another radio in a room that seems to be of another world.
we move over a dressing bureau, past a wig and over a pair of black leather gloves, moving until we find the mask; it is like something from the masquerade ball of another era. it has an exaggerated goatee, harlequin cheeks and a smile, forever fixed, at once be-guiling and be-deviling.
the man, now fully dressed in cloak, hat, and mask gazes into the mirror.
evey is wearing a blindfold and v leads her by her fingertips, guiding her almost as if they were dancing.
v is alone, listening to the first morning broadcast.
evey, alone in the shadow gallery, stares up at the inscription above the crooked staircase.
v relaxes with a book in an overstuffed reading chair, a violet carson rose resting on a table next to him. he begins to read a passage aloud.
v steps from the shadows.
v is playing the exact same concerto on his piano, his gloved fingers gracefully flitting across the keys.
another radio crackles with the leader's voice.
evey sits in the gallery, reading pynchon's "v" just as v had done. she suddenly feels v watching her.
v stands at the jukebox.
v punches a button on the jukebox just as --
the song begins to play; a melancholy song that says goodbye to love.
v listens to the song, the smiling eyes somehow knowing.
the song continues.
the song ends.
evey hears v on the spiral staircase.
evey huddles against the stair railing, her face tear stained, staring at the lifeless body of v.