Disclaimer: I don't own A Series of Unfortunate Events or anything therein. No profit was made, etc. etc. etc.
Chapter Three
If you spoke to any professional trained in the field of psychology, they would agree that the human mind is something far too complex to be completely broken down, explained, and written down in anything less than a book so large it eclipses the telephone book many times over. However, a professional carrying around a book weighing far more than the person who was reading from it is hardly practical. It is also incredibly impossible to completely understand the inner workings of the human brain by mere observation. Even the best psychoanalysts find it difficult to decipher the exact meaning of a reoccurring dream I have that focuses around an abandoned root beer bottle.
Violet Baudelaire, having no formal training in psychology and possessing no telephone book eclipsing manuals, was perplexed by the behavior of Count Olaf. She had half expected him to hoot and holler – a phrase here which means, "express his satisfaction and amusement with a triumphant shout or noise making" – about the events described in the Daily Punctilio's highly erroneous article. However, the count seemed to be the exact opposite. He sat on the couch unmoving and virtually unblinking, shoulders slumped forward, shiny eyes misty, looking the very picture of melancholy – a term here which means, "incredibly depressed and practically moved to tears."
Taking a slow, wary step forward, Violet continued to stare at Count Olaf, not quite sure he was seeing her at all anymore. His focus seemed to be on the floorboards, though not on any particular dust bunny or dark stain. He made no noise but his hand appeared to be shaking slightly. She was afraid of walking too fast, in case the wood beneath her creaked and startled him out of whatever thoughts he seemed to be lost in. Violet remained, simply breathing for a moment as she thought of what to do next. It was slightly unnerving to be so close to the villain without him sneering or being otherwise unpleasant with her. Bravely, she took another step forward, even more surprised at what she saw.
Count Olaf's eyes were far shiner than they had ever been previously due to the fact that tears were forming in his eyes. He sat, hand trembling, lip quivering so slightly that if Violet had blinked, she would have missed it. As a tear fell from his eyes, rolling down his cheek silently, Violet felt shaken to the core – a term here which means, "surprised and stunned that she was witnessing such raw emotion in the seemingly emotionless villain." He had always been intimidating and terrifyingly cruel, and now the eldest Baudelaire was at a loss as to what to do next. Ignoring him and going back to her chores seemed wildly inappropriate to the compassionate girl. Comforting him also seemed a bit strange. After a long moment of indecision, Violet knelt on the floor in front of him, looking up at him with a curious sadness reflected in her eyes. Against her better judgment, she reached her hand out, placing it on his knee as a gesture of comfort. Never in her wildest dreams had she expected to be offering comfort to the villainous count.
At her touch, Olaf's long eyebrow jumped, his tear-filled eyes falling upon her. He gave a weak smirk, laughing in a low, wheezy chuckle. There are times when laughter is appropriate and very much encouraged. Laughter is acceptable if you happen to be listening to a stand up comedian, if they are exceptionally humorous. It is also appropriate to laugh at jesters, circus clowns (though this is highly debatable), romantic comedies, and animals that chase their tails endlessly. However, laughing after a tragedy, especially one involving death, is not particularly appropriate. This does not stop many people from engaging in this behavior, though. As any psychology student will tell you as they flip through their enormous and cryptically written text book which weighs more than a two ton elephant, laughter often occurs when a person does not know how to react to the terrible events that have just taken place.
"They didn't make it out." Count Olaf wheezed softly, still chuckling as a few more tears splashed down his cheeks. "I did it." He added, looking down at his hands, a note of horrific amusement in his voice. "That's all it took."
Violet looked at the count with confusion. "Count Olaf?" She asked softly. As the count looked at her with teary brown eyes, the eldest Baudelaire fell again silent, not knowing what to make of the man anymore. Villains didn't cry, they didn't have remorse – a term here which means, "an enormous and overarching feeling of terrible guilt regarding all of the villainous things he had done in the past." It had been increasingly difficult for Violet to label Count Olaf as a villain after he had expressed to her and her siblings such a helplessness regarding his actions, as if he had not been the one behind the treachery. After the three Baudelaire orphans had also committed terrible acts of indiscretion, between the fires, the hiding, the lies, the stealing, the line between villains and those who were noble had been blurred. All of the "noble" people had failed Violet and her siblings. The eldest Baudelaire found herself asking time and again just what the difference was between good and bad. She couldn't help but remember what Fernald, the Hook-Handed Man, had said. People were like chef's salads, with good and bad mixed together.
