Chapter Two
Shock was not a word that did the feeling inside Violet justice. Disgust, dismay, and despair were closer, but not entirely words that fit either. Nor were terrified or paranoid or hysterical. Somehow, Violet was all seven of these things.
A small shriek fled her throat when she slammed her door behind her, securing not only the original lock, but the additional three she'd installed. With the flurry of a woman half in hysterics, Violet flew over to the window and pulled shut the flimsy curtains. Deciding that wasn't enough, she pulled the itchy blanket from her small bed and had it nailed over the window in no time flat.
Despite not having spoken to either of her siblings in nearly a year, or that Sunny and Klaus had no idea where she even was, Violet snatched up the receiver to her phone in the blink of an eye. For a moment she stalled, then recalled the number and punched it into the thick buttons as quick as her fingers could manage, clutching the receiver to her ear and awaiting the ring. The line was silent. The silence stretched on and on until Violet hung up the phone, then immediately picked it back up and tried the number again, hoping she'd missed a number the first time. Again, only silence. Perhaps Sunny and Klaus had forgotten to pay the phone bill or maybe even changed the number. Or, she hoped most of all, they'd had the phones temporarily turned off while they were on an expedition overseas and very far away from any harmful ex-guardians.
Biting her lip, Violet hung up the phone, then returned the receiver to her ear a third time, punching in the number for the local police. It was in the silence which followed that Violet realized it was not the phone at Uncle Monty's that wasn't connecting – it was hers.
The acidic taste of bile was creeping up her throat, but she swallowed it away and laid the receiver down with shaking hands. Violet couldn't think properly without her ribbon, but held her hair up at the nape of her neck in an attempt to think straight. No matter what escape plans she could come up with, they were all spoiled by the fact that she'd trapped herself on the fourth floor and was now, as the saying went, a sitting duck.
Violet nearly jumped out of her skin when the phone rang, one shrill tone that sunk into her bones. Dread filled the moment as she looked down to the phone during the silence, then she jumped again as it rang a second time. Timidly, she picked up the receiver and placed it to her ear.
"Hello?" she asked, trying to sound far braver than she was feeling.
"Delia, dear," crooned the voice of her elderly next-door neighbor, Mrs. Yokly. "I can't seem to dial out. I was trying to ring my sister, but it's just silence every time I try her number. Can you come have a look at my phone?"
Relief flooded Violet. "I'm having trouble as well, Mrs. Yokly. But, if this call went through, it must mean the internal tie-line is still up. There must be a problem with the external line."
Mrs. Yokly sighed in the dramatic fashion that she tended to do. There had been several times when Mrs. Yokly had invited Violet for supper, only to have her fix a myriad of things gone wrong in her apartment. Violet knew this sigh of irritation well. "This place has gone to the dogs," she said, another common utterance of hers. "I'm going to try and contact Mr. Hinders. You sit tight, dear, we'll get this figured out."
Before Violet could mutter another word, Mrs. Yokly hung up. She wanted to tell her it was no use contacting Mr. Hinders, the landlord who lived on the first floor. Violet suspected the phone line had been cut and there was nothing Mr. Hinders could do until the following morning, when the phone company was open.
Somehow, though, talking to Mrs. Yokly made her feel a shade safer. Or at least less alone. That is, of course, until a few seconds later, when the sounds of the old building whirred down and Violet's electricity cut out, shrouding her vision with the inkiest of blacks now that the sun had gone down. The silence in the building was a deafening noise all on its own. Somewhere, on some floor below, a phone rang. The walls and floorboards of the apartments were thin. Violet never noticed how thin, though, until she heard the phone below ring a second time. Someone must have answered, as silence flooded afterward. Then a second phone rang, again somewhere below. It rang four times, then went out. A moment later, a third phone rang once before someone apparently answered. Probably Mrs. Yokly got ahold of Mr. Hinders and he was calling each apartment to let them know the external lines were out.
While the phones continued to ring below, from one end of the building to the next in numerical order, Violet dug blindly in the dark for a flashlight or candle. A few times she nearly tripped over the discarded bottles in her floor, sending them clattering across the room. Her phone, however, gave a shrill ring and she felt her way over to the desk, plucking up the receiver. "Hello?" she asked, opening the top drawer and digging inside, hoping to feel some source of light within.
"I've got ahold of him, dear," said Mrs. Yokly. "Says he already called the phone company, but I'm sure you already know."
Violet's brow tucked in the darkness, not quite understanding.
"What do you mean I already know?" she asked.
