A small trail of black liquid rolled over the firm wood of the door panel. There was nothing moving inside the church tonight. Most of the parishioners were out at this time of night, but it was hard to tell how long he'd need to use their office lined with books, pictures, and just about enough bloody propaganda to make someone sick to their stomachs. There was another brush of paint and another dab here and there. The paint dripped to floor and his cigarette smoke rose to the ceiling with steady concentrated inhaling and exhaling draws. His eyes were constantly fixated on the doorway as he wiped away the excess paint to complete the preparations. He took a step back and removed the cigarette from his chapped lips to let it rest loosely between his fingers. The door, now marked with a large arcane sigil, would stand in view; as would numerous others both in the doorway and surrounding the office.

Always be prepared…

Thinking for himself wasn’t the first option he’d lost recently. This would have to suffice for now. He gave a nod to a job well done and a sigh of relief that his task was complete. He couldn't honestly say that, though. He just stood there for a moment, giving a long look to double check. He'd thrown his trench on the chair, the shirt too and now stood in nothing but his white undershirt and pair of old blue pants. The shock of it didn't hit him right away, but then again when has anything. He didn't show it at first, either. He couldn't. His mind drifted and he shook his head in frustration.

"Where does that ever fuck'ng get you? In a church, breaking and entering into the priests private study with fuck all but the only thing that'll outrun the bully, and that's your oh so apparent knowledge of weird shit and funny little drawings you can remember from the ‘weirdo’ books, John you stupid sod." he mumbled out loud.

Another exhale and he dropped the cigarette to extinguish it with one rub of his heel. He turned and moved to sit down behind the desk. Surrounded by numerous books, but not one would keep his interest.

All these dozen and dozens of fucking books, and what about: bloody faith. With so many books to keep the Devil out of your life....well in the literal sense its complete bollocks.

Ironic comparisons were about the only sane thing he could think of without turning his eyes to the markings on the walls and doors.

With another spark from the lighter and a quick drag he started to flip through his books to pass some time, or maybe make something to take his mind off the fact he might be shafted good this time. He'd thought it over, maybe too much.

"Whatever I need to do, whoever I need to see...”

His mind filled quickly with more thoughts and he shut the book, tossing it onto the desk.

”It’ll have to be quicker than the last time. Or there'd be more than one poor bastard in my shoes."

His shirt was wrinkled from being tossed into a ball. It fit neatly over him as he buttoned it up. Throwing that dirty trench on he made way for the door once more, only to stop at its handle. For a moment he stood, with his hand rolling over the knob slowly. A quaint little smirk began to form from the corners of his mouth.

Later that morning…

A dreary afternoon was the perfect time to catch up on his weekly assignments. Father Tenic hummed harmoniously as he shook the rain droplets from his umbrella shortly upon arriving inside the church offices. Setting it aside he started down the hall a bit more chipper despite nature’s best efforts.

"Afternoon, Gail." He said greeting his secretary.

She sat rigid as always, hunched over the typewriter with the small ends of her glasses pinched to her nose. Father Tenic always thought they ought to be glued to her face the way she wore them.

"Hello, Father. You have two messages today: One is Ms. Mackenzie's doctor called again. Wants you to meet with her on Tuesday morning. Poor dear." She had almost sounded apologetic. "Oh, and your mother called."

She handed him a stack of posted enveloped as he passed which he immediately began to flip through.

"Thank you, Gail." He said moving calmly towards his office door still thumbing through the letters with his chubby, little fingers.

Calling from her desk, Gail leaned to move back into view behind him. "Oh, and Father, the janitor thought it to be best to set some traps tonight. He said he heard something in the vents in your office on the way out last night, rats probably. Do you want me to see to an exterminator?" She asked.

Tenic scratched at his collar, adjusting most of the clerical portion. The thought of rats made his stomach uneasy. "No. I don’t think we’ll bother this time. Tell Henry to set those traps tonight and that’ll be fine." His tone was tired, disgruntled. Rats were probably his biggest problem today. Not faith or the teaching anymore. No, today...today's concern was what best to bait the rattraps with.

"You know I hate to bear the bad news, Father. Perhaps we should see to the ventilations though, the smell from down the hall suggests one or two died in the ceiling." She said abhorrently while filing away a stack of papers. Her attention shifted; however, as she moved to grab another set and walked out of her office space and towards the hall. Her voice deluded itself as she began to hum the similar hymn Tenic sang when he arrived.

