He hadn’t been prepared for this.
Sure, he knew there was always a chance of running into some old soul he’d known in life while he trudged through the arctic fields of Heaven. Granted, most of the dead he’d known were far more likely to be in Hell, but there was always a possibility. John Constantine looked up, the snow and ice that had been billowing around him only moments before was melting before the woman walking toward him. Her bare feet caused grass the brightest color of green to sprout with each step she took. The ravenous angels that had come so precariously close to slicing him into edible morsels had fled into the maelstrom above, chastised for their impudence.
She smiled at him, and it brought him to tears.
“My son,” she said as she placed a glowing hand beneath his chin, lifting his head up to look at her, “my darling baby boy. I never thought I would see you again.”
“Mom,” Constantine whispered, causing her smile to widen into a cascade of brilliant light, “this can’t be happening.”
Mary Anne Constantine embraced her son, healing his soul of all malady and ache. Her smile buried daggers into his heart, a brilliance of loving features bathing him with the warmth of sadness and unbearable guilt. “I killed you,” he said, nearly sobbing, “I’m so fucking sorry, I killed you.”
“Hush now, baby boy,” Mary Anne said, her fingers combing through his mess of blonde hair, “you did no such thing. I gave my life to bring you into this world, it’s what needed to be done. Do you understand? It was what was meant to be. Your wee twin brother and I were the sacrifice for the world to have you in it, love.”
“I remember your picture,” John said, trying to compose himself as he withdrew from the embrace, “from when I was a lad. Dad eventually burned everything of yours in a drunken fit, but I was old enough to at least remember the picture.”
"Try not to blame your poor dad, John," she said, "he was in pain, submerged in an underworld of shame and guilt. He blamed himself for what happened to me, the silly sod."
Anger flared, warming John from the inside, demon blood boiling in his veins. "It was his bloody fault! He killed you and he sure as shit didn't blame himself, he blamed me! Every fucking day for sixteen years!"
"Aw, son," Mary responded as she stood up, reaching down to take his hand in hers, "I forgave him for that long ago. I gave him the same thing you need…"
John stood on shaking legs, warmth finally flowing through his lower extremities. "What do I need, Mom?"
She smiled and turned toward the brilliant horizon, leading her son to salvation. "What everyone deserves in the long run," she answered, "a state of grace."
Sure, he knew there was always a chance of running into some old soul he’d known in life while he trudged through the arctic fields of Heaven. Granted, most of the dead he’d known were far more likely to be in Hell, but there was always a possibility. John Constantine looked up, the snow and ice that had been billowing around him only moments before was melting before the woman walking toward him. Her bare feet caused grass the brightest color of green to sprout with each step she took. The ravenous angels that had come so precariously close to slicing him into edible morsels had fled into the maelstrom above, chastised for their impudence.
She smiled at him, and it brought him to tears.
“My son,” she said as she placed a glowing hand beneath his chin, lifting his head up to look at her, “my darling baby boy. I never thought I would see you again.”
“Mom,” Constantine whispered, causing her smile to widen into a cascade of brilliant light, “this can’t be happening.”
Mary Anne Constantine embraced her son, healing his soul of all malady and ache. Her smile buried daggers into his heart, a brilliance of loving features bathing him with the warmth of sadness and unbearable guilt. “I killed you,” he said, nearly sobbing, “I’m so fucking sorry, I killed you.”
“Hush now, baby boy,” Mary Anne said, her fingers combing through his mess of blonde hair, “you did no such thing. I gave my life to bring you into this world, it’s what needed to be done. Do you understand? It was what was meant to be. Your wee twin brother and I were the sacrifice for the world to have you in it, love.”
“I remember your picture,” John said, trying to compose himself as he withdrew from the embrace, “from when I was a lad. Dad eventually burned everything of yours in a drunken fit, but I was old enough to at least remember the picture.”
"Try not to blame your poor dad, John," she said, "he was in pain, submerged in an underworld of shame and guilt. He blamed himself for what happened to me, the silly sod."
Anger flared, warming John from the inside, demon blood boiling in his veins. "It was his bloody fault! He killed you and he sure as shit didn't blame himself, he blamed me! Every fucking day for sixteen years!"
