John swallowed, his eyes red but empty of tears. Tears that had soaked his face for days had finally run dry as he stared at the black mass assembled around her grave. A grave he could only see from the rear because seeing the name on the stone would make it more real than it already was. Gwen, her hand tightly clutching her father's, looked up at him and the shine in her eyes brought a racking sob from John. His eyes scrunched, the emotion rising in his chest to choke him but he had no more tears to offer.

He never had anything to give but now it was more true than before. He was empty and hollow with no more than the husk of himself to present at her grave. She had taken everything that he was with her when she died and left him bare. The person she left was not the man he was because the man he was died with her.

He truly had nothing to give for he was nothing.

He told Anna that, when he proposed with all the hopes and dreams he had. He told her he had nothing to offer her but his love and she took him all the same. To her, that was enough.

What he should have told her was all he could give was pain. Pain he thought he understood when he said he knew it was there. Pain they thought they understood when they accepted the responsibility to bear it for one another. But they lied to each other like he lied to himself.

They did not know pain. They had no way to understand it or comprehend it. They had no concept of what pain really was.

The crank of the straps as they lowered her coffin into the grave ticked in time with the beat of John's heart as he watched. He ignored the stares of those about the grave; the socialites whispering and pointing about the stranger so obviously out of place at the public event. They were as unimportant as the freezing rain that pelted umbrellas and coats, soaking John's hair to his head and leaving his chilled to the bone in the freezing wind.

The only sympathies and attentions he accepted were those offered by the Crawleys. The only people who even bothered to speak to him outside Anna's father and sister. The only other people who had any idea about how much had truly been lost when the consumptive daughter of newspaper mogul Albert Smith died. They knew Mr. Smith did not just lose his daughter… he lost a son as well.

But for all their care and affection, even that felt hollow to him. John could only describe himself with that word: hollow. A once bright world now tinged dimmer and darker in his vision because the bursting light and promise only rained gray like the clouds pouring their frigid empathy on his head.

An empathy he knew struck in direct inverse proportion to the cackling laughter of the only person happy in weather like this.

There was no way to prove it but John knew. He knew the moment Anna breathed her last. Knew it the moment Mr. Smith's soul-wrenching cry echoed in the greenhouse as he clutched the body of his dead daughter to his chest. Knew it in the scream from Gwen when he confessed her fairy bed had not saved her sister and he embraced her as she sobbed into his trousers. Knew it like he knew the sting of her hatred and the taste of her revenge.

This was all Vera's doing.

There was no way to explain it to Mr. Smith. To him it was the logical conclusion to the life of the daughter he lost when they received the first diagnosis. And Gwen need not understand. The death of her sister was enough pain for a child who did not need to know the evils of someone like Vera or that they even existed.

No, this was all John's doing and he was going to fix it.

He would find her. After that the plan was a bit hazy and uncertain but one thing was sure: either she would end or he would. There were no other options available to him now. There was no reason to find any other options.

To John, he was already dead. He died with Anna and all that remained was the body that traipsed without a soul. What was left needed only revenge to survive.

John gave his last handshake to Mr. Smith as the black-garbed crowd dispersed. He offered Gwen a final hug when the Crawleys offered their final invitations to a luncheon so the Smith family need not worry about food. He accepted the ring Gwen put on a chain around his neck and her whispered, "To keep her light close to your heart" before turning on his heel to leave.

And that was the last he ever saw of the Smith family.

He did not belong to their world. He never had and he never would. And they need not mix themselves with his business. Business that would be dark and stick to their souls like tar if they stumbled too deeply into the mire of a city that existed only in the shadows. The darkness of the underbelly where depravity and chaos and Vera reigned.

John belonged to the darkness. He once reveled in it with Vera and he took some of it into himself. He understood it and he would use it like a weapon. A weapon she forged for her own undoing for he would find her and finish her. Finish her with the darkness she let bloom in his soul when she stole all that mattered to him.

Darkness would swallow darkness and end them both… if he was lucky.

And if he lived? If he somehow managed to destroy her once and for all and finally free himself of her hold? What then?

Then he would destroy the darkness in himself. No matter how long it took or what that could mean. With determined steps John intended to tear it from himself or die trying. He hoped for the latter. He did not expect the former.

