Chapter Two
John had been living in the village for so long that the city was an alien place to him. Each siren, each car, every noise that he'd go so used to living without assaulted his ears. He moved the blinds aside so the he could look out of the reinforced window. He could see what Angela was talking about. Burnt shells of cars littered the streets. Every building had at least one window broken. The half breeds had brought hell to earth. A half smile, half snarl appeared on his face as he thought about sending them all back to hell.
The city was crying out for a hero and apparently he was it. He snorted, thinking that there wasn't much he hadn't given to keep the city safe. It had almost taken his life. It most likely would take his life one day. Faded silver scars still littered his body, products of a demon's claws and a Doctor's scalpel. By some miracle, the claws had missed the tattoo on his arms completely. He rubbed his thumb over it absently, wondering if he'd ever need to use it's power again.
How could it get this bad? He wondered, was I that much on an influence on those bastards? He couldn't answer his own question and wrenched his wheelchair away from the window, disgusted by the street below him. The room he was in looked the same as every other hospital room he'd been in. bland off-white walls, a grey tile floor and a huge, ugly metal bed. He didn't relish the thought of being trapped in that bed. The thought of pain didn't bother him. He welcomed it with open arms if it meant he could walk again. Just being in the room was enough to dredge up every bad memory that he had of hospitals. The light from outside made his eyes look like liquid amber.
Though he didn't notice, he was gripping the wheels of his wheelchair so tightly his fingers looked bloodless. He wanted to pace, to move, to relieve the tension, but the room was barely big enough to turn around in, let alone move. He was drawn back to the window, and watched in disgusted fascination as another car was set alight. The half-breeds danced around it, cherishing the flames as they consumed the vehicle. They were chanting, though he couldn't hear the words. He hated the fact that he was so helpless. An overwhelming need to pray came over him and he dropped his head, muttering words he'd learned at Sunday School but had never spoken aloud until then.
He'd refused the gown the nurse had offered to him and instead wore an old pair of navy blue sweats with a light grey tee-shirt. He sighed, trying to kill his nerves. There was a loose thread on his tee-shirt and he absently pulled it, snapping it off. His feet were bare and looked pale in the fluorescent light. He couldn't imagine them taking his weight again. He flexed his toes, laughing bitterly as they didn't move. He never waited for things to come to him. He was a man of action, not reaction. He hated waiting for anything. It wasn't that he couldn't be patient, more that most of the time he didn't want to be. Why waste more of his life waiting for things to be brought to him? It didn't make sense.
The door behind him opened and Angela walked in, flanked by a nurse. He saw their reflection in the window and wiped the scowl from his face before turning around. Angela looked worn out. The jeans and shirt she had on were too big for her, and she'd been forced to add a belt to the jeans just to keep them up. Her slender frame lacked the wiry strength he'd loved. She was carrying a pair of steaming cups and she passed one to him. He took it eagerly, thinking it was coffee, but when he got it to his mouth, he found it was hot chocolate. He looked at her questioningly.
"Doctor's orders. No coffee." She said with a tired shrug.
He took a deep drink of the chocolate, burning his mouth as he swallowed the liquid. It was soothing, and he was suddenly glad that she'd bothered to bring him it. Something shifted in his chest and he smiled a little. Someone actually cared about him still. He lifted the paper cup towards her, saying "Thanks."
He got a wan smile in return as she sat on the bed. She'd done all of the driving back to the city the night before. The trip had taken them almost fifteen hours and the lack of sleep was now catching up with her. A huge yawn threatened to split her face open and he had to smother a laugh. It surprised him, and a tiny smile managed to sneak onto his face before he could get it under control.
There where so many pressing questions he wanted to ask, but couldn't with the nurse in the room. He turned to her, asking "Can we be alone?"
She frowned, having been told to keep an eye on John. He added "Please? We need to talk."
The nurse nodded reluctantly, stepping out of the door while saying "I'll be back in half an hour to check you." She closed the door on his thank you.
He turned back to Angela, who had curled up against the headboard of the bed. "What happened?" The question itself was ambiguous, but she understood what he meant.
"It started about a year after you left. Little things- an increase in graffiti, more petty crime- and grew almost overnight. We started seeing more violent crimes. Murders doubled." She paused to take a drink "I was working late one night. We had a case where a mother had killed her children and then committed suicide. There was a burn on her arm. She had been branded." Tears welled up in Angela's eyes, but she didn't stop "I told my boss about half breeds. He told me I was insane. He fired me the same day." There was a raw hostility that he'd never expected to here from her.
"I'm sorry." Was all he said, having a feeling that her story was going to get worse. The chocolate had started to go cold, and he drank the last of it before setting the cup on the small table next to him. It was a cheap pine one, but it had been well looked after. A small plaque held details he did not wish to read. There was enough sadness in his life without adding more.
"He and my partner were killed by half-breeds less than a week after I was fired. I keep thinking, if only I could have made them believe me, I could have saved them. I can't help but blame myself, John."
He didn't know what to say. A platitude would sound false, and words of comfort would do little good. He settled for taking her hand, whispering "You did the best that you could. You tried, and that's all that matters."
She accepted the words for what they were and squeezed his hand in silent thanks. "I missed you John." She said, the simple words having power because of the truth behind them.
It was all to easy to admit he'd missed her too. "I'm sorry I left like I did." He felt a little ashamed about running away from her like he had.
The door swung open again and the nurse walked back in. John scowled, thinking thirty minutes my ass.
"Mr Constantine, we're ready for you in theatre now." she said, dropping a pale blue gown on the bed. It sounded like a newspaper when it landed and he guessed that it was made of some kind of paper. He focused on the blend, trying to figure it out in his mind, trying not to think about what was going to happen to him. The next time he was in this room, he might be able to walk again. He'd never really thought about it, but now he did. Fear and anxiety rivalled excitement in his mind. He didn't know which one would win.
The nurse coughed, and he realised that he'd been miles away. He reached for the gown, managing not to wince as he picked it up. It was stiff and thick, strangely heavy for what it was. He laid it on his lap while he pulled his tee-shirt off over his head and tossed in onto the bed. Angela gasped as she saw his scars for the first time. He looked down, having managed to forget just how bad the where. Angela leaned forward on the bed, the nurse temporally forgotten.
"May I?" She asked, hand hovering over the longest scar. In her mind, Angela could still see him laying on the bathroom floor, bleeding out as she fought to save him. He reached out and stopped her hand mere centimetres away from his skin. The thought of anyone touching those scars sent a feeling of revulsion through him.
"Please, don't." He said, not letting go of her hand. She leaned forward and kissed him. It was a gentle kiss, more to reassure him than to spark passion. With a final squeeze of his hand, she go up of the bed and left him. She couldn't look back as she walked through the door.
Slipping the gown on, John looked at the nurse and said only two words "I'm ready."