The sound of a couple car doors slamming snaps him back to reality and he quickly realizes that the twins must have heard the gunshot. V barely manages to lock the front door seconds before the boys hit it at a full run. A second later they're pounding on the portal and screaming for their mother to answer.
With a swish of his cloak, V goes into the kitchen to get the items he needs to help her. He's watched the house for so long that he is well aware where everything is kept and he swiftly collects what he needs. When he returns to the living room, he finds the woman has dragged herself to her dead husband's side and is currently trying to dislodge the knife from his chest.
"I can assure, madam, that he's quite dead and removing the blade will do no good," V tells her.
She ignores him as she continues her struggle with the lethal weapon. After a few more seconds, she manages to leverage the thing out and blood covers the blade causing her to audibly swallow and her face to pale even further than it had been. Curiosity holds him in place until he sees her starting to turn the knife on herself. In one swift move, he snatches the dagger from her hand and drops it behind him as he kneels down beside her.
"There will be none of that foolishness," he softly reprimands her completely ignoring the fact that the pounding on the front door has ceased.
"Do you have any idea what the Fingermen will do to me if they get their hands on me?" she hisses in combination of pain and anger.
"More than you can possibly imagine, madam," he replies as he easily lifts her and moves her closer to a lamp.
Fortunately, Jones hadn't gotten around to turning off the electric lights when V interrupted him and he sets her down on the couch, ignoring her wiggling to get away from him. He flips her over when he can't find any sign of the wound on her front or sides. He smirks under his mask when he finds that the bullet has lodge itself into her backside.
"I certainly hope this is not a sign of things to come," he states a bit jovially as he presses the dishtowels to the wound and starts trying to tie the compress to her even though she's struggling to get away. "Madam, please hold still. I will not end your life and will not let the Fingermen get their hands on you."
"Why?" she asks in a soft southern drawl as she ceases her struggles.
"I've been wondering that myself," he answers as he ties the makeshift compress to her derrière. "Suffice it to say, for the time being, you're safer with me than at your 'sister's' house."
"The boys," she whimpers, leaning her head against the arm of the couch.
"Will be sent to their aunt," he assures her.
"How…?" she starts to question.
"The government will not spend the money to raise children if they can be foisted off on a relative," he interrupts as he goes to collect his knives and she starts to struggle to get upright. "Stay still."
She immediately goes motionless as he wipes the blood off of his blades and sheaths them once more. After leaving a red rose on top of Jones, he pulls off his cape and wraps her up in it. He easily lifts her and heads for the back just as sound of the first siren reaches their ears. He's out the door and across the backyard in a blink of an eye and opens the back gate only to be confronted by an identical pair of boys.
"What are you doing with our mum?" the first one demands as he reaches for her.
Instead of answering, V muscles his way past the twins and starts to run at a speed that shouldn't be possible for an unburdened man, much less one who's carrying a full grown woman. The twins try to give chase, yelling at V to stop, but they are easily out distanced in a matter of seconds and a short time later the shouting discontinues as well. He moves quickly and silently, ignoring the trembling body in his arms until they finally reach the safety of the underground tunnels he normally traverses. Once there, he looks down and sees tears traveling down her cheeks.
"Is the pain that bad?" he asks, not slowing his pace and barely even breathing heavily.
She only shakes her head 'no' but says nothing else. He registers this in his brain but just continues on their journey, neither speeding it up nor slowing down. By the time they reach his home, the tears have stopped but a sadness remains in her eyes. He's just glad they made it back without incident and without her bleeding to death.
He shoulders his way past the door and then stops dead in the main entry way into his home. Normally he would simply retire to the kitchen and bandage his wounds there, but this time is different. Quite a bit different in fact.
Where to put her? He could put her on the couch, but the lighting in there is poor for what he needs to do. The lighting is good here, but the only place to put her is on the floor. Not exactly conducive to cleaning a wound and not inviting infection in.
That leaves only one place and while the thought greatly displeases him, he sees no other alternative. With a few bold strides, he's through another door, down the hall and through one final door. Once he reaches his goal, he very carefully lowers her onto his bed and quickly rolls her onto her stomach. She lets out a small gasp of pain, but other than that, she makes no sound and doesn't move.
"Wait here, I'll be back," he says as he straightens up and heads for the door.
He goes and collects the medical items he'll need and returns to the bedroom to find she hasn't moved. He's rather surprised to see that she hasn't at least attempted to free herself of his cloak, but he supposes that since she's lying on the edges that she probably tried to free herself and was unable. After placing the tray with the medical supplies on the nightstand, he carefully removes her from her cocoon but leaves the cloak under her to protect the bedding from her blood.
