Darker still. A bit of water falls from a gutter to a puddle. Nearer now. Things can’t get this bad. The feeling is so intense you have to hold the wall to get your balance. Like a rush of fear, anticipation, and something hot. It’s you blood, it runs through your veins and hits your brain like a shockwave of blasting apprehension. It was coming from the only place the two were standing. A sweep of sour smell that rose from a dark place in a… Gasoline Alley by Josh Whitener Chapter Two John and Mark entered the alley from the west. Not the best way to go in now that John was looking at it. All magical elements should be approached by the east, and now it could get a little more serious. He had some bad experience in his younger days when he wasn’t so careful with these things. Funny thing he just might not still. The brick walls around them were like a vacuum, it was intoxicating. Whatever happened here was too gruesome than what Mark initially thought. No, it was more serious than that and he could feel it. Mark was especially terrified. The feeling was clear to the both of them, Mark’s been around the game to know it when he felt it, but he was a little more subtle about not sticking around. “Are you sure about this, John? This does not feel right now.” He whispered clinging to the wall like a child. He tried to hide that fact that he was about to shit his pants, but the feeling was about as mutual to John – he just knew how to weed out the bad and take more of the normality of it all. John’s face was stoic. Something inside the alley could keep them in, probably didn’t want them at all. But at the same time it needed something, something was thriving here and it hadn’t left when the murders happened days before. John surveyed the area, fumbling with cigarettes as he and Mark took a couple of steps back to get away from whatever may still be residing there. He sighed, lit a cigarette, and ran his hand through his hair. The alley was built like a an odd shaped T. Take one on its side and draw it to the center and you got it. Police tape ran across the middle where the first intersection was and then cut off a center portion of it in a square. This must have been where the murders happened specifically (John could see some blood marks still high on the wall where the rusty terrace was), but whatever the presence here was still surging. Mark’s whispering voice came again from the back calling his name. It was the only one around. Most of the people around here wouldn’t dare come near this alley. Some were still shopping off on the sidewalks but they were out of earshot. “John?” he repeated. “You might want to leave out of this one, Mark.” Speaking in a soft tone, still tracing his blue eyes around that alley like a hawk. “Whatever caused these murders….it’s still here. I don’t think you can break this one with me, mate.” “Your going in there, aren’t you? Listen John I’m old…I can’t start it this way. Do not take this the wrong way…but…I…I know what Ivan did. It was his own fault for getting involved but –“ John interrupted, probably because he didn’t want to hear about this kind of thing anymore. “Go ahead, mate. I understand. Thanks for the ride, I owe you one.” He knew Mark was more than willing to leave, and he knew it for sure when he jumped into his cab, tossed John’s bag, and sped off. “Fuck him” he said to himself as he moved back into the alley. Stopping he inhaled from his cigarette and withdrew. That wasn’t too fair to be honest, but there was something causing John to be a bit more hostile and this alley was probably it. He looked around it more, trying to take whatever feeling he had away. There was graffiti lined around the wall, most of it Russian with some bit of English words thrown in. Most of it was foreign enough for John. On the side of the dumpster, John examined something familiar though. A small marked message. It was in English, course but still English. He read it: CASE OF FIRE, THROW GASOLINE. At first he was bewildered. It looked like the rubbish people write on the lue back at the picture shows in Liverpool. It was only a moment’s notice before he felt that sudden rush again. He was about a foot away from the police tape when he snapped it and continued on. It was much colder than it could have been and his coat flapped like some western gunslinger at high noon. Something was all around him, a coating of fear and anger that swept over the entire alley. He was sick of it, but yet he thirsted for it. That’s when he spoke in a soft tone. “Whatever you are you have no place here anymore. You’ve done your deeds and now it’s time to piss off back elsewhere. I command you.” Who’re you to command, Constantine? He thought. It usually worked. Once these spirits smelt something that couldn’t be spook out it they generally got the hint. This one wasn’t budging much. He reached for his pocket, drawing a small piece of chalk. He traced it along the bottom of the ground with intense pressure, as if something was pushing his hand down. He could only speculate what. A bit of drool fell from the corner of his lips and he grunted. It might have taken him half the time to draw a pentagram normally by the time he was done. He rose and felt like he was going to pass out. He sent Mark away with good reason. If he was here he might have killed him, or visa versa. John moved back, grabbing his bag, but it wasn’t like before. When he came out of the alley the feeling – it – was still following him, looming over his like a metaphorical rain loud. Steps so slow and drunken people would have probably thought he was a raving madman. Bending down, going to the ground, any of it seemed easier than standing and he reached into his bag pulling his disposable razor. Again his walk back was the same and maniacal but the feeling was subsiding, letting him pass so to speak. John felt pressure against his face, his lips curled to a grotesque and disturbing grin. He couldn’t help but feel the humor in it all, but he still kept calm and didn’t stir or try to fight it. It was like taking a jet ride at mock 4. He felt like he weighed four hundred pounds. With as much strength as he could he slammed his hand against the wall. The plastic coating around the razor broke off and that was all he needed. He had a small scrap after he looked at his hand, but not enough to draw blood. The spirit seemed to feed from it. He didn’t have much time. With a quick slash he drew the blood and whipped his hand towards his hip. Small drops hit the pentagram quickly and John felt the weight remove itself, the pressure gone. He fell. The spirit seemed to ravage around in its non corporal form everywhere, John couldn’t see it but he sure as hell knew when it was pissed off. He tired to catch his balance when he hit the ground and found it more easily done than before. Stumbling he took to the pentagram, slamming the rest of his hand down quickly while there was time. “Spiritus. Reveal yourself; in thee I seek an audience. Make your presence visible in this out physical plane. Release. Release. Release!” Hook, line, and bloody sinker. It’s all done now. He played by the rules and now it was time to know thy enemy so to speak. There was a coming mist that reminded him of the water sprinklers systems that used to hit your face on a summers day. It almost felt refreshing if not strangely terrifying. This wasn’t like in the movies. There was no creeping fog or lighting. Generally when a spirit is called into corporal form so abruptly it has to be made into whatever form it can muster. So when he rose he was at a loss for words. His cigarette clung to his lip and he inhaled and then removed it. Standing just a near twenty feet from his body was the form of a woman he dreamt of only what felt like five minutes ago. Her raven hair, her porcelain smile, and her crying eyes (he now saw they were in fact crying) looked back at him with a sheer sadness. She was beautiful if not horribly altered. There were large holes along her stomach and chest. Gunshots. “Oh my god. Alexandria?” the words were almost muted out of his breath. -- Nicholas’s cell phone rang three times before he answered it. Peter was on the other line, his words were muffled but he told the boss that everything was ready. John Constantine was in the alley – alone. The timing was perfect. Things were falling according to plan and he shut the phone quickly after hearing it. He instructed two of the guards to follow. He kept a close eyes of them as the escorted him out of the hotel moments later. His eyes caught a glimpse of the others making their way across the street and a car moving closer to them even still. There was another car waiting to take Nicholas to the scheduled location, and a car moving closer to John. -- She just stood, eyeing the ground in a look of embarrassment. She was ashamed. Blood ran from her wounds, but it never hit the ground. She was still dead and this was her ghost. “It was you, then? You created all these murders. Your spirit hasn’t been able to pass to what ever it is your going.” Realization comes to him in his words. He takes it all in, visually and mentally. Stopping now would only mean regret and failure. Everything around him was silent except his own thoughts. John was already moving his hand around the ground again with the chalk to add symbols to the already made pentagram. “Your ready then, luv? Ivan’s waiting for you.” He said rather softly. If there was one more thing he could set straight with Ivan it was to bring her to a rightful place. Poor girl, she just wanted a sign, there was only one way she could do it and it all became clear. The bookstore girl, the homeless murdering themselves until someone finally caught on. It had to be him. It always is. With a careful brush away of debris he carefully finished the sigils on the ground. When he stood he was already chanting and speaking various amounts of arcane language to get it in motion. The wheels of the car stopped just short of the alley, almost identical to the spot where Mark parked his rusted pile of shit. Four men got out of the car from each door and shut them quietly. John was already in his game. There was no time to waste and by the time he continued with the spell he was set. “I access a path. Move here, luv. It’s all set up. It’s ok.” There was a small recognition in her face, and she moved calmly to the circle John drew out. John himself too a few steps back in order for her to gain more depth on the sigil. It wouldn’t only be a few minutes. With her face towards the ground she started to look to John slowly, a small smile in her face. John showed a hint of a smile, but things were far from easy and done. He needed to finish the incantation before she was moved onto a safer dimension of the dead. Steady now. She was as safe as a three hundred pound elephant on a wooden plank. The men started to advance