~a/n: Ah, chapter three. And I'm still giggling over the phrase "Violaf".
It's so much fun to say. Well, almost all of my inspiration comes from
music, and you'll be pleased to know that I've found a new inspiration song
for this story-"Noise and Kisses" by The Used. Mmmyep. And the whole
business with sour food is a tribute to a Japanese rock band called Malice
Mizer. They are so very amusing. Prepare for massive Violaf-y happiness!
C h a p t e r T h r e e
"Klaus, what happened to your face?"
"Esme hit me with her shoe. She was pretty pissed off after Olaf came in here last week."
"But why'd she hit you?" Violet cried, carefully prodding the nasty bruise on his cheek.
"Because she's Esme Squalor. Taking her anger out on other people is like a hobby for her."
"I still don't like the look of that," she commented, but she ceased her prodding.
"So he wants you to psychoanalyze him?" Klaus asked worriedly. "I didn't really understand the psychology book in father's library. I was only eight, you know. All I really remember is something about the Oedipus complex."
"So what should I do?"
"Ask him to tell you anything about his life. Childhood, his relationship with Esme, any pets he's ever had, it doesn't matter. Then try to draw parallels between what he tells you and the fact that he's obsessed with you. You're good at inventing, so invent!"
"Will that work?"
"I hope so, or else we're dead."
"I have a feeling that he's not going to kill us. Not just yet, anyway."
Klaus gave her a very meaningful look. "There are worse things than death, Violet. Be careful."
Sunny, who had been clinging forlornly to Violet's arm, nodded up at her sister and hugged her tighter. The door opened and the hook handed man entered.
"Come on then, you two," he said, picking up Sunny and cradling her gently in his well-polished hooks. He gave Klaus a nudge with the toe of his boot and started out.
"Good luck," he mouthed, following them out.
"Good evening, Violetta," Olaf said, smiling cheerfully. He looked tired, his eyes were sunken, and his voice was scratchy as though he had been yelling quite a bit. From her basement room she had heard the screaming matches between he and Esme, so this came as no surprise. He sat on his customary spot on the floor across from her. "How are you doing?"
"I'm okay, I guess," Violet shrugged. Something about his eyes, his false cheer, made her think he was clinging to reason with a very thin thread. She tried to smile and managed a look of weak optimism.
"Have you talked to your brother about the psychological business?"
"Mm-hmm."
"Great. So what do we do now? Where do we begin?"
"Just start talking. Talk about anything."
"Anything? The first thing that pops into my head? I have a hard time believing that."
"Well."Violet thought quickly. "your subconscious mind will throw whatever you really want to say out as jus whatever randomly pops into your head."
"Ah, right. Well, for some reason, I've been craving sour food everyday for three weeks. Grapefruit didn't help, and I ate a lemon yesterday. See, I don't understand how this could be a key to my obsession with you."
Violet wished he would stop saying obsession so casually, like he wasn't the evil man who had struck her brother, kidnapped her sister and two best friends, and pursued them for half a year. "Try something else. Any specific childhood memories? Pets?"
"When I was about twenty, just after Esme left for Jerome, I met a girl. Now that I think of it, she looked kinda like you-same dark hair-and she was an actress too. She was pale and tall, with limbs like celery stalks. I used to call her Celery. God, she was beautiful. If I didn't know any better I would have said I was in love with her."
"Whatever happened to her?" That was easy, Violet thought, in love with a girl who looked like me? That would explain it.
"She committed suicide. I took a trip to the mountains, looking for an old friend, and when I came back after a few days I found her dead in the bathroom in a tub full of blood. I found out afterwards that she was manic depressive."
"Do you think maybe you've been after me because she resembled me? Maybe you just wanted to prolong the magic that you lost when she committed suicide."
Olaf scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Possible. I don't know yet-let me get back to you. Next week?"
Violet shrugged, trying not to show that her heart was sinking. She wasn't getting out of this as easily as she'd hoped. "Sure."
He smiled at her, not tired or falsely cheerful, but something else. Something in the crooked curvature of his mouth and the look in his eyes made her feel more than uncomfortable. She felt fearful, nervous, and above all like she had to get out of there. She looked at the floor, the walls, anything, but she couldn't keep her eyes from his, like someone witnessing a train wreck. Her eyes fluttered about the room absently as he approached her.
"You are a godsend," he whispered, running his fingers through her hair. He leaned down and kissed her forehead firmly, and then he turned from her and walked toward the door. He turned suddenly at the door and said, in a terribly strained voice, "This is your last chance to back out, Violet. I'll go back to being the bad guy and you three can be the good guys and run away from here. I'll still follow you, Violetta, I'll follow you everywhere, because somehow a little bit of me leaves with you. But why do you think you're always one step ahead of me? Why do you think you three are still alive? This is your last chance to get the hell out of my mind, to run away. I'll let you get away this time. I'll pursue you always, but you can get away."
"Why would you do that?" Suspicion flooded her senses.
