4.
. . .
I can't believe it.
"That's easy," she said. She had a mellow voice of assurance, one that could adapt to the situation, whether you needed comfort or assurance from someone. I knew she could help. At that moment, she started typing on the keyboard the name of an inventor I suppose she so admires. And the hinges on the keyboard slowly sank behind it as the Vernacularly Fastened Door started to unlock.
It was just bemusing to have met them at a place and time so unexpected. I mean, how can two orphaned children go wandering about in the freezing hinterlands, alone and unaccompanied?
Meanwhile, we were wondering on how we could get past the large metal door. When it was my turn to help with what I could, I stepped forward to type panthera leo, but the thought of how happy I am to have found worthwhile company didn't leave me, especially after being stuck with the Snow Scouts who only knew how to recite their A-Z pledge on being xylophone every morning, every afternoon and every night. Agh.
Anyways, they're here. The Baudelaires. The children I promised to be of help to. I failed my family before. Maybe this is the time I can finally erase that thought in my mind, at the meeting of these unfortunate children...
Before long, it was her brother's turn. He's very well-read. It's comfortable to be associated with well-read people, because they will always come in handy, and ready to help whenever you need help, with all the information stacked up in their heads. It was quite some time, until we could step out of the door. And it surely took longer for us to come down to the reality of it.
The headquarters that kept everyone's hopes up has burned down to ashes.
I can't help shivering. The sight of it was just...eerie.
We wandered about. I remember reading how the headquarters used to look like, as was written in one of Dr. Montgomery's books. But Klaus couldn't stand it. Of course, when you're upset, it's always difficult to hold yourself.
"That's impossible!" cried Klaus, the younger one. Hearing him near tears gave me the nostalgic feeling of pain when my parents, along with the whole mansion, perished in the fire, and I was so upset I couldn't even bring myself to walk for the first how many days when Mom hid me in the passageway that led to the Baudelaire mansion, and to Dr. Montgomery's house.
Shaking, he pulled out a piece of paper with a photo clipped to it. He shoved it to my face, in a very upset manner that I could actually feel what he was feeling. "Because of the evidence discussed on page nine, experts now suspect that there may in fact be one survivor of the fire"--then he stopped to sigh--"but the survivor's whereabouts are unknown."
It was like the last wisp of hope slid out of him, like a soul would off a body. "We thought the survivor was here," he finished.
I took my breath, and stepped forward. Maybe it's time to tell them the truth. My hands shook a bit, but regardless, I knew I could trust them, and they might in turn trust me, too.
"I think the survivor is here."
I removed my mask, and everyone stopped.
"I am Quigley Quagmire, and I survived the fire that destroyed my home. I was hoping to find my brother and sister."