Second Chances
A "V for Vendetta"
story by Tina Price.
Preview: Life goes on, though all around may change. But how does a man go on when he has completely lost... himself? What shall be his purpose and can love truly conquer all?
Disclaimer: V for Vendetta and all characters therein are the property of Warner Brothers Entertainment Company and DC Comics.
Author's notes: This story is rated R, overall for some adult content. The unedited NC-17 version may be found on my homepage. As always, constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
Chapter 4b: Retribution: Death
Eric Finch sat in the back of V's BFC truck and stared at the monitors that covered one entire side of the cleverly disguised surveillance van.
Only hours ago he and Dominic had been briefed by V on what they were about to do; namely entering the lowest levels of the Belgravia Police Station on Buckingham Palace Rd. without anyone being the wiser. If that sounded difficult, V soon made it that much more anxiety-provoking when he explained how the security cameras would have to be rigged.
"Now then," he had started off. "We can't just go poking our heads in for a look-see without first ensuring that we ourselves go unseen."
He'd typed a few commands into his computer at the flat and instantly began bringing up real time pictures from the cameras in question.
"Is that...?" Finch had begun to ask.
"Oh yes," V had answered. "It's from your place of employment. You didn't think I'd be turning a blind eye to you and yours back when I was completing my November fifth preparations, did you?"
"We're going to use this footage to replace the real camera feed, aren't we?" Dominic had asked. At Finch's questioning look he'd replied, "I've seen enough movies to know it's a good way around our problem."
V cleared his throat. "Tell me, Detective Stone; do you see any explosives on any of these images?"
"Bloody hell," Finch had suddenly breathed. "If there are explosives in place, then the people responsible will have already thought of that and bypassed the real camera images!"
"Exactly."
"So then, what do we do?" Dominic had asked.
"Simple. We bypass the actual camera feed that our nemesis is using so that they don't see us. In order to do that, I'll have to find where they tapped into the system and piggyback their signal so that we can all see what's really happening. Then, provided none of them are present down below, we need to make a recording of the true scene, explosives and all... And I do expect to see explosives down there, I might add."
With a sigh he'd turned and faced them fully. "Then we by pass their bypass with our feed of the playback. Once everything seems secure, I'll go in and begin replacing their explosives."
"What?" both he and Dominic had exclaimed.
"Oh yes... I'll remove any live detonators first and replace them with harmless fakes. Then I shall away to a stockpile of mine and replace any and all of the explosive materials with cleverly done up fakes; and believe me, I've got plenty of those. I'm certain I can make the scene look exactly the way they left it."
"But why bother?" Finch had asked. "Why not just leave it alone with the safe detonators? And why would you have so many fakes?"
"You wouldn't believe how handy they come in," he'd answered. "I've used them as red herrings to tie up security. And I've broken into stockpiles and stolen them while leaving the fakes behind... It's allowed me to keep stealing from the same area for months before the theft was caught!" Then V had actually laughed. "As to why I would go to such trouble and risk such danger in order to replace this particular stockpile; explosives are never safe. Even with fake detonators, almost anything could happen. Besides; let's just say that I've a good use for all that juice..."
Finch and Dominic had stared at each other.
"Alright," said Dom. "But I'm going in with you. You'll need help moving so much in a short time."
"Excellent. I was hoping you'd volunteer," V had gushed, clasping his hands together with apparent glee. "I suppose that leaves you to man the monitors, my good Chief Inspector."
"Lovely," he'd responded dryly.
And now here he sat, parked down the street, on Sembley Place, off of Buckingham Rd, where he could keep an eye on two sides of the building. He had access to cameras covering the other two sides for good measure.
When all was said and done, he would have preferred to switch places with Dominic; this monitoring for danger was in his opinion much more nerve wracking then being around the actual explosives.
Down beneath the building, Dominic Stone was crawling on his belly through a very tight ventilation tunnel behind the vigilante known to the authorities only as Codename V.
A surge of excitement ran through him at the thought of what he was doing. How amazing to think that HE was helping V!
Of course, it was dangerous work, and difficult already; just keeping up with the man in these tight spaces was exhausting. How could he move gracefully, even in here? Come to think of it; they weren't going to move all those explosives through here, were they?
He swallowed nervously at the thought.
The passageway up ahead widened. He could tell only because both he and the mastermind up ahead of him were wearing torches on their heads. V had forgone his usual hat and had dual torches strapped on either side of his masked forehead.
Now that was a strange sight indeed!
V moved up to the metal grate blocking the end of the shaft and moved to one side, then waved for him to move up next to him.
"Turn out your torch first," he whispered, dosing his own lights.
Dominic shimmied up next to him and watched as the man produced a long, bendable tube from the folds of his cloak.
"It's a spy wand," V explained. In the next moment he had bent it and barely passed one end through the grating, then put his eye to the other end. "Hmmm..." he breathed, and then reversed the tubing so that he could look the other way.
"And there we have it," he sighed, passing the device to Dominic. "Have a look-see."
Putting his own eye to the device, Dominic fought down the urge to whistle. Lining the walls at the end of the large passageway, from floor to ceiling, were stacks upon stacks of explosives.
"Shit..." he breathed as his heart rate climbed further yet.
"Indeed," came his companion's reply. "And from the look of things, they may be done and ready to detonate; perhaps even this very night."
Really; how the man could say such a thing so calmly was a mystery. Dominic was about to wet himself over his statement!
Finches voice came over the earplugs they each wore, "What now? Continue or evacuate the building?"
The Guy Fawkes mask tilted in apparent thought. "They've just had a meeting," he said, knowing that the microphone inside his mask would carry his voice to Finch. "I doubt that they will detonate until after some sort of more grandiose affair. We should proceed as planned."
Then he looked over at him. "Dominic, you can still back out and help keep surveillance elsewhere if you wish. I won't expect you to risk your life given the circumstances."
"Like hell I will! I'm staying. Besides, you'll need me if you want to get this done faster," he replied.
V patted him on the shoulder. "Then let's get started."
Rolling over onto his back, V slowly sat up and, to Dominic's surprise, wiggled his way through an even tighter passageway that led straight upwards. He hadn't noticed it before because he never looked up and with their torches off, it was all but invisible anyway.
Above him, a glow appeared as V turned his lights back on. Dom could now make out his outline and stared in amazement as the man's feet left the ground and he began to climb up the shaft.
"How can you do that?" he asked, startled. "I hope you're not expecting me to follow..."
