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Degrees of Separation by Josh Whitener The moment of confusion didn’t last long. There was nothing John could be confused about if he was going to make it out. Timing was everything and this was something he didn’t count on. With a loud shout he watched as Valentine began to move in anger and madness to Tyrone now, his teeth gnashing as he prepared to slash the boy at a close range with the dagger. Valentine knew the seal had to be closed, and John knew that he knew how to do it. John shouted loudly at the boy. “Get out of the circle!” He waited until this happened and then quickly shouted again. “SHOOT!” His tone left little room for argument. It was either kill or be killed in this situation and as the ghosts continued to fly through the room John hoped the kid’s words backed his actions. At least in this case… In all this Lucas had jumped for the door with is security card in hand. John's shriek made Tyrone jump and he made a sudden lunge for the breech in the pentagram, stepping from the threshold towards Valentine. Valentine's knife slashed across his chest, opening a bleeding wound which he didn't even feel. The gun felt heavy in his hand as it was gripped in sweating fingers. Tyrone would have been tortured to eternity rather than admit he had never killed a man before, and for the briefest second he paused. And that pause cost him the slash across his chest. The gun fired at point blank range into Valentine's chest, throwing him backwards. Tyrone made a grab for the man and fired a second time before twisting him around and tossing him into the pentagram. He began to run, but his legs felt too heavy, like he had weights attached. Why was he wet? A large wet stain spread across his vest and his hand went to it in confusion as he stumbled and fell to the floor. "Fu…” John watched this in what seemed like an eternity. The slash over his chest made him cringe somewhat but as the shots rang out he began to get to his feet and limp away quickly. As soon as Valentine’s body hit the circle and even the smallest amount of blood entered the rims of the drawn sigils the portal closed, sending the spirits into a giant frenzy towards Valentine’s body. His blood was a like a beacon, keeping the spirits gathered together as the three of them began to swarm around his body, actually levitating it from the ground. John didn’t notice Tyrone’s cry as the blood poured from an open wound. He simply watched Valentines body age at an alarming process as the spirits took his both soul and body. The shrieks died with Valentine in a matter of minutes. John’s echoed breaths turned into small coughs before he straightened and looked for Tyrone. He attempted to catch the man's arms before he did some harm in a fall. His eyes scanned the room for Valentines assistant instantly, but in the ensuing chaos he’d escaped through the security door. John’s eyes washed over the room, the guards lying dead above them, and all five associates likewise around the circle. Valentine’s body was far from recognizable by now. Just a worn mess of human tissue now. There was a small whispering noise as the portal closed, but before long John felt another cold wind and he started to walk slowly to the door Lucas had exited from, but was stopped by something vaguely visible. Something that looked like a cloud of gas stood in front of the two of them, the water drops bouncing around it. John seemed to have a sense of recognition or at least what was going on. Sighing he nodded his head and spoke. “You can pass on now, mate. Sorry you had to go through this but I needed something to guide spirits inside.” There wasn’t a response, as if there would have been. This was another spirit, Ivan’s ghost to be exact. His body had been magically stationed before it could pass on to the next world. A safety net for John and, unexpectedly, to survive. Ivan had recognized something before his mortal body was destroyed. He had a nagging itch on his left hand ever since he arrived home to see Alexandria, and the thought that Constantine was low enough to mark him was far from his mind. “Just for insurance. I had nothing to do with your murder, mate. Honestly.” He didn’t expect him to believe it but as far as damage went there wasn’t much Ivan could do that a man in a white sheet couldn’t accompany. With a sigh John passed Tyrone and himself through Ivan and with that the spirit disappeared. There were small steps to be made before they moved to the security door and John helped the kid up them if needed. The door appeared shut, and there was a sigh of disappointment as he continued to it closer. “You look like shit.” John quipped. "I feel like fuckin' shit, man...” he scowled, pushing John away. Get off me! I can walk. Tyrone had seen the rapid aging and disintegration of Valentine's body and it was a sight he didn't fancy seeing again in this lifetime, or any other. "What was that friggin' thing?" he demanded, leaning heavily against the door frame and his breaths coming in deep ragged gasps. Suddenly, he seemed to actually realize he was injured as the spreading pool of dampness was dying his hands with a crimson liquid. "He fuckin' cut me!" he hissed, the whole world taking a sudden tilt to the left, and then the right. Tyrone tried to grin as John caught him and prevented him stumbling back to the floor. No doubt in a few days he'd be showing this beauty off with pride. Obviously it was going to need stitches but it wasn't going to be killing anyone anytime soon. “What the hell was that, John? I mean, all this…” John didn’t hear Tyrone’s last bits, there was something more taking his