Constantine - The Novelization - Whoa is (Not)

--The same downpour hammered the window of Father Hennessy's studio. Hennessy kickedrestlessly through a litter of tom aluminum foil, Power Bar wrappers - they were mostly what heate - Diet Coke bottles, and liquor bottles, to get to the small, listing brown sofa next to a stack ofrecent publications .He sighed, a jelly jar of Early Times in one hand, and let himself fall back into the little sofa.Time to return to work.The voices came and went, usually half heard, like angry conversations penetrating throughthe wall of a cheap hotel - but these came through the walls of the astral plane. They were thevoices of the purgatorial dead, wandering between levels. Not quite in Hell - except the hells oftheir own making. Babbling, overlapping, each pressing to be heard over the others."…I knew they'd betray me, and they've put me in this place so they can get my money, butthey will find out that it's all gone, and how I shall laugh… Oh, why don't I have any hands... ifI could only see my hands.... ""Mama? I'm sorry, Mama. Mama? I'm sorry, Mama. Mama? I'm sorry, Mama. Mama?I'm sorry, Mama. Mama?""So he thinks we're imaginary, we're but characters of his invention, or some phantasm in abook he reads... and all the while we stand just behind, waiting our chance .... ""What did he mean he was dying for nothing? If the fucking Reds take South Vietnam they'lltake the rest of Southeast Asia and we'll have commies hitting the beaches in San Diego. Why didhe say he was dying for nothing? Why'd that have to be his last words? I was following orders,goddammit.... ""Mama? I'm sorry, Mama. Mama? I'm sorry… "Hennessy stopped listening to them. They were too random, there was nothing useful in them,and they rarely responded to direct questions.He took a pull on the bourbon, put the jar down, and focused his attention on the newspapersand magazines stacked beside the sofa. He laid a selection out on the scarred coffee table, closedhis eyes, and extended his hands over them, palms down, a few inches from the surface of eachpage, pausing now and then, without opening his eyes, to turn the pages, then once more hoveringhis hands over them... picking up vibratory associations... probing the layers of information.Surfing the ether, Constantine called it. He went through one stack and was starting on asecond....Hennessy's left hand suddenly came to a stop. A definite pull, an impulse of urgency.Supernatural power had recently penetrated this world, with considerable force - and it hadentangled itself with the subject of this newspaper article....SUICIDE IN PSYCHIATRIC WARDLong-term psychiatric patient Isabel Dodsonjumped to her death from the roof of RavenscarHospital on Tuesday, according to the coroner'sreport filed on...--Angela sat in her recliner, watching the tape from the security earn over and over. It was as ifshe were trying to share Isabel's hell.Once more she hit rewind, and play.There in grainy black and white was Isabel in her nightgown, walking like she was already aghost, across the roof toward the mezzanine.Angela was all cried out, her eyes aching with it.But now and then a sob racked her, from deep inside. She looked away from the image,