"It's over now." Olaf wheezed after a long, thoughtful moment. He looked at Violet, letting out a low, strained chuckle. "It's time to end this all." Added the count, suddenly looking extremely exhausted, as if the weight of the world had finally been lifted off his shoulders and he was just now reminded of how much energy he had exerted in carrying it the entire time. Count Olaf closed his eyes, shoulders shaking as he began to weep. Violet was not sure whether he was crying because he was filled with sorrow, which did not seem to match the situation very well, as he had been laughing between his tears, or if it was out of relief. Though, the eldest Baudelaire was confused as to just exactly what Olaf could be relieved about. She had expected him to be happy that the entire affair was drawing to a close. However, she had not expected him to laugh while he had been crying, either.
Violet felt lost, not knowing whether to let him cry in peace – a phrase here meaning, "let Count Olaf cry privately without her watching while she went in search of her siblings" – or stay, silent and unmoving, a comforting hand still placed softly on his knee. She was about to rise, giving him the dignity of weeping without her as an audience, when Count Olaf reached down, placing his large hand atop hers. He squeezed her fingertips softly, almost as if to thank Violet for her compassionate gesture, but was too choked by his tears to say anything. They remained for quite some time, he on the couch, hunched over and weeping, she kneeling on the floor, hand in hand with the man she had once considered to be a villain. After the count had composed himself enough to speak through the hot lump in his throat, he looked at Violet, eyes red and puffy, though no less shiny than they had been.
"Take that away." Count Olaf instructed, gesturing toward the newspaper that had fallen to the ground. "I don't want it in my sight." He added, looking as if the Daily Punctilio would make him violently ill by being in his presence any longer.
Taking the papers in her hands, Violet folded the newspaper as quickly as she could. Looking back, she cast a glance at the wall, her unfinished cleaning work apparent by the streaks on the window's glass.
"Your chores are done for now." Count Olaf wheezed, clearing his throat. He wiped away his tears quickly with the back of his hand, suddenly embarrassed that they were there.
Violet put the paper underneath her arm as she backed out of the room and closed the door behind her. She stood in the hall silently for some time, trying her best to process what had just transpired – a phrase here which means "understand and comprehend with her analytical mind everything that had gone on concerning Count Olaf and his sudden emotional display." After a long, pensive moment, Violet descended the stairs. Walking through the house, she found Klaus assisting Sunny in the kitchen. Still dumbstruck from her encounter with Olaf – a term here which means, "bewildered and surprised that the man she had thought at one time to be a villain had openly wept in front of her" – Violet laid the paper down on the kitchen counter, taking a seat at the table, almost numbly.
"Violet?" Klaus asked softly, walking over to her, concerned. "What happened?"
"Punishment?" Sunny said, which meant something along the lines of, "you didn't get in trouble because Count Olaf discovered you stealing his newspaper, did you?" She joined her brother and sister at the table, head tilted to the side as she stared at Violet.
"No," Violet returned, shaking her head, "he gave it to me. It's okay."
Klaus took a moment to get over the surprise he felt upon hearing that Olaf had so willingly relinquished his paper – a term here meaning, "voluntarily given Violet the Daily Punctilio without getting angry or hassling her." Shaking his head, he sighed. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
"We can't talk here." Violet said softly, looking at Sunny and Klaus. The phrase "the walls have ears" is a highly used cliché that people say when they refer to the fact that they run the risk of being overheard by someone, whether the spying comes from an enemy, a Federal agency, or a seal trained in the art of Morse code. In this situation, Violet was worried that Count Olaf would overhear them speaking to one another and become angry, especially if he discovered her speaking of his behavior. "Our chores are done, let's go." She insisted, not wanting to go into things any further until the three of them were upstairs speaking amongst each other in low, hushed whispers. Picking up the newspaper, she motioned for her siblings to join her.
