AN: I had a guest review (alexia) asking for an author's note, so here it is. Often I don't do these, but since it was requested, I'll oblige. I apologize for the length in time before chapters. Readers who are familiar with my other stories know this is a common occurrence. It's not that I'm forgetting you as a reader or my stories, it's just that I'm an insanely busy person. Not only do I go to school full-time, but I work one full-time and one part-time job, not to mention volunteering at two separate organizations. Another guest review (Madame Nakamura) mentioned that I got a few of the names mixed up in the beginning. While I've fixed what I found, she also mentioned that I once referred to Lucia as Ledia. I've gone over the chapters and didn't see it, so if anyone finds it, could you PM me the chapter and sentence, so I can get it fixed? Sometimes when you're reading over your own writing, your eyes glaze over errors, even if you're specifically looking for them. Thanks for pointing it out, Madame Nakamura! She also mentioned this story being rated M. While I have no intention of writing anything explicit for this particular story (as it isn't well-represented in this rather melancholy writing style), I typically like to rate up just in case. Anyone who has read my Scabior fic knows, if the story allows, that I can delve into lemons. But, again, I believe lemon/smut will be more implied in this particular story. alexia asked that I write an AN to give my insights to the story. I'll say this much – I have this and the next two chapters written. Within these three chapters (and without diving too far), the relationship between Violet and Olaf is going to begin to shift. Violet is going to fall into a more active role in Olaf's schemes and she will see that, perhaps, Count Olaf is not all sinister and maybe her relationship with her parents blinded her as a child. This will raise questions, which will raise problems – such as the attraction becoming a little two-sided for her comfort. That's all I'm at liberty to say. As always, thank you for staying with me and I hope you enjoy. - DC
Chapter Nine
The screaming wouldn't stop. On and on it went, echoing in her ears. Visions of flames passed before her, licking at her face and neck. Smoke. There was so much smoke. And that screaming.
It all lasted a lifetime. Two lifetimes. Three.
Everything was murky, unclear, and more than once she wondered if she'd died. It felt like an eternity she was there in that hellish landscape, watching the flames devour everything, subject to those agonizing screams.
Finally she woke, brow soaked in sweat as if she'd been pulled from the fire which haunted her dreams.
White room. White rooms are hardly ever pleasant places to be. When she moved her arm, a sharp pain stung her. Before she could look to see what it was, he was leaned over her, eying her with greed.
"You're awake," he said, some dark relief in his tone.
Violet's vision went blurry and she realized she was crying. Quigley had been there toward the end and it pained her to know it was a dream.
After that, doctors and nurses came endlessly, poking and prodding her. She still had a fever, they said. She had blood poisoning, they said. She almost died, they said.
Violet, half-drugged, would just nod. The words didn't make much sense to her, but she kept nodding as if they needed an affirmative.
That evening, after she'd closed her heavy eyes again, Olaf stood and went to her bedside. For three days he'd been there and Ursa was fit to be tied. But, what else could he do? If he told Ursa it was Violet, she would understand that the girl couldn't be left alone, else she would disappear on him and he'd never see the Quagmire sapphires. But, if he did that, Ursa would fly into a rampage at Violet having been in the house the entire time.
Olaf watched the girl as he thought. Sweat still hung on her brow, hair clinging to her neck, but the fever had broken the evening before. The covers were thrown from her and, with one slender finger, he traced a single fading pink line from her ankle until it disappeared under her gown. Some dark part of him wanted to trace further.
They'd stitched her ankle, which was now wrapped in heavy gauze. He should have forced her to go the evening she was cut, then none of this would have ever happened. But he allowed her to be a stubborn brat and everything went to hell.
Olaf's hand moved to her chin and he turned her face to get a better look at her cheek. Good. The stage makeup was still holding firm. For once he was glad he invested in the heavier, more expensive stuff. They'd already asked enough questions about how she got the cut and why they waited so long to come to the hospital. The last thing he needed was a social worker separating them until the cause of the bruise was determined.
