Locked

Chapter Six

The following morning brought aches and hunger, waking V from the armchair that had given her a crick in her neck. Noticing everyone had left the room; V went and sat by Clara, holding her hand. She tried telling herself everything would be alright – but she knew in her heart it

wouldn't. Not ever. Even if Clara got better – which was highly unlikely, they would just go back to living in the streets where they would probably all get sick.

Just then, Eddie returned, accompanied by Doctor Wellingstone.

"Did you know that there's a whole bunch of new drugs that come from plants that do all sorts of things?!" Eddie blurted out.

"Where did you go?" V asked.

"I took him for a tour around the hospital." The Doctor interrupted. "He seems quite fascinated by all this. He would make a wonderful apprentice."

Eddie positively beamed with pride.

The Doctor seemed inclined to tell V something important, when Eddie began speaking so fast V

could only hear every third word.

"So... thing... antibi-something... anti... nevermind... kaloro..." V tuned him out.

As the Doctor seemed even more impatient than ever, V decided to act on the rambling boy. "Eddie, where's Will?" She said, interrupting him mid speech.

Eddie shrugged, "How should I know?"

"Well can you go find him?" She said, knowing full well that if Will didn't want to be found, he couldn't be found.

"Well I guess if..."

V stared at him – he got the hint, and left.

Moments after the boy had left in his wild goose chase, Doctor Wellingstone spoke.

"I found this," he pulled out a ripped scrap of paper and a long sharp knife, "pinned to my office door this morning."

V took the note and knife in her hands.

"Along with this." He pulled out a small blue tinged vial from an inner pocket of his coat. Neither of them spoke. Assuming the Doctor had read the message already, V unfolded it.

The ripped paper was of average quality – something V had used before. A perfectly sharpened quill had been used to write the appalling message in deep blue ink. The writer had pristine lettering skills – the loops on their cursive never wavering from perfection. Scrawled out in nicely sized lettering, the message was crystal clear;

I help you, you help me . You took something of mine , now I'm inclined to take something of yours. But I'm not so cruel as to not give you a warning. Cure your precious girl – this is only the beginning.

V understood – the vial was Clara's cure. What the writer wanted she couldn't fathom, but now was not the time to go wasting perfectly good miracles.

"We have to give her the cure, it's in that vial." V stood, reaching for the vial in the doctor's hand.

"Not yet Miss Claymore. We have no idea what this contains. For all we know it could be poison!"

"Or a cure!" V raised her voice.

"The message was accompanied by a knife!" The doctor emphasized by waving the sharp object around the room. "Whoever they are, they know where to find you!"

"I don't need your approval Doctor Wellingstone." V said sharply, "All I want to do is cure

Clara, and you're holding it."