For some, doing the right thing is a gray line, doesn't matter too much if they always do the right thing, because they can always stop doing a bad thing halfway through. Even if Lemony realized that he was doing the wrong thing, he could not stop. He always had to finish everything, and do it a certain way. Lemony realized this when he was fairly young. It was before the schism. Things were pretty good back then, easy. It's really a laugh how things fall apart.
He was with Olaf; they were close in those days. That was also a laugh, a word which here means "not very funny at all". On dry days, when training was done for the day at the headquarters, the simplest things kept the children amused.
It's always nice to pretend that you do not have to think again.
They'd ran the hose in the front of the garden one day, watching the water form into little rivulets, tiny streams that if you leaned close enough the pebbles looked like boulders, the dirt was the creek bed. K would build dams; he'd build them differently each day, inventing mechanisms of miniscule size to stop the flow of water.
It was the least logical thing (it was always the least logical thing), but after the others had left, and the water was turned off, that day Lemony felt compelled to watch the water dry. Compelled. Compulsion. The sun had set, and it was cold, but he couldn't stop. And then the lights were out, and he was scared as well. Tears were flowing down his cheeks, well why don't you just go inside, Lemony?
It was worse the next morning, and it was worse the next morning. Soon he had a morning ritual that he could not vary from in the slightest. Get dressed, brush teeth for thirty seconds, wash hands three times, turn right and exit the restroom.
When his family noticed, they were worried. "Are you sick, Lemony?" He remembered Kit asking this after she saw him counting the bites of food he'd eaten. He always knew when he was finished, even if he was not full.
Lemony could diagnose himself. He was a researcher, after all. But that's the thing about researching, no matter how much he thought obsessive, as he was washing his face with two squirts of soap for exactly fifty seconds, no matter how much he thought compulsive, as he let all the of his fellow trainers outside before him (except for two), it didn't help. You can research something all you want, but it doesn't change the facts.
Beatrice never finished anything. She could have been the next Mona Lisa if she could stand still long enough. She was constantly starting things that couldn't be finished, an overachiever, some would say. Her mom looked in her room only to find hundreds of unfinished projects, paintings and novels that would have been brilliant.
She wondered why the Volunteers would even want her around; Beatrice thought she was useless. She asked them one day, and they had told her something... Olaf (He'd always made the others call him Olaf, and Beatrice never knew why, what was wrong with - ...Oh, but it didn't really matter.) had asked her something then, and she'd gotten distracted. She never bothered asking again; maybe she didn't want to know the answer.
One day, after training was over, (disguises that day, she still had make-up smeared on her face) she was sitting in the kitchen with the lovely windows, vaguely counting out the change in her pocket. If she had enough, she was going to purchase some stage props. Her family was very wealthy, but then again, most people in the organization's parents were. Just sometimes her parents were stingy in giving it to her. She usually lost it when they did. Beatrice loved the theatre; she could always pretend to be somebody reliable or less flaky. It was actually being less aloof that was the problem.
She felt eyes drilling into the back of her neck, and dropped her change. Slowly turning, she saw that it was Lemony. Beatrice rarely saw the boy around unless he was with Olaf. Word had it that he was a bit of a recluse, but then again, most of them were here.
He was staring, transfixed, at the money she had dropped. Beatrice suddenly feared that he would steal it and picked it back up.
"You can just stop, just like that?"
She frowned. "Stop what?"
"Counting."
"Um. Yes."
He sighed, his typical frown back into place. "I can't."
She stared, and then started to get up. This boy was obviously out of his mind, and possibly dangerous.
Then she sat back down, out of curiosity. "What do you mean?"
She didn't finish leaving the room until late that evening.
Eventually, Lemony got better at being less obsessive about everyday tasks. At a cost, of course. They say nothing's really free. Or maybe he just said that.
Lemony had a new obsession now, and her name began with a B. And of course it was the most illogical thing. Obsessive, he'd think as he was watching her read, (she didn't finish the books, which intrigued him) compulsive, he'd think, following her during training.
It scared his siblings, and Jacques told him this once. "It's going to scare her off," he'd said. He was right, Lemony later found out.
Beatrice no longer wanted anything to do with him. She apologized that night when it ended.
"You're just perfect, that's it. Everything has to be perfect, and I'm not perfect. Olaf's more... more..."