She would have loved that, wouldn't she? Watching him be forced out of the room so they could question her, getting to spill the beans, being rescued. Olaf's fingers tightened on her chin, but the girl didn't stir. No. He was ahead of the curve. That wouldn't happen. They said two more days in the hospital now that she'd awoken and they could go home. Olaf wouldn't leave her side for a single second. The moment he did, the situation would be out of his hands. Even sleep would be dangerous.
That is why, two days later, Olaf drove her back to his home while he leaned over the steering wheel, eyes wide as if in shock. It was lack of sleep. Violet, wisely, said nothing. She'd still said nothing to him and, if he weren't so damn exhausted, he would have been angrier about it than he was.
Neither of them remembered much after the car was parked. Olaf was so tired that he nearly fell asleep trying to unlock the door. Violet was on such a mess of medicines that it was a miracle she was walking straight.
Alec found them both on the couch. Violet was at one end, her legs tucked beside her, breathing calm and easy. Count Olaf was at the other end, his head draped back over the couch, legs spread wide in front of him. The little butler let them be, glad Ursa was gone for the evening. If she'd found them both asleep on the couch, she would have screamed all night and broke half of the plates he'd been working so hard to clean.
The next morning, Violet awoke alone on the couch. Aside from a stiff neck, she felt the best she had in ages. Though, she nearly jumped right out of her skin when she realized Count Olaf was sitting in the wingback chair, just staring at her.
"You should have told me you needed to go to the doctor," he chided, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest. Violet met his eyes for a moment, noticing the dark circles under them. Instead of answering, she stood, wincing at the weight on her ankle. Count Olaf balled his hands into fists, digging them into the arms of the chair. "I do not enjoy the silent treatment, Violet Baudelaire. One more moment of it and you'll be right back in that hospital."
Violet hated how he insisted on calling her by her full name. It wasn't as though she didn't like her name, only that when he spoke it, the name rolled off his tongue in an aristocratic fashion. It was how her parents' friends would have said her name and the thought of Count Olaf in the same league as those wonderful people made her want to cringe. When he spoke her name, it sounded like a lovely song, only sung by a terrible person.
"I didn't realize it was that serious," she said, clearing her throat after. Violet hadn't spoken in many days and her voice carried a lot of gravel from lack of use.
Count Olaf stared at her, his brow rising eventually. "You had a temperature of one-hundred-and-four," he said matter-of-factly. "If you didn't realize it was serious, you're not half as clever as I thought you were."
Violet didn't miss the backhanded compliment, but she didn't comment on it either. Instead, sensing the conversation was far from over, she reclaimed her spot on the sofa. "I meant that I knew it was infected, but I didn't realize how serious an infection could be. I had never been cut seriously before, I thought it would clear up on its own."
Count Olaf again stared at her, like she was the most idiotic person in the world. Anger seeped into her stomach and she clenched her fists to match his, though reigned back her tongue which wanted nothing more than to insult him.
"I suppose you know now," he said simply, releasing his fists and relaxing back into the chair. "Before you begin your work for the day, we need to discuss the sapphires."
Though she didn't realize it, her hand went to her neck and she ran the ring hanging there between her thumb and finger. "What about them?" she asked, her eyes far away.
Count Olaf, however, was extremely aware that she was fiddling with the ring. Someone in the back of his mind, he wondered how much it was worth.
"Well, their location, for starters," he said, pursing his lips as he pulled his eyes from the ring. Violet lost the far-off look and focused intently on him then.
"Hidden on Mount Fraught," she said, careful of her wording.
"Mount Fraught?" he asked, brow creasing as if the name were familiar, but he couldn't place it.
"It's the highest peak of the Mortmain Mountains," she said simply.
"And where on Mount Fraught are they hidden?" he pressed, aware that she had the same powerful look as she did the night she mentioned the sapphires, as if this were a game.
Violet took a moment to straighten out the skirt of her dress, flattening an imaginary crease. "In the sugar bowl," she said, as lightly as if discussing the weather.
Count Olaf's stomach tightened, wondering how she could speak of such things as if they were worthless. His breath blew out in a hiss. "The sugar bowl was lost," he said, unbelieving.
