Chapter 14
His fingers played lightly across her chest, stopping to tease the soft skin between her breasts, then moved down to her stomach.
Angela gritted her teeth and arched into his touch. She wanted him more than she had ever imagined possible, and the feelings were nothing short of frightening in their intensity. He was hard against her, she could feel it, and the knowledge made every cell of her body burn with desire. She grasped him by the hips and shifted against him a little. "It's all right. Go ahead."
Just kidding.
So, no one gave me any suggestions for the oneshot except that you all appear to want a bit of J/A. That in mind, I've started a piece which you will hopefully be seeing very soon.
Review offer still stands—10 reviews, I update next Saturday, less, I update in two weeks. If I get 10 reviews for another 2 chapters, I'll write you guys another oneshot.
Enjoy.
This bit of extreme randomness brought to you by a sneaking suspicion that no one ever reads my author's notes.
Bread and Roses Inn
Eureka, CA
October 15, 2005
11:35 P.M.
They had gathered in Angela's hotel room to discuss their options now that it appeared Malone had left California and moved further north. Constantine and Weiss stood on opposite sides of the small room, as far away from each other as could be managed in the tight space. Angela sat on the bed—symbolically, it seemed to her—in the middle. The tension in the air was so thick she felt she could reach out and scoop it up had she room enough in her palms.
"You are aware," said Weiss irritably, "that if Malone has in fact crossed state lines, this case will most likely be passed on to the Oregon police department."
"Yes," said Angela grimly, staring at the map spread out on the table in front of them. She knew that this should be the point at which they simply let it go, allowed it to be someone else's problem, and yet she knew that would be impossible. She'd seen too much carnage already, too much bloodshed, too many lives lost. She also knew that another set of investigators had little prayer of solving such a case—not that she much considered herself up to the task, but at least she wasn't kidding herself as to what they were dealing with here.
"Hell," said Constantine, breaking the awkward silence that had fallen, "it was never in my juris-dick-tion to begin with."
Angela snorted at that despite herself—it was unprofessional, yes, but the territory wars between precincts had grown childish in her eyes years ago.
"So now we're going to turn around and go right back home," said Weiss definitively. "We have no place on this investigation anymore, and I'm sure I've got a shitload of legitimate things needing attention on my desk at the precinct."
Angela stood at this, incensed. The word "legitimate" had hit a nerve.
"Like what, Xavier? Football games which need watching? People are dying and right now we've got the best set of leads. We can't just give up."
"Sure we can," argued Constantine harshly. "Label the case 'unsolved' and turn our backs on it. Bury it in the base of the filing cabinet and pretend we never knew it happened. Or didn't you know that that's standard procedure in our beautiful free country?"
"Now that certainly isn't—" started Weiss.
"But it is, Xavier," insisted Angela, at once realizing what Constantine had been trying to do. "You've always scorned those who do it, and now you're suggesting that we bend over backwards and join the ranks of the rotten."
"And what do you suggest we do?" asked Weiss, sounding uncertain for the first time in the conversation.
"Go along," said Angela firmly. "Follow Malone until we can get a better handle on what's going on here."
"And just ignore our orders?"
"No," she continued, "we'll acknowledge them. We'll offer our services to whoever has been given the lovely task of picking up the case."
"And if they don't want our services?"
Angela sighed, steeled shoulders.
"Tough luck. We're along for the ride whether they like it or not. Now if you two will excuse me, I'd like to pack. Oh, and book a flight for us while you're at it."
McDonald's
Eugene, OR
October 16, 2005
12: 16 A. M.
Charlie had gained a little time by risking the flight. He could feel it. This was a move his pursuers would not have expected—well, the human ones wouldn't have, anyway. Maybe, just maybe, he'd have time to warn them all.
It was cold in Oregon, colder than he'd expected, and he was running out of cash. He'd bought the plane ticket with the last of his large bills; his pockets bulged with ones, though he knew they wouldn't last long at the rate he was going. He still had hundreds of miles to travel if he was going to have a prayer of warning them all. Another flight would be in order, and he didn't know where that money was going to come from. He definitely didn't have time to get a job.
Charlie sighed. There was no time for anything anymore. This would almost certainly be the end of him, but it might just be worth it if he could get there in time—it might just be the redemption he needed.
Olivia Marquez worked making French fries in McDonald's. She was the youngest girl Charlie had ever spoken to, far too young to be involved in all of this. She'd dropped out of high school, never bothered with college—now her future was sealed. A lifetime of minimum wage and unflattering uniforms soaked in sweat and grease.
The door creaked loudly and banged against the opposing wall as Charlie pulled it open and made his way inside. Instantly his nostrils were assaulted with the smells of stale ketchup and uncleaned restrooms. He gagged and clapped a hand over his mouth. It was well past midnight, and everyone looked dead-eyed. He could see Olivia behind the counter, her back to him, her long hair matted and plastered to her back. She was leaning over a pan of yellow fries, shaking the oil off of them.
Charlie made his way to the nearest cash register and forced himself to look the cashier in the eye. He felt a stab of anxiety suddenly, though he knew it was unfounded.
"Olivia!" he called, earning himself several odd looks. Unwanted attention was the last thing he needed right now, but it was perhaps the only way to get his information across.
She whirled, recognized him. He saw it in her face, in her eyes, though her dark skin never paled, her painted lips never tipped to betray emotion one way or another.
"Olivia, listen to me."
"Sir, you're going to have to leave," said a burly man standing behind the counter. "This establishment is for customer's only, and it's well past closing time."
"Olivia, you've got to get out."
"Sir, leave at once or I am calling the police."
Ice surged through Charlie's veins.
"It's happening again. Get OUT!"
"Sir, you really have gone too far." The man's hand reached for the phone—Charlie could see his fingers pressing down on the keys—9-1-1—as if in slow motion.
He turned, bumping hard into the counter, and stumbled out the door.
Come join Astral Light: A Constantine Fan Forum!