"It's all in the knees and toes," came the hushed reply. "And no; just stay where you are and keep an eye out that grate for me. I'm going up one floor to where the camera lines cross this shaft."
With a shake of his head, Dominic did just that.
It took V an hour of careful testing and feedback from Inspector Finch to be certain that he had recorded and then successfully looped that recording back on the video line the PM operatives were monitoring. He then took care not to disturb the phony loop they were broadcasting for the benefit of the building's security personnel and took over the true camera feed for himself.
By the time he dropped back down to the floor below, his knees were aching fiercely. No matter; he knew that they'd recover quickly enough.
Detective Stone looked up at him. "What next?" he asked.
"Now we replace the detonators," he replied. "Then we'll go back to the van for the fake explosives." As he spoke, he began working the grate loose by turning the back end of the retaining bolts with a set of large pliers.
"Is there another way in or are we going to make do with this crawlspace?"
"There is another way in, but I would have to rig the camera feed there before we could use it. It's not worth the time and effort, as it would be too easy to get caught at that location."
"Oh."
V smiled beneath his mask. "Relax, Detective," he said. "I'll do most of the hard work." Just then, the last bolt gave out and he was able to jiggle the grate free without making too much noise. He set it carefully on the floor so that it leaned against the outer wall.
"I can see that you've got the grate off," Finch commented via their earplugs.
"Is the outside of the building clear?" he asked.
"All clear."
"How about the stairwells and the main corridors leading to them?" he added.
"One moment..." There was a pause as Finch presumably toggled through different camera views. "Yes, there's no one about."
"Good." He turned towards Dominic. "Come on then; time's a wasting." Then he turned, crawled out into the corridor and headed for the explosives.
One-by-one, V and Dominic carefully replaced each detonator with a fake. They shad begun by each making a count of the devices and comparing them for accuracy. V had then counted out the same number of fake replacements and had him recount them.
As V removed each detonator, he handed it to him to be placed in a red bag. V would then replace it with a fake from his own black bag.
Afterwards, they each counted the removed detonators. In this way they made certain that not a one was missed.
Then came the real work.
Dominic would go to the van and have Finch hand down a stack of fake explosives which looked enough like the real ones to pass inspection should the perpetrator show up for some reason. He would then carry the heavy load back to the building, all the while fearing detection.
Meanwhile, V would remove the same number of real explosives from the pile in the building and drag them on small metal bearings down the shaft behind him. Once out of the shaft, he carried them to the entrance where Dom waited. They would then swap and backtrack to either van or basement.
It took many careful round trips totaling over four hours in order to accomplish their task. Several times they had to stop and hit the ground to avoid being spotted by a potential passerby as Finch sounded an alert. Fortunately in each case the person in question took a different route.
And after each stack in the basement was replaced, they would wait a few minutes to make certain that the men responsible were not about to make an appearance. If they did, then V would quickly clean up his area and duck back into the shaft, closing it behind him. That was the reason for the fake detonators; so that at any point, the pile of explosives would look untouched.
Early on Dominic had wondered aloud why they were going to the trouble of swapping out the detonators when they were going to swap out the explosives anyway. He'd been embarrassed that he hadn't reasoned it out himself when V explained.
Now he lay on the floor of the van, sweaty and exhausted with half frozen feet and hands from trudging back and forth through the snow all night.
"Here, drink this," Finch urged, squatting down next to him and handing him a steaming mug, which he had filled from a thermos.
Sitting up and sniffing it, Dom sipped the hot toddy with a sigh of pleasure. His aching muscles seemed to relax a bit.
"You've no idea how welcome this is," he remarked. "Thanks."
"You've more than earned it," Finch replied, patting him on the shoulder. Then the man looked at a monitor. "Come on then. Let's get this van started up. He's on his way back."
It was nearing five in the morning by the time Finch parked the van in its usual place several blocks away from V's new residence. They climbed out, locked it up and headed down the street behind the vigilante.
"You two stay here while I make certain that the place is safe," the masked man said, firmly pushing them back against the wall of the dark alley they'd been traversing.
Before Finch could ask any questions, he'd jumped up, grabbed onto an overhead fire escape and was rapidly climbing it.
There was little to do but exchange a look with Dominic, who merely shrugged as though he'd seen it all.
"I find it exhausting just watching him," his partner commented.
They stood there shivering but silent for five minutes before their new friend dropped down in front of them, enveloped in a flurry of black cloth.
"Well, I believe it's safe now," he commented. "But stay behind me. Several of my traps have apparently been set off and there's no telling how many of them are merely wounded."
"What; as opposed to dead?" Detective Stone asked in a shocked tone.
"Precisely!" V replied cheerily, then turned and led the way towards his flat.
They entered through the front entrance to the bookshop and made their way to the back stock room, where a destroyed loading dock door greeted them, its metal having been burned through with a welding torch. It had then been unlocked and lifted from the inside.
"Yes, I thought this would prove to be the entranceway of choice for nefarious visitors," the masked man stated as he surveyed the scene. Then he shrugged. "Their mistake," he added, then turned and headed for the door to his back foyer. That door was cut from the frame, its deadbolts too secure to have allowed it to be kicked in.
There was a dead man lying just on the other side of the open door that led to his workout area, his blood pooling on the rubber entranceway mat within.
"What did you..." Finch barely managed.
"Oh, just a few rigged statues," he replied. Stepping through here while the system is armed will result in them discharging their cleverly hidden guns. "Careful," he warned Dominic, throwing an arm up to block the man's way into the room. "It's still armed and there may be a few bullets left."
Reaching above the door jam, he pressed some concealed buttons and then nodded. "Follow me," he said, stepping over the dead man.
Aside from the dead man, there were no further signs of trouble in the large workout room, but when they reached the front foyer on the other side, there was another dead man laying at the foot of the stairs.
"Electrified hand rail and well-grounded stairs," V explained.
Finch and Dominic exchanged startled glances.
"I can't wait to see what was up with the mannequins," Stone quipped as they followed their host upstairs.
He soon had his answer. Four more men lay dead on the floor, scattered around the kitchen, dining and reception areas.
"What the bloody hell...?" Finch managed as he stared dumbfounded around him. There was no blood, no real indication of what had happened. The men were simply dead, their faces blue, their bodies contorted.
As Detective Stone reached for one of the mannequins, V yelled, "Don't!" causing him to freeze in place.
The mannequins in question were wearing their clothing and arranged exactly as they had left them, apparently passed out and leaning forwards on the table, surrounded by cards, poker chips and drinks.
