In Ravenscar hospital the next morning the sight before me was grim. It didn't take a genius or someone with a medical degree to know what the large white masses dominating the black space inside the lungs on John's chest x-ray were and to know that they not a good thing. Even to my untrained eye, the diagnosis was easy; lung cancer. I knew it all along. I sighed, crossing my arms over my chest and biting my lip. I remembered someone close to me who had also died of lung cancer. I wondered if his chest x-rays looked like this.
Constantine just about couldn't believe it. The irony of it all. "Things I've beaten," he said, staring at the x-rays. He had an unlit smoke in his hand. "Things most people never even heard of." He scowled accusingly at the small paper and tobacco tube. "And now I'm going to be done in by this."
The doctor, a pretty black woman who had treated John when he came in all those years ago from a suicide attempt shook her head. She was sitting by the lit x-ray wall. "Wouldn't be the first, John."
"And you won't be the last," I added as he turned his back on us and took a few steps away. It was as if walking away from the x-rays was walking away from the cancer itself. The only problem was that the cancer wasn't pinned up on the wall. It was inside him.
"Come on, Les," John said, looking over his shoulder at the doctor. He didn't seem to want to look at the x-rays. I couldn't blame him. "You saved me before, you can do it again, right?"
Les shook her head again. "This is aggressive."
"Translation," I thought. "It's too late." I dared not say these words aloud. I didn't need to. Constantine could translate those words just as well as I could. He turned his back on her again.
"Twenty years ago you didn't want to be here," the doctor reminded him. "Now you don't want to leave." She noticed John lighting a cigarette. Her gentle voice turned hard with sarcasm. "Yeah, that's a good idea."
John ignored her, snapping his lighter closed with an angry click.
"John, you really need to prepare," Les continued. My assignment chuckled dryly and looked at her. "Make arrangements." Meaning, plan your funeral, call your parents, finalise your will, etc.
"No need," John said with a shake of his head. I already know exactly where I'm going." He turned to the door and let himself out, shooting a glance at me. Part of me cringed under the brief, but strong glare. Then I sighed and followed him.
I knew that in another part of the hospital - the hydrotherapy room to be exact - Angela Dawson was looking over the body of her twin, Isabel. I was reminded as I followed Constantine through the hospital towards the elevators that she and him would run into each other for the first time in a few seconds. My mind raced to prepare myself for this encounter, but then I also remembered that there really wasn't anything to prepare for.
As John stepped into the elevator, I looked down the hall for Angela. There she was. I stepped in beside John.
"Hold the door," Angela said to John, speeding up in an attempt to catch the elevator. "Are you going down?"
Constantine made no move to be helpful. He was in a sour mood. "Not if I can help it."
Angela managed to get a good look at him as the grey doors closed. I gave Constantine a look, as did some of the others in the elevator with us. Now he was just being rude. I managed to suppress a smirk at his reply to Angela. She wouldn't get the joke, that if John could help it, he wouldn't be going down to Hell, not down to the ground floor.
An image flashed in my mind as we reached the desired floor. A Mexican man - a scavenger - by the name of Manuel, travelling through the desert. A mysterious, ancient spear head clutched in his hand - The Spear of Destiny. A demonic voice was whispering in his head. He slid down a steep hill and scaled a fence with supernatural ability. Then he began to walk down a road that divided a farmer's field that was full of cattle. As he walked, the cattle dropped where they stood, dead. Their carcasses rotting away with an ungodly speed. Some farmer was not going to be happy when he discovered this.
I stopped and blinked, trying to clear this horrific image away. John looked back at me and raised an eyebrow. Still haunted by the memory of the vision, I followed him out of the hospital. John paused only to snuff out his smoke before hopping into Chas' cab. I slid in silently, making brief eye contact with Anput. She knew the outcome of this visit as well. She also must have received the same vision. Something passed between us, a mutual "that was not fun."
"So, what did the doctor say?" Chas asked as he drove.
"I don't want to talk about it."
Chas looked concerned, but was used to answers like this from him.
"He's got to find out sooner or later," I said. "It's only fair. He's your apprentice. He has a right to know that you're running out of time to teach him."
John shot me another dark look. I figured he must have already thought of that, so I shut up and stared out the window. If push came to shove, there was always the option of Anput telling Chas.
"Beeman will be up this afternoon," Chas said.
John nodded at that, muttering "Thanks."
Chas's face twitched in a small smile.
The rest of the drive was in silence.
Back in the apartment, John put on a record. My mouth quirked at the old fashioned player. Paul Desmond's 'Take Five' filled the apartment. While I was not familiar with this piece of music, I liked how it lifted the mood in the room.
