Constantine - The Novelization - Whoa is (Not)

chilliness was a psychic or a physiological effect. "That kind of bond doesn't just disappear.""There's nothing here," Angela insisted.She seemed off balance. Increasingly defensive. And he wondered why. "She planned herdeath in this room. She thought it up right here, right where you're standing." He took a steptoward her, prodding her with words and sheer presence. She took a step back as he said, "Sheknew you'd come. She counted on you to see what she saw, to feel what she felt. To know whatshe knew. What did she do, Angela?"Her lips buckled. She looked like she wanted to hit him again. "How should I know?"He took a step closer yet. "What did she do, Angela?" Another step, deliberately crowdingher.She backed up - against the wall. "I don't know!""What would you do?"She looked away from him.He went on relentlessly. "What would you leave her?"He leaned close to force eye contact on her. They were a breath apart. "Where would it be?"he demanded. His voice getting louder. "What would you leave her?" Louder. "Where would itbe?"She shoved him away, hard, and strode to the window. Almost hyperventilating, her eyessqueezed shut.Constantine just watched. Sensing something was emerging.Her eyes opened, and the tension seemed to slip from her shoulders. She stepped closer to thewindow - and blew on it. Her breath misted the glass. She did it once more, lower - and this timea shape emerged on the glass.She surprised Constantine then: She turned, grabbed a floor mat, and began beating it hardagainst the steel bed frame, like a woman gone mad.'When we were girls...," she said.Whap, whap against the bed frame. Dust was coming off it in clouds."...we'd leave each other messages."She struck the mat harder still; more dust flew. "In breath - in light."She struck it once more. Constantine was trying hard not to cough. It wasn't easy, but hemanaged to keep it down to a few wheezes."On the windows..."She dropped the mat and went to the door, switched off the light.The dawn light was coming through the window, outlining a shape written in finger oil,distorting the dusty columns of sunlight so that they projected a pattern, beamed by the dawn, onthe wall of the room:COR 17:01."I need a church," Constantine said.He struck out immediately, down the corridor, Angela hurrying to catch up."Corinthians," Constantine muttered."I know the Bible, John," Angela said, rubbing her eyes with fatigue. "There is no seventeenthact in Corinthians. I'm tired but - I was drilled as a kid on Bible stuff. I remember all the uselessstuff…""Second Corinthians goes to twenty - one act's in the Book of Ethenius," Constantine said,shrugging.She looked at him. "The what?""That's the Bible in Hell," he explained.