The two policemen had been curious about it, but had received no explanation other than that all would be made clear soon enough.
Now V turned to face them and pointed at their doppelgangers.
"Now these are very clever, if I do say so myself," he began. "Each has a level sense in its head which I can set in almost any plane I please. Once armed, disturbing the mannequin's position results in a circuit being broken, which in turn results in two different liquids mixing together within." As he talked, he reached under each of their wigs and clicked off a switch hidden beneath.
"Poison gas, my friends," he explained. "Silent, odorless, invisible and very lethal."
Both Finch and Dominic lifted their hands to their mouth and noses, causing V to laugh.
"Don't worry, the toxin is also very short lived. It breaks down quickly and becomes harmless within thirty minutes."
"You are one crazy bastard," Finch ground out, glaring at him. "Anything could easily go wrong with that!"
"True enough, which is why I've only ever used them in extreme cases," V replied. "And I think that, looking around us, you would agree that this was an extreme case."
"Look, normally I'd be very disturbed by all this," Dominic cut in. "But I'm exhausted and in pain and just too weary to let it give me nightmares. So tell me; what do we do next?"
"Well, Lieutenant Stone, I suggest that you and Eric here get cleaned up, and get some sleep," he said. "As for myself;" he prodded one of the corpses with his boot. "I'll stow these away as I've a use for them later on, then I'll be cleaning up myself and visiting Evey. After that, I plan on catching some sleep. We can then discuss the next step in our campaign over a good meal."
"Right. I'm off to the shower then." Dominic turned and departed in the direction of the office.
Finch went after his overnight bag, which was in the reception room and watched in obvious discomfort as V threw a dead man over his shoulder and grabbing the other two by the collars, dragged them behind him down the stairs.
They made a most unpleasant thumping sound.
The chief Inspector swallowed the bile that rose up in his throat and went to hide in the office until Dominic finished with the bathroom.
After a much needed shower and a change of clothes, Eric brushed his teeth and headed back towards the front room, intent on hitting the sofa for some much needed sleep.
As he approached the dining area, he felt his eyes start from his head at the sight of V in a frilly apron washing down the dining room table and chairs. So surprised was he, that he froze in place and nearly dropped his toothbrush.
"Jeezus..." he breathed.
V looked up, but otherwise kept scrubbing. "Have to make certain that all the toxic residue is gone," he grunted.
"Well then, how do you explain that apron?" Finch groaned. "I think that may be the scariest thing I've seen in the last few hours. You look like something out of a Monty Python show. Let's face it; it's not exactly proper attire for a cultural icon such as yourself, now is it?"
V actually laughed at that. "I started wearing it when Evey first came to stay with me," he said, then suddenly grew serious. "It made me less frightening..." Going back to the kitchen, he threw out the sponge and then returned to the table and dropped limply into a chair.
Finch sat next to him. "It apparently worked quite well," he observed.
"Oh, not entirely," came the tired reply. "She ran off on me once, completely terrified by my personal vendetta, you know."
"Well, she returned, so it all worked out," he tried to comfort him.
The mask lifted and turned to regard him. "Not really... but that is, as they say, a story for another time." He stood. "Did you have a good shower? Is there anything I can get you?"
He stood as well. "I feel much better now, thank-you and I'm fine. Can't wait to hit that sofa of yours, in fact."
"Excellent. I'm off to clean up and go see Evey. I checked in on Dominic and he's out cold, bless him. He'll certainly be sore for the next few days."
"No doubt," he laughed.
"Oh, one more thing, Eric," V called after him as he started into the reception room.
"Hmmm?"
"Stay away from the stairs; I'll be rearming the security system before I head out."
"She's just come around, sir," one of the overnight nurses informed him when he stopped at the station. "She was asking for you only a few minutes ago. Why don't you go on in?"
"Thank-you," V murmured politely as he began to move off. It was just six in the morning and he'd only managed to catch a twenty minute catnap before heading to hospital. In truth he was exhausted, but worse yet; he was filled with an equal mix of hope and apprehension over Evey's condition. Michael had seemed put-out enough over her pining for him while unable to recall her doctor friend, but V wondered just how much she remembered. After all, their relationship was not exactly run-of-the-mill.
Having to start over from scratch would be... difficult, if not impossible for him.
As quietly as he could, he entered her room and moved towards the bed, trying to determine if she was awake.
Her eyes opened and her head turned towards him when he was but ten feet away...
He froze on the spot, suddenly holding his breath and silently willing her to recognize him.
When she remained silent, but watched him silently, he again moved forward, seating himself in the chair next to the bed and sighing deeply.
Still she watched him. "Do I know you?" she asked weakly, as curiosity seemed to light her eyes.
He moved the chair closer, then leaned his crossed arms on the edge of her bed, and rested his chin upon them, his face now mere inches from her own.
Their gazes locked...
She stared harder at him, shifting in the bed so she could better see him with both eyes.
"V?" she barely breathed the question.
He sighed deeply as relief washed over him and that small sound seemed to be enough to convince her.
"V!" This time she cried his name and tried to reach for him with weak and trembling arms. Her right one wasn't cooperating.
He wrapped his own around her as best he could and hugged her close, barely able to talk around the lump in his throat.
"Oh love," he said, his voice breaking, "You do remember me. I had so feared..."
She forced her trembling right hand up and placed her fingers on his lips. "I could never forget your voice... even your sigh, but I don't remember ever actually seeing your face..."
He kissed her fingers, and then took her hand in his own; pulling it away so that he could kiss her properly, which he did; gently, but with a great reluctance to end it.
And she, despite her injuries, responded instantly, sighing in disappointment when he broke away.
"I'm sorry, love," he whispered. "But I was afraid that your heart monitor was about to alarm, your pulse rose so quickly." He smiled and carefully stroked her bandaged head. "Actually, this is not my true face, but a clever mask. I think, even addle-pated as you now are, that you know I wear my Fawkesian disguise for practical reasons."
She smiled back, then touched her bandages and looked puzzled. "I was shot," she said, as though just realizing it. "In my head. Did you know that?"
"Yes sweetheart." He continued to stroke her head and smiled at her.
She suddenly seemed to recover and sprang back to what he had last said, "That is a mask?"
"Yes."
She touched his cheek to convince herself. "It's very good. You used to look that way, didn't you?"
"I think so," he replied.
