It was early morning. A dense fog had descended upon London and the stench from the Thames was particularly pungent, riddled with filth and disease.

No one wandered the streets this early in the day, but the sound of children laughing could already be heard from the grounds of the local orphanage. He was there, watching the youngsters on the other side of a wire fence, his fingers clung to the loops as he watched them. Few paid him much attention, only a couple looked up at the haggard man who seemed to support his ailing body against the fence to look at them. A little girl backed away, frightened to death simply by the red in his eyes caused by tears, she'd never before seen a man cry. She turned and lifted a babe into her arms only a few weeks old at best before she scurried away to other side of the playground.

He pondered the possibilities that had once been; would it have been better if he'd run away from his mother before he'd ever met the delightful little girl who given him marbles; should he have gone to the orphanage or workhouse when his mother had died as he'd planned to... these children seemed happy, malnourished perhaps, but happy...

Should he have taken her further away from Islington... away from prying eyes and devious minds... did it matter anymore?

The baby the little girl had picked up looked over her shoulder and spied him with large grey eyes and did not stop looking at him despite the movement and din of the other children surrounding it. He couldn't smile at the baby, he saw too much of himself in him: lonely, empty, without comfort. Would that child end up like him one day?

But the child's emotional state was temporary and Ryan could no longer relate to the little one, for once the girl put him down and shook a rattle in his face the baby smiled and gripped it tightly in play, bringing the toy to his mouth and sucking enthusiastically on the wood. Ryan could not feel that level of simple happiness from such simple pleasantries anymore.

He turned away, shaking the fence angrily at remembering his behaviour from last night, crawling on the ground, even after he'd found the ring he'd squirmed and twisted his body around on the cold floor, trying to rid himself of the horrific sense of dread that he felt.

It still dragged on him now.

He couldn't shift that feeling of being watched now, oh God, had she seen him? Had she been there as he'd pleasured himself over countless whores in her memory, did she know that it was her he was thinking of?

At first he tried to justify it to himself, lying, deceiving his own mind to convince himself of an argument he had no hope of winning, They loved you, every one of them, that's why they were so eager, remember? The way they smiled and flirted, not just the hookers, but the pretty virgins too... They smiled, and waved, and hid their blushing cheeks from you... "No..." They all wanted you; they all loved you like she did... "But they weren't her..." They struggled and screamed for you, just like her, because you like it, remember? "No!" he stopped himself angrily, caring little for how he'd started talking to himself more frequently than he had in previous weeks, "They were flesh, basic flesh to be satisfied with... they weren't her!"

He then tried to justify it to Charlotte, or rather to the ring he'd held in his fingers, his voice stuttering through tears and the feeling of razor blades slicing his soul, "I missed you... It was all for you... I... I wanted them to be you... I always thought of you..." but the words bounced unheard from the lonely alley walls.

"Come take me!" he screamed in desperation up to God.

God, as always did not answer him or grant him his pleas. There was only silence, as if he had been forsaken and left to rot, both by God and His angels, and the only person whose forgiveness he hoped to hear.

He tried again now as he looked across the road to the old building ahead, sobbing painfully as he went, as though every word was another kick in the ribs, "I always thought of you... Every one of them, I always chose ones that looked like you, that sounded like you... They were... I missed you..." Once again though, no sign from the beyond presented itself and he cursed inwardly. He was stupid to think that this would justify his actions; was Charlotte supposed to think how romantic it was that he took his pleasure from filthy, diseased whores; was it meant to be beautifully poetic how he slit their throats in remembrance of her; was she supposed to think fondly of his endeavours to recapture her memory while he tortured and sodomised a girl for three days until she drowned on her own stomach acid?

It was no wonder she didn't answer him, why would she want to even look upon him from her high place in Heaven at God's right side. She would probably not even cast her eye in his direction and turn her ears against his pleas.

Ryan took the ring he held in his palm and held it tightly. He crossed the street, unable to stop thinking how morbid it was to have an orphanage on the same road as this hideous place he ventured towards now.

The wrought iron hung above the gateway, covered in lichen. The rainclouds gathered ever closer and few spits of rain began to fall as if the angels had begun to weep at his decision. Was this, his forgiveness at long last?

"Is this what you want?" he asked.

It was all he could think in his fear, that he could fix what he'd become, that he could find some repentance for his sins in psychiatry and cure this addiction. No priest could forgive the sins of filth and God clearly was in no mood to speak with him. Suicide was no answer either, for the simple fact that he was too scared to attempt it, he'd sat with the razor blade to his wrist for a good two hours last night in the hope of gaining the courage to slice his wrists and slowly bleed to death, but fear of his death had stopped him, what if there was a Hell? He would be going there for sure; no closer to her... and if there was nothing? That scared him even more; Charlotte still would not be there... and it would be as empty as this current existence was.

