Disclaimer: See first chapter. Nothing is mine at all. Also, song belongs to Matthew Goodband, called "Running for home"

A/N: This is the song that got me started at one in the morning, while reading this chapter. This was the source of the story. I owe it all to this song. Just like the other two songs in the chapter before that followed it, I believe it deserved a place in this chapter.

They beam things into your head
the ghosts of your pleasure and contempt
when we were liars things were seamless
when we were wired the world was like a secret

"Put down the gun, Olaf." She sighed, wearily, as if this had all happened before and she was just sick of something. There was too much pain involved in this situation to get dramatic. But unwillingly, something flashed in her mind.

Kit was in bed with Olaf, giggling, telling him all sorts of things she knew she probably shouldn't have. A priceless moment of complete trust.

I close my eyes now and i scream
I turn the light on and there's nothing left redeeming
I saw your face before it changed
the gun it makes you look nicer in a bad way

She looked at him with a sad face. How could this have gone wrong? He looked so much more different now. He had shaved the top of his head, formed that goatee. His hair, once a dark color, was now grey and white, helped by two factors: stress and hair dye. His skin was paper thin, he looked undernourished. But the look in his eyes masked what he was really feeling. While more wrinkles had formed along his skin, his eyes, which she looked up at now, masked the eternally weary stressed look at them with a look of pure sinister malice. He was different now, she realized. More broken than her, more beyond repair. "Move Kit." The words were forced, barely spoken and barely heard. The gun was pointed at her stomach still, and she wasn't budging.


so low for how high?
well it's too late tonight
and i'm sure you're right
as low for how high

For a moment, Kit forgot where they were, she just saw how sick he looked, and something like a mixture of worry and pity was inside her. Only a few months ago, she saw he could have been something so strong, noble in his own way. Now it looked like he had stopped fighting. Had given up and taken the easy way out. "What are you doing here?" She asked softly, shaking her head.


and after this there's just the circus
and every morning you carnie heart stops working
it gets tight in there sometimes
looking for the defects, talking like it's a reflex

Kit remembered a week where the world seemed to cry for her, leaning against a wall in the dark on the floor, wanting desperately to get drunk or just quit, but she knew she had to keep going. The world was a twisted place sometimes. "It's through the pain that we find out who we are." She remembered laughing bitterly when she had read this in a coded letter from one of her concerned brothers who was still alive and managed to contact her.

I close my mouth now and i scream
I open the door and there's nothing left redeeming
I saw your face before the rough
you should wait around awhile cause your body's bound to turn up

Slowly, very slowly, Olaf put the gun down. And then he collapsed on his knees, and his head fell towards her stomach, and everything he had tried to be left him as he just leaned in to her warm stomach, his body trembling, crying in it's own way, because he could not form tears.

"I'm not strong like you, Kit." He whispered, shaking his head. "I'm not strong like you."

Hesitantly, she stroked his strange crackly hair. She knew he was about thirty, but he looked so much older. Then someone squaked.

"No way!" Esme said from her corner. "This just is NOT in. I will not have a weeping evil ex. And who is this anyway, Olaf?" Then she took the gun from Olaf, and aimed it at Dewey.

"Okay, you're telling me what the password is to the lock NOW!" She said in her annoying voice. Dewey stood, resolved.

Esme's eyes narrowed, seeing how this wasn't going to work. Then she turned the harpoon gun, and aimed it at Kit, who froze. "Okay, then SHE'll get it if you don't tell. Don't try to fake it, I know she's your girlfriend, anyway. And I know she's a Snicket. So you tell me in the next three seconds, or she gets it."

Dewey's eyes widened, Kit turned her head, and Olaf looked up at Esme.

"Don't, Dewey." She said frantically.

Several things happened at once here.

Olaf launched himself at Esme, and tried to take the harpoon gun away. Esme tried to turn and avoid him grabbing it.

Kit was rushing to Dewey, because the arrow was now aimed at him, due to Esme turning.

Esme pulls the trigger accidentally while wrestling it from Olaf, sending it launching to the back of Kit, who was in the arms of Dewey, kissing him.

Dewey is now turning, seeing the arrow almost reaching, and has pushed her to the ground.

The arrow hits him in the chest, and the Baudelaire's just watched this all happen to quickly to prevent it.

Kit saw Dewey hit the floor, and cried his name slowly. "Help me up, Kit." He wheezes. "Lake." She nods, putting his arm over her shoulder, and hobbling with him to the lake. She lies him down there, like he wants.

"I'm sorry, Dewey." She utters, trembling, trying not to cry, to be brave for him. He shakes his head, trying to speak but sputtering blood. She caresses his face. He reaches up to touch her cheek, and smiles sweetly, suddenly, as if nothing is wrong at all, and for a moment, everything seems normal.

And then his eyes widen. His mouth opens, and he looks into her eyes. "Kit." He says as his last words, then his body disappears into the water's murky depths, and she's left to cry alone.

She knows he is watching. He's always watching it seems. She turns, and finds him at the door of the lobby, looking on in understanding. She stands, and looks coldly at him.

This is the last time they will encounter each other. They have both moved on, both changed. One for the better, one for the worst. They speak no words, but this is the last blow to their small world. It will be mere sand after this, blowing away in the wind, to be forgotten.

The moment of memory passes, and he turns. She does as well. She has yet another task ahead of her. Locating some of their people, telling them of the catalog, and the sugar bowl. She has to leave Dewey behind, but perhaps one day, she'll return. Give him a proper memorial. Her business is not here. She trusts the Baudelaires . She knows they'll do what's best. The last safe place is no longer safe, she thinks bitterly. She sees a taxicab, a man in a dark coat waiting. Perhaps he would have picked up the Baudelaires. Led them away from here. But the Baudelaires have their own problems now, and this is the VFD taxi. She walks up to the man.

"I didn't realize this was a sad occasion." She utters the code bravely. He tips his had.

"The world is quiet here." She nods, and steps in as he opens the door for her.

But the world wasn't quiet. It shouldn't be, at least. It should be crying, mourning the death of one of it's noblest people, the fallen warrior. The world is never quiet.

So low, for how high