"V, I'm so confused. It's as though a whirlwind is constantly spinning my memories around. I catch quick glimpses, then there's just a jumble which makes me sick when I try to sort it out."
"I'm sorry love," he said, kissing her gently. "I know how terrible it can be, but maybe you'll be luckier than I and actually make some sense of it. In the meantime, don't try too hard; your memories will slowly sort themselves out."
Her eyes grew sadder still. "I can't even remember our wedding," she said, her voice nearly breaking.
He froze for a second or two, then laughed with much amusement.
"It isn't funny!" she moaned.
"And what makes you think I'd marry a troublesome little waif like you?" he teased, kissing her hand.
"Stop hurting my feelings, you big brute," she teased back. Then she suddenly became serious. "Are we not married? The nurses kept telling me that my husband would be here shortly..."
"That's because we have the same last name and Detective Finch told them I was your next of kin," he explained, trying not to laugh at the look on her face.
"The same last name? When did that happen?"
He lifted her hand to his lips again and then sighed. "Let me tell you a story about a lonely, driven man and the little, frightened waif who invaded his world..." he began. "But first... do you remember this?" He removed something from around his neck, pulling it from where it lay hidden in his shirt and handed it to her.
It was the pendant.
"You made it from the mask that went up with Parliament," she breathed. Her eyes began to tear up. "I remember... a room full of roses and candles... and you... Blue eyes. Nice smile." She smiled, her eyes unfocused and clearly seeing a memory. "You were wearing a red silk shirt and you loved me until I couldn't sit properly for days..."
He fought the tears that were filling his own eyes. "It seems that you remember all the important things then," he sighed.
"But I don't remember your face..."
"Love, as I said; you remembered the important things. Now then; once upon a time there lived a very smart and dapper gentleman with a terrible skin problem, who kept to himself for many years..." he began.
It was almost nine in the morning when Finch heard V come back in. He raised his head and watched as the exhausted man dropped his coat over a kitchen chair, drank a glass of water and then apparently, from the sound of it, stopped briefly to visit the loo. He then heard him head down the hall towards his bedroom.
Ten minutes later, hearing V's soft but persistent raspy snore, he got up and checked in on him. The man had collapsed on the bed and was sprawled on his stomach, his feet hanging over the edge. Eric removed his boots and threw a blanket over him before returning to the sofa and his own much needed rest.
Eileen Winters was in a hurry. She'd just spent far longer than she had wished at a posh specialty foods store looking for the last ingredients for the that night's meal. It was going past five and her employers always at dinner at seven sharp.
Although she'd been the Dascombes' cook for many years, she knew that she was always only one disappointment away from losing her job. She'd seen other long time employees dismissed for far less than a late or substandard meal.
Mr. Baker, who'd been their chauffeur for over three years, had been fired on the spot just two days ago for looking at Ms. Giselle "the wrong way" as she'd said.
Eileen clicked her tongue as she rushed in the back door of the Dascombe residence and began assembling all the items she needed. She washed her hands, got the oven warming up and began cutting up vegetables.
Yes, her job was high risk with little security, but it was otherwise worth it. Most of the time it was just her and the other employees in the house and they all got along quite well. She had a wonderful kitchen to work in and she was paid very well indeed to do something she loved; cooking. And although her employers weren't friendly, they did quite often praise her for the meals she set before them.
Speaking of "set", now that she had the vegetables taken care of and the meat marinading, she might as well set the table. It would take some time and it had to be perfect.
Moving to the Butler's pantry, she removed a stack of lovely linens, then selected an ornate vase for the centerpiece, which would be composed of the beautiful bouquet of flowers she'd picked up that morning.
As she left the small room, she passed by the entranceway to the formal dining room, but this time she glanced in as she did so.
She froze on the spot and blinked in disbelief.
The vase and linens slipped from her suddenly nerveless hands and the sound of the shattering vase was completely drowned out by her scream.
Eric Finch was up and about shortly before three that afternoon.
As he made his way down the hall towards the bathroom, he could plainly see that V was already up and about as well; his coat was missing from the dining room chair.
After taking care of the call of nature, he wandered down to the bedroom and peeked in.
V was indeed gone.
Next, he checked in on Dominic. The man was bedded down behind the desk in the small office. As he watched, his partner moved restlessly beneath the quilt he was using as a sleeping bag. He would, no doubt, be up and about in a short while.
It was when he entered the kitchen to start the kettle that he noticed the note on the countertop.
My Dear Chief Inspector,
Please make yourself comfortable. There are scones in the icebox which only require baking. You'll also find Devonshire cream and an assortment of jams. I'll be back shortly with a take-out dinner, so try to leave some room.
Yours Sincerely,
V
PS – Would you mind getting up with the hospital and finding out how Evey is doing today? Let her know that I'll be stopping by quite late tonight.
Eric shook his head and laughed. The man was incapable of leaving his welcome visitors wanting for anything.
When he opened the fridge and pulled out the scones, he found another note on them informing him of the proper oven temperature and baking time.
By the time Dominic put in an appearance twenty minutes later, he had their breakfast ready, much to the delight of his starving protégé.
V arrived back at the flat around four thirty.
He hoped that his guests were up and about, for he was in quite a rush. There was no telling when the Dascombe's cook would return to discover his gift, but things would move along quickly after that and he needed to be in place.
Carefully disarming the security measures, he climbed the stairs to find them both conferring over their notes and a laptop at the dining room table.
"Good afternoon," he greeted them and then lifted up the bag he carried. "Anyone for some Indian cuisine?"
"Despite the scones, I'm famished!" Dominic immediately began collecting his things and moving them to the floor at his feet.
"Ah, good. So you enjoyed them?"
"Yeah, who would have thought that the Inspector here could bake?"
Finch shot him a sour look and raised an eyebrow. "Well, thankfully I awoke first. We all know that Dom is incapable of following directions to the letter."
That one actually drew a chuckle from V, who was wasting no time in passing out plates and utensils.
After they'd finished eating and the table was cleared he began outlining his plan, beginning with the impromptu dinner party he'd set out in the Dascombes' dining room.
"Well, I'd say that's brilliant in a scary sort of way," Finch sighed.
"Yes, precisely what I thought," V responded. "And any time now, the Dascombes will be rushing home to sort things out. That's where I need the help only you, my dear Chief Inspector, can provide."
Finch perked up. "And what exactly might that entail?"
"I need for you to arrest Roger Dascombe at his home and delay him until I give the signal," he answered. "Do you think you can come up with a good reason to do so?"
