 |
|
Degrees of Separation by Josh Whitener The bitter taste of the night’s air felt tingly and warm despite the tundra of a winter they were having in Moscow this season. The snow crunched under the feet of a happy couple that stumbled out of the dining area that night high on their own laughter. One was a tall, pale in the light of the moon with a chiseled jaw line and a handsome face. It looked somewhat angelic to the woman he escorted. Her hair was raven with thick, full lips that began to trace over his neck and work their way up to his earlobe as they walked on, still laughing under heated breaths. Placing his hand over her cheek he brushed several strands of hair back before withdrawing from her. There speech was hindered by their language. <”You’ll make me late again, darling”> Her warm smile faded and grew to a frown that accompanied him with a small push. <”You’re still meeting with that drunken buffoon? I’d keep you here all night if I had to for that, Ivan. Damn it this nonsense makes me a complete idiot with you. How is that, I wonder?”> She began to pull a small silver case from her purse and open it. There laid several rolled cigarettes neatly placed. She withdrew one and reached for her lighter to ignite it. <”Do not make me seem unreasonable. He’s teaching me various things, darling. Culture and I need the expertise.”> She interrupted. <”But you are. You get so caught up in all this fucking shit you can’t see straight, not even with me who’s right in front of you. Careless – that’s what you are!”> This speech was uttered almost every time with him, every Wednesday night around 10 p.m. – the witching hour. It was like this all the time now. Almost all the current students pursued Dr. Kerosh as an advisor. Having been studying the black arts for more than twenty years he’s considered more or less the cultural advocate in Western occultism to a few of the willing learners in Moscow. After several arrangements Ivan finally got the chance to become quite fond of the good doctor, and earned his keep after three years to have a seat at the head table. He was heading their tonight with the disapproval of his girlfriend Alexandria. She loathed the idea of him learning these kinds of ideas. Perhaps it wasn’t the teachings themselves but the way they affected him so. A change occurred in the days when he would come back from Dr. Kerosh apartment, so hopeful and utterly unreachable. Filled with new spells, and summonings to try and work. The problem was he was good at them, almost terrifyingly good to her, and it worried her to the point of locking her door at night while he was away and just hoping that both he and the doctor had become to drunk that they had forgotten about the time and their original purpose of meeting. Sometimes he would come home with the most disturbing things; horrible things and ideas that his head had been filled with. She worried for the both of them. She loved him. <”I am what I am, darling. I wish you would be more appreciative. There isn’t much more I can do for us. You go to the parlor tonight and have a drink with Silvia. Think it over. I’ll be back later tonight.”> “I love you” Speaking a bit of clear English as he kissed her forehead and turned to walk, his hands shoved into his pockets as he sighed. She watched from behind him with a small frown then turned, likewise, and carried on the other way. The wind broke through the space between them with a howl, carrying snowflakes for the ride. He had reached the door to the doctor’s apartment sometime around 10:15. He knocked twice, once short and quiet, the next loud and long. It wasn’t until he hit the door hard enough that he noticed it to be unlocked….and open. The door moved slowly with a creak. Ivan could see there was a light on inside. Eyes widening at the thought that someone had done something horrible, he crept inside carefully looking for something near the table to provide as a potential weapon. He didn’t dare call out the name just yet. Dr. Kerosh would have never left his door open, even unlocked to take out the garbage. Something was indeed very off. Around the corner to his small living area he raised his arm, ready to attack any assailant. He was a formidable man, skinny but never truly weak. With a gasp he darted in and looks frantically. Surprisingly the doctor lay in his chair, snoring with the sound of the television on in the background. The realization didn’t click for a few seconds. He sighed and calmly lowered his hand. It wasn’t until a voice from behind him through him into a frightened panic. <”Good evening, Ivan.”> John Constantine knew some Russian, but not enough to save his life, luckily Ivan knew enough for the both of them. He lit a cigarette from behind him as the man turned quickly, arm half way raised to strike again before he realized who he was looking at. Even then it took more than instinct to lower weapon, realizing know he’d only grabbed a book from a nearby table. John saw the binding and smiled. “Crime and Punishment. Bit on the nose, in'nit?” “Constantine. What is this? What are you doing here?! The Doctor…” “Is asleep for a long while, mate. As much as people fancy this fella a key player he does tend to over do it on the vodka, I’d guess. Ivan, I need a word with you, squire. Something’s come up. I knew I’d find you here, but I don’t intend to stay. Let’s find a drink.” A bit taken back by the fast paced Constantine, he blinks and stutters slightly. “I- uh….I mean yes, okay. There is a bar…not far. I can show you.” He gave one small glance to the sleeping doctor before moving out after John downstairs. He shut the door behind him and stopped a moment as he reached into his pocket. “Wait.” He slipped his key into the doctors