WHO:Joan Watson & John Constantine WHEN: This week WHERE: John's classroom @ UCI WHAT: Joan has a client with a specific fear, Joan follows up with occultist Constantine. Joan deeply regrets her life choices. RATING/WARNINGS: None STATUS: Complete
With the utter nonsense that was Orange County unfolding before her very eyes, Joan had two options; run, far away and very quickly, or find something else to distract her. Since Joan wasnât the sort to run, it was work.
There was only so far they could go in the serial case, and unfortunately theyâd exhausted all avenues of investigation that they could with what they had. Which meant until another body turned up, they were at a standstill. Less than great news, but it was the sad fact of serials, the more information, the easier to catch them, unfortunately, information usually came from victims.
As it was, Joan still found enough work to keep her busy and pay her short term bills. Sheâd expected the same as sheâd had in New York, when not working with the department, Joan was regularly investigating corporate crimes, thievery or the occasional missing person. What she hadnât been expecting was a case of demonic possession, or at least suspected possession.
Rowan Carter was a stockbroker, a fairly good one from all the paperwork Joan could find. But more recently, his wife had noted some strange behaviour, including the inclination towards carving strange symbols into their garden fence. Having worked with Sherlock for as long as she had, and a healthy dose of rational thinking for herself, Joan had been skeptical about the âpossessionâ element of Mr Carterâs condition.
Armed with photographs of the carvings, notes on Carterâs behaviour and her own observations of things, Joan had tracked down a local who would know about the occult in some manner. Professors tended to at least be less busy in the summer, but she wasnât terribly surprised to still have to track this one, a John Constantine, to his place of work.
Nonsense was too kind a word to use for this sodding sack of fuckery this place truly was. At itâs worst John thought it was simply odd, alternate realities--true or secondary--he could wrap his mind around. He liked to think he was just open to that sort of thing. So there was more to him than he previously conceived and the life he thought he knew was some sort of veil or sham. Nothing to weep about.
For all intended purposes Constantine believed no matter how bad his memories might have been he would be able to handle it. Yet the more the dreams unveiled the less comfortable he was with the idea of what happened. Particularly at New Castle.
While he may have had years to brood over botching an exorcism and summoning a demon that instead ripped the girl to pieces before his eyes, dragging her to hell to be damned forever--here in the present, heâd had a day or so. John didnât even care much that his soul would surely follow after now. It was the innocent life heâd damned, her screams, and those of his mates around him while they tried in vain to save her. The sort of thing no amount of electroshock therapy from Ravenscar could do to help.
After taking a day off to âcomposeâ himself John instantly realized it was better to force himself out and into work, despite how awful a job he was at keeping it together at the moment, because it was much more dangerous to be alone with oneâs thoughts. Currently he had an hour or so until his next class. Heâd arrived early on purpose so the blight on his twisted memories and emotions wouldnât turn him to more stupidity. The only sort of stupidity heâd allow for now was a pack of cigarettes for breakfast and coffee. Beginning his second pack now, Constantine was all but a hunched stone at his desk, composed in smoke and notes he was studying for the protection sigils heâd be carving all over his home when he got there.
Should any poor sod of authority want to bother him about the smoking he wasnât above using some of that condemning magic of his to make them piss off.
A sharp knock on the door to the class was only polite, and since Joan hadnât completely given up on maintaining some kind of social awareness for politeness, it was the norm before she announced herself. âIâm sorry, Mr Constantine?â Oddly, or probably not, he was the most local that had come up when sheâd googled occult scholars. She doubted it should be too surprising that people were drawn to this neck of the woods regarding the unusual.
There had just been an outpouring of the strangest weather known the California she was sure, so she wasnât overly shocked at not having to travel to a more urbanised city. âMy nameâs Joan Watson, Iâm a consulting detective,â although she wasnât currently consulting with any police force, it tended to go better to start there than with private detective. âI was hoping youâd have a moment to lend some assistance in a possible case?â
She was not leading with âmy client believes her husband is possessedâ or âa demon is in a man and decorating their yardâ, discretion and all that.
Lifting his head more drastically than he wanted--the lack of sleep made him a little edgy, John blinked tiredly at the approaching woman, wishing she would shut it so he could tell her no and or leave.
Yet the words detective left her mouth and he held his tongue long enough to let her finish. Consulting or not, he didnât rightfully trust the sway of any sort of badge, and given he had enough problems right now..best be friendly. As much as he could muster right now.
Constantine closed his notebook but he made no move to get up from his desk other than to swivel it more to face her, smoke trail following the cigarette stuck between his lips. âDare I ask how I could help you, love?â There was no hiding the fatigue in his voice. Maybe the gruffness would help secure that it was always like that. He knew there were only so many reasons anyone would come to him for âassistanceâ. In this life or the previous.
