Once upon a time, there was a distant village called Killdeer Fields. It was inhabited by decent people, it had commerce to fill all daily needs, it had a police force and a volunteer fire department, it had a reasonably sized library and a competent librarian, and it was home to some unique species. It was the place a young, recently graduated naturalist chose to live.
If you have read stories before, you know that the opening sentences usually set the tone for the whole story, and a story that starts with "once upon a time" and describes a beautiful place is usually what is called a "fairytale", a story of princes and princesses, of heroes and dreams, with a happy ending and a good message for children. The next paragraphs may make you believe that Armstrong Feint is a hero, or that the beautiful, intelligent and wealthy woman he will fall in love with is a princess. But, as our naturalist would soon find out, nothing in Killdeer Fields is what it seems.
Armstrong Feint was a lover of nature, and also of coffee and good music. He took residence in a small wood cabin on a cliff, near the limits of the village, near the woods. Every morning, he prepared strong black coffee for himself, while jazz played on his gramophone. He drank it watching the beautiful view from his window. Then, he spent most of the day observing the local species, making notes and sketches. He took samples to study in his small lab, but he enjoyed being on the field the most. Feeling the scent of the wildflowers, the textures of the trees and the grass, hearing the birds and crickets. That was his favorite thing in the world.
He went down to the village to buy groceries or to treat himself to a nice meal. And every night he went to the bar for some human interaction. Armstrong never drank more than a couple of beers, but he enjoyed the live music on Thursday nights, and he chatted with his friends in the village and the occasional travelers.
It was one of these evenings that it happened. Armstrong was sitting on his own, drumming his fingers on the table in rhythm with the music, a half-empty beer in front of him, when he noticed the woman two tables in front of his. She was beautiful. Black hair cut very short, showing the two pearls on her ears and her slim neck. Brown eyes, like earth, lined by some makeup that didn't cover her eyebags, not uncommon for a young mother of two little children. Oh, he knew her. Mrs. Snicket. She and her family were one of the favorite topics for gossip in the village.
Mrs. Snicket lived with her husband and the two children in a big mansion, the biggest building of all Killdeer Fields. It was surrounded by high green walls that didn't allow anyone to see inside, leaving to the villagers' imagination the grandiose gardens, pools, tree houses, statues and all else they could be hiding. They were clearly a very wealthy family, but no one knew exactly what the couple worked with, only that they often traveled to the city, leaving the children under the care of some relative who visited the village only for that. Those relatives caused a lot of gossip on their own. It was said most of them shared no physical traits with either Mr. or Mrs. Snicket. Some never left the mansion during their whole stay. The ones who did could be described as mysterious, eccentric, or both.
Despite that, the Snickets were well liked in town. They were somehow reclusive, but not snobbish. The couple was always polite to everyone, and they taught the children to be as well. Some mothers in the village didn't agree with their methods of raising the children, especially when the couple started allowing them - both only five - to leave the mansion on their own, but that was all.
Armstrong heard stories of all of this, and he just smiled and nodded. Just small town gossip, from people who had not much to do. He had met the couple himself a few times, and they seemed decent people. He had never seen Mrs. Snicket on her own, without her husband or the children. It was odd that she was in the bar, of all places.
He had noticed she was beautiful before, like many people, but that night it was impossible for him to take his eyes off her. There was something melancholic about that scene, about how she sat alone, no husband and no friends around. She didn't seem like the kind of person who should be alone.
Then Mrs. Snicket raised her eyes, her deep brown eyes, and they met Armstrong's, and the scientist felt something. He wasn't sure of what. It was like the moment a flower bud blooms. The moment a newborn creature first opens its eyes to an unknown world. Something was born the moment Armstrong locked eyes with Snicket. Something unknown, something new, something that made him feel his heart accelerating in excitement. They kept the eye contact for a long time, or at least it felt like a long time to Armstrong. Mrs. Snicket's lips curled up in something that didn't look exactly like a smile but that couldn't be called anything else. She stood up, took her drink and took a seat at Armstrong's table.
"You were staring." She said in a light tone. It didn't sound like an accusation, but even so, Armstrong felt his cheeks heating.
"So were you." He retorted, trying to sound cool. "Armstrong Feint."
"I know who you are." She said, lips still curled up. "You live out of town, alone. Studying... birds?"
"Nature in general." Armstrong took a sip of his drink. "I am flattered you have heard of me."
