Author's Note: Once again, I would like to thank Fang Cullen for pointing out the error in the old prelude to this story, which has been fully rewritten.
This story is a crossover, mainly between Twilight and the movie Constantine (meaning, it will have nothing to do with the comic books). The mythos of a third movie (meaning, only the concept, no characters) will also appear, though I will not specify it at the moment. Let's see if y'all can guess that one.
Forks, Washington. Present day.
There was a palpable sense of urgency in the ER that night. It was normally a facility that was lucky to see anything more than the bumps and scrapes of small accidents and the occasional case of the flu. However, tonight, the symptoms of the strangely quiet young patient in exam room one was making the staff nervous and concerned. It had been a long time since anyone, let alone an infant, had come into the ER so seriously ill.
There was only one place that maintained an atmosphere of calm. The small office was tastefully decorated, and the desk stood in stark contrast to its owner's colleagues by being miraculously uncluttered. The doctor in question was focused on his computer screen, the brow of his handsome face furrowed slightly. He could plainly hear the soft cries of the infant through his open office door, weak though they were. His attention on the screen was for his young patient's benefit.
It was not often that Dr. Carlisle Cullen could admit it, but the infant's case was completely baffling him. A routine check-up with the pediatrician the day before had shown the boy to be perfectly healthy. Now, he was almost limp in his frantic mother's arms, his cries weak and strained. Blood panels had alluded to some kind of infection, but it would take a few days for the labs to identify the exact cause. And Carlisle knew the boy could not wait that long.
The mystery ran even deeper. How the boy had become ill was just as perplexing a question as what was causing it. The boy's parents were firm believers in all-natural foods and a healthy lifestyle. The health of the rest of the family was testament to that. The mother, father, and their four-year-old son all seemed normal. And none of them had been recently ill, nor had they been anywhere that might explain how the infant had come in contact with whatever it was that was making him so critically ill.
Carlisle was focused on his research, trying to match the child's symptoms with a probable cause. However, it did not prevent him from noticing the soft rumbling noise out in the hallway. He glanced around to see one of the hospital's old housekeepers stop outside his office door, pushing alone an old cleaning supply cart.
"Good evening, Dr. Cullen," the old woman said, giving him a warm smile. She was missing a fair number of teeth. "Just come to collect the trash."
"Good evening, Marie," Carlisle replied with a nod, gesturing to show her that she was welcome to enter.
The old woman smiled again as she stepped forward. However, she had only just begun gathering the bag in the bin at the end of the desk when his office phone rang. Carlisle, who had turned fully back to his computer screen, reached out and answered it automatically.
"Dr. Cullen," he said into the receiver, most of his attention still on his research.
"Good evening, Dr. Cullen," said a pleasant male voice. "This is Dr. Jones from the Washington State Hospital Association. How are you this evening?"
"Dealing with an unusual case tonight, but otherwise I've been alright," he replied.
"I wish you luck with your case, Dr. Cullen. But I am calling tonight about the application you sent to our board of directors."
For the first time, Dr. Cullen focused his complete attention on the call. Marie, who was fetching another trash bag from her cleaning cart, paused and gazed at him curiously.
"Of course," Carlisle said, nodding to himself. He could already guess what Dr. Jones was going to tell him. There was only one reason why someone from the board would contact him so late in the evening.
"I am pleased to inform you that the board has chosen your proposal to be presented at the national conference," Dr. Jones replied. "Your theories on the effectiveness of lactate levels on diagnosing sepsis are quite fascinating."
"Thank you, Dr. Jones," Carlisle replied, his face relaxing into a genuine smile for the first time in hours. "I am honored."
"I will call you tomorrow with more details. Good night, Dr. Cullen."
Carlisle hung up the phone and sat back in his chair, contemplating the call. He had submitted the proposal to the board of directors over three months ago. And if his memory served him—which it almost always did—the conference was only two weeks away. So typical of the board of directors to make decisions at the last minute.
"Congratulations, Dr. Cullen."
Carlisle looked around. Marie was still standing at the doorway, gazing at him curiously. He returned the look, and she gave him a half-toothless smile.
"The expression on your face, sir. Something good must have happened."
"Yes," Carlisle replied with a chuckle. "I have been chosen to do a presentation at the national conference this year."
"Very good!" Marie replied. "I am sure you will be wonderful."
"It is a fine opportunity," Carlisle agreed, turning back to his computer screen once more. "But for now, I must decide what to do with my little patient."
"Ah, yes." The old woman gave a solemn nod. "The poor little dear."
Marie turned and walked out into the hallway, replacing her supplies back on the cart. But as she shifted a spray bottle aside, she knocked her hand against a small cardboard box. It fell with a dull thump to the floor, the top splitting open slightly and spilling out several small amber-colored packets. Carlisle stood and approached, helping the old housekeeper to gather up the packets.
"Honey?" he asked, looking at one.
"Yes," Marie replied. "Food services wanted me to bring this box up from the kitchen. They like to keep some by the guest refrigerator, just in case anyone wanted something a little more natural to sweeten their tea or coffee. And you know what they say…" She accepted the packets back from Carlisle and returned them to the box. "Nothing like a spoonful of honey to raise a gloomy spirit."
Marie gave him one more smile before replacing the box on the cart and heading off. The soft rumbling noise echoed for a few moments even after she turned the corner and vanished from sight.
