6:40 PM. Still no My. I decided to confront Charlie and entered the subway station, reaching the platform just in time to see the train leave the station. Charlie was gone, and My wasn't in the area. It wasn't until then that I realized that he must have skipped the work day entirely. How many more days had he missed? How more days had he spent with Alexa?

My hated missing work. He hated being late. He even hated leaving early. And now he was blowing the whole day off. What was this woman, this . . . adulteress doing to My? She was forcing him to lie — to lie and to miss work. This woman was coercing him, taking advantage of him.

My needed my help.

Without realizing, I had passed the turnstile and was waiting for the train. The Uptown Number 6 train, the one Charlie had taken minutes before. Where was Charlie going? The 6 was not the train to Charlie's apartment. Was Charlie meeting up with My and the adulteress? He must have been. I boarded the crowded Uptown Number 6 train. I knew I had no chance of catching up with Charlie, but I had somewhere else to go.

I had the idea months ago, after seeing the flyer on a lamp post:

Having doubts? In search of proof? Our Eyes and Ears can find it.

That and a phone number were all that were written on the sign. Later that evening, I called the number, mentioned the flyer, and was given an address. Three blocks from the last stop on the Uptown 6 train.

The train was delayed due to "police activity". Thirty-seven minutes. One boy turned on a video game (the white one) and proceeded to play with the volume all the way up. Several people stared in disgust, but no one asked him to turn down the volume. A man by the subway doors yelled expletives at increasing volumes. A few bored men entertained themselves by looking down my blouse.

I reached the address at exactly 8:00 PM. There stood a store, V's Photo & Video. A balding, middle-aged store clerk was watching the store when I arrived. The store was cramped but well organized, filled to the ceiling with glass cabinets. The ones closest to the front were filled with video and still cameras and a large variety of lenses. Near the back was a cabinet filled with what looked like surveillance cameras. Other cabinets were labeled "Access Control Systems", "Motion Detection", and "Anti-Terrorist Devices". On the back wall of the store was a door painted completely black, except for a large V, which was painted in a light blue or blue-green color.

After my eyes covered the length of the store, the store clerk approached me.

Clerk: Hey. What ya . . . What can I help you with, miss?

Mara: I saw your flyer—

Clerk: Yeah, uh, for the Kodak? The rebate expired two days ago. But we have a great deal on a Sony. Real easy to use and comes in all these colors. We just got in another shipment of the pink—

Just then, the door in the back of the store opened a crack. A harsh voice called out, "Pig, you idiot. Look at her. She's not here to buy a camera. Send her back."

Clerk: Right, of course, V . . . Miss, this way.

The clerk (was his name really "pig"?) rushed to the rear of the store and held open the black door. I entered, and surprisingly, the store clerk followed, leaving the store unattended. The 20 foot by 20 foot room was lit by a single light hanging from the ceiling, hundreds of blinking lights emanating from various electronic devices, and more than a dozen television screens. Some of the screens showed the store's empty front room, while the others showed the interior of office buildings, other stores, and several empty city streets. In the center of the room, directly below the hanging light, was a table with a black cloth draped over its contents.

Along the perimeter of the room were several more glass cabinets, along with several gray steel ones, many of which were covered with posters and stickers. Most of the posters and stickers had unfamiliar symbols and abbreviations, and many were in other languages. One nearby cabinet had several familiar drawings: a woman slapping a man, a woman stepping out of a car with what looked like a shotgun, a woman with a bloodied knife above a man recently stabbed in the chest. One sticker said "Take Back the Night, Columbia University, 2005". Several maps of New York City hung on the walls, covered with thumbtacks and post-it notes.

The glass cabinets in this room were unlabelled, and most contained unfamiliar electronic devices, but one contained shelves of handguns, pepper spray, and what looked like cattle prods. There appeared to be no one in the room but myself and the store clerk until a voice called out from a shadowy corner of the room.

V: I am V. And you've met my associate, Pig—

Clerk: That's, uh, it's pronounced "pug", spelled P-Y-G-G.

V: Right. In any case, Pig, you may leave . . . or stay.

Pygg made no motion to leave. He stood directly behind me, breathing heavily on the nape of my neck.

V: I recall your voice, Ms.—

Mara: Sharp. Mara Sharp.

V: Yes, Ms. Sharp. You called four months ago. I've been expecting you. Come closer. Let me see your needs.