Chapter Three
Violet gave a terrible cough and sputtered, hand grasping for anything it could reach. When she opened her eyes, they were blurry and stung, so she quickly closed them again. Her hand found a handle of some sort and she latched onto it, vaguely aware that she was laying across the seat of some sort of vehicle.
The pictures? Where were the pictures? Violet pried her eyes open again, trying to blink away the blurriness and feeling with her free arm. All that met her fingertips were the carpeted floor and the plush seat in front of her. Again she coughed, hacking so hard that white lights flashed across her vision. Each breath sent a terrible stab through her throat and each gasp for air, a burning in her chest.
Violet tried to pull herself up, but the movement of the car and the swaying in her foggy brain made it difficult. The car smelled vaguely familiar and a knot of anxiety lodged itself in her stomach. When she managed to raise herself, clinging to the seat in front of her, she looked to the rearview mirror and met those shiny eyes.
Count Olaf was alone, driving with her splayed across the backseat. His eyes were not on the road, but on Violet.
"Photos?" she croaked, a note of hysteria leaking through the pain of speaking.
Count Olaf's mouth curled into a sneer. "What photos?" he asked, eyes raging like the fire he'd stolen her from. In all her years, she wasn't sure she'd seen him this angry and, despite her own anger, she remained quiet. Years of abuse did that to a person. No matter how brave she thought herself, the fear of that man was instilled so deeply that there was nothing to be done.
Violet simply laid back down in the seat, her ash-covered hands finding the ring that lay just inside the neck of her dress. For a good while the only noises to be heard were her rasping breaths from the backseat. Then, without warning, the car veered violently to the right. Violet's head jammed into the door. She hoped they were crashing, leading to the death of the driver. She had no such luck, however. When the car came to an abrupt halt, Count Olaf was gone in the blink of an eye, slamming his door shut with an unnecessary force. Then the door her head jammed against was thrown open and his long fingers were digging into her arms, pulling her from the car. Violet let him, not wanting to anger him further, and her feet found the solid asphalt beneath them.
It was quiet where they were. Overhead, a million little pinpricks of light dotted the black sky and Violet knew they were far from the city. The only light came from a flickering bulb which illuminated an otherwise dark building sitting among a few trees. There was a sidewalk which led from the doors of the building to the parking lot in which they stood.
Without a word, Count Olaf grasped her sharply beneath the arm and dragged her toward the building. Violet couldn't help but notice there were no other cars in the lot or people around. Even though she began coughing again, he still dragged her through her hacking toward the dismal looking building. Once they were close enough, Violet could see it was a rest area. The inside, as it was evening, was locked, but there were entries open to the bathrooms on either side. She realized with discreet horror that she was being forced into the men's restroom and that, to her knowledge, she'd never been in a men's restroom before in her life.
Before she even had the chance to protest, she was shoved inside and toward the sinks. The walls were a sickly lime color and there was a terrible stench in the air. Count Olaf directed her to a mirror and said with distaste, "Wash the soot off your face."
Violet, that knot of fear still coiled in her stomach, nodded and did as she was told. When she reached to turn the taps, she saw there were several blisters on her fingers, as well as dried blood on her palm. Olaf watched her reflection with a careful regard and Violet, aware of this, refused to look up at him. With shaking fingers, she first cleaned her hands, then pressed the cool water onto her face. Even her arms and neck were covered with grime, so she attended those once her face was clear. There was nothing to be done about the dress, singed along the sleeves. Once she was finished getting what ash from her skin that she could, Violet cupped her hands and let the water fill them, bending to take a sip. The cool water soothed her throat and she stayed like that for nearly a full minute, getting her fill.
Count Olaf, losing his patience, butted her out of the way and took a turn wiping the soot from his own face. Violet didn't dare look at his reflection, but she could still feel his eyes on her the entire time.
"You're being quiet," he finally said, standing and turning off the tap. Violet was looking toward the floor and noticed he had a few singe marks on his trousers.
"So are you," she said, gravel still thick in her voice despite the water she'd had. It was odd behavior for him, considering she knew him to be one of the most boastful men she'd ever come across.
In reply he only grunted, then grabbed her by the arm and led her back outside. Violet's vision was clearer now and she scanned the area, looking for any escape. Count Olaf allowed her to entertain the notion for a moment before reaching under her chin with his long fingers and slowly steering her face toward his. Violet had no choice but to meet his eyes. "My car is faster than you," he said lowly, with great danger in his tone, "And it causes more damage."
Violet looked away and nodded, trying to quell the roll of fear in her stomach. Olaf flung her face from his hand, as if it burned to touch her, and then steered her to the backseat of his car. Violet wished desperately that some traveler would pull into the rest stop and she could scream out for help, but there was no sign of headlights as he opened the door, nor a lost family looking for directions as he shut her inside.
