Twin Peaks/Hellblazer Crossover I wrote this a few months backs and haven't looked at it since. I've been meaning to, just busy, you know how it goes. Anyway, some of the place names are wrong or just blank, as are the names of Constantine's relatives. I didn't have the references available at the time, and will fix eventually. I didn't want to edit this until I'd written more than just one chapter, but I might do so someday.

This is slowly being HTMLified.

Between Two Worlds: A Twin Peaks/Hellblazer Crossover

Chapter 1

So anyway, I finally got myself out of Canada, with them on my bloody heels the entire way. The godling took Jacobson first, and Old Bert only metres from the border, the poor sod. But it's like they say, love, a Constantine and his friends are soon parted, and your Uncle John is certainly no exception to that rule.

As I was saying, I dragged my useless carcass out of Canada through the woods and before too long I found myself in a clearing. Like the refined English gentleman that I am (none of your lip there) I saw that this was a wizard opportunity to stop for a silk cut. They'd held up pretty well too, given the river crossing we'd done. Okay, so it was more like a stream, but it's my story, all right? But the sodding matches were damp and none of 'em would light, leaving me standing there like a prat with this unlit ciggie in my mouth.

It's about this time that the moon comes out from behind some clouds (and a bit bloody late too, I might add) and I notice these trees in a circle around the clearing. Now even though botany was never my strong point at school ('cause lets face it, school was never my strong point at school, let this be a lesson to you, my girl), I'll be buggered if they're not sycamores, twelve of 'em, in fact. And there's this bloody smell, like engine oil or something. So I'm thinking to myself, wait a fuckin' minute here, when...

("John!"

"Aw, Jesus, sorry Dorothy. I forgot myself there."

"It's not me you should be apologising to!"

"You're right. Sorry, 'Liz, don't you go paying no mind to your Uncle, he's just a foul-mouthed old man."

"I don't mind, Uncle John."

"Liz!"

"Now if you both don't mind, I'm telling a bloody story here. Anyway, like I was saying...")

I'm thinking to myself, wait a flippin' minute here, when suddenly this big bloody Indian steps out of the wood, seven feet tall if he's an inch. And I don't know what scares the shit out of me the most, his size or the copper's uniform he's wearing.

"Howdy Chief," I says. "Got a light?" He's all stony-faced and glarin' eyes, askin' all the usual copper questions, the old 'allo-'allo-'allo routine, which I'm sure at your age you're not familiar with. He's asking me where I'm from and what I'm up to and I'm pointing back the way I came and trying to come up with some story to explain the head-to-toe blood, when he suddenly blurts out, "Which Lodge are you from?" and I can see he doesn't want to ask this but he can't help himself and that's when I notice the fear upon him. Now I know you've never seen this fellow, but take my word for it, he was bloody big and if something had his hackles up then you'd better believe mine were up too, which made me realise that everything I'd already seen here probably wasn't just a coincidence...I'm getting to that love, hold your horses...not that there's any such beast in my profession. Coincidence, that is, not horses, and you'll do well to mind your tongue, young miss.

"So that's what this is all about then," I tell him, which is a lie because I can already see it isn't, but take it from me, the last thing you want to do when a copper is asking you questions is tell the truth.

("Well it's true, Dorothy. Look at what happened to our Da' when he told them about the bloody bootleggers.")

"So it's Lodges then, is it? Shake my hand, widow's son, ride the billy-goats back and all that, 'ey? Oh yes, I'm a fully-signed up member, I am, taken the pledge and all that."

Then he, get this, then he says to me, "You're British, aren't you?" which I'm sure wins him his pathfinder of the week award or somethin'. "You've got me there, guv," I say, hammin' it up, ya'know? But its obvious he's immune to the old Constantine charm - must be something they put in the water supply over there, although come to think of it most of the coppers here aren't fazed by it either - 'cause the next thing you know he's saying, "I think you'd better come along with me."