"Everyone knows everything about everyone in this town."
"Yet I know almost nothing about you, Mrs. Snicket."
She took a sip of her own drink. Her movements were gracious. A wealthy woman. Certainly, she received a fine education.
"You know my name. And I suppose you also know about my family and where we live."
"I don't know your occupation." Armstrong pointed out.
Her eyes looked lost for a moment. Only a moment.
"I work in a family business."
"In the city?"
Mrs. Snicket nodded. "You already know a lot about me, Mr. Feint."
They fell into a comfortable silence. Armstrong still couldn't take his eyes off Mrs. Snicket. Her eyes called his like a flower calls a bee.
"Are you a musician, Mr. Feint?" She asked, breaking the silence.
"Huh?" Armstrong realized that he still moved his fingers in rhythm with the song playing. "Oh, no. I just appreciate good music."
"What about a good dance?" Mrs. Snicket asked, standing up and reaching her hand to him.
Armstrong hesitated. But it was just a dance. It didn't mean anything. He accepted it.
One dance became two, three, and more. Being so close to that woman was intoxicating. She had a wonderful scent, of expensive cologne and strong tea, and something metallic he couldn't identify. Her brown eyes were even more intense from close, and the warmth of her arms reminded him he had been alone for a while now.
For some reason, Armstrong felt less like a bee finding a flower and more like a fly helplessly trapped in a spider's web.
"Don't your husband dance?" He asked, desperate for a reminder of reality.
Mrs. Snicket giggled. It sounded beautiful, but also somehow forced, somehow wrong.
"Jay? He has two left feet!"
"I see." Armstrong smiled awkwardly. "So that's why you didn't bring him here."
"Just because we are married it doesn't mean that we have to go everywhere together." She shrugged. "There's nothing wrong with having some fun alone."
There was an insinuation there, in her voice, in her eyes. Armstrong went for the easy way out: keep talking about her husband.
"Does he work with you? Your husband."
Mrs. Snicket looked clearly frustrated. Still, her hands stayed firm on his body.
"Yes. A family business, remember?"
"You never said what kind of business it is."
"No, I didn't." She led Armstrong in a spin. "Honestly, I am not here to talk about work, Mr. Feint."
He lowered his eyes, and didn't ask any more questions. But now there was no distraction from her touch on him, from how closer she seemed to get after every turn, despite his lame attempts at keeping a proper distance.
When they stopped, Armstrong was exhausted, and not only from dancing. They sat down. Mrs. Snicket giggled. It sounded even more forced than before.
"This was fun!"
"Mrs. Snicket..." Armstrong called in a weak voice.
"What?" She asked, looking directly into his eyes, taking away all his words.
'I know what you are trying to do. This isn't happening. You are married. You have a family.'
Armstrong found himself unable to say any of it. He was trapped in the spider's web.
"Do you want a drink? I could use one." She offered. He accepted it.
They left the bar only when it was closing. Armstrong drank a little more than he was used to, but he was still sober. Snicket drank much more than he did, but she also didn't seem drunk. The two were the last people to leave, along with the bartender.
Armstrong gave the woman a polite goodbye and goodnight. She replied with that smile of hers. Armstrong started walking towards his house, when he noticed Mrs. Snicket was following him. He stopped and turned to her.
"Mrs. Snicket, I know your house is not this way."
"It's not. But I don't plan on going back tonight."
Armstrong sighed. He had hoped he gave her enough hints during the night, but either he was wrong or she simply decided to ignore them.
"I know what your intentions are, Mrs. Snicket, and I must tell you: it's not happening."
"Are you sure?"
He sighed. "You are married."
"You don't need to remind me all the time."
"You have children."
"I know." She said, turning away. "I still don't see your point."
"Excuse me?"
"You had many chances to leave but you didn't. And you never said you didn't want me." She said. "My husband, my children, these are all my problems. If you tell me you don't want me, I will leave you alone. But stop with the excuses and mixed signals."
Armstrong was left speechless again. She was right. He had had chances, but still, he played along. In truth, he had enjoyed it all, enjoyed having the attention of a beautiful and interesting woman.
Mrs. Snicket turned back to him, and walked until they were so close that their noses almost touched.
"Tell me that you don't want me. Tell me you don't this." She said. It sounded like a challenge.
Armstrong closed his eyes.
"This is wrong."
