Author's Note: Sorry for the long time without updates, guys. I've been out of town and internet speed was atrocious. So…one more to go after this. Enjoy.

Chapter 31

Hoh Rainforest, WA

October 31, 2005

12:39 A.M.

It was the sound of footsteps that brought Constantine back to consciousness. For a moment he couldn't remember where he was or why his heart was pounding so quickly. Then he realized they were still in the forest. It was raining hard now, and he couldn't seem to get warm. Angela was asleep beside him, her head on his thigh. Silently he cursed himself for falling asleep; he'd meant to stay awake and keep watch. There was no one else in sight, though he was sure he could hear movement all around.

The raindrops made disconcerting noises on the thick underbrush; Constantine would never be sure whether he was hearing the sound of water on an oversized Devil's Club leaf, or warning of an impending attack. It was ironically appropriate, really. He'd managed to conquer the supernatural over and over again, but every time he came up against Mother Nature he seemed destined to lose.

He was almost certain now that he was right; the energy about it just felt that way. And it was just too suspicious that the victims were all so tightly connected. Malone had been trying to warn them all of something, something they seemed all too familiar with. They'd all been in hiding somehow. They knew it was coming.

Again, read all the police reports of Malone's sightings. He'd been trying to warn them of something that had come back to finish them. He knew what was going on here. And he was the only one who'd survived so far.

"John?" Angela's voice brought him back to the present, and he helped her up with a hand on her back. She looked half dead, he thought, and a chill ran through him that had nothing to do with the rain.

"Easy," he muttered, putting an arm around her shoulders, though he was no warmer. "Take it slowly." She was shivering violently, couldn't seem to get her breath. Constantine felt the sudden urge to graze his own knuckles on the bark of the tree they were leaning against. Anything to dull the guilt.

"I'm going to die out here," she said softly, and he couldn't tell whether she was still dreaming. She was probably right, he thought though the words turned his blood to ice. For too long he'd been blinded by hope, hadn't wanted to look where the clues were leading. He should have figured it out back in Eugene, or at the very least at the movie theatre in Salem. Should have done something about it. But that would have been too damning, and so he'd clung to denial. If she died now, it would be his fault for allowing his heart carry him away from the truth.

"Why'd you say that?" he muttered, searching for anything comforting to say. At the moment there wasn't a whole hell of a lot he could come up with.

"They kill the Host," she whispered, and he realized she was still only half conscious. "When it's over. Always. Destroy the evidence."

"No they don't," insisted Constantine, though he knew she was partially right.

"Then why…they told me, John. All the ones before. They all died." She was talking about the ghosts, he realized suddenly. The ghosts of the others who had acted as Hosts for the spirits.

"Yes," he said slowly. "But I don't think…a spirit can't kill anyone, Angela. Not without using another body. The others killed themselves. Or they died of exhaustion. They weren't strong enough."

She shuddered again, and Constantine realized that she was crying. "I don't think…John, what makes me any different? What makes me strong enough?"

He started to answer, but choked on his own words as the sound of sticks breaking very nearby brought his heart to his throat. So it wasn't just the rain. Something alive had definitely made that sound. Something big. Slowly he got to his feet, wishing he had the Holy Shotgun with him.

"Show yourself," he called into the darkness. Probably not the best move, given that they were almost completely unarmed, but he decided he would rather not be surprised by whatever it was. "We will defend ourselves." It was laughable, really, but he was counting on the intruder not to know just how weak they were.

Slowly, haltingly, a man made his way into the clearing. The man whose face had been staring at them from supermarket newsstands for the past two weeks.

"Malone," growled Constantine, though he hardly thought the man posed any threat. Charlie looked even worse than he had at the movie theatre. There was blood caked on his hairline, and his shirt was in shreds. Even in the dark he looked pale.

"You," said Malone, his voice barely a whisper. Constantine realized he was looking at Angela.

"I know you," she whispered suddenly. "You…you were the one…" She broke off, shaking her head.

"What did you do, Charlie?" asked Constantine. He had to be sure he was right. If he wasn't, there was no guarantee that anything would stop.

"I…we…there were so many of them. They were so helpless. There was nothing that could really be done for them…but there was money to be made. We thought if we made them more vulnerable, they'd keep having to come back. Nobody would doubt our treatments, because they were crazy anyway."

"You posed as doctors," said Angela softly. Constantine turned and looked at her, unsure of whether she was reading Malone's mind, or voicing a memory of her own. "At Ravenscar. You said you had a miracle therapy for people plagued by visions of the other world. You just made things worse."

Malone nodded slowly. "It was all going so well…then some of them…some of them died. Some committed suicide. We never…we never intended for anyone to die."

"You opened them up to demonic possession," said Angela. "You treated Isabel."

"Yes," whispered Malone.

For a moment there was silence, then the sound of something else moving not far off. Malone stiffened.

"It's coming," he said, his eyes far off and unseeing.

Constantine whirled to look at Angela, caught a glimpse of something green and glowing through a hole in the tree behind her.

"Stay conscious," he said sharply. "Look at it. It can't control you as long as you know it's there."

"I'm going to die," murmured Angela again, and for a moment Constantine was tempted to kill Malone himself.

"Charlie," he said sharply. "It will find you. You know that. You can stop this."

Malone shook his head, looked at the ground. "I can't do that."

"Why?" insisted Constantine. "There's no one left for you. You knew when you did it that you'd have to pay eventually."

"I—I—"

There was another crack; a rotten tree came down across the path a few feet away, making them all jump. There were tears rolling down Malone's cheeks. Slowly, he pulled a knife from the pocket of his tattered pants.

"Yes," said Constantine. "Make it right."

Around them, the storm was picking up. The forest seemed alive with a fury of its own. Silently Malone sank to his knees. His gaze remained locked with Constantine's as he put the knife to first one wrist, then the other. He didn't even flinch. For a moment there was nothing but the wind howling, and then the forest went still.

It was the sound of Angela sobbing that broke Constantine's gaze at last, and he fell to his knees at her side, wrapping his arms around her. She was nearly unconscious from the cold and horror, but still very much alive. Suddenly Constantine couldn't be sure that the wetness on his face was from the rain.

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