Author's Note: So…I decided that I will post today instead of waiting another week. Maybe I'll work it like this—an update every other week no matter what, a weekly update if I get 10 reviews. Sound good? So, you guys did give me ten again last chapter…so now you get to make suggestions for a oneshot. I've already said I won't do slash or terribly graphic smut…I will do fluff or humor though. So…be creative.

Oh, and...thanks for 100 reviews. You make me feel very loved.

Chapter 13

The Red Light

Eureka, CA

October 15, 2005

11:29 A.M.

The club was uncharacteristically quiet, closed down by police officers and Crime Scene tape outside both doors. The employees stood around looking sullen, and every now and then a confused patron could be heard arguing with, sometimes swearing at, the guards in the street.

Constantine stared blankly at one of the dancers who was rather obviously making eyes at him and attempted to keep his mind on the case. He was used to attention from women, usually enjoyed it as much as the next man, but at the moment all it did was serve to make him uncomfortable. It had been a very long time since he'd felt anything other than a sort of bored lust for anyone that he almost didn't know how to approach his emotions. And emotional confusion was the last thing any of them needed on a case like this.

"This way," said Angela over her shoulder, turning back toward the main entrance and motioning for Constantine to follow.

They made their way out past the stiff young police officers guarding the front entrance and around the side of the club. A narrow alleyway was mostly concealed behind a pair of large green dumpsters overflowing with trash. The smell was overpowering; it made his stomach roll dangerously. John Constantine was not ordinarily squeamish, but somehow his defenses seemed to be lacking in efficiency lately. It was almost impossible to tell that this waste-filled area contained a door in, but it did.

"The killer came in through here?" asked Constantine quietly.

Angela nodded as she picked her way through. She'd described her nightmare to him on the way over in vivid detail, and he felt almost as though he was seeing the crime through her eyes. The dreams were taking a toll on her, he knew, and he regretted leaving after she'd fallen asleep. He'd been tempted to stay, but too afraid of the implications such an action would have.

The door into the back of the club was so grimy it could have blended in perfectly with the ground had it not been vertical. It opened with a nasty screeching noise, the sound of metal grating on metal like nails on a chalkboard. Angela winced, and Constantine felt a sudden pang of sympathy for her. He stepped in front of the officer who'd opened it and took hold of the door, his hand hovering over the small of her back, not quite touching as Angela went through. He was disgusted with himself for acting so protective, but the gesture seemed natural somehow.

Inside, a toilet had overflowed all the way down the hall, raw sewage and rotting vomit matting the carpet. Angela led the way down the hall, covering her mouth with a hand and walking quickly. Weiss was standing with another officer in a small room at the very back of the club. As they entered, Constantine could see a body slumped between a ratty couch and a sticky table covered in broken glass.

"Do we have an I.D.?" asked Angela, all business.

Weiss nodded and came over to meet them.

"Walter Bryce. He owned the club, as well as a few other…less than respectable establishments."

Constantine nodded silently. He'd been expecting this, as he knew Angela also had. Walter Bryce was the next name on the list he'd found at the Bakersfield crime scene, in the date book of the as-yet unconfirmed Ben Skinner.

Going over to kneel beside the body, Constantine felt his stomach twist. The man smelled of alcohol; even his blood reeked of it. He had the feeling that this man wouldn't have lived much longer anyway, but there was still something wrong here. He detected a sort of latent astral image of the killer, like bad karma in a former war zone. There was definitely a supernatural element to this case; he was sure of it.

"Same killer," said Angela, leaning over the body opposite Constantine.

"Same MO," said Weiss. "And get this. Yesterday morning, before Bryce came in for the day, guess who showed up here looking for him?"

"Malone?"

"Bingo."

Angela nodded slowly, then shook herself.

"Let's get out of here. I've seen all I need to see."

Bread and Roses Inn

7:38 P.M.

Back at the hotel, Constantine sat on the bed and puzzled over the list of names once more. They had to be related somehow. He was nearly certain that this was the list of victims, but he had no idea how they were related.

Maddie Neese, a mental patient.

Ben Skinner, a traveling salesman.

Walter Bryce, the owner of a club.

Several more names.

The connection had to be there, but so far the only common link was Charles Malone, who seemed to show up in the vicinity each time. Still, Constantine got the sense that Malone was more of a pawn in this plot than any player with actual power. Whatever was killing these people was much more malicious than a man with an uncontrollable temper.

There was a knock on the door, and Constantine hastily shoved the piece of paper back into his coat pocket.

"Who is it?" he called without bothering to get up just yet.

"Housekeeping," came Angela's voice through the door.

"Hi, Mom," quipped Constantine, opening it for her. Angela rolled her eyes at him and brushed past, sitting on the bed without asking.

"Got a call from the precinct," she said briskly. "News."

"It's like Christmas," he answered dryly, leaning toward her. She glared at him like she was ready to get up and walk back out, and he decided he'd better behave just a little nicer. "Do tell."

"Malone's name appeared in an airline record this morning. It seems he's flown to Oregon."

"Using his own name?"

Angela shrugged.

"He doesn't seem to be covering his tracks very well. Maybe he wants to be caught. Or wants us to follow him to something else."

Constantine nodded slowly but said nothing, sensing she wasn't finished.

"There's more," she said predictably. "My superiors at home feel that this case will be best handled by the Oregon PD now. I've been asked to return home as soon as possible and leave the case in their hands."

Constantine sighed. This was a predictable, if not favorable turn of events.

"Are you going to?"

"Hell no."

"Then that wasn't the only news."

"Forensics results are in from the second victim. And we have a murder weapon this time."

"Oh, exciting," said Constantine, voice completely devoid of emotion. In truth he was more than glad to have an excuse to keep talking to her, but there was no way he could let that show. It just wasn't…well, him. "Scalpel-happy doc there. Next-day results."

"John…"

"Okay, morbid humor aside…" He sat down beside her, leaning over to look at the papers she was holding. He noticed with some satisfaction that she did not move away as she had before when Weiss had been present.

"Morbid humor aside, it's definitely the same killer. Same MO."

"And? What does this tell us that we didn't know before?"

"There was one small difference between this death and the first."

"I can't stand the suspense."

Angela narrowed her eyes at him, shook her head. He couldn't tell if she was annoyed with him or amused.

"Autopsy results show that Neese was killed by a bone saw most likely from the Ravenscar morgue. But the weapon was never found, understandably, as it would be easy to simply take it back to the morgue and dispose of it in hazardous waste. Skinner was killed with a much less specialized saw, causing the bits of bone and tissue that we observed at the scene. The saw was found under the bed in the victim's room and has been identified as one of the hotel's maintenance tools. There was also a large knife recovered from the scene at the club. It is believed to be the weapon used to murder Bryce, though an autopsy will confirm it."

Constantine nodded thoughtfully. There was something off about this killer. Too much evidence left behind for a case like this.

"Fingerprints?" he asked hopefully.

Angela shook her head.

"You think there would be?" she countered.

Constantine shrugged.

"Oddly enough, I do."

"So you think the killer is human?" She looked up at him, leaning closer, and he felt decidedly uncomfortable.

"I…yes. And no. Whoever it is is disposing of the murder weapons, not taking them away. That's risky. If the killer were purely supernatural…there would be no need for weapons."

Angela nodded slowly.

"So you think…what? A supernatural being using the body of a human?"

"I think that's likely, yes."

She sighed, looked at the floor.

"But then…if the killer is possessed…he…or she…might have no knowledge…"

"Exactly."

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