:sneaks in, posts and then runs away, barely dodging flying objects from angry readers:
She slowly shuffles her way into the kitchen well over an hour later and practically falls down into a chair looking, for lack of a better term, like the walking dead. Her eyes are red, puffy and blood shot with dark circles underneath them and her complexion is almost the same color as the white bathrobe she's wearing. She ignores the fact that V is staring at her in a disapproving manner as she tries to convince her limbs to stop shaking, her body to quit sweating so much and her stomach to settle down.
"I must say I am disappointed by your performance," he finally states after an eternity of silence.
"Why did ya put meh through that?" she asks after convulsively swallowing to keep from dry heaving right there at the table.
"You will be returning to North America on a boat," he answers as he turns to start filling the tea kettle. "You need to have the ability to move on a boat as if you know what you're doing if you are to make it across the Atlantic Ocean."
"V, Ah've never been on a boat in my entire life," she tells him while he puts the kettle on the stove to heat. "Isn't there some other way?"
"None that wouldn't guarantee your capture," he tells her while he gathers the necessary items out of the cupboards. "The authorities are watching all of the normal means of exit out of the country, even if you were in disguise, you would more than likely be found."
"But they're not checkin' the harbors?" she questions.
"They're not checking the fishing boats leaving out of Scottish harbors or privately owned yachts out of Liverpool," he clarifies as he lays out the tea making paraphernalia on the table.
"How the devil am Ah supposed to get to Liverpool? Or Scotland for that matter?" she inquires testily. "Ah'm not even sure how ya'll are gonna get meh out o' London an' you expect me ta get on a boat in Scotland?"
"There are ways to get you out of London without detection, but it will be uncomfortable at best," he warns her. "Once you're out of London, you will be taken to Liverpool and put on a private boat as one of the crew that will take you to Troon in Scotland. From there you will transfer to a deep sea fishing boat that will meet up with a Canadian fishing boat and then it's just a matter of them getting you to North America."
"That all sounds good in theory, but a lot o' things can go wrong with ya'lls plan, V," she points out. "How do we get past the fact that if Ah so much as squeak they're gonna know Ah'm not English?"
"You will let them know that you have a speech impediment that makes it too hard for you to talk so you simply write what you need to say," he answers. "No more whistling or hand signals."
"Ok, but what could Ah possibly do on a boat?" she asks. "Ah don't know thang one o' how ta be a sailor."
"You shall be the cook on the private yacht and on the fishing boat you will work with the others helping to bring in the catch," he tells her.
"Ya've really thought this out, haven't ya?" she questions as the teakettle starts to whistle. "Ah suppose it won't matter to ya that Ah've never gutted a fish in my life."
"Yes, I've thought this out quite thoroughly and you won't need to worry about gutting the fish, just catching them," he replies while he gets up to get the water to pour into the teapot.
"Ah don't suppose tellin' ya'll that Ah think it's a horrible idea is gonna deter any?" she says with a sigh.
"No, it will not," he responds as he pours a cup of tea and puts it in front of her. "This should help ease your queasy stomach."
"Thanks," she mumbles as she moves the sugar bowl closer to her. "What am Ah gonna do if Ah do make it back to North America? Ah've never been on my own before."
"You have managed a household before," he points out.
"Ah was a cook, a nanny and a maid," she counters as she drops a couple sugar cubes into her cup. "Ah don't know a thang about finances. Ah probably couldn't balance a checkbook if my life depended on it."
"You will manage, you're a smart woman," he says and she snorts at his words.
"The jury's still out on that one," she mumbles while she blows on her tea.
"You will do fine," he assures her as he heads out of the kitchen.
"Yeah, Ah'll be just peachy," she miserably mutters to herself just before she finally starts to drink the still hot liquid.
He stalks through the Shadow Gallery, a scowl on his face hidden by the cheery grin of Guy Fawkes and his eyes narrow as he glares at the empty kitchen. It's been nearly a week since her new training sessions started and it's time for her to get back up on that platform for today's lesson, but she's nowhere to be found. He's checked her room, the bathroom, the TV room and now the kitchen, but she's conspicuously absent in all of those places.
With a puff of frustration, he heads for the room that she no longer needs to be in. He has explosives to make, mayhem to plan and he really doesn't have time for this foolishness. He marches down the hallway, intent on dragging her back to the training area, by her two-toned hair if need be.