"Again with the excuses. Is that all you are made of, Feint?" She sighed. "What if I tell you it's not?"
He opened his eyes and looked at her, confused. She looked to the side.
"My husband and I have an arrangement... An open relationship, I guess you could call it that. He doesn't even expect me back home tonight."
Armstrong needed a moment to process everything she said, but Mrs. Snicket didn't give him it.
"It's not cheating. It's nothing that should offend your morals. It's just a matter of what we want, and I want you, Mr. Feint. Do you want me, or not?" The last two sentences were said in a seductive whisper.
That was more than a man could resist. Before Armstrong knew, his lips were on hers, and they held each other tightly. Right there, in the middle of the street, where anyone could see them.
And soon he was breathless, guiding that mysterious, wonderful woman to his home.
"Why doesn't he expect you home?" He asked in a whisper.
"We are... having a sort of fight."
Armstrong stopped on his tracks, and turned to her, searching for something.
"It's not what you think!" Mrs. Snicket quickly said.
He kept looking at her, searching.
"If you for any reason don't feel safe under the same roof as him-"
"That's not it! Jay would never raise a hand to me."
Armstrong was still skeptical.
"It's true!" Mrs. Snicket insisted. "Our fight is not even physical."
"What sort of fight is it, then?" He asked, gently.
Her eyes lowered, then raised again. Her mouth opened and closed.
"We're disagreeing over some important questions. At work." She showed an obviously insincere smile.
He offered a smile back.
"Being a family business is not all good, huh?"
Armstrong took her hand and they kept walking.
"What is this work that is so stressing and mysterious, Mrs. Snicket?"
"It's not mysterious, it's just... boring." She said in a light tone. "Just an old company in the city. The problem is that we have too many stakeholders, and lately it is very hard for us all to agree on the path we should take."
"Sounds troublesome." Armstrong nodded.
"It is a bit like raising a child..." She added.
"Do you enjoy being a mother, Mrs. Snicket?"
"I do." She replied, serious. "I wouldn't exchange it for anything in the world. Do you want to ever have children, Mr. Feint?"
He shrugged.
"Maybe. If I find the right person." It felt odd to say that, when he had just kissed the woman by his side so passionately a few minutes earlier, but he knew that whatever happened between him and Mrs. Snicket wasn't meant to last.
"You will." She said with a reassuring smile.
"So you and your husband are on opposite sides when it comes to the company?"
"'Opposite' is too strong of a word." She paused. "We are on the same side. We have the same principles. We just disagree on some details."
"Do you disagree on the details when it comes to parenting as well?"
"All the time. Like any healthy, normal couple. We were both raised in distinct ways from each other, a phrase that here means..." She trailed off.
Armstrong waited, then looked at her, worried.
"Means...?"
"You already know what it means." She said, smiling.
"I know what the words mean, but I don't know what you mean."
Mrs. Snicket was silent for some time.
"My husband and I come from different social conditions. I was born into a family with history and wealth. Jay is..."
"A peasant?"
She laughed, and it sounded more honest than any other sound she made that night.
"That's rude, Mr. Feint."
"I didn't mean it that way." He said as an implicit apology. "It's just like a fairytale. The princess and the common man."
"Our lives are far from a fairytale, and I am no princess."
"What are you then?"
They were already at Armstrong's door.
"I will let you find out tonight." Mrs. Snicket said, but like most of her words, that was a lie.
That was a night Armstrong Feint would never forget. Snicket was bold, passionate, experienced. She was not moved by love, and neither was him. It was just lust, just heat, and it satisfied them both. They exchanged no words after entering his house, and in the same silence, they went to sleep, on the same bed but far from one another.
Not that either of them was able to actually sleep.
Armstrong imagined that she was thinking of whatever trouble it was she was having with her husband, or maybe she wondered if her children were sleeping well. He thought mainly about her, about how distant and untouchable she was despite being right there, despite all the intimacy they just shared. He was not in love, no, he barely knew her, but he suddenly wished that he was in love. Not with a married woman, not with someone like Snicket. With someone he could be with, someone he could be happy with.
He thought about the scars covering her body, the burns and cuts and of how insistent she was that her husband wasn't hurting her, at least not in that way. He thought about her mysterious work, that she explained without really explaining. He thought about her forced smiles and her strange pauses. He wondered what she was, if not a princess, an heiress, a good woman.