Finch actually smiled. "Oh, I'll think of a reason. Believe me; it will be my pleasure to annoy him."
"Your goal is to make it look official and get him away from his chauffeur and anyone else, then hogtie him and store him in the van."
"You're joking! What happens when he's released..." Finch paused. "He's not going to live long enough to go to the authorities, is he?"
"Once again, detective; Do you think that justice will be served if you leave him to your courts? Certainly not until after we eradicate the organization that has control of them, the organization that he is a part of. Eric, this man tries to murder Evey. He was a part of it as surely as if he had pulled the trigger himself. If you cannot in good conscience do as I ask, then now is the time to say so."
Finch actually began biting a fingernail, but when he answered, it was with conviction. "No, you're correct, as much as it pains me. There's no other way to set things right... I'll do as you asked."
"Good man. As for me; I'm going to gain entry to the mansion where they all meet, which by-the-way, happens to be owned by Lord Chief Justice of England and Wales, Lord William Chambers."
Finch shot Dominic a look. "I thought you told him that?"
"Sorry," the lieutenant looked embarrassed. "In all the excitement I forget to let him know that we'd looked that up."
V sniffed reproachfully and then continued, "Once inside, I'll be deactivating all their counter measures, as well as planting my own bugs. By the time our traitorous friends call an emergency meeting, we'll be privy to all that transpires."
"What then?" Finch asked.
"Well, then I go visit Evey while you two put in an appearance at the Yard.
Giselle Dascombe stood in her dining room and stared at the sight before her.
First her dining room had been turned into the banquet hall of the dead and then Roger, their chauffeur and the car had gone missing.
There was only one being who could possibly be responsible
She'd been warned by the others not to retaliate against Ronald Scanlan's death. Most of them had concurred that the masked figure who'd killed him had to be the true, original vigilante known as V. It was all there in the police reports, they'd said; his knives, his strength... If it was truly HIM, then they would be foolish to harm his lover. A man who could take out Sutler, Creedy and his nine best, not to mention the others... was not someone whose attention you wished to draw.
She'd argued her point, though; if he took out Scanlan, then he already was on their trail. It was just a matter of time before they all met the same fate, one by one. Their only hope was to warn him off, to show their might, their knowledge of him and his. If he came after them, they would destroy him, starting with his friends and his home...
In the end, she'd pushed it through. They'd agreed to wound the Hammond bitch and leave her with a message for V...
But she'd changed the plan, making certain that Terrance knew he was to forget the message and kill Hammond, not wound her.
An eye for an eye, she figured. After all, this V was no supernatural creature. He was only a man and no man was infallible. Sooner or later he would have to sleep.. and then their assassins would finish him.
She snorted.
Their assassins now sat around her dining room table.
Roger was missing.
And she'd had to have the cook disposed of. Couldn't have her relaying any of this to anyone, after all. And damn it; she'd really liked that woman's cooking!
So, she'd made a mistake. She'd underestimated the man known as V...
Now she'd have to come up with a way to fix things, without the council finding out that she'd ordered Hammond killed and that was what had led to this.
Well, the ball was still in her court, whatever V might think. They had their explosives set under new Scotland Yard and Roger wasn't worth bargaining for, making him worthless as leverage, if that was what the vigilante intended.
Tonight they would call the meeting to end them all; the one that would bear witness to the beginning of their take-over. The Yard would be destroyed and along with it the last leaders of the fledgling government's enforcers.
As for V...
Well, Miss Hammond was still alive and therefore he could be controlled. All they had to do was take her.
Turning on her heel, she headed for the telephone.
At five fifty-five PM, an electrical failure affecting four blocks of a posh Hyde Park community occurred.
"Mr. Farnsworth!"
At the sound of his voice being bellowed, Jared Farnsworth, butler to the Lord Chief Justice of England and Wales, made a very quick appearance in the master's study.
"Sir?" His voice was perfectly pitched and calm, despite the anxiety that he was actually feeling. He knew what this was about; the generators hadn't come on as they should have. He'd been on the phone with the power company when he'd been summoned.
"Why is my house still dark?" Asked his employer, in his oh-so-controlled, but about-to-be-ugly voice.
"Sir, I've just spoken to the power company and was about to contact our generator people when you called. I'll have it taken care of as soon as humanly possible. In the meantime Nina is coming around with electric lanterns and will soon have this room lit."
"I want the power restored in the house within the hour or it will be your job; do you understand?"
"Yes sir."
"Then get on with it already!"
Fleeing the room, he dialed the generator company's emergency line and was connected to the service desk.
He gave the fellow who answered an earful and in return received a promise that a new unit would be arriving within the half hour.
Out in the BFC van, Dominic and Finch exchanged triumphant looks while a hogtied and gagged Roger Dascombe stared at them from the floor.
"Now that was good fun," Detective Stone said. "The man's brilliant, I tell you! I can't believe he took out the power to that many residences without getting himself fried."
"The real beauty of it is that by the time the electric company gets the power back on, V will already have the fake unit in place and all the surveillance countermeasures disabled," Eric Finch replied.
"So it really is him; the real V?" asked the woman seated beside Finch.
"It is indeed, my dear Eileen," he replied, giving the woman a warm smile.
He'd only just finished handing both Dascombe and his driver over to Dominic, when he'd seen the Dascombes' other Rolls drive by with the poor woman struggling in the back seat, smacking the glass to get his attention.
He'd immediately jumped into the car he'd just pulled Dascombe out of and given chase. Without giving the other driver any warning, he'd smashed into his rear fender during a turn, completely spinning the other vehicle around. Fortunately, he'd chosen his time well and no other cars were in the intersection or involved in his little maneuver.
Jumping out, he'd pulled his gun on the driver and front seat passenger, ending the kidnapping.
He'd had to call Dominic over with more handcuffs and then stashed the two of them in the trunk for now. Once V came to collect Roger and the excitement was over for the night, he could return for them and book them along with Roger's driver.
Detective Stone indicated Dascombe. "What about him?"
Finch reluctantly turned away from Ms. Winters to meet the man's frightened, wide-eyed stare. "V will be along to collect him soon enough. Aside from that, I don't want to know."
Jared Farnsworth noticed the "Start You Up" generator company truck as soon as it drove up. Truth was that he'd been stationed at the window watching for it the entire time.
As it backed into the driveway, he went out the service entrance and met the driver.
"Back it all the way up next to the privacy fence," he informed the man. "The basement entrance is in the very back, a short walk through the gate."
