Here we are again! I understand that this chapter is somewhat longer than the other ones, but it makes up for a longer wait! So I shall bore you no longer with meaningless author's notes, but here we go…

V

As the final sounds of music died away, and the credits began to roll, V turned to look at Evey, sitting next to him on the sofa. "Did you like it?"

"Yeah." She nodded. "But it made me feel sorry for Mercedes."

"Why?" V asked, as if he couldn't comprehend why anyone should have different views to him about his favourite film.

"Because he cared more about revenge than he did about her." Evey replied, still gazing at the screen.

"But Evey, she gets the guy at the end, and they all live happily ever after." I said, twisting from my position on the floor to look round at her in disbelief. "What's not to love?"

Suddenly, a news report flashed up on the screen, interrupting the feel-good atmosphere in the room. "A man known to the entire nation as, 'The Voice Of London…'

"Wait. What's this?" Evey leaned forward in her seat.

"…passed away last night from evident heart failure."

"She's lying." Evey said flatly, watching the screen.

"How do you know?" V asked her, as if intently.

"Because she always blinks a lot when she does a story she knows isn't true." I say, focusing my attention on the screen as the newsreader spoke on. I couldn't believe it. Lewis Prothero, dead. Yet, I had a feeling that there was something there that wasn't right. And it wasn't a very nice feeling, either.

"Lewis, you will be sorely missed." The screen zapped into silence as V pressed Mute.

"V." There was a slight edge to Evey's voice. "Yesterday, I couldn't find my ID. You didn't take it, did you?"

With a jolt, I remembered how yesterday, Evey had begun tipping things out of her purse, looking for her lost ID card. She had asked me if I'd seen it. I'd replied in the negative but said I would look out for it.

"Would you prefer a lie, or the truth?" V asked evenly.

"You took it, didn't you?" I turned to stare at V, incredulously, with a tiny chill of horror making its way down my spine as I put two and two together. With the ID card stolen, and Lewis Prothero dead, it could only mean one thing. "And you killed him."

Evey's expression of shock and horror mirrored mine. "Oh my God! You–" Words seemed to fail her. "Are you going to kill me, or Vanessa?"

"Or my mum?" I whispered in dread, realizing that since she was (or had been) Prothero's assistant, there was nothing stopping V from committing another murder now.

V shook his head. "I would never dream of harming either of you, and especially not your mother, Vanessa."

The tight band of worry that seemed continuously wrapped around my chest loosened slightly, making it easier for me to breathe.

But V spoke on, a hard edge creeping into his voice. "However, it is not Prothero that will serve this country next, but justice. And because justice goes hand-in-hand with violence, this simply leaves me no other option. Needless to say, violence can be used for good. There's no court in this country for men like Prothero."

And that was the moment that sealed the deal for me. I decided that there was no other option for me, but to get the hell out of there.

A few weeks or so later, I found myself walking quickly down the cold, stone pavement of Chester Street, as the moon was just starting to shine out from the clouds.

For the past few weeks, I had kept up the pretense that everything was normal. Neither Evey or V appeared to notice anything, but at times, I had my suspicions about V. But if he did notice that something didn't seem right, he made no attempt to question me.

On the night before I left the Shadow Gallery, I sat on my bed, trying to figure out what I was actually going to do when I got out of there. Where I was going to go. Home was out of the question. I didn't even dare to contemplate what would happen if I suddenly showed up at Number 23, East Street. I dug in the inside pockets of my jacket and found a twenty-pound note, left over from that day about town. Hmm. Just enough money for a train fare to get me out of town, and up towards Nottingham, where Aunt Jo, Mum's older sister lived. I liked Aunt Jo. She'd often ring up Mum and I to tell us her news, and never had anything bad to say about anybody. When I was little, we'd go over to her house to stay, and she'd always tell me stories about when she and Mum were girls. She encouraged me to draw pictures, too, and I'd always spend hours on end drawing things I found around her house.

I felt pretty confident that I'd be pretty safe. Nobody would try looking for me there.

And there was something else that slid out of the inside of my jacket and onto the floor. The copy of Wuthering Heights that I'd bought from the bookstore.

I stared at it, then picked it up and flicked to the few blank pages at the back. I had no idea where V kept his writing paper, and didn't want to raise his suspicions by doing so. Holding the paper down with my sleeve, disguising my handwriting, I wrote in untidy capitals:

YOUR DAUGHTER IS SAFE, ALIVE AND WELL. THIS IS FOR YOUR EYES ONLY. KEEP IN MIND THAT YOUR OWN SAFETY DEPENDS ON YOUR ACTIONS.

