A/N1: BAH, wow, this was an evil wait for an update, I know. But I actually have a valid reason. I had Finals, and I figured not failing took slight precedence over my fic. I know, blasphemy. In my next update, I'll give you all links to my vids so any of you guys who wanted to see them can. I would now but it'd take too long to put them back on and I figure you guys want your update. :P So here it is, without further ado… And long, too! XD So R&R, and remember, critique encouraged!
Angela: Well this case is going well…
Me: You get so easily discouraged in it!
Angela: I don't usually.
Dameon: (Scoffs) As if I'd affect your work that much. I mean, all I did was press you against an alley wall…
John: Dameon… run.
Dameon: O.O Meep!
That Going-to-Hell-Thing
Her work consumed Angela that day, just as it always did. If you were a serious cop, it always would, especially in Homicide.
Michael Braddock was brought in immediately from New Mexico, but with all the trouble of working with the other state and shipping him via airline, it was already late, late afternoon—almost evening—when he arrived. The Medical Examiner's report wasn't ready yet, either, although the CSI report found some interesting things. There were no fingerprints at the crime scene, which might or might not have suggested premeditation. Fibers of a tweed coat and two strands of short, blond hair had been found, however. Also, it was a definite that Alicia Bennet had not been killed in that alleyway but brought in afterwards, stashed there.
Original.
While the other two members of the Homicide Group, two lieutenants, went over and over the evidence and what could be learned from forensics, Detective Steven Cambell, from the Sex Crimes division, saw to the results of the rape kit—conducted earlier on the victim. In the meanwhile, Detectives Angela Dodson and Xavier Weiss questioned Braddock.
There seemed to be nothing.
"I told you, I was with my parents," he said to Angela for what must have been the twentieth time. "I've been there for almost a week. Now, unless I'm being charged with something, can I please get the fuck out of here?"
From behind the two-way mirror, the Captain, a man in his late 60's with graying hair and a thick build, spoke. "Can we charge him?"
"The parents back up his alibi," Weiss answered, watching his partner work from behind the glass.
"Parents aren't always known for their truthfulness in these matters."
"The neighbors back him up too. It looks like he really wasn't here."
Afterwards, Angela said to the Captain, Stephen Mallaine, and Weiss, "I don't think he did it." Not only was there his somewhat shaky alibi, but also the fact that Angela had seen guilty men before, plenty of them. She could feel when a man was guilty, and not solely because of her experience with deadly criminals. Her psychic abilities often clued her in. Braddock just didn't have the traces of influence surrounding him.
This guy wasn't who they were looking for.
"Go back over everything," Mallaine ordered. "Look at what you might've overlooked. There's always something."
They tried Cindy again first.
Sitting in a fetal position on her fruit-punch-red, leather look-alike couch, she looked up at the detectives, standing before her like a grim, weathered, unbreakable brick wall. "Look, I told you everything I know."
There was a lost look about her, and there were faded gray rivers painted down her cheeks—eyeliner that had run and then refused to wash off.
"We just thought there might be something, anything you missed," Angela said.
"Anything you could tell us, anything at all, would help," added Weiss.
"She was my best friend," Cindy said, her voice breaking, tears breaking out of her eyes like prisoners from a federal detention center. She stood, trying to be strong even as she hugged herself, looking small and lost in a baby blue pajama set of a cotton tank top and satin, lace-edged capris. "Don't you think I'd tell you everything I knew? What the hell do you take me for?"
Apparently, she was nearing the anger stage of grief.
"Miss Cabot, Cindy, we know you're hurting," Angela said, taking a step forward and putting her hand out in a placating motion. "I just lost my sister a little over a month ago, and I know what you're going through. But especially at times like this, it's easy to miss things. Please, think. If there's anything, anything you can think of, tell us."
Cindy smiled bitterly. "Was your sister murdered?" Neither of the two detectives said a word.
Sighing, she brushed a strand of clean, brushed hair out of her face. Apparently, caring for herself helped keep her mind off of her loss. She walked over to the side, her head angled downwards, and then turned her face to them. "Look, there was nothing, ok? Nothing. Nada. Zip. Fucking zippo. If there was something, I'd tell you. But other than that Braddock guy and work, she was a happy girl."
Work? Well, it was something…
Alicia had worked at McDonalds, a crappy job but a job nonetheless. Her parents and grandmother had supplied her with a lot of money, so it wasn't as if she'd been short on cash, exactly. It had been more like an "extra spending money" sort of job, the kind only the mid-to-upper middle class got. The rest either needed the work to live or couldn't be bothered.
