Adagio
Epilogue
Rated PG
Disclaimer: Characters belong to Moore, Lloyd and WB
Chief Inspector Finch stopped at the open door, pistol drawn. The blood trail stops here. And there is his hat. He swung the pistol left and right, supporting his wrist with his left hand. No one. No sound. In this tunnel sound carries, I should be able to hear him.
But no one hears him when he comes.
But the blood. He looked down at the hat lying on the ground at his feet. He is wounded. Badly. No one loses this much blood and lives. The Inspector's brain did a quick calculation, gauging the amount of blood he had already tracked through the tunnel with the amount in a normal human body. I should have come across his body some yards back. But he is not normal. There is enough blood here for two men. He heard a sound beyond the open door. The blood did not continue across the threshold, it did not move from the rough cement to the smooth white flagstones. He did not go inside. He is not in there. But someone is. The pistol moved to cover the door as Finch stepped over the hat and entered the room. His ears strained to hear the sound again as his eyes and the pistol swept the interior. It was dark. Lights were off everywhere but in a far corridor. The sound again. Coming from that hallway. A light pounding. Irregular. Like a man knocking on a door, but intermittently, as though tired of the task. Tired, but resigned. Dominic. Finch picked up the pace, his eyes and ears projecting themselves ahead of him as he proceeded with caution down the lighted corridor. Cell doors. Cell doors? Numbers on each one. Roman numerals. And the tired pounding, coming from door V. Of course. He stopped. On the floor by the tip of his shoe lay a key. He spoke. "Dominic?"
"Chief? Chief? Oh no! That means…Chief! There should be a key right there!"
"There is."
"Put your gun away, quickly. Put it away! Hide it! Right now, Chief. Hurry! Can you hear him coming? No, you never do. Holster it, Chief."
Inspector Finch lowered the gun, frowned. Dominic's words made no sense, but his tone was unmistakable. Urgent. Knowledgeable. Correct. He opened his Mac and tucked the pistol into the holster under his arm, then bent to pick up the key. The tumblers were well oiled and the door opened easily and without a sound to reveal Dominic, bundled in what looked like piles of bedding, sitting on the floor of a jail cell. Beside him there was an old army camp bed, one leg taped, holding an elaborate tea tray. Finch narrowed his eyes. Chardonnay? Pate? Caviar? Baguette? The disharmony of the stark cell and the lush prison food set him back a moment. He recovered quickly, deducing almost immediately the situation. Dominic was struggling to get to his feet. Finch reached for his arm to pull him up.
"Oh, ah! Inspector!" Dominic staggered against the wall, grimacing, then sank to the floor again.
"Dominic."
"It's my hand, Chief. Take it easy."
Finch bent down and lifted his partner, careful of his right hand, and steadied him against the cell wall. His eyes brushed him up and down, taking in every detail. He was clean, smelled like fresh soap. His clothing rumpled, but freshly washed. His face was smoothly shaven, his hair trimmed. Someone is taking excellent care of him. But there were circles under his eyes and worry lines around his mouth that Finch did not remember from a month ago. His eyes were deeper than they used to be. Something has happened. "Dominic." He gently lifted his partner's arm and studied the brace. It looked as though all the bones in his right hand had been crushed. The fingers were in splints, the wrist strapped firmly. Finch sighed. "You drew a bead on him. Too late, it seems."
"Yes. He is eerily fast, inspector. And you don't hear him coming. Did you see them out there?"
"No."
"She doesn't know, Chief. She doesn't know."
"The Hammond girl?"
"She doesn't know he means to die tonight. We have to get to her, I don't want her to find him dead in the tunnel, I don't want Creedy to get her. Hurry, help me."
"Creedy is dead. Sutler too."
"Then he got them. Good God. How did he do it? Shit."
"Broke Creedy's neck. Sutler was shot."
"Then he didn't kill Sutler. He hates guns. It wasn't him."
"I know."
"Creedy's dead?"
"Quite."
"And you didn't see either of them in the tunnel?"
