A stray petal fell to the floor as Evey ran her fingers across the bouquet of roses on the bedside table. Violet Carsons.
It had been far easier to break into the house than she had expected.
She didn't know what had brought her here ... hadn't consciously set out with this destination in mind.
Two months after Sutler's government fell, the riots had begun. It had taken nearly eight weeks for society to break down. At first, the vast majority of people seemed to go about their daily routine in a sort of daze. Gradually, as the neighbouring countries sought to establish a temporary system of order in England, something began to shift. It was as if people woke up one morning and realised that they could do anything they wanted with little chance of punishment. Anarchy, like so many other ideals, worked far better on paper than in actual practice.
Evey had waited out the worst of it in the Shadow Gallery. She couldn't help but wonder at times if they'd done the right thing. Then, one day, the BTN had announced that it was over. Once people were free to walk the streets without the fear of their neighbours, Evey knew that V had not died in vain. Temporary fear of the lawless masses was a vast improvement over permanent fear of oppression disguised as law and order.
Sharing the table with the roses was an old photograph. Two men standing close and smiling at her ... the ocean in the background. If she was able to feel real emotions any more, Evey was sure that she would be wiping tears from her cheeks.
Evey slipped her slight frame through the partially opened window, falling awkwardly onto the floor. She had imagined the house to be cold and musty with abandonment, or to be filthy and piss drenched from squatting vagrants. Instead, it was warm and smelt faintly of coffee and cigarettes. Someone had moved in. Not entirely surprising.
She made her way upstairs, to her old room. The bed had been made. Her clothes were hung neatly in the cupboard. It was almost as if she'd never left abruptly so many months ago. The door looked different. There was a new rug across the floor. Some things had changed since ... since ...
After padding slowly across the hallway, Evey drew in a deep breath as she pushed open the door to another bedroom. During her brief stay at the house, she'd never so much as seen the interior of this room. The bed was in a state of disarray; the duvet nearly twisted into a knot. Books cluttered most of the available spaces. On the bedside table sat a vase of roses and a single photograph.
She only recognised one of the men in the photograph. Something about the other man's eyes gave her the distinct feeling that she had dreamed about him.
It was at this moment that she noticed the framed poster hanging on the opposite wall.
Evey might have said something about coincidences, but she knew that they didn't exist.
"He told me you were dead."
"I suspect he told you many things to achieve his goal."
Pulling on the false wine bottle, she already knew what she would find. She wasn't sure which emotion she should be feeling at the sight of the unblemished Qur'an.
She had to leave.
She knew that whatever answers she would find here were not for her to know. V wouldn't have wanted her to come back to this place.
She made it as far as the lounge when she heard the door bang shut. Voices. In the foyer. Evey stood her ground.
Her eyes widened slightly at the sight of the men. Aside from illustrations in some of V's books, she'd never seen two men kiss. More than that, it was as if she were seeing a ghost.
The stranger noticed her first, breaking the kiss. His companion turned to see what had drawn his attention.
"Evey!"
Before she could do little more than register that he seemed happy to see her, Gordon had enveloped in a hug.
"What are you doing here?"
"I don't know."
"You talk as if you knew him."
"I supported his cause. Isn't that enough?"
Gordon's friend had left them without a word of objection. Evey supposed that it made no difference to him. The money she saw Gordon hand over was enough of an indication as to the nature of their relationship.
Evey frowned.
Gordon seemed tired, but content. His face had a few scars that she didn't remember. She didn't have to guess how he acquired them.
"It was no worse than the first time they took me. Death wouldn't have been worse than the first time. I suspect that I have the unique distinction of having been black bagged twice and lived to not tell about it. The only thing that saved me both times was a combination of cowardice and the Chancellor's daughter being a, shall we say, enthusiastic fan. Demeaning, but what choice did I have?"
"You could have died for what you believed in."
"Hm, yes. I'm sure mankind would have benefited greatly from the death of a comedian. I prefer to live, dear Evey.
The first time it happened, I was older than you are now ... still too young for the emotional hell I suffered. Being smashed in the face with the butt of a rather large gun, or anything else they physically did to me, was nothing in comparison. I was taken while walking back from the shops. I was so busy thinking about what I was going to cook that evening, I didn't even notice they were on me until the end of the gun hit me in the face and I'd dropped the shopping on the ground. What happened after the bag went over my head is better left to my all too frequent nightmares. When they finally released me, the only man I'll ever love was gone - Taken. Our front door had been kicked in. It remained off its hinges and I in our bed for more days than I can say. They sent round a messenger to tell me that I could either go back to work at the BTN or disappear like the other so-called social deviants."
"I'm glad you're not dead."
"I saw ... in the bedroom ..."
"Then, you know."
"I don't understand."
"I think you do."
"There's no such thing as coincidences."
"Precisely."