Count Olaf once again took the driver's seat and then they were off, back on some lonely highway. Violet, her mind clear from the smoke of the fire, now looked around her for anything that might assist an escape. The locks on both doors were busted. There were no left-behind items in the floor that she might have been able to use for something – anything – to escape. The windows would be hard to break without something small and pointed to shatter them.
Despite her hair not being up in a ribbon, Violet's mind went to the ring hanging around her neck. The diamond in the middle peaked upward, just maybe sharp enough to shatter the window. But, when her eyes shot to the rearview mirror, he was watching her with a knowing look. With a defeated sigh, she leaned back against the seat and watched a smirk of triumph cover his mouth.
"I know you three better than anyone else alive," he said, congratulating himself. "I know you like the back of my hand, Violet Baudelaire, and I know better than to look away."
Violet said nothing, only sitting in quiet defeat, trying not to let the fear get the best of her. They drove for perhaps a quarter hour in silence before she noticed the gaudy lights in the distance. The closer they crept, the clearer they became and she saw it was some side-of-the-road 24-hour diner, all lit up with neon light fixtures. "We're eating," he announced, braking the car to prepare for the turn. "I won't even make you pay. See? I'm not as cruel as you remember."
All Violet could remember was that morning, years ago, when he'd fixed warm breakfast for her, Klaus, and Sunny. Oh, it had been delicious, sure – warm porridge with fresh raspberries – but it was only an attempt to earn their trust and disguise his next scheme at gaining their fortune. The thought of it sent a shiver down her spine. That was the time he tried to marry her.
Count Olaf parked and, once his door was again slammed, opened the door for her. At least he didn't insist on dragging her out like some child once more. When she stood, though, one of his long arms wrapped around her neck and drew her back against his chest. Under her ribs, she could feel something very sharp poking against her. Though she couldn't see it, she knew he had a knife in his free hand. "No funny business," he muttered into her hair, near her ear. Violet shuddered at the warmth of his breath and the chill of his tone. When she didn't answer, the knife jabbed under her rib a little harder.
"Alright," she said, glad when he released her. Count Olaf said nothing for a moment as he shut her door, then flung an arm over her shoulders, like two lovers or close friends, and steered them toward the diner.
"Good," he muttered. "Then we'll talk business."
Violet wasn't sure what that meant and didn't like the sound of it at all. Once inside, Count Olaf sauntered over to the darkest, grimiest corner of the empty restaurant and chose a booth. When she slid into her own side, near the edge, Olaf nudged his head toward the wall and muttered, "All the way in." Sliding next to the wall, Violet felt him stretch his legs under the table and rest them on the bench next to her, preventing any escape.
"You were watching us the entire time," she said suddenly, letting her eyes drift up to his and looking at him – really looking at him – for the first time since he'd reentered her life. Olaf still looked much the same, just as greedy and nefarious, but there was a different expression on his face now. His brow was tucked as if in thought and then, when he opened his mouth to speak, an older waitress appeared. Olaf's eyes darted from Violet to the waitress and he broke out into a smile.
"What can I get you to drink?" she said, boredom clear in her tone. Violet thought it must have been quite dull to work an overnight shift, especially seeing as she and Count Olaf were the only two customers.
Violet watched Olaf's eyes scan over the shoulder of the woman, looking to see what beverages they offered. The disappointment which grew on his face was probably due to his realization that they didn't offer wine, or any alcohol for that matter. "Tea will do," he said, not even trying to hide his disappointment.
"Regular…lemon…raspberry…or peach?" the woman droned, like some of the terrible actors in Count Olaf's plays reciting lines.
Since looking at him, Violet hadn't let her gaze drop and watched a softness appear in his eyes. It was unsettling. "Raspberry," he said, then his eyes swung around to meet Violet's once again.
"Just a water, please," she told the woman without looking at her. The waitress told them she'd be right back, but it was unheard to either of them as they were locked in a staring contest.
"I was aware you brats had stolen my home, yes," he admitted, the softness in his eyes gone, replaced by the heat of anger once more.
"You would sometimes peek in through the windows. Or hide in the back yard," she added, not a question, but a statement.
"Yes," he said, offering no more.
At this Violet blushed terribly, thinking of the times she and Quigley had snuck out to his stage in the dead of night, the feeling of being watched lurking around her.
"Yes, I was aware of that," he said, mouth sneering in disgust as he realized what she was blushing over. "Not to worry, I wasn't interested in seeing it. I was more horrified at what was being done on my stage."
Violet was glad for the interruption of the waitress bringing their drinks and immediately took a long gulp of her water. Not only did it soothe her throat, but she hoped it calmed the redness of her embarrassment. It appeared that Count Olaf ordered for the two of them while Violet tried to soften her humiliation, keeping her face low in the cup. When he spoke next and she looked up, the waitress was gone.