"Aw, son," Mary responded as she stood up, reaching down to take his hand in hers, "I forgave him for that long ago. I gave him the same thing you need…"
John stood on shaking legs, warmth finally flowing through his lower extremities. "What do I need, Mom?"
She smiled and turned toward the brilliant horizon, leading her son to salvation. "What everyone deserves in the long run," she answered, "a state of grace."
ISSUE 11
“MYSTERIOUS WAYS”
PART 2 OF 2
BY
CHRIS MUNN
“MYSTERIOUS WAYS”
PART 2 OF 2
BY
CHRIS MUNN
The astral realm heaved and split open, like it was being hacked to bits by a machete. Mercury tried to steady herself as reality shredded around her, increasingly worried that the psychic tether connecting her to her body would snap, leaving her a disembodied ghost. Something had happened at the British Museum that affected the immaterial realm, and she honestly wasn’t all that surprised when she discovered the source.
She passed through the wall into the curator’s office, fighting through the maelstrom whipping at her ghostly form, and was taken aback by what she saw. There was John Constantine, his empty body lying on the floor of the office, a black mirror clutched unbroken in his hand. The mirror was the source of the vortex, with waves of light and force flowing in staccato pulses that washed over her, trying to push her back. What was even more concerning were the creatures posted as sentries around Constantine’s body, monstrously lithe beasts with black feathered wings, their heads covered with sackcloth hoods. Chains, wrapped around their limbs, rattled around as they stalked to and fro, looking to Mercury like vultures about to devour their prey.
She noticed the astral umbilical cord attached to Constantine, which disappeared into the mirror vortex. Wherever he had gone, the mirror was the way inside. Could she follow him, Mercury wondered as she neared the center of the room, her spirit form becoming heavier, as if it was being weighed down by some unfathomable mass. It was then, when she was halfway across the room, that the three creatures all stopped their circular marching and jerked their heads in unison. Piercing shrieks erupted from beneath the hoods, which allowed no light to illuminate their faces, despite the brilliance radiating from the mirror.
“Oh, bugger,” Mercury said as the winged nightmares lunged forward, their claws clicking together before their strike.
Mercury closed her eyes and allowed her tether to snap her back as quickly as possible, utilizing her natural-born psychic gifts to provide her a rapid exit. She crashed back into her body, the shock to her system knocking her off of the sofa and onto her arse in Constantine’s Soho flat. She was panting, gasping wildly for breath as she tried to collect herself off the shag carpet, and when she clutched her chest her hand came back wet and sticky.
Blood.
Mercury was fighting down her sense of panic and terror, wincing while she examined the deep scratches raked across her chest. That wasn’t supposed to be possible, that something purely metaphysical could harm her in the real world, but the evidence was undeniable. One of the creatures had tagged her before she escaped the astral realm, as unbelievable as that sounded, which meant that John was in even more danger than she’d realized.
She flew out of the flat, jacket in her hand and phone to her ear. “Chas, its Merc,” she said frantically, “need a pick up right bloody now, I think John’s going to die!”
She passed through the wall into the curator’s office, fighting through the maelstrom whipping at her ghostly form, and was taken aback by what she saw. There was John Constantine, his empty body lying on the floor of the office, a black mirror clutched unbroken in his hand. The mirror was the source of the vortex, with waves of light and force flowing in staccato pulses that washed over her, trying to push her back. What was even more concerning were the creatures posted as sentries around Constantine’s body, monstrously lithe beasts with black feathered wings, their heads covered with sackcloth hoods. Chains, wrapped around their limbs, rattled around as they stalked to and fro, looking to Mercury like vultures about to devour their prey.
She noticed the astral umbilical cord attached to Constantine, which disappeared into the mirror vortex. Wherever he had gone, the mirror was the way inside. Could she follow him, Mercury wondered as she neared the center of the room, her spirit form becoming heavier, as if it was being weighed down by some unfathomable mass. It was then, when she was halfway across the room, that the three creatures all stopped their circular marching and jerked their heads in unison. Piercing shrieks erupted from beneath the hoods, which allowed no light to illuminate their faces, despite the brilliance radiating from the mirror.
“Oh, bugger,” Mercury said as the winged nightmares lunged forward, their claws clicking together before their strike.
