Chapter Five

Threats and Trials

All alone on a Sunday morning
Outside I see the rain is falling
Inside I'm slowly dying
But the rain will hide my crying, crying, crying
And you
Don't you know my tears will burn the pillow
Set this place on fire

-- All Cried Out by Allure

Olaf's men hauled the struggling Violet into the creaking rowboat and began paddling back to the ship, where the rest of his troupe leered from the deck, Cheshire cat smiles glowing menacingly and eerily silent down at the forlorn, trembling woman seated next to the man she feared most in the world. His leg was by necessity pressed against hers, and she fought the urge to retch. When she glanced up from under her lashes at him surreptitiously, she found he was looking down at her with a look that was thoughtfully wry and she hoped he could not read her thoughts by her expression.

She did not—could not—look away until the rowboat knocked against the side of the ship. Then again, why should she? This man, the detestable, murderous Count Olaf, now…owned her. And just when she was seriously considering throwing herself headfirst overboard, she was yanked out of the boat by a burly henchman and hauled by one of her arms up the rope ladder hanging precariously from the side of the ship and thrown sprawling onto the deck.

No longer was she the woman who had bravely threatened and forced Olaf with a sword, who had put on an act to save her love ones. Lying in a heap with one shoulder burning in pain, she hugged her injured limb to her body and tried to stand. She was simply a lost girl, one who desperately wanted someone to hold her and tell her everything was all right…or just to find a place to rest, where she would not have to worry about the knife-wielding enemy at her back.

She was not sure how long she had been encircled by Olaf's wretched crew, stranded amongst the unfriendly dregs of society that chose to follow the villain, but it was when she finally stood and turned to look for Klaus on the shore that she realized that the island was so far away that only a faint speck stood on the horizon as testament to all she had lost. Forgetting her arm, she shoved past the villains and braced herself on the edge of the boat, hands digging into the wood hard enough to send slivers painfully into her skin. Violet gritted her teeth as the tears came unstoppably. When she spoke, it was in sobs: "Klaus…Sunny…Bee. No, no, no…"

She knew she was becoming hysterical but did not care. Let them hurt her—what did she care? She had lost all rational thought and was now fueled by rage and grief. Her manic eyes scanned the crowd of minions, looking for the man who was just a bit taller than all the rest. And such was the power of all she had lost, that she acted without thinking when she saw him posed smirking near the back of the crowd.

"I want them back! Let me go, you filthy monster! Let me go!" As she spoke, she rushed toward Olaf and railed her fists into his chests, pummeling him with all the viciousness she could manage. She wanted him to suffer, to feel pain, to feel what she felt. He was shoved backwards and slammed against a mast by the power of her blows; no longer was Violet a willowy girl but a solid woman who was aided by the vehemence of her anger, no matter how childishly vulnerable she felt.

Olaf reacted quickly, grabbing her wrists and pulling her to his chest. She gasped at the closeness, feeling his hard chest against hers. She blushed and then paled, her cries decaying to whimpers. He bent his head down and she struggled against his grip, to no avail.

His lips brushed against her ear as he whispered, "Make me look foolish in front of my crew again and I'll slit your wrists and throw you to the sharks, dear."

The anger that had been suppressed by the immodesty of being held to an unfamiliar man's chest rose again and made her tone bitter. "Let go of me, sir, and I'll do my best to avoid doing so."

He shoved her away and snapped his fingers. Instantly, two lackeys grabbed her arms; this time, she did not struggle. "Throw her into the spare cabin and lock her in. Post two men as guards outside—I don't want our little inventor-ess to get any big ideas of escape." Olaf smiled and blew her a kiss as she was hauled away. "I'll have a chat with you later, hellcat."

The last noise she heard before being thrown headfirst into the gloom of the cabin was laughter, a cacophony of malicious, victorious guffaws that echoed across the ship's creaking timbers.

- - -

There were no windows in the cabin that was more cell than room, nor any loose boards or exits other than the door Violet had been heaved through, she discovered in what she guessed were several hours since she had been locked into the dark space.