The driver nodded and did as he was told, then got out and opened the back of the truck. "Show me where it goes and then you can leave the rest to me," he said.
Jared led the way, opening the gate and unlocking the double doors under the deck to reveal a double wide staircase that led a half flight down to the basement. He went on down, lighting the way with the hand-held torch he carried.
"There it is," he said, pointing to the non-functional generator.
The man puled out his own torch. "Off you go," he said, "I'm certain that this has made you miserable enough, but I'll have you right in no time."
"You've no idea," Jared replied. "I'd deeply appreciate it being done as soon as possible."
"It's the least we can do after so unfortunate a failure," the man replied. With that, he headed back upstairs to fetch the new generator.
As soon as the butler re-entered the mansion, V jumped back onto the truck and jacked up the dolly he was using to move the phony generator. In truth, the metal shell he had retrieved from a recycle yard at the true generator company was filled with the explosives he'd taken out of New Scotland Yard.
He, of course, already knew his way around Chamber's basement. He'd been down there earlier, disabling the generator. Finch and Stone thought that he was sneaking in equipment for disabling the mansion's anti-bugging system. He'd hidden the truth from them; that his main purpose was planting a bomb. He'd already disabled the countermeasures here and planted his own devices. He had only to switch them on and Finch and Stone would be listening in.
He'd also already paid visits to other residences belonging to members of this group. He'd chosen them based upon the detectives' surveillance of group members, picking out those in particular who represented the greatest threat. Each place had been mined with explosives, but the largest portion of those explosives were to be planted here.
This entire mansion would be obliterated during an upcoming meeting of all the key players in the puppet master organization.
"Eric, can you hear me?" It was V's voice on the speaker.
"Gotcha," he replied.
"I'm finished here. You should have audio on the house. There's a call coming through now. See if you can pick it up."
Finch put his headphones on, as did Dominic. A few turns of the frequency dial and suddenly he had something.
It appeared to be the Lord Chief Justice's voice.
"I've got it," he told V.
"Good. Take notes. I'm on my way back."
When V met up with his BFC van twenty minutes later, he was back in his vigilante persona and as he entered the rear of the vehicle he was greeted by five pairs of eyes and a momentary silence.
Noting the woman seated next to Finch, he bowed and took her hand. "To whom do I owe the pleasure of this meeting?" he asked gallantly. It never hurt to be polite. Too many people in the world already hated him.
"May I introduce Eileen Winters?" Finch responded. "She was the Dascombes' cook until six dead men invaded her area and Mrs. Dascombe decided she should be eliminated, so to speak.
V brought the woman's hand to his mask's lips. "I am very pleased to meet you," he said. "I take it that the good Chief Inspector rescued you?"
"He did," she said, with a shy look at Finch.
Behind the mask, V smiled. It looked like the inspector's lonely days might be over.
Then he straightened and turned to look at the men on the floor.
Dascombe began to shake with fear.
"V," Dominic called. "You need to hear the phone call we recorded between Giselle Dascombe and Lord Chambers."
He turned back towards the monitors. "Put it on the speakers," he said.
Not three minutes later, the recording ended and Dominic switched it off.
V exhaled slowly as he forced himself to stay calm. He'd just heard enough to know that Giselle herself, not the Lord Chief Justice, was the head of the puppet masters. She'd just called for an emergency meeting of the secret organization. Moreover, she was calling for them to strike now; to blow up New Scotland Yard. AS for her husband, Roger; she'd stated that he was not a concern.
His eyes turned towards the man in question and saw disbelief and pain there, now displacing his fear for himself.
He was certain that the same exact expression had once been seen on his face, put there by the same woman.
With a heartfelt sigh, he reached down and grasped Dascombe by the collar, then turned back towards the two police officers.
"Roger and I have somewhere we must be," he announced. "Eric, why don't you take Ms. Winters home? I'm certain that Dominic can book the chauffeur on his own. Then perhaps you two would be willing to keep an eye and ear on the mansion for me?"
"Of course," they both answered together.
"Oh, and do me a favor," he added. "Keep the van at least a block away. No point in getting any closer than that and risking being spotted now that you've got audio."
With that, he lifted Dascombe to his feet, which were manacled, and dragged him out the back behind him.
After cutting the external phone lines, V climbed up to the roof of the Dascombe house easily enough, even with Roger in tow. Up to the very top he went and once there, he secured his guest to the spine of the roof before re-shouldering the bag he'd brought along and dropping down to the roof a floor below.
He moved silently, all the while peering in windows and getting his bearings. Once he'd ascertained that Giselle was in the master bathroom on the second floor, he retrieved Roger and let himself in the chosen bedroom window down at the other end of the floor. Dragging Roger in after him, he closed the window behind him.
Leaving Roger behind, he let himself into the hallway and moved down it in the direction of the master suite, stopping just outside the closed door.
Opening his bag, he removed a heavy brace, which he fit in the door jam and cranked open until it was strongly wedged and unmovable. He attached the doorknob to it, effectively barring Giselle in her room.
Reaching back in the bag, he produced an explosive device, which he positioned against the door and armed. Then he added a scrambler, which would knock out all cell phone signals within a fifty foot radius.
Moving back down the hallway, he fetched Roger, dragging him down the hall and taping the man to the carpet where he would be able to hear everything that happened within the room, yet not be able to move about or touch the bomb.
His prep work done, V went back down the hall, through the bedroom and out the window onto the roof to wait.
Finally done with her primping, Giselle through on a wrap and headed for the door. Time was wasting and her people awaited her; awaited the most important speech she would ever give; the one that would kick off their coup.
With a thrill of excitement, she made to leave the bedroom, turning the doorknob and pushing.
The door wouldn't budge.
Again she turned the knob and pushed, this time putting her shoulder into it and again the door refused to move. Looking at the gap between the door and the jam, she could see that although the knob was turning, the lock was not disengaging.
What a time to have a hardware failure!
With a long-suffering sigh, she pulled out her cell phone and dialed Lord Chamber's residence.
There was no signal.
Trying twice more with the same result, she began to lose her temper. How dare such things thwart her? How long would it take those morons to realize that something was wrong and come back to get her?
There had to be a way...
As she looked around the room, her eyes came to rest on the window. Even though she was on the third floor, her window looked out over the slope of the roof that overhung a second floor balcony.
She should be able to make it down.
Throwing the window open, she began to ease herself out and froze, the hair on the back of her neck standing on end.