She shook her head and offered him a sad smile. "Quigley recovered it from the Stricken Stream before it reached the sea," she said, then added in a quiet voice, "He never told me what else was in there, only that he recovered it and the sapphires, then hid them together on Mount Fraught before reuniting with us."
Violet wasn't sure she wanted to know what else was in the sugar bowl. Things that caused misery and woe were best kept sealed up. She could see in a glance that Count Olaf seemed torn, his eyes cast to some faraway place, yet burning with greed. "Where did he hide the sugar bowl on Mount Fraught?" he asked, desire thick in his voice.
"I'm not telling you," she said simply and Count Olaf knew, in that moment, he'd been power played again.
"What?" he demanded, fury in his tone.
"I'll take you there," she said, "But I won't tell you."
Count Olaf sized her up, crossing his long arms over his chest again. "You're buying time," he accused, mentally taking back his earlier statement that she wasn't as clever as he thought. Violet only offered him an apologetic smile. It made him want to beat the answers out of her, but in her fragile state he might go too far and kill her. If she were dead, he would never know the answers. "Go," he hissed, furious for letting her have an upper hand, the clever girl.
Violet didn't need to be told twice. She stood immediately and took her exit to the kitchen, where Alec was already working at the sink. When he heard her approach, he looked over his shoulder and gave the biggest smile she'd ever seen.
"You're awake!" he said, then jumped off the chair and ran to her, wrapping his arms around her waist in a tight hug. "I missed you!"
Violet giggled and patted him on the head. "You've got quite a lot done while I was gone," she said with a smile, looking around the room. The table was overrun with clean dishes and the dirtied plates were whittled down to two piles.
"Count Olaf wasn't here to leave lists, so I worked on the dishes the whole time. I've almost got them done!"
"That's wonderful!" she said, glad the worst of the mess was behind them. Alec let her go and beamed, hopping from foot to foot.
"I'm eight today!" he burst, as if it was the most important news in the entire world.
Violet smiled, though the feeling in her heart grew heavy. Poor Alec, working like mad on his birthday. She honestly felt sorry for the little butler. "Well, then, happy birthday," she said kindly. "I have nothing to give you, but how about you sit down and rest while I finish the dishes?"
Alec laughed and went back to his chair near the sink, climbing atop. "I'd rather do the dishes with you," he said and Violet's heart nearly shattered. She went to the sink and pushed up her sleeves, giving him another pat on the head.
"I think I can do that," she said, tying back her hair with the same piece of her old dress that she'd used since she fixed the sink.
The two of them spent the entire morning finishing the dishes. When they were done, the evidence of their hard work gleamed from the kitchen table. "It feels good to accomplish something, doesn't it?" she asked and he nodded.
But, the piles presented their new problem. They couldn't stay on the kitchen table and the cabinets were filthy. One by one, they opened the cupboards to find nothing but filth. The cabinet liners were crusted and peeling, there were rat droppings in a few, and dirt was caked in the corners. Whatever feeling of accomplishment they had was soon diminished.
"I suppose we should start with pulling the things from the cabinets," she said, expression cemented in dismay. The two pulled the rusted cans, dusty jars, and anything else they found from the cabinets, making a stack in a corner of the room that wouldn't be disturbed.
"What now?" Alec asked, standing on the counter and peeling back a bit of the shelf liner. At one point, it was adhered to the shelf, but it had long since lost the majority of its stickiness. "Hey Violet, do we need this stuff? It'll make it easier if we just peel it away."
Violet stuck her hand in a different cabinet and pulled back the liner. Small spots were still clinging, but it quickly lifted with enough force. "I suppose not," she said, removing the entire piece. Underneath there was a beautiful oak wood, clean of any grime. "Shelf liner is only to protect the shelves. It's not necessary." Going to the shelf under it, she peeled back the liner there and revealed even more beautiful wood. "Alec," she said, beaming, "You're brilliant. Get all the liners off, it'll make this so much easier!"
Alec giggled, eyes alight, and walked along the counter to retrieve the shelf liners as Violet ducked and did the same on the bottom. Once they were done, they had a pile of disgusting liners and several naked shelves.