By now the mood of the man had changed slightly, though never the less he kept his optimism if all else to failed. Reaching for the doorknob he gave a turn only to first look down at it. It was locked. The usual arrangement for his assistant to unlock the door for him was ignored today, perhaps, or the smell was just that bad. Oh what an ideal, good, and perfect day it is when the rats hold more service in his office than he himself does. The idea was too comical to ignore. Fumbling for his keys he inserted the correct finding and turned. This time the knob successfully turned and he began to pocket his keys again before stepping through the doorway. He must have made two steps inside when his stack of envelopes fell at his feet, scattering around the carpet in a messy bunch as he stood and stared in awe, and confusion. Confusion was the most he could feel following fear. What he was seeing was quite indescribable at first.

"Oh….oh my Lord.”

He’d said it so many times you’d think he’d come up with something more clever in this situation. Though with nothing else to correctly clarify the emotion, he did say it - and it was in the most in audible whisper. With his throat drying up it was hard to swallow, but he managed. The discarded liquor bottle left a small puddle on the cerulean carpet. The acerbic smell of dried paint and alcohol was about and lingering the room like a ghost.  His eyes were glued to the dozens upon dozens of arcane symbols and satanic markings across the wall and floor. Many of them were decipherable, but there meanings foreign to his memory. He tried to swallow again, but this time he couldn’t.

"Gail! Gail!" He stood for a minute shouting at nothing but the air in front of him. His eyes simply could not stray. Then his feet and brain made the connection, and he turned around, heading for the hallway. For some reason the thought just didn’t collide with Father Tenic that day and he was left with the massive, baffling question mark to circle his head, among other things to identify his place in all this.

With the quiet click of the lock into place, John had moved outside with the rain rhythmically beating away at the small roof hanging over his head outside the offices. Lighting up another cigarette, he carefully gave a glance over his shoulder before moving steadily down the sidewalk. The rain felt refreshing to him as it dripped over his scalp, fastening the wet strained hair to his forehead. He’d managed one night, probably the most important one to him. A bottle had lasted him about thirty minutes, and only managed to sleep some with its company. Either way the nightmares would appear dimmer and easily forgetful with several shots and two and a half packs of fags later. The hangovers were another distraction. With blinding pain to wake up to the thought of _actual_ blinding pain doesn’t seem half-bad. More and more he walked, a continual pace, given the priests reaction. He was always cautious though. It was nothing to trace back to him, nothing of importance the authorities wouldn’t chalk up to vandalism. With the luck he’d had it was mostly just that anyway. Hell, it would almost be worth it to stick around.

Starting over is maybe the hardest fucking thing in life.

Once you’ve got the first step the rest is easy, but it’s finding a starting point that’s pivotal. I can’t remember one specific place in time where I didn’t like to start anew. Once there’s room for change you start to worry that maybe what you did was wrong. Christ, where is there not room these days. I’m barely back in commission and here I am again. In the least fucking likely place I’d suspect.

Small autumn leaves gather in a circle before dancing themselves down the street again as the wind forms a small gust. His trench moves from hovering around his shins to flap briefly. The barely audible click and a spark of flame produced itself in front of his eyes amidst the lessening sun of a new dusk and carrying itself to the tip of a fresh cigarette that hung loosely from his dried lips. Inhaling, the sound of a sigh escaping his lips, along with smoke, was the only other thing that was really heard along the street. With glances to his left and right John began to move closer towards the establishment he stood in front of. The wooden doors opened with a small pull.

Placing the white linen garments stitched with the small cross neatly into the side over the chalice, the dried sound of leaves rolling around the carpet near the door persuaded him to turn around nervously to eye the incomer. Nightmares still kept him up at opportune nights for months since his office was vandalized. His throat began to dry up but he didn’t speak a word of apprehension. This was, after all, God’s house and surely everyone was welcome within its presence. So like before, he turned to continue his work at the altar; oblivious to the smoking trenched man until he continued to walk the aisle almost within feet of the priest himself.

With a nervous stomach, Father Tenic continued to prepare the altar; placing the chalice and silver plates with the linen cloths neatly on them. His eyes remained forward like a trained dog to not draw attention to the man, or maybe even provoke him into God knows what. He was frightened; almost cowering from this man’s presence. Why? Was he not in HIS establishment? Where was he to simply waltz in without as much as a word? Father Tenic began to turn around, now completely attentive to the man. Oddly enough he’d taken a seat in the second pew. Hands folded into a ball with a small strand of cigarette smoke trailing to the top of his head before finally fading on its rise.