lock and locked the door with a small smile. John gave a smirk and chuckled as he walked down the stairs into the cold with Ivan. “Why me? What could I possibly want that you can not have already?” They sat near the back. This particular bar didn’t hold many people. The bartender, in fact, felt rather angry he couldn’t close up earlier for the night when this pair arrived. “They’re big ripples in a big pond, mate. I know you just started and all but you should well enough know that things like these don’t happen for no reason. ‘sides, I got a message. Something tells me this isn’t all up to snap, and I can’t quite put my finger on it just yet. I figure with the good doctor’s knowledge you should be ready to get your feet wet, right?” Ivan kept to himself mostly. He didn’t say much of anything to Constantine, and only let him speak. It must have been years since he last saw John, with the incident in the South Pacific, he’d left quite an opening for himself in many of the occult leaders here some places around Podol’sk even with that discovery. Most of the people Ivan always knew where chaos worshipers. Janus was a symbol of religious prayers and spells around his circle. He’s always hated relying on others for his own fortune, which was why he didn’t particularly like the cult scene. He gave a quick smile and laughed slightly. He tried to hide the fact that his hands were shaking. “You know...I have a girlfriend now, John. She doesn’t approve of me learning these things. What I see, you know. I’m sure you wouldn’t know what that is like, but I’m trying to handle my…er…problems as well. No more you see.” “More than you know, mate… John thought about Kit just then. “…but that’s never the case with people like us. Listen, I’m not telling you to help save the world but you know what happens when worlds collide, right? Lines are moving and its not by chance, something’s pulling the points together. It’s a wonder their so easy to find. So don’t get cold feet. You keep your ear to the ground. We all do, so when a friend comes to collect a debt you don’t push them off with tales of love.” Ivan smile fades and he nodded understandingly. Looking outside he could see the snow beginning to let up and he looked back to John, mumbling a curse in Russian. “Alright, John, but I’m not the one you need to speak to. There’s a man, outside of St. Petersburg, in Otradnoye that can help you more.” “Got your bags packed then?” John asked curiously. “What am I going to say to her, John? She doesn’t like me…meeting…with these men why would it not be different.” John lit another cigarette momentarily after he stubbed the other one. “’Cause their not as sociable as I am. Come one… I’ll leave by dawn. Pack something up, don’t forget the essentials and then get to the station. I’ll meet you there soon.” He rose from his seat at the table and moved towards the exit. The bartender eyed John oddly as he exited and gave a look to Ivan. Ivan smiled nervously and then followed John, still unsure about this meeting. He caught the door behind John quickly and as his trench coated friend began to step into the snow covered, cobblestone street he spoke again. “You are serious again? This is not getting me over my head, John?” His English was a little course but he knew what he meant. “With me, squire? Never.” The look haunted Ivan and then Constantine tucked his hands into his coat and was soon out of sight. That night Ivan had fought with Alexandria, and she’d shut the door harshly on his way out. He could have by all means stayed with her, left John to help himself to St. Petersburg’s stations and ended this conflict once and for all, but he couldn’t. He’d grab a hold of something and never let go. Too late to turn now, not with what John told him he could do, and not what he told John he had yet to find out. Kissing the ends of his fingers he gently pressed them against the door. His love sobbed quietly on the other side. Her mascara ran down her cheeks and landed to the floor in a dark blue dot. A light clicked on in the bathroom of the passenger compartment inside the train. The sink water flowed like a fountain for a brief moment before Ivan’s hands dipped into the cool moisture and flung it back to his face, splashing it over his skin. He dropped his wet hands onto the sink and sighed. This was no sigh of relief however, oh no, it was full of anticipation, worry, nervousness, and frustration. Any minute he was going to have to go back to his seat with John, causing, undoubtedly a tense situation. It wasn’t all of his friends that could put him on edge – just John. There was a brief moment where he thought he would go back, tell him he couldn’t do this. He would tell him he would travel as far as St. Petersburg then let him go on his own accord; he would take the first train back to his apartment, back to Alexandria. His face was a blank stare into the small mirror, and then he opened the door with yet another sigh. A page flipped over a small notebook John was holding. His eyes traced over what was printed on the page. Whatever it was it surely kept his interest long enough for Ivan to finish in the bathroom and return in a short while with a fake grin. John noticed as he sat down. His eyes watched him, amused slightly but also worried. “I took care of Alex for ya, mate. Everything’s under control.” Ivan nodded quickly, his eyes lost in the carpet below. “No…no it’s not that. I understand what I’m doing now. I just wish I wasn’t….” His word stopped short in his sigh. “…her name is Alexandria.” John didn’t look too worried, as usual. He looked back at the papers he was reading, trying to make a distinction of each of the symbols and sigils presented, also the underlining passages and entries. He