[CENTER][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/0199a223-f589-7609-94ed-37709394b859.webp[/img][/CENTER][indent][sub][COLOR=#696969][B]Location:[/B][/COLOR] [color=white][I]Liverpool[/I] - [I]England[/I][/color][/sub][sup][right][COLOR=#696969][b]#1.05[/b][/COLOR][/right][/sup][/indent][COLOR=dimgray][SUP][sub]_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________[/sub][/SUP][/COLOR]

[indent][color=#A9A9A9]The bridge dominated the landscape ahead of them. It was all-encompassing; it stretched to each edge of the periphery and spanned the horizon in between, subsuming all other architecture and cityscape into its oppressive presence. While in view, nothing else existed. The bridge - the past actions taken upon it - the approaching reckoning it harbored for them; there was a feeling that this bridge, this [i]damn[/i] bridge, was all there was and would be. John saw in their steady advancement toward it a great long thread, stretching all the way back to his birth, one terrible path set from his very first breath leading to his end on this bridge and in the murky, troubled waters beneath. It all seemed so neat, so logical: a murdered brother and dead mother - a hated father and a taken sister - friends who fled in the wake of darkness encroaching. The thread ended here, deftly cut and knotted; The Life And Death Of John Constantine, from waters to waters. It seemed so clear, here, now, in the shadow of this ruinous bridge, that the mistake - the great blunder of the world - had not been the tragedy of John's suicide. It had been his survival.

John was so lost in his calamitous revelation that he had not noticed Chas coming to a standstill some ten paces back. It was only his calling out to him that shook John from his lapse. He stopped, tearing his gaze away from the brick and steel of the bridge to look back at his companion, still feeling the omen on his spine. 
[color=8B4513]"We shouldn't do this."[/color] Chas said, simple and obvious and yet so, so futile, so late. Chas could see it in John's face, the solemn determination; but if he just let him climb up there without a word, without voicing even a fraction of how insane this had all become, he would never see another restful night again. [color=8B4513]"Please, John. Nothing good will come of this, for anyone. Not for me, not for Gary, not for you. We've taken it this far - but don't you feel it? It's all [i]wrong[/i], John. It's all perverted and crooked. We should just walk away. Please."[/color]
John breathed a deep sigh. He could not deny the truth to his friend's words any more than he could deny the impotence of the attempt. He walked back to stand beside him, and simply pulled Chas into a brief embrace.
[color=BDB76B]"I'm sorry, Chas. I'm going up there. You don't have to come with me - but at this point, it's not even about finding Gary anymore. I am grateful you took a chance and came back - glad we reconnected. I can't tell you how indebted I am just for coming this far with me. But if I turn away now - if I run from this - I'll just be confirming all my worst fears about myself. My life would be defined by this bridge forever. If I want even a modicum of control back over my own destiny - I need to climb back up there. One last time."
[i]Just to prove that I [u]tried.[/u][/i][/color] John thought, saving just that small piece of his soul for himself. Chas did not reply - but he got a stoic, steely look in his eye, and his jaw clenched and set like he was enduring great pain; and then he nodded. The two forged on, their bond now forever-set.

The climb up the bridge was difficult and taxing and by the time they crested the end of the causeway the sun had well and truly set. Only a series of small and worn-out bulbs illuminated the way ahead, and a mist was descending around them as the night drew in that obscured even that. They paused for a moment, catching their breath but also peering through the darkness down the bridge to try and spot their quarry; it took a moment for their eyes to adjust to the gloom, but once they had, Chas spied a shadowed figure lurking roughly halfway across. He nudged John and pointed.
[color=8B4513]"That could be him, lad. But this all feels hideously wrong. We can't, John."[/color]
John could feel it too, a pressure all around them, a subtle push that sent chills down his spine and made him dig his heels in on instinct. It didn't matter.
[color=BDB76B]"We must."[/color] Was his only reply, and he set forward. They crept along the bridge, hopping from one feeble pool of light to another, each step meticulous and calculated. The waters of the River Mersey rushed beneath them, and John very pointedly did [i]not[/i] look down, did [i]not[/i] peer over the edge to witness those dark and roaring floods down below. 

They approached the veiled figure quicker than they'd have liked, and it was Chas who took the initiative as they grew near:
[color=8B4513]"Gary?"[/color] He called out, cautious and low. No part of him wanted a response.
The figure jerked, twitching as it stood straight and turned toward them. It took one agonized, lumbering step toward them and, in the process, moved into the light. John and Chas froze, unable to suppress a gasp.

It [i]was[/i] Gary, unmistakeably so - after all the asking around, the chasing, the sheer rigamarole of it all, they'd really found him - but he looked...even taking the ravages of two years of substance abuse into account, he looked [i]terrible[/i]. This wasn't the visage of a mere junkie - he was almost skeletal, parchment-dry skin stretched over sun-bleached bone. What hair remained hung limp and lifeless from his pockmarked scalp; his arms and chest were carpeted with sores and scabs and needle tracks, and his eyes were sunken deep into dark, maddened sockets, bloodshot and darting this way and that in some paranoid fit. He raised a hand to scratch at a rough, shingles-like abrasion that marred his neck, and John noticed several fingernails chewed down to the quick or missing entirely, the skin on his knuckles and palm red and cracking. But all of this aside, there was something [i]else[/i] about Gary, something that haunted him and distorted his outline, made him dizzying to look at. It seemed to John like one of those magic eye puzzles: if you squinted at it just right, at just the proper angle, it would all align and reveal its secrets. As it was, Gary just vaguely hurt to behold, frayed around his edges like a sketch yet to be lined in.
[color=BDB76B]"Gary?"[/color] John asked, hesitant and afraid.
[color=#808000]"H...hhellooo, John..."[/color] Gary answered, all hiss and rasp, his voice like a belt-sander to the ears. Nothing about any of this was good or right, and John wished deeply that he had listened to Chas. It was all too late now. John took a deep breath. 