Violet led the way up stairs to the Baudelaire orphan's bedroom, Klaus and Sunny following behind, exchanging looks of confusion and concern the entire way. Upon shutting the door of their room, Klaus and Sunny huddled around Violet who had taken a seat on the broken-down old mattress.
"What happened?" Klaus asked.
Pressing a finger to her lips, she urged her brother to speak in a whisper. "He's upstairs, he might walk by." Violet informed him.
"Eavesdrop." Sunny said, meaning, "something must have happened that you don't want him to hear you talk about."
"I was cleaning the windows," Violet whispered just loud enough for her siblings to hear, "when he came in and started reading the paper. He read something that upset him because he dropped the paper and—"
"And what?" Klaus asked curiously.
"He started to cry." Violet returned as her sibling's eyes went wide, both of them unable to comprehend the fact that Count Olaf had cried in front of her. "And he laughed." She added. "It was very strange. Apparently some people didn't make it out of the hotel like he thought they would. It upset him. I don't know; it was all really bizarre." Violet admitted.
Klaus nodded. "Seeing Count Olaf cry must have been bizarre." He sighed. "Here, let me read the paper. Maybe we can figure out why he was so upset." Klaus said as he took the Daily Punctilio from Violet and unfolded it, beginning to read.
Sunny frowned. "Emotional outburst?" She asked, which meant something like, "who could have died in the hotel fire that he would be moved to tears over, as the Count Olaf we've seen hasn't been a very emotionally broad individual?"
"There's more to Count Olaf than we've seen." Violet returned, frowning at her sister.
Klaus scanned the article a few times, scratching his chin as he read. "According to this, Justice Strauss was the one responsible for setting the fire. We know that isn't true, because we helped Count Olaf do it. This article says that she made it out, but when we left the roof, the fire was already out of control. There wasn't any way that she could've made it down all those floors and escaped."
"So then she must not have made it," Violet finished sadly, "Poor Justice Strauss." She said, looking incredibly guilty.
"There are other names here too of people said to have made it out alive. Mr. Poe is one of them. They also name Vice Principal Nero, Carmelita Spats, Jerome and Esmé Squalor," Klaus went on, "along with the other two Justices, Count Olaf's accomplices."
Sunny made a thoughtful face, looking in between her brother and sister. "Opposite?" She said, meaning something along the lines of, "does this newspaper say the opposite of what is actually the truth?"
Klaus nodded. "Yes. These must be the names of people who didn't make it out." He frowns. "But why would he be upset that any of them died?" asked the middle Baudelaire. "Count Olaf didn't care about any of them, especially Carmelita and Esmé. The only ones that would make sense would be the Man with a Beard but No Hair and the Woman with Hair but No Beard. But he seemed to be genuinely scared of them."
"It had to have been them." Violet says. "He said 'they' when he was speaking. Something must have happened. He looked sad but almost relieved in a way. He said that it was 'over now' and 'time to end this all,' whatever that means."
Frowning, Klaus sighed. "Maybe he means finding the Sugar Bowl."
"Mysterious." Sunny offered, meaning, "each time we think that we've found something out, another bigger mystery unfolds."
Violet and Klaus nodded, sitting in their dusty bedroom and pondering what these recent events could mean, miserably coming up with no answers, as always. The middle Baudelaire focused his thoughts on the unknown connection between Olaf and his accomplices, trying his best to find any reason as to why he was so upset about their deaths. Violet, on the other hand, couldn't stop trying to analyze the count's behavior. Just what had brought him to tears? Why had he seemingly felt so comfortable that he could weep openly in front of her and exactly why he had squeezed her hand? Though the mysteries that had been unraveling in front of the Baudelaire orphans since their parents' death were both frustratingly plentiful and terribly confusing, the mystery of the human psyche was a far bigger mystery, leaving Violet wishing that she had a psychology text bigger than several telephone books to consult.