"Ah well," I says. "It's a fair cop."

Hawk pointed the Englishman in the right direction and followed closely behind him through the thick woods. You may be fearless in this world, he remembered telling Cooper, but there are things beyond this world. He was afraid now himself, in this world, yet he could not bring himself to feel ashamed. The woods had always been dark, for as long as he could remember, as long as his father could remember. With Cooper's arrival the darkness had lessened, in the way that the night is pushed back by the bright flame, where it waits patiently, waiting to come rushing back in, deeper and blacker than before, when the flame finally disappears. It was when the flame had gone out that the fear had managed to gain a foothold in his soul.

The Englishman was still talking, an irritating monologue that tangled together questions about Hawk's presence in the woods so late at night, feeble explanations as to why his trenchcoat should happen to be drenched with blood, and comments on how lovely a night it was and how a cigarette at this moment would only heighten his appreciation of it.

"No smoking," Hawk said mechanically, his attention fixed on the owls darting past overhead. The joking voice of the other man irritated him, his apparent blindness to the dark pressure around them was incomprehensible. He could see now the patrol car just ahead of them, the tiny interior light providing little illumination. When he had left the car earlier in order to watch the clearing for Harry, Hawk hadn't been able to bring himself to turn it off.

"Fancy findin' a taxi so far out!" the Englishman smiled. "Why is it that cop cars are so often black and white? A comment on the nature of good and evil and all that, 'ey, what's your opinion?"

"No talking," Hawk muttered. With the light he felt better, slightly, more in control of himself. He felt the fear settle down deep to wait for the right time to reappear. He was angry with himself, now, and felt his cheeks burn.

"Get in the car and wait." He didn't correct the Englishman as he climbed into the front seat. Even though he wasn't certain who he was, and although he would never admit it to himself, he was glad for the company right now.

He picked up the radio microphone.

"This is Deputy Hawk to Lucy, come in Lucy. Over."

"...Lucy here, Deputy Hawk....Over."

"Lucy, I need to speak to Harry right away. Over."

"Just one moment, Deputy Hawk. I'm putting you through."

Hawk waited patiently for five minutes. He knew from experience that Lucy would, in her usual way, be transferring his call to somewhere in Harry's office. ("No, not the brown 'phone on the desk, but the red 'phone...you know, the one we moved over onto the little table beside the bookcase because you said it was too far away when it was over by the window?...the mahogany bookcase...under the antlers of that stag you shot last summer up near Walnut Creek. Well, I'm transferring Deputy Hawk through to you now on that phone. The red one. Okay, Sheriff Truman?")

"Hawk, Harry here. What is it?"

"I've got someone here, Harry. I found him wandering around in the clearing. Over."

"He came through?"

"I don't think so, he's not what I expected. He's covered in blood though. I have him in the car with me now. Over."

"Goddammit, Hawk, I ordered you to watch the clearing!"

"You asked me to watch out for anything strange. Harry, this is something strange."

"...Wait there, I'm sending Andy out. Wait until he's there, then bring the stranger in."

"Do you think it's wise sending Andy out here alone?"

"That's an order, Hawk. Out."

The radio coughed once more, a dry, apologetic sound, before lapsing into silence.

"Jesus, what crawled up his arse and died?" asked the Englishman, his cigarette flaring as he pressed it to the dashboard lighter cupped in his hand.

"Harry?"

"Harry?"

"Harry?"

"Hmm?"

"Harry, it's Andy. You told Lucy you wanted to see me."

Harry shook his head and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. He's been thinking about Josie, whisky, and loss. Glancing at his watch he saw that it had been over seventy hours since he'd last slept. Funny, he thought to himself, I could have sworn it was longer.

He leaned across his desk and stabbed at the button on his intercom. "Lucy, could you bring me..." For the first time he saw that Andy was holding out to him a cup of hot, black coffee. Damn hot, he heard in his mind, and his stomach rolled at the memory of that voice. "Never mind," he murmured, releasing the button and settling back in his chair.