The morning came. Both of them rose and started getting dressed. Armstrong saw something that only added to all the mystery surrounding Mrs. Snicket: a small figure on her left ankle, in permanent ink. Something that resembled an eye.
"You didn't strike me as the type..." He commented, pointing to it.
Mrs. Snicket looked at her ankle and smiled.
"Why? Think wealthy women don't have their rebellious phases?"
"No, no, I didn't mean- I mean-" His words mixed up as he tried to explain himself.
Mrs. Snicket laughed.
"There is nothing wrong with tattoos." He finally managed to say. "Your body, your rules. I just didn't think you looked like the type. Which is a prejudgement of me, I am sorry."
She laughed again.
"Don't worry. It's not the first time that I hear it." She raised her leg to take a better look at it. "I was sixteen, and drunk beyond my mind. We thought it was a good idea, my friends and I."
"Were your parents mad?" Armstrong asked, with an amused smile.
She looked away and put her leg down.
"Not really."
"If you don't mind me asking, what does it mean?"
"Will you believe it if I say I was never sure?" She looks back at him and laughs again. "I was not the one who chose it. I think it's supposed to see some sort of occultism symbol, I really don't know. For me, it's just a reminder to not get that drunk again."
They finished getting dressed.
"It was a pleasure to meet you, Armstrong Feint." Mrs. Snicket said, standing with hands behind her body and not keeping the second meaning from her tone.
"Likewise. I guess I won't see you again."
She shrugged.
"It is a small village. We will cross our paths again soon, no matter what."
Armstrong nodded.
"May I ask you one last thing before you leave?"
"What would it be?"
"What is your name?"
She smiled.
"You don't know?"
"Everyone only calls you by your surname." He explained.
She nodded.
"Ellington. My first name is Ellington."
Ellington Snicket was right, their paths would cross again soon, but not as soon as Armstrong expected. He didn't know if it was a good thing or not. He still thought of her, much more often than he wished to, she starred in his dreams and he wished to see her again. But he knew that he would never meet the same Snicket he met that night again, that he would never have what he had then again.
The fact is that the Snicket couple took one of their trips right after that night. First, Mr. Snicket left for a couple of months while his wife stayed with the children; then it was her turn, while he stayed. Last, he joined her, and a woman came from the city to watch the children. The people of the village referred to her as "Countess", but Armstrong wasn't sure if that meant she was really a noble or if it was only because of the fancy way she dressed.
It was maybe seven or eight months after his affair with Mrs. Snicket that Armstrong met her again. He was buying groceries at a supermarket that happened to be on the same street as the Snicket mansion. She was doing the same, and she wasn't alone. It was not her husband, nor the twins that accompanied her, but a baby still in her belly.
Armstrong tried not to think about how the time fit perfectly.
It was her who greeted him first.
"Mr. Feint." She said with a smile, while choosing vegetables.
He was impressed at her ability to act casual. But then, wasn't that how he was supposed to act too?
"Mrs. Snicket. Congratulations."
She smiled. He stayed there, looking at the same shelf as her, for no reason other than a certain masochism. He had already picked up his vegetables.
"I wanted to tell you." She whispered, not looking at him. Armstrong turned to her, trying to understand what she was speaking about. "You have the right to know." She continued, lowering her head just slightly. Pointing.
The time did fit perfectly.
"D-do you mean...?"
Mrs. Snicket nodded.
No, it couldn't be. Armstrong shook his head.
"Your husband-"
"I told you we were fighting. Our relationship is not in good shape."
He looked around, trying to see if anyone was looking at them. The market was mostly empty, and the few people there seemed to be minding their own business.
"There must have been someone else..."
"There wasn't. I am sure about it, Mr. Feint." Her voice was almost not there. "I'm sorry."
Armstrong is quick to shake his head.
"Does he know?" Mrs. Snicket nodded. "Does he know it is me?"
"He didn't ask, I didn't tell."
"I suppose it makes no difference in an arrangement like yours..."
What did she call it, an open relationship? Her husband was well aware she could get pregnant of another. The twins could even be someone else's, really. And what was Armstrong supposed to do? Ellington's relationship with her husband could be not in a good shape, but they were still married. What good would it be for the children, including the unborn baby, to break that? Armstrong was a no one. Ellington and her husband were wealthy, lived in a nice place, had a family already. Should he offer to pay child support? Send a card? How would he even sign it? "Uncle Feint, Ellington's one-night stand"?