"Okay, now what?" Alec said, excitement in his tone. Violet couldn't help but laugh – his eagerness was enough to make even the dullest tasks enjoyable.
She looked around the room, grabbing a few rags from where they lay on the counter. "Go get the mop bucket," she told him, then turned to the sink. There was a single bar of soap there, peachy pink and half used away. It would have to do.
Alec was gone and back in a flash, the metal bucket tucked in his fists. "Got it!" he said, breathless.
Violet filled the bucket with warm water, then set it on the counter. Alec climbed back up as he had before. "We're going to have to make do with this," she said, turning and grabbing the bar of soap. Showing him what to do, she soaked her rag in the water, then rubbed the bar over it several times, creating a lather. "If we run out, we'll have to check the bathroom upstairs," she said, a note of disgust in her voice. She hated going in the bathroom and knew it would need dozens of bars of soap to clean.
Alec nodded and the two set to work. They'd nearly finished three cabinets when Count Olaf entered the kitchen.
"Maid," he said and they both turned to look at him. "Come. We're going to the market."
Violet gave Alec a reassuring smile. "You've got this," she said kindly. "Just keep at it and we'll have somewhere to put the dishes."
Alec nodded and she gave him a wink before dumping her rag back in the bucket and turning to leave with Count Olaf.
In the car, once they were down the road, he looked at her through the rearview mirror and said, "I've been doing research on the Mortmain Mountains all morning. We won't be able to make the climb for another month, once summer arrives and the conditions on the mountain clear."
Violet nodded, then looked out the window. Good – another month. That gave her more time. Maybe during the next month, she could concoct a plan to reach her siblings.
Once at the market, Violet realized Count Olaf seemed out of place among the smiling vendors, though seemed to be in a lighter mood and was buying anything his heart desired. Violet idly wondered if he'd never had much money before. Despite his despicable manner of attaining her fortune, the thought made her heart constrict. What if he'd grown up poor? Was his first shopping spree really to the market in order to buy food? Violet remembered the time, so many years ago, when she and her siblings had to make dinner for his theatre troupe. It had turned out a disaster, unfortunately, Count Olaf not happy with the fact that they'd made puttanesca. But before the evening turned sour, he'd sent them to the local market with only a small amount of money to buy groceries. At the time, they thought he was being frugal, but perhaps he just didn't have the money to spend. For some ridiculous reason, the thought made Violet feel bad for having had a privileged childhood. Well, at least until her parents died.
Walking next to him, Violet eyed a stall with many fruits and vegetables. Count Olaf had, thankfully, offered her a small amount of money to buy anything she might need. It came as a great surprise, that he would offer her anything other than what was needed to keep her alive, but she wondered if holding the sapphires over his head had Count Olaf treating her a little better. The money was a great relief to Violet, whose first purchase was a toothbrush. Brushing her teeth with her finger wasn't as refreshing as with a proper toothbrush. No matter how small it was, the act of generosity from Count Olaf surprised her and she wasn't sure how it made her feel. Perhaps if he'd had more money when they came into his guardianship, he wouldn't have been so wicked toward them. It didn't excuse his behavior – nothing ever would – but Violet again couldn't help feeling some amount of sympathy for the man.
"Hold on," she told him, making her way to the fruit stand. There, between the grapes and peaches, sat a large pile of plump raspberries. Violet purchased a small bag and returned to Count Olaf, opening the top and revealing the berries. It was the only thing she knew he liked and, when she offered him the bag after popping one into her own mouth, the act of kindness was not missed by him.
"You're up to something," he said suspiciously, though reached inside and took a few berries, popping them into his mouth as she had done.
Violet merely shrugged and continued her trek down the stalls, bag of raspberries in hand. "It's another month until we can ascend the mountain," she said, eying a stall which sold dishrags. "It will be less miserable if we're at least agreeable with each other."