"I've found that your two siblings are tolerable, even pleasant, when they calm down. And there's nothing about you I don't like. Not a thing. And I know to you I'm the devil in carnet, but I have a soul. A very dark soul. You may not believe it, but I just want to spare your pretty little mind." He walked out the door and shouted behind him, "last chance," before the door slammed.
Violet sat down in shock.
C h a p t e r T h r e e
"Klaus, what happened to your face?"
"Esme hit me with her shoe. She was pretty pissed off after Olaf came in here last week."
"But why'd she hit you?" Violet cried, carefully prodding the nasty bruise on his cheek.
"Because she's Esme Squalor. Taking her anger out on other people is like a hobby for her."
"I still don't like the look of that," she commented, but she ceased her prodding.
"So he wants you to psychoanalyze him?" Klaus asked worriedly. "I didn't really understand the psychology book in father's library. I was only eight, you know. All I really remember is something about the Oedipus complex."
"So what should I do?"
"Ask him to tell you anything about his life. Childhood, his relationship with Esme, any pets he's ever had, it doesn't matter. Then try to draw parallels between what he tells you and the fact that he's obsessed with you. You're good at inventing, so invent!"
"Will that work?"
"I hope so, or else we're dead."
"I have a feeling that he's not going to kill us. Not just yet, anyway."
Klaus gave her a very meaningful look. "There are worse things than death, Violet. Be careful."
Sunny, who had been clinging forlornly to Violet's arm, nodded up at her sister and hugged her tighter. The door opened and the hook handed man entered.
"Come on then, you two," he said, picking up Sunny and cradling her gently in his well-polished hooks. He gave Klaus a nudge with the toe of his boot and started out.
"Good luck," he mouthed, following them out.
"Good evening, Violetta," Olaf said, smiling cheerfully. He looked tired, his eyes were sunken, and his voice was scratchy as though he had been yelling quite a bit. From her basement room she had heard the screaming matches between he and Esme, so this came as no surprise. He sat on his customary spot on the floor across from her. "How are you doing?"
"I'm okay, I guess," Violet shrugged. Something about his eyes, his false cheer, made her think he was clinging to reason with a very thin thread. She tried to smile and managed a look of weak optimism.
"Have you talked to your brother about the psychological business?"
"Mm-hmm."
"Great. So what do we do now? Where do we begin?"
"Just start talking. Talk about anything."
"Anything? The first thing that pops into my head? I have a hard time believing that."
"Well."Violet thought quickly. "your subconscious mind will throw whatever you really want to say out as jus whatever randomly pops into your head."
"Ah, right. Well, for some reason, I've been craving sour food everyday for three weeks. Grapefruit didn't help, and I ate a lemon yesterday. See, I don't understand how this could be a key to my obsession with you."
Violet wished he would stop saying obsession so casually, like he wasn't the evil man who had struck her brother, kidnapped her sister and two best friends, and pursued them for half a year. "Try something else. Any specific childhood memories? Pets?"
"When I was about twenty, just after Esme left for Jerome, I met a girl. Now that I think of it, she looked kinda like you-same dark hair-and she was an actress too. She was pale and tall, with limbs like celery stalks. I used to call her Celery. God, she was beautiful. If I didn't know any better I would have said I was in love with her."
"Whatever happened to her?" That was easy, Violet thought, in love with a girl who looked like me? That would explain it.
"She committed suicide. I took a trip to the mountains, looking for an old friend, and when I came back after a few days I found her dead in the bathroom in a tub full of blood. I found out afterwards that she was manic depressive."
"Do you think maybe you've been after me because she resembled me? Maybe you just wanted to prolong the magic that you lost when she committed suicide."
Olaf scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Possible. I don't know yet-let me get back to you. Next week?"
Violet shrugged, trying not to show that her heart was sinking. She wasn't getting out of this as easily as she'd hoped. "Sure."
He smiled at her, not tired or falsely cheerful, but something else. Something in the crooked curvature of his mouth and the look in his eyes made her feel more than uncomfortable. She felt fearful, nervous, and above all like she had to get out of there. She looked at the floor, the walls, anything, but she couldn't keep her eyes from his, like someone witnessing a train wreck. Her eyes fluttered about the room absently as he approached her.
"You are a godsend," he whispered, running his fingers through her hair. He leaned down and kissed her forehead firmly, and then he turned from her and walked toward the door. He turned suddenly at the door and said, in a terribly strained voice, "This is your last chance to back out, Violet. I'll go back to being the bad guy and you three can be the good guys and run away from here. I'll still follow you, Violetta, I'll follow you everywhere, because somehow a little bit of me leaves with you. But why do you think you're always one step ahead of me? Why do you think you three are still alive? This is your last chance to get the hell out of my mind, to run away. I'll let you get away this time. I'll pursue you always, but you can get away."
"Why would you do that?" Suspicion flooded her senses.
"I've found that your two siblings are tolerable, even pleasant, when they calm down. And there's nothing about you I don't like. Not a thing. And I know to you I'm the devil in carnet, but I have a soul. A very dark soul. You may not believe it, but I just want to spare your pretty little mind." He walked out the door and shouted behind him, "last chance," before the door slammed.
Violet sat down in shock.