Mercury closed her eyes and allowed her tether to snap her back as quickly as possible, utilizing her natural-born psychic gifts to provide her a rapid exit. She crashed back into her body, the shock to her system knocking her off of the sofa and onto her arse in Constantine’s Soho flat. She was panting, gasping wildly for breath as she tried to collect herself off the shag carpet, and when she clutched her chest her hand came back wet and sticky.
Blood.
Mercury was fighting down her sense of panic and terror, wincing while she examined the deep scratches raked across her chest. That wasn’t supposed to be possible, that something purely metaphysical could harm her in the real world, but the evidence was undeniable. One of the creatures had tagged her before she escaped the astral realm, as unbelievable as that sounded, which meant that John was in even more danger than she’d realized.
She flew out of the flat, jacket in her hand and phone to her ear. “Chas, its Merc,” she said frantically, “need a pick up right bloody now, I think John’s going to die!”
**********
“Where are we going, Mum?” Constantine asked as he was led by the hand into the brilliant incandescence of Heaven, like a lamb caravanned by its shepherd.
“There’s someone you should meet,” Mary Anne said, pulling her son along behind her like the mother he always knew she would be.
Suddenly the clouds ahead parted, revealing a shimmering golden staircase with immaculate images carved upon it. The carvings moved, animated with a queer kind of life that caused the handrails to ripple as Mary Anne placed her hands upon them. “Enoch is coming to see you, John. I love you, but now it’s time for me to go.”
“Wait, I want to go with you!” John said as his number fingers pulled futilely at the hem of his mother’s dress.
She turned and smiled warmly, pausing for only the briefest of moments. “I’m sorry, baby boy,” she said before advancing up the stairway, “this way is only for the dead.”
Tears streamed down John Constantine’s face as his mother stepped up into the blinding brilliance of the Shining City, disappearing in a flash as she reached the top.
“I understand you were wishing to speak with me,” a deep, fatherly voice boomed throughout the Aether, the soothing force nearly rocking Constantine back down onto his knees. John spun on his heels and the environment shifted and morphed around him, the light fading from a blinding and overwhelming presence and coalescing instead as the dim bulb of a desk lamp. John was standing now in a large drawing room, surrounded with bookshelves and a large liquor cabinet in the back. Standing by the roaring fireplace was an elderly, bearded man with a snifter of brandy cradled in his gloved hand.
“Enoch?” John asked, bewildered by the change in environment.
“That’s right, Constantine,” the man said, pausing to take a sip of his drink, “you are now in the presence of the Metatron. I would advise you gauge your next question carefully...”
“There’s someone you should meet,” Mary Anne said, pulling her son along behind her like the mother he always knew she would be.
Suddenly the clouds ahead parted, revealing a shimmering golden staircase with immaculate images carved upon it. The carvings moved, animated with a queer kind of life that caused the handrails to ripple as Mary Anne placed her hands upon them. “Enoch is coming to see you, John. I love you, but now it’s time for me to go.”
“Wait, I want to go with you!” John said as his number fingers pulled futilely at the hem of his mother’s dress.
She turned and smiled warmly, pausing for only the briefest of moments. “I’m sorry, baby boy,” she said before advancing up the stairway, “this way is only for the dead.”
Tears streamed down John Constantine’s face as his mother stepped up into the blinding brilliance of the Shining City, disappearing in a flash as she reached the top.
“I understand you were wishing to speak with me,” a deep, fatherly voice boomed throughout the Aether, the soothing force nearly rocking Constantine back down onto his knees. John spun on his heels and the environment shifted and morphed around him, the light fading from a blinding and overwhelming presence and coalescing instead as the dim bulb of a desk lamp. John was standing now in a large drawing room, surrounded with bookshelves and a large liquor cabinet in the back. Standing by the roaring fireplace was an elderly, bearded man with a snifter of brandy cradled in his gloved hand.
“Enoch?” John asked, bewildered by the change in environment.
“That’s right, Constantine,” the man said, pausing to take a sip of his drink, “you are now in the presence of the Metatron. I would advise you gauge your next question carefully...”
**********
“Hold on, mate, I’m coming!”
The Professor had barely unlocked the office door before Chas shoulder-barreled his way through, pushing so hard that he tripped over his own feet on the way in and toppled down onto the carpet, his jaw colliding hard with the floor. The Professor sighed and stepped aside, allowing Mercury to rush in and over the stunned taxi driver at her feet.
