The world was never quiet

Lie 13 : You're nothing for me. You'll never be

"You do have the file, right ?

- Of course I don't. I wouldn't be there, idiot," I groaned. "I deduce you don't have it either ?"

Olaf groaned too. I didn't have much time, my head was already spinning and I felt weak. The drug Lemony injected me with wouldn't last forever and I was already pushing it too much. Quick summary of the events: I'd helped Klaus and Sunny getting their hand on Violet, left them to go back to the Records and try to find other pages of the Snicket file or, even better, a copy of it. No but seriously, how is it possible to be so idiot to forget to make copies of such an important copy? Not a problem for VFD.

Anyway, I'd spent most of my day standing and I was almost sure my bandages were already blood-soaked and my stitches broken. But I didn't have the time to check - and doing in front of Olaf? It would be easier to simply ask him to kill me. And he would have obliged.

Well, that's what he wanted to do after all. That's what we promised each other after all. We were staring at each other from each side of the immense Library room, separated only by a few knocked down lockers. I tightened my grip on my knife as well as on the matches I had left from the 667 Dark Avenue. Given the amount of paper, one would be enough to set the whole hospital on fire but I wasn't sure it was a good idea to reach such desperate measures. Not yet anyway. And I had no idea whether or not the Library of Records actually contained anything important. A shame for me, they did. My mother's autopsy report, for instance. As well as a police report regarding the events of La Forza del Destino, the play during which she died alongside Olaf's parents.

He walked in my direction, stepping over thrilling papers regarding the Fauna and flora of Micronesia and Fauns in greek literature. I stepped back – I was on the right side of the room, the door was right behind me.

"I'd advise you to leave very quickly, Cassandre," he smiled. "If you don't want to be buried under this building's ashes.

- You're not going to set a hospital on fire?

- Not the hospital. The Records that unfortunately are underneath the said hospital.

- Those are useless papers, why…

- Useless papers? Stupid girl." He shook his head and stretched out his arms to show everything around. "Those are the second most important Volunteer's archives. My life, yours, all our lives are here. And it so happens that I'd like some of it to disappear."

That would be dishonest to pretend I didn't want the same thing. I went to the Records to destroy every evidence that could link Jacques' murder to me, after all. However, and I can finally say I remember something from my education, I respect paper. Books, of course, but also and more generally everything made of pages covered with words. There are some books that should not exist, obviously, and some newspapers articles look more like baby's hollers than literature – but never mind. The mere idea of watching all these files, all these words, all these sentences burning didn't please me. And don't even think that just because I indeed saw these files, words and sentences burning, I accept it any better.

He continued to walk, enough to force me to have my back against the wall. I couldn't step back again, or I would simply leave the Records. Enough to reopen my wound that I could feel bleeding again. My heart was spinning and it wasn't because of him. Gods no. He didn't look like he knew, maybe because it was too dark for him to see the huge dark stain on the jersey I had taken from Lemony's boot. Another clothe I ruined. He laughed. Barked, rather. Like a hyena. On ecstasy.

"You're scared of me?

- Oh please. Not of you," I spat out with much more confidence that I felt at this point. "Rather of your pyromaniac tendencies.

- She said." His smile widened. "That wasn't very smart of you to gut my man.

- That wasn't very smart of you to let your self-appointed fiancée wander around the corridors of this damned hospital. And it wasn't smart of your underling to attack me.

- Enough blabbering," he interrupted me. "Those Records will burn. With or without you, I don't care."

And the worst was that, contrary to almost every people on this planet, he really didn't care at all. He was more eager than I was to set fire to the Hospital's basement since he took a lighter out of his pocket, the kind pseudo-bikers play with. You know, the one covered with tattoos, only wearing leathered clothes. See what I mean? Anyway. I wouldn't have figured it out if not for the polished metal's shine. It only lasted a second, but I saw it.

He didn't have time to light it. Well, he did, but not at this point – I just ruined the suspense, I know, but this book's objective is not to be entertaining. He didn't have time to light it because I dashed on him with all the strength I had left. It fell with us on the flour and I supposed I should thank Olaf for cushioning my fall and preventing my head from hitting the concrete. I let out a ridiculous creak and quickly moved off. A bit groggy, he didn't react at first when I crawled to grab the lighter. But when he realized I had taken it, he literally bounced back on his feet and grab my collar to pin me against the nearest locker. If you're wondering, it does hurt but not as much as the gaping wound of my stomach. I clenched my fist around the lighter and tried not to show him I was about to pass out. I don't know about the last part, but he grabbed my wrist and, almost breaking ninety-five per cent of my hand's bones, and managed to take it back.

"You really think stopping me from burning this hospital will redeem you from what you've done? You think it'll bring back your stupid father? Your stupid boyfriend?

- Oh, no," I smiled. "No, but if I can stand in your way, that's enough for me. And I'm tired of flames, so…

- Spare me, Cassandre." He frowned and released me. Still don't know how I didn't collapse. "You know what? I'm in a good mood. Let's bury the shovel and come with me.