"There's a lot of blood…"
"Oh no. Oh no. It's his. He let them shoot him. We have to find Evey."
"How do you know?"
"I figured it out." Dominic nodded toward the floor. Scattered around the little nest of blankets were books and several yellowed pieces of paper, each one written on in a fine copperplate…a woman's hand. Just short paragraphs, like love notes. "These old letters are written to him, from a woman talking to him about life and death, duty and honor. His mission. His mission is complete, Chief. And he spoke to me through the door yesterday. He told me to take care of Miss Hammond. That's all he said, he spoke to me through the door, 'Take care of her, Stone.' He sounded…" Dominic didn't finish, swallowed hard.
"She doesn't know?" Finch adjusted the sling around Dominic's shoulders; settled the injured hand carefully in the fold of cloth.
"No. I saw her tonight. She was giddy with happiness. She can't know. Chief, I can't let her find him dead alone in the tunnel. Help me." He lurched away from the wall, tried to balance himself on both feet.
"Can you not walk?"
"It's the painkillers. He keeps me drugged."
Finch took Dominic by his left arm, bore him up and steered him into the corridor. He nearly dragged him through the hall and back to the main entrance. "The blood trail goes this way," he said to the younger man. "Do you know where he went?"
"To the train."
"There's a train in here?"
"Yes. Hurry, Chief."
Finch did not switch on his torch. There was enough light coming from an area in front of them. He could hear scraping sounds up ahead, even over the shuffle of Dominic's bare feet on the ground and his partner's labored breathing in his ear. He followed the sound, was surprised to find himself at the top of a spiral stair. He braced Dominic against the metal rail and looked down.
"There she is," Dominic gasped, breathing hard against the rail. "That's her. She found him. She found him. God, we are too late."
Below them the tracks were well-lit with electric lights. Finch saw a slight woman in a red ball gown trying to drag a large pile of black cloth across the ground toward the open doors of a train. Not a pile of cloth. The terrorist. He is dead, then. She wasn't making any real progress. Codename V lay on his back, his cloak beneath him. She had the edges of the cloak in her hands and was jerking back, moving her grisly bundle an inch or two at a time. Behind him Dominic finally caught his breath.
"Evey!" He heard Dominic cry down to her over the railing.
The woman stopped, looked up at them. Dominic broke free from his grip and pounded down the stairs, lurching against the rail with every other step, sliding on the blood. Finch followed on his heels, reaching for his partner, trying to keep him from taking a header all the way down. "Dominic!" he called, his voice commanding him to stop. But Dominic made it to the bottom, running unevenly, tripping but not falling until he reached the Hammond girl. She was standing over the terrorist, her hands clenched, her jaw set firmly and her eyes defiant. At the bottom of the stair Finch drew his pistol and aimed it at her chest. Dominic saw the revolver, launched himself into the line of fire. Finch's pistol wavered. Not good. Very bad form, Finch frowned. That goes against your training, old chum. Bad form.
"No, Inspector." Dominic said, panting with the effort of staying upright and leaning on the Hammond girl.
She holds him confidently, but her eyes are on me. "Dominic," he warned.
"Put it away, Chief. She is no threat."
"Not to you perhaps."
Dominic turned his back on his partner. "Evey. Are you hurt? Are you shot?"
Finch stared down the line of his arms to his service revolver, down the barrel to the sight, all the way to the back of Dominic's head, and then down to the Hammond girl's chest. She is not wearing a red ball gown. It is white. It used to be white. A white ball gown, no shoes, bare shoulders, thin straps. She is not shot. None of that is her blood. His sharp eyes took in the train; through the lighted windows he could see tons and tons of explosives. Enough to take out Parliament. And then some. He heard the Hammond girl speak.
