Constantine (30 page)

Constantine turned and looked at the city. Wondering what he’d say to that city, if its inhabitants could hear him, right now… Maybe:

I’m everything that never happened to you. I’ve seen young boys strong enough to snap your neck in one hand. And women sell their babies for the promise of a throne of fire. I’ve seen Hell blaze through these streets. I don’t have the usual map of L.A. in my head, not the one everyone else has. L.A.’s got a different geography for me. Spilling blood and the last breath before dying mark it all out, in dark wet borders. And no one giving a damn about it. No one at all.

Constantine took a pack of cigarettes from his coat. Looked at them. And crumpled them up, tossed them over the edge. Then he took something else from his coat pocket: two special shotgun shells. Their casings embossed with arcane symbols.

God has a plan for all of us. I had to die. Twice. Just to figure that out.

He loaded the shotgun shells into the gun’s chamber. Backed the shotgun.

Like the Book says, He works His work in mysterious ways.

He peered down over the roof. The lure he’d arranged earlier was working. The thing was coming…

Wait - he lost sight of it for a moment.

“John-”

He glanced at Angela at the door. She pointed. “On your left!”

He stepped back, aimed the shotgun as she went through the door.

Some people like it…

The winged demon swooped down at him - the one that had gotten away at the mission downtown…

Over his head now, angling down, coming right for him… He saw its teeth plainly in the streetlight shine, gleaming as it opened its jaws, preparing to tear into him…

…
Some people don’t.

The demon came right at him. He had just time to aim the shotgun…

And he blew the demon into leathery fragments. Two rounds, just to be sure. Then he blew the smoke away, and went to the fire escape. There was still more for him to do out there, this night… but he couldn’t get Angela out of his mind.

The way she’d said it…
See you around?

Just a tone of voice, but definitely: an invitation.

And going down the fire escape, thinking about Angela and God and Heaven, John Constantine had a strange sensation, a strange feeling deep inside him. What was it exactly? It was something he hadn’t felt in a long, long time, and it took him a while to recognize the feeling.

It was hope.

JOHN SHIRLEY
is the author of numerous novels, including
Crawlers, Demons,
and
Wetbones,
and
story
collections, including
Really Really Really Really Weird Stories
and the Bram Stoker Award-winning collection
Black Butterflies.
He also writes scripts for television and film, and was coscreenwriter for
The Crow.
His authorized fan-created website is
www.darkeeho.com/JohnShirley.