Count Olaf said nothing and waited while she bought a new stock of rags. Her selflessness astonished him. All she'd bought for herself was a toothbrush and a hair brush. She'd mentioned that it was the young butler's birthday and bought supplies to make a cake, as well as a small puzzle book and box of pencils for his gift. Other than that, she only bought supplies for Olaf's home: a scrub brush, two jugs of bleach, a package of bar soap, a bottle of liquid soap, sponges, shelf liner, several yards of various fabrics, a new P-trap, and now dishrags. Olaf noted with slight amusement that the girl was quite adept at haggling and, looking at what she'd managed to buy, had gotten quite a load for the small amount he'd given her. However, when she returned with the rags, she gave him back two small coins, apparently all that was left. Perhaps she could get a gumball, but that was about it. Olaf took the coins and slid them into his pocket, continuing their stroll through the stalls.
By the time they were leaving, they were both weighed down with bags. On the way out, though, they passed a different fabric stall, one with various supplies blowing in the breeze. There were not only hundreds of fabrics, but various yarns and threads of many colors and thicknesses. There were buttons beyond reason. Olaf never realized there were so many sizes of needles to choose from. But hanging all along the tent were a myriad of ribbons, cut at different lengths and widths, every color imaginable. His eyes went to Violet, then to the piece of fabric which held her hair back at current. She was looking at the ribbons with longing, but said nothing.
"Come here," he said, walking to the stall. "I can't go about town while you've got that rag in your hair. They'll think I can't afford decent help."
The reason, of course, was not one that Olaf was willing to admit. After watching her spend most of that small amount of money he'd given her on himself and the little butler, he knew she didn't have enough for a new ribbon. Olaf once claimed, when he first captured her, that he knew the Baudelaire's better than anyone else alive and that was the truth. Ever since Violet entered his guardianship, just a child, she insisted on tying her hair back in a ribbon.
Olaf selected a plain black ribbon, not daring be more generous than that. "It will match no matter what you wear," he told her after paying, taking the newly cut ribbon and walking around to her back. Violet stiffened, wanting to move but finding herself quite unable. Olaf removed the fabric which secured her hair, letting both the hair and makeshift ribbon flutter free. Then, with surprisingly gentle hands, he brushed her hair back with his fingers and she felt the small tugs of a braid being performed. "There," he said, securing the bottom of the braid with the ribbon. "Much better, you look far more distinguished and appropriate for my company."
Violet was stunned into silence. It was the first time her hair had been braided since her mother was alive. "Thank you," she said softly, the two reentering the crowd and heading for the exit. "Where did you learn how to braid?"
She remembered trying to teach Klaus on their mother's hair when they were children, but he'd been miserable at it, as was their father. It seemed a simple braid was not something most men could master.
"I had a sister," Count Olaf told her, not looking her way. Violet noticed the had and thought it impolite to ask. The two continued in silence, as they often did, and before long were back to his home.
Once the bags were carried in, the late afternoon sun was lost behind boarded windows. Inside, Alec was positively beaming, having scrubbed every last cabinet. Violet inspected them, finding not a single speck of dirt in one of the corners. She pulled out the new shelf liner, a simple blue color, and showed him how to install it. Then she left him to it while she put away the groceries.
When Violet finished, she eyed the young boy, smiling at how excited he was at the simple task of installing shelf liner. Not wanting him to know what she was doing, she quietly removed the ingredients for his cake and a large bowl. If there was one recipe she could repeat from memory, it was Uncle Monty's coconut cream cake. Though Sunny made it better, she'd still beaten it into memory in case she would ever need it. One never knew when one would need a good coconut cream cake.
"What are you making for dinner?" Alec asked, nearing the halfway mark with the cabinets.
"Vegetable soup," she said with a grin, chopping the vegetables. The thing with soup is that it's quite hard to do wrong. All you had to do was add various things to water and heat it to a boil. Violet's soups were no world-renowned recipes, but they were decent tasting and didn't require much effort.
The cake had already been put into the oven and, when it was nearing completion, she shooed Alec from the room. "Go and straighten up the rumpus and living rooms," she said, creating a guise so she could let the cake cool and ice it.
"But, I'm not finished with the liners!" he argued with a pout.