Tenic began to speak. His hands rose up slightly with index fingers pointed upwards. The gesture thoughtless in an attempt to make him more clear. “Excuse me sir, but there’s no smoking in...”

“You believe in redemption, don’t you Father?” The words came in the form of an interruption, quietly as he inhaled again at the priests informing message.

“I...I beg your pardon?” Tenic eventually voiced.

“Course you bloaks got it easy. Fingering the Rosemary and a couple of quick phrases and your back on your mental feet as all’s well, eh?”

John sat staring at the altar for a moment, the crucifix hanging in the background looming over it. He was spellbound in the statue for several seconds before returning to the filter.

“I don’t hold my time for people intending on mocking my faith, now if you’ll please...“ His voice, despite the attempt to sound meaningful, was hollow and empty. He was practically crying inside from fear, and he prayed this man didn’t realize.

“You’re an impatient man, Tenic. Maybe the priesthood wasn’t a good choice in careers. Nah, I see you more the writer. They’re always a bit nerve-racked.”

“I’m calling the police.” He said giving a disgusted look to him before turning his way to exit through the side entrance on the right hand side of the altar. Only then did the sound of his troubled voice fix his position at the foot of the pulpit.

“Ruled it down to vandalism, did they?”

Tenic froze.

“Some crazy little shit came right through the door without a touch of forcing his way in. Made mess of the place with something like the new “gang signs”. ‘Wouldn’t give it too much thought, sir and give us a ring if you notice anyone suspicious, right’? That the way it went then?”

With maybe a couple of second in the air to speak, he said nothing but kept his eyes glued to Constantine, trying to hide his recognition.

“...Think it over, Father. Who’s to say who you’re dealing with ‘ere? Think it best to run at this point?” The demonic grin spread over his face as he inhaled deeply from the cigarette before dropping it on the ground, a boot crashing down on it to snub its cherry.

Like clockwork Tenic came to walk slowly back to his previous position, only until now to take a seat almost adjacent from the man. John, on the other hand, remained where he was. The grin faded as if he couldn’t stand to hold it anymore. An almost inaudible sigh escaped Tenic’s breath as he stared at the ground. “I hadn’t seen marks like those since my bloody teens.”

“Lucky you.” John said with a smirk

Father Tenic expression turned confused now, his eyes narrowing. “Well my first question is: Why in God’s name were you painting them in MY office? Second: Who are you?”

As he spoke he’d have begun to pull a fresh cigarette from his pack. He cocked his fingers and pointed the cigarette directly at the man as if it were a gun. “John Constantine and I think you know.”

“I’d like to think I wouldn’t.” He said confidently.

“Oh come off it, Father. You expect someone like me to believe that? You forget, Tenic...”

“My name is Father Tenic, Mr. Constantine.” Tenic interrupted as he adjusted his glasses. The name Constantine rang a bell, a loud one at that, and soon the irritation of his conversation turned unnerving.

“Right then, “Father” Tenic. You forget that this isn’t a black and white world. Never has been, and none of these fucking books of yours are gonna change it any.”

A quick flick of his thumb and another flame sparked from the Zippo he cradled in his palm. He rolled the ball and a spark produced another flame to kiss the end of the cigarette. He eyed the ceiling with a sigh.

“How long ‘as it been? Ten...twelve years since you’ve been outa London?” John asked

He gave a surprised, quirked brow. “How did you know I...?”

John bestowed the “as if you need to ask” look immediately and Tenic recognized it.

“Oh....right then...” Tenic grew silent.

“Funny thing, this is. Once the sickly bastard kid of a piano teacher. Ol’ Peter Tenic didn’t much like to play with the other boys…or couldn’t for that matter. Stop me if this story strikes a cord. What magical webs we weave. You couldn’t wait to leave home, move to London where things would be better. The city lights so bright they could fucking blind you. The funny thing was they did. City life wasn’t the ideal piece of cake you thought it, and sooner or later you’re out and down on your luck with no real purpose there. Course there’s always the choice. Pack it up and leave, or let something else grab you.”

Tenic gave a small frown as he listened to Constantine. He really had no choice, but this particular story was memorized. John kept at it though, keeping his mouth running like a record, periodically causing a brief hiatus for small draws and exhales.

