Ult. Hellblazer #4 - London Gothic Pt. 3

[liquidsword34]

Ultimate Hellblazer #4
London Gothic Part 3 of 3

Gusts of wind rattled the roof tiles of the run down bed and breakfast in the centre of Liverpool, adding to the ambience of the place along with the bed's hole riddled, vomit orange sheets, the broken radiator and the patchy red carpet with holes seemingly cut or burnt into it all over. Kit Ryan sat cross legged on the bed, flicking through the four working channels on the minute TV mounted on the rooms single chest of draws at the foot of the bed as John Constantine looked out the window, peering across the road towards the bungalow where his father resided. In his hand John held a plastic cup, filled half way to the top with water and a single, long, crisp, black hair floating in it. After looking at the cup for a few seconds, John gulped down the water in one go, coughing as he did so as the hair tickled the back of his throat.

"You actually think that'll work?", Kit sighed as she tossed the remote down onto the floor and laid back on the bed.

"Yeah, bit of magic, bit of his hair, soon as the bastard gets within half a mile I'll know about it". John's coat, which he managed to pluck the killer's hair from, is folded up over on the chair sat in the corner of the room, leaving him wearing his light purple shirt, with some blood from the stab wound he received earlier in the day still visible despite John's best efforts. "We'll go out, meet him, do him in and be back in London before tea time".

"Or you know, we could just go over to yer dad's house? Have a drink, sit in a comfy settee, watch some decent telly..."

"Come on Kit, I see my old man about once a year and that's more than enough. Wouldn't want him to think I'm treading the crap I deal with into his house, so to speak".

"Why's that?", Kit asked sitting on the edge of the bed and staring into the back of John's head. "Christ, since when I first met you I think this is the most you've mentioned him".

"We never got on. Just, two very different blokes. When he wasn't working, he was down at Anfield on a Saturday afternoon, getting smashed then having his head kicked in by angry Toffees fans like it was the best thing in the world. I was always off somewhere in some band, or doing some weird drug someone found, all of the 'hippy liberal bollocks' he hated".

"So he wasn't the best dad?"

"Wouldn't say that, we just didn't see eye to eye, that's all". John sat down on the bed next to Kit and laid back.

"And yer mam?"

"Died giving birth to my sister".

"I'm sorry, I shoul-"

"What time is it?", Constantine coldly interrupted while sitting up, more than willing to change the subject.

"About eight", Kit said as she checked her phone. "Why?"

"Didn't want to bother him outside of opening hours", John muttered as he reached into his pocket, pulling out a piece of white chalk. Without another word John grabbed a strip of lime green wall paper and yanked it off the wall, exposing the drywall underneath it. John put the tip of chalk against the wall and carefully drew the sign for the American dollar, finishing it with a perfect circle around the symbol. Kit sat in silence, not bothering to question the seemingly anarchic and nonsensical actions of Constantine. John carefully dusted off his hands, dropping the stick of chalk neatly back into his trouser pocket before leaning in close to the symbol now marked on the wall. "One soul, Blathoxi", John almost sang into the wall like some sort of madman. As John stepped back the dollar sign seemed to expand, with the two vertical strikes bending outwards to allow a short, grey, plump, almost pig like demon to wiggle through the wall and drop out into the room, adjusting its top hat as it did so. Although most definitely a demon, the creature seemed more sickly to Kit than it did frighting, with puffed out cheeks, tiny limbs, and a child sized top hat.

"Blathoxi, top ramp-scallion banker of the netherworld, at your service, sir and madam", the demon babbled in a refined, upper class English accent as it turned to catch a briefcase falling out of the portal. John and Kit sat side by side on the bed, looking down at this knee high creature with a certain level of bemusement. "You have a soul for sale, I do believe?"

"Right here big man", John said, prompting the little demon to open his black leather suitcase and pull out a piece of parchment, along with a pen.

"Simply commit your signature and we'll be on our way!", the demon exclaimed, shoving the pen straight into John's hand while placing the parchment on his knee. Blathoxi's expression made John feel slightly queezy, with his grey lips spread to display a set of milky white teeth jammed into a smile of sorts. "No need to waste time, just pop your name on the dotted line!"

"Do I look stupid to you, mate?", John asked while pushing the pen back into Blathoxi's hand. For everything she had seen that day, the sight of a short, chubby, grey, top hat wearing demon acting like a crooked salesman was enough to stun Kit into silence, allowing her to sit and watch the bizarre conversation unfold.