Even in a city as large as New York there was nowhere to hide. But he was not hiding anymore. No more buildings to scramble over or find the nooks and crannies to invade. No more porches to crawl under or roofs to cross to escape her.

John wanted Vera to find him and when he noticed the tails keeping eyes on him he knew it worked. He let the rain soak through him and then freeze him to the bone when it stopped so the wind could have its way with him. The snow piled up on the pavements, brown and gray with the tracks of the world soaking there, froze his feet in his borrowed shoes but what were feet to the dead? It only empowered him as he walked to the bridge.

The bridge that overlooked the burned husk of the River People's home she destroyed to find him. The bridge where he could imagine the peaked roofs of Anna's neighborhood peeking over the city as if sneaking a glance at a fancy party. The bridge that crossed the river where he once found salvation to escape the clutching claws of Vera. The bridge where he intended to make a final stand and either perish or conquer.

There was no third option.

Vera took the handful of coins and jangled them before picking up a stack to drop. They clanked and chimed off one another as she let them drop in a stream from one hand to the next. Each one landed in her secure clutch before she turned her hands to repeat the motion. It set the pace for her feet as she crossed the balcony from one side to the other and surveyed the city.

A knock on the door had her turning to see a man with hair thinning at the top of his head and a threadbare scarf slung about his neck as if he still had money to spare. Vera only snorted, shaking her head and continuing her repetitive march across the room with the coins still jangling in her hands. "He's sending you now?"

"You know his doorman's absolute shit at delivering messages."

"Does he want to see me?"

"He's hoping you'll make an appearance."

"I'm sure he phrase it just like that, Mr. Sampson." Vera dropped the coins into a dish, rattling loudly before she took her coat from the back of a chair. "Would he mind if you worked for me?"

"I'm not looking to change my employer."

"Best not." Vera followed Sampson into the hallway and down to a waiting black motor with the necromantic driver, his sown-shut lips covered by a balaclava situated up to his nose under a hat. "So the dead can drive?"

"He's the best chauffer." Sampson opened the door and offered Vera a hand but she ignored it, climbing into the back of the cab on her own. "And he's fast. Knows the ins and outs of this city like you wouldn't believe."

"I've got street scamps working for me who could do the same thing." Vera shrugged and turned to Sampson. "Why did the Judge send you? He knows I'd come if he wrote a note."

"He wanted me to warn you ahead of time that he's not pleased you used Mr. Barrow."

"The angel owed me a favor."

"And you cocked that up." Sampson smirked at her awkward shuffle. "Not that you ever could refuse a lush his beverages in sin."

"Are you angry that I didn't shag you and instead chose to shag John Bates?"

"I'm just amused that he abandoned you for the first good thing he found." Sampson shrugged, "I thought you had him wrapped around your finger."

"The Judge already gave me hell for my mistakes with John Bates. I don't need a lowly denizen like you trying to give me the same speech." Vera shook her head, "Shit happens and we make mistakes."

"Like killing Sara O'Brien?"

"It worked to my purposes." Vera rolled her shoulders back, "I don't see that as a mistake."

"She was your most loyal servant."

"She failed me, on multiple occasions."

"So you'd show no mercy?" Sampson shivered, "I find that colder than the weather, which I did not think possible."

Vera only snorted, "If the Judge taught me anything it was that you don't show mercy."

"You begged it of him."

"He trusts me to do the job and I did. One less light in the world, one less do-gooder mucking things about for us, and it broke John Bates in two to hold his dying lover. There's not much better I could've accomplished."

"You could've done a bit better about snuffing out her light." Vera frowned but said nothing as Sampson opened the door and stepped to the side to allow her to exit the motor. "But I'm sure the Judge can explain it to you."

Vera narrowed her eyes at Sampson but pushed out of the motor to follow the necromantic door guardian inside. Once again the darkness engulfed her and her steps echoed with her tentative caution until the deep voice of the Judge echoed about the room. "Hello Vera, back so soon?"

"I never refuse when you call me to you, Your Honor."

"Good." The light flashed, a spark shooting up to engulf the room in light as the Judge sat on a chaise lounge and turned the page of a thick book with a paper cover. "I was curious if you'd heard the news."

"What news?"

The Judge looked up, setting the novel to the side so it teetered precariously on a stack of books, and opened his hands to her. "John Bates is back in the city. I guess the north didn't agree with him."