“Magic...” The smoke blew from John’s mouth in a quick cloud and it soon, like the rest, began to encircle the top of Tenic’s head. “…so dangerous and exciting. Not many people believe in that sorta nonsense, only the poor sods that want to. The people like you and me.” He gave a short smile and straightened his head up, and emptied the ash of his cigarette. “Magic’s not the kind of habit you can break so easily, mate. No matter what it’ll still rear its ugly head around every once and awhile to bite you in the arse.”

“Is that why you did it? You’ve come to me more than ten years after you decided to walk in here and smear blasphemy all over my walls just to remind me of my youth? ” Voice quivering and surrounded by shame it became natural to break down in tears at this point, but he didn’t.

“If I wanted to give you cryptic warnings and some bloody hidden messages I wouldn’t ‘ave bothered to give you my name, would I?” His cigarette began to burn quickly as he took in its solidifying taste. Minuscule strands of smoky discharge leaked from his mouth like ghost hairs as he spoke. “Besides, there isn’t much talk of you in the underground anymore. That was years past, mate. Place isn’t much ears anymore to amateur dealings.”

Now Tenic's face began to liberate all shame and remorse of what he showed previous. Snapping up, the hairs on his arms began to rise.

“Fuck you, Constantine. I was no amateur. Standards change, true, but do not proceed in calling me an amateur. I know where I remember your name. It usually comes in the same sentence as Newcastle.” Tenic replied with inaudible clinks from his teeth grinding together.

The priests’ somber mood and patience was far from present. It was like putting a piece of paper on hot coals, the fire within him began to ignite if only for the briefest of seconds. Veins, which would have been perceived normal, were now bulging like some dug addicted mental patient. His eyes, normally a light shade a blue, were more the red and black of those same metaphorical coals. Chaos is what burned inside him. It began to living and thriving off the words spewed by John as he sat there calmly with a smirking grin. He wanted this; all along he knew what he was doing. From the moment he walked in the idea was planted into his own mind.

“Kinda itched, don' nit?” Constantine replied “Carefully you don’t give yourself a stroke, mate. Frustrations meant to be vented. Like I said...maybe the priesthood wasn’t a wise choice.”

Father Tenic’s eyes wore down like an insomniac’s. His face turning a ghostly white as the color drained. Something inside began to die, wither and fade deep inside his gut. By now his brow dripped of perspiration and his feet collapsed from under him. The faint smell of burnt leaves seemed to imbue the cleric’s nose before he caught his balance along the railing of one of the pews. His breathing becoming increased and he began to clutch at his chest with a great sigh.

John came to his aid rather leisurely with a careful, reassuring smile. He extended his hand to Tenic as he straightened him up against the pew eyeing what he’d caused his body to do. “You still got a little of the game in ya, me old son. As much as you’d like to admit you don’t.” Constantine whispered.

“Why are you doing this?” Tenic asked.

John smirked, and stood up straight, staring down at Tenic with an obscure frown. “You just met the part of yourself that still owes me a favor. When you’re ready we’ll see if he wants to help me call it in. I’ll be in touch.”

John moved out of the church slowly, tucking his right hand into his coat as the door swung open calmly, leaving Peter Tenic to gaze onward as he is left inept of a response. Exhausted, he watched Constantine exit the church, grasping to catch his breath as he loosened his collar.

Once outside John lit another cigarette. The hazy afternoon had finally given way to an incoming night. The air felt cooler, more satisfying. As morbidly pleasing as it was to bring the God-fearing Tenic back into the fold, there was still that sullen glare he held. He waited until he had made himself scarce enough along the road to stick out his thumb to an oncoming car. It blew past him.

Bugger.

With a small sigh, his walk continued. He slowed down to a small stroll and drew the cigarette away from his mouth, noting the fact mentally that he only had a few short more in his coat pocket.

Tenic wasn’t the first person to come along, probably won’t be the last either, but he’s the starting point. Now all I got is the rest of the way to go. And where is that - in the middle of a street in Stratford with barely enough fags for a miles distance. Fuck me kindly. This is the way it is, though, for me. I choose the life I lead it, and even though I met some bad magic’s along the way, I’m still way over me head in a mess someone else created.

So what's next? You’ve got your starting point now all you’ll need to do is gather the rest of the pieces and play ‘em out one by one. Well come now then, John, the rest is easy, right?!

It better fucking well be...for your sake and there‘s.