"Yes," Violet said, stirring the soup which was beginning to boil, "But Count Olaf will probably put us to bed right after dinner and we must make sure the house is picked up properly before he does."
Alec groaned, but did as he was told. Just in time, too. Another minute and the cake would have burned. Violet sat it atop the stove and gave the soup another few stirs before lowering the heat to allow their dinner to simmer.
Grabbing more ingredients and another new bowl, Violet whipped together the icing. The cake was still far too warm by the time she finished mixing, so she retrieved his present from where she hid it in a drawer and carefully put it into one of the leftover brown paper bags from their groceries.
Oh! She'd forgotten candles! Violet felt absolutely terrible and went to open a drawer, but remembered they'd cleared everything out from the cabinets. The counter was crowded on one end with the things they took from the drawers, but she found no candles there. Determined, she checked the soup one last time and left the kitchen. Alec was picking up the rumpus room and gave her a questioning look, but she continued through the house and up the stairs. At Count Olaf's closed office door, she paused to knock.
"Yes?" he said, sounding distracted. Violet cracked open the door and peeked her head inside. Count Olaf was leaned back in the wooden desk chair, a book on mountainous regions open in his lap.
"Do you have any candles?" she asked, stepping inside and shutting the door behind her so Alec wouldn't hear. Olaf looked up, his first thought being that he was alone in the room with her. It took several long seconds for his dark thoughts to clear long enough to think of candles.
"Try my bedside table," he said dismissively, then went back to his book. He didn't hear her move and looked back up to see an uncomfortable expression on her face. "There's no monsters in there, I promise," he said, though the thought of her in his room made a shudder run down his spine.
Violet nodded and excused herself, making her way into Count Olaf's bedroom for the first time. She was unsurprised to find the bed unmade and clothes of all sorts dumped on the floor. She stepped over a pair of lace undergarments with a look of distaste and hoped they were Ursa's and not Count Olaf's. The wine bottles in his floor put the ones in her old apartment to shame. Violet couldn't take a step without at least one bottle rolling off somewhere.
The bedside table was filthy, as expected. Several wine glasses were collecting dust and an assortment of candy wrappers were threatening to jump to the floor. Violet thought of the hole in his floor and how she could see a candy wrapper laying under his bed.
The drawer, at first, didn't want to budge, but she finally managed to get it open. Inside, there were notes written in a messy scrawl, a variety of ticket stubs to numerous plays, and two candles. One was long and stout, the other short and thin. Violet chose the latter and left his room, but not before sending more bottles scattering.
Again, however, she paused at the office and stuck her head in. "I'll need something to light it," she said.
Count Olaf, without looking up from his book, opened the desk drawer next to him and dug around, producing a box of matches. He held it out behind him for a moment, then - as if realizing what he was doing - drew his hand back and turned to her with a look as if she was trying to trick him. "Perhaps not," he said, more to himself than her. "I'll be down in a moment."
Violet knew he was right not to trust her. If she and Alec weren't locked in the house with him, she would have taken the opportunity to burn it down without a second thought. Instead of arguing, she made her way downstairs and this time passed Alec in the living. Once in the kitchen, she found the cake cool enough to ice and the soup fully cooked.
The clean plates on the table also created another problem – they had nowhere to eat. Checking to see which cabinets had new shelf liner, Violet put the dishes away, saving three small plates and three bowls. By the time she had dinner on the table, the boys had joined her.
The cake was hidden behind a large pot and, after they finished their soup, proved a great surprise for Alec. He let out a loud giggle, nearly a shriek, and Count Olaf grimaced at the noise. Violet put the candle in the cake and looked to Count Olaf expectantly. As promised, he pulled the book of matches from his pocket and struck one, lighting the candle.
He found that Violet had a lovely voice. She sung birthday wishes to the young boy while Olaf watched the scene unfold. After the little butler blew out his candle, Violet retrieved a brown paper bag and gave it to him. Olaf had never seen a child so excited over a stupid book of puzzles, but the child clung to Violet with a smile as bright as ever. Together the three ate their cake.
The only thing Olaf had ever found more enjoyable was a fresh raspberry.