This is my take on what transpired after the ending of the movie. Enjoy!

Aberline watched from inside a carriage as the chaotic scene played out before him. There were men all around—police and villagers alike—shouting to one another as they tried to quell the inferno that was quickly consuming Talbot Hall.

Let it burn, the inspector thought darkly, trying to suppress a cough. His lungs were still compromised from all the smoke he inhaled from earlier.

There would be no saving the large manse from the fire that had rapidly spread to the upper floors and adjoining wings. He doubted anyone actually wanted to save it. The real concern was the fire spreading to the surrounding area. Or, the cynical side of him thought, they were trying to save as much of the estate as they could so they could scrounge for priceless antiquities once the fire had been put out. Vultures.

He tore his eyes away from the burning hall and craned his neck to examine his wounded shoulder. Not that there was much he could examine; his wound had been sewn and dressed as best it could, and his arm had been put into a sling to minimize his movement. He was given a clean shirt and coat to wear, having had removed his torn and blood-soaked garments so the doctor could work on his wound. The doctor had also bandaged the cut on his face, which he hadn't even known was there until his shoulder was being tended to. The monster must have struck him during that initial attack, before sinking its teeth into him.

He eyed the bit of bloodied gauze that he could partially see from under his shirt, and grimaced. It still hurt like hell. Not only that, but it burned and itched, too. It was a peculiar feeling—like hundreds of ants were crawling beneath the ruined flesh. It was getting to the point where he had to refrain from tearing away the gauze, ripping out the stitches, and digging his fingers into the wound, just to satisfy the maddening itch.

Narrowing his eyes, he raised his right hand and carefully touched his fingers to the gauze, intending to apply just enough pressure to give him some relief. As soon as his fingers made contact, the door to the carriage opened, causing him to drop his hand into his lap.

"Don't think you're supposed to mess with that," Detective Adams chided.

Aberline ignored him, not in the mood for the man's teasing. "Have you heard anything?"

Adams shook his head. "No one has seen Carter since before he left for Talbot Hall, and wherever he's gone, he surely would come here once he heard all the commotion." His words made Aberline's stomach sink. Adams turned from Aberline to look at the burning estate. "You don't think, that maybe there's a chance…"

Aberline shook his head. "We won't know for certain until the fire has been put out. Until then, we need to hold out hope that he's alright." The words were meant to be more encouraging than they actually sounded, and more hopeful than the inspector actually felt. Adams was right; anyone within miles would have seen the light and smoke. Carter should be here. Where the hell is he?

Adams stewed over the inspector's words for a bit, before nodding in agreement. "How are you doing?" he asked, changing the subject.

Aberline sighed, which turned into a cough. Which then turned into several more, louder coughs. Adams winced at the harsh sounds. "That bad, eh? Are you sure you're well enough to make the trip to London tonight? Perhaps you should reconsider and find lodgings here."

Aberline managed to stop his coughing fit long enough to relay his discontentment with the possibility. "No. I've had enough of this accursed place. I will not… stay here any longer than is necessary." More coughs derailed the conversation. Adams waited patiently for the inspector to catch his breath. After a few more seconds, Aberline continued. "Which is why I'm leaving you in charge in my stead. I trust you can handle things."

Adams nodded, but Aberline could see that there was uncertainty on the man's face. Before he could ask what the matter was, Adams spoke. "That woman…"

"Miss Conliffe? What about her?"

"How would you like me to deal with her? She won't respond to our questions, and the men will be writing their reports on what's happened here tonight. Normally we could just omit her involvement, but…"

"She killed our suspect."

"Exactly."

Aberline had no immediate answer to give. How should he proceed with things? Once again, it seemed that Gwen Conliffe was bound and determined to be a thorn in his side. She had been nothing but trouble ever since Lawrence Talbot was first taken into custody. And tonight? She had undermined his whole operation in order to…what, exactly? He had no clear idea what her intentions had been, but knowing her, it wouldn't have been to his benefit. And it hadn't been; her actions had nearly resulted in his death. Had it been anyone else, he would have made sure they faced consequences for their actions. So why could he not bring himself to do so with her? He knew why. He had seen her, holding the body of Lawrence Talbot—had seen her tear-streaked face, contorted in pure sorrow. She had just killed a man whom she had felt deeply for. She was still as much a victim as anyone—perhaps more so. She would need time to grieve, and she would not be able to do that properly if she had police breathing down her neck.

Aberline had made his decision. Sitting up straighter, he addressed Adams. "Tell them to leave her out of their reports. I don't want to see one mention of her. Understood?"