The first order of business is getting a better look at the wound so he removes the compress, picks up a pair of scissors and then begins to cut his way up her slacks. He notices the muscles tense, but other than that she voices no objection to the destruction of her clothes. As soon as the pants and panties have been cut away, he peels them back to reveal the one buttock and leg. There is evidence of old beatings if the multitude of scars is any indication and he wishes he could kill Jones all over again but this time much more slowly.
He carefully checks and it's evident that the bullet is still lodged inside the muscle. He thanks whatever god might be listening that the bullet had ricocheted instead of being a direct shot. Had the bullet taken the direct route into her body she would most likely be dead now.
He looks up at her face and sees her watching him with a combination of sadness and fear in her eyes. She quickly averts her eyes when she notices him looking back at her as she convulsively swallows. Her breath is fast and shallow as her body trembles in what he assumes must be pain.
"I will give you a shot for the pain," he tells her as he picks up a bottle and a syringe. "You may not want to watch. The bullet is still in there and must be removed. This will sting a bit."
She gives a little snort of mirth before turning her head to look away as he administers the shot. While he waits for the drug to take effect, he readies the other instruments he will need. He glances briefly up at her again before he starts and is a bit startled by the fact that she's still trembling and her breathing is still irregular. He assumes that since that her entire world has been turned upside down in just under an hour and she watched as her husband was murdered, that her reaction is understandable.
"Can you feel this?" he asks as he pokes at the skin near the wound and she shakes her head now. "Good. I'm going to remove the bullet now."
He checks to make sure she is not watching, removes his leather gloves and replaces them with a pair of surgical gloves. He then turns his attention to removing the bullet. His world shrinks down to the extraction of the offensive object and he's not sure how much time goes by until at long last he sutures up the wound. After he bandages the abused area, he pulls off the medical gloves and tosses them onto the tray with the rest of the equipment and then replaces his more familiar leather gloves, feeling the muscles in his shoulders and neck relax once they're on.
"How are you feeling?" he asks.
She doesn't respond, instead she slightly rolls onto her left side, places her right thumb against her chest and wiggles her fingers. He tilts his head at her curious response and she glances at him, quickly looking away as she lies back down on her front.
"Fine," she whispers and a shiver runs through her body.
"Good," he states as he pulls out another bottle and syringe. "I'm going to give you a shot of antibiotics. When I'm done, I want you to get some rest."
She doesn't respond and as he gives her the injection, she lies there passively. He's curious as to her silence, but he passes off as the shock and trauma of the evening. He gets her situated in his bed and then leaves the room with the tray and blood soaked cloak and compress, turning off the lights as he goes. When he checks in on her a while later, she's sound asleep and with a nod of satisfaction, he leaves to go run an errand.
She wakes the next morning in a strange bed, in a strange room and to make matters even worse, there's a strange man sleeping on top of the covers next to her in the bed. The smell of antiseptic, musty books and leather registers on her brain as the events from earlier come rushing to the forefront of her mind. She buries her face in her pillow and silently cries as she remembers the looks on the faces of the twins when she last saw them, knowing that she'll never see them again. After the tears run out, she just lies there feeling miserable, face down in the pillow.
"Drink," he says, startling her.
She gives a little jump and the gasp of surprise turns into a whimper of pain. He's standing next to the bed holding a glass of water and she's not too surprised that she never noticed him getting out of the bed or even turn on the light. She finally takes a good look at him while she takes the glass from him and starts to drink while trying to make it appear that she's not staring.
He's dressed as he was before, all in black with a wig and a Guy Fawks mask on, though the knives, cloak and hat are nowhere to be seen. When it appears that he's watching her as intently, she quickly looks away and finishes her water. When she's done, he takes the glass and sets it on the nightstand.
"Are you in pain?" he asks.
She nods as she lies there trying to ignore the fact that it feels like her backside is on fire. She thought she was used to pain, but no beating ever felt like this, like someone was jabbing a red hot poker into her body. She trembles as the pain seems to grow and spread throughout her body now that she's acknowledged its existence.
"I will get you something for the pain in a moment," he tells her. "I want to take a look at your injury so please hold still."
She silently does as she's told while he flips back the covers and examines his work. He gives a sad sigh at what he finds and then pulls the bedding back over her body. She lies there, ignoring a rather inconvenient demand of her body as he straightens up and picks up the glass.
"I'm going to give you another shot of antibiotics," he informs her, finding it curious that she won't look at his face for more than a few seconds at a time. "I will back momentarily."