Mercury slid to a stop beside the body of John Constantine, immediately cradling his head in her lap as she began to psychically scan for any trace of his soul inside him. “The angels took him,” she said with a low, flat tone of voice, “he’s left his body and gone outside this sphere. He traveled through the mirror glass.”
“Then break the fucking thing,” Chas said as he scrambled to his feet, grasping for the magical mirror of black obsidian once owned by John Dee, “and get our John back.”
The Professor stooped down and grasped the mirror before Chas could reach it. “This is a priceless artifact of antiquity,” he said, “it will not be broken in my presence. You would need the Queen’s own Guard to take this relic from my clutches if that is your intent, you plebian.”
“We can’t break it,” Mercury said as she furrowed her brow to strengthen her psychic net she was casting with her mind, “it’s our only way to get him back. If we break the mirror, John Constantine dies.”
The Professor shot a fiery glance at Chas, who replied simply, “Oh, right then.”
The Professor had barely unlocked the office door before Chas shoulder-barreled his way through, pushing so hard that he tripped over his own feet on the way in and toppled down onto the carpet, his jaw colliding hard with the floor. The Professor sighed and stepped aside, allowing Mercury to rush in and over the stunned taxi driver at her feet.
Mercury slid to a stop beside the body of John Constantine, immediately cradling his head in her lap as she began to psychically scan for any trace of his soul inside him. “The angels took him,” she said with a low, flat tone of voice, “he’s left his body and gone outside this sphere. He traveled through the mirror glass.”
“Then break the fucking thing,” Chas said as he scrambled to his feet, grasping for the magical mirror of black obsidian once owned by John Dee, “and get our John back.”
The Professor stooped down and grasped the mirror before Chas could reach it. “This is a priceless artifact of antiquity,” he said, “it will not be broken in my presence. You would need the Queen’s own Guard to take this relic from my clutches if that is your intent, you plebian.”
“We can’t break it,” Mercury said as she furrowed her brow to strengthen her psychic net she was casting with her mind, “it’s our only way to get him back. If we break the mirror, John Constantine dies.”
The Professor shot a fiery glance at Chas, who replied simply, “Oh, right then.”
**********
“I hate to say it but I expected more,” John said as he shook the melting snow off the shoulders of his raincoat, “voice of God and all that, figured you’d look a bit mightier, holier even.”
“Arrogance even in the presence of the divine,” Enoch said with a chuckle, “you’re every bit your reputation.”
“Ta,” John said as he made a beeline toward the liquor bar.
“It wasn’t a compliment,” Enoch stated as he took a seat in one of the chairs before the parlor fire, “get yourself sorted with drink and join me, we have some things to discuss.”
John was ruffled by his host’s comment, though he tried hard to not let it show. He sneered as he examined the contents of the bar shelves and settled on a half-empty bottle of Jameson’s. Forgoing the glass, he made his way back to the fireplace and flopped down across from Enoch. “It’s not arrogance, squire,” John said as he searched his pockets for a packet of cigarettes, “swagger’s all earned.”
Enoch swirled his brandy in his glass and smiled. “You are extraordinarily lucky, Mr. Constantine. John Dee’s mirror hadn’t been used in such a long time and the former guardians have become a bit feral. Did you know that you and I are the only genuine living souls in all of Heaven? I was brought here, in physicality, by God not long after my 365th birthday, and it is only by his grace that the divine powers of this realm haven’t caused my death.”
“You don’t look a day over 60,” John said as he raised the bottle of whiskey in mock salute, “cheers.”
“In your case,” Enoch continued after sipping his drink, “you had no such protection until I deemed to allow it. Your living soul would have been flayed to bloody ribbons by the lower caste of dominions that were prowling around after you. The hyenas of the heavenly sphere, I like to call them. Not the friendliest of chaps, I’m afraid.”
“I need answers,” John said, “so let’s skip the foreplay and get down to business. What can you tell me about the Maw?”
“My Lord, Hosanna in the Highest,” Enoch replied after a moment of silent contemplation, “cares not for what you believe you need. I am to inform you that the Maw is a closeted affair best left unattended, and any attempts to bring it to light it will be met with dire repercussions.”
“Is that a threat?” John asked, still searching for his cigarettes in his pockets.
“You should give up now, sir,” Enoch the Metatron said as he leaned forward, staring directly into John’s eyes, “and realize that this is Heaven, which is naturally non-smoking.”
