Chapter 250: Bugs

Lu Xun once said that the joys and sorrows of people do not communicate with one another.

That is true; at this moment, Constantine only wanted to sleep well. He had no desire to attend to this suddenly arrived friend, nor did he care why the man had come to find him—after all, generally speaking, those who came to find him were either there to collect debts, to seek revenge, or to ask him to do dirty work.

A friend visiting? Don't be ridiculous. His own drinking buddies could never bring him any good news; on this point, Constantine was always exceptionally clear-headed.

"He looks terrible, Constantine. He ran all the way here, begging to see you."

"Jesus! Has he not left yet?"

"Do not take the Lord's name in vain, Constantine; that is too rude." The old landlady sighed wearily: "I suppose he has left. He did not say goodbye to me, nor did he say thank you, and he still owes me seventeen pounds and sixpence—I went to the post office for him to mail a package to America."

Constantine opened his mouth, silently cursed a bastard, then pulled seventeen pounds and sixpence from his pocket. He was merely of poor character, not poor; or rather, precisely because he was a moral vacuum, he usually had some spare cash on hand—if he did not squander it.

Those to whom he owed debts were usually not normal people, or even people at all, so what he owed was often not money. On such small sums, Constantine's attitude was quite open-minded.

"As if cleaning up these red bugs wasn't busy enough."

The landlady muttered in dissatisfaction. She had intended to nag a few more words, but Constantine looked as though he did not want to listen at all and walked straight upstairs. Clearly, speaking to him at this moment was like playing the lute to a cow—so she ran back to the kitchen to continue tormenting her cabbage.

"Bugs?" Constantine thought as he climbed the stairs: "No wonder there's a car parked outside that belongs to Mandy."

He inserted the key into the lock. Only then did he have to think about the visiting friend—Gary Lester, a pure addict with basically no redeeming qualities, and like himself, a wild mage who did not mind dark magic or normal magic; he used whatever was available.

"What the hell does this bastard want with me? Just to mail a package?"

He thought, puzzled, and casually opened the door, walking into his room.

The living room light was still on, but no one was there; it seemed Lester was not here. The doors and windows were tightly closed, and the heating made the room warm, instantly driving away the chill brought by the rainy day, making one quite comfortable.

The room could still be described as bright windows and clean tables, and there was not much dust—Mrs. M was sharp-tongued but soft-hearted; for these past few months, she had been coming upstairs to clean, with today being the only exception—because today Lester had lingered in his own house.

He sighed slightly in relief; it was good that the man had left, at least it would mean less trouble. He placed his suitcase aside, hung his wet trench coat on the side, opened the window for ventilation, and plopped down heavily onto the sofa.

"Damn it, I always miss home when I go out, but every time I come back, I feel uncomfortable. Lester is truly a son of a bitch."

Scattered furniture, open books, and waste paper were thrown everywhere. The stale smell of mold and the pungent sour stench drifted from the kitchen into his nose. Even the rain outside the window smelled like diesel fuel. A multitude of scents were quite enthusiastic, as if welcoming him.

This was definitely Lester's doing; he disliked it very much.

Constantine, lighting a "Scare" brand cigarette, twisted and turned on the sofa. The sofa, not knowing how long Lester had sat on it, no longer fit his body shape, and the rough fabric scratched his body, making him somewhat uncomfortable.

"Damn it, I want to go out."

He casually picked up the expired Sun newspaper from the side, flipped to page three, where the woman was dressed lightly, which helped him calm down.

But he could not do it. He could not help but think of Gary Lester in his mind. Why had this guy run all that way to find him? According to Mrs. M, his condition seemed a bit strange.

Don't tell me there's some damn demon looking for me again?

At this moment, his gaze fixed on the table beneath the tabloid. On it lay a syringe, the liquid inside only partially injected.

"That damn fool..." Constantine's anger in his heart grew stronger. Although he steadfastly smoked thirty Scare cigarettes a day for many years, he did not consider himself an addict. He hated drugs, and naturally, he hated his friends doing ice.

Although this thing might not be ice, in any case, it was definitely poison.

He casually picked up the syringe. Inside the transparent liquid, he could see black, tiny limbs and transparent wings—those were the broken parts of flies.

Constantine immediately broke out in goosebumps: "Holy Jesus Christ—bugs? That bastard has gotten so high he has lost his reason."

But since the needle was still there, it meant the person had not left.

He sprang up from the sofa with a thud and walked into the kitchen to find Lester, but the foul smell that hit him made his stomach churn again.

Dirty cups, plates, and bowls; milk bottles floated in the sink. A layer of rainbow-colored mold had formed on the water's surface, mixed with oil and grease, as if it had been left for several months.

"Damn it, that guy has only been here for half a day, half a day!"

Constantine gritted his teeth as he watched a few small insects crawling occasionally on the kitchen floor. Undoubtedly, Lester had given him a lesson together with nature's recycling system.

At this very moment, he could not help but hope that the guy would simply hide in the refrigerator and freeze himself to death.

Then he vomited from the black tide scattering and fleeing from the refrigerator—it was a swarm of lively little lives.

"Ugh!"

Damn it, help! I have trypophobia!

After vomiting, Constantine did not want to stay in the kitchen any longer. There was nothing in the refrigerator but bugs, so he ran to the bathroom, where strange sounds were also coming from.

"Don't tell me that guy got high and died in the bathtub?" He forced himself to endure the discomfort, opened the bathroom door, and shouted loudly: "Come out! Whatever you are! Come out!"

At this very moment, a thin, balding man suddenly came into his view.

At this very moment, Constantine almost wished this guy was dead.

Dense swarms of moths, mosquitoes, cockroaches, and flies—all kinds of flying insects buzzed around him. The sound was loud enough to penetrate the door. These things covered his entire body and the whole bathroom, while this uninvited guest sat in the bathtub, scratching his whole body with both hands, and wailing in supplication to Constantine at the door.

"John, is that you? Friend, you must help me, you must help me! I feel so bad, my addiction has come back."

"I feel so itchy, so uncomfortable—"

"It feels like bugs are crawling!"

(End of Chapter)