Damn, I can't even properly scare you guys :D Probably shouldn't have mentioned that there will be a sequel or you would've been afraid for John...

Chapter 58

John was panting, trying to catch his breath and calm his heartbeat, which was still accelerated from the fight, but it was over now and he was free to breathe. Ciaran O'Neill was dead. After decades in the police force, it was the first time he had actually killed someone and right now, John didn't even feel guilt or regret. A numbness had settled over him as he stood at the far end of the cliffs and stared down to the waves far below; the waves which had claimed O'Neill's body the second he had fallen. There was no way anyone could possibly survive the fall and in a strange, morbid way, John felt relieved. It was finally over. He had closed the case.

"John!" Clara exclaimed next to him and he was surprised when she suddenly flung her arms around him in a tight embrace. She was crying, but he felt too numb to even comfort her. He had killed someone for Clara and if he could turn back time and undo this entire evening, he would still do it again – all of that for a woman who deceived him for months. John didn't hate her, but he hated himself for falling for her lies, he hated himself because he was still in love and he hated himself because, once again, he had given his heart to someone who wasn't deserving of it.

The longer it lasted, the more her touch began to anger him and he struggled free from her embrace, not saying a single word in the process. In the headlights, he saw the tears wetting her cheeks. Maybe he did hate her just a little, but that was a consideration for another time. Right now, as the adrenaline started to leave him, John felt rattled and all he wanted was to lie down and stare at the ceiling; he wanted to do and think about nothing at all for a very long time.

"We have to call the police," Clara told him, her voice quiet and gentle. It tugged at his heart even after everything he had learned. "We have to tell them what happened."

Wordlessly, John bent down and picked up his rifle that had fallen to the ground and then, a few feet away, the box that had started all of it. O'Neill must have dropped it and John shoved it into Clara's hands without saying a word as he walked past her and towards the car.

"John, are you even listening to me?" she demanded to know, following after him. He didn't want to talk to her. John didn't even want to look at her because he knew that her face would remind him of all the possibilities: of a potential relationship, and of the brief but special time he had shared with Clara. Right now, John felt unable to think about any of that.

"I am the police," he said simply as he climbed into his car and slammed the door shut.

The drive back to the house seemed endless and interminable as they sat in silence, but he was glad that Clara didn't try to force a conversation. He needed time to think, even though a part of him would very much love to close this chapter of his life, put it in a box and place it in a dark corner of his wardrobe where he wouldn't have to look at it. John didn't know what would happen next and he didn't know what he was supposed to do. Up until now, his life had been one straight line. Leaving his home to become a detective had come naturally to him and he hadn't spent a great deal of time thinking it through. Marrying River had been one of the most natural occurrences in his life, just like the search for her after her disappearance. Even falling in love with Clara was something that just had to happen, but now, John felt at a loss. There was a dead body in the sea and he had put it there even though it was by accident. Did the contents of the box even matter now that O'Neill was dead? John couldn't say, but next to him, Clara was clutching it in her hands as if holding on for dear life. And Clara… no, he couldn't think about that just yet. Her deception was too painful.

Everything that happened after he parked his car in front of his home felt like the acts of a stranger. He fed Odin, he fetched a glass of whiskey, but even as he sat down to drink it, he didn't quite feel real. A part of him longed for Clara's touch to tear him out of this trance, but he quickly remembered her confession and everything she had kept from him. Why hadn't she trusted him enough to tell him sooner? He would have helped. He would have made sure that O'Neill went to prison for everyone he had done. There was absolutely nothing John wouldn't have done for Clara, so why hadn't she seen that? The worst part of it was that John had known and he had ignored it because of his feelings for her. Had she counted on that? Was that all part of her plan? And if she had lied to him about Bonnie, had she lied about her feelings as well?

A sound made John look up and he spotted Clara standing in the doorway, a small, lost figure in this big house. She still hadn't let go of the box.

"I'm sorry that I lied to you," Clara said after a while and even though John wanted to believe that her apology was sincere, he just couldn't be sure now, could he? "I know I should have trusted you. I know I messed up. Here."

She stepped closer and held the box in his direction. If he stretched his arm, he would be able to reach it with his hands. But instead of taking it, John furrowed his brow at her.

"What do you want me to do with that?" he asked. He still didn't know what to do.

Clara shrugged, a forlorn expression on her face. Somehow, he got the impression that Clara's head was in just as much turmoil as his own. "Read it. Burn it. Hand it over to Kate. I don't care," she replied. "It doesn't matter now."

John scoffed and took the box out of her hands. "Yeah," he breathed, but he couldn't bring himself to say anything else. O'Neill was dead. Clara got what she wanted.

"Do what you think is best," Clara told him. "You can tell them all about me, about what I did, I don't care. Nothing that happens from here on can bring Danny or Bonnie back."

She wasn't crying, but John could tell from the look on her face that she wanted to and she probably would as soon as the door closed behind her. He had been the same after River's death. He also had reached the point where he knew that he could move heaven and earth and still not bring her back. It was a terrible, dreadful place and despite all of his anger and disappointment, John knew that he would have done the exact same thing in Clara's place. Though whether that made it better or maybe even worse, John couldn't say.

"I need to be alone," he said instead. "I need some time to think."

Clara attempted to take a step in his direction, but she stopped herself at the last moment and nodded in reply. For her, the nightmare would be over at some point and she could move on, but she still had a long way to go.

"Alright," she breathed and John watched as Clara turned around and slowly walked out of the room. There was a hesitation in her steps that told him she wanted him to stop her, that she wanted him to say something, to forgive her, but John wasn't ready for that yet. He let her go.