"Unfinished." Lemony had said. "I know." But he didn't know, didn't understand why. He asked her why quite a few times, and she said she could write a book with all the reasons why. Bitterly, he had suggested that she should just do that, if she could ever finish the damn book, but the matter was never brought up again. Mostly because he had never talked to her again after that night.
Really, he wanted to be happy for his friend. He tried.
But when he lay down at night and tried to think of his Beatrice, there was Olaf. Kissing her, touching her... Lemony couldn't block him out.
He started watching them, unobtrusively, of course.
No matter how little creepiness exuded in the way he was following the two's progress, what he knew would happen, happened.
He was forbidden to see Beatrice again.
Then there was the schism. This was the hardest part to Lemony, because as bad as not being able to see the source of his obsession was, having a legitimate reason to not be thinking about her or see her any longer was so much worse.
Yes, she chose Olaf. And as bad as it was when your best friend ran away with your one true love, having them both betray the whole organization was so much worse.
Lemony had heard about the Duchess's ball, he (used) to be on good terms with her, until the thing the Volunteers were now calling the Unfortunate Event occurred. He was of course also forbidden to attend this ball, not only because Beatrice was rumored to be going, but also because the place was to be infiltrated by the other side, Olaf's side. Which is why Beatrice would be there in the first place.
Lemony knew he had to go somehow, to somehow convince Beatrice that he was the one she should be with.
Disguises, disguises. He was adept by now at moving quietly. He raided the organization's stores. Cape, mask, velvet. He was somebody else, at least for tonight. Somebody not plagued by unreasonable urges, somebody Beatrice could have a future with.
When he arrived at the doors, the guards glared at him suspiciously but let him pass. It was a cornucopia of costumes, bright fabrics and swishing cloaks. A woman with her face covered in glitter pulled him to the side. It wasn't Beatrice, he noted with some disappointment. He did not recognize her, so he asked her for her name.
"That's not important. Come with me."
She led him to an antechamber, which also happened to be the coatroom, and sat atop a blue trench coat, her sparkling dress spreading.
"Lemony. Beatrice is in danger."
"Danger? What?"
"It's Olaf. He's after," she cast a glance around her as if to make sure that none of the coat hangers were actually Olaf in a clever ruse, "her money. It's for the troupe."
"Troupe? What?"
"His acting troupe. Trust me. He's planning on putting his plan into action tonight. Save her, Lemony."
"Lemony? What?"
But she was already gone. Bewildered and slightly worried, he stood up in search of Beatrice, with a new purpose in mind. Wandering into the main room, he knew exactly which costumed woman she was. Incredible that he had not guessed it before.
One woman was dressed as a dragonfly, a perfect mask and perfect dress, with only one wing. Of course she didn't finish her costume, it was so Beatrice. She was on the terrace, staring into the sky with a dreamy, off look on her face. Beside her was; his heart thumped, Olaf. Olaf, his old friend. Olaf, his new enemy. Olaf, the man who was adding a foreign powder to Beatrice's wine glass and offering back to her.
She took the glass, he knew she couldn't drink it, or something horrible would happen. And right now there was nothing more important than stopping her, not even the guards that were suddenly wandering through the crowd and looking around anxiously.
He ran through the room toward the terrace (knocking down several party guests in the process), and right when he'd reached the entry, and Beatrice had begun to stare, the guards grabbed each of his arms in a death grip.
"No!" He kicked to no avail, and Beatrice was lifting her glass.
"Beatrice! Olaf is-" A guard clamped a hand over his mouth, muffling his speech.
It was funny; because that was the only sentence that Lemony had never finished in his life.
The wake was dismal, a word which here means "phantasmagoric and unbelievable pain".
Olaf didn't attend, being too struck with grief, a phrase that here means, "leaving town". Lemony sat with his family and other Volunteers, who were quietly crying. Lemony himself was staring in numb shock at the casket, rubbing his bleeding hands together. He'd washed them thirty seven times this morning.
Once home, he threw himself on his bed. (He hadn't slept on his bed since the schism; it reminded him of the times he sat here sharing secrets with Olaf.) But there was something uncomfortable underneath him. He miserably rummaged under his mattress, expecting to find one of his 'researching Beatrice' notebooks or something else that would make him equally miserable.
It was a book, put together by handwritten paper and hair ribbons, titled "Reasons - by Beatrice". He was shocked, and now the tears started.
Thumbing through it, Lemony saw something amazing on that last page, something that made him break down in wracking laughs that were somehow sobs.
The book was completely finished.
EL FIN