REVELATION
Just a quick update. Hope someone out there likes it. Let me know. Or if you hate it, let me know why too. Happy Reading! Gem xxx -:o0O0o:- Chapter 4: Dream a Little Dream of me. The darkness about her was absolute. Impenetrable. She couldn't see a single thing. Not even her hand two inches in front of her face. And yet the darkness was not stationary, it moved and twisted and writhed like a mass of black beasts, tossing and turning and making strange, incomprehensible shapes before her eyes. She reached out her hand tentatively, fingers splayed wide, combing through the living darkness, attempting to find something, anything to anchor herself to. "Hello?" she called out after finally mustering the courage to do so. Her voice seeped out like a curling mist only to be absorbed by the swirling blackness like a sponge would soak up water. "Hello, is anyone there?" Silence fell hard around her ears, louder and more deafening than any sound could ever have been all in that one inexplicable moment and she spun about, trying to get her bearings, albeit unsuccessfully. Where in the Hell was she? Angela didn't have to wait long for a response to her thoughts. Her answer came in the form of a small flash of light, accompanied by a clicking sound. It was brief and a split second later the pitch resumed it's reign over her senses. "Is there someone out there?" she called again, almost demanding, definitely desperate. She felt her heart shuddering out a beat within her chest, fluttering like a caged demon wanting to be free of it's confines and she cursed herself for allowing her thoughts to follow such an inappropriate path. She didn't need to be worrying about Hell and demons at that particular moment and yet her mind was constantly drawing comparisons regardless. Suddenly the light came again, in response to her question once more, this time retaining it's glow and throwing it outwards to illuminate her surroundings. It sputtered and quivered and finally she realised that the source of the sudden brightness was a flame from a lighter. Not just any lighter. John Constantine's lighter. The amber glow played over his features as he touched the fire to the end of a cigarette held firmly between his lips, breathing the toxic stick to life and snapping his lighter shut again, killing the flame. The illumination did not recede with it, however, and for the first time, Angela realised that she was standing in John's rundown, shabby old, single-roomed apartment. "John?" she queried, moving towards where he sat on his long dining table, feet resting on the chair directly below him. "John, what's going on?" He glanced up at her, briefly, holding the lit cigarette between his thumb and forefinger, turning back to contemplate it with a curious expression. "You getting one of your premonitions, Angela?" he replied to her question with one of his own, almost as if he hadn't heard her. He didn't glance up from the smoke curling in thin wisps of intricate interweaving designs before him, waiting for her response. "No…" she said finally, shaking herself out of her stunned silence. "At least…I don't think so…" her voice sounded unsure and confused even to her own ears and she glance about her warily. Her surroundings seemed blurred, however, and the harder she tried to focus upon them, the more indistinct, the more unable to be seen, they became. "John, please tell me what's happening here." John chuckled lightly, a bitter sound that held little, if any amusement whatsoever. "God only knows…" he murmured, perhaps only for his own benefit, after a lengthy pause of consideration. He looked up, his face upturned towards the ceiling as if her was staring towards Heaven for the answers to his own troubled questions that plagued his mind. Angela sighed, partly impatient, and followed his gaze and suddenly she was staring up into the night sky, rain pattering down, with growing intensity, onto her face, obscuring her view. "John, what the Hell is-" she began to demand, glancing back down at him, a perplexed frown quirking her dark brows, but John was no longer sat upon his tabletop. The table itself wasn't even there anymore, nor was his apartment, but just barely visible through the dark of night and the pelting rain was John's retreating back, collar of his dark trench coat drawn up tight about his ears as he marched down the street, attempting to escape the rain. Angela, who was far beyond trying to fathom out what was happening, jogged to keep John's form in her vision at least. She called out to him numerous times but he either didn't hear her or didn't want to answer her. The latter of the two theories sounded the most likely. She was just about to stop, a stitch tugging at her side painfully, when she noticed the man in a dark grey suit slam his shoulder in John's forcefully. The dark haired exorcist took an unintentional step backwards from the blow's sheer force, glaring over his shoulder at the culprit of the unprovoked attack. "Balthazar!" they both gasped together, only able to watch as the smirking demi-demon strolled away, disappearing deep into the returning blackness. "John!" she called out, her voice becoming hoarse with the amount of times that she had tried to shout him, but her surroundings warped and changed around her so that she was walking directly behind him down a narrow, dirty, dimly lit corridor. John's hand gripped hers tightly as he pulled her deeper into the gloom. "Don't stop. Don't look around. Eyes on me." he instructed her and Angela opened her mouth to protest. He tugged her hand harder before she could utter the first syllable of her testy retort and she fell silent again. Reality, or what she deemed to be reality at that particular moment, shifted again and they were sat, side-by-side, legs pressed against each other in a small, one roomed apartment, similarly as filthy as the corridor that they had walked down previously. John's hand still clasped Angela's tightly, though a little more gently than before, making her feel comforted somewhat, though from what she had no idea. "John, please, for God's sake, tell me what is happening here. I'm not-" He turned to face her fully, dark brown eyes locking onto her hers and flashing with some distant emotion that made Angela's fingertips begin to tingle. He offered her his trademark smirk and motioned for silence by