quickly, rounding the alley way and making their way to Constantine. v “Spiritus amu-“ Stop, pause, hesitate, all these things he did when he saw the look on Alexandria’s face let alone that scream. Something grabbed at him from behind. His hands were locked by two others. He tried to turn but found it useless. There wasn’t even a sound when they came from behind him. He didn’t hear a thing except for a ghost screaming and believe it that they can and it’s not the kind you hear from a person. A ghost scream is something right out of hell. It numbs everything from your toes to teeth; it makes you wish you were dead with them and puts almost everything else at bay. <”Shut it”> One of the men said as they dragged Constantine away from the scene. “WAIT! You fucking bastards just let me move her. She won’t make it!!” He screamed trying to get himself free. Confusion swarmed around him. He didn’t know what these assholes wanted but it was him and not the girl. Two of the men moved past the first pair and quickly, covering their ears, scratched their shoes against the ground rubbing out the chalk. John looked mortified…and Alexandria looked worse. The howling stopped and John saw flames rising around here. The others couldn’t see it, and he prayed they couldn’t because it was too dreadful to look at. He left the woman in limbo before he could start her ascension to a better plane. Destroying the symbol caused her “housing” to be put up for sale. Hell took the offer. She was dragged down with the rest of the damned sprits. It was one thing to get where you wanted; Hell was cheap space with no real hard way of getting in. Same things apply in the afterlife as they do in the real one. Terribly so. John screamed again, trying to fight an already useless battle. She was gone – it was as fast and as simple as that. The men moved slowly away and started behind the pair that dragged him. “YOU FUCKING BASTARDS! YOU DIDN’T NEED HER! I’LL FUCK’NG KILL YA YOU –“ He was placed into the car, cut off by one of the men. “Mr. Constantine if you do not want us to use excessive force then by all means cooperate.” The driver said looking through the rear-view window. He spoke clear English, and was obvious educated despite his look of a brute, street man. “All will be revealed soon. So please...” He nodded to the man, and John straightened between the two that dragged him in as the other sat next to him. One of them removed a gun from his coat, setting it sideways on his knee and pointing at Constantine leisurely. John sighed, looked to the man as he felt like he was about to explode. He remained still and silent. “Good.” The same man said. “We were told you wouldn’t be a man of needless violence. We appreciate it. You’re in a bit of shock Mr. Constantine. We will have all the proper questions answered immediately. There’s been someone who would like to see you.” The car started and began to move quickly down the road in front of them and all he could do was sit there and wait. He felt as if he could murder someone, even himself. -- Nicholas was waiting on the west end of Moscow City, a drive that took approximately forty-five minutes from Ivan’s neighborhood area. Things were a lot nicer down here, John noticed. Course there wouldn’t be an ignorant person that pulled a stunt like that and would have still had their frontal lob still in tact when he was done with them. No, these guys _were_ professionals alright. Which just meant he needed to be cleverer and less obtuse about the whole situation. The car pulled into a large garage. They got out; one by one leading John like a potential lamb to the slaughter without so much as a calm blink. Fucking robots they were, but fast. They were sick with death, but still thrived. It was odd to say the least. These might have been gang relations or something; he came to think as they rode the elevator down, but of what kind. When the door opened and the rusty gate pulled back, the men ushered John out with a calm push. He moved as he was motioned to and before him was a small desk in a room no bigger than his last apartment in Camden which could have been his fucking bathroom. There was a man sitting at a desk, calm and smiling with a set of full red lips and short blonde hair. He was a skinny man and had a narrow jaw line with a set of visible cheek bones what looked like a skeleton with tissue skin. Nicholas made a gesture to the seat adjacent to his small desk, and he sat. There was a not a whole lot of room as John saw one of the men squeeze in by the door. His wrinkled face showed some kind of discomfort. John was the first to speak. “What the fuck is going on. I’ve been carted around too much recently to be taking this as lightly as I bloody well can.” He looked around for the driver. “Questions, eh? I got a shit load.” “As I’m sure you well do, John Constantine. I am Nicholas Grübter. As I can see, no….eh…invitations are needed? We’ll we can then get to the main act. Mr. Constantine I’m sure you are aware of what is happening to the world at large, yes?” “I’m sure I should because everyone keeps asking me. But since you’ve already sent one innocent life to hell I’m sure you aim to tell me, eh you self-righteous poof?” he said arrogantly. “I “aim” to do just that. There is not much time so I will not waste it on trivial matters that concern neither one of us. We are not here to hurt you, in fact quite the contrary. We would like to proposition you. Forgive