"Help me." Her voice was strong, but muted. Her expressive eyes did the entreating for her. She was looking at Dominic. Then she turned the eyes on him. He felt them on him. They felt soothing and uncomfortable at the same time. He had never seen eyes like that. The eyes loved him. No. That can't be. What am I seeing? The revolver wavered again. He felt his brain flipping through pages and pages of experience searching for a match. Trying to match what he saw in that girl's eyes. It is love. Unconditional love. He had seen it before. Never trained on him, though. Always someone else. No. Even Cynthia never looked at me like this. Her eyes had always had a touch of the accusation in them. 'Why aren't you home? You missed Paul's school play. You smell like a morgue. Are you drinking again?' A split second of analysis, thirty years of police work condensed down to a moment in time: the Hammond girl does not fear me. Like she knows me. He lowered the revolver slowly to his side. Impossible.
"Help me," she said again, and not waiting for them to comply, she bent down and picked up the edges of the cloak from either side of the terrorist's shoudlers. She leaned back. The body moved half a meter. Dominic immediately grabbed a handful of cloak with his left hand and put his back into it, helping her. The body slid with a sickening scrape one more meter toward the open doors of the train. Finch holstered his revolver. I can't believe I'm doing this. He took a step toward them both. They paused, waiting for him. He stepped over the terrorist's body, straddling it. He glanced meaningfully at Dominic. Dominic let go of the cloak and moved the Hammond girl to the side. Finch bent his knees and lifted the terrorist, his hands under the dead man's arms and raised him over his shoulder. The body was still warm and the pervasive odor of fresh blood reminded Finch of every crime scene he had ever seen. They all flashed through his mind, one after the other, a grisly slideshow of his past. It happened every time. This is one more time. With a groan he straightened his knees, lifting the body, then took an awkward step forward. V was heavy. Well-muscled, a big man. Bigger than he looks on the monitors. Dominic steadied the body as Finch took the step up into the train. He heard Dominic say to the Hammond girl, "Where do you want him, Evey?"
Her voice came from behind him, a whisper. "The bench." Finch bent his knees again, lowering himself and his burden to the floor of the train. He felt other hands unfolding Codename V from his shoulder and laying him out straight on the empty bench. The metallic odor of blood was overpowered by the scent of roses. The train was packed with them. Every block of explosives was covered with a bower of red roses. The Carsons. Of course. He brought his eyes to the mask. It was scarred with bullet tracks and splashed with blood. The harlequin grin was now a mere mockery of a smile. The Hammond girl brushed by him as he knelt there and put her hand on V's forehead. Then she bent over and kissed the mask's mouth. He heard Dominic breathing heavily near the door. The Hammond girl straightened, then looked down at him and smiled a drowsy smile. Her gentle eyes still said she knew him. Impossible.
Her lips parted and he heard her say slowly, "It's time for you to get off, Inspector."
Her voice had a honey softness to it, he had heard this tone before. Dominic must have recognized it as well for his partner immediately took the three steps in the crowded aisle to her side and grabbed her arm.
"No Evey." You are getting off too. Come." He pulled on the Hammond girl, but she did not budge; she held on to a pole with both hands.
She smiled dreamily, "Go on. I have no more time." As if to confirm her statement Big Ben chimed the quarter hour. The lolling bells echoed in the tunnel.
Dominic tugged at her. "He doesn't want this for you, Evey. Come on. Get off the train."
"No."
Finch got to his feet and made a move to pick her up. She will be easy to carry. She saw him come for her and put up a hand to stop him.
"No, Inspector. 'Touch me not, for I am not yet ascended'…"
"And you won't be, by God." Finch was startled to hear the harsh snap in Dominic's voice. His partner circled her waist with his good arm and dragged her to the door of the train. She caught the console on the way past and stopped him, spinning his tenuous hold from her body with a swift twist of her hips. Finch heard him cry out in pain as Dominic's own momentum slammed him into the bulkhead. He released her as he fell, allowing her to get both hands on the lever that controlled the train.
"Last stop, Gentlemen. Get off!" She turned her eyes on the still form lying on the bier. "This train, this train is now my means…'O happy dagger'." She moved to depress the lever.
Finch reached for her just as Dominic recovered from his fall. Stone was kneeling on the floor of the train, cradling his broken hand to his chest. The brace had come off, the splints askew. His face was deathly grey and his mouth bloodless, a mere thin line across his face. His eyes were desolate as he lifted his left hand to her, all four fingers extended. He reached up and touched her belly. "You can't go with him, Evey. He wants you to stay. He wants you to stay for the baby. He gave you this gift, Evey. He is still inside you. Don't destroy his last vestige."