pressing his finger to his lips, her eye following that fingers seemingly slow motion movement all the while. The tingle spread to her entire hands when his lips and his forefinger pressed together softly, leaving her stunned into an open mouth silence, fury at his patronising gesture forgotten entirely. What had she been thinking? Think, Angela, think! Yes! How dare he treat her like a child? She wasn't about to let a man like John Constantine dictate to her what she should and shouldn't do! "Watch her work." he chuckled quietly, almost as if he had read the emotions clean off her face, motioning for her to turn her stare into the middle of the barely lit, wreck of a room to a figure that Angela couldn't quite make out. "What is this?" she whispered, more to herself than to the man sat beside her who was proving to be distinctly unhelpful throughout the entire ordeal. The figure moved with practiced ease, body and arms twist and swirling as if locked into a dance only they were hearing the music to. Fingers splayed and streaked with them violent colours of crimson and violet, making patterns and eddies upon a large, upright canvas. "This is insane!" Angela murmured, her breath catching in her throat despite her declaration. She shook her head, eyes transfixed, in confused disbelief. "This makes no sense whatsoever…" "The world stopped making sense centuries ago, Angie." the figure in the room's epicentre stated in a young, distinctly feminine voice, continuing to swirl the purple and red paint together on her canvas as she spoke. "And it's not likely to start makin' sense again anytime soon if this is all true." Angela shook her head more forcefully, scrubbing at her eyes as if to make them see more clearly, as if to prove the vision before her was false. "If what's true? Who are you anyway?" she half-queried, half-demanded. The dark, indiscernible figure paused in her movements, turning instead to face the room's other, and only male occupant. "You didn't tell her J.C?" she asked with a slightly amused tone and John chuckled and shrugged his shoulders. Receiving no further answer she turned back to Angela. "Ask John about it…" Angela frowned, even more confused than ever, and glanced to her right at John, intent upon demanding that he tell her what exactly was going on or strangling him. Which she wanted to do more at that moment, she hadn't decided yet. "You better start talking, Constantine, or I'll-" she halted as John gave her a sad smile, his face once again seeping into blackness, being swallowed by the ever present darkness and leaving her as she had been before…alone. -:0O0o:- Angela sat bolt upright in bed, body covered in a sheen of glistening sweat, gasping for breath as if she had just run a marathon. Her hands clawed desperately at the sweat soaked sheets, trying to pry them from their diligent, cloying grasp around her body. Panic ripped through her chest like a silver bullet, like and electrical current, making her movements slow and clumsy until finally her fingers found purchase and tore her covers back from her trembling frame. Dear God, what had she just seen? Was it another vision? Or was it a particularly lucid dream? No, it couldn't have been just a dream, it had felt as if she had been there. She had felt the icy rain pattering down on her face. She had felt John's hand on hers, for Christ's sake! Angela lifted her hand, turning it before her face in the dim early morning light. "Holy God!" the fear rippled through her again, icy cold as she grasped blindly for her bedside lamp. Light spilled around her bedroom, flaring like a beacon on pale gold liquid and making Angela blink furiously until her eyes adjusted to the change of light. Gingerly she reached out her other hand, fingertips brushing lightly over the small, round marks that were the result of her dream. Fingerprints? John's fingerprints? They were most definitely what she feared them to be, pale stark white against her skin, slightly tanned from the sun that she had caught earlier that day, almost as if he were still clutching her hand, still grasping it firmly with invisible fingers. "Oh my God!" she gasped again, her voice clawing it's way from her throat in short, high noises of terror as she scrambled desperately from her bed to stand in the middle of her room, shivering a little, though only partially due to the cold, in the dim circle of light. Something was going on. Something was waiting to happen. It was there, lurking just beyond her psychic perception making a dull awareness tingle in the back of her mind. She couldn't discern what it was exactly though, as much as she tried to figure out what the strange, ominous feeling was and where it was coming from. It did not want to be discovered just yet, whatever it was. She forced herself to calm down, to take things slowly although her mind was racing at a hundr4ed miles per second. She needed to look at it all logically. It all had something to do with John Constantine. He had been prominent throughout her vision's entirety and the girl from the latter part, she had told Angela to ask John about it, hadn't she? "Alright," she spoke aloud to herself, combing her fingers through her knotted hair. "John seems to be the most logical place to start. Perhaps he can figure all this out." It was curious. She'd met him that very day. After weeks and weeks of nothing. After not seeing hide nor hair of the man who had saved her life and her sister's soul. "I was meant to meet him today…" she whispered, again aloud to herself and glanced down at the fingerprints on her hand that were slowly beginning to bruise. Or had it all really just been a dream brought on by seeing him again? Had he triggered off the wilder part of her imagination? Angela groaned, rubbing the heels of her palms into her tired eyes. She couldn't figure it out on her own either way, and the more that she tried, the stronger the thumping of a headache became behind her eyes. She needed to see John again, no matter which of the two it was. No matter if she was in fact going insane. If the dream was a real vision then he would most likely know what it meant. And if it wasn't more than a dream of a vivid imagination…then perhaps she'd finally work up the guts to finally do something about it and ask him out for a drink! -:o0O0o:-
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