A/N: Okay Miss Catherine, you've sufficiently kicked my ass enough for me to get inspired to finish this. Any thanks for an update should go directly to her. :oP

A final chapter will be posted straight after this one since my reader are at the very least, more patient than the writer. Truth be told, it was a not so terribly bad review that delayed my writing. When someone says they don't like the only character that you created in this story, it's a heavy blow. But, I'm back on my feet and hopefully none worse for the wear. Reviews of any kind are still welcomed around here though!

Love to all!

McFadden-

Chapter 11

Pacing outside of Kathryn's flat was doing nothing to raise the Earl's confidence, though he was sure that she was unaware that he had been doing it for nearly 20 minutes. Alcock and the carriage were still situated infront of the building, but there was no sign of his servant. John couldn't let that bother him right now; and Billy, the prat, was the least of his worries. How exactly was he going to get this to work? The Earl could just imagine Kathryn inside of the flat storming from one room to the other. He juggled the option of going down the corner to get a decanter of wine against the obvious wrath that would incur if he were to show up at her doorstep completely sloshed again.

It didn't take long for the idea of a drink to convince him and inevitably win out. If it's waxing poetic that the woman wanted, then that's what she would bloody get. And if he had to dodge a whole wardrobe and do it while flirting with a fuzzy mind; he'd take his chances.

What was initially supposed to be a quick pint at the tavern, turned successfully into seven, and the hours ticked by without a care. John had all but forgotten his inconvenient memory. Until the very owner of the small theater came in and complained to the barkeep about the sudden disappearance of his best seamstress. With a groan that distracted a few of the patrons from their conversations, John thudded his head on the bar top and sluggishly drug himself off of the stool, muttering obscenities all the way out of the door.

Propped up by the wall, Wilmot waited for his vertigo to subside and checked his pocket watch. Had he spent 2 hours in there? Damn...

Running wasn't exactly the Earl's forte, and it showed because he just collapsed when he reached Kathryn's door again. It surprised him to find that it was standing slightly ajar. He could hear angry footsteps tromping around inside. Unfortunately all he could do at the moment was lay there on the stoop and listen to it amidst breathing heavily. Suddenly he saw a shape stop in the view through the crack in the door. Expecting to see Kathryn or even Alcock, he was when he was met with quite a different sight. His mother.

Looking back at the street in confusion, he had failed to notice that the carriage that he thought to be his own, was indeed his mothers. If there was a moment he wished to be killed, now was it. If only a bum would appear, steal his gold, and slay him so that he could die instantly. But it was too late, the deformed, foppish skin bag was now staring down at him with stern, disapproving eyes.

"Well John, what mess have you decided to make now? As I hear it, you've taken to a poor seamstress and tricked her into your evil ways. The girl is near exhaustion with worrying over what card you're going to pull next."

Rochester glared at her with a detesting smile.

"Oh mother, you make it sound so easy. I only wish I had half your evil fervor."

Rolling over onto his stomach, the Earl pushed himself up and brushed the dirt off of his clothes.

"I don't believe you would voluntarily come to my London flat for a visit; So, other than the unhealthy habit of spying, what brings you to see me?"

She sniffed the air aristocratically and looked at him.

"Your manservant paid a visit to the country house late last night informing me of your obvious inebriated condition and your whereabouts and asked me to come here first thing in the morning. We might not have many pleasant words to say to eachother John, but I am still your mother and will care for you until it kills me."

Rochester snarled and rolled his eyes dismissively at the old woman while trying to look past her and into the doss. His mother sighed, rather sadly at her son before she replied.

"She's not there. I sent her away with your carriage and that thing you had driving it, she needs a break. And no, I will not tell you where she went. From what I can see, she'll be infinitely better without you. Your servant has been instructed to return to the countryside estate once the girl is safely cared for. All that you need to know is that you're coming back to the country and getting those polluting chemicals out of your system for good."

John just laughed at the ridiculous thought until he notice that his mother didn't budge. His eyes drew together as if challenging what she said to be the truth. When nothing came from it, he repelled.

"You've gone completely mad, woman!"

She merely waved him off like a spoiled child that was having his toys taken away.

"You'll survive it I'm sure. Besides, the house is far too quiet without your temper. I swear, if there was such a thing as a male succubus, it'd be my own son. How does that suit you now?"

It was only a glimpse, but it was made clear that John was indeed a product of his mother's sarcasm. He just sneered at her and tromped off the steps and into the awaiting carriage, replying dryly.

"The feeling is mutual, Mother. There is a pleasure I'm experiencing that even you don't know about."

All throughout the carriage ride, Johns thoughts strayed from his present state, to wondering where Kathryn was sent, and just how many ways he could torture Alcock into telling him where she was dispatched.

Later that evening, after his mother had basically confided him to him rooms, forbidding that he leave them. He wasn't up for it anyway, he was too busy fuming and debating on whether he should poison her, or just write about it.

He chose to write...

Completely wrapped up in the twisted imaginings being manifested by his quill and paper, the Earl didn't hear anyone enter his room until an all too familiar grunt of announcement was made. Wilmot turned his eyes, cutting them in the direction of the man he knew was already standing there. Alcock, being caught off guard by such a dangerous glare, quickly moved out of its way. His only mistake was that he moved closer to the Earl.

John's fingers closed over the thick throat of his accomplice. His voice coming out in a smooth, constrained whisper.

"Where did you take her, you dumb mule?"

Alcock tried to speak despite the drop in circulation but found that he didn't have enough air to do so. Noticing this, the Earl loosened his grip only slightly. Sputtering, Alcock just spoke in broken phrases.

"Dunno...my Lord...told me to..drop her in...Blythe field..."

John let him go just as his eyes rolled back into his head and Alcock fell listlessly to the floor. He was out cold.

Blythe Field...why the hell there? Nothing was there for miles.

Deciding to see if he could get anything else. John picked up a crystal pitcher half full of water from his awaiting meal, and unceremoniously dumped it over the unconscious servant.

Gasping from shock, Alcock leered at the Earl with wide eyes. Wilmot just bent down on his haunches and impatiently questioned him.

"Was there anything else at Blythe Field?"

Alcock looked around the room in an apparent daze. That was, until John decided to slap him across the face.

"PAY ATTENTION!...the field..."

The man shook his head clear and nodded.

"There was another carriage waiting for her. Didn't look familiar, and I couldn't make out the driver."

Great! Where the hell did he find people like this? John sighed into his hand and looked at him sharply.

"Get out of my sight.. And change those clothes!"

Alcock merely waved off his comment as he headed out of the room. It was obvious that he was used to this type of behavior

"Consider it done, My Lord..."

Days would turn into months, into years, of searching for someone John feared he'd never find again. As time wore on, it would seem to any outsider that life had returned to normal. At least that's what the Earl would have anyone believe. He even went so far as to get married to a woman he didn't really love. But since when has anyone married for love? He kept up his charade as well as his reputation without faltering. Even his own mother had been fooled. Most of the things he immersed himself in were more or less to take his mind off of his memory. But at times, it would get the best of him and John was left searching again.

Then it happened...

It started with a pain in his side, that progressed into blood in his urine. A sore that progressed to a wound, that progressed...

Now he was irreparably ill. It was causing him to deteriorate inside and out and he didn't even know what it was. Nobody knew. To add insult, no one, not even his wife, would even touch him. All he had left now, were the very memories he had tried so hard to escape.

The irony of it all...