Ult. Hellblazer #2 - London Gothic Pt. 1

[liquidsword34]

Ultimate Hellblazer #2
London Gothic Part 1 of 3

The morning sun bounced through the ripped up curtains, off of the flat's hardwood floors and up into John Constantine's eyes as he awoke, momentarily disorientating him. The first thing he felt was a blinding headache, like he'd spent the night before getting worked over with a baseball bat. The second thing he noticed was that he smelt strongly of alcohol, like he'd taken a bath in the stuff. Nothing too unusual for John. As he wiped the sticky goo from the corner of his eyes and pulled himself up from the sofa he was laid on, John took a look around. He found himself in the living room of a decrepit, most likely abandoned flat, with the wallpaper stripped away and the furniture removed. Aside from the lumpy, lime green sofa he had woken up on, the room was barren. John was still clothed except for his trench coat, which laid in a heap in the centre of the room covered in dust and dirt. It'd been two weeks since his lost job down in Hastings, but on limited money John still found himself waking up in strange places with a hangover which could floor a rhinoceros, so all was good and well in the world. As he stood up, John noticed the curled up white duvet which had been laid next to him slowly moving. John pulled back the duvet to find a mess of blonde hair and the same stench of cheap vodka as on his coat.

"Fucking hell, John", Constantine muttered to himself as he slung his coat on his back and pulled the duvet back over the girl. It wasn't the first time he'd woken up next to a stranger, but at thirty-eight years old it didn't feel like the 'correct way to behave', as his aunt used to say. As the long and brutal battle with his hangover continued, John stumbled through the flat into a kitchen. The work surfaces were coated in grease, dirt and mould, with the smell of stale cigarettes hanging in the air like a bad omen. While trying to piece together the events of the previous night, John opened the fridge. He and Chas has gone to the pub for a few drinks, he knew that much for certain. From there they met a few kids, maybe twenty years old. University students, most likely. How it went from there, John didn't know. Was it "you little bastards, I'll show you how WE used to drink", or was it "come on granddad, see if you can keep up"? Either way, the end result was the same - the hang over of a life time and a much lighter wallet, although John was happy to find all of his credit and debit cards in their correct place. Finding nothing in the fridge, John slammed the door and turned around,

Constantine found himself face to face with a short man. Well, less of a man, and more of a child, around eighteen years old. He could faintly remember a few faces from the night before, but not the one in front of him. The kid wore baggy, ripped blue jeans and a blue t-shirt, completing the 'good-for-nothing layabout' look with a head of greasy, uncombed brown hair which hung down to almost his shoulders, partially hiding the kids dull grey eyes and spotty face.

"Alright mate?", John mumbled.

"Yeah, you?", the kid replied quite coldly while leaning against the kitchen counter.

"Suppose so. Where the hell am I?"

"Tower Hamlets, in my flat".

"Ah", John hesitated, trying to work out what to say. "Sorry about that. Is the girl on the sofa a friend of yours, then?"

"It's my sister", the kid glared at John accusingly. While the kid didn't look very intimidating, John knew himself to be about as useful in a fight as a pair of oven gloves, so the last thing he wanted to do was cause a confrontation.

"...Oh. Do you happen to know how I ended up here".

"No idea, think she went out last night so you probably met her then".

"OK...so...when she wakes up-".

"'She', or Lucy, if you want to be formal".

"Yeah...you mind telling her I got called away for some business, or something? Let her down easy".

"Oh piss off you old fart", the kid snarled at him.

"Old?"

"If you want to treat my sister like shit, do it to her face. I'm not your messenger boy. Wake her up and talk to her yourself or just get out".

"Well, if that's all sorted", John hastily turned to leave the kitchen before power walking away to the front door, feeling a pair of eyes almost burning into the back of his head as he went.

***

Rush hour had been and gone in Whitechapel, East London, leaving in its wake empty coffee cups, used train tickets, and wide streets dotted with the odd vagrant or afternoon shopper. A ceiling of dark grey clouds hovered overhead, threatening to unleash a torrent of rain on anybody below while the wind laid dormant. Shops boasting new offers or flashy brand names lined the street which John Constantine strolled along absent-mindedly, planning out the rest of his day. John had spent the past few months at a friends flat in Croydon, but after going to Hastings found himself sleeping rough once again. It was nothing new; Constantine fondly remembered the year he spent busking his way across America with two friends and instruments stolen from the back of a van, but especially in the winter months sleeping outside in London wasn't to John's tastes. As he approached the cash machine in front of the run down HSBC branch, John fished in his pocket and found his wallet. No notes and only a few coins, but five credit and debit cards sat in the leather slots with a variety of names imprinted onto them.

