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Scattered tools of his nights work can be seen around the room in the abandoned building he has been using as a workshop. In one corner are a pick and shovel covered with fresh earth with gloves and boots saturated with liquid and mud flung beside them. On the table where he's been working are several newspaper clippings and lists. Special ink and
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He is somewhere else -- Suburban America. The sun is shining, the houses all have the same manicured lawn. The woman in the garden is beautiful -- long blonde hair falls in gentle curls along her shoulders. She smiles, and the sun seems to wash over her face. Her hands are packed with dirt from planting day lillies.
Streaks of red clouds begin to highlight the sky, and the once-blue heavens seem to be bleeding, lightning crackling everywhere. The German shephard by her side barks angrily. The dog is scared, and with good reason. Constantine has seen these sorts of skies before. The last time they came, he lost a good many friends, and a woman he loved.
And nearly the entire balance between good and evil.
The woman and the dog are now running for the house, but there's a flash of light, and suddenly they're both gone. As if they were never there at all. The skies are blue again, the lawns well-manicured, but there are no day lillies planted in the yard.
When the vision passes, the ghost is gone, and Arkham's alarms are ringing.
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Emma...bloody fuck not now, get the job done get maudlin later.
Wishing he'd brought a bottle along he starts to make his way down the corridor, holding himself up with one hand on the wall until he can stand without walking into anything.
Time to find some bodies.
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