"Losing the love of his life didn't agree with him."

"And what did we gain by his loss?"

Vera frowned, "We snuffed out her light, Your Honor. That's all there ever is for us to gain."

The Judge only chuckled, pulling a leg up as he spread his arms back to lounge in his seat. "You really don't understand what you've done, do you?"

"No… sir?"

"You see," The Judge kicked himself to stand, walking the distance between with his hands behind his back as if he were a lecturer about to give details on a complicated mathematics problem to a theater of students. "When you kill someone in love, you don't extinguish their light."

"Dead is dead, sir."

"Only to those who've never been in love and have no concept of it." The Judge turned to Vera. "You never loved John Bates so what you felt when he left wasn't heartbreak but betrayal. Your minion left you and you wanted revenge. You understood that, didn't you?"

"Of course. That's why I ripped his love from his hands."

"But you didn't." The Judge laughed, "Because you don't understand love and it'll destroy you in the end Vera."

"What's to understand? Love is weakness."

"Perhaps." The Judge shrugged, shaking his head as if he realized it would do him no good to attempt to explain a concept to someone with no frame of reference. "But when we fail to understand our enemies, we fail."

"I won't fail to get rid of John Bates."

"Again you're missing the point." The Judge rounded on her and Vera froze as the tone in his voice bit into her skin to dot her with pinpricks of pain as if his voice would kill her with a death of a thousand cuts. "It's not just about one person. It's never about one person and when you become so myopic in your endeavors you forget it's about more than that, you'll fail."

"Not this time Your Honor."

He sighed, shaking his head and pointing toward the blackened corridor. "Then I wish you luck in robbing John Bates of his light. I do hope you don't fail me again or I'll have to think about further restrictions on your privileges."

"I'll remember Your Honor." Vera turned to leave, feet already pointed down the dark corridor.

"Vera?" She turned over her shoulder to see the Judge reaching for the cord to his dangling light. "Whatever did you do with Ms. O'Brien?"

"She failed me so I killed her."

"And the angel? Or, the ex-angel I guess?"

Vera's lip ticked up in a leer. "He'll suffer slowly and almost eternally as the poison soaks through his veins."

"You poisoned him?"

"He's not going back to heaven and I've no further use for him here." Vera waved her hand as if she batted away a fly. "Why leave him for someone else to use?"

"Sometimes you shock me with your foresight and other times I'm astounded by your stupidity." The Judge pulled the cord and cast the room into darkness. "I guess that's the paradox of humanity. So much potential so often wasted on those with no concept of higher thought."

"Yes, Your Honor." Vera walked back to the motor, ignoring the doorkeeper that closed the entrance to leave it invisible to the naked eye. She faced Sampson, leaned against the motor. "Are you using that motor at the moment?"

Sampson's lips curled into a smile. "Am I correct in assuming you're going to hunt down John Bates?"

"It's not much of a hunt." Vera climbed into the passenger seat as Sampson took the wheel. "I know exactly where he'll be."

John leaned on the railing, squinting against the harsh light that occasionally broke through the gray clouds and bounced off the water to blind him. His coat, crunching when he moved and disturbed the ice forming over the damp patches from the rain, tightened about him as John wrapped it closer to his body. To block the chill from the outside or contain the chill within him he did not know.

It did not matter either way really.

A motor whizzed past and John only flicked his eyes to the side to notice the traffic. The motors and carriages and horses crossing from one side of the city to the other and paying him no mind at all. Just as he paid them no mind and returned to his study of the water and the city and a distance clock face as it ticked the interminable minutes while he slowly froze to the railing.

"I never did understand what you saw in this bridge." John kept his gaze forward, the hairs at the back of his neck standing on end as her voice tickled his skin as if looking for chinks in his armor. But he was defenseless. "It's just a bridge."

"It's more than that." John turned to face Vera, noting the man behind her. "But you never understood that so even if I explained it to you it wouldn't make sense."

"Something to do with affection, I'd imagine."

"Memories attached to nice things." John snorted, "Not that you'd know anything about that. Not with a mother who left you as soon as she could drop you from her tit and a father who only wanted to take that broken soda bottle to you."

Vera bristled but it only rang like a tin bell through John. The hollowness inside him only echoed the darkness now rising up to feed on the moment of cruelty. They faced one another as the man stepped forward. John nodded at him, a snort escaping him.