"You should visit him, when he's born." She whispered to him, as if reading his thoughts.
"It's a boy?"
Mrs. Snicket nodded, a proud smile on her face.
"I couldn't," Armstrong said. "How could I explain it?"
"Leave the explaining to me." She replied, taking a tomato in her hands and examining it. "You don't need to. But you can. If you want, you can."
Armstrong felt bad over the fact that he didn't know if he wanted to or not. In the end, he would find out that what he wanted didn't matter.
The Snicket family was away from the village when their youngest son was born, in a road trip somewhere. Armstrong learned it from the village's gossipers when the family came back. Apparently, Mrs. Snicket entered labor when they were near a farm or something. Those who saw the baby said he was adorable, but Armstrong wouldn't know for sure, as for weeks no Snicket left the mansion.
Weeks became months, and Armstrong saw himself going down to the village more often. Going to that specific region where the mansion was located more often. Buying groceries he didn't even need in the same market he last saw her more often.
He thought of visiting, as she suggested, and sometimes he walked the street and even approached the imposing gates, but every time he stopped himself before ringing the doorbell.
What would he say? What could he hope to be in that child's life? What would he inevitably become to the rest of the family? Though Ellington had said she would do the explaining, Armstrong still didn't feel comfortable enough with the whole situation to simply show up at their house.
Then that fateful night came. Armstrong was in the same market, buying a late snack. There was no one there except for himself and the clerk. He didn't have a good reason to be there, but there he was, pretending he wanted just to buy food, pretending this time he would get the courage to visit his son. There weren't many cars in Killdeer Fields, so the engine sound stood out. Armstrong left the shop quickly, just in time to see a long black car with dark windows just passing by the Snicket mansion. It was not a car he had seen before.
It was maybe by a silly instinct that he approached the mansion, as if trying to follow the car (despite knowing well he couldn't chase a car by walking, of course). The fact is that he ended up near the mansion, and stood near the green walls when he smelled smoke, much before it could be seen rising to the sky. Fire! Panic rose in his chest and he ran to the only place where he could get help: the small building of the volunteer fire department.
Armstrong Feint found two volunteer firefighters on duty that night. They both looked very similar, tall, thin and pale, wearing identical uniforms and even identical badges with the name "Markson". But they were not identical to each other: besides some facial features, the biggest difference between the two was that one had a long, curly, voluminous hair, while the other had a shaved head.
"How may we help you?" Asked the hairy Markson.
Armstrong needed a moment to catch his breath.
"A fire!"
The two firefighters stood up, looking ready for their duty.
"Where?" Asked the bald Markson.
"The Snicket mansion!"
They exchanged a look, and their postures visibly relaxed. The bald Markson sat back down. Armstrong frowned at these actions.
"Don't worry, sir, this matter is already taken care of." The hairy Markson explained, his voice very serious.
"What do you mean? Is there someone already there?"
The hairy Markson nodded, looking slightly uncomfortable.
"You could say so."
"You could say so? A family is in danger!"
"The Snickets are very wealthy." The bald Markson pointed. "They have their own fire prevention system. They don't need us."
"What if it doesn't work? What if it's not enough?" Armstrong asked, growing frustrated. He would not trust his baby's life to a hypothetical system.
"You are growing agitated, sir." The hairy Markson said in a patronizing tone. "We could drive you home, or to the hospital, if you need..."
"If you have time for this, you have time to check the mansion!"
"Are you sure there was really a fire?" The bald Markson asked.
"Yes!"
"Did you see it?"
"No, but I saw the smoke."
"They could be having a barbecue." The hairy Markson suggested.
"Do you think I don't know the difference between a fire and a barbecue?" Armstrong asked, exasperated.
"You are not a trained firefighter." The bald Markson argued.
"But you are! Please, just take a look!" Armstrong insisted, but it was for nothing. The Markson firefighters seemed decided that they had no business anywhere near the Snicket mansion.
Armstrong was not stupid. He knew there was something weird there. Still, he insisted. As far as he knew, the volunteer firefighters were the only ones who would be able to help if there was a fire in the village. He thought of going back and trying something on his own, but what could he do? He was not a hero. At this time, Ellington and her husband must already have gotten out of there, together with the children. In fact, they must be on their way to the volunteer fire department, and as soon as they arrived the Marksons would see their mistake.
Or so he hoped.
