Chapter Four AKA (404) 248-7182

There's an art to magic, despite what the cynics say. And there's more to it than just waving your hands about like a bloody nonce. It's different for everyone. In the end, it all depends on the person. But the one universal truth about it is that, boiled down to its rotten core, magic survives by distraction.

Getting your audience to look over there while the real show goes on here, that's the whole trick. When they believe that you've pulled a rabbit out of your hat, the trick is pulling the floppy-eared sod out, but the magic is getting it to look real. Simple? Sure. A pain in the arse to learn? Definitely. But it's a constant in every creed, religion, and belief. The philosophy, that is. Not actually pulling a rabbit out of a fucking hat.

And it's not so surprising really. You know what they say, "same rules apply". After all, magic is just when you trick the universe into believing some incredibly outrageous lie. I should know. I've told a few corkers in my time…


He'd barely got back from New York when the scry map became active again. And of course, the damn thing would send him back to the same place he just left. Packing his bag, he and Zed headed off to deal with whatever chaos lay in store for them in the Big Apple.

While on the train, he tried calling Chas. Given that he was already in New York visiting his daughter, it'd be useful having him along. But any prospect of having his usually level-headed mate along were quickly dashed when his hollow voice replied on the other end of the phone.

"John… something's happened to Geraldine."

"I'm on my way."

Those words were all that he needed to hear. John had known Chas for a long time, and he knew that his friend would declare war on Heaven and Hell if it meant saving his daughter. And that kind of zeal mixed with magic never ended well.

Zeal and magic, just the last thing I need in all this bollocks.

If there was one thing that John loathed in this world, other than the obvious, it would be zealots. That unflinching, unwavering dedication to a cause that no matter what the consequence was a dangerous thing to be held especially amidst the darkness rearing its nasty head all across the country. Those people who'd broken into the Mill House, Zed's "family", were just another riotous group of zealots with plans of their own.

The Resurrection Crusade.

The sharp shudder sent his mind reeling back into the world as the plane landed on the tarmac. Out the window in the distance the all too familiar sight of the New York City skyline, glazed across the early morning sun, scattered any thoughts about cultists and demonic activity. For now, all he knew was that his best friend needed help. And he'd be damned if he let another child down.

Not again.


For the first time, something other than the unholy sound of her crappy neighbors woke her up from her drunken slumber. Allowing her eyes to be exposed to the daylight, she found herself lying prostrate on her couch, three empty whiskey bottles at her feet. For Jessica it was just another morning.

Fighting off her hangover, she got up and headed for the bathroom. Turning on the faucet, she ran her hands under the icy water, letting its sensation carry her back into the light of day. Looking into the mirror, she was greeted with the sight of her pale and ghastly face gazing back at her. It wasn't an unfamiliar sight of course, but it wasn't a welcome one either. Her face in the mirror only made her think about what she'd become. Her life, her future, all of the things she wasn't keen on thinking about.

Stepping back into the living room, she remembered how she'd ended up back in the couch in the first place. Papers, reports, photographs all scattered along her floor and all of them about one man.

John Constantine. John Fucking Constantine.

Navigating the mess surrounding her, her eyes fell upon the business card that had launched this whole mess. It was more than a necessary lead, it seemed to be the linchpin of all the information she'd been able to get on the man. And digging him yielded more information that seemed to make less and less sense.

Articles about him from all over the world mentioning strange activities and incidents and his name being linked in some fashion or other. Photos showing him at the crime scene of some strange murder or bizarre occult massacre. Even some fleeting mentions in some outdated music magazines and audio clips of what may have been the worst punk song she'd ever heard. But the most common piece of news on him seems to have been a report about the death of a child back in England, some town called Newcastle. But there was nothing to suggest that he had any connection to Katie Gerardo, or anyone associated with her.

She'd hit a dead end. But there was one thing, however, that she'd yet to try.