My eyes were on the door, waiting for Beeman, the strange man who lived behind the bowling lanes, to come in. My gaze darted briefly to the Hindi patterned novelty can waiting on the table for its new owner. Earlier, I couldn't help but turn it over and giggle at the sound it make.
My face split into a grin when Beeman opened the door. He was clutching a bag. He peered into the room for a second behind thick glasses. "A new case?"
John had been sitting on the bed once again in contemplation. Hearing Beeman's voice, he stood and walked towards him.
"The big score? The mother lode? The one you've been waiting for?" Beeman continued. He shut the door.
"Humour me," John said through a lungful of smoke.
"Don't I always?"
John pointed to the novelty can. Beemen deposited his bag on the table top, picked up the can, and turned it upside down. Baaaaaaaaaa went the can. I couldn't suppress another giggle. Beeman was equally delighted. He didn't ask for much in exchange for his relics, and this was something special he had requested.
"Oh yeah, that's…much obliged. Thank you," Beeman chuckled. Then his smile faded some. "How you feeling, John?" Standing between the men, my smile also faded. I understood the subtext at play here. Beeman knew that John was sick. He was wondering if he had been to the doctor, and if so, what the diagnosis was.
Constantine purposely avoided the topic. "So what's new?" He flicked ash into the tray in the middle of the table.
Beeman shrugged and went to his bag. He pulled out a large box of cigarettes without a word. Constantine looked at it and slid it over to the far end of the table. Beeman listed some of the other items as he pulled them out and placed them on the table. It read like a weird grocery list. John picked up each item and examined it for himself. It was a routine they must have done more than once in the past. "Uh…bullet shavings from the assassination attempt on the Pope, holy water ampoules from the River Jordan…and - oh, you'll love this. Screech beetle from Amityville." He gave John a matchbox with a picture of a beetle on it. When John shook it, the insect inside fluttered, emitting a high-pitched screech. The bug was very appropriately named. John smirked.
"Yeah, it's funny to you," Beeman said. "But to the fallen it's like nails on a chalkboard."
"What is it exactly with you and bugs?" John asked. He suspected that it was only a matter of time before Beeman gave him something insect-related.
"I just like them," Beeman said defensively. I half expected him to add "they're my friends."
"Yeah, who doesn't?" John said, skilfully avoiding confrontation. I could tell he liked Beeman same as I did. An amusing, handy guy to have on your side. Sort of like the gadgets dude in just about every spy or action movie.
Beeman placed a long metal tube with one end you could squeeze on the table. John picked it up. "Yeah, easy there, hero," Beeman advised. "That's dragon's breath."
Constantine looked in wonder at the tube. "Thought you couldn't get it any more."
"Yeah, well, I…" Beeman cleared his throat and shrugged. "…know a guy who knows a guy." He smirked. As did I. It must have been some tricky business trading to get it and I could tell Beeman was proud to present it to Constantine. I also smiled because Beeman's glasses had gone crooked.
John aimed the tube away from us and squeezed one end. A roaring shot of fire erupted out of the other end. It was very impressive. The flames left behind the stink of brimstone and that odd little smell lizards sometimes have, only magnified times a hundred. I was briefly reminded of the smell Nightcrawler left when he teleported, only without the added dragon element. John looked at Beeman with a pleased expression and put down the tube of dragon's breath.
I saw on the table another relic Beeman had delivered. It was a gold knuckleduster inscribed with religious symbols. I struggled to remember what my masters had told me it was made from. Oh yeah, "gold blessed by the Bishop Anicott during the crusades."
"So, uh…what's the action?" Beeman asked. He knew that John wouldn't need all this stuff if it wasn't for 'the mother lode' of jobs.
"I just pulled a solider demon out of a little girl," John replied. He leaned on his kitchen counter. "Looked like it was trying to come through." At Beeman's expression he added, "Yeah, I know how it sounds." It sounded impossible.
Beeman shook his head. "No, we're finger puppets to them, John, not doorways. They can work us, but they can't come through onto our plane."
Constantine sighed. He knew this. But he also knew what he saw. "Check the scrolls anyway. See if there's any precedent."
"Sure thing, John," Beeman said. He sounded like he was going to do it when he became bored next, just to humour him. He was handling an old folded scrap of fabric. He plopped it onto the table with the other relics. I knew what it was; a piece of Moses' shroud. It was extremely flammable, and when lit would produce a light bright enough to ward away and even destroy just about any demon who was attempting to attack. "Uh…anything else?" Beeman asked.
John looked down, like he was ashamed. He mumbled "Wouldn't happen to have anything for a, uh…?"
Beeman knew what he meant. He fished through the bag and produced a bottle of cough suppressant and a smile. "On the house."
AN/ Be lucky my beta and I decided not to go with the title "You're Going to Die and Here is a Supply" for this chapter. lol. Thanks to the reviewers.