"John?", the woman behind John asked in a soft, Belfast accent as the over weight man in front finished his transaction and wandered away, muttering something about Oddbins and horse races.

"Who's asking?", John replied as he slid the first card into the cash machine, returning a 'card declined' message.

"Kit, Kit Ryan".

John span around to see a woman with beautiful hazel hair, almost chalky white skin and a friendly smile which made even John Constantine melt like butter. Kit wore a white, button up blouse which almost perfectly accented her figure, over blue jeans. She wasn't a model or an actress, but in the dreary London streets Kit Ryan looked like a godess to John. Kit used to live in England, where through travelling in the same circles she met John Constantine. John had always been fascinated by Kit, fascinating by her quick wit and the way she refused to take anything from anybody. John felt like a fifteen year old talking to his first girlfriend around Kit, with the same uneasy feeling in his stomach and lump in his throat, but excited as all hell.

"Jesus Christ, Kit!", John called as the almost permanent scowl plastered on his face turned into a smile. Kit came to stand by John as yet another of his cards was declined. "How long's it been? Five, six years?"

"Brendan's thirty-first, 'bout five years ago", Kit replied. "When you downed a bottle of that cheap Tesco's wine, tried to summon some sort of 'demon of drink' and we ended up with a snake deity in our living room".

"Yeah, that was a good weekend. He was a nice enough guy, for a snake demon", John flashed a smile at Kit, who cracked up laughing.

"He nicked our bloody car and drove it into a ditch! Brendan found it hilarious, by the way, like he always did when the two of you did something like that".

"How are you and Brendan, by the way?"

"Well, there is no me and Brendan any more".

"Oh, sorry to hear that", John feigned disappointment fairly well as card number three was declined.

"Still doing the magical con man stuff, aye?", Kit chuckled at John as he cursed under his breath at the card

"How did you know?"

"That credit card says 'MR P MORGAN' on it, John".

"I saw him in an airport last summer, couldn't resist. And you're still doing art?"

"Yeah, what tipped you off to that?"

"Lucky guess", John punched the cash machine in anger as the fourth credit card got declined. John reached back into his wallet to find the fifth card he always carried, but instead his hand reached into an empty slot. Quickly scanning his memory, John remembered that he had it back at the flat when he woke up.

"You need some money?", Kit asked John as the burly man waiting in line behind John started angrily tutting under his breath.

"Nah, I left the card I got a few days ago in some flat a few streets over. Fancy coming with me to fetch it?"

"Sounds like a plan", John was quietly confident as he and Kit walked down the high street. He felt like the day could only get better.

***

"I never even asked what you're doing over here in London", John said to Kit as they stood in the graffiti covered hallway outside of the flat he woke up in. In front of them stood a lime green front door with the paint chipped away and the metal knocker ripped off.

"Oh, just meeting a publisher. They want to do a collection of my work".

"JUST meeting a publisher?", John rapped on the door with his fist while continuing to converse with Kit.

"OK, it's a big thing. About time as well I'd say, I've been doing covers for shite magazines for eighteen years right now. What about you? Any progress?"

"In what?", John knocked on the door a second time, slightly angry at the lack of a response.

"I don't know, the magical kingdom?"

"Nah, Hogwarts apparently doesn't accept mature students".

"Seriously, John?"

"I make enough money to get by I guess, just from word of mouth. Exorcisms, hauntings, all that stuff. It's not much, but I can't see meself working a nine-five in an office or owt".

"What, you can't do any kids birthday parties?"

"There's some things we don't joke about Kit". In an act of frustration John grabbed the handle, intending to use magic to pick the lock, but instead found the door swinging open as he turned the handle.

"Come on, what kid wouldn't love you? 'The Magnificent Constantine' and all that".

"Those guys are below mimes on the entertainment scale, love, and I'd rather starve to death then wear a bloody cape any day of the week". John, who is no stranger to a bit of breaking and entering, carried on talking as he re-entered the flat.

"It's not like you don't look goofy anyway. Who the hell wears a trench coat in twenty-thirteen?". Kit's jokes stopped as soon as she entered the flat, replaced by a snort and a wrinkled nose as a foul stench hit her nostrils. "Did it smell like this when you woke up?" The two turned from the hallway into the barren living room, and immediately found the source of the foul smell.