Adams nodded. "Very well, sir. But what shall they report instead? She did kill our man, after all."

Aberline frowned. He hated lying, especially when it came to work-related matters. But if he wanted to keep Miss Conliffe's name out of the reports, he could see no other option. He wracked his brain, trying to come up with an alternate timeline of events. After his brush with death at the hands of the monster, she had escaped into the forest. Then the beast chased after her, and then he in turn chased after it. How could he make it so that Miss Conliffe would not have any involvement?

His gun. It had been the weapon that killed Talbot. An idea came to him. It was simple, but it would do.

"I shot and killed Lawrence Talbot," he said definitively.

"You did?" asked Adams.

Nodding, Aberline continued. "Yes. Talbot attacked me, resulting in the fire. I took a shot at him. The shot was not lethal, and he escaped. I chased him down and finished him off. That's what you will tell them."

Adams mulled it over for several seconds. "Sounds good to me. I'll tell the men once this whole mess is taken care of," he said, gesturing toward the fire that, despite the constant efforts to be put out, was still raging on.

"I had better not see one mention of her when the reports come in."

"You won't, Chief Inspector. I'll make sure of it," replied Adams. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I should probably go lend a hand. I'll tell Metcalfe that you're ready to leave."

As the detective walked away, Aberline slumped back down in his seat. The conversation with Adams had left him feeling drained, and the incessant throbbing in his shoulder was not helping matters. At least he would be back in London by morning, where he could have his wound looked at properly. Maybe he would even take a short break once he got back. Perhaps even a whole week. God knows he deserved some peace and quiet after this whole ordeal.

His eyelids began to feel heavy. Where was this sudden exhaustion coming from? He glanced at the still open door of the carriage. Lazily, he reached out his hand to close it. As his hand moved from out of the shadow of the carriage, Aberline was struck by how bright it appeared in the moonlight. A strange compulsion came over him, and he leaned his head out of the carriage and looked up at the sky, and his eyes locked onto the moon directly overhead. It held his gaze for several seconds. No thoughts currently occupied his mind as he stared, transfixed at the glowing, white orb. A sudden chill went through his body, shocking him out of his reverie, and he quickly shut the carriage door. He blinked several times, then shook his head, perplexed. Before he could give consideration as to what had just transpired, the carriage door opposite of him opened, and a large, burly man sat down on the seat next to him. It was Metcalfe, one of the members of the Special Police. The man's entrance knocked something against Aberline's knee, and he looked down to see the wolf's head cane. He had nearly forgotten it was there. He hadn't parted with the cane since he had taken hold of it back in the portrait room of Talbot Hall. At the time, he had been intent on running it through the monster's hide. Now, its vacant eyes stared up at him from within the darkness of the carriage.

"Are you ready to depart, sir?" Metcalfe asked him, still getting comfortable in the seat across from Aberline.

"Yes. The sooner the better," murmured Aberline. Metcalfe rapped on the carriage's roof, signaling for the driver to leave. The carriage lurched forward, slightly jarring both occupants. Aberline could feel every bump the wheels ran over as the carriage made its slow journey out of the small encampment to the main path. He turned in his seat and gave a final glance to the burning Talbot estate, hoping that it would be the last time he would ever see it standing again.

Something caught his eye as the carriage made its way past some wagons. Or rather, someone. On the back of one of the wagons sat a woman wrapped in a blanket. Her head was bowed, but Aberline could still make out her morose expression, and her dull and despondent eyes. Miss Conliffe. He studied her, feeling a pang of sadness and pity for the poor woman.

Then she looked up. At first her eyes tracked to the right, looking at something in front of the carriage that Aberline could not see, but then they shifted to stare directly at him. He felt his breath hitch in his chest, and time seemed to stand still as the two acknowledged each other. In that instant, Miss Conliffe's expression had morphed. No longer did her eyes appear dull; they were now sharply focused on his own. There was something accusatory there; perhaps even some fear in there as well, something that deeply unnerved him. He saw her lips part, as if she wanted to say something, but he could discern no words.

And then time continued at normal speed and the carriage rolled on, and Gwen Conliffe was blocked from his view. Aberline felt the air return to his battered lungs.

"Wot is it?" Metcalfe's booming voice nearly made him jump. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Aberline's brows furrowed in contemplation. "I'm not sure what I saw," he answered honestly. But whatever had passed between him and Gwen Conliffe had spooked him more than any ghost ever could.

The carriage reached the main road, thus beginning the long journey back to London, and back to the promise of normalcy.