Carlisle was about to return to his desk and his research, but at the last moment he noticed a stray packet of honey by his trash bin. He picked it up and contemplated it for a moment, thinking about what Marie had said. Yes, honey was a natural alternative to sugar and other sweeteners.
A natural alternative…
A blazing realization dawned on him. In a split second he was back on his computer, his fingers blurred as they flew across the keyboard, checking on his newest theory. And when the results finally came up, he gave a sigh. Everything fit.
Carlisle left his office and jogged down the hallway, looking for the nurse assigned to the young child. He was quick to find her standing at the front desk, flipping through the child's record.
"Ask the parents if they use honey in any of their foods."
Los Angeles, California. Same time.
A storm was raging tonight. Lighting flashed and thunder roared through a sky choked by pouring rain. Those few souls still wandering the city streets did so with their heads bowed, umbrellas and handfuls of newspaper barely shielding the onslaught. Rivers flowed down either side of the near empty streets, rushing into the drains alongside the refuse and debris of human life being washed into the oblivion of the sewers by the storm.
Water splashed in a miniature wave up onto the sidewalk as a nondescript black car appeared from the deluge and pulled up next to the curb. For a few moments, the engine continued to rumble, echoed high overhead by an insistent roll of thunder. Then, the engine went silent, the headlights fading into the darkness. A second later, a dark figure stepped out, head bowed low as he jogged around the front of the car and into the relatively protected eave of a nearby doorway. He stood there for a moment, adjusting the collar of his long coat and shaking excess water from his unkempt black hair. Then, he pushed the door open and disappeared inside.
The place quickly revealed itself to be a bar of sorts. The entryway was lavishly decorated and cluttered with countless items. Everything was bathed in an ethereal red light. And in the main room beyond, music blared from hidden speakers as bodies swayed to the music.
The man descended the front stairs to where a burly bouncer stood on the other side of a red velvet rope. Normally, the man presented a nearly impossible test to new arrivals to determine if they were allowed to enter. But after giving the figure a short glance, he quickly unhooked the rope and stepped aside. The man passed by without hesitation.
The bar was very crowded tonight, but the man's way was cleared almost too easily. Whenever one of the patrons saw him, they quickly moved aside, their eyes glittering in the eerie light as they watched him. Some had eyes that reflected the red, while others shone green or gold. The strange sight did not seem to distract the man at all. He headed purposefully towards a door at the far end of the room. It opened as he approached, the music and voices from the outside deadening as he stepped through and the door swung shut.
This room was an office, but its sense of decoration was no different from the rest of the establishment. It was, in some ways, even more cluttered. Every inch of shelf space and table surface held items of endless descriptions. A man sat behind an ordinate wooden desk in the middle of the room, fingering a long cigarette almost curiously. His expression, unlike the ones on the bar's patrons, was calm.
"Good evening, John," he said, his voice deep and pleasant.
The man smiled slightly as he sat down in a chair in front of the desk. For a moment, the two eyed one another in silence. Then, the other set the cigarette down in an ordinate crystal ashtray.
"Still on the bandwagon, I see," he continued. "How is that working for you?"
"I'm getting by," the first man spoke at last. "Some days are harder than others." He cleared his throat, an eyebrow raised. "Not that I'm not pleased to see you, Midnite, but this is the first time you've ever asked me to come here. Isn't it usually the other way around?"
Midnite smiled, his gold teeth glinting in the light of his office.
"Overheard an interesting bit of information, and figured you ought to know," he replied smoothly. "Just a little gossip."
John Constantine sat back in the chair a little more, waiting for the other to continue. He had begun visiting the house of the notable Papa Midnite more often as of late, though this was the first time he had been specifically asked to come. Midnite still held true to the oath of neutrality he had sworn so long ago.
"He's chosen a new rider, John."
That got his attention. Constantine sat up and stared at the other, unable to hide surprise from his features.
"A new rider?" he repeated. He didn't bother to hide the disbelief any more than he had the surprise. "You can't be serious."
"I am very serious," Midnite replied with a shrug. He gestured towards the door. "It's been the hot topic for a few days now. And you can't say you haven't sensed something a bit stronger running around this plane any more than I can."
Constantine rolled his eyes, his gaze shifting away from Midnite to focus on one of the crowded shelves. However, his attention was still on the man behind the desk.
"I thought Lu had given up on riders," he said after a moment. "Didn't the last two betray him?"
"They may serve him, but riders are still technically human."
"Lost souls with free will." Constantine stood, straightening his jacket and reaching into an inner pocket. "We can only hope this one ends up being as big a pain in his ass as the others."
He headed towards the door, popping into his mouth the piece of nicotine gum he had pulled from his pocket. But he had only just reached it when Midnite cleared his throat.
"Keep an eye out, Constantine," he said. "The rider is not a part of the balance. With his vendetta against you, I wouldn't put it past him…"
"Thanks for the tip, Midnite," Constantine interrupted with a careless half-grin. "But I'm not worried. If the rider gets in my way, I'll deport him just like everyone else."
"You have sworn to punish those who break the rules of the balance. How can you justify destroying something not a part of that?"
This time, Constantine managed a full smile as he turned back to the other.
"You know me, Midnite. If they piss me off, I'll find a reason."