The woman paused. "Well, after the electricity cut out, I stuck my head into the hall to see if it was just my apartment or the whole building. There was a man at your door with a flashlight. I assumed he was with the phone company."
Ice flooded Violet's veins as her eyes darted in the direction of the door. It was so dark that she couldn't even see it and wondered, with a flare of new fear, if she hadn't noticed the door being open and that vile man stepping inside while the darkness covered him. Was he in there now, listening to her dig around in the dark for a flashlight? Would he reach out and strangle her when she least expected it? Goosebumps erupted over her arms.
"Mrs. Yokly," Violet said in a slow whisper, "Lock your door and don't open it for anyone. I think we may be in danger."
"Dange-," the woman had said, but Violet clicked the receiver down as quiet and gentle as she could, as if the slightest noise would give her away. The methodical calls had reached her floor now, starting at the far end and working their way toward Violet's apartment near the opposite side.
Violet swallowed the thick knot in her throat and took baby steps toward the door, sliding her feet along the floor to avoid the sound of footsteps and prevent sending the bottles rolling. The nearer she got to the door, the more her nerves bundled in her stomach, fearing she would find not a closed door, but an evil villain in that dark corner. When her outstretched fingers brushed the cool wood of the door, she was relieved to find it closed and reminded herself of the multiple new locks she had added. At the right angle, though, she could see a small dot of light filtering in through the peephole. Violet chewed her lip, knowing she needed to look out, but terribly afraid to do so. With careful hands, she balanced herself against the door and brought her eye up to the hole, looking out into the hall. The darkness swallowed the far end of the hall, but the hallway immediately outside of her door was lit, fading out just past Mrs. Yokly's door. The source of the light was out of sight beneath the view of the peephole.
Violet crouched, but shied away from the door should a sharp knife decide to splinter through the wood. In the apartment next to Mrs. Yokly, the phone rang. It was annoying, as Violet was trying to listen. Perhaps Count Olaf was not at her door anymore, but had simply left his flashlight on the floor. Perhaps it wasn't Count Olaf at all, but she really had lost her mind and it was simply a man from the phone company at her door. The phone down the hall rang three times and she heard a man answer through the thin walls, "Hello?" and then say, "Alright."
There didn't seem to be any noise from the other side of the door. Violet leaned her ear close to the wood, straining to hear, but was interrupted when Mrs. Yokly's phone rang.
"Hello?" she heard her say, then pause for a moment. "Yes, yes, I know, Mr. Hinders, I was the one who called you. There's a phone company impostor on the loose. It seems like the perfect set-up to me – they cut the phone lines, then send in a guy to prey on us poor renters for high prices. Mr. Hinders? Mr. Hinders?"
Mr. Hinders, of course, was no longer on the line with Mrs. Yokly because Mr. Hinders was already ringing into Violet's apartment. Violet froze near the door, listening to the shrill ring of the phone sound four times before falling silent. It was only a moment later that the phone in the apartment on the other side of hers started to ring.
"I already know you're in there," said that voice she knew too well. He was on the other side of the door, about even with her. Violet squeaked at the shock and covered her mouth. "There's no use pretending you're not."
Violet's hands were shaking terribly as she pressed the gasps back into her mouth. Small taps sounded through the door and she realized he was bouncing his fingers along the wood. "I have no problem smoking you out, orphan."
"You wouldn't dare," she said suddenly, anger winning over caution.
In the darkness, Violet could hear him draw a deep breath and she could practically see the grin etched over his features. "Wouldn't I?"
"I would rather die in here than run out into your hands," she declared, mouth snarling up in disgust.
The silence was filled with another phone ringing on her floor and the theatrical snickers of the man on the other side of the door. "We'll see," he declared, then she heard the sound of his footsteps moments later.
Violet's head was spinning. This was impossible, that monster was supposed to be dead. It took a moment to process what was happening, but as soon as the weight of his words settled over her, she shot toward the phone. Feeling blindly in the darkness, she nearly ripped it from the wall in her haste. Violet clenched her eyes shut, which was probably pointless in the pitch black that already surrounded her, and thought of a dial pad. In the dark, it would be difficult to dial Mrs. Yokly, but she thought hard on where the numbers would be and dialed 4-2-1, Mrs. Yokly's apartment number. The line rang once and Violet was glad to hear the phone next door ring.
"Hello?" said Mrs. Yokly.
"Mrs. Yokly," Violet said, "This is Delia. Get your things and get out of the building. There's going to be a fire."
"A fire?" she demanded. "On top of the phones and electricity? Well, I've just about had it with this place. It's gone to the dogs!"