This is a bad idea…

Rubbing her hands over her face, she got out her phone and hesitantly started dialing the numbers printed on the crumpled business card. Time seemed to stretch into eternity as she only heard the ringing tone on the other end. After what felt like an eternity, there was a silent pause.

Great. Looks like he's not picking u-

"Oi! This is John Constantine." And that initial remark was enough to make her heart jump, as the voice continued. "If you feel you've reached this message in error, then sod off you lucky bastard. The rest of you, go and leave a number… and lock the door. Cheers!"

"Shit." She swore, hanging up the phone. It was only a goddamn voicemail!

Looking back at her phone, she saw that she had a shit-load of missed calls from Trish, all of them from the past two days. She'd been so focused on gathering all that she could on this Constantine character, she'd neglected much contact with the outside world. Whatever she was calling for, it was probably for something more than brunch. Going to her contact list, she pressed Trish's number and waited for her to pick up.


Well, that was an absolute shit-show. But at least we got a lead.

Sulking in the back seat of Chas's yellow cab, he ran his hand over his face as the trio drove away from the army surplus store. They'd managed to track down the location of whoever was responsible for the recent coma outbreak, but it came at the cost of another life.

Poor Fennel…

"John?"

Zed's voice caught his attention as he turned to face her. Her face was lined with concern as she stared back at him, expectedly.

"Hm?"

"Are you alright?"

Am I alright? I've just witnessed another old friend die on account of my actions. What do you think?

"I'm fine." He answered dismissively, suppressing any guilt that he might've felt.

"Are you sure? Fennel was your friend." She carried on, concerned for her emotional well-being. "Even though you two weren't on the best of terms, it's alright to mourn – "

"Zed, I'm fine." He stated plainly just as he felt his phone vibrate in his chest pocket. "We've got a lead now, and that's all that matters."

Taking out his cellphone, his brow raised curiously as he saw a message left in his voicemail by an unfamiliar number. Answering the message, he placed the phone to his ear half-curious what the message would contain and half-curious what fresh hell it would bring.

YOU HAVE ONE NEW MESSAGE.

"…Shit."

BEEP.

With a confused expression, he looked back at his phone utterly perplexed by the message. He was used to his fair share of crank-callers, but there was something… odd about this. The voice, clearly a woman's, sounded almost disappointed. Checking his messages and emails, he saw nothing new sent to him.

So just what the bloody hell was that all about?

"John," Zed spoke softly, "what happened to Fennel wasn't your fault."

Taking a breath, he looked back up in the rear-view mirror gazing tiredly back at the young psychic. There was a well-meaning optimism that emanated from her that seemed to draw him in. He'd be lying to himself if he said that he wasn't attracted to her. But this kind of attraction was different. And dangerous, particularly for her. He trusted Zed completely, and despite her never having admitted it to him, he could tell that trust was reciprocated completely too.

He opened his mouth slightly, wanting to thank her, disprove her, scream at her, say anything really. In the end though, all that came out was a sigh and a small nod. With a frown as resigned as John's guilt, she reached up her hand slowly to his shoulder, wanting to provide some comfort for him. But before she could reach out to him, his voice popped up again with a sudden fervor.

"Over there Chas. This should be the place."

With a soft sigh, Zed drew her hand back. She really wanted to get through to John, to connect with him. But at every time there was something holding him back. She knew that he had a difficult past, and that he had problems connecting with other people. At the same time, she knew that holding all that emotional trauma in couldn't be healthy for him.

Maybe one day. But for now, we've got work to do.


"You what?" Jessica exclaimed into her phone. "What do you mean you saw him?"

"I mean I saw him at the hospital. I've no idea what he was doing there, but I saw him in the hospital, just as he was getting in an elevator."

"Trish," Jess started warily. "Please tell me you didn't follow him."

"Of course, I followed him."

"Jesus Christ!" What the hell was she thinking?

"Calm down Jess. You know I can take care of myself."

