Something a little different. Should I continue? I do not own Constantine.


John stared. He blinked, rubbed his eyes, and then stared some more.

He knew this was a dream, a vision sent to him from the soul before him. He could have woken himself up, but that would have been cruel. Damned souls have a very difficult time sending messages to the living. They're usually important.

"You bastard."

John reached out one hand, but in this dream world he couldn't touch the figure chained to the stone wall with links of fire. Dark eyes glared at him, accusingly, desperately, with immeasurable fury.

"You free the twin, yeah, sure, of course you have to free the twin. She's obviously much more important than me, huh? Of course. Why did I even think you cared?"

John tried to scream, to call out to the wretched soul, to beg for forgiveness. He hadn't realized . . . He had never even thought about it . . . He'd never considered that maybe this soul was not going to be redeemed and brought into heaven. But he couldn't make a sound.

"Not that I should have expected anything different. No one ever cared about me. My family, you, all the same, no one gives a crap."

John cringed. To be compared to this soul's family was an insult even he could feel stabbing his conscience.

"Anyway, I'm just the messenger. I'm supposed to warn you that he's got a lot more aces up his sleeve, and he's getting ready to use them."

John didn't need to ask who "he" was. The scenery was clue enough.

"Don't let him drag you back down so easily, John." The soul laughed. "I'm surprised I even care so much. You were always easy to get attached to. No matter how much you push everyone away."

With a sad little laugh, the specter released John from the vision, sending him hurtling back into wakefulness. John sat up suddenly, breathing quickly, automatically fumbling for the gum on the bedside table.

Consciousness brought sadness, sarcasm, and most of all, disbelief. As he replayed the dream in his mind, he could not deny the face who had given him the message, as much as he didn't believe it.

"Chas . . . ?"


Well? Do I continue? Just hit the review button . . .