Sometimes, Joan wondered how on earth Sherlock managed to work up his list of âirregularsâ, she had her own contacts, yes, but nothing quite as vast or varied as Sherlockâs little collection of experts. And it was times like these, when dealing with slightly less than personable first encounters that she was curious as to how Sherlock managed to not get punched more often.
âI have some unusual etchings that are hard to explain, and I have no idea about the meaning of it.â The fence in question was a good four feet tall, and the length of the yard. The etchings covered at least half of that, strange markings of pentagrams within concentric circles with some symmetrical markings around the edges. Joan pulled two of the images sheâs printed off out to hold them out for John, clear in the daylight sheâd taken the pictures in. âThese were carved into a wooden fence, I was hoping maybe you could take a look and see if they looked familiar or meant anything?â
Hopefully not some new nonsense about demons though.
Unfortunately for Joan the life surrounding John Constantine was always about some new nonsense on demons. He was still sore about those dreams and would continue to be. But he had become a demonologist for a reason--even if he'd failed as of recent.
After staring down her pictures he plucked them from her fingers to lay them on his desk, splaying them out. âHmm,â extracting his cigarette from his mouth to speak more clearly, John glanced wearily up at her, âI take it you have some idea these aren't at all good symbols, given you're here.â Pointing to one in specific, that'd been repeated over and over. âThis is the mark of Aratron, demon of sorrow. These other symbols are of Saturn The Olympians believed he ruled over it and it's astrological ties.â
He was talking about demons. There were words spewing forth about demons and the symbols. Great. She was hoping sheâd come in and heâd tell her that no, these were just some drawings from an old Metallica or Iron Maiden album cover and that kids were just playing around, her guy was just stressed from work and the market being poor.
âThe pentagram and my client talking about possession sort of put me on this path.â Sheâd been hoping it would be ruling out what he was talking about, rather than confirm that, actually, something might be going on. Stupid Orange County.
âAratron?â Okay, so, demon of sorrow, sadness and despair -stockbroker could get despair worthy. âSo, thereâs a possibility that⌠Aratron is being invoked? Iâm sorry, clearly demons and⌠the occult is not my area of expertise. Are these symbols to summon this demon, or⌠something to make them?â
John huffed a tiny laugh, shaking his head slowly as he put out his cigarette. People always assumed a pentagram meant something satanic or sinister. Not that there wasn't anything sweet and savory happening to her âclientâ.
âI don't see any symbols of summoning, at least not here. They're his symbols. Some even a combination of his own doing, but I can barely make out the other sigils inside the circles.â He pointed to one such âcustomâ symbol that was surrounded by the others. âNot knowing the particular...ins and outs of your client, I can only assume. Not that you need to summon a demon to provoke its interest.â
It wasn't likely sheâd tell him everything but John wasn't going to make assumptions and give out any which information just because.
There wasnât a lot Joan could give, really. The ins and outs were fairly new to her, and sheâd only managed to attach these to something less normal because of google. âThe wife hired me, thereâs been an alteration in behaviour, and not just the working more hours, out of the house more kind of behaviour.â Indicating spousal cheating wouldâve been so much more run of the mill. âMore the⌠spacing out, not sleeping, doing strange things kind of behaviour.â
Like scratching things into a garden fence. Which in their neighbourhood seemed like a peculiar thing to do. âOn the heels of the strange weather and all the abnormal happenings in the area,â because naturally everyone noticed something, right? No one actually believed the âtornado alleyâ story, right? âIt seemed strange enough to need to check out.â And that led her here.
âWould seeing the actual markings help?â
âSeeing the actual man would, love. Anyone can scratch markings into a fence. Yet all I have to guess on is strange behaviors.â There were a few specific behaviors that would be able to help John identify. Yet if he were face to face with a possessed he'd merely need to call them out--that'd be the quickest way to get an answer.
Or just as easily mutter something embarrassing when the man could just as easily have been skipping out at night on his wife to bigger and better things.
Rubbing the socket of his eye roughly with his palm, Constantine sighed, free hand dropping into his pocket. âIt doesn't mean sir husband is possessed. If he is, it doesn't necessarily mean by Aratron either--could be a follower or soldier demon of his. A lot of key behaviors should also include the environment. Strange things happening about the house, the temperature, sounds, moving objects. Were he possessed he wouldn't be acting human as a demon wouldn't know how--bodily functions like sleeping, eating, they couldn't give a damn. Sometimes their eyes get bloody dark and quite spooky.â
It was frustrating her how much of this she was going along with, just blindly accepting as fact rather than interjecting with some kind of rational explanation for anything else at all. Because honestly, Joan would prefer that to any of this.
