Angelfirenze – Happy (belated) birthday! (gives birthday cake with Constantine-shaped candles). Anymore ideas on the House/Constantine crossover?
Evelyn Valerious – Thank you! I love writing Midnite and John, even though not much of that dialogue was my own. I think I'm going to have to put another MidniteJohn argument in there somewhere…Thanks for reviewing!
Jonic Recheio – Good guess, but it's not Ellie. Close, though. I'm really glad you like my fic, thanks for reviewing!
DesertFlowerSimion – Don't worry, I'd be totally and utterly gobsmacked if anyone got it. It broke my heart writing it, trust me! Must…write…fluff! Thanks for reviewing!
Divamercury – I hope this is soon enough! Thanks for reviewing!
Ithilwen6 – I can't wait to write more fluff. I think I'm getting withdrawal! It's not Ellie, actually, but she will be back, never fear!
fanficgeek – Yep, that counts ;) Don't worry, I know very well the trials of the real world (crosses self). It's depressing about the sequel, but at least we can be more inventive in fiction. And if this fic goes well, I'll do a sequel to this as well, so I'll make sure there's some Constantine stuff around for a while, don't worry! Thanks for reviewing!
Lady Hawke – Thanks! I love knowing that I'm getting John and Angela down- it really haunts me if I feel that they're being out of character. I always kinda liked the idea that John was a bit of a fugitive, it made the relationship between him and Angela more interesting. Thanks for reviewing!
scarstar – Rambling is good! I think my one-liners are getting more frequent – I use them way too much in real life, that's probably why ;) Thanks for reviewing!
ColorXMeXFake – Love the new handle by the way! The Metallica reference was the 'fuck 'em all and no regrets' bit, I think that's from St Anger. I adore Metallica too, that's probably how it ended up in there ;) Thanks for reviewing!
Kyoko Kasshu Minamino – I hope I'm updating soon enough! Thanks for reviewing!
Lovely – Yay, three reviews! I was actually pretty bitchy in my AN last chapter, so I'm the one who should be apologising. I'm such a stupidly competitive person…(hits self on head). Thank you so much for reviewing three times! That totally made my day. I have such a phobia of having my neck touched because I've got a massive scar or birthmark thing across my throat and I'm way too conscious about it. It was kind of an achievement for me, being able to write about throat slashings without barfing ;) Ah, and you've rumbled me on the holy water thing…my only excuse is that he's psychic, so he might have known that way. But that was a total mistake on my part. Constantine makes me laugh a lot actually, because he's so blind to what he feels for Angela. You might be onto something with the whole Ellie thing…can't say anymore than that! Anyway, thanks for reviewing, and I can't wait to hear from you again! (gives Constantine-shaped cookies).
Apologies! I meant to upload this yesterday, but the site was doing something funny, and it wouldn't let me. I've been trying for about26 hours. Still, better late than never, right?
You guys are fantastic. Between this chapter and the last, you've given me 15 reviews, which is totally outstanding. I've been having a pretty shitty few weeks, and you have all helped me get through it. So thank you big time (hands out cookies and Constantine posters). If you continue like this, we'll be at 100 soon and I can give you the fluff. Believe me, I can't wait to write it ;)
Quite a few people thought that Mystery Person at the end of chapter 11 was Ellie. It wasn't actually, but good guess. Ellie will be back, don't worry. I like Ellie too much to keep her out of this for too long :)
Anyway, enjoy!
Chapter XII: Self Control
Angela made it back to her apartment incident-free, which was surprising, since she felt like putting her fist through a wall. She'd forced herself to stay calm whilst driving – she'd spent too long as a cop to not know the results of driving whilst distracted, which were usually road salsa – but now, as she wandered up the stairs to her small, comfortable apartment, she let her thoughts drift. The more she let them drift, the more the dull, thumping pain in her temple started to intensify.
She opened the door – she had enough self control to not slam it, even though that was exactly how she felt at that moment. Her cat ran up to greet her, winding his way around her ankles in such a sycophantic way that Angela knew that he wanted food. This was stuff she could deal with. Coming home to her apartment, fixing herself something to eat, feeding the cat. Normal things. This was how it was meant to be. Nice, simple normal things that she could control.
Angela dropped her bag and pulled her hair out of its bun, loosening it from its constraining style. Fuck the professional in her, fuck the restrained, proficient, always in control cop. What was the good of having a perfect career and unblemished CV if she couldn't control the rest of her life?
