Two weeks since he brought her here and what does he know about her? She's definitely from the South Eastern area of the former United States. When she does talk, and that's rarely, the accent is impossible to miss. Her eyes are green and if the roots of her growing out tresses are any indication, her hair is red, not brown.
It's been two weeks of caring for her and V is no closer to finding out this woman's real name than Finch is to finding V. He's frustrated by her stubborn refusal to stop calling herself Georgia. He lets out an aggravated puff of air as he lets the knife fly, landing square in the forehead of his target dummy.
With a deep breath, he closes his eyes and finds his center once more. He opens his eyes and then goes about cleaning up his play room. After more than three hours of venting his frustrations on practice dummies, he's no closer to any answers.
It takes him nearly an hour to set the room to rights and once he's done he heads for the bathroom to clean up. A shower, clean clothes and a hot meal will make him feel better, physically at least. A workout with real opponents will do his soul a world of good, so he decides that after dinner, he will go and find himself some…playmates.
As he crosses through the main part of Gallery, he sees she's still sitting where he left her nearly four hours ago. It doesn't look like she has moved so much as an inch from that spot on the couch. The movie he put in for her to watch must have ended a couple hours ago and now it's showing the government's version of the news.
"Have you been sitting there this whole time?" he asks, already knowing the answer and hating it.
"Yes, sir," she replies softly, wiping her face as discreetly as she can.
"Have you had anything to eat?" he questions, barely controlling his anger. "Have you used the bathroom?"
"No, sir," she quietly answers and he can see her starting to tremble again.
"Go use the facilities and then I want you to come right back here," he orders.
"Yes, sir," she responds as she bolts off of the couch and dashes down the hall to the bathroom.
He stares at the TV as it shows commercials on how to be 'better' English men and women, followed the 'latest' gizmo or gadget that people can't possibly live without and finally the 'best' laundry detergent guaranteed to get your clothes spotless. He casually wonders how that last one would work on blood, but then, since he wears mostly dark colors, it's not really a problem. He picks up the remote just as he hears her foot steps returning and the news comes back on.
"And to recap our top stories this evening," June announces to the camera. "The man who murdered Major Michael Oliver Jones and kidnapped his wife Georgia is still at large. Anyone with information to either the murderer or Mrs. Jones is asked to contact authorities at once. The price of water coupons will be going up again…"
V turns off the set while noting that she's two steps behind him and off to the left again, a habit of hers that's really starting to get on his nerves. He turns and looks at her, but she refuses to return his gaze as she stares at nothing just below eye level. He quickly reins his annoyance in, takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.
"Have you been watching the news since the movie ended?" he inquires.
"No, sir," she answers. "The Dietrich Show."
"Did you enjoy watching Mr. Dietrich?" he asks as he steps in front of her so that she at least has to stare at his chest.
"Dietrich was funny," she replies, staring at the stitching on his vest. "News was depressing."
"Yes, it must be…interesting to see 'yourself' in the news like that," he muses.
"They interviewed the twins," she states so quietly that he almost doesn't hear it.
He's speechless at this revelation and watches her in silence as she looks down at his boots. She's trembling and her ragged breathe tells him that she's trying to fight back the tears again. A dim little light of comprehension dawns on him about her obvious depression.
"You miss them," he states.
"Yes, sir" she whispers in a hissed out breath.
"I'm sorry," he sighs as he steps closer to her. "I can't allow you to see them again. The risk is too great."
She hugs herself as a sob wracks her body and her legs can no longer hold her weight. He grabs her to prevent her from falling to the floor and then guides her to the couch. He gets her to sit down and then goes and retrieves one of the boxes of facial tissues he had to acquire for her along with other essential items that are required when a sexually mature female suddenly moves into a bachelor's home. She takes the offered box and silently weeps as her shoulder length hair makes a curtain around her face.
He heads for the kitchen to start dinner and to allow her some privacy. When he returns with the waste paper basket in one hand and a cup of tea in the other, it looks like about half the box is wadded up in her lap. He holds the basket in front of her which she gladly dumps the used tissues into and then he hands her the cup. He takes a seat at the other end of the couch and puts the basket on the floor next to him.