As he uselessly kept arguing with the two volunteers, Armstrong's mind went to all those possibilities and more. And as he got more and more frustrated, his eyes wandered around the small room, catching unimportant details. There were some books around, mostly fiction or poetry. A few had the label of the library, while others seemed to belong to the firefighters. A couple of fire extinguishers rested near the back wall, and Armstrong was no specialist but it didn't seem proper. The walls had posters about fire safety. Papers were on the table. They looked like documents, like the paper that every company seems to have. He could not read them from where he stood, but he could see a symbol.
It didn't seem like something that should catch Armstrong's attention, and it wouldn't if he couldn't see it so clearly. He stopped mid-sentence. The hairy Markson, following his gaze, seemed to realize what he saw and stood between him and the papers. It didn't matter. Armstrong had already seen it, and the image would be forever in his mind. It gave him no answers, it only added more questions to what he now realized to be a big mystery. But one thing he realized: staying there would do no good. So he left the fire department while the one question that seemed the most important of all echoed in his mind.
Why did the firefighters have a document with the same drawing that "was supposed to be some sort of occultism symbol" that Ellington Snicket had tattooed on her ankle?
The villagers had many questions that were the center of all gossip for the next weeks. How could a fire have consumed completely the Snicket mansion and no one have seen it or have been able to do anything before it was too late? How could such a tragedy take place right in their peaceful town? At least the children were lucky that their parents had sent them to stay with some relative in the city right before the tragedy. How awful, how terrible, how unfortunate.
Armstrong Feint kept mostly at home, barely eating or sleeping, but he asked himself some very similar questions. He felt like he had the pieces of a puzzle that he couldn't put together. Ellington's family, the suspicious firefighters, the fire, the children away in the city, the car leaving the mansion, her scars, the fight, her forced smiles, the relatives that didn't seem like relatives. Two little children walking around town on their own. Two little children alone, their infant little brother... his son. His son, who he never met, never would. Ellington's brown eyes, now gone. What secrets did they hide? The key linking it all seemed to be the other eye, the one she had tattooed. A rebellious phase. A drunk choice. She didn't know what it was. She lied. What else was a lie?
His retreat didn't last long. As a scientist, he knew when he didn't have all he needed to solve a mystery. He needed more information. He doubted he could get anything from the firefighters, the Snicket couple was gone and he didn't have even a name of any of their mysterious relatives. So, he went to the only place he could get what he needed: the library.
The Killdeer Fields library had a decent size, and as soon as Armstrong entered it he regretted never doing so before. He had all the books he needed for his research at home, but who knew what could be hiding on those shelves? The librarian, he hoped. She sat by her counter, reading a book that seemed to be about some piece of jewelry.
Armstrong approached the counter and cleared his throat. The librarian raised her head, and placed a bookmark in her book.
"Welcome, sir. My name is Evelyn Caliban. How may I help you?" She said, showing a warm smile.
Armstrong lowered his head and took a folded piece of paper from his pocket.
"I am doing a research and I need some help."
"We have a big section on biology, Mr. Feint."
He was taken aback.
"How do you know my name?"
Evelyn just smiled.
"I am a librarian. I know things. And this town is not really good at keeping secrets. You are quite the subject."
Armstrong let out an embarrassed laugh.
"I'm sorry." Evelyn giggled.
"It's alright. You are not the first person I heard this from." He said, with a slight smile. He felt at ease near her. Enough to ask what he had to ask. "This research I need help with is not my research. It is not related to my work, it's just... something I do in my free time."
"Alright." She nodded. "What subject do you need help with?"
"I hope you can tell me. There is this... symbol, that I keep finding. I need to find out what it is." He unfolded the paper and placed it on the counter. It had the best reproduction he could do of the mysterious eye.
As soon as her eyes met it, Evelyn's smile disappeared. She opened her mouth to speak, but the door opened and the two last people Armstrong wished to see entered the library. In a quick move, Evelyn covered the drawing with her book about rings, and turned to the Marksons with a smile.
"Welcome, sirs. Did you like the last recommendations?"
The two men, in turn, smiled at Evelyn and frowned at Armstrong.
"Yes." Said the hairy Markson, placing a pile of books on the counter. "As always, Ms. Caliban."
"Why don't you make yourselves at home, while I help Mr. Feint with something for his research. You said moths, right?"
Armstrong looked from the firefighters to Evelyn. "Yes."