us if our methods seem a bit crude, but we needed your undivided attention. What I am telling you Mr. Constantine are driven facts.” Nicholas spoke in a broken English accent. His “the”s sounded more like “da”s “The first…” he continued “is that something around the eastern European area is unexplainably crossing over leyline patterns; something that is not so easily done in the world of geonecormancy and has the most dangerous consequences. Sightings are reaching as far as Moscow, but the heart seems to be spread all over the central portion of London and moving fast. When leyline are crossed Mr. Constantine they create rifts, time folds if you will. Dimensions will over lap and – “ “Yea, I gathered this, mate. There’s no lesson needed to be taught. So you want me? For what. You seem to know quite a lot about it. Why not send yourself a pair of assholes over and take care of it.” “It is true we do know a lot of this matter, Constantine. The KGB has not just limited itself to organized crime and gambling rings anymore. We’re looking out for our world, as well as the otherworldly. John lit a cigarette and laughed. “I’ll bet you are.” “This is not a laughing matter, Constantine, though from the reports it shows that you’re at your most childish at a crisis, so maybe you are taking this seriously. We are a highly different part of the KGB here in Russia, but none the less more deadly. I would hate to see some of your old friends here taken as liabilities should you not help us.” “I know who you lot are. I could smell it on these pair of twat’s when then put their hands on me. Vampiric energization, right? Bit of the blood and saints. St. Christopher of the Crusades when missing for four months, when he came back he was a dribbling madman who claimed to have drank the blood of his enemies in order to receive his strength. Am I catching the right rope here or is this a bit to crude for you.” He inhaled then smiled, looking to Nicholas with a cold stare of pride. Nicholas was not pleased by this reaction. “The nature of our beliefs has nothing to do with the cause we are hoping for. I’ll have you know that not only are the smaller groups involved but the large ones too. Full scale wars will erupt if not properly contained Constantine. We are talking about a magical range war and that is often the worst kind. Your government is in on it as well.” “Well that’s a shock. I’m way ahead of you, squire. Tell me, Nic is it? What makes you think I give a toss about you or your kind?” Nicolas gave a small smile and then shook his head rising to his feet from his small chair. “You don’t, but you know as well as I do that this is more important than what we care about. You’ll come to find that out soon enough Constantine. As for now, I think we all have some very tough roads to follow, da?” John didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. This wasn’t the first time he was getting information like this. The crazy dodger Ivan knew wasn’t just messing about. It wasn’t a way for him to get killed; it was a way for John not to be. He knew this now. “Your friend, Ivan was on the verge of creating just this sort of plan here. Unfortunately he was a bit clumsier as you well have known” Nicholas spread a small smile. John shot from his seat, grabbing at Nicolas’s collar with a quick shot and then pulling him closer. The guard was already on John before he could do any damage and John was tossed against the wall. Nicholas swallowed, straightening his shirt as he calmed his guard. <”Put him down”> he ordered. The guard did just that and John leaned in closer, but calmer now. “You better be right about what your fucking reports tell you. Otherwise you’d keep your bloody mouth shut, ya stupid git.” He snarled, and then moved leave in a hurry. The guards did nothing to stop him, and neither did Nicholas. There was just one last remark from him as he left. “Remember that we got to you first John. Be careful who you trust.” -- John was already at the train station that evening. The sun had fallen on a windy night in Moscow as John lit a cigarette bound for the airports. He gave a small sigh and wandered briefly if this had all been a short dream. Maybe he did go over that cliff. He sure was hell wanted to, because this wasn’t a con. This was no trick to get him to roll over and beg, something was messing with bad magic and everyone else seem to be scared of it. He didn’t know why but for one reason there was still an optimistic view on it all. He wasn’t the one they were after, but now it was someone else he had to help. He’d done enough helping for one night, which did him no good. Ivan had died because of him, and Alexandria had died twice. A person he’d never met was killed twice and still being killed over and over again he’s suspect. He didn’t really want to think about it anymore and shook the idea way. Repression is a good friend, that’s when the questions go away and the guilt subsides. Still, one was still looming like a bad taste: If you couldn’t help someone you’ve never met so easily, then how can you help someone you’ve never met that will probably be twice as hard? That’s when an old voice whispered right back into his ear. Five months till winter, John. At three o’clock in the morning, John Constantine boarded a plan back to England. Russia and all its dirty secrets and promising lies were behind him, but everything else was front row bloody center. End. <<< Chapter One