Chapter Fifteen
Violet was feeling indisposed, a word which here means unwell, ill, and overall anxious from Count Olaf's newest scheme.
She sat in the front seat while he drove, wearing what he called her "heist" dress. Alec was in the back, barely containing a grin. A gorilla mask was in his lap.
"Remember, butler, that is not a toy. You'll just wave it around, not actually aim it at anyone."
Violet felt she would be sick. Next to Alec in the empty seat opposite him sat a very dangerous, very real revolver.
"Count Olaf," she said, but her words cut off as his eyes shot over to her. They'd had this conversation several times. He would not budge.
"Look how excited he is, Violet," he said, her name rolling off of his tongue in such a languid way it was nearly perverse. "You wouldn't want to ruin his fun, would you?"
Alec seemed to know better than to speak, but one could practically feel his excited energy buzzing around him.
Violet sighed and closed her eyes. "I just don't want him hurt," she said quietly. "Can't we do it, just the two of us?"
The thought of the two of them doing anything alone did not pass either of them undetected, but neither spoke on it.
"It's like when you're teaching a child to ride a bicycle," Count Olaf said, letting his eyes fall back to the road. Buildings were starting to grow up along the sidewalks next to them. They were getting close. "It's okay if they get hurt, that's how they learn."
"That's not the same at all!" Violet blustered. "He could be hurt, apprehended, even killed! It's not the same at all when someone's life is in danger!"
"Isn't it?" Count Olaf said, taking a left turn. Violet's stomach clenched. The bank was just ahead. "Didn't you and those other orphans become all the more clever because of your trials?"
Violet opened her mouth to retort, but he gave her a sideways glance and she slowly closed her mouth. There was no use in telling him they only had trials in their childhood due to him. It wouldn't change his mind.
The car screeched to a halt outside of Oswald's bank. Violet swallowed down the bile in the back of her throat. This was wrong. So wrong, yet there was nothing she could say to make him stop.
"Go," he said. Violet's eyes clouded over and she nodded slowly, then left the car. As soon as the door was shut behind her, Count Olaf peeled off. She knew the plan. He would circle three times around the banking district before returning. She was not to attempt escape from him or seek out help - not now, not ever. She was tied to his will by that damned hypnosis.
Violet entered the bank alone and, as soon as Oswald saw her, offered him a shy grin, just as she'd been instructed.
"Veronica!" he said, waving her forward. There were others in line who shuffled and grumbled as she stepped past them. At least she was sure to offer each an apologetic smile. They would think she was sorry for cutting in line, but truly she was sorry for knowing their business at the bank likely wouldn't be taken care of that afternoon. "To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing such a lovely face?" he asked with a grin.
Violet blushed. "Count Olaf sent me into town with one of his colleagues," she said, having told herself the story so many times it was as if she knew it as well as her engineering manuals. "He wanted me to inquire about putting his late aunt's ring into his safety deposit box."
Oswald's brow tucked. "I will certainly double-check, but I don't believe Count Olaf has a safety deposit box with our bank," he said.
Of course he didn't. It was a ruse for time. Still, Violet feigned confusion. "Oh," she said, mouth forming a practiced O-shape. "I'm certain he sent me here, I don't believe Count Olaf banks with anyone else. Would you mind to check?"
Oswald gave her a broad grin. "Of course not, Veronica. Anything to help you out."
She smiled at him, not trusting herself to say more. Oswald bent beneath the desk and she could hear him rummaging through a drawer. When he stood, he had a thin box, perhaps two feet long, stuffed with what looked like recipe cards. He offered her an apologetic look. "This may take a moment," he said, then gave his attention to the box and began shifting through the cards one at a time.
The line of people behind her was growing impatient by the time he'd made it a quarter way through the box. Then she heard the door open behind her and someone gasped.
"Why, it's a monkey!" a woman sputtered. "A monkey with a gun!"
Oswald looked up quickly and Violet turned, though she knew what she would find. Alec stood in the gorilla mask, waving the revolver in the air. The door swung open again and there were two loud gunshots at the ceiling. Count Olaf stood with a smoking gun, a ridiculous horse mask covering his head.
"Everyone stay calm!" he commanded. There were whispers, frightened gasps. Violet felt a hand grip her arm and looked to see Oswald gripping her, his eyes tight and on the two masked figures. "This is a stick-up!"
Violet tried to look afraid, though she knew she was in no real danger. The horse head swiveled toward her and she could make out two eyes shining from inside the mouth.
