Constantine Ashe: Does anyone notice?

"Somebody forgot his escort."

Constantine looked up sharply, stopping short at the sound of a voice in front of him. No one ever spoke to him. Unless--

A pale-eyed young man stood in front of him, several yards down the street, arms crossed as he blocked the sidewalk, hair flopping over one side of his face and a broad smile on his thin lips. Somehow, during the past few minutes' escape from the sharp-eyed policeman, Constantine had left the crowds and started down the streets of the business district. Perhaps he'd subconsciously thought the dark streets would be easier to hide in. The sun had long since done down, and all the lights were darkened in the motley collection of office buildings and warehouses. The streets were deserted. There was no one around except him, and one of them.

"Somebody is all alone, in the middle of nowhere," another voice startled him from his left, and another one of them stepped out, this one with bright eyes, dark hair, and a sinister smile.

Two of them?

"Somebody wasn't thinking very clearly, was he?"

Three!

"Somebody's dead."

Constantine whirled around, long coat swirling around his legs, to stare at the glaring woman behind him; he was surrounded. He'd never seen so many of them, all staring, all at once. Not since the first time he'd seen them, when three converged on him at once, in the park one day after school, when Anastasia had a detention she couldn't get out of. Then again, he'd never been so alone, since then, either: he was always in a crowd, or with Ana. He made a point never to be so alone, so that they would never catch him off-guard again.

He whipped out his gun, but didn't know which one to point it at. All four of them were staring at him-- their eyes seemed unnaturally bright in the darkness-- and not one so much as flinched when he pointed the revolver's muzzle at them. They just came closer, one step at a time. Each one of them: two men, two women, each with their bright eyes and terrible smiles, each one fixed on nothing but him.

"Stay away from me!" he cried, spinning at each one in turn.

They just kept coming. One of them held up a hand. "You're coming with us this time."

"I am not!"

The hand tried to touch him, and he fired out of sheer terror. There was a deafening bang, but the bullet went right through it-- and right through the head beyond it, disappearing into the darkness. He stared in numb terror. They weren't there? But they were there-- they could touch him, he could feel them, they could see him. But they couldn't die.

Why?

Because... they were already dead?

"Doesn't work that way, Connie."

Don't go anywhere. Okay?

"You're coming with us, Connie-boy."

Don't leave me alone. Connie, promise me?

"At last."

I promise.

"I can't-- I can't!"

This time he didn't care if he touched them-- he just wanted to get away. He ducked one, charged another. The bullet might have gone right through them, but he didn't; instead, he bowled them over, swinging the gun like club, flailing in desperation. He couldn't go anywhere, especially not with any of them. He couldn't leave. He'd promised!

They fell back, and he broke free, leaping into an all-out run. This time, they didn't pursue him: when he risked a terrified glance over his shoulder, they all stood where he'd left them, staring after him with their same brooding, threatening stare. He didn't look back again; he just ran.

Somehow, Constantine found himself back in the busier part of town. No one noticed him fleeing through the crowd, weaving effortlessly through the people, gasping for breath and scanning the facades of the buildings as he passed. Looking for one building in particular. Looking for one face in particular.

And there it was, right next to Scott Davis's.

And just beyond them, he saw another face staring at him. Another one of them, a teen-aged girl wearing a smirk and drawing a finger across her throat threateningly.

"Ana!"

She half-turned, frowning, but didn't answer. He never spoke to her in public, not since they were small, not since the last time he was this terrified and couldn't keep quiet.

"Ana, please, you have to come with me-- please, they almost--"

"Ana, what's wrong?" Scott asked, frowning, himself, as she turned to look at Constantine.

"It's--" she broke off, biting her lip and looking into his eyes.

He gripped her shoulder, panicked. "Ana, please! They're coming!"

That seemed to convince her. She always knew exactly who "they" were. There was only one "they" that would frighten him so badly. "I have to go, Scott."

"Go where? Why? Ana, what's the matter?"

"What does it look like is the matter?" Constantine growled. "Get your hands off my sister!"

"It's my brother-- he's...."

Scott looked even more confused-- and he didn't let go of Anastasia. "You have a brother?"

"OF COURSE SHE HAS A BROTHER!"

Anastasia held a hand against his chest, holding him back from throttling the meat-head. "It's a long story-- I have to go. I'm sorry!"

"Ana? Ana!"

But she was already hurrying down the street, away from the staring eyes and wide-eyed jock, Constantine's wrist in a tight grip. It only took a second of warring emotions before he put the desire to pound Scott into the ground aside in favor of escape.