âHis wife called him out of sorts, not normal,â what was normal around here anyway? âApparently he disturbs his son.â And Joan was assuming that Mrs Carter didnât mean in the morning to get him up, but in the weird and peculiar way.
Realistically sheâd want to get a better feel for how genuine the entire matter was before she walked into the clientâs house with an uninvited occultist who spouted off about demonic possessions like it was a grocery list (she needed to pick up milk, the carton in the fridge was out of date) and instantly went along with demonic possession.
âAnd if itâs nothing to do with the occult, and is simply a man stepping out on his wife with a poor conscience? How can I narrow that down to know if a meeting is required?â
Even in his weary state John could pick up on the unease of the woman. Demons werenât for everyone after all--hell, demons werenât for him either, and here he was. âShould probably think about keeping a close eye on that kid then, shouldnât she? Theyâre more open to things than adults are. Easy prey.â
Turning his neck so that it could crack in some attempt to loosen up, Constantine considered her questions before plopping back down into his chair, propping his face up onto his palm. Why was he doing this? More importantly, why was he doing this for free? To get the bird to leave, right.
âNothing unsettling would be happening like the previously mentioned unsavory behaviors.â As he said, short of going to see it himself he couldnât just put a bloody sticker on it. John knew she was trying to avoid all of that in case he was wrong, but he needed something before just spouting the âoh yes, thatâs a demonâ. âTell your missus to strike a conversation casually on a subject that only she and her husband would know of. If he doesnât know the answer--and isnât shit for a husband, thatâll tell you. Your other choices are to attempt to bring him about religious articles such as a cross or prayer but that could provoke the demon and hurt the family. Itâs a dangerous game, detective.â
Joan liked to consider herself an open minded person, that she could accept and work through the strangest of things, or even adapt to abnormalities in some perceptions. Demons were pushing the boat out just a little for an instant acceptance. Her understanding of any of this was greatly limited to horror movies and urban legends though, which was why she was here in the first place.
So really, suspending her disbelief for a short while was the least she could do since she approached Constantine about this.
Getting deeper into it meant opening up the possibility that okay, this wasnât all just made up for Hollywood ticket sales, and naturally, that meant following cues from someone who actually knew something about it all. âSo, weed out inconsistencies, which should lead to a confirmation of identity, at least if it is still⌠Mr Carter in ⌠control?â There was a lot of that sentence which was supposition on Joanâs part. Not something she was overly keen on, but she was good at learning on her feet. âAnd if it turns out to not be conclusive that⌠Mr Carter is who heâs supposed to be,â ie, demon possession may be a thing, âIs there a ⌠de-possession route to go down there?â
She was not using the âEâ word.
âMaybe.â At the moment Constantine wasnât very keen on the âEâ word either, given his last attempt in his memories was a bloody plague on his life. He was sensible enough to know that he could learn from that--calling on another demon wasnât key to getting rid of another one. But trauma was trauma.
He wasnât happy to go on reliving the experience of another mental breakdown and trip to the looney bin after having a walk about in his dreams. Nothing helped anyway, so maybe, he could put it to rest with some retribution while he waited to see if he ever freed Astra from hell in his dreams. There was only so much one could fuck up without trying anymore.
And there was only so much pain John could cause before he decided he was done with it. When he hit that threshold, heâd tell people to piss of. For now, he snatched a scrap piece of paper to scribble his contact information on, alarm bells of âbad idea, johnnyâ ringing about in his ear that he always seemed to ignore. Could have just been the lovely trauma and anxiety. âYou just worry about figuring out if Mr. Carter is just a crazy wank or possessed in the first place. But just in case I happen to be right, feel free to let me worry about the âde-possessionâ,â he sighed, slipping over the paper to go about his self-fulfilling prophecy.
Okay, so Joan was willing to look past the âthis is crazyâ going on in her mind, because sheâd been through âthis is crazyâ before, when sheâd decided to become a detective at all. There were just different and unusual levels to the crazy now, and that was fine. It was something.
If she ruled out a demonic possession, well, she could put this behind her, thank Constantine for his input but rule it a mix up or the actions of a deluded mind (Mrs Carter didnât seem the type, but it wasnât like she could gauge that from two meetings). âThank you,â she still took the piece of paper, remembering the tips on determining the possession without potentially putting her client and the son in danger.
âIâll be in touch and⌠Thanks for your time.â Joan wasnât regretting it. That was a bad sign, wasnât it? Not regretting going down this particular rabbit hole in the first place. And here she was with contact information in case she needed an exorcist.