Lost in Purgatory

Chapter 13

His first thought, when he wakes up, in broad daylight, walking through a strange field full of brightly coloured flowers, is that he must have died at some point. Felicity Smoak, aka crazy hacker chick, shot him, and this is . . . what? Heaven? Hasn't he killed too many people to be in heaven?

Could this be a dream, he wonders? Though, if he's dreaming, how come he knows it's a dream? And anyway, he hasn't dreamt for months . . . not since he started working for Waller. He's trying to work this problem out when the ground collapses under his feet, and he lands in a tunnel, lit by torches. Fine, so he is dreaming.

"What time d'you call this, then? I've been waiting for months, Oliver!" The speaker sounds British, and impatient.

He walks towards the man waiting at the end of the passage, and looks him up and down – he has scruffy blond hair, and is smoking a cigarette.

"Who're you? And why are you calling me Oliver?"

The blond guy looks at him in surprise. He moves closer and stares into John's eyes.

"Because that's your name." The gentle tone takes Smith off guard.

"That crazy girl called me Oliver, too," Smith murmurs, half under his breath.

"So, I think introductions are called for," blond guy says, holding out his hand, "I'm John Constantine; exorcist, demonologist, and master of the dark arts."

Smith ignores the hand, folding his arms in front of him.

"I don't even know what that means. Why am I dreaming about you, anyway? And what is this place?"

Constantine rubbed his face, looking worried.

"This isn't a dream, Oliver. It's a spirit walk. And this place – you know it better than anyone. Or you knew it, at least." He stares at John, then comes to a decision. "Take off your shirt."

"What?"

"Don't you remember the tattoo? On your abdomen?"

John lifts his shirt – the Chinese tattoo looks as bad in the dream, oh sorry, spirit walk, as it does in real life. Constantine winces.

"No wonder it's been calling to me for months." Constantine notices John's sceptical look, and shrugs. "This is all going to sound mental to you, mate, if you don't remember anything. It's the drug they gave you, innit?"

John nods, reluctantly. "They said I volunteered."

"And you believe them?" Constantine's eyebrows are raised.

John shrugs, trying to convey that he hasn't been given much choice. Constantine moves closer suddenly, putting a hand on John's forehead. The guy seems too scrawny to have much strength, but John finds himself pushed to his knees, as a lancing pain goes through his head. Constantine murmurs reassuring phrases, but John is on fire. Finally, Constantine removes the hand and sighs.

"They've made a right pig's ear of your head, Oliver. Good news is, the spell should work on fixing it."

John looks up, hardly believing what he's hearing.

"Are you serious? You can fix me?"

Constantine looks indulgent. "I gave you the unlocking spell myself, but it's probably the first thing they took from you, right?"