"Please follow me. I believe we have exactly what you need."
Evelyn led the way to the biology section. Armstrong followed her, but he couldn't help looking back and watching the Marksons. They did the same as they wandered to some other section. Only Evelyn seemed focused on her task.
She stopped near a shelf and started looking at the books.
"They spend a lot of time here. Maybe even more than at the fire department." She whispered, not looking at Armstrong. "Being well-read is a desirable trait, but when a tragedy like that happens, it makes you wonder if it is not affecting their job."
Armstrong needed a moment. Why was she telling him that? Did she know the link between the eye drawing and the Snicket fire?
Evelyn took some books from the shelf, and turned to him.
"I may be able to help you with your real research, Mr. Feint." She whispered. "But first, I may ask: are you sure you want to do this? Are you sure you want to know?"
He frowned at her.
"Why are you asking me that?" He asked in the same quiet tone. "Is this a threat?"
"No, it is a legitimate question. You may not like the answers you find. It may cost you your peace of mind."
Armstrong didn't need to think to answer that.
"As it is, I don't have any peace of mind, Ms. Caliban. I need answers. The life of someone much dear to me may be at risk."
She nodded.
"Please call me Evelyn. We will talk after they leave."
"What do I do until then?"
She handed him the books.
"I hope you are interested in moths."
Time seemed to fly, maybe because the reading Evelyn offered him was really interesting. Anyway, soon the Marksons left and Armstrong met Evelyn near the counter. She asked him once again if he was sure he wanted that, and asked him to wait while she got something.
She came back with a huge book in hands.
"A while ago, we received a package of books that were meant for another place. When we realized the mistake, we sent the books to their correct destination. All but one. I am ashamed to admit that it was my fault. I was reading it and forgot to put it with the others."
Evelyn showed him the title, that was enough to give Armstrong shivers.
"This is your last chance to look away," Evelyn said.
"I can't, Evelyn. I need to know."
The librarian nodded. She took the drawing from under her other book, and handed it back to Armstrong together with the huge volume.
"Can I really take this?" Armstrong asked. "I don't even have a library card."
"It is not registered. I know I am not its rightful owner, but it's my job as a librarian to assure that the right book is in the hands of the right person."
"Do you think I am the right person?"
"I think you are in a lot of pain. And while the book may not help you to feel better, I think you have the right to know."
Armstrong gave a sad smile.
"How do you know so much, Evelyn?"
"I read a lot. Here, I will give you a bag so you are not seen carrying it around."
He accepted it, and after a quick goodbye, he went home with that one misplaced copy of The Incomplete History of Secret Organizations.
Evelyn Caliban was right.
The book answered Armstrong's questions, or at least a good amount of them, but they cost him a lot. It cost him his peace of mind. It cost him many tears as he realized he would indeed never see his son. It cost him nights of sleep, it cost him much of the trust he had in people in general.
The truth he learned from the book was the first of the cracks that would eventually break him completely.
It was a heavy weight for him to carry alone. Fortunately, he was not alone. Evelyn Caliban understood, because she too knew that truth. Armstrong found himself going to the library much more often, and when the Marksons were not around, he and Evelyn would discuss some matters of that secret they now both shared.
(Evelyn was the only person he ever told about Ellington, about that night, about the baby.)
Two months after their first meeting, Armstrong started wondering if he was maybe in love with Evelyn, or if it was just their shared burden that brought them close.
Three months after their first meeting, he realized it didn't matter much what it was.
One year after their first meeting, he held his daughter, Evelyn's daughter, in his arms for the first time.
There was not much left of Armstrong Feint in him anymore, the years only deepening the cracks, each new betrayal creating a new one. He had not much left, either. Almost everything and everyone he loved was gone. All he had was his Ellington, his daughter, and he was doing this all for her, but he knew she might not understand it. He knew she might come to hate him once she learned what he was doing, what he had become, but it was all for her.
He stopped in front of a mirror and made sure his butler uniform looked perfect. There was no specific need for it except to have something to do while he waited for his guest. He focused on his clothing and not on his face, a face that each day looked less and less familiar for him.
The doorbell rang, not one but six times. He opened the door and the first thing he noticed was not the tall woman or her wild hair, but the short boy beside her. He had a common enough face, but his eyes. Those brown eyes.
Armstrong Feint would recognize Ellington Snicket's eyes anywhere.