"I am curious," he starts. "Why did you sit here and watch something that upsets you?"
"You told me too," she replies, her eyes and nose still red and swollen.
"Did I?" he asks with a head tilt.
"You said, 'sit and watch,'" she explains just before taking a sip of tea.
"Ah, so I did," he sadly agrees. "Do you always follow directions so precisely?"
"Yes, sir," she answers, looking like she's about to drop from exhaustion.
"Very well then, I see I will have to be more careful with my instructions," he states and thinks for a few moments. "I would like you to finish your tea and then return to your bedroom to get some rest. If you need to, please use the restroom. Dinner will be ready in about an hour; I will come and fetch you when it is time. Is that understood?"
"Yes, sir," she responds with a nod.
He watches passively as she finishes her tea as quickly as possible before retiring to her room. He waits until he's sure she's in her room before he goes to his own and collects his things. His shower is short, but invigorating as he now thinks he's a little closer to figuring her out.
He understands that for an unknown number of years, though he has a pretty good guess to how many, she has been abused, so she's only trying to prevent herself from getting another beating and that is perfectly understandable. She has been taken from her children by force and that easily explains the depression. While he can do nothing to ease her emotional pain, he now believes that he can help her become a little less fearful.
A little over an hour later, V wakes his guest and leads her to the kitchen where her dinner awaits her. He makes sure she's settled before disappearing into the depths of the gallery. When he returns he is dressed for an evening out with his knives strapped to his waist, his hat in hand and his cloak over his shoulders.
"I am going out," he tells her. "I'm not sure how long I will be gone. Please, feel free to do as you like with the exception that you do no intentional harm to yourself or my home. You may wander where you like, but please to not leave the Shadow Gallery and if a door is locked, stay out of that room. Is that understood?"
"Yes, sir," she replies with a nod.
"And one other thing," he puts in before he turns to go. "Do not call me 'sir.' I would much rather you called me V."
"Yes, si…V," she responds.
"Very good," he says, the smile can be heard in his voice. "And with that, I bid you a good evening, Georgia."
He gives her a deep bow and then with a swish of his cloak, he dons his hat and is gone. She sits as still as a statue until she hears the outer door close and the lock click in place. With a sigh, she puts her fork down and pushes the plate away.
She folds her arms up on the table and then lies her head down on them. The pain in her heart takes hold of her and she lets out a wail of despair. She cries as if her heart is being torn from her body and in a sense, it has been.
Somewhere down a dark tunnel, V is brought up short by the sound of someone in great emotional pain. Torn between pity for her dilemma and anger at the racket she's making, he stands and waits for the storm to pass. It takes about fifteen minutes before she quiets and he waits a while longer to make sure that she's done.
He starts his journey again hoping that she's gotten it out of her system. She keeps making noise like that and Finch won't have to search for them, he'll just have to follow the sound of her crying. Who knew that someone who barely talks above a whisper can make so much noise?
After the tears finally run dry she just sits there thinking. She sits up only when it gets too uncomfortable remain with her head down. She stares at her half finished dinner that's stone cold and goes over his words in her head.
He said to do whatever she likes as long as she doesn't try to hurt herself of his home. She hates it when she's not given clear instructions. So she does what she always does when left to her own devices: she cleans.
About half an hour later the kitchen has been cleaned within an inch of its life, not that it was all that difficult. V is such a neat and fastidious man that it's not natural, but then again, that pretty much describes V: not natural. She looks down and scowls at the floor as if has affronted her and in a sense, it has.
She knows how to clean carpet, tile and wood floors, but she's never had to clean stone before. However, she can at least sweep the blasted thing so she looks for the broom. She checks all of the cupboards and is unable to find the broom, so she goes in search of it.
She looks in the rooms she knows even though she's fairly sure it's not going to be there. With a pounding heart, so goes down the hallway that leads towards the back of the gallery, to rooms she's never been in. She checks doors and finds that most of them are locked. She finally gets to an unlocked door and ever so carefully, she pushes it open to darkness.