- It's not the shovel, it's... Beg pardon?

- Don't tell me you didn't enjoy your time with me, when you pretended to be Andrea."

I didn't reply. There wasn't any answer – that was fun, sure. In a way. That was less fun to chase orphans and allow a woman to die eaten by leashes in Lake Lachrymose. But I won't pretend I didn't think about it for a while. If I'd accepted to follow him, many things would have been different. I come back again to the little choices that influenced the whole set of events that followed. And still influence what happens now.

If I'd followed Olaf at this point, I would have found myself on the wrong side of the Schism but on the right side of the line – the side that eventually won. If I'd followed him, I could have been a double agent. More likely, I would have helped him do whatever he wanted while still protecting the sugar bowl. What would have happened to it? No idea. Maybe we would have all forgotten about it.

But I knew Lemony was waiting for me outside. I won't pretend I felt indebted (even if he'd saved me the day before), but not coming back felt… Actually, it has nothing to do with Lemony, sorry. It had to do with Jacques. Very little time had passed since the Village of Fowl Devotees, but it felt like an eternity since I found him dead in his cell. And I wasn't angry anymore. If I'd been, I would have followed Olaf out of contradictory spirit. But I wasn't angry anymore.

"I'm not an arsonist," I repeated. "I'm not like you.

- You have as much blood on your hands…

- I didn't say I was better than you. That's just not true. But I'm not like you. I don't live having blood on my hands.

- I assure you, sweetheart," he groaned with a way too radiant smile. "You get used to it. But I suppose you're old enough to choose for yourself."

He shrugged. There was a snap, a tiny click. The lighter caught light again. Silently, motionless and powerless, I watched it falling again. But lighted, this time. There was a moment of hesitation when the flame licked the paper, but it seemed to refuse to burn. A second later, the same paper withered and gradually contaminated everything around it. I didn't see Olaf leaving. As always, I couldn't keep my eyes away from the flames.

I often consider Heimlich Hospital's fires as one of my fires. It's true I didn't cause it. But if I'd been strong enough, clever enough, I would have stopped Olaf. But despite the disgust I felt in front of these burning papers, I couldn't help being relieved. Obviously I hadn't found what I was searching for. I didn't have any information about my father or mother, I didn't know if there was anything about me in one of those lockers. But did it really matter? I would have destroyed it anyway. And I didn't even think of the Snicket file, and completely forgot Jacques had kept a few draft pages in his notebook.

Have you noticed that every times I witness a fire, whether I provoked it or not, I'm always physically hurt? I just noticed. My relationship with fire is more or the less the same I have with VFD – painful, fascinating and destructive. Adequate. Olaf got me out of my trance by announcing that there was a fire in the hospital. No shit? Instead of leaving and going back to Lemony, thing that I should have done given my state, I rushed into the alleys and grabbed as much files as I could.

Don't have any hope here, dear reader: most of what I took was useless. Really useless. There were files about rare species of birds, pink ink octopi, some papers written by Montmorery Montgomery without any interest other than scientific, some grammar articles from the Answhistle couple… In fact, only three of them were useful. The first one on Mortmain Mountains. The second one on theatre. And the third on a secret code given up by VFD decades ago.

I left when the smoke started to suffocate me. My bag was full of useless stuff and it slowed me down. And didn't make my state any better. Call that idiocy or desperate try to resolve things, I don't care, the fact remains that when I finally managed to reach the entrance, panic was absolutely everywhere. I suspect Olaf didn't just throw his lighter in the Records, but also some matches around his HRD office – but I can't prove it.

When you're in the middle of a panicked crowd, there are two things you can do. Either you have good luck and you manage to use the said panic to leave the crowd without losing any limb, or luck gives you a finger and you end up trampled to death by the said crowd. I never was very lucky, but this time, luck had the courtesy to overlook me. Staggering around, my hand pressed on my stomach, I made my way through the screaming herd that tried to reach the hospital's doors. I didn't know where Lemony was, and I couldn't even think straight. I thought maybe he was waiting in the unfinished half, near the scaffolds.

I just forgot Olaf wasn't alone. When I opened the last door before the taps and beams, I felt my eyebrow and a part of my hair scorching. Of course they set fire to this part of the hospital too. I winced and stepped back from the door that already spread enough smoke to make the air bitter and the surroundings blurry. Unless it was blood loss. Never decided.

"To think Jacques described you as a clever woman," I heard nearby. I felt a arm sliding under mine to support me. "You've lost your brain in the meanwhile, or you just made him believe you had one?

- Shut up…" I don't think he heard me. If he did, he didn't reply. "Olaf…

- I quite understand what Olaf did. Shut up and walk."