She banged the can of cat food onto the countertop with more force than she had meant to. She could see her cat's ears flicker back as a reaction to the loud sound, and she instantly felt sorry. She fed the cat, stroking his steel grey fur and feeling the strong bones underneath. After that, she let herself move away, her responsibilities over. She could now let herself free, and let herself think and analyse and reflect on what had happened this evening in a very police-like, businesslike way.
Only now, she didn't want to. She'd rather sit back and not think about it. But a little part of her knew that she had to, now or later. She'd have to get it over with at some point.
Angela looked around her apartment. Not much, only five rooms. A kitchen, a lounge that somehow became an all-purpose living area, a bathroom, and two bedrooms. One she never went into any more. In the years since she'd been back from college, back in LA, no matter where she lived, there always had to be room for Isabel. Because that was just what happened. They were twins, and they had no-one else. It was all up to Angela to sort out where her sister went, what she did, and when she went back to the institution. It was like some sort of sick pattern. Izzy went into the institution, maybe for two or three weeks, and then she'd improve. She'd come home with Angela, maybe for another two or three weeks, and she'd steadily climb downhill. Until she had to go back. And then it all began again, a hideous charade so perfectly timed that she could practically set her clock to it.
It was for that reason that she had gotten Duck. Izzy loved cats. Ever since they were younger, she had always made friends with all the cats in the neighbourhood. And for some reason they all loved her too, a cat meeting her every time she left the house, like it was divinely orchestrated. So Angela had got Duck, to try and please her. And it had worked, for the most part. Sometimes though, Isabel would stare at the cat, eye to eye, for hours, as though she could see something in its eyes that Angela couldn't. As though there was some knowledge there that Angela would never be privy to.
Angela wandered around aimlessly for a while, not knowing what to do or what to think. Everywhere she looked, she just seemed to be reminded of how lonely she was. The one constant in her life had always been Isabel, even though she hadn't always been the most reliable person. And now she was gone, and had left her alone in the darkness. It was just so typical, just so typical of her life that everything had to go wrong at once.
And just now, someone she thought she could just about rely on, had decided to let her down.
Fuck Constantine, fuck fuck fuck. Her headache was threatening to explode, colouring her head with pain, and suddenly now, she was replaying the whole evening.
Oh fuck fuck fuck…
Giving in, Angela sat down in a chair, curling herself into a ball by bringing her knees up towards herself, pulling them in with her arms like she did when she was a kid.
She didn't know why this hurt so much. She knew from day one that the man was an ass. She'd had proof of that when he'd sent her packing two minutes after first meeting her.
But at the same time, he'd come after her later. He'd saved her life, for Christ's sake. He'd killed himself and had been willing to go to Hell so that her sister could go to Heaven. Somehow, remembering all of that made her want to cry.
This was why she didn't open herself up to people. To most of the people she was just utterly professional and completely without feelings. She knew the names they had for her at the precinct, and she didn't care. It was all simpler that way. Because, as her parents and Izzy had proved, people always left. It was simpler
So why was it that, just when she had felt like she could trust someone, everything had gone wrong?
Letting herself cry quietly, she rested one hot cheek on her knee, suddenly feeling very young and very naïve. She was used to feeling in control – it was what her job was all about. Staying in control so that other people would stay safe. But now it felt like she was breaking apart. Everything was shattering, and she didn't have a way to make it stop.
Duck padded silently over to her, as if investigating what was wrong in his domain. As he stared up at her, she stared back, green gold with a slit for a pupil meeting grey green, shining wetly with silent tears.
She could feel herself sinking, going in deeper than she thought was possible. At first she thought that she was controlling it, that she was guiding the descent. But then she realised that she was slipping, falling down the slippery slope that led straight down to Hell.
Fire danced across the back of her neck, and something sharp pricked her palm. Razor-sharp knives hung over her, their tips just grazing her skin. It was an illusion, she knew that. But the deep, rolling feeling in her gut told her that this was so much more than an illusion.
The sky was a deep, acidic colour, like the whole atmosphere was ill. Particles of dust and rust flew through the air, cutting her flesh, stinging her skin. Every part of her hurt, as though it couldn't physically stand being in hell.
Things like insects with fiery wings fluttered across her face, brushing her cheeks and burning her skin. Everything around her felt dead, or dying, but she knew that the screams around her, the never-ending screams, were screams of someone about to die. They were the screams of someone who had been tortured for what felt like thousands of years, and would be tortured for a thousand more.
