"Chas…Oh, God, Chas…"
Chas was sitting at the man's kitchen table, his gaze glued on the tabletop as his mother surveyed the damage in the room. She walked around the kitchen and the bedroom, her hand over her mouth, her eyes brimming with tears. The man – who Chas now knew as John Constantine – was leaning back against the counter, calmly sipping a glass of vodka.
"Chas…why? Why?" Audrey asked, walking back over to the table. Chas remained silent, and simply offered a shrug. She sighed, and then looked up at John.
"I'll pay for what it costs to fix this. Just send me the bill and I'll cover it," she said, but John was already shaking his head.
"No. I don't want any money from you."
"What then? Sir, I have to pay you back somehow."
"Not you. Him," John said, gesturing towards Chas with his glass. "I want him to clean all this up."
"Oh, come on, man, just take the money," Chas snapped, and Audrey sent him a glare.
"I think that's perfect, Mr. Constantine. Starting tomorrow right after he gets off school," she said, nodding. "Come on, Chas. We're going home."
Chas knew better than to argue. He stood up and followed his mother out, ashamed and angry.
The ride home was silent and tense. Chas expected to get yelled at, but instead his mother remained mute until they pulled up in the driveway.
"You're lucky he didn't call the cops. You're lucky he's such an understanding man and didn't shoot you or something,"
"He's a freak, Mom," Chas said, getting out of the car.
"Where'd you come up with that notion? Those friends of yours?"
Chas rolled his eyes. They went inside, and Chas started to head for his room, but Audrey gently grabbed his shoulder.
"Chas…sit down a second."
Chas hesitated, considering insubordination, but he was too tired and frustrated to fight. He dropped down on the couch, and his mother sat beside him, taking a deep breath.
"New rules for the house."
"Oh, not again…"
"I'm serious this time, dead serious," Audrey said, nodding. "You'll go to school, go to Mr. Constantine's house and do whatever he asks of you, and then you'll come right back here. Those are the only three places you're permitted to be. No television, no phone, only homework and books."
Chas gaped at her in disbelief. "That's unfair!"
"After what you did, Chas, nothing should seem unfair. By all rights you should be spending the night in prison for what you did."
"He lives in downtown LA, it's not like he doesn't have the money to fix it!"
Audrey seemed appalled. "That doesn't give you the right to run around vandalizing property! And you will be the one fixing it, young man, don't get me wrong."
Chas crossed his arms and looked away, intent on ignoring her. She stared at him for a few moments, and then stood up and started to walk away. At the doorway, however, she turned around.
"By the way…I installed a smoke detector in your room and in the hallway."
Chas had never been through anything more boring in his life than in school suspension.
The day started with the aide handing him an assignment. When he got done with that one, the aide handed him another. Then another. Then another.
By the time lunch came around, he was ready for a break to chat with his friends. But when he stood up, the aide shook her head. Chas sat back down, confused…and watched in horror as the aide walked to a small refrigerator in the corner and pulled out a lunch tray. She dropped it on the desk in front of him, and he swallowed hard.
Exiled. You've been exiled from the school in general. They're going to make you sit in this room till the corny 'effort' poster on the wall drives you insane.
So Chas made plans. Maybe, just maybe he could escape after school, go out to the back alleys with the guys or something.
Of course, that plan was foiled too. After school his mother's car was parked right outside the front door, and she smiled and waved. Chas fumed, hesitated, and then got in the car.
"Smile, honey, you look like you're going to a funeral," Audrey said, patting Chas on the knee before taking off. Chas sighed again, looking out the window at the buildings.
"I bought you everything you'll need to get that stuff off the walls," his mother was saying. "You just have to read the directions on the bottles. At least try to be civil, this man did you a huge favor by not filing a police report."
Yeah, I know. You've told me a million times.
She pulled up in front of the bowling alley, and Chas sighed, looking up at the dingy apartment. This had to be the worst day of his life.
His mother reached into the backseat and pulled a bucket up front, dropping it in Chas's lap. Inside were bottles, scrub brushes, and rags.
"Have fun, darling. Who knows, maybe he has a daughter or son you can hang out with. Imagine that, a friend who doesn't have to get high to be interesting."
Chas almost laughed. "Thanks, Mom," he said sarcastically, grabbing the bucket and getting out of the car. She sat and waited as he trudged his way inside and up the stairs, and as he knocked on the door he heard her pull away.
For a few moments he thought he might get lucky- no sounds from inside, no nothing. But then he heard a few curses, and then the sound of inside locks being undone.
The door opened a crack, and then John let it fall open the rest of the way. The man looked unkempt, his white shirt wrinkled, his tie loose, and his hair sticking up in every direction. He grunted and walked away from the door, and Chas hesitated before stepping inside and closing the door.
