Chapter 28 – Incognito
Evey Hammond watched herself on a hundred screens, in a shop that sold second-hand television sets. Her little performance had not gone unnoticed. It had been over the news most of the day and now, as the day was drawing to its end, there were already dozens of journalists who debated about her appearance. They even brought in a political analyst or two, who tried to interpret the day's events in light of the coming elections.
Evey was sure that she could not have stood in the shop calmly had it not been the fifth – and had she not been wearing a Guy Fawkes outfit. She had not worn one since V's return, but somehow it seemed fitting today. Everyone was wearing one. It was like Halloween, but with only one costume. The streets were swarming with people in disguise – laughing, drinking, and celebrating freedom.
She was joined by a masked man. He stood by her, making sure she was safe.
Unfortunately, it was not the masked man that she wanted.
"Looks like you are quite the celebrity," Finch's voice whispered from behind his disguise.
She nodded. "Let's hope that's a good thing."
She wandered back on the street, drawing herself away from her own image in hundredfold. Finch followed her, almost as her lapdog. It was funny in a way. He was with her as a sort of self-appointed bodyguard. But the truth of the matter was, she was far better at defending herself that he ever would be.
The sun was starting to set and it was getting colder, even though it was still unseasonably warm for November. In the distance, the first few fireworks were set of and they flew from the city horizon, their brightness diminished by the rays of the sleepy sun. The real fireworks would only start in a few hours, but a few amateur enthusiasts had already begun celebrations.
The atmosphere was unexpectedly pleasant. Looking at the people, there was even a sense of brotherhood. There was love in the air – not in the romantic sense, but in a sense that went much more to the core. The kind of love for another, stranger or not, that was capable of bringing people together when it counted most. The kind of love that stood opposed to man's ability for destruction. Yet in this sea of love, Evey felt utterly alone. The one man she wished to share this moment with, had managed to disappear. He had said he did not care much for crowds and had some other matters to attend to, but she was angry about his stubbornness. This was the one day they could have walked together on the streets without drawing attention. The one day that was all about him.
And he was not here.
Men, she thought, masked or otherwise, could at times be infuriating. Worst part was, she didn't know where he was or what he was doing – and deep down she feared that his disappearance had more to do with avoiding her than with attending matters of great importance.
"Finch", she said with a sigh, "let's get pissed."
Her companion tilted his head, and she could only imagine the look he was giving her behind his own mask.
"I'm serious, Eric, I want to get totally and utterly drunk."
He muttered some words in protest of course, quietly trying to talk some reason into her. But his words were lost to her, as she had already made her mind up.
And so it came to be that both of them were sitting in the Prospect of Whitby less than half an hour later, each downing a pint of beer.
The atmosphere in the pub was rather peculiar. Everyone was wearing Fawkes costumes, except for the employees. Most had removed their masks though, to make consumption of alcohol easier. Not Evey, though, she had merely tilted the white face upwards so her glass could reach her lips. In a strange way, she figured she knew how V felt. Her mask was her ally now, more than ever, because after her public speech it was the only thing giving her anonymity.
Finch was sitting across the table from her, and unlike her he had unmasked. His brown eyes radiated worry in her general direction. It was sweet really, and it reminded her of the reasons why she had kept in touch with him all this time.
Dozens of conversations were being conducted simultaneously, which made the whole of it into an ocean of chatter that surrounded them continuously. On occasion the monotone noise was perturbed by someone laughing; once even with the breaking of glass after a tray was dropped. Evey kept true to her intentions and had already passed time by drinking.
She had managed to down five pints before actually feeling the effects of alcohol. And even then, it was just faint, like her body wasn't intending on cooperating this time. She looked at her watch. It was almost ten o' clock. Soon the day would end, and she hadn't seen V since she had first aired on television this morning.
"You love him very much, don't you?"
Eric Finch's question was unmistakable even through the noise. Evey was unsure how to respond. She was sure to take a sip of her sixth beer first.
"I don't know." She said. "Maybe. Probably." She felt like banging her head against the table. "It's just so complicated. We're so complicated. It's all a mess, Eric. Every time I want to get closer, he pulls away. And every time I think he wants to get closer, I pull away. And right now it just makes me want to scream."
She leaned back in her seat. Maybe she was drunk after all. Or maybe she just stopped caring, who knew. In any case, words seemed to come easier now. All her life she'd been afraid of losing people. All her life she had lost them. She wasn't even sure she wanted to feel this way about V. It would be so easy to lose him– again. But she was so tired of fighting herself, too.
"Evey," Finch tried again. "Back when I was investigating V's case, I got hold of Delia Surridge's diary. Well, some parts of it. There were some pages torn out…I'm assuming they were about his past…"
Evey shook her head. "I don't think they were. They were more likely about some torture he did not want you to know about. No-one knows who he is. Not even him."
Finch looked at her questioningly.
"It's some sort of amnesia, I think. Triggered by one of the experiments…you did know about those, right?"
Thinking about that particular fact made Evey angry, and she decided to add some more alcohol to her blood.
"And those experiments…am I right to believe they left some sort of…disfigurement?"
Evey nodded. "I've never seen him, Eric. Not the real man.But he told me as much. I love a man without a face, a name or a past…and I honestly don't know how to do it."
She was frustrated. Angry. When did she get so angry? She hadn't been angry when her brother died, nor when her parents were taken. She just used to be scared all the time. Is this what had come in the place of fear, after V had taken it away? Did anger come with the job, the cape, the mask? Her hand closed around the beer glass, crushing it shattered between her fingers. She was startled by her own strength and dropped the glass in surprise, but not before some of the shards dug into her flesh. Her hand was left wet with beer and blood. She looked at it almost as if it were an alien object, not part of herself.
He's gotten inside of me. Underneath my skin.
It was Eric who gently took her but the wrist, and pressed a napkin against her wound with his other hand.
"Go home, Evey." he finally said. "Look at you. This isn't you. You do not want to be here. And certainly not with me. Go to him. Talk to him."
He searched for eye contact, her mask not making that particular action easy for him. She nodded, trying to be pleasant. He, of all people, did not deserve to deal with her anger.
Finch paid and guided her out safely. Darkness had fallen over London and explosions could be heard. They had made it out in time for the fireworks. The sky was decorated by a million little artificial stars, contorting themselves into the strangest formations. Eric took Evey by her arm, guiding her home like the gentleman he was.
"Thank you," she said. "For everything." "Oh, you're welcome, Evey. After all, someone has to look after those who look after us."
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Many feet above Evey and Eric's heads, V's figure was looking at the fireworks in the sky. He did not wish to mingle. After all these years, he was a man for the people – not of the people. He loved the dearly, all of those anonymous people in the street. He'd fight for them. He'd die for them. But he couldn't be one of them.
He was enjoying his victory from a distance, as he would always do. He even enjoyed the solitude sometimes. It was like a joke that only he was in on. But today he had made a mistake – and he knew it. He had neglected the one person he cared most for in this world.
Maybe she was home already. Maybe he could still wish her a happy fifth – yes, there might still be time. He turned around, jumping to the roof behind him.
He let the wind work with him. If he moved fast enough, he felt as if he were faster than the wind even – and he'd let the wind carry him to her. He made a mental note to himself that he was a silly old romantic, but that didn't stop him in his stride. He was taking the short way home.
