John Constantine moved slowly along the edges of his apartment, letting his right hand graze the sides of each wall, and popping his gum to the beat of morning traffic. It was 7 am on a Monday morning and Constantine had just returned from a month long retreat in the Vatican City. The retreat hadn't been his idea, more so Midnite's, but it had had its benefits. One month of prayer and silence can do wonders for your faith, or so some thought. For Constantine it was more a retreat focusing on what to do next. Regaining his soul, loosing nearly all of the few friends he had and meeting Angela had left him more confused than ever. He blamed this on the fact that he had never really had an uncertain future before, well not since he was 17. Stopping at a window he ran his index finger along the shadows of his scars and looked out over Las Angeles. Why had he come back? The question he posed to himself made his hair stand on end. He had returned because of, Angela. Surprising, how fast his response was. Throwing his tasteless gum out the window he crossed to his bathroom and arched his body over the sink. He looked like shit, God he hated planes. 14 hours of pure misery. And that was only the flight from Rome's Da Vinci Airport to Newarck, New Jersey. Newarck, now there's a town, he chuckled to himself. Constantine raised his eyes from his reflection to the remains of his bathtub. Fuck. Angela, fucking Angela. He would visit her, he decided, but first came Midnite.