"That's not the point!" She tried explaining calmly, "This is my case. If something were to happen to you…"

"But nothing did. Alright. Besides, I didn't manage to tail him for long."

"Good. Alright, next time this kind of shit happens, don't follow. Just tell me."

"Alright, alright! Geez…"

"Now, what exactly happened?"


The charred and ashen remains of what was once Felix Faust's lab lay strewn across the inside of the rail yard. Amidst the dirt and dust and detritus, bits and pieces of flesh were roasted to a crisp. The bloodied and torn bits of what was once Chas Chandler and Felix Faust lay buried underneath the rubble and ash of the laboratory.

Outside of Haskins Railway Yard, emergency services were parked in front of the building. Police cars, ambulances, and even a fire engine were all there, all their crew surveying and assessing the damage caused by the explosion.

Leaning against a taxi, a man and a woman were contemplating the horror that they have witnessed.

"Sorry you had to see that." John apologized, a cigarette hanging between his fingers. "Chas's line of work is messy."

"So is yours." Renee replied with a scoff.

It may have been an uncouth thing to do, given the circumstances, but he chuckled at that remark. Fair is fair.

"Is it painful for Chas?" She asked as if she dared herself to know the harsh truth.

"Excruciating." Was his only response.

"Uh, so how long does… this… take?"

"Well, it depends on how violent the death."

Recalling the old adage that Chas would always say about magic, she closed her eyes in sorrow. "There's always a cost."

"You're learning." Turning to her fully, he carried on. "Now, look, for what it's worth, I never meant to get between you and Chas. If I could go and change it all, I would. But it's not in the cards, and because of it, he's alive. So are a lot of other people. Including your daughter."

Renee considered the mage's words about her ex-husband. Geraldine. She's alive because of him. Because as much as I loathe to admit it, this is what he does.

"She'll be waking up soon." John continued, confirming that at least her daughter would be okay. "You should go be with her."

Nodding solemnly, Renee Chandler walked away solemnly from the horrific scene. Despite knowing that Chas would be alright, she didn't like thinking about him dying. Seeing it play out in front of her for the first time was a sight that she'd never get out of her head. Talking to one of the paramedics, she got into the ambulance with them as they went back to the hospital.

Taking in one last puff of smoke from his cigarette, he tossed the nearly burnt out stub away. He took once last glance at the direction the ambulance drove away from, he sighed as he took in the madness that had unfolded.

Chas, you stupid sod. You just had to go and get yourself killed again, eh?

Having already answered the police's questions, he decided to leave now. After all, the last thing that he wanted was to attract anymore attention than he already had. From behind him, his hopes were dashed as he heard a perk voice pop up from behind him.

"Excuse me, I'm here with Channel 4 News. Could you provide a statement for what's happened here?"

Shite.


It was nearing the end of visiting hours when she decided to visit Malcolm. Looking up, the hospital seemed to loom over her, serving as some kind of torturous house of traumatic memories. Ever since she'd woken up from the accident, she'd always associated hospitals with that traumatic day. And here she was now, on the other side of the situation, waiting for someone else to wake up. With a sigh, she took a quick swig from her flask and stepped inside.

The nurse at the front desk told her that visiting hours was ending soon but that she would give Jessica an extra half-hour. Giving her thanks to the nurse, she walked over to the elevator and stepped inside. Her mind was on overdrive, scattered across different fields. It wasn't an unfamiliar feeling. In the months piecing together her life after she escaped him, she felt exhausted working with the ever-looming fact that she would potentially have to run into him again.

But this time the source of motivation stemmed from a desire to actively find this man, this "Constantine" character and get him to explain just what the hell had happened. Despite her methodology, her core beliefs ran through the simple premise of logic and reason. And everything about John Constantine seemed to question those foundations.

Her ruminations were cut off when the doors parted open. Walking out and into the hallway, she headed over to Malcolm's room. When she opened the door, she was faced with the same sight as from a couple of days ago. He was still lying prostrate on the bed, in a deep comatose state. She didn't know why she expected any different. If anything, the black veins around his mouth seemed to indicate that his condition was getting worst.