After fumbling around in the dark a bit, she finds the light switch and turns on the light. It's quite possibly the biggest room in this labyrinth and it simply takes her breath away. She can't help herself as she wanders deeper into the room, completely forgetting about the broom she's supposed to be looking for.
She can only guess that it's about the size of a football field and is filled with pieces of art work ranging from small water colors to statues so large that a normal human man wouldn't be able to move them, but then V is obviously not normal. In one area there are some musical instruments and music stands in various stages of repair. There a wide variety of instruments such as violins, harps, kettle drums, flutes and even an accordion. Off to one side is an area where he cleans and restores these hidden treasures.
She's wanders through the room in awe careful not to touch, well at least to try not to touch. The shear enormity of it just boggles her mind as she goes down the rows of the neatly stored items. Now she understands why there doesn't seem to be any rhyme or reason to V's décor.
After what seems to be either days or minutes, she's not sure which, she heads for the door. As she's reaching for the light switch she sees something out of the corner of her eye. Partially hidden behind a recently acquired painting, she finds something that makes her heart nearly stop beating.
He stands in the shadow of the London Aquarium or what's left of it anyways. The aquarium stood for science and questions and learning. Something that new government could not and will not tolerate since it would lead people to thinking for themselves. So, the place was closed down, the animals were mostly sold off and what was left was used for food.
Across the street he can see St. Thomas's Hospital under a cloudless, moonless night, one of the few things left untouched by the Reclamation. He turns his gaze past the Westminster Bridge and over the Thames where he can see Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament.
Soon, very soon, he thinks to himself as he stares at the well lit buildings.
The sound of a boot heel on gravel catches his attention and brings him back to his present task: finding some new playmates. Soon another set of foot steps joins the first and then another. Quiet voices soon follow the footsteps and V sinks further into the shadows.
They pass so close to V's hiding spot that he can smell the booze and cigarette smoke on them and hear as one of them boasts about a woman he caught out after curfew and what punishment he gave her. V's blood boils as his fingers tighten around the handle of his stilettos. He waits until they pass before stepping out of the darkness behind them.
"Good evening, gentlemen," V calls out, startling them to a man. "I was wondering if you could direct me towards the Globe Theater. I seem to have lost my way."
"That ain't the only thing you've lost, buddy," a balding Fingerman sneers as he takes out a collapsible truncheon from his pocket.
"The multiplying villainies of nature do swarm upon him…," V starts to quote.
"What the hell are you suppose' to be?" asks the weasel faced miscreant as he reaches inside his coat.
"…and fortune, on his damned quarrel, smiling, showed like a rebel's whore," V continues, holding his ground.
"Must be some kinda retard that they let out of the hospital," suggest the one with slicked back hair as he also reaches into his pocket.
"But all's too weak, for brave Macbeth…well he deserves that name…," V purrs as he waits their move.
"Yeah, definitely a retard," Weasel agrees as he pulls out his gun.
That's all the invitation V needs as he pulls his knives out of their sheaths while he spins around. He catches the Fingerman sneaking up behind him square in the jaw with the hilt of the dagger in his hand, sending the man to the ground. He completes the turn at inhuman speed and lets the second blade fly where it embeds itself in the chest of Weasel.
Baldy charges with Slick right behind him, truncheon raised for an overhand strike. The blade still in V's hand connects with Baldy's gut with a sickening squish. A third knife is pulled from its protective home as V shoves Baldy at Slick who by some miracle manages to push his dying comrade away before being knocked over by the body.
Slick pulls out his gun, but it's too late as V's weapon opens his neck with surgical precision. As Slick's body starts to collapse, a sharp pain shoots through V's shoulder and he spins around as the Fingerman V had first attacked attempts to stab the vigilante with a switch blade knife. A blade to the gut and another to the heart quickly ends the life of the broken jawed fool, but not before the switch blade has left a sizable gash across V's shoulder blade.
