Part IX: Serial Killers

Jade felt herself being pulled out of the nightmare-world, and into reality. She collapsed, gasping for air, on the floor beside the couch, where Isis was still perched and the book lay forgotten. She tentatively wiped her cheek and drew her hand away. Tears and mascara mixed, and she realized she was crying. A small thump sounded as Isis jumped to the floor next to her. Jade looked at the cat in fear, and struggled to her feet. Looking around, there was nothing unusual about the apartment, as far as she could tell. Still, she couldn't stay in this place, not after what had just happened.

"Isis," she whispered to the cat, "Stay here for a little bit, okay? I'm going to go take a walk." The cat gazed up at her solemnly, and swished its black tail back and forth. Jade went into the other room where her suitcase was, and pulled on a pair of low-cut jeans and a black, midriff-baring t-shirt. She walked out the door, and then backtracked. She grabbed the pencil beside the change-plate and scribbled one word on the pad of paper beside that.

'Out.'

Angela glanced at the clock; no time had passed. She truly had been in Hell.

"That's not even possible," she muttered to herself, "It's not possible." And she wondered silently, who is Jade? In that brief instant of intense connectivity she'd experienced with the distraught girl, she'd been sent a psychic whirl of emotions that she didn't even want to think about it. Foremost, there had been fear, but that was to be expected. Underlying, however, the strongest emotion she'd felt was a mix of hurt, bitterness, and pain. She felt these emotions so deep and ingrained, that, Angela was sure, had the girl not been in Hell and fearing for her immortal soul, they would have taken easy precedence. And what Angela wanted to know was, what on Earth could make a girl so young so bitter? The bitterness was not only laced with hurt, but it had an even courser feeling than John's abject cynicism. Angela had thought she'd seen the most deadened hope one could possibly see, in John Constantine. But, no, apparently not.

Her phone rang, and she flipped open the cell, "Dodson."

"Angela, can you come into the precinct a little early today? We've just gotten a call about a curious murder…it looks like the beginnings of a serial killer."

"Sure," she replied, already picking up her things, "I'll be there soon."

She took another deep breath of Earthly air, and left her apartment, being careful to bolt the door behind her.

About forty minutes later, Jade was ready to go back to the apartment.

She strolled along the broken sidewalks, taking careful note of all her surroundings. Every store, every house, every mailbox, she filed them away in the recesses of her brain, just in case, she thought to herself. But even the bright sunwash of the city and the busy road beside her couldn't take her mind off of what had happened earlier. For every building she stared too long at, she began to see it as the hellish, deprecated structure it would have been in the world she had just left. As this began to happen, she quickly moved her gaze to the next building, but to no avail. Each building she could see in its state of decay, so avidly in her mind that she was beginning to question whether it was just in her mind or not. A shadow crossed her vision, but she didn't bother to glance up.

"Aren't you a sweet thing?"

She still didn't glance up, "Go to hell," she muttered darkly at the speaker, moving to push past him.

"What would you say if I told you, 'been there, done that, got a t-shirt'?" The boy in front of her mocked, blocking her escape. "No, really, though, I'm sorry, I just wanted to talk to you."

This time she did look up, surprised. It was the boy from earlier, the one with the messy black hair. He had bright blue eyes that looked…well, surprisingly sincere, "Well…Okay," she faltered as he gave her a charming smile, his eyes twinkling.

"I saw you this morning; you must be new to the neighborhood." His voice was surprisingly light and his tone surprisingly pleasant and Jade felt herself relax slightly, "What's your name?"

"Jade," she replied.

"Jade," he rolled her name around in his mouth, "Pretty. I'm Jack. Jack Vetis." He chuckled as she raised an eyebrow, "Don't know my heritage, no." He pulled his arm away and reached into a pocket, "Thought you looked interesting, would've talked to you earlier but you were with that guy."

Jade nodded; replying quickly, "He was just a friend."

Jack raised an eyebrow this time, "Oh? Nice to know. Want one?" He offered her a cigarette.

Jade nearly sighed in relief—whoever had said Chiclets were a good substitutes for cigs ought to be shot, "Thanks—"

"Jade!"

Both Jack and Jade turned to see John yelling out the passenger-side window of a bright yellow taxicab. Jade groaned, and pushed the cigarettes back toward Jack, "Sorry, can't. I should actually go."

Jack nodded in John's direction, a look of curiosity on his face.

"Older…brother." She replied quickly, and started across the street to where John and Chas were standing.

"Well, if you ever need a tour of this part of town, you call me up, okay?" Jack handed her a piece of paper with his name and number already pre-scribbled on it. He gave her a hopeful look, and she faltered.

"Um…okay, sure. Thanks. I'd…like that." She muttered, turning to give him a slight smile, and walked over to John and Chas.

"Who the hell was that?" John demanded as she reached them.