"Oh, but a pretty girl! Surely no one would let her be harmed!" Count Olaf demanded in a grandiose fashion. He strode over and ripped Violet from Oswald's grasp, spinning her so that her back was flush against his chest. Violet did not need to fake the look of shock at the feel of herself pressed against him. Count Olaf wrapped one long arm around her waist and held her tight. She felt him shift in one fluid moment, lifting the barrel of the gun with his free hand to press under her throat.
There was another burst of murmurs behind them. She looked to Oswald, who'd gone white as a sheet. "Don't touch her," he said lowly, never even sparing a glance at Violet. He eyed Count Olaf.
The arm around her tightened. She could feel his body tense against hers before he spat, "She is mine!" This was not part of the script Count Olaf had prepared.
Oswald straightened his shoulders, jaw set. "I said do not touch her," he said.
A hiss of air slid through Count Olaf's lips. In one slow movement, he loosened his grip along her waist, his hand trailing down across the lap of her skirts. "Then I suggest you give me all the money in your vault," he said darkly, the same hand gliding across her thigh and up over her hip. Violet sputtered in shock and tried to stamp down on his foot, but his arm was back around her waist, tugging her tight to his chest. "Or else I might have to explore further."
The lines they'd rehearsed were thrown into the wind. Violet was supposed to say, "Oh, but if only someone would give this dastardly man what he wants so I might go free!" But instead she looked to the man across the counter and simply squeaked out, "Oswald -"
Oswald gave her a pained look, then slowly raised his hands into the air. "Alright," he said. "Alright, I will give you the money, just - just don't hurt her."
He seemed to be looking to Count Olaf for affirmation, but the man holding her said nothing in reply. Violet's face had grown quite warm at the feel of his hands around her waist, at the thought of his hand trailing along her thigh outside her skirts.
When Oswald didn't move, Count Olaf's hand trailed up her abdomen, as if he meant to let his touch find her décolletage. A shudder, not unwelcome, passed through Violet that she was quite embarrassed to know Count Olaf must have felt.
"Alright!" Oswald said again, then was backing slowly toward the vault behind the desk. Only when he reached it did he turn around and begin spinning the large lock.
Count Olaf would not let her small shudder go unannounced. The feel of her pressed against him was nearly enough to make him commit the most villainous acts. Who cared about money when he had her shaking in his arms? Olaf lost himself for a moment, sliding his hand to her bust and letting his fingers trace along the low neckline of her dress, half on the fabric, half on her bare skin. Her breath hitched and he leaned in close over her shoulder. "You seem to be enjoying yourself, Violet Baudelaire," he said quietly.
"Stop it," Violet hissed, mortified at her own reaction. She tried to turn her head and glare at him, but the cool barrel of the gun pressed against her jaw.
Olaf did not often curse his own ideas, but that damned mask was making it difficult to see Violet's face and, oh, how he wanted to see it. He could feel the tremors of her body pressed against him. His finger trailed along the neckline of her dress once more before dropping down to again wrap around her waist.
Damn that mask! He craned his head to the side and could see the gun pressed to her trembling jaw. Aware that she was being watched, she pressed her face against the gun - the barrel pressing hard into her cheek - to look up at him. Her delicate face was flushed with color, lips parted slightly.
No, the boy would never touch her. That was final.
Violet nearly shuddered in relief when Oswald turned back toward them, the vault hanging open behind him. Anything for a distraction from Count Olaf's hands exploring her.
"You!" Count Olaf said, tearing the gun away from Violet and pointing it directly at Oswald. He jerked the gun to the side twice, signaling for Oswald to move.
Violet let out a small sigh of relief when he moved out from behind the counter and joined the bank patrons, who Alec had forced at gunpoint onto their knees.
"You!" Count Olaf said again, turning and pointing the gun at Alec, then toward the vault.
Alec nodded, the gorilla mask going slightly askew, and then ran back behind the counter and into the vault.
"Don't point the gun at him," Violet chided under her breath. She could feel each of Count Olaf's long fingers splayed and pressed into her stomach, the pressure increasing as he somehow drew her even closer to his person. He leaned the horse's mouth down toward her ear.
"He's fine. You act as if I don't know how to handle a loaded gun, Miss Baudelaire," he murmured. It was not in his usual bossy tone and she could hear a smile in his words. She supposed he was right - he knew far more of firearms than the regular person. She relaxed slightly in his arms, reassured about Alec and relieved he'd stopped his hands from any further roaming on her.
