Fugitive: Chapter Seven

A John Constantine Tale

Every minute was torture. He’d turned on the phone to be ready. He tried using it to call his room phone - it worked. He checked the call logs, history, and contacts - nothing. He opted to leave his room and go back to the scene Angela had been taken. These guys were pros so there were no clues, not even a tire track - not that he would know what to do with it if he found one. He went through his pockets trying to see if he’d left anything from home in them - a relic, an amulet, something, anything that could help. Then he remembered he’d intentionally made sure not to bring any of those things along. Airport security might have a few questions for a guy carrying a human toe - even just the bone - and likely wouldn’t care if it really was St. Cuthbert’s second toe from the left foot.

The phone buzzed in his hand and it startled him so he almost dropped it. “Hello?” he asked, trying to be as patient as possible.

“Ya...Ich hätte gerne eine Pizza mit Wurst, bitte.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand you...and did you just say something about pizza?” John asked, puzzled.

“Ya...this is Mama Corleone on Rue Kléberg 13, no?” the voice responded in a very thick, Germanic accent.

“No...this is not a pizza place...wrong number.” And John hung up, very disappointed. The phone buzzed again. “Listen, I told you, this isn’t some pizza place’s number!”

“Good John,” came a voice sounding much like the previous one but this time minus the accent.

“You son of a b-,” John began.

“Temper, temper Constantine…,” followed by a laugh, “when I hold your love’s life in my hands you best hold your tongue or I’ll rip hers out to teach you a lesson.”

John took a deep breath. “Fine, sorry. Now what do you want?”

“An end John...an end to all the lies they’ve told us. I’ll make it simple John. You choose...your life for Angela’s. What do you say?”

“Of course, but I need to know she’s safe before I kill myself.”

“Oh, we don’t want you to kill yourself but what we want you to do will get you killed.”

“Fine, but I need to know she’s safe!”

There was a pause and a scuffle and a murmur. “John?” came Angela’s voice weakly over the phone.

“ANGELA! Don’t worry, it’ll be alright.”

“Don’t do it, John...they’re crazy. My life’s not worth the…,” but the sound was cut short by her scream.

“I SWEAR I’LL FIND YOU ALL SOMEHOW AND TEAR OUT YOUR HEARTS,” John started screaming into the phone.

“Temper, temper Constantine,” the same voice said again. “That’s two... and third time I take her tongue before I set her free to teach you some manners. She’s fine...just a little shock to keep her quiet.”

John was seething with rage but had to keep his cool. “So what do you want me to do?”

“Your phone is equipped with a few apps, John. Use the ‘Find my car’ app to locate the car we’ve left for you. The same app will allow you to unlock and start the car. Preprogrammed into the GPS in the car are the directions for you to follow. The tank is already full so no need stopping. Reach the destination in 4 hours...starting....NOW. And stay out of the trunk, we’ll discuss its contents later. We’ll also know if you open it. There’s also a package in the passenger seat. Keep it safe. Feel free to look at it - carefully. Its very old and a lot of people are looking for it right now. We’ll be in touch.”

John didn’t think, he just acted. Phone in hand, app activated, he listened and found the car nearby. He was in and started it and headed on the route defined. It said it would take just over 4 hours so he had little time to spare.”

A short while later on the A1 he untied the cord wrapped around the package in the seat next to him. Inside the wrapping was a roll of cloth. Flax fibrils and looked to be very old. Doing his best to unroll it carefully while watching the road, he had a sick feeling he knew what it was before seeing it. And there it was. The pale image of a crown, almost as if only able to hover above the man’s head and the faint lines of a face.

What part did the Shroud of Turin have in all this?