decided to break the silence yet again, changing subject slightly. “You wrote everything down, eh? Patience is a virtue alright.” “I can’t remember it if I don’t. I’m not like you or the others. I can’t keep track of everything at once. Kerosh thinks if I don’t learn absorbing everything sooner than theirs no talent with me. He’ll just move to someone else.” “Like the bottom of a vodka bottle. This isn’t like a pissing contest. You take things as you’re given. Luckily the doc hasn’t shown you everything that’s unholy about what it is we know. Otherwise this…” Holding up his notebook “...is an otherwise pointless hobby.” Ivan didn’t understand Constantine half the time. He’d heard it from some of his acquaintances in the west, as well, that when Constantine spoke he had a habit of not saying anything at all. Sooner or later though words become actions, and like it or not John always made sense in the end, like he was one step ahead somehow. The train came to a stop in St. Petersburg no less than 6 hours after their departure. They didn’t check into a hotel, Ivan didn’t want to waste anytime, but all the same he was still interested in what John was talking about. There was an underlining fear that bubbled in Ivan’s self conscious, something that forced him to be here but didn’t want him to travel to Otradnoye. The man in question was a skinny, older man with a narrow face and thin white hair. His face sagged with wrinkles and liver spots. He could have well been in his late seventies just by facial features alone. This was Vladimir Monavich. Ivan reached Monavich’s house later in the afternoon. He had phoned him earlier, at a more unreasonable hour for the man who spent most of his life avoiding his ex-wife and drinking, to let him know he was coming. There was high regard in his voice, it wasn’t everyday that they met on such hurried, and unexplained matters. Such was the case for Ivan; he rarely gave thought to matters until the last minute, which is why he accompanied Constantine. He didn’t, however, mention this to Vladimir. He didn’t say anything about the Englishman’s arrival with him, nor did he care to. Constantine waited patiently outside the stoop, smoking. His coat was wrapped and buttoned around him as the wind blow snow at his face. His hair stuck to his forehead slightly and he watched Ivan with a small frown of discomfort for making him stand a reasonable distance from the house. With a knock, and a small gathered point in waiting, Ivan heard the door being unlocked. The door then cracked and a chain blocked the entrance of Ivan for a short moment as a pair of ghostly eyes studied him from inside. The door slammed, then opened again, reveal Monavich in a large bathrobe, his hands wrapped around himself as he looked at both Ivan and Constantine. John couldn’t hear much of what was said, all of it was in Russian; but he kept his calm watching the two carefully, Monavich more specifically as Ivan looked back to John. There was a brief spot of hesitation as Monavich looked to John, then in a frustrated tone he ushered the two to make there way in. Pointing to the sky and dropping his hand to simulate something about the weather perhaps. Both Ivan and John followed him inside. The first thing John noticed was the smell of his house. He hated it. It smelled like bitter wine and dead leaves, like death almost. The aging Monavich staggered to his seat at the couch near the door of his living room (if you could call it livable). There were endless amounts of paper strewn about the floor, garbage as well. He had a large dog lying down near the fireplace; it didn’t even stir to their arrival. John noticed several pornographic magazines near the table and empty bottles of alcohol. It was hard to say wither Monavich was drunk, or sober. He had the radio on prior to their entrance and he calmly turned it off as he sat. Ivan set aside various magazines and literature to find a seat on an old rocking chair to Monavich’s right. John settled on standing near the fireplace, unbuttoning his trench coat. Ivan was the first to speak. <”Thank you very much, Mr. Monavich for see-“> Monavich interrupted. <”Do not attempt to patronize me, boy. You’ve come to my house to waste my time. What is it you and your blonde lover wish to speak to me about? Should I listen”> He said giving a vigorous laugh and looking to Constantine. John saw that he didn’t have many teeth, especially front ones. John just watched him from his corner of the small room; he had no idea what he just said. Ivan looked to John with a small, half-smile. “He likes you.” “Lovely. Tell him what I already told you.” Monavich struck a match and applied it to an already waiting cigar that he gummed in his mouth disgustingly. <”Very well, this is John Constantine. He is looking for information, I told him you were the only one I know with this kind of expertise.”> Vladimir’s look that he gave to John upon hearing his name was less than enthused, perhaps spiteful. John simply looked directly at him, returning a similar expression. <”Are you trying to fuck me, Ivan? I know what you two are talking about. I know what you want, but it is not here you’ll find it, boy.”> Ivan gave a look of surprise. <”You know? Then what—“> Again he was cut off. <”Look at me. I’ve spent my entire life following the patterns of leylines, walking them, and there is nothing I cannot find out without speaking to the energy around us. But you’ve come to the wrong place for answers. They’ve past me by already.”