Suddenly both the gun and mask were ripped away from her as he spun toward the crowd, revolver pointed straight at Oswald who froze, having been trying to sneak and stand.
"Don't be a hero," Count Olaf spat, turning so that Violet was held away from the crowd - and Oswald. "It's not a good look."
Violet craned her head to the side, locking her gaze with Oswald's. His face was strained, mouth tight. Silently she mouthed, "Get down."
Before he could go back to his knees there was a noise - softly, so softly Violet almost thought she imagined it - in the distance. Sirens.
"Boy!" Count Olaf barked, his head whipping over toward Alec, who was grabbing armfuls of money to dump in a large canvas rolling cart.
Violet saw the spring of movement before Olaf did, but not with enough time to brace herself before a great shocking force knocked her and Count Olaf to the hard floor in a tangle of limbs, Violet's forehead cracking off the marble tile. Oswald had sprung the moment Olaf's eyes were back on the vault and now the two of them were sprawled on the floor, wrestling over the gun while Violet rolled away and tried to catch her breath.
"Give. Me. The. Gun," Oswald said through grit teeth while the crowd of hostages gasped and cried out. One of his hands gripped at Count Olaf's wrist, the other at his throat, trying to choke the life out of him.
Violet stood and staggered toward them, raising a hand to her brow and feeling a wet, stinging heat there. Her fingers pulled away sticky and crimson. She's landed hard enough to split her brow.
"I'm bleeding," she said quietly, more to herself than anyone else, but as if both men were hyper aware of her they stilled simultaneously and craned their necks to see. The sirens outside were growing closer.
Violet looked down at the men. The men looked up at her. They would never get out of here in time if Oswald didn't let up on Count Olaf.
So she did the only thing she knew to do. Violet gave Olaf a long, knowing look, then put on her best helpless face before turning to the younger man. "Oswald," she said, forcing her tone to be so fragile and ultra feminine that it made her uncomfortable. Surely he would see through this ruse. Then, she allowed her body to go limp and hit the floor.
"Veronica!" he cried and she kept her eyes closed, hearing his shoes smack off the marble floor as he crossed to her.
Curiosity was the penchant of all her inventions - a constant companion throughout her entire life. But then, at that moment, her curiosity ate at her. Violet wanted nothing more than to peek open an eye to see if Count Olaf and Alec were using the moment she'd created for escape. Instead she had to forcefully keep her eyes closed while Oswald slapped her cheeks softly - but enough that it hurt - in an attempt to wake her from her faint.
"They're getting away!" a man called. "The monkey and the horse! They're taking all the money!"
It was not until she heard the slamming car doors and squealing tires that she let her eyes pop open barely. Truth be told, her cheeks were beginning to sting from his prodding.
"Oswald?" she said, again the girlish tone grating on her pride. She was not a weak woman. She had many strengths and weaknesses, like any human, but pretending to faint at the sight of blood and a brawl seemed an affront to her entire childhood filled with murder and betrayal.
"Veronica," he said gently, a worried grin crossing his face. "You came back to me. It will be okay, the police are arriving now and we'll fetch an ambulance for you."
That was enough of that.
Violet huffed and sat up, putting a hand to her now-aching head. "Don't be silly," she said. "I'm alright. It just frightened me, is all. I think it's already stopped bleeding."
Oswald's mouth tugged down at the corners. "It has, but you should still have it looked at. I feel terrible, it was my fault for trying to push him."
Push was, Violet thought, a mild way to word it. Oswald had plowed into them in a way that reminded her of her father taking her to watch rugby games at the park on Saturday afternoons.
"Don't be ridiculous," she said kindly, though she secretly agreed he was at fault for her current headache. "You were being a hero, Oswald."
At this his posture improved and a redness crept across his ears. And to think, Count Olaf had called her clueless about men!
Before Oswald could answer, the bank was swarmed with bumbling police officers, guns drawn. Count Olaf and Alec, however, were long gone.
They were already several blocks away, just outside the financial district parked in an alley between two abandoned, lopsided buildings.
The alley was littered with broken bottles and an old, busted pallet, but even having to swerve around the rubble didn't foul Olaf's mood.
There was a tightness in his chest and stomach that he hadn't felt in a long time - an electric current buzzing through him.
