"Wait, can we sit down and talk first?" Richie Simpson froze, then hurriedly spoke up.
"Why? Did something happen?" Gary Lester asked in surprise.
"Did we do something wrong?" Ann-Marie asked. She had long had a crush on Constantine, and just when he had finally come back, it turned out he had returned to quit the band.
"It's not you. It's my own problem." Constantine shook his head.
"But you started Mucous Membrane. If you leave—"
"All I can say is I'm sorry."
"Do you really have to quit?"
"Weren't you happy playing with us?" Benjamin said dejectedly. He was only thirteen. Genius or not, this still hurt. "Constantine, you felt that way too, didn't you?"
"I never enjoyed playing in the band."
Constantine walked through the streets in the pouring rain, with Roland beside him, looking utterly baffled. "What are you playing at now?"
"Isn't it obvious?" Constantine put a cigarette between his lips and flicked his lighter several times, but the rain had soaked it, and it would not light.
Roland snapped his fingers, conjured a wisp of flame at his fingertip, and lit Constantine's cigarette. "I have no idea what just happened."
"It's simple. Doctor Fate couldn't fix my problem either, and I'm not going to keep suffering through it." Constantine took a deep drag, drawing the harsh smoke into his lungs. "I'm going to Hell to get my heart back. Before I leave, I'm taking care of what needs doing and saying goodbye to them."
"Are you serious?" Roland stared at him. "What's going on? Has your masochistic side finally awakened? I'm starting to wonder if Hell's about to team up with the Eighteen Levels of Hell."
"I'm confident," Constantine said. "Sometimes, brains are more powerful than Magic. Roland, want in? There's something to be gained."