notice. Without as much as a shift in expression John opened the door calmly. A black shoulder holster fell to the floor, having been holding the door open just a hair from shutting. “I think its explanations all around.” He said softly as he looked down the corridor leading outside. “Come on, kid. We’re leaving.” He didn’t waste much time in moving out of the cave himself and left Tyrone to follow him after. Sighing he rubbed his bruised jaw. His body ached like nothing else. He’d almost wished the cancer pains over this…almost. “Answer my question, Constantine, I want to know what the fuck went on here.” he said. “What's that then? A story to spread to your little play ground pals, is it? I’d love too…problem is I’m not to sure about it meself.” He added truthfully as he continued upwards and on. “Just that these old geezers though they knew what they were doing. Nice shoot, kid. Doesn’t look like you practice much though. Next time leave the vengeance to the ones who deserve it. It’s not like he kidnapped YOU from those alleys.” He said coldly as his mind began to trace back slowly. “Someone’s winding me up on this one. That seemed too easy. No offence.” There would have been more questions running through his mind, and he almost wished he kept one of those basards alive long enough to get the answers. Right now, though, the only thing he could stand was to get a hold of… “I need some fucking smokes.” "Here...” He dug out a packet of cheap cigarettes, some foreign brand and likely more paper than tobacco, offering one to John. "Guess I didn't give up after all." Each movement brought a grimace as the stinging cut tightened and ragged like hell. He pocketed the rest of the packet and followed at John's heels. "So where the fuck are we? Last I freakin' remember is Valentine stabbing me with a bloody needle and then everything went dark. They take us far?" John didn’t answer right away, mostly because the guy was still in shock and raving out different questions one after the other. He continued talking as they walked, trying to appear nonchalant as he swaggered. Pack must’ve fallen out somewhere on the street last night, luckily the lighter hadn’t. John’s hand had probed his pocket desperately as he took the cigarette from Tyrone. Seconds later he lit and listened to Tyrone speak, no matter how much it was getting on his nerves. “I’d say that thing you saw in there and why it let me go are all the things you don’t need to know about me for now, kid.” He gave a smirk and let it go on that note. With a push Constantine opened it, giving a look back at the long hallway. A burst of sunlight poured into their eyes, making it very uncomfortable to look at considering the last time they probably both saw it. “…get yourself to a hospital. Bloody hell…uhh...” His brought his hand to his eyes to shield the sun while they adjusted. He glanced back to Tyrone and inhaled before withdrawing. “Something’s not right about this and I haven’t got a doubt its not over. Keep yourself out of the way for awhile.” He was about to make an exit before he turned once more and shouted. “Hey kid...thanks for not kicking me in the bollocks.” With a smirk he tossed his beaten coat over his shoulders more and rounded the corner. The doorman gave a slight smirk to the man as he slide the metal door open. His hands went back to his sides as he allowed the other man to enter. With a huff the door closed behind him and the trail of footsteps continued on. The long corridor rounded and it didn’t last long before he was halted by a second guard. This one slightly bigger than the last. “You’re late.” The man was relatively handsome and instead of donning his tailored suit wore a simply older brown jacket with a rimmed collar of fur and black pants. His eyes stared irritatingly at the guard. “Things got backtracked. So let me tell them instead of you.” The guard chuckled slightly and without looking back gave a knock to the door behind him with the back of his fist. A slot rolled open next to his head and another pair of eyes stared at the man before sliding the slot shut and the sound of mechanic knobs turning alerted him as the door began to open slowly. The large iron was enough to keep back anything less than a bomb one would think. The extra security was a little excessive for something that he wasn’t sure even existed until now, but it was understandable. The room itself was more or less a bomb shelter or some place the local kids would like to have a rave in. There wasn’t much else to say expect for a furnished area in which to be livable, and a darkly lit room where our guest headed to. As he passed by several smaller rooms there was a sound of whining. Small infants and mothers huddled under the cover of darkness as the man passed by, their eyes glued to him as if calling out for help without so much as a breath uttered. Still he wandered past them as he looked away coldly. It wasn’t so much the presence of them that threw him off, more the fact that there was nothing more he could do for them. With endless months of working for Donald Valentine you get a sense of heartlessness that’ll still stick you every now and again. He came to a door just in time for it to open before him. A small child looked up absently at the large dark man hovering over him, hands tucked into his jacket. For a moment no one spoke, until he ran out of patience and tilted his head to scratch it slightly. “Umm…I think...” The boy interrupted and glared at him. “We know why you’re here. Don’t patronize me.” With that he left the door open and disappeared around its other side. The man entered in slowly with a small frown and looked to his right. The