I ripped that piece of paper lengthwise and tucked it carefully away.

On the second piece of paper, in my own handwriting, I wrote:

Dear V and Evey,

I know that you've done all you can to protect me, and I can't thank you enough. I'll always be grateful, especially to you, V. But the time has come for me to leave. I won't be going home, but somewhere else entirely, where they won't find me. I know where I'm going, and what I have to do to get there, so don't worry about me.

Thanks for everything, honestly.

– Vanessa

I left my goodbye note on the kitchen table, carefully pulled the door open, not making a sound, and left the Shadow Gallery behind, for what I thought would be forever.

I slumped on a bench at St Pancras railway station, and tried to get a hold of myself. Nobody had recognized me yet, which was a good sign. I'd pulled my hood up, and tucked my hair into the back of my jacket so it looked shorter, and messed it round to look like I had a side-fringe. Now, all I had to do was wait for the train to come in. But I found myself wondering, how long had it been since all this started? It couldn't have been more than a couple of months. Christmas had come and gone, and I had barely even noticed. Well, that was a first.

I'd managed to deliver the note to my mother without catching anyone's attention. It had been a question of casually walking past the house in my 'disguise' (though it took all my willpower not to turn back) and then quickly posting the letter through the mailbox. And now, here I was, about to go to Nottingham with no idea what awaited me there, and trying not to look as though I was a teenage runaway.

"You getting on, or what?"

I jumped up, startled by the voice of the conductor. "Yes, thank you. Sorry, I was daydreaming."

"Kids these days. Well, don't fall asleep on that train, now." He chuckled, then walked away, whistling to himself.

Once on the train, I collapsed in a seat by the window, and tried to clear my head. Try as I might, though, I couldn't help but think of V and Evey, and how they might react when they found out that I had left. I wasn't sure.

"Excuse me, can I sit here?"

I glanced up at the sound of the voice, and found myself looking at a boy of about my age, maybe a little older with wavy dark brown hair and light blue eyes, and carrying a black backpack. He was wearing jeans and a green IRFU rugby top, and was looking at me questioningly. It dawned on me a second later that he was waiting for me to answer the question.

"Yeah, sure. Go ahead." I nodded at the space opposite me.

The boy sat down with a grateful smile. "Thanks." I noticed his accent was Irish, presumably from a northern area. "Headed anywhere special?"

"To my aunt's house. For a surprise visit." It certainly would be a surprise, I thought. "You?"

He shrugged. "Not really. Well, me parents are going to meet me at Nottingham, but that's as far as I know." He stared out the window at the scenery flashing past. "We haven't been in England very long, only a few months. We came here because–" He suddenly cut himself off, as if he had said too much, then looked at me with a brief smile. "Anyway, what's your name?"

What was my name? I quickly cast my mind around for a name, and it landed on–

"Evey. I'm Evey."

"I'm Patrick O'Connor. Nice to meet you, Evey." I smiled and shook his outstretched hand, noticing that as I did, felt a small weight lift from my shoulders.

For an hour, Patrick and I talked together. He and his parents had arrived in London from Belfast about three months ago, in order to escape an outburst of political rebellion. From what he told me, I gathered that the Irish government didn't seem to be happy with the way things were run. They had reinstated detention camps, and had started up 're-education centers' for children whose parents had been either black-bagged and put into the camps, or executed. Every person aged eighteen and over was forced to vote once a year for members of government, and were threatened with torture if they didn't do so. The demand for health care had risen due to suspicious outbreaks of influenza or other diseases, but a lack of medical services meant that many people died as a result.

I told him my history, too, but only the bits that I wanted him to hear. I told him about living in London, mixing fact with fiction when I felt it necessary to do so. I told him about my school and my home, and bits that I knew about what was going on in England. No worse than Belfast really, I told him, and left it at that.

I didn't notice that the train had slowed down until it stopped. Surprised, I checked my watch. "Are we there already?"

Patrick shook his head. "No. It's only been an hour, and we're supposed to be on this train for forty-six more minutes."

I peered out the window. "Think we've broken down?"

He shrugged. "Probably. Still, hopefully we won't be stuck here for very long."

Suddenly, the loudspeaker crackled into life outside our compartment. But the voice that spoke wasn't our driver. It was another man's, a deep voice with a threatening edge to it, sending chills down my spine.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. First, let me say that I am terribly sorry to interrupt your journey." The voice didn't sound sorry at all. "However, there is at present a matter which is of utmost importance. I advise you to listen carefully, as it requires your full attention."