"Welcome to McDonalds, how may I help you?" a falsely enthusiastic, teenage voice asked as soon as Angela and Xavier were at the register. She was one of two cashiers on duty, with her brown hair up in a bun and a fake, cheerful smile on her lips, lip-gloss freshly applied. A high school student with a part-time job. Her button-up, short-sleeved red shirt and black hat—both with a golden, trademark "M" stitched on—were immaculate. Strange that she was actually trying so hard to be a good employee; most people her age didn't care enough. Probably one of those on the lower side of the societal spectrum.
Angela took out her badge, showed it to her. The smile went away, replaced with a frown. Angela spoke before the girl could. "I'm Detective Dodson, this is my partner, Detective Weiss. We'd like to ask a few questions. Is your manager here?"
The girl didn't even seem to take notice of Angela's words, only the sole possible reason behind them. "This-this is about Alicia, isn't it?" she said in awe, far too loudly for the detectives' liking. Although there were only three customers here at this late hour, they were still receiving stares from the couple sitting in one of the favorable window booths. The third customer—a brunette college student sitting at one of the small, single square tables on one of the uncomfortable, tan plastic seats—had his headphones on and was immersed in a book on Psychology. He couldn't hear a word.
Weiss said, "If you could just get your manager, we'd really appreciate it."
The girl seemed to snap out of her trance, the trance of the shocked-by-yet-attracted-to-horror that was so very close and yet just far enough away to not be personal. Her eyes flicked from Weiss to Angela back to Weiss again, and she nervously picked at the skin just beneath the tips of her fingernails without even realizing she was doing so.
"Uh, my manager's not here right now. He left like an hour ago. He doesn't stick around this late. I-I could try go get in contact with him, I guess, but I don't really know… how to, I mean." She was babbling. She was nervous. Was it just because she was caught off-guard, because they were cops, or was there a more sinister reason?
Were Angela and Weiss just being paranoid? Angela for one felt no danger from this girl, no sign of influence, no mark of evil, but then again, she had not always felt it before, had she? Of course not.
Yet somehow Angela felt as if she should have this time, if she concentrated on it, especially if she knew who the influencer actually was.
Angela was concentrating. She detected nothing.
"We'd like to just ask you some questions, then, as long as that's all right," Angela said, as kindly but as firmly as she could.
"Oh, um, sure." Turning her head, the girl called to the back. "Josh, can you get out here? I need ya to watch the counter!"
A young, male voice answered, and a tall African-American boy came with it. "What? Why?"
Weiss took out his badge this time, showing him. "We just need to ask a few questions."
The boy adjusted his black cap, not quite sure of what to do or say. "Yeah, okay." He stepped forward and moved towards the girl and the register. The girl stepped to the side, motioned for Angela and Xavier to come to the back, around the counter.
"You can come this way, I guess."
And they did, completely ignoring the looks they were now getting from the customers.
As it turned out, they might as well have not come at all. There was nothing. Nothing. All they heard was the same old, same old. Alicia was a sweet girl, good worker, college student, the usual. There were maybe two people in the whole staff that ever had problems with her, but after interviewing them, Angela wasn't hopeful. The two just didn't seem to be the murderous type, and there was no mark of influence on either of them.
Was this going to be just another unsolved mystery, another mindless murder in an oblivious city? Another discarded bead of a broken bracelet that slips through the cracks?
No, it couldn't be. Not when Angela had Dameon. It couldn't be… could it?
"…thank you for your time," Angela was saying as her and Xavier prepared to leave, doing her best to hide her disappointment. Luckily, both she and Weiss were masters at it by this point in their careers. "If anyone thinks of anything, please don't hesitate to call."
Walking out the front doors of the McDonalds, Angela and Weiss were blasted with heat. It was like hitting a brick wall, moving from the cool air-conditioned restaurant to the sun-roasted outdoors. Yet neither took any notice of the added discomfort; it paled too much in comparison with their frustrating case. No leads, no leads whatsoever.
It was too early to get frustrated, true, much too early… Yet Angela was, even as Weiss kept up an optimistic attitude.
"To the manager's apartment first," he said, reiterating their plans as he waited for her to unlock the SUV. "What was his name? Dan something?"
"Dan Sherman," Angela replied as she opened up the driver's side door. She got into her seat, Weiss doing the same beside her. She spoke with a mock-serious tone. "But just Dan, not Daniel. Miss Clemming was very specific."
Weiss smiled, laughed a little. "Let's go pay this Dan Sherman a visit, then."
Naturally, they did, and naturally, he wasn't in. Out clubbing or at some girl's house or partying or in a gutter. Somewhere that wasn't his apartment, doing something that wasn't vegging out in front of a TV or sleeping.
"Let's go back to the precinct," Weiss said, "see what Lawson, Davison, and Cambell came up with. We can come back and see this guy tomorrow."