"Get tired of O'Brien and her sycophantic obsession with you?"

"She failed me and I did what I do when people fail me."

"So she's lying in gutter somewhere?" John addressed the man. "I hope you know that's what waits for you. When she's done with you, she'll wash her hands cleaner than Pilate did and not think twice. You'll be naught but a barely remembered thought."

"Then it's good I don't work for her."

"Everyone does in the end." John turned to Vera again, "Isn't that what you told me? That there are only those who work for you or those who will?"

"Is that your way of begging yourself back into my graces?"

"There's no grace to you. Just like there's not a kind bone in your body or a drop of mercy in your blood or a smidge of love in your heart." John sighed, "I just wish your father had better aim with that broken soda bottle and not stabbed himself instead of you."

"My father never stabbed himself, John." Vera pointed toward her chest, "I killed my father when he tried to touch me."

"Your first step down your primrose path eh?" John shrugged and opened his arms to her. "Now what Vera? Will you drive a stake through my heart or take knife to my stomach to let me see my intestines? Or will you strangle me with your own two hands?"

"It's funny but I've imagined them all." Vera stalked toward him but John did not move, staying still as she came closer. "And each gave me pleasure in moments when nothing else could rock me to sleep at night."

"And you slept like a crying baby I'm sure."

"I slept well enough but nothing could silence the desire to rip you limb from limb and watch the light fade from your eyes." She fingers grabbed his collar, yanking him toward her so their noses practically touched. "But I couldn't just kill you. Where's the fun in that?"

"We were never fun." John held her gaze. "It was nothing but toxic darkness."

"You know," Vera's eyes seemed to search his, as if there was an answer she could pry from him there. "I wondered what happened when she died in your arms. Did it hurt as much as a knife in your gut or a bullet to the heart? Or was it both?"

John gritted his teeth, "It hurt like you can't imagine."

"Then that's enough for me." Vera released his coat, stepping back. "Why kill you when I could just let you suffer the rest of your life without her? Why deny myself the pleasure of knowing you'll live the rest of your pitiful existence in the drudgery of depression knowing she's gone forever. Her light…"

She pantomimed snuffing out a candle and John broke.

The darkness raged in him and he attacked with flying fists. Vera blocked his motions and they crossed off the boardwalk and into the path of oncoming motors and carriages. Shouts and yells, shrieks of surprised horses brought short and even the shrill whistle of an officer could not stop them. They fought back and forth, strikes impacting but almost as if neither could feel a thing. Even with their most ferocious energies dedicated to injuring the other, it was as if they were nothing but smoke.

John's arms flailed, striking and driving at Vera but she batted him away as if her were nothing. Despite believing he was hollow and empty, the force of her fists bruised and ached. He tripped and stumbled away from her, taking on the defensive more and more the closer they got to the other side of the bridge. And when they reached it, she beat him against the side like a boxer on the ropes. He raised his arms but Vera blew them away and cracked his nose with her forehead.

Dazed and barely holding to the railing, John tried to stand. Vera landed a hit to his gut so he sagged and then lifted him with her hands back in his lapels. Their faces met and John blinked as if keeping her image steady would steady him. Instead it only made him sicker as a flame lit in her eyes.

"If there's a life after this one, I hope you never find her." Vera pushed his lower back into the railing. "And I'll see you in Hell."

Her hands pushed at his chest and John fell over the side of the bridge. The rush of wind past his ears stopped his heart and he flailed. But no matter what he did, he hit the frigid water and broke through the thin layer of ice there to sink into the icy depths.

Vera dusted her hands and saluted to the water. "Another light out."

A man in a sopping coat pulled himself from the river. The River Children, running over the rocks to collect the detritus that washed onto the shore, pointed at him and called out to him. But he did not turn.

The name they called was foreign to his ears and he only shook his head and waved them off when they tried to get his attention. He stumbled into the city, almost falling into an older couple. They called him the same name the children from the river had but he only stared at them in confusion.

They became his new family, telling him stories about someone they said looked a lot like him. He kept them company and learned their trades. Joining their little family as a permanent stranger as he would never take a name.

And nameless he remained until their deathbeds. Nameless he remained when he left the River People and wandered the city. Nameless as the city changed around him while he did not change.

Nameless with only one thought: a blonde pianist with a dazzling smile.