Author's Note: The hotel in these next few chapters is fictitious; I had started out with a real one, but figured there was no point in insulting a place where I'd never actually been.

So…one more time. I'll write a separate one-shot if I get 10 reviews per chapter for the next three chapters, or 15 reviews per chapter for the next two.

Chapter 7

Sunny Days Inn

Bakersfield, California

3:41 P.M.

October 13, 2005

The car was running low on gas. Again. Charlie had already blown most of his emergency store of cash on buying the vehicle, and on the first two tanks of fuel, which apparently leaked out much faster than they got used. No wonder the car had been so cheap. Apparently the man who'd sold it to him hadn't been quite as honest as he'd appeared. He felt a pang of guilt at the thought of the man, lying facedown in the car dealership's parking lot, but he couldn't be bothered with that right now. There were more important things at stake. Much more important.

Charlie had stopped at a pay phone to make his phone call, had gotten a voicemail as he'd expected. A message of travel plans as usual. A message that had led him to Bakersfield, to the Sunny Days Inn, a cheap little place with scraggly looking palm trees out front. Charlie parked the car and hurriedly made his way inside. The last thing he needed was to stick around in open areas. He was relatively certain no one would be on his trail just yet—at least no one, well, typical— but there was no telling. Better to be safe than sorry.

Cool air blasted out into the humid summer day as he opened the doors, and he had the sudden feeling that he was walking into a wind tunnel. He shivered. There was a small table off to the left of the doorway with some wilted doughnuts and a pitcher of pungent instant coffee. Probably hadn't been changed in a week, thought Charlie. The clerk at the small desk was watching something on a television monitor in the corner of the room, and appeared to be half asleep. Charlie guessed that if he pushed the girl, she would fall over without waking up.

"Excuse me?" he said loudly.

The girl's eyelids fluttered and she yawned obnoxiously in his face, chewing a piece of gum quite visibly.

"Wha?"

"I'm looking for Ben Skinner. His voicemail message said he was staying here."

"Look, my shift just started. I dunno nothing about your guy, Mister."

Charlie sighed. She obviously hadn't just started her shift, unless she was habitually comatose.

"Could you look it up for me, please?"

She gave a long-suffering sigh, cracked her gum at him and reached under the counter to retrieve the record book.

"Looks like…he checked in last night, has a room through tomorrow morning. What you here to see him for?"

"Uh…business," said Charlie hastily.

The girl narrowed her eyes at him.

"Hey, look, Mister, this is a respectable establishment. I give you his room number, I don't wanna hear about no funny business goin' on up there."

Charlie rolled his eyes.

"Okay, just give me the damn number!" He forced himself to breathe slowly. Anger wouldn't get him anywhere. Not now.

"Room 303. Up that staircase." She raised her arm about two inches off the counter to point.

Charlie didn't wait for her to say anything else. He turned and sprinted up the stairs, coughing as the exertion hit his lungs. He hadn't had any exercise to speak of in a very long time. The door was the first on his left at the top of the stairwell, and he pounded on it with his fist.

"Ben? Ben! Open up, Ben, it's important!"

The door flew open a moment later, revealing a pair of fiery blue eyes.

"Charlie?" Ben Skinner was tall, blond, and disgustingly handsome. Charlie always had been jealous of him. But that didn't matter now. Only one thing mattered.

"Let me in, Ben. I need to talk to you."

Ben's expression changed at the tone of Charlie's voice, and he stepped aside slowly. There was only one reason Charlie would be here on such short notice. He wouldn't have left the safety of Ravenscar without a damn good reason. Probably. Then again, Charlie always had been a little eccentric.

"What is it?"

"It's happening. It's happening again."

Ben narrowed his eyes, sat on the bed.

"How do you know?"

"I know. I-I saw it."

"That's impossible and you know it," answered Ben stubbornly. "I'm not going to give up everything I've worked for because you've gone paranoid."

"Maddie is dead, Ben. I saw it with my own eyes."

"People die," insisted Ben. "She never did take very good care of herself."