"There is no reason to be in here," he states heatedly when he sees her sitting in front of her computer when he steps into the art storage room. "You no longer need to concern yourself with the artwork. I will finish cataloging whatever you haven't."
She doesn't answer and she doesn't turn around to look at him, which greatly irks him. He hears her take a deep, shuddering breath and it's only then that he notices that her entire body is shaking. With two steps he's standing next to her, towering over her and glaring at her, but she still doesn't acknowledge his presence.
The glow from the computer monitor lights up her face and what he sees just aggravates him more. Tears are freely flowing down her face and her fist crammed against her lips to keep from wailing out loud. With a puff of barely contained anger, he looks at the screen to see what's got her so upset this time and sees that she's opened her email account again.
Mum,
Inspector Finch was just here and he had some rings with him. He said that they were found on the body of a woman who was trapped in a burning building. Aunt Ruth says that they're yours, but I know that she's wrong. I know you're still alive and Charles thinks so too. When you email me, then I can show them that you're still alive and they should keep looking for you. Respond soon please.
Love,
Philip
"There's at least another dozen messages from the boys all startin' from last night," she whispers with a sniff. "Ah don't have the courage ta open the rest o' them."
"Have you responded to this one?" he demands.
"Give meh some credit fo' havin' a few brain cells," she snaps, finally looking up at him. "Ya think Ah wanna be slammed into the bookshelf again? Ah may be slow on the uptake sometimes, but Ah do learn."
"Speaking of learning, you have yet to master the skill of getting your sea legs," he points out and she scowls at him. "The welfare of Georgia's boys is no longer your concern. I suggest you keep your focus on preparing for your journey home."
"Ya'll are a cold an' heartless bastard, ya know that?" she snarls as she launches herself to her feet.
Before he can respond, she marches past him, pushing him out of her way as she goes and stomps out of the room. Slightly stunned, he stands there a moment before following her out through the Gallery and finally into the training room. He steps into the room just as she's taking her place in the middle of the platform and she turns and glares at him.
"Now remember…," he starts as he walks over to the controls.
"Ah know," she abruptly snaps at him. "Move with the platform, don't fight it. Just turn the damn thang on already."
Without another word, he turns on the machine, starting it at a higher setting than he has before and then leaves her to find her sea legs.
When he returns a few hours later, he finds her sitting on the platform with her head between her knees. He turns off the machine and moves the steps over to the side, getting ready to go up there and get her only to be surprised to find her getting herself down. He reaches out and steadies her when she slightly wobbles and while she doesn't brush him off, she doesn't lean into the helping hand as she has in the past.
Once she's back on solid ground, she weakly pushes him away and slowly walks out of the room, occasionally staggering as if she's drunk. He quietly trails after her as she makes her way to her room, still unsteady, but with her head held high and a very determined look on her face. A few moments later, she emerges from her room with clothes in hand and heads down the hall, locking herself in the bathroom a short time later and never sparing him so much as a glance.
Several days later he finds her sitting in the TV room watching the television and it's quite evident to him that she's quietly crying again. He silently thanks whatever deities that may be listening that she's not carrying on like she had when she first came to the Shadow Gallery, but at the same time, his patience can only go so far. He turns his attention to the set and sees the tail end of a news report detailing the funeral of Georgia Jones while pictures of the grieving children are shown.
"Really, Audrey, you do yourself no favors by tormenting yourself this way," he states as he picks up the remote and turns the telly off.
"Ah'm dead," she softly growls, still staring at the blank set in front of her. "Thanks ta ya, those boys no longer have a mother or a father."
Before he can form an appropriate response, she launches herself at him, catching him square in the chest. She knocks him back only a step before he recovers and grabs her wrists to prevent any further attacks on his person. She twists her arms around, breaking his hold on her and then glares at him with red, puffy eyes.
He gets ready to counter another attack, but instead she spins on her heel and angrily marches out of the room. A short time later, the door to her room can be heard slamming shut and he blinks a few times in surprise. He frowns briefly at the doorway she disappeared through and then lets out a puff of frustration before heading towards the kitchen.
He places her dinner plate on the table and then goes to find her, a bit surprised that she isn't already there waiting for it like she has in the past. He first makes sure that she's not back in the storage room and is relieved to find it empty. He finds the TV room and the bathroom both empty as well, so he heads for her bedroom.
He gently raps on the open door with one leather clad knuckle and she only glances up to acknowledge that she knows he's there. She turns her attention back to the open book in front of her and the short length of rope in her hands. He watches in silence as she finishes tying the knot she's been working on and then she lies the finished product down next to several other knotted pieces of rope.