“Arrogance even in the presence of the divine,” Enoch said with a chuckle, “you’re every bit your reputation.”
“Ta,” John said as he made a beeline toward the liquor bar.
“It wasn’t a compliment,” Enoch stated as he took a seat in one of the chairs before the parlor fire, “get yourself sorted with drink and join me, we have some things to discuss.”
John was ruffled by his host’s comment, though he tried hard to not let it show. He sneered as he examined the contents of the bar shelves and settled on a half-empty bottle of Jameson’s. Forgoing the glass, he made his way back to the fireplace and flopped down across from Enoch. “It’s not arrogance, squire,” John said as he searched his pockets for a packet of cigarettes, “swagger’s all earned.”
Enoch swirled his brandy in his glass and smiled. “You are extraordinarily lucky, Mr. Constantine. John Dee’s mirror hadn’t been used in such a long time and the former guardians have become a bit feral. Did you know that you and I are the only genuine living souls in all of Heaven? I was brought here, in physicality, by God not long after my 365th birthday, and it is only by his grace that the divine powers of this realm haven’t caused my death.”
“You don’t look a day over 60,” John said as he raised the bottle of whiskey in mock salute, “cheers.”
“In your case,” Enoch continued after sipping his drink, “you had no such protection until I deemed to allow it. Your living soul would have been flayed to bloody ribbons by the lower caste of dominions that were prowling around after you. The hyenas of the heavenly sphere, I like to call them. Not the friendliest of chaps, I’m afraid.”
“I need answers,” John said, “so let’s skip the foreplay and get down to business. What can you tell me about the Maw?”
“My Lord, Hosanna in the Highest,” Enoch replied after a moment of silent contemplation, “cares not for what you believe you need. I am to inform you that the Maw is a closeted affair best left unattended, and any attempts to bring it to light it will be met with dire repercussions.”
“Is that a threat?” John asked, still searching for his cigarettes in his pockets.
“You should give up now, sir,” Enoch the Metatron said as he leaned forward, staring directly into John’s eyes, “and realize that this is Heaven, which is naturally non-smoking.”
**********
“Come on, John,” Mercury whispered as she reached out with careful, purposeful psychic tendrils while rubbing the temples of his forehead, “come back to me.”
She was still cradling his head in her lap on the floor of the office, while Chas and the Professor continued to infuriate one another simply by existing. Things were tense, Chas was fretting around the room while the Professor relaxed casually in his office chair. The mirror was gripped tightly in the museum director’s hands, as if he was afraid of what would happen if he were to release his grasp.
Suddenly, Constantine sprang up from the floor as if he were being electrocuted. “Bastards!” he cried out as he scrambled to his feet, running and waving away at imaginary phantoms while barreling clumsily through the British Museum, toward the exit and a rapidly setting sun. Mercury and Chas followed behind but lost him outside in the milling throng of a crowd heading in and out of Bedford Square Park.
To his credit, Constantine lost his pursuers without even being consciously aware that he was being followed. He was mad as arseholes, gibbering and drooling nonsense as he pushed his way past the people in his way. He had no idea where he was going, because what he was truly running from he could never escape.
He’d heard the Word of Enoch, the Voice of the Metatron who was the Speaker of God Himself, and what was told to him was so damningly incomprehensible that to give it further thought threatened to drive him shrieking back into the madhouse. If he allowed himself to go that far down the rabbit hole of insanity, John knew as he paused for breath and drew out a cigarette with shaking hands, he would never claw his way out again.
Chas found him an hour later at the College Arms on Store Street, hunkered down in a corner booth with the light bulb overhead screwed out and stomped on beneath the table. A cloud of cigarette smoke clung to the corner overhead and John was on his third gin and tonic when Mercury sat down across from him, worry and concern worn on her face. “John, what happened? What did you do?”
Constantine sighed and took a long pull on his Silk Cut before shaking his head, like he was clearing the cobwebs out of his brain. “Had me a chinwag with the blokes upstairs,” he finally answered, “turns out those fuckers get off on causing me pain even worse than Hell does. I used John Dee’s magic mirror to try and get some answers about the Maw, to see what Heaven knew about what’s occurring down here.”
“What did you find out?” Mercury asked, slowly and softly, as if she was dealing with something fragile.