Violet Baudelaire, it seemed, could be a great actress when she wished it. And liar. And arsonist. And murderess. And Count Olaf wondered what other terrible things he could coax out of her. The thought sent a thrill up his spine. Perhaps, he dared to think, she may even come to enjoy it?
Would that not be the greatest act of revenge on Bertrand and Beatrice? Getting his fortune back, even only one-third, was calling it fair. Stealing and corrupting their eldest child, having the absolute control over her that he did, stripping away those last few pesky remnants of the false noble ideals she clung to - yes, that was the proper revenge for what they did. He would mold his little pseudo villainess into a proper fire starter, indoctrinate her, shape her to be his creature. All while Bertrand and Beatrice lay trapped beyond the grave.
"I'm brilliant," he said suddenly with a wide grin, hands tightening on the steering wheel so hard his knuckles were white.
"Er, Count Olaf, sir?" squeaked a little voice from the back. Olaf glanced up at the rearview mirror to see part of Alec's face sticking out from the mountains of cash he was buried in.
"Yes?" Olaf answered, annoyed that he'd been pulled from his vision of grandeur and glory.
"Shouldn't we be loading the money so we can go back and get Violet?"
Olaf looked around, realizing - frighteningly for Alec as a passenger - that they were indeed parked in the alley he'd designated and had been sitting there for some time. His mind was so preoccupied with Violet - oh, he would make her his Violet - that he hadn't even realized they'd made it there and parked.
"Don't tell me what to do," he spat nastily at the boy, popping open his car door and stepping out in one fluid movement.
Alec, wisely, said nothing. Olaf mused darkly that the boy had enough self-preservation to keep quiet. Unlike Violet's brother, who constantly felt the incessant need to have the last word. Or even the baby, who did not use her words but those damned sharp teeth. No, Alec knew when to be quiet, knew when to be helpful, just as Violet had been at a younger age. Perhaps there was potential in the boy, as well.
Count Olaf walked around the car and popped open the back door, hardly containing a grin when mounds of cash spilled out over his feet. Inside, cash shuffled and slid, revealing the small boy who'd been buried in their haste to escape.
"Come now, Alec," he said, offering a hand to the boy who took it and allowed himself to be pulled free into the alley. Yes, the boy was young enough to learn without all the hurdles he would have with Violet. Count Olaf laid a hand on Alec's dark mess of hair. "Be a good boy and pick up the cash that's spilled. Perhaps I'll let you get a toy for your hard work."
This seemed to perk the boy up further who, if Count Olaf wasn't mistaken, seemed to have found the bank heist exhilarating already. Yes, the boy would do. Olaf needed a progeny. He would just have to work on Violet.
He left the boy to his work and turned toward the rickety building to the left. A rusted steel door sat in the middle of dark brick, the shape of an eye smeared in dripping paint in the center. Count Olaf's key ring jingled as he pulled it out and started shuffling through each key to find the right one.
Nearly an hour had passed since Violet had knocked her head off the marble floor and still a pounding ache ripped through her skull with each passing heartbeat. She'd been poked and prodded by emergency personnel who were kind if not a little aloof. The cut on her brow was nothing serious - they had assured her that head wounds simply bled a lot and patched her up with a butterfly bandage, which she found an odd name because it didn't really look like a butterfly at all.
Most of the bank patrons who'd been forced to their knees at gunpoint had since been questioned and left, leaving the officers to jot down scribbles in their small notepads.
After her own questioning - more rigorous than the others due to being held by one of the gunmen - Oswald had led her back to his office and allowed her his chair while he pushed himself up to sit atop his desk.
For a long time they sat in silence, Violet staring at the plum colored carpet and Oswald staring at her.
"It was terrible," he finally said, prompting her to look up at him. "When he grabbed you, I mean. My heart nearly jumped out of my chest."
Violet thought that an odd expression - how exactly did one's heart jump from one's chest - but did not say as much, only offering a small smile.
"Yes, it was quite frightening," she lied easily, if not gently. She could not bring herself to speak too loudly with her head aching as it was.
"It was," he agreed, almost too quickly. "But it's not just that. I - well, I didn't like how he touched you, Veronica. I-I think it made me realize that I don't ever want another man to have his arms around you."
It would have been a wonderful thing to hear if only it had been her name he'd said instead of her alias. And that aside, the middle of a bank robbery hardly seemed the time to be thinking such thoughts. Still, his sweetness surprised her and she gave him a small smile.
"You hardly know me, Oswald," she said, trying to warn him without saying it outright, trying to make him create some distance. It didn't feel good, after all, to be tricking him with Count Olaf's schemes.