> John lit his own cigarette and looked to Ivan. “Mind letting me in on some of this?” Ivan turned slowly from Monavich to John. “He…uh…says he already knows why we’re here. He knows about the leylines moving and why everything in the underground is whispering. He knows about it, John.” John watched Monavich for a moment, who continued to smoke calmly, and then John turned to Ivan for a brief second before whatever he was going to say was cut off. “You think you know all, yes?” Monavich’s English was very broken and course, but John understood it, and Ivan was surprised to hear him speak it at all. “This woman you cannot see and this boy? They are your entire problem, has no magic with it. Why you were dying and what you did. Doors are opening now…<”you shouldn’t be alive at all with the things you’re doing, and they’ll figure a way to stop you before it all happens.”> Ivan looked to John with a worried expression, John simply eyed Monavich with a cold stare and slowly walked towards the door, Ivan followed shortly after in a bit of shock. Vladimir Monavich stood as best he could as John opened his door, the dog lifted its head, and he began to shout in thick Russian. <”Everyone will hear about this. They won’t have a choice but to find away back into hell! You’ve changed the rules, Constantine! You can’t cheat the fates this many times and not expect him to remember!”> That laugh followed Constantine and Ivan outside and then the door slammed behind them. There was a brief bit of silence as John continued to walk through the snow, his hands still numb. Ivan was the first to speak. “John…?” He didn’t respond “I know you need help, but I’m not sure I want this…I have a life you know. This…this isn’t what I expected you meant.” “It’s okay, kid. I don’t think I knew what I meant either. Something stinks and it wasn’t just that crazy old geezer. He knew more than he should have….even for someone that speaks directly to the powers.” He let out an irritable sigh and nodded. “You get home, mate. See your girl and have a shag before your head starts playing games with you again. Your debts done with as far as I’m concerned. Cheers.” “You sure?” He asked relieved, though still a bit questioned as to whether he meant it. “Yea. I am.” John walked down the street calmly, the train station was back south but he still headed in a northern direction. Ivan swallowed, turned and moved to head back to the station, never noticing that Monavich watched from the window carefully. He disappeared as soon as the pair of men did. At eight o’clock that evening he made a phone call to Moscow City. It was a day or so later before Ivan returned home. John had left a message at the station before he arrived telling him he’d be leaving the country soon and to let him know he was okay; he didn’t say where he was going. Outside he waited, nervously, to enter. He couldn’t wait to see her again, and the only thing that kept him from reaching for the door and pulling it open was the sound of music from inside. He knew she was still here, a record of hers played blissfully out into the hall. She loved the classics, sometimes listening to them for hours on end. Ivan could image her brushing her hair in the bathroom, over the sound of a harmonic symphony in the back round. A small smile formed and he straightened up and went for the knob. Mozart welcomed him warmly once more. He itched his hand out of habit, looked at it with a small frown. Maybe he was developing a rash or something. At any rate he forgot about it. He thought it rather perfect for his arrival despite the rather confusing meeting with Monavich and John. Something he felt was very unfulfilling and he would curse John for allowing him to leave his wife with such a worry on her head without as much as a reward for his duties. Although having John out of your life once and for all does a person a world of good, he thought, but that thought was soon cut off. He had other things to worry about. <”Darling?”> Calling from the doorway as he looked inside, then slowly began to approach. There was the first sight of the record player, but something else caught him by surprise. There was he leg hanging off the bed. He smiled calmly, a little chuckle escaping. <” Alexandria, have you fallen asleep with this music playing ag- - “> Ivan noticed something else as well; something that cut his words off and formed a large lump in the back of his throat. Suddenly there was the smell of almonds and fried potatoes looming. Blood trickled from the leg he saw and hit the floor with small drop. The floor below had accumulated a small stain on the carpet that was hidden slightly by the covers of the bed. <” Alexandria…?”> He moved inside quickly, his eyes darting directly to the bed. He was in such a panic he didn’t hear the footsteps behind him. “NO!! OH MY GOD!” He screamed wildly as he put his hand to his mouth in horror. The sight of her body, lying on the bed, several gunshots into her stomach and chest made the blood stain her entire body and the bed. Her eyes stared lifelessly to the ceiling; Ivan’s stared almost the same way at her. His body felt a cold sweat, and he moved to be next to her almost instantly, tears forming the outsides of his eyes. Only the sound, and sign of a large figure over the doorway stopped him, then everything went black for Ivan. A silenced gun shot was barely heard over the sound of the music and his body collapsed onto the floor. The shot hit its make in his left temple. The man loomed over the floor; again he fired the weapon, this time at his face. Twice more this happened before the assassin holstered the weapon. Ivan Petrosvky laid there, blood smeared on a once beautiful face that now could barely be recognizable. The needle on the record was gently removed and the lights turned off. It took twelve hours before the bodies of Ivan Petrosvky and Alexandria Girad were found. John Constantine was on a train bound for the Camden station. |