Evey stood before the metal door leading to the Shadow Gallery, key in her hand. She simply stared at the entrance. It had been nearly a week since V had past away. No, she thought. He hadn't passed away; he had given his life to his ideal. And he had left her his home and all the possessions that were therein. She slowly lifted her hand and put the key in the lock. She took a deep breath and turned the key, then pushed the door open.
She stepped in and flicked the light switch on the wall to her right. Her eyes wandered over the objects that were before her, and suddenly she felt nervous, almost like an intruder. The responsibility of taking care of these treasures weighed heavily on her, and Evey considered leaving the room and locking it forever behind her. At least then the items would be safe.
She continued to walk inside, however, knowing that V would disapprove of her ponderings. He would want her to share these paintings, sculptures, and books with her loved ones.
If she had had any.
She sighed, stepping to a sculpture of Buddha that looked very, very old. She reached out to run her hand over the cool stone, and felt a pain run through her. She would never again learn about the world from V. They would never again sit and watch a film together, or discuss a novel that she had found in her room. All she had now were his possessions, and while they reflected his taste, ideas, and principals, she decided she would rather have the man.
Evey continued through the gallery. Since the fifth of November, she had been trying to prepare herself emotionally for the moment she would stand in V's house alone. She had decided to donate his works of art to the museums once they opened again. Most of his books would also go to the recently reopened library. She would, however, keep his DVD of The Count of Monte Cristo, along with his jukebox.
She turned to look into his kitchen, and giggled slightly, remembering the sight of that tall, imposing man wearing that apron and cooking eggs. She felt tears form in her eyes, and the urge to find something of his that was truly of him, not merely collected by him, rose within her. She exited the kitchen, and headed toward the door that led to the one room she had never been in.
Walking into V's bedroom felt intrusive somehow. She turned on the light and visually examined the room. It was certainly neater than the room she had slept in. The walls had no mirrors on them, only a couple of prints. One was an old movie poster, and another was an abstract painting with splashes and drops of grayscale paint. A book shelf lined the wall. Evey went over to it and examined the titles. She was surprised that he, same as Gordon, had a copy of the Koran, along with the Bible, the Mahabharata, and other books on the subject of religion. Works by Nietzsche, Plato, and Kant were also nestled in the book case. She assumed those books that were most important to him were kept in his room. She smiled as she ran her fingertips along the spines, and walked to the other side of the room.
V's CD player stood on small table, and CDs were piled next to it. The Sex Pistols, Faust, Beethoven, Dizzy Gillespie… She wondered if this was the music he had listened to before he went to bed for the last time. She opened the CD player and found a disc entitled Burning from the Inside. She closed the player, and started the disc.
As the music washed over her, she turned to look at V's bed. It was covered with a black and red blanket, the pillows quite thick. She stepped to it and leaned down as she reached out to run her hand over the soft cover. A part of her longed to climb into the bed in order to feel closer to him, but she resisted and merely sat on the edge. There was a bedside table with a drawer. After a few moments of consideration, she opened it. Not much was inside: only a sketchbook. Evey pulled it out and placed it in her lap while crossing her legs. She ran her hand over the navy blue cover, and then opened it.
There were not many drawings, mostly jotted down thoughts. She felt lucky, then, as if she had found the only window left to this man's true soul. She paged through the book, pausing once in a while to study a page's contents. One page had "Does God have a face?" scrawled across it. The facing one: "Do I?" She kept thumbing through the book, stopping at some sketches. They were of things in nature, flowers. She turned the page, and there were scenes of nightmares. A building crumbling in fire, dead bodies being buried in the ground. She remembered that V had told her about a fire he had been in, and understood that this was his way to deal with the memories. She flipped to the next page.
Evey was a bit shocked to find vague sketches of couples locked in embrace. Tears formed in her eyes again and she smiled, recalling the dance she had shared with V the night before he died. Sighing, she turned the page again, and found sketches of her face at different angles. Her smile grew, and small sobs escaped her body. Damn him, she thought. Damn him for having to die, for refusing to leave with me. She chewed her bottom lip and closed the sketch book. She looked into the drawer once more, and found a photograph that had been laid under the book. She pulled it out; it was a picture of her. She assumed that V had snuck into her flat one night and taken it for his own safe keeping. She turned it over, and in V's neat hand "Evey" was written. She tucked it inside the book and stood up. She turned off the CD player, and the lamp, and left the room.
Evey headed toward the exit. She would return again another day. Perhaps she would bring Detective Finch, and he could be the first person she could share V's life with. For now, she had to get home and study this book, and solve more of the mystery behind the man.