Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed my first chapter! This is probably much more like what you were expecting from a novel, right? Enjoy.
WARNING: This chapter gets a little bit gross. If you're going to be offended, don't read, but I don't really think it's that big a deal. If you were okay with the movie you shouldn't have any problem here.
Chapter 2
Ravenscar Mental Hygiene Ward
Los Angeles, California
10:13 AM
October 13, 2005
"Now that," said Dr. Leslie Archer, staring at the x-ray films, "is a Goddamn genuine miracle."
John Constantine stared at the image of his own lungs projected larger than life on the screen and couldn't help but smile. They looked like a pair of wings, he thought—white and nearly translucent. A month ago he couldn't have imagined he would ever see one of his x-rays looking like this again. The look on Dr. Archer's face was just the icing on the cake. She had insisted on taking the x-rays three separate times just to make sure they were accurate.
"Someone up there sure likes you," she marveled, looking skyward and crossing herself.
Constantine shook his head at the irony of her assumption. He guessed he had to be the only person alive who had received the help of a miracle from the Devil.
"So I take it you're finally going to quit smoking?" asked Archer dryly. "Or are you still gonna be lookin' for ways to do yourself in?"
Constantine held up a pack of nicotine gum, glaring at her.
"Oh ye of little faith. Jesus, I'm not that stupid."
"I was hoping not," said Archer.
He sighed then, turning serious again as he remembered why he'd come here in the first place.
"So if it's such a miracle," he muttered, trying to sound nonchalant, "Why am I hacking up my guts again?"
He'd been fine for the first couple of weeks, but the cough had gradually come creeping back. Scared, he'd ignored it as long as possible, but it had finally become too much.
Dr. Archer rolled her eyes at him. That was a good sign, he told himself, trying to shake the feeling of unease gnawing at the pit of his stomach.
"Because, Mr. Constantine," she answered, her voice filled with an odd mix of condescension and amusement, "you seem to have contracted a respiratory infection. They're rather common this time of year. You'll need to lay off on late night gallivanting, but you should be fine in a couple of weeks."
Constantine lowered his gaze to the ground and bit back an equally sharp retort as he realized how stupid of him it had been to jump to the worst possible conclusion about his illness. Then again, when it came to his luck, the worst possible conclusion was usually also the right one. Still, it wouldn't do him any good to get into a fight with Archer at this point.
"That's um…that's good to hear," he muttered lamely.
Archer offered him her most winning Doctor-knows-all smile and held out a nearly illegible piece of paper.
"Get this prescription filled as soon as possible."
"Thanks." He took it from her and started to leave.
"You need to rest," Archer called after him. "I mean it, John! I know how you are!"
Constantine shook his head and strode off down the corridor, trying to lose the feeling of unease that always came with being in this place. The corridors were too clean; the fluorescent lights bleached everything to a yellow-greenish hue. The atmosphere here accentuated dark circles under eyes, made faces look universally emaciated. He stifled a shudder, thinking that just being here too much would be enough to make anyone sick.
About halfway out of the hospital, he ran right smack into a police barricade across the corridor. He was so caught up in his thoughts that he nearly plowed right through the yellow Crime Scene tape, but he was stopped by a hand on his chest just in time.
"Hey, watch it, you!"
Constantine jerked his head up to see a young man with dark hair, dark eyes, and a complexion that made him look like a ghost under the harsh light. The face, arranged in an expression of authority, condescension, and masked fear was familiar.
"Detective Weiss," said Constantine, offering a mock-charming smile. "What a pleasant surprise. Honestly, I enjoyed our time together, but I didn't think you cared enough to come looking for me. I mean, you never even called the next morning."
Weiss made a sound of disgust deep in his throat and recoiled. The hair on his head practically stood up in indignation.
"Mr. Constantine," the young man spat. He'd done his best to get the truth about the incident in Ravenscar's hydrotherapy ward out of Constantine, but had never managed to yield anything more than enigmatic babbling.
"Something I can help with?" Constantine asked, looking around past the crime scene tape to where several people were bending over something on the floor. He could barely make out the purplish stains of dried blood on the white tile near their feet.
"Get the hell out of here," muttered Weiss. "And let my people do their job."
"Weiss? What's going on here?" The voice came from behind and over his left shoulder, but Constantine recognized it immediately. Even if he hadn't, the look on Weiss' face was a dead giveaway—a slight blush, eyes bugging out dangerously wide. Constantine grinned and turned to face their new arrival.
She looked flustered, exhausted—as though she'd dressed in a hurry. Her light blue blouse was partially untucked, auburn hair loose and slightly frizzy. She looked paler than usual, and the dark circles under her eyes suggested she hadn't slept in weeks. Still, there was something in her gaze, an intensity that seemed to bring a wave of claustrophobic heat over his entire body.
"Angela," he said, nodding matter-of-factly.
"John." She matched his tone, completely deadpan.
Weiss looked back and forth between the two of them in an almost comical gesture. He seemed to sense that there was something there in their locked gazes, something he could never understand.
"There's a…um…" stammered Weiss.
"A murder, according to the call I got," Angela interrupted.
"Yes. A murder. And it's rather…well, why don't you just take a look." Weiss held up the tape for her to duck under, glaring at Constantine as if daring him to follow. He didn't. Instead he stood and watched as Angela went over to the body and knelt down in the center of the clump of other detectives. She stayed where she was long enough to lift the sheet and look under, then practically bolted back to where he stood on the other side of the barricade. She was shaking, he noticed, as he held up the tape for her to come back under.
Angela just shook her head at him and took the tape out of his hand, holding it up from her side.
"I think…John, you need to see this too." She waited just long enough for him to bend under the tape, then let it snap back and made her way over to the body, waving away the other cops who protested at Constantine's approach. "He's with me."
He had just long enough to realize that he liked the sound of those words coming out of her mouth, then the monstrosity on the floor in front of him stole all his attention. It appeared to be the body of a woman, middle-aged and well past her prime, but the face was unrecognizable. The top half of the skull was gone, sawed away just below the eyes. There was a tremendous amount of blood on the sheet covering the woman, and on the floor. The brain cavity was empty, its contents and the entire top half of the head missing. Constantine turned away and swallowed hard, gagging. It looked like someone had tried to make a soldier demon out of a living, breathing person.
Angela grabbed his shoulder and pulled him after her, practically running into the nearest empty examining room. She slammed the door shut and collapsed onto the bed, raking a hand feverishly through her hair. Constantine stood near the doorway and tried to catch his breath, the all-too familiar burning in his lungs back once more. The image of the body seemed to be burned into the back of his eyelids, flashing before his face every time he blinked.
"Angela?" he managed at last. "What the hell happened back there?"
"I don't know," she said thickly, her gaze locked on his feet. "But I…I knew it would be…like that." She looked up at him then, hazel eyes glassy with shock. "I dreamed this, John. I knew. God, how do I always know?"
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Cookies for anyone who gets the significance of the date/time. (Zelda…I know you know...don't post it in your review, k?)