If I'd the tiniest bit of strength left, I would have sent him packing. But I wasn't sure I would be able to stand on my own so I obeyed, compelled and forced. He took me to another door leading to a part of the unfinished half that was not yet burning and almost threw me in his taxi. I'm inflating, he didn't throw me. But he released me and I collapsed, so it comes down to it. He immediately started the engine and left the fire.

I turned on my back and took off my clothes. I winced when I saw my stomach. The stitches were broken and the rims of the wounds were removed enough for me to see this kind of… You don't need the details. I gritted my teeth and turned my head to get see Lemony staring at me in the mirror.

"You hold out?

- No," I let out. "If you're going to say that…

- I told you so, yes, indeed. Don't touch the wound.

- Why? You want me to bleed out?

- No." He frowned under his age-old hat. "I don't want to bury you.

- Then burn me. It would be adequate."

I laughed, as if it was the finest joke I ever made. I know that I struggled to stay awake the day before, but I didn't want to fight anymore. I was worn out. My head was spinning. I was cold – and hot at the same time, where my blood was streaming. The taxi's humming lulled me and…

And wouldn't it had been better to just not wake up? It wasn't my business. Lemony could have found some way to get rid of my body. On a side of the road, in a bonfire. I wouldn't have cared. I didn't even know why I still struggled. Today… It's a bit clearer. As clear as the eyes that were watching me in the mirror when I ended up closing mine and accepted to hand my fate to another Snicket.

A jump in time, if you please, to give you news about the ball I went to. It so happens that I was spied on by Lemony that I was running from to go to… The ball. It always like a snake biting its own tails, with us. He wasn't really welcome to this kind of party and no, it's not because of me, he was persona non grata way before I ever broke into the VFDian picture. But given that I'm one of his very few company, and given that I'm as much a persona non grata as he is… Anyway. Lemony is not my guardian angel because he wouldn't step in to save me from a misstep. However, he's always been quite talented in highlighting the said misstep afterward. If he follows me around, it's only because he has nothing to follow anymore. The Baudelaire orphans are nowhere to be found, the sugar bowl, hm, his sister is lost and most likely dead… And VFD does not want him back. So for lack of anything else, he follows me. And watches over me, even if I don't know if it's to stop me from causing a disaster or to save me from said disaster.

In any event, when I woke up, still at the back of his taxi, he was acting as the latter. It was pitch black and the car was stopped. I couldn't see anything so I just slid my hand under the t-shirt I was wearing. My chest was covered with bandages. Dry bandages. I sighed and try to sit. A cry of pain later, I was lying away.

"See, you're not dead," Lemony said, apparently sitting on the passenger seat. "I hope you won't make me regret my efforts.

- I'm sure you regret them already.

- Don't give yourself so much credit. If I hated you, it would mean I care about your existence.

- Outch." I laughed. "You realize I could be offended?

- That would mean you care about my existence too."

I didn't reply. I stared at the car's roof without seeing it. I wasn't really tired, or I didn't realize I was. He didn't sound any more tired than I was, but I could barely see his figure, so guessing his thoughts…

But the way he talked, more than his voice, surprised me. Most of the times, when you talk to someone you give not shit about, your voice is rather cold. Or cynical. In this case, we were just talking. No coldness. And you don't save someone you don't care about. Well, I wouldn't save someone I don't care about.

"You have funny way not caring about my existence," I then said. "You often save the life of…

- It doesn't have anything to do with you.

- Your karma won't get any better because of it. I even think the whole world would have thanked you if you'd just let me on the side of the road.

- You really think theatralising your guilt makes it less obvious?"

I winced. Lemony has this gift. Not to make me wince, even if he manages to do it just fine, but rather to highlight everything that wants to keep in the shadows. That's what actors do. Actors and investigators. Back then, I couldn't put a name on what I was. A liar, indeed. But then? It would take me a while to understand that it took a great liar to be a good actor – not like Olaf, and a bit like Lemony. That being said, I never had the opportunity to act. Someone wanted can't act. And I was. Still am. But I spent enough time pretending to someone else not to regret it.

"It works most of the time," I admitted. I wasn't in the mood of pretending otherwise. It was pointless – he understood. "It diverts focus.

- Not mine. I didn't think you would be the kind of woman to feel guilty.

- I killed my father. Jacques died because he refused to let me help him. If I didn't feel anything, I would be an actual monster." I sighed and shook my head. "But who am I kidding? You're nothing for me. You'll never be.

- You're a good liar. But not good enough yet."

I almost stood up to slap him. Two things, however. If I'd done it, I would have bled out. And I didn't know where his face was. So I didn't do anything. I closed my eyes.

It's incredible, really, how the mere fact of closing your eyes and pretend the entire world doesn't exist anymore can comfort you. Like closing your windows during a storm. I'm afraid that it only goes so far, though; at some point, closing your eyes doesn't wash away the sadness, the despair and tiredness. It doesn't change anything to the horrors around you. At this point, the horrors are not just around you; they're part of you. You become those horrors. You are a horror.