The girl John has woken up next to less than an hour ago, Lucy, was laid naked in the centre of a pentagram etched into the wooden floor boards, her long blond hair now draped across her expressionless face. Her skin was chalk white, displaying every imperfection and blemish on her petite body, as though all of the girls beauty had been torn away. Each blue artery was crystal clear through Lucy's skin, which looked like solid ice more than human flesh. A pool of fresh blood surrounded Lucy, filling in the pentagram carved into the floorboards as it poured from the pair of incisions crudely crafted into Lucy's neck. Lucy's abdomen had been carved open vertically with a single, surgical stroke, running perfectly straight from the top of her right breast down to her inner thigh. The stench of death had reached the corpse faster than usual, as though attracted by the sheer horror of the events that had unfolded within the room. Placed in Lucy's outstretched hand was a piece of parchment, with words seemingly burnt onto it. Lucy's clothes had been neatly laid out on the sofa with John's credit card placed on top, almost mockingly.

"What the feck happened here!?", Kit yelled out at nobody in particular as she took in the ghastly sight in front of her. John's response was more subdued, as instead of shouting he simply fished his packet of silk cuts from his pocket while walking over and picking up his credit card. "Who...who did this?"

"When I woke up there was this weird lad in the kitchen, claiming he was Lucy's brother. Bet it was him the creepy little...", John trailed off as he lit his cigarette, showing no consideration for the circumstances. Over his career John had learnt that get upset by death rarely served his best interests, so he had desensitized himself to it, for better or worse.

"Lucy is this poor lass, right?", Kit asked in a hushed tone as she slumped down against the wall, unable to take her eyes off of the sight of the mutilated corpse despite every fibre of her being telling her to do so.

"Right", John confirmed as he gently took the piece of parchment from Lucy's hand, being careful not to set foot in the pentagram, and sat down next to Kit. "She looks like she's had the soul sucked right out of her. He didn't just draw the pentagram for shits and giggles, this was a ritual of some sorts".

"Why would he leave a piece of blank paper behind?"

"Blank? Kit he's bloody scrawled all over it".

"I can see it, John, it's blank. I'm not blind yah little-"

"Wait a second", John ran the back of his hand over the parchment gently while sucking on his silk cut, inhaling the smoke and channelling it into the smallest amount of magic. "Magic ink of some sorts. Not the most powerful of stuff, but the guy who wrote this knew what they were doing. And who they wanted to find it". John inhaled another puff of smoke into his lungs, once again creating magical energy from the heat and ash to meddle with the magical properties of the ink, causing it to turn completely visible.

dear sweet johnny
i leave you the harlot post use
you may know of me by name or reputation
my hunger grows and i require yore bloodline
pretty lucy built my strength
i require your blood to complete my work
lots of love
saucy jacky

After a few seconds of silent reading from both parties, Kit climbed up to her feet. "It's him, John. Brendan told me he was into all of that satanic bollocks, but I thought the fecker was just off his face on the drink".

"It's who?"

"Come on, look at it. Cut across the abdomen, throat slit, the way the note's written. We're in bloody Whitechapel, John".

"You're saying you think it's Jack the Ripper?", John stood up to his feet and looked down at Lucy with gentle eyes, tossing the facts around in his head. "Nah, he's probably some bored nut-case with too much time on his hands and a bit of magic. I told you, I talked to him in the kitchen. He was just a kid, that's it".

"Oh come on!!", Kit barks angrily.

"Kit-"

"No. On the way here you was telling me about how you pulled ghosts out of some kid's eyes, but the most famous murderer in England coming back from the dead is too much? And didn't you read the letter? 'My hunger grows and I require your bloodline', 'dear sweet johnny', this isn't just some random mentalist who strolled into the kitchen, they knew what they were doing and who you are. 'Pretty lucy built my strength', he drained Lucy's soul like you said, to make himself stronger".

John couldn't argue. He stared into Kit's stern face and could do nothing but shrug."Just wait until we know for sure. No use assuming it is, at least until we find the bastard".

"Find him?", Kit raised her eyebrows in disbelief.

"What, you think the coppers are going to be able to help? Old Lizzie's finest, god bless their cotton socks, can barely work a toaster between the lot of them, and they know less than fuck all about magic. This is what I do Kit".

Kit cocked her head to the side slightly. "Fine then. Are we going to call anybody about this", Kit half-heartedly gestured towards Lucy.

"I'll use a phone box in the high street, don't want to attract too much attention from the wrong people".

"And who are the wrong people?"

Constantine took a last drag of his silk cut before putting it out, knowing Kit wouldn't like the answer to her question. "Anybody but the killer".

"Sorry, John, I think I just misheard you, because it sounded like you want to draw the attention of a guy who we know is a killer, lured you back here by stealing your card so you could find the body, and wrote a psychotic note about your 'bloodline'".

"How else are we going to catch him? Better he comes after us than another innocent girl, innit?"

"Fine, bloody fine. Come on, we'll go get a coffee and talk out a plan. You're smarter than I give you credit for, I'll say that, but if you get me stabbed you're buying the drinks tonight".

To Be Continued

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