She listens to him leave the room and once she's sure he's gone, she flips her pillow over so she's no longer resting on the wet spot. Then she takes a look around the room that she's in while she waits. She hopes to find a clue to…she's not sure what.
She first takes note of the large bed she's in. It's a four poster bed made of what looks to be mahogany, obviously very old since that tree has been extinct for nearly twenty years. The dresser and nightstands are made of the same wood and seem to be part of a set. They're also the most normal things about the room.
There are books everywhere piled up to near the ceiling, boxes are stacked almost haphazardly in one of the corners and there are what appear to be several pieces of artwork leaning against a wall as if waiting to be hung. Bare wires are hung along the stone ceiling and walls and that's obviously where the power for the lights is coming from. But the strangest and quite possibly the most disturbing thing about the room is that there are no windows. This can mean only one thing. They're underground and she will probably never see the sun again.
He watches her from the shadow of the door way as she looks around his room. When she's done giving the place the once over, she gives a sad sigh and lies her head back down on the pillow. He steps fully into the room making sure she hears him this time but all she does is give him a quick glance before going back to staring into space. She's obviously depressed, but he finds it understandable.
He places the syringes on the nightstand and then flips back the covers again. He quickly gives her the injections before covering her up again and she sighs with relief as the pain medication begins to do its job. He leaves only to return a minute later with her bag in hand which causes her eyebrows to rise.
"I was able to get your luggage before the authorities could take it away," he tells her as he puts the bag down on the floor next to her. "I would suggest that you not wear slacks until your injury has healed. I imagine that at this point you have need of the lavatory. Am I correct?"
She simply nods her response and he lets out a puff of air as he's getting a bit frustrated with her silence.
"I will help you to the facilities," he states.
He again exposes her to the air as he pulls back the covers and starts to gently pull her out of the bed. She struggles to her feet and almost immediately collapses as the pain shoots through her body. Fortunately, he had no intention of letting her go so she never makes it to the floor. He picks up her bag and then leads her into the bathroom, where he leaves her.
"Take your time, but do not attempt to bathe just yet," he instructs as he's shutting the door. "Your stitches need time to heal before you can get them wet. I will be back shortly to help you back to bed."
She nods her understanding and he finally closes the door. Leaning heavily on the sink, she makes her way to the toilet and finally relieves the pressure in her bladder with a sigh of relief. Once she's done, she struggles to stand up, leaving her ruined slacks and panties on the floor for now. She never realized what a pleasure sitting comfortably could be. Unfortunately, it's a luxury that she will not be seeing anytime soon thanks to that bullet.
She hobbles over to the sink and assesses the damage done by crying and sleeping with her makeup still on. Frightening doesn't even begin to cover it. She digs around in her bag and comes out with her toiletry bag. After washing her face, she contemplates reapplying the makeup but changes her mind when she remembers that she will probably be spending a lot of time lying on her stomach and makeup is a pain to get out of sheets.
After replacing the smaller bag in the larger one, she digs around until she can find the only thing that won't interfere with her injury. She slips into her pajama top and forgoes putting on the bottoms or fresh panties since he probably wouldn't want them on her anyways. She realizes she doesn't know this man's name, and somehow, this doesn't bother her at all. Names don't matter to a person like her. As she stuffs everything back into her bag with the exception being her ruined clothing, there's a knock on the door that makes her jump.
"Are you finished?" he asks through the door and she responds with a short whistle. "I do not speak whistle, madam."
"Sorry," she quietly mumbles after opening the door with her ruined clothes under her arm and her bag in hand.
"Leave those things," he instructs pulling the bloodied clothing from her and she puts the bag down. "I will throw these away. Now, let us get you back to bed. You will need your rest."
She quietly lets him lead her back to bed to find that he's changed the sheets. He helps her back into the bed, ignoring the fact that she's only wearing a shirt that comes down to her waist. He questions her morality a bit since she doesn't seem to have any shame in this fact, but then, his morality might be left in question as well, so who is he to talk.
"I must leave for a while," he tells her as she settles down under the sheets. "I've placed some food on the nightstand should you get hungry. Other than to use the restroom, I want you to stay in bed. Is that understood?"
She nods and with a slight frown no one can see, he exits the room. A short time later she can hear a distant door shut and with a sad sigh, she settles down to rest as instructed. Memories of when her life started to go all wrong and she quickly stuffs them into the back of her mind. She refuses to think, she refuses to remember and after a while she gladly slips back into unconsciousness. For in her dreams is the only place where she is truly free.