The whole train was so silent that you could hear a pin drop.

"May I remind you of the punishment which awaits any man or woman who is associated with criminal activity?" the voice went on, seemingly pleasantly but coldly. "Any act which involves protesting against our Government using violence, explosives, persuasion techniques, or association with terrorism is punishable by death by firing squad. We have been regretfully informed that tonight, on this very train, there are some here who have become defiant towards our government, and as such, would not listen to these warnings. Therefore, this leaves us no other option but to find and kill you. You have been warned."

Patrick's face had gone white. A tingle of horror was seeping across my whole body, paralyzing me, making it impossible for me to move. I heard the heavy tread of boots outside our door, in the corridor.

How did they find me?

Patrick moved. Slowly, not making a sound, he got onto the floor and under his seat, motioning for me to do the same. I did as quickly as I could, listening for any sign that the black, uniformed officials stationed outside the door would come bursting in. The floorboards creaked as the guard outside our door walked slowly away from us, down to the other end of the train.

You have to get out of here. Now. Before they find you, a small voice in my head whispered. If I used the Emergency Exit now, no doubt they would hear and find me. Desperately, I cast my gaze around, praying for something, anything that would help.

And then I saw it. A circular hole in the floor, with a wooden built-in ring attached to it, reading, 'Twist To Open'. The hole looked big enough for both Patrick and I to climb out of. I signaled to Patrick, and pointed to the hole. He nodded and crawled forward, placing both his hands on the ring. I pulled at it, with all my might, and up it came to reveal a hole, leading to the tracks below. The night air breeze blew through the hole. Our key to the outside world.

The heavy tread of the boots outside had come considerably closer. No doubt they were interrogating people, shaking them aggressively, maybe even using a Pocket Taser to prove that they were serious. I hurriedly lowered myself down onto the tracks, motioning for Patrick to hurry up. He grabbed his backpack and jumped.

And without a backward glance, we were off and running, away from the train, and towards the possibility of being able to survive for another day.

"Where are we?" I asked breathlessly, once we had stopped running. I had had to stop myself from looking over my shoulder every five seconds, expecting to see guards chasing after us. Expecting to have my head zipped into a black bag, to feel myself being dragged away somewhere, to feel for a millisecond the bullets from a gun entering my body.

"Oxford." Patrick answered for me, as we walked together up a side street. "We'll have to find somewhere to stay and then decide what to do in the morning."

I agreed bleakly, as I tried to untangle my thoughts, trying to make sense of what had happened so far. Evey. V. My mother. The Shadow Gallery. The goodbye letter I had written. Meeting Patrick.

And most troubling of all, what had happened on the train.

"God, Evey, I can't believe that we got out of there." Patrick exclaimed if not a little shakily, from his seat on the battered-looking sofa in a cheap motel room, at Hadden's Inn.

My legs had only stopped feeling like water an hour ago. "What I don't understand is how they got onto the train." I ran a hand through my hair. "And how they knew that I was–"

I stopped myself short, but it was too late. I could see Patrick's brain working as he puts the pieces together. Finally, he spoke, in a quiet voice.

"They're looking for you?"

A jolt went through my body as I nodded, realizing that I couldn't keep my secret any longer.

"Yeah." I sighed, managing to look him in the face. He held my gaze for several seconds, then I found that I can't look at him any longer. I buried my face in my hands.

"Patrick, I'm so sorry. It's all my fault!" I cried, my voice slightly muffled. The words came out in a rush. "I'm not Evey. I'm Vanessa. Vanessa Breigon. And everyone, including my mother, thinks that I've been abducted by a terrorist, and they're all out looking for me, and I know for a fact that what happened on that train was because of me, and I'm the reason why we've ended up in this mess, and–" I cut myself off.

"Vanessa." Something in Patrick's voice made me lift my head up to look at him. A touch of sorrow crossed his face. "It's not your fault. If anything, it's mine."

"What would you have to do with it?" I choked out.

Patrick's voice became soft.

"Because I know for a fact that they weren't looking for you on that train, Vanessa. They were looking for me."

Wow, bet you didn't see that one coming! Or did you? Thoughts? Reviews? Anything? :D PS. I'm on holiday for three weeks, so in between the bouts of holiday homework (whyyy?) I'll do my best to get another chapter up!