[color=BDB76B]"Gary. I'm sorry. I'm two years late, but I'm sorry. That's why I had to find you, why I've been looking for you. And I'm glad we have,"[/color] he lied, [color=BDB76B]"and if you need any help then I'll do whatever I can. But I just wanted to tell you I'm sorry, for everything I said and did and how I left things. I want to work things out. I want to make things better. I want to be [i]friends[/i] again. I want to [u]try.[/u]"[/color]

Silence, but for the dark waters beneath them; then a gurgle from the depths of Gary's throat, a wet death-rattle hissing, and a dry bark that may or may not have been a laugh. Gary smiled a smile John would see every night for the rest of his life.

[color=#808000]"No."[/color] He answered. [color=#808000]"I don't forgive you. But not because of some, some drunk yelling two years ago."[/color] His voice was harsh noise, the slightest reverberation layered behind his words; John felt every syllable echo up his spine and through his jaw. [color=#808000]"I don't forgive you for [i]lying[/i]. I don't forgive you for [i]crocodile tears[/i] and [i]scheming[/i]."[/color] Gary crept forward as he spoke, every step toward John and Chas matched by their step back. [color=#808000]"I don't forgive you for inviting devilry into our lives. Two years, John! Two years, I've been waiting for the chance to fix everything. Two years spent learning the [u]truth[/u] of it all! Learning about how you played God, about all the things you'd happily discard just to play at having [i]power![/i]"[/color] He was raving like a madman, loud and final; the situation was spiralling out of control - if they'd ever had any to begin with - and John could feel Chas pulling on his arm, trying to drag him away. [color=#808000]"Witchcraft, John - you're a [i]fool![/i] All those sacrifices made in vain. You tore everything to shreds, and got nothing in return! But I can fix it. Here. Now. I can rectify the great error and put it all right again. Your deepest sin, John, unpardonable, inexcusable - [i]surviving.[/i] Getting a second chance - when Cheryl never even got her first!"[/color]

He was fast - Gods, he was fast. He shrieked inhumanly and suddenly he was on John, wailing and beating and biting and clawing, feral, a man possessed; above the din rang out Chas' shouts as he tried to pry the two men apart, catching his own stray blows in the process. Gary snarled and they fell to the ground, writhing and wrestling, rolling around on the wet metal flooring, every flail pushing them closer to the edge of the bridge. Chas tried to wrench them back to their feet, but a foot found its mark in his chest with the force of a mule and the kick sent him sprawling back, tumbling over himself and knocking his head against the brickwork - dazed and reeling, the fracas was reduced to only the manic Gary, feverish in his murderous zeal, and John desperately fighting back, reckoning both with the realization that Gary truly intended to kill him, and also that he [u]didn't want to die.[/u]

They rolled and Gary was beneath him, and John felt something cold slip around his neck; he barely managed to slide two fingers underneath what was a strange black-and-brown beaded rosary before it was pulled taut, pressing into his throat. Gary meant to strangle him.
[color=#808000]"Just let it happen, Johnny. Slip away. Go be with your brother..."[/color] Gary hissed in his ear. John kicked and struggled, pulling at the rosary, gasping and clawing for air. The chain dug into his neck and he felt his strength fading, his mind going white. John looked at Chas, splayed out on the ground and clutching his head, spots of blood seeping through the seams between his fingers. He couldn't do it...couldn't get free...it was all going dark, fading away. He really was going to die on this bridge. John saw the thread of his life again, drawn across the backs of his eyelids, looping back on itself to finally tie the knot where it had slipped two years ago.
[color=#DB7093][i]Is dying really all you're good for?[/i][/color]

John kicked Gary's ankle hard in a split-second of freedom from his twisting limbs and felt the frail bone give way beneath his boot. Gary howled, anguished, and John had a crystalline moment to suck air into his screaming lungs and twist them both whole-body, rolling over and pushing up, Gary toppling, John coming down on top of him and now their positions were reversed: Gary was sprawled out on his belly, his head dangling over the edge of the bridge - John pressed his knee down on Gary's back - the rosary now winding through his own fingers as he glided it around Gary's throat, the length of it far longer than it had been mere moments before. Behind the pounding of his heartbeat and the rushing pulse in his ears, John could hear Chas' muffled voice, weak and disoriented, imploring him to stop. John looked up. Behind Chas was the ghostly figure of Cheryl, saddened but calm as she watched on; behind [i]her[/i] was the shadowed outline of something altogether unworldly, resting delicate clawed hands on his sister's ballooning belly. John's eyes glazed over; his hands twisted of their own accord. Gary thrashed and clawed and snarled, the only thing he could see the very same waters John had thrown himself into two years ago. 

No, not the same waters. Not the same John. 

There was a sickening, grinding crunch, and then a wet and visceral snap, and Gary fell limp. John felt an indulgent wickedness spreading warmly throughout his body; and then it all came back into focus as he fell back in horror, the night quiet once more. 
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