John stayed silent for several long moments, the question hanging pregnant in the air. “I got to see my mum,” he said after his pause, “she came to me and she was everything I ever imagined she would be. Then she left me and I came back down to this shithole where everything is fucked. She said that Heaven was giving me ‘a state of grace’, but all I got was judgment and fucking condemnation.”
“Oh John,” Mercury said as she reached out to place her hand on his, “I’m so sorry.”
John pulled his hand back just before Mercury could make contact, which struck her as odd but understandable given the circumstances. She was an empath, she would be able to feel his emotions with a touch, and Constantine had always been the most private of persons. She kept her hand on the table, lingering there in case he changed his mind, but instead he just threw back his glass and finished the last of his drink.
“Did you learn anything about the Maw?” Mercury asked, hoping to change the subject to business rather than personal recriminations.
John scoffed. “No, which puts us back at square fucking one. Neither Hell nor Heaven seem to have a buggering fuck of an idea about it, which sends off all kind of alarm bells in my head.”
“That’s...disappointing,” Mercury offered.
“Well,” John countered, “it’s not like I talked with Yahweh or anything, just a bunch of rabid angels out to skin my bollocks. Middle management wasn’t much help either, mind.”
“Better living through fucking chemistry, I suppose,” John said with an arched eyebrow at his female companion. Constantine removed two Silk Cuts from his packet and stuck both in his mouth, lit them both, and passed one across the table to Mercury. “Heaven isn’t going to help us,” he said as he watched her hesitantly take a draw, then suppress a slight cough, “and Hell is on silent running. We’re on our own here, Merc.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Mercury choked out before stubbing out the cigarette in the ashtray between them, “I mean, sure, Hell not talking is business as usual, but why wouldn’t Heaven want the Maw to be closed?”
“Who cares, mysterious ways and all that,” John spat out, “more importantly is how do we even find the fucking thing? Nasty beasties from Hell are out wandering and we don’t even know where to start. If it wasn’t against me better nature I’d just fuck off back to bed and leave this to Kent Nelson or the Phantom bloody Stranger. They’d just bollock things up though, I suppose. Naturally, that leaves the fate of the world on my fucking shoulders.”
Mercury was unable to look John in the eyes, his contempt and self-pity an almost physical, overpowering force between them.
“Fucking as usual,” he said to punctuate his thoughts. “Let me get my boozing on, love. I’m way too maudlin for company at the moment.”
“Fine, have it your way,” Mercury stated as she stood from the table. Chas had been waiting at the bar for her signal, either to come over or to ready his cab for their departure. She made her way through the small crowd to Chas, pausing to look back at Constantine in the shadowed corner. There was something he wasn’t telling her, something he learned in Heaven, she didn’t need to be psychic to know that. She’d figure out eventually, he’d let his guard down sometime and she’d read him like a book. Until then, though, she decided it best to leave him on his own.
There was something he wasn’t telling her and it weighed heavily on John’s mind as he received another G ’n’ T from the waitress. He was even more alone than ever, not knowing who to trust or count on. What he’d learned in Heaven, among other distressing things, was that one of his allies would betray him. Mercury seemed so genuine; how could she ever turn against him? Who was left that Constantine could turn to?
John stayed in the pub until closing time and still had no answer to his question…
THE END
She was still cradling his head in her lap on the floor of the office, while Chas and the Professor continued to infuriate one another simply by existing. Things were tense, Chas was fretting around the room while the Professor relaxed casually in his office chair. The mirror was gripped tightly in the museum director’s hands, as if he was afraid of what would happen if he were to release his grasp.
Suddenly, Constantine sprang up from the floor as if he were being electrocuted. “Bastards!” he cried out as he scrambled to his feet, running and waving away at imaginary phantoms while barreling clumsily through the British Museum, toward the exit and a rapidly setting sun. Mercury and Chas followed behind but lost him outside in the milling throng of a crowd heading in and out of Bedford Square Park.
To his credit, Constantine lost his pursuers without even being consciously aware that he was being followed. He was mad as arseholes, gibbering and drooling nonsense as he pushed his way past the people in his way. He had no idea where he was going, because what he was truly running from he could never escape.