"Jack…I just met him," Jade offered, and John narrowed his eyes at the retreating boy. There was something strange about him, something he couldn't quite place, and that irked him. He was used to being able to see everything and anything, and in the past twenty-four hours he'd seen not one but two people his psychic force couldn't figure out. Jade was one of them. John sighed, and marked that down to her being a teenager, and female. Chas was, after all, was hardly a teenager—more an overgrown boy—and John barely remembered his teenage years. Quite possibly, he'd just been around too many demons lately, and forgotten what people were actually like. Well, that didn't mean he had to enjoy being in the dark, he supposed, and he huffed, making his way into the bowling alley.

Chas looked distracted as Jack walked away, the air shimmering slightly about him. He wasn't sure, but there was something otherworldly about Jack, and he intended to find out what that was.

Jade glared at him, and Chas held up both hands in mock surrender, "I didn't say anything!" Jade rolled her eyes, but followed him silently.

Angela bit back the bile as she watched the med-team slowly lower the man's body from the ceiling and flip him over. Weiss, her most recent partner, gave her a concerned look, but she shook her head furiously. The man was most certainly dead, the wound that had most certainly killed him being the large gash in his right side. Weiss turned to her, "Definitely serial material?"

Angela shook her head again, "No. Serial killers of this nature are…reclusive, and therefore often study their craft and victims in high detail. It was a crucifixion…but Jesus' right side was the one pierced with the spear, not the left. It doesn't make sense…the lapse in judgment…it's got to…it's got to mean something."

Weiss sighed heavily, "Angela, perhaps they just forgot? Or didn't research that aspect of it?"

"No, no, I don't think so. I don't think that was it."

"Then what could it have been?"

Angela turned her head so she wouldn't have to look into the dead man's eyes, "I don't know. But I intend to find out. I have to see Mr. Constantine." Angela muttered the last sentence quickly, and to herself. Weiss's eyes narrowed, and she gave him a defiant glare, informing the med-team, "Let me know if you find anything unusual."

One of the members pointed up and she stepped forward, peering curiously at the symbol she had taken moments before to be a mass of blood, perhaps an outpouring of a popped artery, but no…it was a curious symbol. Immediately her hand flew to her neck, and she tucked the necklace below her blouse, before copying it down on a small pad of paper.

"Thank you," she turned to Weiss, "I'll be back in the office at the latest tomorrow. I need to…talk to John, see if he'll help."

Weiss nodded mutely, and Angela turned and hurried out the door.

John was already drinking by the time Chas and Jade made it up the stairs. Chas groaned, "You know John, that stuff's not much better than cigarettes." John gulped the rest of the liquor down, ignoring Chas, and set the glass on the table none too lightly. John walked over to a cabinet where Chas knew he kept all his exorcism gear, "John? John, what are you doing?"

John pulled out a wicked-looking scythe made from melted down artifacts, and twisted it over in his hand experimentally. Jade and Chas looked at each other, and John dropped the scythe, letting it clatter loudly on top of a wooden dresser, "I'm going to shave, and we're going."

John was already in the bathroom, water running, when Chas yelled, "John! Where are we going! I just parked the car!" He pounded on the door in futility, and turned back to Jade, who was no longer watching him but had picked up his book where she'd left off. Isis was swishing her tail contentedly, and John didn't respond, so Chas plopped himself down on the couch next to Jade, pouting slightly.

Jade waved the book in front of his face, "You read this crap?"

Chas looked affronted, "It's not crap," he protested, and Jade raised an amused eyebrow, "No, really, it's actually interesting, especially with John around, you know…"

"Yeah, what does John do for a living, anyway?" Jade asked, absently curious.

Chas blinked, and then realized there actually hadn't been any explanations yet, "Well, uh, he…um…well, he…does—"

"Exorcisms." John interjected, and both teenagers jumped as he walked out of the bathroom, "I'm an exorcist."

Jade looked only slightly disbelieving, "Ah. Well, that explains it." She muttered. John ignored her as she continued to mutter under her breath, picking up the phone and dialing.

"Dammit, pick up," he was muttering into the receiver, and Chas took this opportunity to ask again, "John? Where are we going?"

John turned slightly, still half-holding the receiver, "Midnite's, get the car." Chas was halfway out the door before John finished the sentence. John motioned to Jade to go with him, and, in the interest of keeping peace, she followed Chas out the door.

"Goddammit, Angela, where are you?"

Angela was on the highway. She was already on the verge of speeding, so when her cell phone started ringing, she decided she'd better not tempt traffic officials—even if she was LAPD, there were still the damn cell-phone laws that applied to everyone. She took the turnoff to John's road, the phone still ringing angrily. Finally, she gave up, and flipped it open, "Dodson." The line was dead.

"Dammit," she muttered.