She had found a lamp in one of the corners and had managed despite the black murk to use her inventing skills to repair it enough that it let off a dim glow and illuminated the bleakness of her situation, both the boundaries of her physical captivity and the gloomy outlook on her future.

The worst was perhaps the conundrum over Olaf's life: she should kill the man as soon as she could, even if she was harmed in the process. He had killed, lied, stolen, destroyed, and generally wreaked irreparable havoc wherever he went, and for that he deserved to die more than anyone she knew. Yet…could she take a life? What right had she, no matter how villainous he may be, to kill Olaf? He deserved punishment, revenge, retribution…but could she do it? Could she look into his eyes as the life left his body and live with the reality of what she had done? The trembling in her splinter-filled hands told her that, at the very least, killing her worst enemy would leave scars that would take years—if not a lifetime—to heal.

As time passed and the sounds of drunken revelry filtered in from the deck, she sat and contemplated many dark thoughts. Several times Violet heard Olaf's voice rise above the others in a hoarse, laughing shout—no doubt boasting of his success in finally securing the Baudelaire fortune and herself. She hugged herself with her sore hands and let the tears leak from her eyes unheeded.

One thing she knew without a doubt: she would not go back, if she ever did escape. The horrifying image of her siblings and adopted Bee lying lifeless in the sand was enough to make her promise to herself that never again would they have to face the terror that was Count Olaf. She would protect them in any way she could—even if that meant she remained in Olaf's clutches for the rest of her miserable life.

This pact so disheartened her that she slouched, lying with her face pressed against the floorboards, and let the tears flow freely, her lids growing heavier. It was only when the door opened abruptly and light poured into her wretched prison that she awoke, aided by a swift kick to the ribs that made her gasp in surprise and pain.

It was not Olaf but one of his new henchmen that hauled her roughly up the stairs by the same arm that was still tender from the previous day's abuse. The sun had risen almost to its highest point; she guessed the time to be just before noon. Many of the henchmen lounged on the deck playing cards or talking while smoking, some of the women sunbathing as much as possible in their heavy garments. Several of the men leered at her as she was dragged past them to a door, upon which her transport knocked loudly before swinging it open and tossing her inside like so much sack flour.

Of course, she had to land on her sore arm. Violet hoped it was not sprained, and thought of materials to make a splint before remembering that she had worse troubles: she was, so to speak, the lamb in the lion's den. She rose awkwardly, rearranging her dirty dress as best as she was able before looking up—and seeing Olaf watching her reflection in the mirror that sat atop his dressing stand. Their eyes locked and she shivered in fear.

"Hello, prisoner. I'll deal with you after I finish dressing." His tone was amused at her sorry state, and still celebratory.

Had her gaze not been caught by his when she came in—or rather, was thrown in—she would have seen immediately that his state of undress was far too inappropriate, and she now turned her back with a embarrassed blush. Olaf wore a dingy neckcloth but his shirt hung unbuttoned so that his almost skeletal chest lay bare and exposed to her horrified eyes. She thanked all the heavens that at least the man was dressed properly from the waist down; she might have died of the shock. Goodness knew that she had been raised in a proper, decent family and as a modest young lady had never seen a man so…so underdressed…before in her life.

"S-sir…" Now she trembled as she had never trembled. She had had her life, her happiness, and her loved ones threatened before—but those threats felt almost old hat compared to this entirely new threat. She had barely even thought about such things, having grown up running from place to place in her quest for safety, but she knew that this was not the context in which such things should be thought about.

"Is something bothering you?" His tone was the one she had heard too many times when Olaf had thought himself victorious over her and her siblings, one of black humor that did not bode well for those it was directed at.

She chanced turning around and found to her relief that he was now fully, properly clothed: he had done up his shirt, slipped on a dark blue satin vest and a heavy dark coat, and put on a pair of shiny black boots that she suspected would probably make contact with her poor ribs at some point in the near future. He had turned in his chair and was now reclining, sly as a cat, in her direction, a smile making his eyes glint in the light.