Standing on the spine of the roof just above her and to her left was a figure in black, it's cloak blowing demoniacally around it, its face that of a grinning Guy Fawkes.
It was their nemesis; the terrorist known only as V and it suddenly became clear to her that her door and phone problems had nothing at all to do with Murphy's Law.
He had maneuvered her into doing exactly what she was doing.
Her heart began to pound and she remained motionless, waiting for him to make a move.
Still, he merely stood and watched her, eventually tipping his head at her as though to say that it was her move.
With a stifled cry of, "Shit!" she jerked back into the bedroom and slammed the window closed, locking it. There was a gun... Roger kept a gun...
Thankfully, she remembered through her panic, that it was in the closet; in a shoebox on the floor.
Throwing the closet doors open, she dove down to the floor and went for it...
Just then, a black boot kicked in the cross beam of the window with a deafening crack of snapped lumber and an explosion of glass.
Then the gun was in her hand and she was thumbing off the safety. With no time to take careful aim, she raised it and fired as a billowing black cloak obscured her entire field of vision.
The loud report rang in her ears at the same time that a powerful blow struck her hand, hard enough to numb it while sending the gun flying and her body twisting to the left.
In the sudden silence and stillness that followed, as pain blossomed in what was, more than likely a broken right wrist, she pushed herself up with her left hand and with a great deal of trepidation, looked up at the creature who now loomed over her.
A black shadow, black cloak sweeping the ground around her, his Guy Fawkes face leering, he brought a hand gallantly to the brim of his hat and tipped it at her.
"What is it you want?" she dared demand, while cradling her destroyed wrist in her other hand.
"Why, my dear," he purred in a deep, velvet voice. "What any jilted, tormented lover would want; closure."
Her mind twisted. Lover? Jilted? Tormented? His voice seemed familiar, yet somehow not...
He bent slightly at the waist, bringing his mask down closer. "Come now," he chided. "Was it really so very easy for you to sentence me to die; and at a government sponsored hell hole at that?"
It was then that her brain made the last connections, recognizing the voice as one from her past, though much changed in inflection and pitch. It was HIS voice; the one she had heard in her dreams for many years now, the one that, in those dreams, had amicably chatted with her over tea and assured her that she was forgiven.
But now that voice was altered... it was seductive, sensual and something more; dangerous. Very dangerous.
She stopped breathing, in shock at the discovery that this man, the demon she most feared these days, the infamous V, was in fact the man she had once married, then despised and reviled as a spineless bookworm.
His voice dropped into an even deeper range, sounding like a growl as he continued, "Was I really that insignificant in comparison to your aspirations that you could send me off to die so horribly, besmirch me with a false drunk driving death and then so completely forget about it?"
"My God..."
He laughed softly, humorlessly. "Oh, that is not the name you knew me by."
Reaching down, he grasped a large handful of hair at the base of her skull and pulled her up to her feet to face him.
"What are you going to do? Are you going to kill me, Vance?" she asked bravely, while her legs, unknown to him, trembled with fear.
The man known as V froze, an audible gasp escaping him. The hand that gripped her hair so tightly loosened its grip somewhat.
Whatever just happened? Was he, of all people, shocked by her conviction that he was there to kill her?
Quickly, she brought her knee up, aiming for his crotch.
He was far too fast.
With a humorless laugh, he batted her leg aside with a powerful blow to her inside thigh. The pain of it brought tears to her eyes and made her cry out.
Then his fingers tightened their grip once more and lifter her higher; as though she weighed nothing. She cried out again as she was lifted onto her toes and shaken until she bit her cheek.
"Come now; one would think that after all these years you'd stop trying to emasculate me." The mask drew closer. "By the way, tell me my dear; did you ever have any children?" he asked dangerously, nearly bumped her nose with his ceramic one.
"No," she squeaked.
"Good," he ground out. "I would hate to know that there were more like you in the world." He shook her again then threw her casually to the floor, where she lay disoriented and in pain for a moment.
When she was again able to think, she wiped the blood from her mouth and glared up at him.
"You didn't answer my question," she spat.
Only then did she realize that he had a long dagger in his hand and that he was tapping the flat of the blade against the open palm of his other hand as he studied her.
"I should kill you for the things you did to me," he said, in a quiet, dangerous voice.
Hope blossomed within her; he wasn't here to kill her after all...
"Yet, when all is said and done," he continued. "I will kill you instead for all the things you did to your country, its people; all those you used and sent on to their deaths, but most of all I will gladly kill you for what you had done to Evey Hammond."
"Your paramour..." She snorted. "Come now, you could have done better than a ward-of-the-state juvenile reject like her. Besides, I had no idea that you were V."
She heard him hiss and looking at him carefully she realized quite too late that her words had enraged him; he was literally shaking with barely controlled fury. When he spoke, his voice was low and menacing.
"You knew the risk when you dared to attack her, regardless of my true identity. You had to know that I would come for you; you wanted just that. You wanted to bring me out in the open." He gestured at himself dramatically. "And here I am, just as you had wished, although I fear that it is not I who will be dying this night..."
"You can't mean it!" she pleaded as panic set in. "Can't you remember a time when you once loved me?"
Again she heard a low laugh come from the mask. "Surely you jest?" he managed to choke out. Then, abruptly the laughing stopped. "There is, however, something I would like of you before we conclude this; our last meeting in this life..."
She couldn't even ask what he wanted, so frightened was she. This definitely was not the same man she had been married to all those years ago! He was radically changed.
If only he had been this way then...
Apparently having reached some decision, he sheathed his blade, reached down and again dragged her to her feet, this time by the back of her neck.
"I would like, for old time's sake... a kiss," he whispered near her ear. "Yes, a kiss so that you can see my face one last time."
"Your... f.f.f.face?" she stuttered; shocked, terrified, yet thrilled at the thought that she would actually see the man once more; see the face hidden from the rest of the world.
He nodded.
Reaching behind his wig, he undid the ties to the mask and without further adieu, let it drop away from his face.
And once again her breath caught in her throat. She almost could not comprehend what she was seeing... and before she could take that much-needed breath, his mouth was on hers, causing her to stiffen in place and lock up in terror.
Gripping her neck painfully, he pressed her to him, his tongue invading her mouth, plundering, preventing her from breathing as she struggled and tried to push him away.
His kiss was an attack; a deliberately cruel way of paying her back for the events which had led to the new face that now pressed against hers. Somehow, in the midst of her terror, she knew it.
