Author's Note: First of all, I love you all for reviewing. My amount of inspiration is directly proportional to the number of reviews I get. (Good lord, too much Algebra…) This chapter is LONG. The next one is considerably shorter, so enjoy.

Trinity on the run –"Nusquam Esse" is Latin for 1. to be deceived and 2. to not exist.

Shangri-la-gypsy—Thanks so much for noticing that. I'm as much a fan of the relationship stuff as anyone, but I just don't think it's in character for it to happen immediately. It would have to be over a period of time and under the right circumstances. That said, there will be relationship stuff in my fic. Just mixed in with the plot, and spread out in a way that I think is realistic. And…of course it won't be Chastine. That's just…creepy. I have no problem with gay relationships, but the age thing is just too much in my book.

Mousewolf—You quoted Macbeth! I love you! And I was totally thinking that the whole time I wrote it…

Salienne—Get online, you invisible person! Maybe it's a good thing they're not taking the car after all…

Liv—You know I love you. That is all.

Bagpipes—thx four tha revyoo, it wuz gr8!

Cookies for jeayniee (and Zelda of course, since she sort of inspired that whole thing…) for getting the date/time significance. I suppose I should've been more specific about the type of significance it had…that said…I like to throw in numbers/quotes/pieces of scenes from other movies or shows. There are two in this chapter, one of which is rather obvious, the other of which is not. Good luck.

Chapter 3

Ravenscar Mental Hygiene Ward

Los Angeles, California

September 13, 2005

10:43 A.M.

"Angela," Constantine was saying rather uncomfortably, "maybe um…this isn't exactly the best place for us to talk."

She looked up at him, head still swimming. He looked a little better, she thought absently, though far from good. The dark cirlces under his eyes had lightened a little but were still present, and he looked like he could use about a year of sleep. His white shirt was rumpled as always, black trench coat slung rock-star style over one shoulder. He was far from suave, not even charming—but there was still something about him, Angela reflected for what seemed like the hundredth time, something darkly appealing.

"You…want to get out of here?" she managed after a moment, trying to collect her train of thought. There was something about this place, waves of another presence, long gone but still potent enough to disrupt her senses. She knew that Constantine had to feel it too, but he was practiced in hiding such things.

He nodded abruptly and took off out the door. It caught her a bit by surprise—she was used to having him struggling to keep up with her, not the other way around. Angela got to her feet quickly, trying to get her bearings, and ran after him. He was breathing hard, she noticed as she caught up to him, and coughing a little, but nowhere near as badly as before. She made a mental note to ask him about it later and put her full concentration into getting out of the hospital without bumping into anyone or anything.

"Where are we going?" she managed at last as they stepped into the bright sun of the parking lot. It was a cold morning, and damp, though the fog promised to burn off by noon.

"This way," said Constantine simply, turning sharply to the left and walking down a row of cars.

Angela grunted as she nearly walked straight into him; her shoulder brushed his, and for a moment it was if a minute electric spark had passed between them. She shook herself and forced her vision straight ahead, though she found herself straining to look sideways and see if he'd felt it too. If he had, he certainly wasn't showing it—his full attention was focused on a vehicle they were rapidly approaching.

The car was a nondescript station wagon—it was impossible to tell just what the manufacturer was, or how old it was, though Angela's best guess was several decades. The exterior was covered in a multitude of chipping paint, multicolored layers showing through in blotchy patches where the topcoat appeared to have been eaten away by some sort of acidic liquid. One of the hub caps was missing, and two of the doors didn't match. Angela sighed and resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

"Let me guess…your new car."

Constantine nodded and gave her an expression surprisingly like a smile.

"Five hundred bucks at the junkyard. Don't you dare tell me it's illegal, Officer Angela."

She did roll her eyes then. There was just no helping it.

"Such the high class gentleman. Did you actually get your license reinstated?"

He dug into the pocket of his trench coat in response and pulled out a very battered wallet, then held up one of the flaps to show her the laminated card. She raised an eyebrow at him.

"Good for you. Now give me the keys. You are not driving that thing with me in it."

He shook his head, gave her a mock-hurt look, then dug into his pocket again and tossed the keys at her. She caught them, much to her own surprise, and walked around to the driver's side. The key ring was heavy with runes and protective symbols; there were only three actual keys on it, though the whole thing was full. She had to jiggle the key around in the lock for nearly a full minute before the driver's side door opened; she half expected the whole thing to fall off in her hands.

The seat was made of cracked vinyl, and promptly went flat when she sat down. There was a hole in the floor on the passenger side, and she watched in slight amusement as Constantine tried to find a way to arrange his long legs so as not to stick a foot out onto the road.

"Jesus," she muttered, "does this bucket of bolts fly?"

"What?" He looked confused.

"You know, like Star Wars?"

He shook his head.

