Author's Note:
Thank you for the wonderful reviews. They mean the world to me. As I was writing this, I was thinking that even though this is a sequel to 'Just Can't Fight Fate', this story could actually be read on its own. There's just bits and pieces referring to the first one. Thank you for taking the time to read this and don't forget to review!
Chapter Thirteen
Constantine pulled the cap low over his head and stared up at the church towering over him Notre' Dome style.
"Blimey." He said and turned to Papa Midnight. "You sure you're catching onto those psychic waves, because this is a bit much, mate."
Neither one of them was big on faith. The church towered over them with multiple windows and a bell tower for Christs' sake. A bloody church. Martin was a "holier than thou" man, but a church seemed just a bit too cliché for even his taste. Considering what they planning. He rocked back on his heels and stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets.
The tweed jacket Midnight had loaned him was ill fitting. The Voodoo Priest was more fittingly toned than he was. Tough shit. John Constantine was a little too recognizable. Demons, angels, the ill fated people he met and on the unlucky occasion, Wanted posters. The white shirt and khaki's were a little too him. That was just his trademark. Why, he didn't know. He didn't really care. Maybe a bad habit on his part of a repetitive life style. Demons, white shirts and khaki's went together perfectly.
"She's here, Constantine." Papa Midnight mirrored Constantine's expression. The church was too open a place and commonly used and not to just the congregation.
"Let's stop pissing around then." Constantine tugged on the cap again and started up the steps. It wouldn't do well for either of them if he was recognized. The plan was simple. He reached for the double doors but Papa Midnight grabbed his arm.
"And once we're inside?"
"I've got a plan." John said. He always had a plan. Midnight was unrelenting and John shrugged his hold off and opened one door. "I'll let you know when I figure it out." He said before Midnight could stop him and stepped inside.
Papa Midnight had said it simply enough. If they knew where she was, they could at least find out what they were up against. John knew they were up against a bloody well damned angel for all he was concerned. The blessed sod had one coming. Go in, piss around and leave. He'd have to come back for Zed.
Bloody hell.
He was met with a wide array of pews on either side and another set on the second landing behind him. He never had liked churches. The heavenly side of things wasn't all it was cracked up to be. There was a heavy gilded cross at the end of the alter ahead and a crucified Jesus looking heavenward.
Better luck to you, mate.
Papa Midnight followed as he turned and sat in one of the pews facing the alter. Constantine leaned forward and bowed his head, the bridge of the hat hiding his expression. There were Priests and other congregational patterns, but he didn't recognize any of them. What he wanted to see was behind all those doors that led deeper into the church.
"You play me for a fool, Constantine. This is reckless." Papa Midnight murmured, his tone dark.
"Shhh."John muttered as someone passed. "That's reckless." Let his name slip in the church to the wrong ears and everyone would suddenly have a stiffy for him. He clasped his hands together between his knees and drummed his fingers together as his eyes moved over the second floor and the windows there. "I bet this place has an underground like most of London. Ever heard of the Catacombs?"
"Yes, I have."
The Catacombs had nothing to do with the Cathedral, but it was a good reference. Chas would have came in handy right about now with any underground tunnels. "Can you get a feel on any general direction?"
Papa Midnight looked around but shook his head. "She is everywhere." The best his spell had done was give them her location.
"Bloody hell." John muttered again and the elder lady sitting two pews ahead turned towards them.
John winked, she looked flustered, turned back around and John went back about his interrogation of the Cathedral. Language? He'd never heard of any better language.
He looked to the alter again and then stood.
"Where are you going?" Midnight asked as John moved out into the middle aisle.
"I've got a few confessions I need to make, mate." He said as he headed towards the Confessional Box to the right of the Alter. He tugged on the cap again, adjusting it over his forehead. The Confessional was empty and he slipped inside the tiny confinement pulled the sliding door closed. He whipped the cap off his head and ran a hand through his hair before he started running his hands down the walls.
He hunched down and ran his hand beneath the bench but didn't find anything useful. Sometimes these things had a secret compartment but everything he found was hollow. He was hopeful for a secret latch but unless he was missing something he was coming up empty handed—
"Son?"
John tensed and lifted his head. Bloody hell. He'd forgotten about the other side where the Priest listened with an open ear and willing heart. "Sorry, mate, not in the mood to confess." Any confession he made would drive a Saint to drink. Or make them wish they were in hell.
"God brought you here, son. Speak. No sin is too great for our Lord."
John rolled his eyes. The Priest was sorely mistaken. The big man upstairs didn't know his angels well enough to know when one was rooting for the darker side. "You've a lot more faith than I do, mate."
"You've lost your way, my son."
Constantine stood and pressed his fingers along the ridged ceiling. "I know exactly where I'm at." He murmured. Keep talking.
"Confession is good for the soul."
The square foot gave way and lifted beneath his fingers. "So is a good romp." He lifted his, testing it's weight but it was nothing but lightweight wood. He wasn't sure it was anything of coincidence, probably nothing more than a vent but if he could fit up there...a vent led to a room. Rooms. He lowered it back into place.
"We've all sinned and come short of the glory of God. You don't have to be afraid that God won't forgive you for your sins of the flesh."
Constantine stepped down from the bench, keeping his descent as quiet as possible. "I think I get along better with my demons than I do the man upstairs. How about you?" He turned around and stared at the screen separating the two of them.
"Remember, my son, the devil comes in many forms. He will lie, cheat, steal and deceive..."