She sighed and when she spoke, the desperation of grief, hunger, pain, and fatigue prevented her from tempering her speech in a more self-protective manner.

"Is something bothering me? How many times will I have to suffer through this, this always looking over my shoulder? You have what you want—you said yourself that I have nothing left. So can't you just leave me be? Or would it make you feel better to just 'murder me with your bare hands', as you once put it so eloquently?"

His eyebrow rose so high she thought it would fly off his face and run for safer shores. "Well, well! First I am threatened with the sharp end of a sword by Violet Baudelaire, and then I am verbally accosted with her sharp-edged wit! Those two years alone on the island have changed you, I see."

"What changed me was watching everyone I loved or befriended taken from me by you and your henchmen, Olaf. I'm not the girl that you tried to dupe so long ago—and I'm no longer blinded by my stupidity. I know that I'm only alive because your whim allows me to be. "

Olaf no longer slouched but stood, hands balled into fists. "And I have not lost anything? You were not the only one to lose parents, orphan! All I wanted was your damn money." His voice had turned into a growl and anger colored his eyes.

Violet was terrified of the villain that now stood before her where before there was only a contemptible but—for the time—nonviolent man. But she could not stop the words that spilled from her lips, as if they had built up all the time Olaf had been chasing her over hill and dale, and now could not wait to be voiced.

"If all you wanted was our…money, then why am I still standing here? You don't just need money, you need power—you feed on greed and fear, because otherwise you would see how weak you really are!"

With a roar, Olaf shoved Violet against the door and held her upper arms captive, hard enough that she cried out in pain. "Do you want me to kill you? I'm not the sort of man that refuses the wish of a man, or woman, who wants to die!"

His face was inches from hers for the second time in as many uncomfortable days, and his proximity reminded her of just how stupid she had been to challenge a man she knew was far too capable of killing. She could not speak, only trembled, as their eyes remained locked—his clouded with rage, hers with fear.

"I just want to be left alone." Her voice was a tiny whisper that she could not keep from shaking. She closed her eyes, waiting for him to fly into a rage that would this time be fatal…but no blow fell.

"Don't we all…" She was not sure she heard him speak, but then he spoke louder, more roughly. "Open your eyes."

Her lids raised with the weariness of constant heartache and worry but tempered with the surprise of continued existence. The depth of feeling that welled in the brown orbs that met Olaf's grey eyes almost made him look away. He had seen that look before, in the eyes of his many victims—but had he ever really paid attention, ever really cared to look for the pain and fear he saw there?

"I'm not going to kill you, so stop flinching around or flying into rages, orphan. You and I both know that's what you want, and I have a feeling you'll turn out to be useful somewhere along the line."

She believed him, foolish as it may be to do so. Her eyes searched his, wondering for not the first time how such a cruel, twisted man had come to be.

She spoke quietly, without rage, only a sad sort of pity that she did not realize existed within some dusty corner of her grieving heart. "What has the world done to you, that you must ruin what it has given others? What do you want, that you keep trying to find or steal?"

Her soft, sincere words were unexpected—as was his reaction. His arms gripped hers even tighter but he could not look at her, suddenly intense with some feeling she couldn't name.

"Would it be too much for me to have the power that I need to make myself happy? Everyone seems to think so. I had everything taken from me, so I am taking it back. What is so damned hard for the world to figure out? Do I not deserve what everyone else has, and more, for what I have struggled through?"

Suddenly Violet realized with clarity so intense that she almost shook: Olaf was not simply the murderous madman that killed and lied and destroyed so many lives. He was far more complex than she had ever had much time to think about, a man with a life of his own—and a heart more damaged than any she had ever encountered. Perhaps he had begun as a boy much like her brother, slowly becoming more and more rage-filled and violent with every passing disappointment. She had seen what Olaf's pursuit had done to Klaus, what havoc it had wreaked. Violet thought the effect of the weeks, months, years of hate and bitterness that Olaf had lived through…

"You once asked me, 'What else can I do?' You can stop, Olaf. You can take what money you have from my family and let others be. You can be satisfied knowing that you have a captive and a fortune within your power. You can stop and…" She paused, and then spoke. "…find somewhere where the world is quiet."