boy sat and continued what was assumed he was doing before he arrived: playing with toy blocks. Still at the door, the man watched the small child. The blocks began to rise on their own in the boy’s hands while he began to make some kind of structured pyramid. The attention to him didn’t last that long as he was diverted by the sound of another person. “Ah, Sydney welcome. They’ve been expecting you.” The voice was matched with the face of Rudy St. Clair, a man Sydney Cole knew quite well. “Sorry I’m late.” He said apologetically. “Not a problem. We’ve got word of what happened. Please, come this way.” He motioned for him to follow calmly and before giving one last look to the boy; Sydney progressed and followed closely to St. Clair as he continued. “The elders have had quite an experience keeping their eye on you. Most of their attempt to contact you came up very negatively.” “I had to keep it real, didn’t I? That’s why I was assigned.” He kept a calm domineer throughout St. Clair’s questions until they arrived at yet another guarded door. The doorman didn’t waste anytime in letting them in, though, with St. Clair accompanying. For a moment St. Clair stopped Sydney. “Look, Sydney…we’re sorry about Rebecca. There wasn’t anything we could do. It came unexpe-“ “Look, Rudy…” Sydney began, almost in an identical tone. “…go fuck yourself.” His tone was remorseless and stone faced. His eyes clarified it clearly. St. Clair just nodded, a bit taken back but what else was he to say to the man. Without anymore hesitation the two men entered the room. Inside stood a large table, seating many people in a darkly lit area. Some of them were enjoying drinks at the room’s corners. Small fans created a chilled environment. Sydney moved inside with his hands still in his coat pockets. The first thing he seemed to notice was an elderly woman sitting at the table in silence. Her eyes lifted sadly to Sydney as he entered. She looked ashamed and said nothing other than a slow nod before sinking back into her thoughts. Sydney noticed Clarice’s demeanor but did nothing to accept the greeting. There were a few moments of silence as the group gathered together under the direction of a mumbled order from someone at the table – even St. Clair took his place at his assigned seat. Then a voice broke through from the head of it. This was the voice of Henrich Roland. “Mr. Cole. I see you’ve managed to complete your assignment unscathed. Very well done I must say.” Sydney didn’t respond. “Please. Tell us what you’ve gathered over the months.” “Why? Can’t you just read my mind?” Mockingly. There was an uncomfortable silence from the man at the head of the table. His face leaned into the light and his facial features became visible. He was an elder man of around sixty. His hair was long and gray with dark shades of black died in. His eyes looked hollow like empty cups. He also wore a small, thin, beard that ran down his jaw line almost invisibly. “Mr. Cole we did not spend these months preparing your place inside “enemy” territory to simply take away your experience.” “My experience?! I spent the last good portion of my life inside with those demonic fucks. I kept my bargain and gave you information on what you needed, and what did you and I both get? The Club was attacked. I lost my wife there and you’ve seemed to jump back from outa woods with a good heart now? No offence but you can cut the bullshit, Mr. Roland. Us “yanks” don’t have use for it, right? He waited as the group gave each other ominous looks then a man in back began to speak up. He also wore a beard and his hair was long and red. “May we remind you that your one of the most mentally capable individuals to handle this job.” Sydney began to protest but was cut off by Henrich. “He’s right. Remember your place, Mr. Cole. Your mind is an asset. There aren’t many like you that know the various knowledge you do. It’s a shame you can’t really put the arcane to good use. We might have better placed you then.” “You can’t do it again, not anymore.” “As I recall you were a volunteer.” He choked slightly, remembering something. “That was different.” “I don’t see that it is, Mr. Cole, nor does it matter now. Your assignment is, under the consideration of the surviving members, accomplished and you are hereby granted permission to join back within the confines of the group.” Sydney gave a small smile and then swallowed it before the rest could take pleasure in knowing it existed. “That’s were its different. I’m out. I don’t want your respect or admiration. You made me keep Constantine alive, for a reason I can’t understand.” Henrich began to explain. “John Constantine is alive because – “ “For balance. Right. Or maybe you people are just too gutless to actually try anymore. I watched Valentine at least try, and that makes him one step above the rest of you in terms of fear.” There was a silence in the room. Sydney was fighting back angered tears. “Constantine was the reason Rebecca’s dead. He’s the reason you all were attacked and it’s the reason you’re all hiding like animals. So if you people don’t have it in you to do something about it then I will.” Without a pause he moved to the door and began to walk towards the main exit. There was a hush from the others before St. Clair sent a worried look across the table to Clarice. She spoke up in a whisper. “Henrich what are you doing. You can’t just –“ “We’ll let him go. This is out of our hands anyway. This man is full of too much sadness to care what we say.” With a twisted smile Henrich leaned back into his chair and folded his hands. “But I don’t think we’ll have to worry about John Constantine any longer it seems.” |