"I never saw a thing," he said, lips still pursed. Violet nodded, then dipped her head low again toward the cup while her face exploded with heat once more.
"Why didn't you come after us then?" she asked into the cup, the noise distorting slightly.
She wasn't sure he understood, as he was quiet for a moment, but then he said with some amount of ill-disguised horror, "I had no interest in kidnapping two naked teenagers who were…going at it!"
Violet coughed so hard that she saw the white lights in front of her eyes again, water spewing from her mouth and down across her dress. "No," she said before being taken by another fit of hacking. "No, I meant while we lived at your house!"
Count Olaf took a lazy swig from his tea, then dipped his finger below the surface and spun the ice. "It didn't fit in my plans," he said simply.
Violet, despite her red face, looked up and gave him a quizzical look. "Haunting the footsteps of orphaned children and attempting to steal their fortune no longer fit your plans?"
The ice in his cup was swirled a few more times until he looked back up at her. "I never said that, now did I?" he asked, leaving it at that.
The two fell back into silence, Violet finding a book of matches in the ashtray and Olaf spinning the ice in his cup. Finally the woman brought their meals, sandwiches of some sort, and let them be again. "How much does one have to pay a waitress to poison someone's food?" Violet asked, poking at her sandwich with suspicion written all over her face.
Count Olaf scoffed, his sandwich already missing two bites. "If I wanted you dead, you'd be dead," he declared under his breath. Violet felt suddenly suffocated with his ankle and foot pressed against the outside of her thigh.
"You should have just left me in the fire," she muttered, opening the matchbook and running her fingertips over the matches. Her eyes found the sandwich in front of her, but she made no move to grab it. Her mind was not on eating at all. Violet's mind kept imagining Quigley's photo curling up in the flames, crisp and blackened.
"If I had done that," Olaf said, mouth half-stuffed with food, "I would have lost one-third of the fortune."
It was the way he said it, making sure to say only one-third of the fortune, which made her freeze. "You will not go near Sunny or Klaus," she demanded, the pain in her throat not keeping the words from biting out sharp.
Olaf merely gave her his crooked grin and then took a long drink of his raspberry tea. "Little girls don't call the shots," he said, eying her plate. "And you'd better eat that after I bought it for you."
"I'm not a little girl, anymore," she said, just as fiercely as before. Not wanting to push her luck, however, she picked up her sandwich and took a small bite, keeping the matches in her free hand. It was a mixture of lunch meats that she couldn't exactly identify and didn't want to think too much about.
Count Olaf merely shrugged. "I suppose not," he said, then returned to the subject of the fortune, eyes shining in excitement. "I've weaseled a few friends into Mulctuary Money Management. Seeing as the two you listed as payable-upon-death are now both dead, your money would revert to the bank. And then it would be rather sticky trying to get my hands on it."
For a moment, panic tightened inside her chest, thinking he'd meant Sunny and Klaus. But, that was right – she'd listed Quigley and Beatrice as those who would receive her account money should she perish. The thought of the two brought a flash of pain to her face, but it was masked a second later. Olaf noted her small flinch and wondered if her loss attributed to the dark circles under her eyes or her generally unkempt appearance.
"I'm not hungry," she muttered after only the third bite, laying the sandwich down and pushing the plate away. "I'll throw up in your car if I take another bite."
Well, he could hardly argue with that, could he? Olaf gave her a disapproving look and swept her sandwich up in his hands, taking a bite where she'd left off. He thought she'd of been happy to see food – it looked as if she only ate once every week or so with how thin her hands were.
Violet was preoccupied with the matchbook again. She was glad, though, that Count Olaf was eating after her and not the other way around. The thought of putting her mouth where his had been made her stomach roll.
"You said we'd talk business," she said, lazily striking a match and watching the flame dance between her fingers.
Count Olaf watched as well, with a careful regard as he knew she'd started a few fires of her own. "I kept my eyes on you three, followed you to your precious Uncle Monty's. By then, my friends at the bank had told me about the three separate accounts. But I needed you alive and you were always together, holed up in that snake house. I couldn't burn it down without killing you, too."
Violet's brow tucked, though she still never looked away from the lit match burning bright in her hold. "Why keep me alive?" she said, a note of distraction in her voice. Her fingers were beginning to grow warm and she wondered how long she could hold it.
"Well, one of you had to be alive to get the money. Neither of them were payable-upon-death on your account. But, you're payable-upon-death on theirs."
It actually didn't shock her. After years of dealing with him, she'd expected something along those lines. Still, she finally looked up from the match with a worried expression. "What have you done to Sunny and Klaus?" she said, wincing as the fire burned her. Violet dropped the match and it burned out as soon as it landed on the table.