He laughed bitterly. "Is that what you think? That things can go back to the way they were, with that wretched V.F.D. 'making the world better.' Never mind the fact that they too killed in the name of what they thought was right. No one is strong enough to change themselves that much, Baudelaire—not you or I, not your precious parents, not…The world is not the happy place you and your siblings want it to be, and it never will be."

Violet hoped, wished, prayed that somehow, if she could make this bruised man see what she tried to see in the world, maybe another family like hers would be able to live in peace and never have to survive what she had. A glimmer of hope, fragile and transparent, lurked at the corner of Olaf's battered soul—and she knew that if she could not change him, no one else would ever be able to. She had to try, for her family's sake…and her own.

Before she could attempt to speak, a rough knock landed on the door inches above her head, making her jump. Olaf did not let go of her, and his eyes did not leave hers, but he growled, "What is it? You'd better not be disturbing me and the prisoner for anything trivial, henchman."

A dry cackling chorus met this statement, and Violet blushed rosily at the thought of what the sailors must think was occurring in the cabin.

"Cap'n, we've spotted land ahead. A few more minutes and we'll reach the shore."

"Get to work then!" As the henchman's footsteps faded away, Olaf finally released Violet but did not back away, rather leaned in close enough to make her heart begin pounding with anxiety. "Just remember this…you have always thought of yourself and your precious friends as righteous and true and people who want what they deserve as evil. Let me tell you, child, the older you get the more muddy that water becomes—and I cannot wait to see the day when you finally learn the truth behind the lies."

Olaf turned, laughing evilly, and Violet ran to the corner farthest from him, holding herself and praying she had the strength she needed to do what needed to be done—and trying to convince herself that what Olaf said was not true. She barely noticed his show of searching for the contract giving him the Baudelaire fortune and kissing it gleefully when it was found, a show geared entirely toward provoking her misery.

"LAND HO!"

The cry that rang from the deck made Olaf race out of the cabin, and Violet followed—she did not want to be locked in the cold and dark again. When she reached the deck, all the crew were bustling about their assorted jobs, and Olaf stood at the front of the ship next to the steering wheel in an outrageous pose, one leg resting on a ledge and one arm bent with a fist on his hip, as if imitating the figures of epic art.

Violet walked past him, ignoring his ridiculous pomposity, and peered across the foggy water to try and make out their destination. She did not notice Olaf glance around to see if anyone was watching him act handsome and triumphant, and stalk towards her when he realized that he was being ignored by all.

She turned to him, reluctant to speak but curiosity had the better of her. She realized with a sinking feeling that the true test, whether she would survive once Olaf returned to his stronghold to attempt gaining the Baudelaire fortune legally and put into place whatever other horrid schemes he had planned, would soon be upon her.

"Where are we?"

He looked down at her with a disdainful, thoughtful frown.

"Briny Beach."

--

Author's Notes

Well! Not much action but a side of Olaf's character that Snicket explored a bit in the last few books but never really capitalized on. The classic idea: is a person ever all good or bad? Where does the line blur? And can someone evil be redeemed? We shall see…

Thank you for the reviews, everyone—please give me feedback on this chapter as I believe many of the crucial scenes to come in later chapters will be similar, regarding the character traits that Violet and Olaf have displayed. Violet may seem a bit different but do keep in mind that she's been through a lot, and true desperation makes people act somewhat out of character. And Olaf is somewhat reacting to Violet, so his actions and words are a result of what she says and does.

Next chapter will be coming soon—I'm not sure when but keep your eyes peeled and add the story to your story alert to be informed when another chapter is posted!

Cheers,

Katrina