"Andy, I want you to go and replace Hawk. He found someone out in the woods and will bring him in as soon as you get there."

"Is it Special Agent Cooper?"

"No, I don't think it is."

"Is it Windom Earle?"

"Dammit, Andy, I...I'm sorry. I didn't mean to raise my voice, I'm feeling a little tired... No, no it isn't Earle."

"Oh. Okay. Okay, Harry, I'll go out there right away."

"Thank you, Andy. I'll send someone to take over from you in a few hours."

"Okay...Goodbye, Harry."

Harry sipped at his coffee and thought some more about whisky.

So they sit me down in this little white room, not much bigger than your guest-room, not that I'm complaining, Dor', I'm thankful for the bed, but I thought I'd mention it by way of comparison, like. Most of what space there is is taken up by that big Indian bloke, with what's left over bein' filled by his boss, who, take it from me, looked like death warmed up at that moment, which doesn't surprise me with what I'd already sussed out about the situation. Patience, my dear, is a virtue, now shut your gob and let your uncle finish.

"I'm Sheriff Harry S. Truman," this chief copper says. "Deputy Hawk you've already met."

"John J. Constantine," I says, standing and offering him my hand, which he doesn't take, what with him being constabulary and all. "Me mate's call me John."

"Please remain seated, Mr. Constantine," he says, cool as you please, and I can tell he's even fooled himself into believing that he's still running this show.

"So it's like that is it? Dragging a man away from his campsite in the middle of the night without so much as a by-your-leave. Come for a bit of a trip abroad, bit of a holiday, and the filth are on y'back the entire way. You lot are the same the whole world over, and if all those American flicks I've seen haven't been just a complete lot of shite, I believe I'm entitled to one 'phone call, so if you'll point me in the right direction..."

This really gets his goat, I can see, he's not used to people having their own way in his station, and he grabs me by me coat, right, pulling me real close and I can see by the look on his face that nows not the time to start yellin' police harassment. This Hawk has all tensed up too and at that moment I was uncertain as to which way he'd fold.

"Maybe you'd like to explain what you were doing up at Glastonbury circle in the middle of the night covered in blood?!"

I played my trump card. "Maybe you'd like to tell me about the people who've gone missing here in the last few days...and why a man has recently had his brains smashed out in this very cell?" I took a big risk on this, as I wasn't certain yet that it wasn't him that had done the smashing.

His face went this colour I don't think I've ever seen before, a kind of purple-red, and I was regretting not smoking my last few silk-cuts on the trip to the station with Tonto, what with them being my last smokes an' all, when he just sort of collapsed into himself. He just turned his back on me then, and didn't say anything for quite some time.

"Hawk, show Mr. Constantine to the telephone. He gets one call. One. Then take him to clean up, and I'll see you both in my office when you've finished."

I thought asking for a box of matches might be a little more than even my luck would allow.

Just as he was about to give up, there was a faint click, and an even fainter "Hello?"

"Chas, you old bastard! Its me, its John! How's tricks?"

"For fuck's sake, John, it's fucking four in the morning."

"Cheers, hey, about time you was up. Listen, I need you to come pick me up."

"Aw, Jesus, John...where are you?"

"Wait up...hey, Geronimo, what's this place called, then?"

"Twin Peaks."

"Twin Peaks, Chas. Lovely little town."

"Never fuckin' heard of it. Christ it's cold."

"It's in the States, mate, just below the Canadian border. Be a good lad and nip on over and pick us up, 'ey? I need you to bail me out."

"You've got to be out of your mind, Constantine!"

"Listen, I need a favour. You know those boxes I've got up in storage? Yeah, well, I need something from one them. Don't interrupt son, this is important. In the grey box marked '' there's a set of folders. Look for one labelled 'Circles...Celtic and Arthurian'. I need you to 'fax all the papers in it to me. Hold on...hey, you got a 'fax machine here?"