Disgusted with himself for his carelessness, V quickly recovers his one thrown stiletto and then cleans them on the clothes of his victims. He sheathes his daggers and swiftly leaves the area. A few blocks later, he stops and tries to assess the damage.
But as flexible as he is, even V can't look at his own back. He pulls out a blade and cuts a couple strips from his cloak. After using the rags to bandage his wound, he makes his way home as quickly as possible. While his ability to tolerate pain is greater than most men's, he still feels it and by the time he reaches the door to his home, he's feeling a little light headed.
He heads for the kitchen to get the medical kit with the intention to head for the bathroom to assess the damage. Before he can even finish crossing the main corridor, the sound of a guitar playing stops him in his tracks. Then a soft voice starts to sing and he forgets about getting the medical kit.
A million stars
light
This beautiful night
The music is coming
from down the hall that leads into the depths of the Shadow Gallery
and he starts to follow it.
This is not a night to die
Let
me sing and dance
Beneath the sky
I have such love to give
To give!
I want a chance to live
Live
For the one I
love
Love
As no one has loved
Give
Asking nothing in
return
From down the hallway,
he sees the door is open to the storage room and the light is on, as
silently as he can, he makes his way to that portal.
Free
Free
to find my way
Free to have my say
Free to see the day
Be
Like I used
to be
Like a wild bird free
With all of life in me
Live
For the one I love
Love
As no one has loved
Give
Asking nothing in return
Though this world tears us apart
We're still together in my heart
I want the world to hear my
cry
And even if I have to die
Love will not die
Love will
change the world
He carefully pushes the
door open and sees his guest sitting in the chair he normally uses
when he works on the artguitar on her lap, music on a stand
and her singing her heart out as the music reaches its
crescendo.
Live
For the one I love
Love
As no one
has loved
Give
Asking nothing in return
I'll love until
love wears me away
I'll die and I know my love will stay
And
I know my love will stay
Time seems to stand still as the last notes fade away. Who knew the girl could sing? While he can't really see her face, her body is as relaxed as he's ever seen it. Even when she's asleep she doesn't seem this at peace.
She turns her head slightly and he can see a small smile on her lips and for some strange reason that makes him happy. He can feel his body relax until she spots him. She jumps and gasps at the same time, clutching the guitar to her body, looking wildly around for an escape and he can nearly hear her heart pounding.
"Stop!" he commands and she does.
She immediately stills and he has this incredible urge to say, 'good, girl,' as if she is some type of dog. After giving himself a swift mental kick for even thinking such a thing, he moves closer to her and she holds the guitar even tighter.
"I will not take the guitar from you," he assures her as he slowly moves closer. "I retrieved it from your former home in hopes that it would bring you comfort. I'm glad to see that it does. Might I ask why it was hidden?"
"Michael wouldn't have approved," she mumbles in a shaky voice.
"I can understand the singing, but why not let you just play?" he asks as he steps up next to the chair.
"Because she…I don't play," she barely whispers as he crouches down next to her.
"I have witnessed the contrary," he points out. "Not only do you play, you play very well. What is your name?"
"Georgia," she automatically answers before the last word is out of his mouth.
"I grow weary of this," he growls as his hands curl into fists and the color drains out of her face. "I know your name is not Georgia Jones. Now tell me your name."
"I don't have one," she whimpers, slightly turning away from him as if to protect the instrument from his ire.
"You don't have one?" he demands, he feels the adrenaline flowing through his veins as he rises to his feet and she cringes. "You have a name and I will have it. Now tell me your name!"
She hastily returns the guitar to its case and then slides to the floor, kneeling at his feet with her forehead nearly resting on his boots. If her actions weren't confusing enough, what she says next nearly leaves him speechless.
"What ever you want it to be, master."
Author's notes: Thanks to everyone who has reviewed. Trust me when I tell you that there is method to my madness and I will tell all at the end of the story. As always, please review.
Trivia time: What's the significance of the Globe Theater?
Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Live. Written by Richard Cocciante, Luc Plamondon, Will Jennings (c) 1999 Blue Sky Rider Songs, all rights administered by Irving Music, Inc. Performed by Celine Dion