"I take offence to that, chum. I've been providing good service to the masses for as long as I can remember".

"So you thought I'd just sign my soul over to you like that, without getting anything in return, just because you waved some parchment and a pen in my face? Does that ever actually work?"

"More often than one may suspect", the demon remarked in such a casual tone, it seemed like the human soul meant almost nothing to him. "So, what is it you want?"

"Stone Roses tickets".

"I'm sorry, what?", Blathoxi cocked his tiny head, clearly confused by the request.

"The band, The Stone Roses, they've reformed and they're doing gigs in London. Get me a few tickets and you can claim my soul once I die".

"Hmmm", Blathoxi ran a chubby finger along his many chins, trying to work out if John had something more in mind than he was letting on. It was a simple request to grant, but that was what intrigued him. After some thinking, namely about the stories he'd heard of Constantine, Blathoxi made his decision. "That seems reasonable enough".

"Just a few conditions", John chuckled as he grabbed the pen, stopping the demon from altering the contract. "If you use force to kill the soul's host body, you have to put it back into my body and the contract is void. If the tickets are fake, the contract is void. And if you try pulling off some elaborate scheme where you try to get me killed, the contract is void, and I'll make you bloody regret it".

"Yes, that seems quite fair, old chap", Blathoxi replied as he put his pen onto the parchment. The previously laid out, archaic black letters seemed to scurry up back into the tip of the pen before the demon swiftly wrote out the new rules of the contract, almost down to the exact word that the two had spoken, neither being wanting to allow the other any sort of loop hole. Blathoxi signed his name on one dotted line before handing the parchment and pen to John, who give the contract a quick once over before signing his own name, As soon as John's signature became imprinted on the parchment, the contract rolled up into a scroll, with a purple ribbon wrapped around it for effect. "You're expecting some sort of trouble, I presume", Blathoxi said as he opened his suitcase and stuffed the scroll in.

"Just a bit, and you never know when you'll pop your clogs anyway. Good to know where you'll be heading, you know? Plus, those tickets are harder to get a hold of than a burning man in a tsunami", John joked as he reached into his pocket, sure enough finding two tickets. John didn't bother to check them, instead grabbing his jacket off his chair and throwing it onto his back. "Kit, he's close, let's get a shift on".

"And what makes you think you'll need me?", Kit asked as she stood up.

"I'm paranoid like that", John responded as he watched Blathoxi clamber back into the mark on the wall, sealing it up as he left.

***

John and Kit sat at the end of the street on a low garden wall, peering into the darkness. The day was drawing to a close, getting darker and leaving mostly teenagers and twenty some-things wandering the streets. The small council houses used their mouldy grey paint like camouflage to blend into the night, as though afraid of what was to soon happen. John inhaled a mouthful of smoke from his silk cut, enjoying the taste, using the nicotine to calm his nerves.

"You're sure he's coming this way?", Kit asked John as she wrapped his trench coat around her like a coat to avoid the chill of the night.

"I can feel it, Kit. Trust me", John said. As of he had been waiting for his moment, a tall man in a jet black coat stepped from the darkness, his collar turned up to further disguise himself. As the stranger stepped forward, John felt a sharp jab in his stomach, letting him know for certain who the man was.

"Good evening", the killer called to John while walking over, withdrawing a short, pointed blade from his pocket with a gloved hand. "Clever of you to beat me here, but our previous encounter suggests you will not be able to stop me. So why not just accept it?"

"OK", John shrugged, spitting his cigarette onto the pavement and stubbing it out with his foot. Within seconds, the tension seemed to have been sucked away into the night, leaving behind it a dead man.

"What?", Kit yelled while grabbing John by his shoulder. "Yah can't be bloody serious".

"If you promise to leave everybody else alone. Kit, my dad, my sister. All my friend's and family's safety, for me. You get my soul, you walk away. Take it or leave it yah bastard", John spat, not making any effort to hide the biting disappointment in his voice.

"Sounds fair enough to me", the killer withdrew a small silver flask from his jacket pocket, unscrewing the top as a smile spread across his lips. "Although, I will be sad not to be able to gut you, Johnny. See you writhe in pain, trying to keep away from that light, watching the hope drain from your eyes. But alas, it would be in vain".

"Bloody charming", John scoffed.

"You can't be serious?", Kit muttered to John. "You're actually doing this?"