It was already late, and chances were, if Mr. Sherman wasn't there already, he was going to be staying out late, far later than they were willing to wait. Angela was getting anxious, though she tried not to show it. She needed to call John, needed to explore Hell, needed to look for Isabel. But at the same time, she needed to work on this case, needed to find Alicia Bennet's killer. She needed to hunt down Dameon, maybe force a name out of him somehow.
After they'd learned the results of the others' efforts—basically the same as theirs, though it had been discovered that Alicia had not been raped or sexually abused in any sort of way—Angela and Weiss were sitting at their respective desks, going over the evidence and reports. Angela looked desperately at the photographs of the corpse of the girl who'd once been full of life, now nothing but rotting, inanimate matter. She looked at her neatly folded position in the alleyway, almost like a small girl peacefully asleep on her side, dreaming of bright green grass and adventures with cartoon characters.
Except for the large, gory blood stains on her chest, three of them.
Xavier noticed how antsy she was getting, how desolate. "Angie, go home, get some sleep," he told her. It was already close to midnight. "Don't kill yourself over this thing."
"I'm not," she responded, looking up at him with her forehead still resting on her hands. "I just need to look over these a few more times, see if there's anything we missed."
"Angie, you know as well as I do an exhausted cop is a worthless cop. Go home. We'll start fresh tomorrow." Before Angela could protest, he spoke again. "For Alicia's sake."
Angela was tempted to say that this was for Alicia's sake, that her pouring over the photographs searching for any sort of clue, supernatural or not, was exactly what the girl needed… But she knew that he was right, even though she also knew she would not be getting any rest that night. She needed to look for Isabel. She needed to. And even if she waited, her mind wouldn't rest, and neither would her body.
Angela gave in. "I'll leave if you will," she said at last.
"Angie-"
"Xavier."
It was his turn to give in.
"Fine. Come on, let's get out of here." There were only three other people in the crammed office—messy desks and computers completely coating the fairly large space—and the two bid each of them a good night before leaving.
Constantine lay on his bed, chewing a piece of gum and reading over Daemonicii et Principatus in Terra. It was slow going, since he was no Latin scholar like Beeman had been. He was unable to read the dead tongue almost as well as English. Yet he still knew his vocabulary, declensions, and conjugations. At least when it came to translating into English. Translating into Latin… was not something he could be trusted on doing correctly.
But even as John tried to concentrate on this thick, ancient Latin book of angels and demons on Earth, his mind wandered. Even as he tried to formulate questions to ask Lynn, even as he attempted to pick out passages and persons… his thoughts were on Chas and Beeman and Angela. Chas because he was dead because of him and was now his driver once more, no longer his apprentice but a half-breed. Beeman because this had been his book—this was Beeman's replacement he was prepping for—and Beeman was dead because of him, because of his failure to keep the bookworm out of harm's way and figure out the danger Balthazar had posed before it had been too late.
And Angela… Angela because he was worried about her, because he was worried about what would happen to her in Hell, because he hadn't heard from her… Because she was Angela and he was worried. He'd called about an hour earlier, around eleven, but there'd been no answer. Naturally, he was now assuming the worst.
How late did cops work, anyway?
When the phone rang, he shot up, shutting the thick volume immediately. Then, he realized just how much he was acting like an overexcited puppydog, and he made his motions smoother, slower, more indifferent. Maybe if he was able to fool himself…
Placing the book to the side on the bed, Constantine reached onto his bedside table and lifted the off-white, corded receiver. "Constantine."
"John? It's Angela." He'd never been more relieved to hear a voice, not over the phone, anyway.
"Home late?" he remarked, his nonchalant voice perfectly masking his true feelings.
"Yeah, a new case." She didn't specify, and absentmindedly, Constantine ran his hands over the surface of the book. "Listen, John, me going to Hell… When are we doing that, exactly?"
That had to have been the strangest sentence to ever leave Angela's mouth. She felt foolish just for saying it, and Constantine almost smiled.
"Angela, you make it sound so serious," he teased. "You sure you want to go through with it? You sound so terrified about the whole thing."
She smiled, she couldn't help it. She had come off very "So John, when are we going to see that movie"-ish, hadn't she?
But she was terrified, and he knew it. That was why, when he asked her if she still wanted to cross over to Hell, he was only one-tenth-kidding. "Yeah, John, I'm sure."
Damn it.
"So when did you want to do this 'going to Hell'-thing?" he asked her, partially quoting her and keeping up his apathetic façade. A good part of him hoped she'd say never, he knew that she never would. She needed to do this, and not only that; it was the logical next step in her training. It would have to be done, sooner or later. She'd need to see Hell without full submersion and near-death.
All he could do would be to warn her of what was to come and be there when she crossed back over.