When her vision grew dim and she thought she would faint, he withdrew, but not before biting her sharply on the lip and drawing her blood.
Then he did something, which in her mind proved him mad; he slowly licked the blood from her lip with a single pass of his tongue.
"'Avaunt and quit my sight! Let the earth hide thee!'" he quoted. "'Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold; Thou hast no speculation in those eyes which thou dost glare with!'"
She drew in a ragged gasp of air, then another before she could truly take a proper breath. Her head was swimming as his eyes; eyes she recognized, watched her intently.
Somehow her mind insisted on blanking out his ruined face and concentrated instead only on his eyes. And truth be told, she never had forgotten them; the deepest blue eyes she had ever seen... blue as a newborn babe's cobalt gaze.
Something in his eyes changed as he noted her expression. They seemed to soften somewhat. Perhaps he felt a sudden doubt about the situation. Perhaps he remembered the few good times they had shared.
Either way, he denied anything he might be feeling by pushing her away with far less force than he might otherwise have used.
She stumbled backwards and landed on the bed. By the time she looked up, the mask was back in place and the dagger back in his hand.
"I've decided to give you a chance, Giselle," he said, his voice carrying like a professional announcer's. "It's a chance you never gave me; a fighting chance."
He pointed at the gun, which lay on the carpet across the room.
"You have a gun. I have my knives." He spun one up through the air and caught it by its hilt to prove his point. "I'll be waiting for you on the roof outside your window. You can either face me fairly or choose your usual cowardly way and remain here... in which case you'll know at least something of what I endured in the moments before you perish."
"You see; I've a bomb set to detonate outside your door in just two minutes. It's an incendiary one," he added with relish. "Don't take too long to make up your mind."
He put one leg through the window and in a swirl of his black cloak, disappeared.
Her eyes turned towards the gun on the floor and her heart began skipping beats as terror overcame her...
Her right hand was useless; she would have to use her left to wield her only weapon!
V perched upon the spine of the roof where he had been when Giselle had first seen him and sheathed his dagger. He was well aware that she had no use of her right hand and the gentleman in him demanded that he give her at least some small chance.
Then he waited...
And while he waited he tried desperately not to think about what she had called him or of the images that name had unlocked within his head. If he thought about it, he would surely have a breakdown.
Thirty seconds ticked by, then forty-five...
Would she burn rather than even try to best him?
Then there came a sudden "pop"; the sound of the gun discharging and he realized that she had taken a third way out; the one he hadn't brought up as an option.
Quite honestly, he was surprised that she had the guts to do it.
Or had she? It might be a trick. He decided to stay put for another thirty seconds.
Right on time the bomb detonated as he dropped down flat on the other side of the spine to avoid any flying debris. Then he was back up and making for the window, achieving it in just two bounds.
He peered inside and saw the door was blown open and blackened while flames climbed ever higher around it and within the room. The hallway beyond was an inferno and already the heat near the window was becoming unbearable. He wouldn't be able to remain much longer without risking the little skin he had left; yet he refused to leave until he confirmed that Giselle was no more.
Suddenly something hit him hard, driving him back a pace and radiating hot pain through his right arm... even as the sound of the gunshot finally caught up with him.
Giselle appeared at the window, her clothes smoldering, her mouth pulled back in an obscene rictus at the pain of the intense heat charring her back. She was making a break for it, climbing out the window even as she leveled the gun at him once more.
Unfortunately for her, he was still too close and far too fast to take another bullet. Without hesitation, he stepped forward and punched her full force in the face.
So much for being a gentleman…
She flew backward like a broken puppet, landing far back in the room where she was instantly embraced by fire.
She didn't move again, nor make a sound.
His blow must have killed her, sparing her any further agony.
Pity...
At least he could take comfort in the fact that his blow had spared her further pain. As it turned out, his punch had been the gentlemanly thing to do.
Without further delay, he turned and leaped off the roof, then stalked away as the house went up in flames behind him.
In the distance multiple explosions could be heard, followed by the sound of sirens.
"Holy!" Dominic exclaimed as the residence in the Hyde Park area blew sky high in a cascade of stone and fire. Multiple secondary explosions obliterated what was left of it even as V's signature fireworks lit the sky with his initial and a show celebrating the end of dangerous threat.
Finch jumped from the van to watch from outside and was quickly joined by his partner. Both gaped at the display.
"Sir, did you have any inkling that he was going to do this?" Dominic finally managed to ask.
"I can't say that I did," came the tired response. "I guess we now why he wanted the explosives, eh?"
Just then the horizon was lit by several more explosions and fireworks displays.
"Looks like he took out the entire lot of them," Finch commented, this time with a sad smile.
"Boy, won't the boys at the Yard be beside themselves over this?" Dominic added.
Right on cue, Finch's phone rang. He looked at the display, then at his partner. "That's the boss now," he laughed.
"What will you tell him?"
"The truth, Dominic, the truth... except the part where we let him keep the explosives. We'll just tell him that they... vanished."
V perched atop the tallest building in the subdivision of Marylebone. From his current location he'd been able to survey his handiwork in areas all around him as well as the ensuing mayhem.
Yet, now as the fires died down before the might of the various fire brigades, his thoughts turned back towards Giselle.
For the first time he could recall, he felt a gaping emptiness after carrying out a mission of justice.
Oh, he knew she had to die; that no court would have handed down justice to a woman with her connections, not on the mere say-so of a Chief Inspector, his Detective and a Vigilante; not even with any hard evidence they submitted. He also knew that she had to die not for his protection but for the protection of England herself. Not to mention that he would have gladly killed her without question simply for what she had her people do to his Evey.
No. despite all that, his heart was aching over this and he was having a very hard time understanding precisely why. After all, he didn't remember very much about her, only a few snippets of memory; some good, most bad.
He sighed. In the end, he might as well admit that what he was feeling was guilt. He'd killed her, no matter that she had to die and that he'd given her a fighting chance.
In the end he had killed her; she who had once been his wife, his lover; she who was the last person to know who he once had been.
And perhaps that was why he mourned her; she had truly known the "him" who had died at Larkhill.
"Then let them rest together," he said aloud, surprising himself. "They have no place in this new world. I am V, not Vance, not Vartan. And my story is only just beginning."
He rose from his crouch then and stood straight, suddenly at peace with himself.
He knew who he was now and that was what mattered.
What was more; he knew whom he loved.
It was time to pay her a goodnight visit.
Next time: Epilogue; Rebirth