He stands in front of the closet scowling beneath his mask at the clothes hanging in front of him. It's almost as if they're taunting him for going through all of the trouble of getting here. What kind of woman doesn't own at least one skirt, especially in the middle of spring?
A woman who needs to hide the bruises and welts inflicted on her by her 'husband' on a daily basis, that's who, he reminds himself. He lets out a frustrated puff of air as the image of her scarred legs reinserts itself to the forefront of his mind. With one final glare at the long pants and long sleeved blouses, V turns with a flick of his cloak and goes to search the rest of the house.
There must be clues to this woman's real identity somewhere. There has to be something somewhere. He's sure of it.
So he searches. For nearly an hour he scours the place from the basement to the attic. He comes up empty in all of the regular places and even the irregular places people hide things of value. The biggest disappointment, but not the biggest surprise, has to be Jones's office.
Hidden beneath the desk is the safe built into the floor. Unfortunately, the police got to it first and the safe is completely empty by the time V reaches it. Another frustrated puff of air and he continues to hunt for even the smallest crumb. Below the twins' beds, in the tanks of the toilets and even behind the headboard of the bed in the guest bedroom, all are equally unproductive, not even so much as a dust bunny can be found.
His ire growing, he heads to the attic. It's obvious from the second V sticks his head through the trap door and looks around in the dim moon light that filters through the suspiciously clean window at the other end of the small space that the police have already been here. With a small hope that they missed something, he methodically goes through the hastily pawed at boxes.
He finds mementos and nick-knacks, clippings from the boys' first hair cut, an award from school for second place in a spelling contest and a miniature Eiffel Tower are among the forgotten items left up here. Then in the darkest corner he finds the strangest thing of all.
Cleverly hidden in plain sight is a false wall. V's innate ability to perfectly eye distances is how he notices that the attic as about a meter shorter than the rest of the house. After several minutes of meticulous searching, he finally pulls back a couple panels of wood.
Pulling out a small torch, he waves the beam around the dark tiny space. All that's secreted away in there is a guitar case. Very carefully, he pulls the case from its hiding spot and opens it after returning the torch to its normal resting place. Not surprisingly, there's a guitar in there along with several sheets of music and an extra set of strings. There's virtually no dust on the case indicating that someone in the house knows of the instrument's existence and more than likely has even been playing it.
Perhaps his 'guest' will know more about it. And if not, it will make a nice addition to his collection. He's sure he can find a book on guitar playing with little effort if it's not already in his library.
He carefully replaces the removed panels, closes the guitar back in its case and prepares to leave with his prize. Something catches his attention on the edge of his peripheral vision and he turns to investigate further. A silver picture frame peeks out from behind a box that's shoved against the wall, the edge glowing in the moonlight. Curiosity gets the better of him, and unlike that unfortunate feline, he exposes a picture with no ill effects. It's a photograph of Jones and his wife on their wedding day, both looking blissfully happy.
The miniature torch comes out again and V gets a good look at the woman who married that monster. He stares at the picture for several minutes memorizing the smiling woman's face with her brown hair and eyes. While he finds the answer to one question, so many more questions spin around in his head.
The woman in the photo is not the same woman who's currently residing in his bed, of that he can be sure, though the resemblance is uncanny and to a casual observer they could be mistaken as twins. But where is the real Georgia Jones? Who is this other woman? How did a woman from the south eastern area of the former United States come to be living in London? And why was she pretending to Jones's wife?
He stares at the picture for a few moments longer, but is no closer to getting his answers. The only one who can do that is currently keeping his bed warm. Without another sound, he turns off the torch, stows it and then returns the photograph to where he found it.
Moments later, he's slipping out of the house and past the policeman stationed to watch the place. V leaves the man unmolested since he doesn't want to alert anyone to the fact that he had returned to the house. As quietly as a breeze and as quick as moonlight, V departs.
Despite the burdens he carries, V returns to the tubes with relative ease just as the first hints of dawn start to lighten the sky. He enters his home half expecting his mystery woman to be wandering around despite his instructions. Instead, there is the usual silence that he normally associates with home.
He stores the medical supplies he 'acquired' earlier in the evening before pulling out a pair of syringes and a couple bottles. Picking up the guitar case, he heads for his bedroom.
The first thing he notices when he steps into the room is that the food and drink have been consumed. This eases his mind a bit until he hears the sound of teeth chattering that is both startling and worrisome. Looking at the shape in the bed he can see that the covers are over her head and her form is shivering.
