II.
Constantine opened the door to his lonely apartment above the Bowl Bowl Bowl. Since Beeman, Hennessy and Chaz were dead, everything was empty. His apartment, his life, his heart. He grabbed the bottle of whiskey that stood on the table in the middle of the long room and opened it, pouring the liquid into a glass. He drained it immediately in one long sip and brought the glass down heavily. He put his head into his hands and yawned. Life was damned, especially his own life. And it was boring. Since Mammon's try to make his way into the human world with the help of the arch angel Gabriel, things have been different. There was not so much soul traffic as before and the devil himself now took care about unwanted soldier demons here on earth. The desperate tries of his very own son had made him aware of the necessity to keep an eye on things like that.
But to Constantine, this felt as if there was more to it. There had always been demons on earth and only those who overstepped the border were deported back to hell by him. And now he only seldom saw any demons at all.
Constantine missed the regular fights with the demons, but since the horrid events of the last month, he was quite glad that things were as they were. The balance was – to some extend – re-established and both sides, angels and demons, stuck to the plan. It was almost ridiculous but John didn't feel like laughing. The coughing was gone and with it the cancer, but it was not it. There was more to it than John would have ever admitted to himself or anyone else, but his heart yearned for something else…
He still thought of the woman he had just met and wondered why. After all, she was probably just a Half-Breed or something like that. Although, something strange was about her, something he could not fully grasp.
"She's definitely not a Half-Breed…" he muttered to himself as he poured himself another glass of whiskey. Breathing in and out, he glanced down into his glass and clenched his jaws. His head suddenly began to hurt and he had to close his eyes for a moment.
There was a knock on the door, or at least Constantine thought that there was. It reminded him so much of Beeman and his regular visits when he brought him his coughing suppressant and some interesting demon-fighting stuff and sometimes received a little thank-you for that. But it couldn't possibly have been Beeman. Beeman was dead, killed by Balthasar. John still had a couple of silly things to play with in a cupboard over there in the corner of the large room. His eyes gazed over them, touching each one tenderly in his thoughts and then stopped at a picture of Angela. He hadn't seen her in a couple of months after he had given her the spear of destiny for her to keep.
Then there was another knock on the door. This time Constantine recognized it. Lazily he got up from the table and went over to open the door. The door chain was still locked, so the door did not open fully when he pulled the handle. All Constantine saw was amazingly deep black eyes in a pale white face, surrounded by long blond hair. And he also saw a very sad smile on this face.
"What in hell…" he said and finally pulled the door chain away. The door opened wide and the woman who he had fought only a few hours ago stepped in. Even though her eyes displayed an eternal sadness, her face showed her confidence and self-esteem so clearly that Constantine did not manage to make himself stop her from entering his apartment.