He’d heard the Word of Enoch, the Voice of the Metatron who was the Speaker of God Himself, and what was told to him was so damningly incomprehensible that to give it further thought threatened to drive him shrieking back into the madhouse. If he allowed himself to go that far down the rabbit hole of insanity, John knew as he paused for breath and drew out a cigarette with shaking hands, he would never claw his way out again.
Chas found him an hour later at the College Arms on Store Street, hunkered down in a corner booth with the light bulb overhead screwed out and stomped on beneath the table. A cloud of cigarette smoke clung to the corner overhead and John was on his third gin and tonic when Mercury sat down across from him, worry and concern worn on her face. “John, what happened? What did you do?”
Constantine sighed and took a long pull on his Silk Cut before shaking his head, like he was clearing the cobwebs out of his brain. “Had me a chinwag with the blokes upstairs,” he finally answered, “turns out those fuckers get off on causing me pain even worse than Hell does. I used John Dee’s magic mirror to try and get some answers about the Maw, to see what Heaven knew about what’s occurring down here.”
“What did you find out?” Mercury asked, slowly and softly, as if she was dealing with something fragile.
John stayed silent for several long moments, the question hanging pregnant in the air. “I got to see my mum,” he said after his pause, “she came to me and she was everything I ever imagined she would be. Then she left me and I came back down to this shithole where everything is fucked. She said that Heaven was giving me ‘a state of grace’, but all I got was judgment and fucking condemnation.”
“Oh John,” Mercury said as she reached out to place her hand on his, “I’m so sorry.”
John pulled his hand back just before Mercury could make contact, which struck her as odd but understandable given the circumstances. She was an empath, she would be able to feel his emotions with a touch, and Constantine had always been the most private of persons. She kept her hand on the table, lingering there in case he changed his mind, but instead he just threw back his glass and finished the last of his drink.
“Did you learn anything about the Maw?” Mercury asked, hoping to change the subject to business rather than personal recriminations.
John scoffed. “No, which puts us back at square fucking one. Neither Hell nor Heaven seem to have a buggering fuck of an idea about it, which sends off all kind of alarm bells in my head.”
“That’s...disappointing,” Mercury offered.
“Well,” John countered, “it’s not like I talked with Yahweh or anything, just a bunch of rabid angels out to skin my bollocks. Middle management wasn’t much help either, mind.”
“Better living through fucking chemistry, I suppose,” John said with an arched eyebrow at his female companion. Constantine removed two Silk Cuts from his packet and stuck both in his mouth, lit them both, and passed one across the table to Mercury. “Heaven isn’t going to help us,” he said as he watched her hesitantly take a draw, then suppress a slight cough, “and Hell is on silent running. We’re on our own here, Merc.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Mercury choked out before stubbing out the cigarette in the ashtray between them, “I mean, sure, Hell not talking is business as usual, but why wouldn’t Heaven want the Maw to be closed?”
“Who cares, mysterious ways and all that,” John spat out, “more importantly is how do we even find the fucking thing? Nasty beasties from Hell are out wandering and we don’t even know where to start. If it wasn’t against me better nature I’d just fuck off back to bed and leave this to Kent Nelson or the Phantom bloody Stranger. They’d just bollock things up though, I suppose. Naturally, that leaves the fate of the world on my fucking shoulders.”
Mercury was unable to look John in the eyes, his contempt and self-pity an almost physical, overpowering force between them.
“Fucking as usual,” he said to punctuate his thoughts. “Let me get my boozing on, love. I’m way too maudlin for company at the moment.”
“Fine, have it your way,” Mercury stated as she stood from the table. Chas had been waiting at the bar for her signal, either to come over or to ready his cab for their departure. She made her way through the small crowd to Chas, pausing to look back at Constantine in the shadowed corner. There was something he wasn’t telling her, something he learned in Heaven, she didn’t need to be psychic to know that. She’d figure out eventually, he’d let his guard down sometime and she’d read him like a book. Until then, though, she decided it best to leave him on his own.
There was something he wasn’t telling her and it weighed heavily on John’s mind as he received another G ’n’ T from the waitress. He was even more alone than ever, not knowing who to trust or count on. What he’d learned in Heaven, among other distressing things, was that one of his allies would betray him. Mercury seemed so genuine; how could she ever turn against him? Who was left that Constantine could turn to?
John stayed in the pub until closing time and still had no answer to his question…
THE END