He's beside the bed in a few quick strides and all he can see of her is her mouth and nose. He has to pull and tug the covers free as she's completely cocooned them around her body. She doesn't fight or complain, but she's not helping either and as soon as he has her free, he understands why.
She's nearly unconscious and despite all of the shaking and the sudden rush of cold air, she barely even opens her eyes. He checks her injury and finds that it's badly infected which accounts for her obvious fever. The guitar lies forgotten off to the side of the room as he rushes out of there to get the rest of the medical supplies.
Three days. Three days of virtually no sleep caring for a person whose name he doesn't even know. Three days of draining puss out of her wound and cleaning it. Three days of trying to make sure she was getting fluids and then carrying her to the bathroom every couple hours.
But the fever has finally broken and the infection is gone, so now she can stop cuddling against him for warmth. That was pretty startling when he tried to get some rest only to wake to find a shivering body pressed against him. After shoving her away a number of times only to have her scoot back a few minutes later, he finally realized that she wasn't consciously seeking him out. She was just so cold she was seeking out the only external source of heat in the bed: him.
All the time and effort he's put in caring for her for the past few days has left him exhausted. If his curiosity about her wasn't thoroughly piqued, he would be second guessing himself about his motives. This woman is an enigma, and one thing that he's never been able to let lie besides his vengeance, is a puzzle.
With a tired sigh he leans against the wall waiting for her to finish in the bathroom. After three days the woman was getting a littleā¦ripe, so now she's taking a sponge bath. He supposes he'll have to help her wash her hair, but that can wait for now.
The sound of the water gently trickling in the tub nearly lulls him to sleep while he's standing up. Only a small section of his mind even notices when the water gets turned up for about a minute and then everything goes silent. When the door finally opens, he's fully alert and staring at his 'patient'.
She's cleaned up and even managed to wash her hair on her own, for which he is thankful. She's wearing clean clothes including a skirt that he managed to get from one of Sutler's warehouses during her illness. She glances up at him, gives a little smile and then immediately looks down at the floor. He sees her eyes for only the briefest of moments, but that quick look has him concerned.
"Look at me," he instructs.
He puts his finger under her chin and gently guides her face to look up at him. Her head moves willingly, but still her eyes look down. He waits patiently and several seconds later she finally complies and looks at him. Moments later she's looking down again and a shudder runs through her body, but he's seen enough to confirm that tiny red veins web throughout the whites of her eyes in irritation all around her brown irises and releases her chin.
"How well can you see without your contacts in?" he asks.
"Ok," she replies in a small voice.
"Then go take them out," he orders and she immediately goes back into the bathroom.
A minute later, she returns intently staring at the floor. Again, he guides her face to look up at him and it takes her even longer to cast him a quick glance before looking down again. She doesn't pull away, but she starts trembling in earnest and it takes him a moment to get over his shock.
"Do you need those contacts to see at all?" he inquires.
She shakes her head 'no' and an exasperated puff of air escapes through the mask.
"I don't want to see you wearing them again unless I say so," he demands. "Is that understood?"
She nods a 'yes' and lets out a quiet sigh of relief. She never did like those blasted things anyways. It always felt like she was poking herself in the eye when she put them in or took them out.
"Come, let's get you back to bed," he says as he offers her his arm.
She takes the appendage and they very slowly make their way down the hall.
"Did Jones make you wear those contacts?" he questions after only a few steps and she nods again. "Why did you continue wearing them after I brought you here?"
"Habit," she whispers with a shrug.
"Ah," he replies.
They finish their journey in silence and by the time they make it back to the bed, she's shaking with exhaustion. He helps her back into bed and she shifts around until she's comfortable as one can get with a hole in one's butt. He leaves as soon as she's settled and returns a short time later with more fluids for her to drink.
"I want you to get some more rest," he tells her as he places a pitcher of water on the nightstand while he hands her a glass. "You may get up to use the restroom, but otherwise I want you to stay in this bed."
She quietly nods, quickly finishes her drink, puts the glass next to the pitcher, still not quite looking at him and snuggles up with the pillow. He watches as she closes her now green eyes and her breathing becomes slow and regular. While her actions are puzzling, a more compliant patient he couldn't have asked for. He turns off the light and then climbs into his bed next to her on top of the covers.
He's not used to sleeping fully dressed, much less having to share his bed. With an exhausted sigh, he closes his eyes but it's some time before he sleeps. By the time unconsciousness does claim him, he has everything planned out.
Author's Note: This chapter is a little shorter than what I normally write, but this seemed like a good place to stop. As I hinted at before, my muse is a little crazy and she needs to be fed a regular diet of reviews. No reviews means that there won't be any more chapters. So please, feed the muse.