"Mrs. Yokly," Violet urged. "Please, it's urgent, get your things and get out," she said before snapping the phone down and reaching for her own things.
Violet had, of course, been lying when she said she'd rather die in this building than run out into Count Olaf's clutches. In Count Olaf's clutches, for instance, she would still be alive, which was far better than dead. However, how long she would be alive was debatable and Violet, who preferred the hard facts of science, was not a fan of her lifespan being debatable. She would try to exit the building as discreetly as possible, then reunite with Sunny and Klaus so that they may return to their unfortunate lives on the run together.
That is, of course, if they were still alive. The thought made her blood run cold and clutch for the photos on her desk. Feeling in her arms, she counted the three frames, then allowed her hand to find the cord around her neck, sliding down to the ring tied in the middle.
Below, on the first or second floor, Violet heard a woman scream out, "FIRE!" and she knew it had begun. But, in the cruelest twist of fate, Violet took a step toward the door and her foot landed squarely on a wine bottle. She was sent sprawling, the three picture frames flying from her hands and landing with crunches of glass in different areas of the room.
"No," she muttered, feeling blindly along the floor and finding nothing but discarded clothes, bits of paper, and more bottles. "No, no, no," she said, panicking. Violet wouldn't leave the pictures. It was the only picture she had of Quigley at all, the rest being destroyed in the fire. Klaus luckily had an album of their snake hunting, which held the only picture of Quigley in existence and that picture was now hiding in the darkness. "Please, no," she begged no one in particular, feeling wildly on the floor. The corner of one of the frames met her fingertips and she grasped for it, securing it in her hand and slashing her palm on the broken glass in the process.
More people were screaming now and she could hear fellow renters on her floor and the floor above running for the stairs. An orange color was glowing from around the edges of the blanket she'd nailed against the window earlier, but it wasn't enough to add helpful light. The heat in the room was growing, as was the floor she felt against. Violet had set fire to homes and knew that the wooden frame of the old apartment building would be consumed in no time flat. It was already spreading quickly.
Violet had once heard Count Olaf brag that he had an entire theatre in flames in less than thirty seconds, all because the local critic gave him a poor review. Now she didn't doubt it. Either he had a better technique for starting fires than regular matchsticks or the apartment building was made of such dry wood that the fire ate it up. The rate that it spread was astonishing. A sheen of sweat was beginning to soak her neck and brow as she flung her arms wide along the floor, hoping to feel the other two pictures.
From behind her was the sound of glass crashing and, before she even had a chance to look, the blanket which she'd nailed over the window was up in flames. It took all of ten seconds to be devoured by the fire and then thick smoke began to fill the room. The flames were creeping up her wall toward the ceiling and Violet watched a spider fleeing the heat.
She looked down and saw the picture of her siblings laying a few feet away. Then she glanced down to see the one in her hand was of Beatrice. Quigley was still missing. Violet's eyes were watering from the black smoke and she bent to cough, then sucked in another mouth full of hot ash. The shock of it sent her slumping to the ground, trying to gasp clean air and finding none. Quigley's picture – she had to find Quigley's picture.
Violet wanted to stand, but she couldn't make herself. Her chest was tight and no matter how much she coughed, it only made her feel more tired. Sweat was creeping down her face as she watched her bed catch fire from where she was slumped in the floor. Somewhere, she was aware of a loud banging, but it was hard to tell over the roar of the flames. Violet remembered that time her parents had taken them swimming and she'd held her breath underwater too long – how it made her throat burn. That was nothing compared to how she felt with the fire ripping around her. Each breath grew smaller and smaller because it just hurt too much, there wasn't enough air. Violet's eyes grew too heavy to hold open any longer and so they slid shut, her fingers tightening slightly around the photos she held to her chest.
There was another loud bang, this one more concrete than before. Perhaps the foundation was crumbling. The heat of a nearby flame licked her ankle. Violet felt so heavy, she didn't even bother to move. For a moment she thought part of the wall caved in, covering her, but it was just the hot hands of another person. They were trying to pull Violet up, but she gulped that hot air and pulled away, eyes opening weakly to scan for the photo of Quigley. Nearly everything was on fire now and it was almost impossible to see through the black smoke.
Again the hands reached for her and she lashed at them weakly with the picture frames, slashing at their arms. In an instant, the frames were smacked from her hold and eaten in the nearby fire, while she was hoisted up and thrown over someone's shoulder. Violet tried to scream, reaching for the frames with a crazed determination, but was taken by a fit of violent coughing. Again she felt sleepy and tried to kick half-heartedly, but each breath of the hot air slowed her movements more and more before she lost contact with everything and grew still.