"In reception. 555 2364"

"You got that Chas? 555 2364. This is important mate, don't screw up on me, all right?"

"This is gonna cost me a fuckin' fortune, John! Faxing to bloody America. Jesus!"

"Ta' mate, I owe you one. Gotta go, the gaoler's waiting. Give the missus a kiss for me."

Constantine hung up the 'phone with a look of manic glee. "Just wait until he sees the size of that folder."

Three-quarters of an hour later, Hawk and Constantine were seated in Harry's office. He started to speak, but was interrupted by a voice on his desk.

"Sheriff Truman? It's Lucy. I've got Special Agent Cole on the telephone. He wants to speak to you. Should I transfer that through to the red 'phone or the brown 'phone?"

"The intercom will be fine, Lucy."

"...The intercom? Are you sure, Sheriff? I could just as easily put it through to the brown 'phone, its on your desk as well. You wouldn't even have to move."

Harry took a deep breath. "Thank you Lucy, but the intercom will be fine."

"Okay, Sheriff, I'm just putting Special Agent Cole through now."

"SHERIFF! GORDON COLE HERE! I HEARD ABOUT AGENT COOPER'S DISAPPEARENCE! SIT TIGHT! EVERYTHING WILL BE O.K.!"

"I wish I could believe that, Gordon."

"COOPER!! HE'S DISAPPEARED! VANISHED!! YOU TOLD ME YOURSELF TWO DAYS AGO, REMEMBER?! HARRY, I SAY THIS IN ALL CONFIDENTIALITY, BUT YOU HAVEN'T BEEN HITTING THE OLD WAH-WAH JUICE AGAIN, HAVE YOU?!"

"I'm..I'M FINE, GORDON....THANK YOU!"

"GLAD TO HEAR IT, SHERIFF, GLAD TO HEAR IT. I'M SENDING AGENT ROSENFIELD DOWN TO LEND A HAND. YOU REMEMBER ALBERT, DON'T YOU HARRY?"

"Yes, Gordon, I do."

"WELL, I'M SURE YOU WILL WHEN YOU SEE HIM AGAIN. HE PERSONALLY ASKED TO BE ASSIGNED TO THIS CASE. HE'S A GOOD MAN."

"He is indeed."

"THAT'S TOO BAD, HARRY, BUT I'VE REALLY GOT TO GO. ITS AN ANTS' NEST DOWN HERE AT THE MOMENT. BEST OF LUCK, HARRY."

"Thanks, Gordon." Harry noticed the grimace on Constantine's face. "You should hear him in person," he smiled.

"Mr Constantine," he continued, growing serious again. "You're a stranger here. You were found wandering the scene of several recent disappearances without a reasonable motive. You were at the time covered in blood which at a guess I'd say isn't yours and which I've yet to hear a decent explanation for. So why is it that I feel I should trust you?"

"Must be my British Empirical charm."

"I don't think so. My best man discovers you in your blood-soaked state, and then proceeds to bring you back here, sitting in the front seat of a patrol car the entire way, going against all established police procedure. I've always considered Hawk to have a keen sense of judgement where the character of others is concerned, yet it would seem I'm forced to reevaluate that opinion.. Now, why is he so relaxed around you?"

"Must just be my smile." He batted his eyelids for effect.

"You're wasting my time, Mr Constantine and I..."

"John. Call me John."

"Fine. You're wasting my time, John, and I..."

"Sheriff Truman, it's Lucy."

"What is it now, Lucy."

"Well, I was just cleaning the fax machine, when all of a sudden these papers started coming out. I thought they were the time sheets from Bob and Bruce, you know, the two deputies you sent out to [Insert Place Name Here], but then I took a look at them, and Sheriff? They're not the time sheets. They're weird and have strange things written on them."

Constantine smiled. "I can always count on Chas. Gentlemen, I believe it's time we had a look at what's really happening in the town of Twin Peaks."

Last modified on 27 September 1995.