"No, not like that. Murdered. Like…like before." Charlie felt the anger start to boil up in the pit of his stomach again. Why couldn't Ben just listen to him? He didn't have time for this.

Ben shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Charlie. I might have believed you once. But that was a long time ago. Now…now I think you'd better go."

The condescension in his voice was so obvious it turned Charlie's blood to liquid fire. He spun and rushed out of the room, swallowing his rage. If Ben wouldn't listen then he didn't have the time to waste. There were others who needed to be warned.

Room 102

Sunny Days Inn

Bakersfield, CA

11:31 P.M.

Angela sat on the hard hotel bed, staring at the static-filled television screen and listening to Constantine cough through the wall. There was something not right about this hotel, though she couldn't quite put her finger on what. It had been the first decent-looking one they'd come to, and Constantine had insisted they stop. In hindsight, she wondered if he'd felt it too, and if he'd purposely chosen it to put them in a strategic position. She knew she should go to sleep, but her mind just wouldn't seem to clear.

She sat up further at the sound of water running in the next room and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Constantine had insisted on staying in the room adjoining hers, forcing Weiss into one across the hall. Angela wasn't sure why he was suddenly so concerned for her safety, but it made her nervous. She could see light coming under the door from his room; he was still awake. She made up her mind, went over to it, and knocked.

"John?"

He opened the door a moment later, still coughing a little. He stepped aside and beckoned her in. Angela smiled as she noticed the mess; only he could wreck a hotel room in a few hours. The covers were pulled down on the bed, the comforter on the floor. Chinese food takeout containers were spread all over the small bedside table, along with a plate soaked in grease.

"Couldn't sleep?" he asked at last, sitting on the bed.

Angela narrowed her eyes at him.

"Not with the racket coming through my wall." She smiled at him, just a little. "I thought you said you'd been back to the doctor."

He turned away from her and stuffed a piece of gum in his mouth, chomping down hard.

"Have been. Got ambushed by your people at that goddamn hospital, remember?"

Angela sighed.

"All right, all right. Sorry." She paused, sat down beside him, curling her feet under her. "So?"

"So?"

"So what did you find out?"

"I have…a respiratory infection. Jesus, who are you, my mother?"

"Where'd this mood come from?" she asked, slightly taken aback. She was used to his attitude, but she'd thought he was finally starting to open up earlier that afternoon in the car. She shrugged. "You could use someone to take care of you the way you treat yourself."

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

"Just…" Angela shook her head. "Nevermind."

She got up and went over to the window, looking out at the parking lot which was lit by fluorescent floodlights. She wasn't sure why she felt so drawn to him, but there was something there, something about the darkness that seemed to hang over his shoulders. She wished she could see him smile more often.

"Look…" he said at last. "You…doing okay with all of this?"

The question sounded gruff, unnatural on his lips, but she appreciated the fact that he was going out of his way for her. It wasn't usual for him. She sighed.

"I…It's a tough case. We'll figure it out. We always do." It wasn't what he meant and she knew it, but she wasn't ready to admit that she was having a hard time adjusting to her renewed Sight.

"You're not sleeping," he said softly.

Angela turned to find him looking intently at her. He was right, there hadn't been a single night since the incident at Ravenscar when her sleep hadn't been interrupted by nightmares. Dreams of cold-blooded murder, of war, of death. Half the time, when she walked into the precinct the next morning, she was faced with the reality of the previous night in the form of a new case.

"Neither are you," she countered. "But then that's not new for you, is it."

He met her gaze for one dark, smoldering moment, then got up and went over to her.

"No. It's not." He stood up, went over to her, leaned in until he was only a few inches away. Angela felt a thrill run down her spine.

"It's late, John. Get some rest."

Constantine smirked just a little and took a step forward. He reached out and clapped her on the back, then pulled her closer, turning the gesture into a rough embrace. Angela blinked, too surprised to really react. He'd moved away before she had a chance to return the hug, and she was hit with a pang of disappointment. She turned and walked toward the door.

"Good night, John."

"'Night," he muttered, flopping down on the bed and switching on the television.

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