"Good afternoon to you too," Chas muttered, setting the bucket down on the table. During the day the apartment wasn't half as creepy, but still just as weird.
He shifted his weight uncomfortably as John poured himself a glass of whiskey, waiting to be told what to do. John ignored him for a few moments, and then raised an eyebrow at him.
"What are you waiting for, kid? Get to work," he snapped, and Chas's fists tightened.
"I was just going to ask where you wanted me to start."
"Like I care. You'll be cleanin' it all eventually anyway."
Chas sent John a glare, and then set to work filling the bucket with water and mixing in the proper chemicals. John was busy flipping through his mail, not even looking up at Chas. He seemed to be used to having juvenile delinquents in his house.
Chas pulled out a cigarette and a lighter, and he was about to light up when John reached over and took the cigarette from his lips.
"What the hell?" Chas snapped, glaring at him.
"You're too young for that. Not to mention those cigarettes smell like shit," John said quietly, going back to his mail. Chas flipped him off and muttered a few curses under his breath. John only laughed in response.
Chas set to work on the floor first. He was down on his hands and knees, scrubbing, making a mental note to himself to bring kneepads tomorrow. A few times he could've sworn he saw John watching him, but he dismissed it as his overactive imagination.
That was the way it was, for almost two hours. Complete silence, John walking around the house working on various things and Chas silently scrubbing away. The spray paint was harder than he'd hoped to remove.
There was a knock on the door, and John finished off his glass of whiskey before getting up to go open it.
"Beeman. You're late," he said, stepping aside and letting a short man with thick black glasses step inside.
"Yes, well, I had some trouble getting the…John…why is there a kid scrubbing your floor? And what happened to your apartment?"
John chuckled. "Genius over there broke in and decided to promote his art career on my walls. He just wasn't fast enough."
"Oh, fuck you," Chas snapped, and John dismissed him with a half-wave.
"Ignore him, Beeman. He's all talk anyway."
"More like all withdrawal," Chas muttered, continuing to work as Beeman shot him a sympathetic look. The man walked to the table and set a bag down on it, pulling out a box of the imported cigarettes and handing them to Constantine. That certainly didn't help; Chas's hands had already begun to shake from the lack of nicotine.
"I've been working on finding that relic for you, John, but all the records of it disappear in the late years of the Black Plague," Beeman said, and Chas slowed in his scrubbing motions, listening with interest.
"The thing couldn't have just disappeared, Beeman. Saint Dorothy of Montau made reference to it in 1401, said it was in British hands. The British don't throw any of that stuff away."
Chas shook his head. "That's impossible."
Both Beeman and John gave Chas an incredulous look as he interrupted. Chas shrugged, and then quietly said, "Saint Dorothy died in 1394. The document you have must be fraud."
John blinked a few times, and Beeman frowned, walking over to John's bookcase. He pulled out a book and flipped through it, stopping and tapping the book with his index finger. "The boy's right, John. Saint Dorothy, deceased January 25th of 1394."
John stared at Chas for a few moments, seeming torn. Then, he walked over to a file cabinet and pulled out a file, handing it to Beeman.
"There's the document. Run it through your system, find out who really did write the damn thing."
Beeman nodded, taking the document and smiling at Chas before gathering his things and leaving. Chas felt a swelling of pride, felt like he'd done his part to help…help what, he didn't know, but that was beside the point.
"You're welcome," he said to John as the man walked by him. John snorted.
"Lucky guess, kid."
"Lucky guess? Like hell it was!" Chas snapped, glaring up at John. John fell silent once again, ignoring Chas and lighting up a cigarette. Chas sighed heavily, continuing to work.
I'll prove it wasn't a damn lucky guess.
At about 6, Chas's mother brought him some dinner, insisting that John not have to feed her kid while he was working. She dropped off a sack of Chinese, thanked John once again, and left just as quick.
"Does she always spoil you like this?" John asked dryly. He was wearing only a housecoat now, having just gotten out of the shower.
"M'not spoiled," Chas muttered through a mouthful of Chinese.
"Sure, kid," John said with a smirk. Chas glared.
"Don't call me 'kid'."
"How old are you?"
"Seventeen," Chas said proudly.
"Then you're a kid. Stop whining."
"I'm not whining!"
"Then what are you doing right now?"
Chas scowled. "Fuck you. I just need a cigarette."
"I don't think your mom wants you smoking."
"Who fuckin' cares?"
John sighed, shaking his head. "Someday you're gonna get the shit beaten out of you for that attitude, and I'm gonna laugh my ass off."
"You wish."
John laughed, and then walked toward the bedroom, grabbing his tie off the door handle. "I have to go run a few errands. Stay outta my shit while I'm gone," he said, closing the door.