Count Olaf grinned that wicked grin and let her worry for a moment. Then he finally said, "Nothing yet."
"We can work something out," Violet said quietly, hoping beyond hope that he didn't have henchmen at Uncle Monty's awaiting the order to ignite the home. "Let me talk to Klaus and Sunny. I'm sure they'll give you their money and no one has to die. Just take it and leave us alone."
Violet's mind was ticking, thinking of where they could get jobs to support themselves. Perhaps she could patent some inventions. Klaus could work in a library somewhere. Sunny would have to go to school, of course, but maybe she could find evening work at a restaurant nearby.
"You've always been the most sensible of the three. Klaus was a sarcastic little brat and the baby just…liked to bite. You, my dear, knew when to shut up. I was relieved you were the one that had to be kept alive. But-," he said sourly, plucking up a raspberry from his glass and popping it into his mouth, "- there's a problem with your solution. You flew the nest like some criminal in the night and I couldn't afford to lose track of you, so I had to follow. When you were all settled, I went back to find the others gone."
Violet looked up at him, unable to suppress the glimmer of hope in her eyes. "Gone?" she said, the heat on her fingers forgotten momentarily.
Count Olaf scoffed, lips tugging down at the corners of his mouth. "Yes, gone. They still haven't returned."
At that moment, the waitress returned with new drinks and laid their bill face down on the table. Then she was gone, back to the kitchen where some unseen cook was laughing.
During the time the waitress was near, both had grown quiet, but a nasty realization crossed Violet's mind.
"You set my house on fire," she said, blame etched in every feature of her face. It was his fault. It was all his fault that Beatrice was gone, that Quigley was gone, and probably that her parents were gone.
Count Olaf scowled, grabbing the bill and crumpling it into his palm. "I see you're still blaming me for fires I didn't start," he said with a rather nasty tone, then tossed the bill to the ground and stood. "I don't know who set your house on fire."
"But someone did," she insisted. "Klaus said it was an accident, but I don't think it was." Seeing as Olaf was standing, she scooted to the end and stood too, kicking the bill with her foot as she did. Apparently they weren't paying.
"You're right," he said, throwing his arm over her shoulders again and steering her toward the door. There was haste in his step, which she thought was probably due to not wanting to be caught by the waitress. "I wasn't there when it happened, but I saw the aftermath. The interior was less damaged. Someone started it from the outside."
Violet was nodding, her head bobbing against his shoulder. "That's what I thought," she said. "That's how the others burned."
There was no need to specify that she meant the fires she'd started. They both knew.
When they reached the car, Olaf again opened the back door, but Violet paused. "So," she said, "What happens when we find Sunny and Klaus?"
Count Olaf looked over his shoulder at the diner, irritation growing over his face. When he looked back, that anger was shining in his eyes again. "I kill them."
Violet, prepared for that answer, raised her eyebrows and retorted, "I've got a better idea."
"Oh?" he asked, glancing back over his shoulder again. Apparently the waitress hadn't noticed yet. Though, due to her lack of work ethic, she may not have even cared.
"You leave my siblings alone. And their money-," she started to say, but was interrupted by Olaf's dry laughter.
"Get in the car," he said, wanting to hear no more. One of his hands grabbed her around the top of her arm and was trying to force her down into the backseat.
"You leave Klaus and Sunny alone. And their money," she continued, not budging. "You can have mine and –"
"Why would I want one-third when I could have three-thirds, you stupid girl?" he interrupted again, pushing her harder toward the seat.
"And-," she pressed, "You can have something worth three times our fortune."
At this, Olaf stilled, his hand growing relaxed on her arm. "What do you mean?" he demanded, eyes shining brilliantly.
Violet smiled, though there was a sadness in her eyes. If this is what she had to do to buy time for her siblings, then that's just what she would have to do. It pained her to do so, but she would gladly trade the ghosts of the past for the security of the future.
"I'm the only living person-," she said, giving him a careful look, "- who knows where the Quagmire sapphires are hidden."
There was a moment of pause as the air between them shifted. Violet had seen Count Olaf perform enough power plays that he'd now created a worthy opponent. A slow, wicked smile grew over Olaf's face and his hand abandoned her arm, instead going to her chin. He looked closely at her, inspecting every corner of her face for a lie.
"You said you wanted to talk business," she said in a slow tone, watching him as he dissected her expression. "So let's talk business. You harm my family, you harm one little hair between the two, and the location of the sapphires will go with me to my grave."
It happened so quickly that Violet didn't realize what happened until after it was over. Olaf tightened his hold on her chin and leaned close, pressing his lips to her forehead for just the slightest of moments. Then he pulled away, but only slightly, his face still hovering inches from hers.
"Well played," he said, some strange note of pride in his voice, and then before she knew it, they were back in the car and on the dark highway before the waitress even noticed they'd gone.