"Hey Malcolm." She started, hesitantly. "Sorry for not checking up on you sooner."

The room was silent, the only sound being the continuous beep of the heart monitor that served as the only indicator that he was still alive.

"I've been busy. Still working on Katie Gerardo's case. Even got a lead."

Again, the steady beat of the heart monitor.

Tossing her bag onto the floor with a sigh, she closed her eyes in frustration. Not at herself, as much as her helplessness. This wasn't something that she could fix by herself. She couldn't punch some asshole into submission and make things all okay. So, she had to contend herself with watching a friend suffer for no greater reason than the heavy hand of fate deciding as such. There was nothing that she could do to make it right.

You make it goddamn right Jones!

Shaking away the memory of the nightmare, she rolled her eyes at herself as she realized the full absurdity of her attempting even some vague sense of sentimentality.

Christ, I suck at this…

Sitting down at the chair in front of him, she resigned herself to silence. Talking was always an awkward affair. It felt too much like she was talking to herself. Grabbing the remote control, she turned on the television and started flicking through the channels, figuring that anything distraction would be better than suffering through this void of silence. Eventually settling on the local news, she sat in quiet reflection, her attention drifting in and out of the news stories.

A robbery on 42nd St… some big legal case involving some hot-shot lawyer…more bullshit about Rand Enterprises… some Jazz Festival in Harlem… more people falling into comas…an explosion at some abandoned railway yard in Brooklyn…

Her attention was just on the cusp of being drawn away from that last story, until she heard a familiar voice.

"Here's a statement for you. Go talk to the authorities. They're the ones who know what to make of this mess."

"Isn't there anything else you could provide for- "

"Sorry, luv. But no further comment."

Looking up at the screen, she saw the visage of the man that had been occupying her thoughts for days now. Clad in the same suit and trench coat, he seemed to give the news cameras a look of disdain as he opened the door of the cab he was leaning against and climbed inside.

"Now do as a favor and sod off."

We couldn't get any further comment from the witness, John Constantine. According to the police there was one other witness on the scene, a woman by the name of Renee Chandler. Speculation abounds, authorities have suspected that live explosives may have been involved. The official cause however remains to be seen.

Jessica felt her eyes bulge out of her sockets as the visage of the man whom she'd been hunting for the past few days appeared in front of her, on screen. But any thoughts dwelling on the Englishman were immediately scraped away when she heard a weak voice coming from behind her.

"Jess…?"

Turning around, she would receive another jarring shock to her system.

"Malcolm."


"One more thing. About your mother."

"What about my mother?"

"She said… her death wasn't your fault."

"You saw my mother… Zed?"

At her silence, having fallen back asleep, John slowly lied down next to her on the hospital bed. It had been a long night for all of them. Having dealt with Faust, Chas should have healed completely by now and on his way to see his wife and daughter. And Zed had almost died, her visions inducing what could've been a potentially fatal seizure.

Staring at the white hospital ceiling, he contemplated the words Zed had just spoken to him. The topic of his mother wasn't something that he could calmly talk about, let alone contemplate. It had been so long since he'd left his father's fists, spending all that time since with the burden of his mother's death. But to hear that there was a fleeting possibility that his mother didn't blame him for her passing was a comfort that he'd allow himself to have just for today.

Looking over at Zed's sleeping form, he sighed.

This battle may have been won, but the war still wages on.

The Darkness… it's rising.


I told you I wasn't abandoning this story! Anyway, in celebration of Matt Ryan's return as John Constantine at San Diego Comic Con, here's a slightly more Constantine-centric chapter. And yes, the reason that Malcolm was in a coma in the first place was due to the events in Constantine Season 1 Episode 10 "Quid Pro Quo".

I hope you enjoy! And as always comments and criticisms are always welcome, so long as they're civil.