"I guess I am", John whispered back as the killer rubbed the side of the flask slowly, staring at John's lips with an almost obsessive gaze. His hands shook in excitement as John stood up from the stone wall, rubbing his hands together. "Let's get this over with so everybody can fuck off home, then".

"I'm sure you know how a soul transaction works, Johnny. We hold the flask, say the incantation, and I drain the energy from you to send you where you need to be".

"Which I assume isn't some Argos trinket?", John said while looking at the silver flask in the killer's hand.

"No, this is simply the gateway to where I send my souls, deep inside my own soul where I can best play with you. You'll be in good company, I believe. A pretty young boy like you and a gaggle of whores rotting in Saucy Jack's spirit? It's like poetry!".

"I said let's get this over with", John repeated while grabbing the flask, his hand overlapping the killer's.

"Repeat after me", the ripper said in a highly patronising tone which let John know he was definitely savouring his victory. The killer let out a series of noises from his gullet which more resembled the cries of wounded animals than anything the human body could produce before nodding at John. As best he could Constantine reproduced the noises as he felt his hand almost latch onto the flask like a magnet.

"Goodbye, Kit", John called over his shoulder.

"This...this is a feckin' joke!", Kit yelled at John. She didn't look sad. Instead, her face was bright red in anger. "You're actually doing this?! Just giving up?!"

"I did what I had to", John managed to reply before his eyes rolled back into his head and his head went limp. His body twisted and shook like he was having a seizure as his soul was dragged up from his body into the flask, silently and invisibly. As suddenly as it had started, the movement stopped. John's lifeless, empty corpse dropped down to the filthy pavement, his face smacking into the cold ground.

"Now then", the killer pushed his flask back into his pocket, still clutching his knife. He took a step forward towards Kit and reached out, coming inches away from John's coat which was still on her shoulders.

"You promised Jo-", Kit blurted out before she was silenced by a gloved finger against her lips.

"He trusted Jack the Ripper to honour a promise, darling. It's a good thing he was so handsome, because I do believe the boy had shit for brains". The killer cackled loudly, causing Kit to ball up her fists, ready to swing. But before she could do anything, Kit felt something land on her shoulder. Bigger than a bird, and with a smell she couldn't quite place her finger on. Sterile and artificial, like the cheap air fresheners in banks. Not a second too late, the creature avoided having Kit's fist driven into its jaw by piping up with a distinct voice which Kit recognised instantly.

"I do believe one would be wise to step away from this lady, what?", Blathoxi declared loudly.

"What is this?", the killer cocked his head at the little grey creature perched on Kit like a parrot, one small hand on her coat's collar and one on its top hat,

"This, you simpleton, is an honest man here to claim his rightful property!", the petite demon bellowed as he hopped down onto the wall. Kit stood frozen, unsure if the demon was here to help or hinder her. "You just acquired the soul of John Constantine, I do believe".

"Yes. He gave it to me, fair as is my friend", the killer looked down his nose at Blathoxi, upset by the interruption. He ran the blunt side of the blade across the back of his hand slowly and impatiently.

"Incorrect. You see, not half an hour ago, Mr Constantine signed a contract with me stating that upon his death, I would gain claim to his soul, as is in our contract. You, however, have decided to take that soul for yourself. I cannot fabricate my feelings about this; I am most upset".

"And what do you plan to do about this, you pudgy creature".

"Well, Calabraxis, as is your true name, I never understood any of this Jack the Ripper nonsense myself, your abilities extend only to shape shifting and basic magic, if my memory serves me correctly. I, on the other hand, have quite an arsenal up my sleeve, so one would be wise to hand over Mr Constatine's soul or face dire consequences".

"Piss of, you roach!", the killer shouted in rage, swinging his foot up at a right angle to kick Blathoxi like a football. The small demon didn't even flinch, instead raising his hands and causing Calabraxis to levitate into the air like a puppet attached to strings.

"The lower class would do well to remember their place, my good sir", Blathoxi taunted as Kit looked on in horror.

"Fuck you! A curse on your name!", the now flying killer roared, prompting Blathoxi to raise his tiny hands upwards swiftly and forcefully like a maestro conducting a symphony. With an audible crunch, Calabraxis's neck snapped around like an owl's, leaving him hanging in the air, barely visible in all black against the clear night sky, giving off the slightest twitch as the last of the demon's life dripped away into the abyss.

