Author's Note: I posted a Halloween fic yesterday called Crumbs. It's kinda a drabble, but check it out if you want.

Next update at 20 reviews, or Tuesday, November 8.

Chapter 24

Movie Paradise

Salem, OR

October 24, 2005

3:00 P.M.

There was nothing even half decent playing. But then, it was obvious that the theatre had seen better days. Though the peeling metallic paint suggested shiny new movies, the building had been retired to a second-run dollar theatre. The entire staff seemed positively comatose, and Constantine found himself wanting to check and make sure they weren't zombies. Sometimes he thought he wouldn't be surprised to find Corporate America taking advantage of the undead. Instead he settled on buying a large soda and a tub of butter-drowned popcorn from the concession before returning to the small lobby table he was sharing with Angela.

"If that gets within a foot of me—" she warned, without looking up from the screen of her cell phone. Constantine couldn't see it from his vantage point, but he had a feeling she was playing games on it. Ridiculous though the whole situation was, he couldn't blame her. They'd been sitting in the rundown lobby for nearly three hours now, waiting for Malone to show after a couple of very lucky phone calls had located their next potential victim.

"Not hungry?" he teased, though he knew it was probably a very bad idea.

"Not for that poison."

Constantine could practically smell his own skin smoking under the look she gave him. He sighed and glanced back at the concession, where a tolerably attractive blonde was pouring drinks for a couple of pimply teen boys. He didn't really care for her, he'd had enough of beautiful empty headed women, but he found the looks Angela gave him as a result of his staring rather pleasing.

"Would you stop that already?" said Angela, snapping her cell phone cover shut rather more violently than necessary.

"What?" asked Constantine, feigning distraction.

"Oh, come on."

"I'm doing research!" said Constantine, suddenly noticing that she was eyeing his popcorn tub. "We have no idea which one of these women might be Katie Maynes."

"Right," said Angela, rolling her eyes. "Research. I'd bet on the one taking tickets." She cocked her head in the direction of a graying redhead, well past her prime though obviously once very pretty. Angela sighed and turned back across the table to look at Constantine, who was once again lost in his popcorn. "Gimme some of that."

"Thought you didn't want any," teased Constantine, but he slid his chair around the table and watched as she attempted to pick out the least buttery pieces. At this proximity he found himself distracted by her despite his best efforts. Her hair was loose and curly, and for a moment he was tempted to run his fingers through it.

"John."

Constantine jumped a little at the sound of her voice, realizing suddenly that he'd been staring. He opened his mouth to defend himself, but Angela held up a hand for silence. He realized she was watching something over his shoulder. Slowly, Constantine turned to see a man arguing with the woman at the ticket window. Constantine started to get up, but Angela stopped him with a hand on his wrist.

"Wait."

"What? We're gonna miss him."

"No we're not." Angela gestured back to the window. "He's coming in. He wouldn't be making such a fuss over buying a ticket if he didn't need to get inside."

Constantine looked again and realized that she was right. Malone appeared to be gesturing with his wallet. The theatre, for all of its shortcomings, seemed to be overcompensating in security. Customers weren't allowed more than two feet inside the lobby doors before being accosted by a militaristic ticket-taker.

As they watched, Malone flipped the salesgirl the bird and strode firmly into the lobby. The angular old ticket-taker came huffing and puffing up, looking as if he might explode should anyone disobey him. Malone attempted to walk by, but was intercepted.

"Excuse me sir," said the ticket-taker in a voice that sounded as though it might have been dropped out of any one of the second-run movies showing at the theatre. "You'll have to show me your ticket now."

"I'm not here to see a movie," said Malone, "I just need to speak with someone over there."

"You'll have to buy a ticket to come inside, sir," insisted the ticket-taker. "This lobby is for customers only."

"I'm not buyin' a fucking ticket to come in and talk to my friend," said Malone, his voice rising.

"Then you'll have to leave," said the ticket-taker, and began reaching for the radio that was hooked onto his belt. Malone didn't wait to be told again. Instead, he roughly pushed the ticket-taker aside. The man crashed through the ropes and landed hard on his back. He didn't get up.

"Katie!" Malone made his way toward the blonde behind the concession. She looked up, and her eyes widened as recognition dawned. The cup she'd been filling with soda overflowed, little dark droplets forming on the pale skin of her arm. Suddenly she didn't look so young anymore, or so attractive. She looked downright scared.

"Charlie. You can't be here. And that man—god, what did you do?" She sounded like she might cry.

"Katie, listen to me. You've got to get out of here. You must've heard by now."

"I did, I just…Charlie, is it true? The other, they're all—" Katie broke off, her voice going thin.

"It's true. And you're next if you don't get the fuck out of here."

A couple of uniformed security guards came running up to the ticket window. Malone whirled, his eyes going wide. Constantine was on his feet immediately, his chair crashing to the floor behind him. The last thing they needed was for Malone to get arrested again. They had identified the next victim, but Constantine was certain the killings would not stop until the list had been completed.

"Go!" he yelled. Malone gave him a strange look, then took off out the other door. Constantine jumped the barricade to confront the security guards. "There was a man in here! He punched out that guy and then ran into the theatres!" The guards took off up the ramp to the nearest theatre, and Constantine went to join Angela, who was kneeling over the unconscious ticket-taker.

"That was too easy," she muttered.

"He alive?"

"Yeah. Probably got a nasty concussion thought."

Constantine grabbed her arm. "Come on. Let's get out of here before the police arrive."

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