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26. Hell
Movie Paradise
Salem, OR
October 25, 2005
12:01 A.M.
Angela crouched against the wall, breathing hard. She squeezed her eyes shut and willed her mind to somehow make sense of the situation. The air clung to her clammily, sending chilly fingers over her skin. She was somehow without a jacket and this struck her as odd above everything else. She reasoned she had to have come here of her own accord, though she had absolutely no memory of ever leaving the hotel. There was only the dream in her mind.
Wetness on her arm brought her back into awareness and her stomach turned dangerously as she caught sight of the sparkle of blood in the parking lot floodlights. Only then did she register pain, and she pressed the heel of her hand into the cut to staunch the flow.
The sound of sirens nearly made her jump out of her skin, and she was suddenly very aware that she was all but standing in a spotlight. Regardless of how she'd gotten there, she sure as hell didn't have any justification worth a second glance. And there was only one way the police were going to see it.
Small, cold droplets of rain began misting down again as Angela ducked into the alley beside the movie theatre. She was wearing only a tanktop and jeans, and knew already that she was in serious trouble. The cut on her arm was long and deep; she could tell by the flow of blood. For a few seconds she savored the hope that she'd somehow brought her cell phone, but a search of her pockets yielded only dryer lint.
A dry, raspy sound caught her attention, and Angela turned to see a bundle of rags at the other end of the alley starting to move. She tensed, reached instinctively for her gun, then realized that she was entirely defenseless. If she ran out of the alley she'd be caught by the police; if she stayed she would be forced to face whatever was under those blankets.
A head emerged from under the filthy pile, and a face nearly obscured by hair. Angela stood back and held her breath as a man appeared, dressed in all but rags, covered in the filth of the alley. For a moment she managed to convince herself that he wasn't likely to try and harm her, and that even if he did she'd be able to defend herself. She was a cop, after all. Then the man looked at her. And she realized his eyes were glowing red.
The halfbreed lunged forward and Angela's hand flew instinctively to her neck. The amulet was still there, but as the cold metal dug into the palm of her hand she couldn't help wondering just how far its protection would go. Learning to See again was one thing, knowing how to protect herself was something she hadn't even begun to consider. She closed her eyes for a split second, feeling dizzy, and suddenly she was back in the hydrotherapy room, the demon's hands around her neck. She felt her legs give, the grit of asphalt biting into the skin of her knees.
Fighting the blackness of pain and exhaustion, Angela forced her eyes open. The halfbreed was standing over her, its eyes glowing like a pair of hot coals. Angela clutched the amulet as hard as she could, biting her lip as she felt it draw blood. She was dimly aware of the cut on her arm throbbing, and wondered for a moment just how much blood she'd already lost. As the smell of sulfur turned her stomach, the halfbreed's face exploded. Angela fell backward in shock, the pavement cutting into her already-battered hands. Her head hit the wall, and for a moment everything went black.
"Angela." Someone was shaking her shoulders, breathing down her neck. She had a dull sense of recognition through the pain. "Angela, get up. We don't have time for this."
"Fuck you," she spat, as Constantine hauled her to her feet. Her head was still spinning, but the pain had receded to a level at which she could be semi-aware of the rest of the world. The halfbreed was crouched against the wall, clutching its melting face. Its fingers sizzled as they came into contact with the remaining holy water. Struggling out of Constantine's grasp, Angela turned and retched into the alley.
"Come on," growled Constantine as the halfbreed began struggling back to its feet.
"Can't go out there," she muttered, struggling to regain her balance.
"Sure we can," said Constantine. As she watched, he dug around in the pocket of his trench and pulled out another vial of holy water. He doused the halfbreed again and grabbed the creature by the arm, surprising Angela with his strength. He threw the demon out of the alley, and ducked back. Within seconds two police officers appeared, just visible beyond the wall, and began wrestling with the halfbreed.
"Go," said Constantine, and pushed Angela out of the alley. She clenched her teeth and sprinted as hard as she could, too distracted with pain even to pray.
They managed to make it back to the hotel, though the how was all a blur of street noise and nausea in Angela's mind. The world seemed to spin interminably, stopping some time after she was seated on the bed with a wet towel wrapped around her shoulder and Constantine's arm against her back. He was supportive enough, but she could tell he was angry in the tension of his body.
"What the hell were you doing there?" he demanded at last, deeming her recovered enough to face up.
"I…" Angela trailed off, uncertain of what to tell him. The rational part of her brain said she should tell him the whole truth, but she couldn't bring herself to admit such an extraordinary weakness to him. She knew he already thought she was losing her footing in the case, admitting she didn't know how she'd gotten several miles away from the hotel would more than confirm his suspicions. "I had another dream. I went to investigate."
"Without telling me?"
"You're sick," said Angela, though he hardly seemed unwell at all anymore. "I didn't want to wake you."
"Right," said Constantine, the biting sarcasm back in his voice. "And then what? You ran into a door?"
"I—"
"You're not a fucking battered housewife, Angela."
Angela pulled away from him, hurt. She knew she was being ridiculous, and that she'd already violated his trust by lying so blatantly, but the comment still stung.
"You don't know anything about me," she spat. "Not really."
"Okay. Fine." He got up and stalked over to the door, crossing his arms. Everything about his body language screamed war. For the moment, she didn't care. "I do know that you're lying to me. And that it's going to get one or both of us killed."
"John—"
"I'm done, Angela," he said firmly, opening the door. "It's your call now."
"John!" She was painfully aware of how needy her own voice sounded, but she couldn't stand the thought of being left alone. Her entire body seemed to be pulsing with agony, and the eyes of the halfbreed seemed to be burned into her mind.
"Make sure you clean that cut," he said mockingly. "Wouldn't want to get an infection."
He slammed the door, and Angela lay back against the bed, pressing her face into the pillow as sobs shook her body.
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