And although it was possible, he would not be going with her.
"Tomorrow," she said without hesitation. The sooner she got to see whether Isabel was truly in a better place, the better. And she wasn't so stubborn as to think she was up for the ordeal that night.
"All right. Tomorrow it is, then. Your place or mine?"
"Yours," she said almost too quickly. John smirked and Angela's cheeks reddened slightly. "I don't know when I'll be home, and it'll be a waste of time if I have to call you over or you have to wait around for me."
John was sorely tempted to mention how his place was more private in the wee hours of the night, but he didn't. He wasn't that cruel, or at least he just didn't feel like being that cruel at the moment.
"What time are you planning on coming over?"
"Around 11 or 12, I'd guess."
John turned serious. "Angela, if you're too tired to do this-"
"I won't be." She would be, and she knew it.
"Angela-"
"John, I'll be fine."
In his trademark way, he said softly, "Sure."
A moment passed, and Angela spoke first, quietly, almost pleading. "John, I have to do this."
Just as quietly, he responded. "I know." But that didn't mean he was happy about it.
"Is there anything I need to do in particular beforehand, to prepare?"
Like what? Pray? What good would that do her? John would give her slightly more practical instructions. "Yeah, wear sneakers, and don't eat anything beforehand."
"Why shouldn't I eat anything?"
"The sulfur, you're not used to it yet, and the last thing you want to do is throw up in Hell. It's dangerous to stand still that long."
Angela felt a shiver of fear ripple along her spine. She'd seen Hell, yes, and the demons there, but only for moments. They'd only just noticed her before she'd been gone. Now… now it would be different.
"Right."
Another moment of silence. Angela's thoughts were swimming, and the sponge that was her mind was already overfull and having more than a little trouble absorbing.
John just didn't want her to go.
She said, "I'll see you tomorrow, John."
"See you tomorrow."
"Goodnight."
John hung up first, staring at the phone for at least a minute afterwards. Was this really a good idea? Angela was powerful, yes, probably the most powerful psychic on Earth, as things stood. He could feel the power radiating off of her when he was near, even more so now that he was teaching her how to harness it. That was why Mammon had chosen her, because of her power.
Yet she still didn't know how to control what she had. And to have such unbridled power… it was dangerous.
But that was all the more reason for her to go to Hell, to learn how to control her powers quickly. Definitely a crash course. Hopefully, the shock wouldn't make her abilities go out of control.
Hopefully.
Constantine never slept easily, rarely slept much. This night was no exception. Before John, when Isabel was not on her mind constantly, Angela had usually slept fairly well. This night, she could barely get her mind to calm down. This night, sleep was an inept bedfellow who just couldn't get inspiration to come.
Vagrant: I put linkies up in the next chap so you can watch 'em and tell moi what you think. :D And send me the Spuffy one! I wanna see!
SlvrBldRain: Who doesn't miss Chas? But he's here to stay, so yay! (Hee, that rhymed. :P) The AI Constantine is going to be pretty popular as it is anyway, though, so I'm sure he'll be fine.
fanficgeek: Oooh, thank ya for the chap. 10 review! And don't worry about forgetting originally. Not your fault was being evil. As for the J/A interaction, I think it'd get pretty boring if it WERE just them. So along with the pacing and realism factors, there's the interest factor. And thank ya on the dialogue, and Angela, and alla of it. Glad you like. :D
Evelyn: Glad you liked. And who doesn't love a little Chas:P
Daydreamer: I'm proud. (Pats on head) lol You amuse me, though… Love your duck piece… and love scene. Glad you liketh me fic. :P Now maybe if you update on time this time… ;)
MrSConstantine: Eh, don't worry 'bout missing a review. You're reviewing now. XD And congrats on the basketball! (Throws a party)
YukeBaby: Glad you like, and you finally were able to review! Woot! Thanks for pointing out specifics, too. I love when people do that.
fanficgeek: (For a 2nd time ;)) OO (Takes roses and puts 'em in a vase) I'm sorry for not updating quickly, but considering finals, can I PLZ still get the chocolates:P As for the Chas rendition… wow, just THANKS, not much else I can say. Chas actually plays a pretty serious part in this fic, so I'm glad I'm doing something right. And I'm guessing anyone reading this would know about the after-credits scene or would REALLY want to.
Kirie: I hate you… Yet I love you too. :P Good to know I gotz the personalities right. Thank ya! (Knew my bugging would come in handy. ;))
slayerette: O.O Wow, you read my fic for that long? It's liked THAT much? Wowzers, thank ya! (Huggles and glomps) I'm honored that you like it that much, seriously. Hopefully you like the rest just as much. And music vids a'comin' next chappie, I promise. :D