"Much better," he commends.
"Thanks," she quietly replies, not sounding the least bit pleased. "Now all Ah have ta do is memorize what each knot looks like, where it goes an' how ta make it. Ah figure some time within the next decade or so Ah'll have it all figured out."
"I am sure it won't take you that long," he assures her. "You're dinner is waiting."
She nods and then slides off of the bed, quietly padding out of her room in her stocking feet. He allows her to pass before quietly following her down the corridor as silent as fog even though he's wearing boots. She knows he's right behind her, but she can barely hear him and it makes the hairs on her neck and arms stand up. She barely manages to suppress a shudder and picks up the pace to get to the kitchen in an attempt to get away from him.
Once she reaches her goal, she quickly sits down and picks up her fork. Much to her dismay, he follows her in and starts to putter around the room, putting things away and cleaning up a bit. She barely manages not to snarl at him and instead tries to politely get rid of him
"Thank ya for makin' meh dinner," she says as she loads up the utensil in her hand with food. "Are ya gonna be joinin' meh?"
"You are most welcome," he replies, barely turning towards her while he wipes off the counter. "I have already eaten, so please enjoy your meal."
"All right, what do ya want this time?" she nearly demands when it becomes apparent that he's not about to leave, setting her fork down on the plate with a loud 'clink'.
"Am I not allowed to clean up the kitchen in my own home?" he asks, turning towards her.
"Ya never hang around while Ah'm eatin' unless ya want to badger meh about somethin'," she shoots back. "So let's just get it over with so Ah can eat my dinner in peace."
"Why the sudden hostility?" he questions, leaning against the counter he had so recently been wiping off.
"Ya have got ta be jokin'," she almost snarls, glaring at him.
"I assure you, Audrey, that I am most certainly not joking," he replies, his arms crossing over his chest.
"Ya take away the two most important people in my life an' Ah'm supposed ta be happy it?" she snaps, her nerves about shot by his sadistic training and his insensitivity to her feelings.
"They weren't your children, Audrey," he points out and he's quite surprised to see the absolute rage on her face.
"Wha' tha bloody difference does tha' make!?" she yells, launching herself to her feet and causing the chair to noisily scrape across the floor. "Ya'll don' hafta be related ta someone ta love 'em!"
"It's better this way," he tells her.
"Fo' who!?" she shouts, her body trembling and her face red with anger. "Ya'll couldn't leave well enough alone! Ya jus' had ta go an' kill Michael an' fuck up my already fucked up life even more! If anyone had tha righ' ta kill tha' miserable bastard, it should've been meh! He beat meh almost every day fo' over eight years. Wha' tha hell did he do ta ya'll ta make ya go an' kill him years after tha fact?"
"Do you know what sodomy is, Audrey?" he softly inquires and he gets a little satisfaction as her face goes from beet red to ghostly white.
"Dear lord, he didn't…" she gasps as she shakily tries to sit down and nearly ends up on the floor.
"He did," he confirms while he goes to help her regain her seat. "Unlike you, my dear lady, I cannot say that I escaped his sexual attentions. I also endured the feeling of his belt on my bare skin and I dare say it was on me that he learned how hard he could beat a person before the skin broke."
"Ah'm sorry, V," she whispers, unable to look up at him.
"Don't be," he sighs as he steps back. "We have both suffered at his hands and the world is a better place without him in it."
"Ah won't disagree with ya on that point, but did ya hafta kill him that night?" she asks miserably. "Couldn't ya have waited until Ah was already at Ruth's? Ah was gonna be there until Sunday, ya could have done him in on Saturday."
"If I had waited until Saturday, then I would have had to deal with his lover as well," he calmly points out. "The only person who deserved to die was Jones, not the man who shared his bed. We've been through this before, Audrey. Bringing it up again won't change the past."
"Ah know, Ah just wish…," she sighs as her words trail off.
"If wishes were horses…," he starts.
"…then beggars would ride," she finishes.
"I know you miss them, but it's time to let them go," he softly tells her.
"That's just it, V," she sadly replies. "Ah'm not sure that I can."
Before he can form a response, she stands and quietly walks away, her barely touched dinner left cooling on the table.
Author's Notes: Sorry about the delay. Real life can really suck some times. There is light at the end of this tunnel and I'm fairly sure it's not an oncoming train, so hopefully this beast is almost done.