At these words, she dropped the lever; her hands flew to cover his fingers which were now pressed hard against her belly. Finch saw an expression of shock and astonishment wash over her face. Finch took her shoulders in his hands and pushed her toward the door. Dominic rolled back against the console, trying to get to his feet, but failed. He rolled through the door, landing heavily on the cement. As Finch stepped toward the doors with the Hammond girl in his arms, she reached out and pulled the lever. The train jerked them both through the doors and tossed them onto the pavement as it began to slide slowly toward Parliament. He set the Hammond girl on her feet and lifted a crumpled Dominic to his. The three of them watched the train disappear into the darkness, the only sound was the low rumble of the tracks.
When the train was gone from sight, the Hammond girl turned venomous eyes on Dominic. "You lied to me! It's impossible! He told me he could never father a child. I can't be carrying his child! You shocked me just long enough to distract me. A cruel trick. Cruel! Beastly! Vicious!" She drew her hand back to slap him. Finch caught her wrist before she could express her outrage physically. Her words had done enough damage. Dominic looked like he had already been beaten, his eyes glistened, his throat was working but no words emerged from his mouth. Just a strangled sound. The Hammond girl struggled to get her wrist back. Finch held her tightly. Stone was hurt enough. She will not escape. She will not strike him.
Dominic recovered his voice, but spoke with effort, "Evey. It's true. You've been sick every morning when you've brought my breakfast. Each day this past week. You've been pale and you've been lightheaded. Twice you had to lean on the wall when you poured my tea." His voice was hoarse. The sandpaper words were forced through a clenched jaw. "This morning you spent thirty minutes in the loo, retching. I heard you."
She shot back at him, accusing, "That was because it was the Fourth. It was just nerves."
"No Eve. You are pregnant." She put a hand over her belly defiantly, glaring at him. Dominic continued, his voice was soft now. "Tell me, are you late?" Her lips moved. Finch saw her counting to herself. He saw her eyes widen with realization. Dominic took her arm from Finch, bent his head to gaze deeply into her eyes, willing her to believe. "He knew too, Eve. He knew. Let's go upstairs," he said as they heard the faint strains of Tchaikovsky begin to play from the loudspeakers topside.
"I want to see the fireworks," she whispered. "There's a lift that will take us to the roof."
Finch stirred, "But it's raining,"
She shook off Dominic's hand and moved past them to the stairs, "God is in the rain; don't you know that, Inspector?" She said.
Finch caught Dominic's left elbow and helped him climb, following Miss Hammond to the lift. They rode in silence, emerging to wet drizzle, the lights of London, a starless sky and the booming sounds of the first explosions some distance away. Finch took off his Mac and draped it over the young woman's shoulders. She stepped to the parapet and stared off to the horizon where the brightly colored fireworks lit the sky with an artificial dawn. She spoke; her voice was thoughtful. "'See what a scourge is laid upon your hate, that Heaven finds means to kill your joys with love.'" She stared a moment longer then twisted away from the fire. The rain wet her face as the drops danced around her head. "Inspector," she turned those luminous eyes upon him again. She smiled, reached up and touched his cheek with red fingers. He did not flinch. Impossible, what I see in her eyes. "I have a gift for you. Downstairs. You will be amazed. A warren of data, an archive of human accomplishment. A testimony to what one man can do, alone, with nothing but his mind and his will. A panoply of all that is best in the world. Come with me. Let me open your eyes, Inspector, and show you what you have never seen before." She took his elbow and tilted her head toward the lift.
Finch intended to gather Dominic to him with a glance, so he paused, waiting to catch the younger man's eye, but his partner was leaning on the parapet gazing at the fireworks. Finch heard him speak to the fire, "I will. I promise."
"Touch me not…" John 20:17
"O happy dagger" and "See what a scourge…" from Romeo and Juliet