The funny thing i-i-is… I want it. Want to feel it inside me… Scrabbling in m-m-my veins. But I-I-I resisted. For once, I had power. I trapped it, Miss. Didson. Trapped a demon in a bottle."

"Oh, God!" she gasped.

"A-a-and then at, uh midnight," he managed. "Its uh, its uh, f-f-f-friend paid me a visit. Like a moth attracted to the flame. This time a possessed, uh, girl. The demon had almost chewed i-i-i-ts way through. She was mutilated b-b-beyond recognition."

"Two demons?" she gathered.

"Th-th-they told me their names," he moaned. "Pardus wanted to rescue Mnemoth."

"Mnemoth? Pardus?" she repeated.

"S-s-som-somehow the fates of these two d-d-demons are linked," he mumbled. "They're hungry. Very hungry. One craves the human mind, whilst the other craves the human meat. They wanted me."

"What happened?" she asked.

"I-I-I was, uh, weak after binding Mnemoth," he stammered. "I couldn't b-b-bind Pardus. I-I-I should be dead now, but he saved me."

"Who?" she persisted.

"A-a-a, uh, a half breed," he mumbled. "A half demon. H-h-he restrained the Pardus, and I gave him Mnemoth. H-h-he knew John. He'd take both demons to J-J-John and d-d-destroy them. Said I-I-I was to meet John."

"Where?" she demanded.

"Here," he slurred.

"What did the half demon look like?" she asked cautiously. "Do you even know his name?"

"H-h-he never gave his name," he complained. "B-b-but he had a p-p-posh accent, and uh, looked rich. He wore a, uhm, a business suit, and his hair was all slicked back. A broker maybe. He e-e-even twiddled with a silver coin, o-o-or something odd."

"Balthazar!" she gasped. "We've been tricked!"

"Huh?" Lester whinged.

"He wanted those demons for something," she mused. "But what?"

"Can I go now?" he moaned.

"No!" she snapped. "You're coming with me!"

"But, I-I-I, uh, need, but, uhm," he faltered wildly. " Uh, where?"

"We're returning to L.A.," she stated. "We need John."

ESTIMATED UPDATE:

I'm incredibly sorry, but I can't update so regularly. I've just started University and don't have the time anymore. However I'm not abandoning this story; it's just the updates will sadly be very slow, (I estimate a month, per chapter). Again a tremendous apology, and cheers to those who have reviewed! See you in the near future!