So perhaps science and medicine could help him, perhaps they could offer him hope, just as he'd said to her once before: he needed help. He bit his lip as tears spilled from his eyes, stinging them again but he brushed them away with his sleeve. His blurred gaze fell upon the golden band in his palm; they would take the ring from him, he knew that, they would ask him where he got it... even if he told them the truth they wouldn't believe him, there was no record of his marriage, her father had seen to that... they would say he'd stolen it and they would take it, possibly even sell it on or take it for their own.

It was better to deny her...

She would not wish to know him now anyway if she was here, she would shun away from him, and he was not worthy to call her his wife. He would keep her name sacred, close to his heart, close to him forever and no one else; he would not sully her name with his actions.

For her sake, and her memory, he would release her... "For you sweetheart, I do this for you..." It was the hardest thing he'd had to do, but he tilted his hand, letting the band slip with the accumulating rainwater from his palm, and it fell to the pavement where it rolled and disappeared under a hedge by the wall. He let everything slip in that one moment from his hands... and crushed it into the Earth with his shoe.

How torn he was, lamenting on moments they'd never share and he resisted the urge to dive to the ground to retrieve it. No, it was hers and he didn't deserve it, didn't deserve her, not with such blood on his hands... he'd hoped she'd understand from her pristine place why he let it go.

If he were to be cured one day, he knew where to look for it... and if miracles ever came, then she would return it to him herself.

His eyes were hard, angry and glossed in moisture, he held back one final laugh at the feeling of having lost everything, but as he stepped forward he looked up again to speak with her one last time, "You were my everything, sweetheart, and that's why I have to do this for you...Sleep well my angel... " the goodbye he'd not managed to say at her grave.

He stepped up bravely to the large, dark wooden doors and reached his hand to the bell, his fingers retracted once but he halted the sudden fear that fell upon him that demanded he turn around and run from here now.

He clasped the iron and pulled it, hearing a distant ring from inside the huge building that seemed even more intimidating than any church. There was no going back, and no change of heart.

A chilly wind swept by as he waited, it blew his dark, messy hair across his face by he didn't brush it away, he just stood patiently for someone to answer the door. He wiped away his tears one final time and unbuttoned his shirt to reveal the scratches and claw marks upon his chest where his victims had tried to defend themselves. They would take him seriously, he would show them exactly what he'd done to them and why he needed their help.

The breeze shifted the ivy that covered a bronze plaque on the wall next to him, revealing the name of the building he'd condemned himself to... BOREHAMWOOD ASYLUM FOR THE INSANE.

A lone spectre wanders the corridors, rarely seen, more often heard. Pitifully painful cries are heard from the upstairs in the old London house.

Even after the house has been sold on years later, and developed and eventually turned into flats, the spectre walks from room to room, whimpering, sobbing and screaming with sorrow. She closes the curtains in a room that was once hers for it prevents her from looking upon her figure. Her nightie stained in red from the abdomen down, her wrists raw from struggles against thick fibres that kept her bound… she cries for the love she lost… where was Ryan? Where is he now? Why hadn't he come?

Alone, she wanders, her image flickering as insubstantially as candlelight, not daring to look out of the window to see the world go past for another day. Her room has changed, the curtains changed, the bed removed, the walls painted, but still she stays, in case he comes for her, where is he? She sobs endlessly into the night. Her hands descend to her belly smothered in gore, the material still dripping with blood today despite how she stopped bleeding so long ago, to the place where once another heart beat aside from her own… now there is no beating heart, no happy kick to feel, the organ empty and deprived… she cries out with a pain only the loneliest of souls can possibly feel, those who can hear it shudder as it resonates through the very walls.

Where's Ryan? Where is he? Her pale hands tremble over the empty space where the other heart once beat... The spectre cries out again... For he is not there, and neither is her baby... Where's my baby? She cries, Where's Ryan? WHERE'S RYAN?

The End...

A/N: And fade to black... Roll credits... Plays Meatloaf's 'All Coming Back To me Now'

Thank you to everyone for your continued support and encouragement during the emotional turmoil it was to finally put this online.
Had to have Meatloaf at the end as this is one of the finest love songs of all time and I always envisioned the ending like this...

And couldn't end it without this final goodbye to Ryan after almost two long years by my side and in my mind... I'll miss you so much... :(

I suggest everyone go now and listen to We Are The Fallen - 'Sleep Well, My Angel' now and weep... because that's what I'm doing...