This is my first fanfic, so, no flames pleez. Just constructive criticism. Not expecting too much out of this one, but review anyway k? I'm curious to see what other ppl think...
Just joined the site like, 5 days ago, but I've been reading stuff here for a long time. It's all awesome!
Disclaimer: I don't own John Constantine, Angela Dodson, Isabel Dodson, or anyone else that may pop up(though it would be cool if i did)
o, and one more thing. i dont really know how to add a summary, so if someone could just put that in the reviews?
"I need to see where Isabel died." John had said. This simple statement evoked a strong emotion in Angela. Part dread, part defensive. After seeing her sister's body in the hydrotherapy room of Ravenscar's mental ward, she had not returned to the site, preferring to let the other members of the department deal with the case. She was trying to ignore the fact that Isabel's death was, in her view, as much her fault as the demons and angels that haunted her dreams and waking moments.
Angela had driven John back to her apartment. It was closer to Ravenscar than John's above the alley penthouse. She had made up a bed for John on the soft couch in the living room, muttered a "g' night John," watched him lie back and settle under the blankets and reeling with emotional exhaustion, fell into her own bed. For some reason, having this strange man that she hardly knew in her own apartment, didn't bother her. She trusted him, though she had no idea why. It was a gut feeling, and her gut feelings normally proved to be right. Sometime in the night, a sound cut into her dreams and wakened here. She climbed groggily out of bed and walked to the doorway. She saw John doubled over, coughing. "John, are you okay?" she asked urgently, hurrying over and putting a hand on his shoulder. He started at the human contact, and managed to retort, "Does it sound like I'm friggin' okay?" Angela, could tell that he didn't feel comfortable in this situation, didn't like others seeing his weaknesses. Considerate of this fact, she let her hand drop and started walking back to her room with a soft, "If you need anything, you can go ahead and take it." The rest of the night was undisturbed.
Waking up the next day was probably one of the hardest things she had ever done, due to the apprehension for the following task, but she dragged herself to the closet to change, dragged herself to the bathroom, and forced herself out to the kitchen. There, she found John already up and sitting at the table, smoking a cigarette. "Good morning" Angela mumbled out of polite habit. She didn't know it, but besides coughing his lungs out, he had spent the rest of the night plagued with nightmare visions of a place much worse than any place on Earth. Hell. He gave no comment, and instead shot her a yeah right, you've got to be kidding me kind of look. However much it irked her, no comment was made about the smoke filling her kitchen.
"Ready?" he finally asked with a quirk of an eyebrow.
"Yeah……yeah, sure." She replied. No matter how much she would rather stay in bed and forget about the whole thing, Angela knew it had to be done. She owed Isabel that much.
They were silent in the car. Angela knew that John was still brooding over the death of his friend, Father Hennessey. Pulling into the lot, the 30 year-old cop parked her black SUV and sat for a moment, gathering her thoughts. Without further ado, John got out from the passenger's side, swung the door shut and proceeded towards the glass doors to the hospital. An elevator ride, and a short walk later, they were in the hydrotherapy room, exactly where Angela had had her prophetic dream of her sister's death. Deciding that she should fill him in now, she began speaking, "Seances, ouija bourds, channeling. Our father thought she was just trying to get attention." She gave a small, ironic shake of her head. "She certainly did that." John stood silent hands in his pocket, surveying the room. Angela continued, "She'd tell everyone about the things she said she saw. She'd scare my mother half to death. And then she stopped talking for almost a year-"
"So you had her committed," John cut in. It wasn't a question, it was more of a statement. Her breath caught in her throat as a wave of guilt swept through her heart.
"How long?" he asked.
"Two weeks, this time she'd get better and then she'd get worse. Recently a lot worse." She explained, mastering herself again.
No more words were said all the way up to Isabel's ward room. Angela leaned against the wide window, while John searched the room for possible clues.
"That symbol that was cut into the dead guys hand, does that have anything to do with this? she asked curiously. "I'm a cop John, remember?" she reminded him gently with a slight smile.
He didn't answer, and continued combing the room. He ran a hand over a shelf nailed up onto the wall and found……nothing. "You don't walk of a roof of a building without leaving something behind." He said cryptically.
"And I showed you everything she'd left behind in that box, but…feel free." She replied with a slightly defensive tone in her voice. She thought her abilities as a detective were being questioned.
As if he'd read her mind, John said, "Maybe she left something else, not something a cop would find, something just for you."
Walking around the bed, he approached her. "You were her twin Angela, twins tend to think alike." He murmured. His deep brown eyes were fixed on hers in a powerful gaze.
Angela forced herself to say, "I'm not like my sister," and tore her eyes away.
He spoke again, and she was once more captivated by those almost hypnotic eyes, "But you were once, when you were kids, when you'd spend every second with each other. You'd start a sentence, she'd finish it, you'd get hurt, she'd cry." The words struck a nerve within her, as she was reminded of the relationship they'd had before Isabel died.
"That was a long time ago, she said in a voice, purposefully devoid of emotion.
Nevertheless, John continued, "That kind of bond doesn't just disappear."
"There is nothing here!" she said again, raising her voice.
Suddenly, John grabbed her arm, yanked her to her feet, and pulled her to the center of the room. "Hey! Come on…" she yelped, surprised.
"She planned her death in this room, she thought it up right here, right where you're standing" he said. Slowly, she raised her head to look through the clear window in front of her. "She knew you'd come, she counted on you to see what she saw, feel what she felt, know what she knew" he continued, voice gathering intensity. He leaned forward and whispered into her ear, "What did she do Angela?"
His breath was warm on her neck, and sent shivers down her spine. "I don't know" she muttered.
"What did she do Angela? he repeated, leaning closer, deliberately crowding her.
Her eyes flicked from side to side. "How should I know?"
"What did she do Angela?
"I don't know"
He spun her around to face him. He was much stronger than his lean body decided to show. "What would you do?" his voice dangerously low.
"I don't know"
"What would you do?"
"I don't know"
This seemed to anger him, for he himself had been in that situation. He needed her to understand, to put herself in Isabel's shoes.
"What did she do Angela? You know what she did, what did she do Angela?"
"I don't know" shuddered Angela, voice soft and weak. He pushed her up against the wardrobe.
"You know what she did, what are you afraid of? What did she do? What did she do Angela, what did she do?" He was yelling now.
The rush of feelings and emotions was too much for her.
"I DON'T KNOW!" she screamed. Tears were running down her face now, and all the composure she had built for herself had broken. Breaking out of his grasp, she ran across the small room to the window. She put her head in her arms and a flash of memory came to her.
They were only nine years old, Isabel and Angela. They were laughing, playing their detective game. Isabel would leave clues hidden around the house to where a few pieces of candy would be hidden, and Angela would have to find them. When Angela found the first clue, she would yell "Game on!" and the chase would begin. The first clue was a message, written on her bedroom window. She blew a slight mist over a section of the glass, and when the sunlight shone through it, she read "walk down the stairs and turn left 3 steps" The game had been innocent fun
She had laughed, and ran excitedly down the stairs with Isabel bounding down behind her…
Angela looked up, right at the window.
In a quavering voice, she said, "When we were girls, we would leave each other messages. In light…" she paused to blow air over the window. "In breath"
Game on, she thought grimly.