"I never watched that stuff. Didn't need to. My own life was weird enough."

Angela smiled absently for lack of a better response and turned the key in the ignition. The thing sputtered and then roared to life, sounding as though the engine might blow out at any moment. She turned back to look at Constantine but found he was staring absently out the window. She had come to realize even in the short time she'd spent with him before that his gruff exterior was only a defense mechanism, a cover for the intensity of emotion just under the surface. She treasured the notion of the man under the façade, of the possibility that maybe, just maybe this new case would give her time enough with him to breach that shield.

"All right," she said at last. "You've got me in the car. Now where are we going?"

"Huh?" He turned back to her, eyes still distant. "Oh. My place. You know how to get there?"

"I found it in the first place didn't I?"

"Unfortunately for you," he muttered.

"John…."

"Sorry. Force of habit."

They sat in uneasy silence for the rest of the drive; Angela could see written all over his face that he had as many things to say to her as she to him, but the tension was too thick to be spoken through. The bowling alley seemed to come up unusually fast, traffic was horrendous as always and yet the time that they were in the car seemed to simply evaporate. She pulled the car into a parking space against the curb and got out, then paused, letting Constantine take the lead again. They were, after all, on his home turf.

They went inside, then paused again. He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous habit, then turned back to her.

"I uh…I wasn't exactly expecting company, but…"

Angela suppressed a grin, picturing the mess in his apartment. Possibly anything from week old pizza boxes in the trash to a bloody demon corpse on the floor. She shook her head and looked around the bowling alley which was in full swing.

"You know how to bowl?"

"Well of course," he muttered. "I only live above a fucking alley." He ran a hand through his hair again, slipped a hand inside his trench coat for his breast pocket. The hand came back out again a moment later, empty, and he grinned at her sheepishly. "Actually…I've always been terrible at it."

Angela smiled, picturing him bowling gutter ball after gutter ball. The sound of people yelling diverted her attention toward the lane nearest them, and she looked over just in time to see a balding man throw a ball so hard it bounced over into the lane next to him.

"I bet you're not as bad as that guy," said Angela, walking over to one of the tables overlooking the alley and motioning for him to follow.

"You might be surprised," he muttered, taking the seat across from her.

The man bowled again, this time in his own lane but at the wrong time. The ball hit the pinsetter, causing several alarms to start blaring angrily. The owner went running over, looking as though he wanted to use the man himself as a bowling ball.

"Nice spot," quipped Constantine, grinning wolfishly at her.

Angela smiled to herself, glad to see he was doing at least somewhat better.

"So," she said at last. "You wanted to talk to me. So talk."

Constantine sighed, then nodded.

"This case. Does it feel…off…to you?"

She eyed him, knowing that he was trying to get her to say it first.

"You think…the victim was possessed?"

He shook his head, gave her a disappointed look.

"No. A demon couldn't do physical damage like that. Not on our plane. Not by itself. And I don't think that could be a suicide, do you?"

Angela shook her head.

"No. There's no way you could cut a piece of your own skull. I mean…even if you tried, and if you h ad access to some kind of weapon that would be capable of…" She trailed off, sighed. "You'd pass out from the pain almost immediately."

"Right." He looked at her, his enthusiasm renewed. She had the sudden feeling that she was back in school again, under the gaze of an imperious professor.

Angela looked down at her hands, uncomfortable under his piercing gaze.

"What are you thinking?" she asked at last.

"You know what I'm thinking."

He leaned across the table, into her personal space. She resisted the urge to lean away from him this time. He was testing her, and she was determined not to give in to him like she had before.

"The murderer was possessed."

"Very good."

His voice was smug, filled with condescension as though he'd won some kind of private battle with her. She didn't like it one bit.

"Look, John, this is my case. It's a troubling case, yes, and I'm more than glad to have your help with it. But if you're going to patronize me like this I can just as easily ask you to leave. I don't take kindly to people who doubt my intelligence."

He said nothing to that, just sat watching her. She had the strange feeling that he was mentally dissecting her. Her cell phone beeped a moment later, making her jump and breaking the awkward silence between them. She picked it up and read the message, then pushed back her chair.

"That was Weiss. They've found a potential suspect. Charles M. Malone, a patient at Ravenscar with a room in the vicinity of the murder is missing."

Constantine snorted.

"Ravenscar…bad luck with the mental patients, huh?"

Angela gave him her worst look.

"Not funny."

She stood up and started for the door. Constantine didn't move.

"Are you staying or are you coming?" called Angela over her shoulder.

"Am I allowed to come?" He winked obnoxiously at her.

She narrowed her eyes at him, trying to decide whether or not to let that one slide.

"Are you going to behave?"

Wordlessly, he followed her out the door of the bowling alley.

Review please!

It's my last week of school. Wish me luck on finals.