"Jolly god show, won't you agree, me lady?", Blathoxi said in an upbeat manner as he dropped his victim and strolled over to the twitching corpse. "For somebody with such notoriety, Calabraxis was never too powerful, and he never seemed to know when he was beaten. Never the less, he could have been something more than this".

Kit sat back down on the wall behind her, holding one hand in the other. She watched as the small demon scurried over to the lifeless body of Calabraxis, its top hat bobbing as it bounded in excitement. And she struggled to suppress a smile.

"Now", Blathoxi mumbled as he took off his hat, causing the piece of parchment he and John had signed earlier to drop out, still tied with a ribbon. "Where is my new soul? It should be chomping at the bit to come to its new owner".

"Well, there's one thing", Kit walked over to Blathoxi, crouching down to talk to the demon face to face. She spoke calmly and in a composed manner, barely even seeming like the same woman who just moments ago was screaming and balling her fists in fear."You remember that contract you signed with John, right before Jackie boy there did him in?"

"Ye-", Blathoxi stopped, realizing what Kit was implying. "But...but no my dear, see, I had no other way to get the soul but to kill the host body".

"Which ye both agreed was breaking the bloody rules, right?"

"YOU STUPID COW! YOU CONNIVING WHORE!", Blathoxi roared, glaring at Kit. "I'M AN HONEST BEING WHO YOU INTEND TO CHEAT OUT OF HIS RIGHTFUL PRIZE!"

"Go ahead and break that contract, John told me exactly what your higher-ups do to little demons who don't follow the rules".

"Fine, FINE! I'll cave into your unreasonable requests. But only because I'm a kind hearted individual". Blathoxi put one hand down on Calabraxis, then pointed over at John's corpse with one of his stubby little grey fingers. The trader of souls closed his eyes, summoning energy from deep within his home in the underworld to grab John's soul. Aided by the magic bound inside of the contract, John's soul was freed, and within seconds was back in its owners body. After some twitching, John's eyes slowly opened, followed by him climbing to his feet, looking rather confused but on the whole in good condition.

"You conspired for this to happen, didn't you?", Blathoxi spat, turning to walk away. Even from at least twenty feet away, John and Kit could hear Blathoxi cursing under his breath.

"Hold on a second, mate", John shouted at the demon before he could walk into the darkness.

"What is it?", Blathoxi turned back, tilting his hat back slightly.

"I did. Down to the second", John smirked, shivering in the cold night air as Kit threw him his coat back.

"Don't poke the demon, John", Kit muttered as the two watched Blathoxi melt away into the night. "Are we just going to leave him here?", Kit pointed down to Calabraxis's dead body, with its neck still twisted back in a grotesque fashion.

"Nobody'll nick it", John laughed as he reached into his pocket, pulling out another cigarette and lighting it, causing Kit to shrug and turn away. As soon as the smoke hit his lungs, John relaxed and stopped shivering.

"So what's it like?"

"What's what like?"

"Málaga at this time of year, of course! Being dead, John".

"Oh, that", the two walked side by side back towards their hotel, their way lit by dim street lights and the occasional car headlight. "It's what you'd expect, I guess. Blackness, mostly".

"Blackness?"

"I was stuck between him and wherever he was sending me, so yeah, pretty much".

Kit laughed under her breath. "Blathoxi kept calling the killer Calabraxis, by the way. Not sure if that means anything to you".

"Heard the name a few times, would explain some things. Anyway, Kit, while we're talking; I'm sort of between homes right now. When we get back to London, is there any chance I could move in with you? Maybe just for a bit, until I can find another place".

"Is this your way of asking me out?", Kit and John both laughed as they turned down a side street.

"Well if that's what you have in mind..."

"On one condition".

"I was gonna give you the other ticket anyway, Kit".

"No. We pop in and see your dad. Just for a bit".

"Why?", John and Kit stop outside of their hotel with John's dad's house in sight. All the lights in the one storey house are still on, with small chunks peering through the gaps between the curtains and the window frame.

"Because, I'm worried about you. When you were explaining your plan to have a serial killer take your soul as bait? You were right as rain. But when I asked about your dad, you got all tense, you sounded distant. That's not healthy. His house is right there, John. Give it a go".

"Fine", John sighed and stepped off the pavement, walking towards his dad's house. "But as son as he starts whining about footy scores, your mum texts you about your aunt being in a car crash, alright?"

"Best plan you've had all night".

-The End-