She recognised this place. It was what the view from her apartment building would look like, if a nuclear bomb had been dropped on Los Angeles. The city had become one open, festering sore. She could see places she'd worked, places she'd shopped, eaten, and all of them were diseased and collapsed. It was as though millions of years of decay had caught up with the city within one fraction of a second.
The sounds of thousands of souls in torment played across her ears like badly tuned violins. It was as though the sounds screeched through the air at a frequency she didn't think that she should be able to hear, but it vibrated through her bones like an electric shock.
A sudden sound brought her back, through the invisible partition between one plane and the next. Angela, though disoriented, flipped around, knocking her cat off of her lap with a yowl. All of her senses prickled, and combined with her psychic skills and her cop's intuition, she could tell instantly that something was not right. Behind her Duck paced, his fur on end, and yowled in a wild and discordant way.
Shadows flittered around the windows, dark and ominous, moving faster than she thought possible, accompanied by the leathery sound of wings. What she assumed to be talons scraped across the window, like fingernails on a chalkboard.
Angela's cop instinct won out for a moment, and her hands instantly ached for her gun. However, her other instincts overcame it. What use was her gun against demons or half-breeds?
The only items she could think of that would offer her any sort of protection were the cold metal amulet around her neck and the large wooden cross that hung on her wall. She could feel the pendant against her skin, just below her collarbone, and she could clearly see the cross on the wall. Almost instinctively, thirty years of Catholic faith sunk into her body, the prayer sprung to her tongue.
"In nomine Patris et Filis et spirtus sanctii…" Her tongue flew over the familiar words easily, and each time she said them, so recognizable, so comforting, a little knot of tension released within her chest. Her voice grew stronger, and the sounds of the demons grew fainter and fainter. A white light seemed to surround her like a bubble, and she could feel it growing in radiance as she chanted the familiar prayer.
Finally, there was no noise, except for her own rapidly fading voice chanting the time-honoured prayer. The growing stillness felt ominous, as though this silence was only temporary. Still Angela stared at the cross on the wall, her lips moving in time with the ancient words even though no sounds were coming out of her mouth. The sight of the familiar, simple cross on the wall was comforting, and she felt a sense of calm within her, banishing the fear that had surged through her veins.
Still, though, she could feel a sense of unease at the silence around her. This wasn't right. She couldn't stay here. Not if she could be sure of her safety.
A thought sprang up in her mind, a thought she couldn't ignore – maybe she should go back to…?
No. She couldn't. She wouldn't. She wouldn't go back to see Constantine. She would have to protect herself.
Another idea struck her, and she accepted that one as the saner of the two. Grabbing her purse, she darted out of the door, leaving the lights on. For some reason, it felt safer that way.
Outside, it was raining, and Angela regretted not bringing a coat. She was only wearing her work clothes, a black skirt and jacket with a white shirt, and the rain soaked through them. Rain dripped through her loose hair to fall down her back, between her shirt collar and her skin, but she barely noticed.
She knew exactly where she was going, and though she longed to run there, run towards the safety it represented, she forced herself to walk and blend in with the crowds of people, even though she knew she didn't on the inside. She could See in a way that they would never be able to, and she'd been to Hell and back. She was tainted. She'd seen the darkness of Hell, and walked through the diseased heart of that plane. She'd felt the antichrist's son inside her own body. She would never feel normal, or completely pure, again.
The church rose before her, dark and imposing. Through the rain and darkness, lit from underneath by the dim streetlights and the neon signs of the various shops and bars beside it, it looked strange and gothic.
But still, it exuded protection. Safety. Shelter. And if any building was capable of protecting her, this one was.
Angela walked down the church aisle, between the empty pews. The massive golden structure behind the altar rose up to the ceiling, at its centre a picture of Christ on the cross. Her gaze went instantly to the solider painted behind him, holding up a spear. The Spear of Destiny. Her family had been coming her since she was little, but somehow she'd never seen that little detail.
Her footsteps rang out on the marble floor, and she instantly felt conspicuous. It was too open. She had to feel secure, her cop instinct was too powerful to let her feel comfortable in such an open, empty space. She ducked into one of the confessional booths, the familiar smells of beeswax and incense greeting her. A rustle on the other side of the booth told her that the priest was on the other side, waiting expectantly.
Was it a sin to See? Was it a sin to know what lay on either side of the this plane? Maybe. Maybe not. But Angela wasn't about to take any chances. For some reason, she felt a darkness on her soul, a darkness she couldn't explain.
Her lips moved with difficulty, as though they were resisting having to form the words.
"Bless me Father, for I have sinned…"
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