Count Olaf.
Violet thought of his long, delicate fingers tracing the neckline of her dress and had to suppress a shudder that was not entirely bad.
Oswald stood from the desk quickly and knelt before her, grasping her hands in his. "Allow me to court you, Veronica. Properly. I know it seems sudden, but you have captured my entire soul with your beauty and wit. I want to show you I will care for you for all your days."
He looked at her, so earnest, his warm brown eyes and mop of black hair so like Quigley's. But the words were not Quigley's. They were from a boy she hardly knew.
"Oh, Oswald," she said gently, by way of showing her hesitance - she didn't want to hurt him, afterall - but he misunderstood it as shocked approval.
"Veronica," he said, a heat of want in his voice as he quickly stood and pulled her to her feet. His mouth covered hers before she could protest and his arms wrapped just a little too tightly around her.
Count Olaf and Alec stepped into the bank for the second time that day, though this time donning their regular attire instead of disguises.
His shiny eyes surveyed the lobby - a few police officers talking in hushed tones, another taking pictures of the open vault, a sullen young bank clerk who sat by herself. But no Violet.
A strange moment of what he thought was fear but quickly reminded himself must be anger flitted through him. Did she escape? No, she couldn't have. She was under his control, forbidden from escaping or seeking help.
And where was that wretched boy who was so preoccupied with his maid? Count Olaf ground his teeth and straightened his shoulders, approaching the sullen bank worker. She was young and attempted to dress well, but he had an eye for quality and it was clear she did not. Her mascara was smeared down her face as she looked up at him, not even caring to put a smile on.
"The banker," he said as a way of greeting. "Where is he?"
The edges of her mouth pulled down like she might cry and she pointed wordlessly to a door left ajar only a few inches. Poor thing must have been terrified from the heist. The thought put a little pep in his step.
Violet had better be in that room or else he didn't know what he'd do. Burn the bank down, if he couldn't find her, most like. There was a sick anticipation in his stomach as he pushed the door the rest of the way open.
He might just send the bank up in flames, after all.
That boy held her to him, one hand tangled in her dark tresses, the other securely around her waist holding them chest to chest. And he was kissing her. Not in some chaste, proper way as he had the night of their date. He had her pressed against his desk. It was more along the lines of bedroom kissing.
Olaf forced all of the instantaneous fury he felt to his clenched fists. He wanted nothing more than to rip the boy off Violet and pummel his face in for daring touch what was his, but the palms of his hands took the brunt of his rage as his nails dug into the soft skin.
"We came as soon as we heard," he said flatly, relishing in the way Oswald dropped his grip from Violet in an instant.
"Count Olaf," Oswald sputtered, looking over to Violet with her mussed hair and swollen lips, before looking back to the older man. At least he had the decency to look ashamed. Oswald's ears flamed red. "I must apologize," he said quickly.
"What happened to her face?" Count Olaf said just as flatly as before, ignoring Oswald's stuttering apologies. He thought himself quite brilliant then - if he asked what happened to her face, then it was obvious he hadn't been there to see it and couldn't be placed at the scene of the crime.
Violet was staring very hard at the plum carpet. Though she wasn't sure she would tell him so, she was grateful Count Olaf had entered the office when he had.
Oswald stammered for a moment, unsure if he was in trouble for being caught kissing the man's hired help. "She was hurt during the robbery, sir."
"How?"
Violet could feel those shiny eyes on her and refused to look up. Oswald shifted on his feet.
"She fell."
Olaf had no respect for this boy whatsoever, but somehow his squirming out of answering to his own faults lowered Olaf's opinion of him further.
"Veronica, come," Olaf ordered and Violet kept her eyes down, shuffling around Oswald and the desk, then past Count Olaf to stand in the lobby. Not once did she look up or even attempt a goodbye to Oswald.
Count Olaf did not immediately follow, instead letting his heated gaze bore into the boy.
Oswald straightened his shoulders. "I am sorry you had to walk in on that," he said, trying for a kind yet stern tone. "But is was hardly improper. Veronica and I are properly courting now and I intend to have her hand by the end of the season."
Count Olaf thought he might start spitting fire, but - due to his amazing acting skills - was able to evenly, albeit in a nasty tone, say, "The way you handled her was more proper for undressing one's wife than the simple gestures of courting." Then turned on his heel, promptly snatched Violet by the arm, and led them from the bank with Alec on their heels.