Well, this wasn't much of a confessional. More like he was being preached at. The intentions were good, though. He stared at the screen again and he could see the slight movement on the other side through the small holes.
"Father, forgive me for I have sinned...I ah..." Constantine paused. "...took to the bottle last night. Again."
"I forgive you, my son—"
"To hell with this." Constantine muttered beneath his breath and pushed the divider open. The Priest stared at him, open mouthed. "Sorry about this, mate." John wrapped his forearm around the Priests throat in a choke hold and hauled him backwards against his chest, the lower half of his robed body dangling on the other side. He brought his other hand around, locking it over his wrist as the feeble man struggled and strained in his arms in vain. His legs kicked out, catching the opposite wall and Constantine cursed but didn't break his grip.
After a few moments of choked, tense silence the struggles finally grew distant. John leaned over the lower part of the divider and lowered the Priest before following him over and checking for a pulse. He didn't want the death of an honest to God Priest on his hands.
"Sorry about that." John murmured and knelt down, his hands moving over the fastenings holding the robes closed. A plan was a plan. He wasn't good at thinking a plan through. He was kind of going on instinct. He grunted as he tugged the robes off and then rolled the Priest onto his side against the wall.
He noticed the crosses on the boxers. "Brilliant, mate. Enthusiast."
"Stay." John said as he stood, pointing down at the unconscious gaddy. Silver and white fabric stared back at him and he stared back with distaste. Before he could talk himself out of it he shrugged into the heavy garment and then hunched down, picking up the headpiece.
"Bloody...hell."
He stepped back out into the Cathedral and Papa Midnight was there waiting. Impatiently. He took one look at the Brit. "Are you insane, Constantine?" Papa Midnight knew he should have been surprised, but for some reason, he wasn't. John Constantine never did anything without flare. Or without a little clumsiness.
"No, just doing my duty to the Almighty and the Church. Now if you'll excuse me, I have Godly duties to attend to." He felt ridiculous. He was no more a Saint than a Saint wasn't a sinner.
"Dammit, Constantine—"
"Names Father."John interrupted him. The get-up was one he was going to take full advantage of. One he was probably going to be damned for, for the 100th time. Hundred times the charm, right? He brushed past Papa Midnight. The voodooism lead bastard was good for one thing and he'd done the one thing. John was never one to shy away from using someone and he knew that, Papa Midnight knew that.
"Don't be a fool, John—"
"Father? I need a moment to confess."
John tensed, pausing in mid-step. He didn't turn and Papa Midnight opened his mouth but the look John threw him quieted any response he would have made. John didn't turn, just stayed facing the alter and the Confession booth.
"Father?" Martin said from behind him, his tone questioning as he waited.
Papa Midnight had never met Martin, so he didn't know who the bastard was. But he knew enough from Constantine's terse expression to know something was off with the Brit.
John nodded and lifted his hand, beckoning Martin towards the Confessional.
Blimey. Bloody hell. Fuck. Shit. Okay, so maybe posing as a Priest wasn't such a good idea. He could just throw a punch and see how things went. The Cathedral was huge, and he didn't want to find out coincidentally if there were any lackeys hiding behind the walls or crazy shit like that. Zed was in that crazy shit somewhere.
He stayed one step ahead of the man, wondering exactly what the hell he was going to say to comfort the delusion-est. He didn't deserve comfort. He deserved a good wallop and box to the head. He was initially cursing his choice of attire when he finally stepped into the enclosure, careful of the Priests unconscious body.
Bloody hell he mouthed silently.
"Father?"
John brought himself back to the present and cleared his throat. "Yes...ah, son?" He pushed his voice through, careful to keep his accent absent.
"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned." Martin murmured through the enclosure and Constantine could see the hand movement through the shield. He was crossing himself.
"..." Constantine wracked through his mind for a response. What was he going to say? What would the Priest say? Hell, WWJD—What Would Jesus Do? "Bring it before the Lord, son."
Good one, Johnny Boy. If he played his cards right, he could probably get more than one confession from Martin.
"I've done my daughter wrong."
John lifted his head. Had he just heard Martin right?
"I haven't raised her in the Light of the Lord. It doesn't matter what I do, what I've done, she is still lost in this world and in sins way."
John crossed his arms. So much for that. Martin was as delusional as ever.
"I never did father her as I should have. I let her go for so long and now she is lost to sin. I ask for forgiveness in my lack of bringing her to the Lord as I should have from the beginning."
He could have done a better job, eh? John doubted that. There was no parental guidance. Martin was lost in his own world of righteousness. "...do you think she is lost to the Lord, son?" John said what he was sure would be a good cover.
"The Lord forgives us all, doesn't he, Father? If I convinced my daughter of His holy ways, would He?"
John rolled his eyes and tossed the hat to the floor. Fat chance of that. At least, he hoped so. They couldn't really twist Zed's mind into accepting what she didn't believe in, could they?
"Father?"
"God forgives you, my son." John blurted out. He ran a hand through his hair and chose his words carefully. "Perhaps if you brought her to confess, she would feel more...open towards you as her father and see the Lords truth. We all have sins that hold us from the Almighty."
There was a moment of silence and then John let out the breath he'd been holding when Martin spoke. "I will do so, Father. Thank you. We'll be but a moment."
John waited with anxiety as he heard the door on the other side slide open and then close again. A drop of sweat rolled down his brow. He wasn't going to have to look for Zed. Martin was bringing her right to him.
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