The world was never quiet

Lie 6 : I should stay.

It's a little weird to go from a dispute to what I'm going to write, but I can't do much about it. The fact remains that after this episode, I spent a long time with Jacques, gathering as much as information as possible regarding my father's transfer. Given the result of the whole thing, I doubt it was worth all the efforts we put in it - but anyway.

Since I had begun to work with Olaf, I hadn't spent much time with him. And coming back felt good. Jacques liked my comments, valued my opinion even when he disagreed – and it was often. And now that the Olafian issue was settled, he wasn't as hesitating and tensed as before, when we talked about the clues I picked up with him. So we spent most of our time speaking about them, dissecting them, making sense of them and taking notes of everything.

Well, to be honest, our long discussions always ended up revolving around less formal matters, usually around midnight. That's when he told me he had a brother and a sister, though I would meet them only later. He also taught me the actual procedure to become a Volunteer – the Valorous Farm Dairy, the Mortmain Mountains HQ, its library, all those things that, back then, had me dreaming. And now, even if the first one still remains, as far as I know, the second one is but a memory. Sometimes I'm happy Jacques isn't there to witness the violent demise of the places he held so dear.

Those conversations helped me understand him. His idealism, his genuine love for the organization, his faith in its members, his hope that the Schism would eventually be settled. And it was so different from what obscured my mind that I could only love this side of him. It's also at this point that I completely forgot he was my father's age – and he probably forgot I could have been his daughter.

But those long days couldn't last forever. I was already receiving news from Olaf asking me to come back. I had to leave our shelter and go back to my second life. And this perspective didn't bring joy to Jacques. At all. Each time I spoke about it, he changed the subject or pretended he was busy. I won't ever say it enough: he didn't know how to lie, nor did he know how to hide his thoughts. I found it quite flattering that he wanted to keep me, granted, but still this little game could only go so far.

I prepared my suitcase while he was busy meeting a Volunteer. Well, in fact it was his suitcase. I borrowed it when I needed it. An old leathered suitcase, the kind you only see in movies. Strangely enough, it didn't smell dust or old times – it didn't smell anything. It was quite confusing, at first. I got used to it.

I was putting my glasses on the top of the pile of clothes in the suitcase when he got back. He wasn't supposed to be this early – I never knew why he came back before he was supposed to. Maybe he had one of those investigator's forebodings? I doubt it. If he had some, I don't think he ever had any concerning me, or everything that happened wouldn't have… Happened. At least not this way. I pretended I didn't hear him and finished to pack my stuff. Slowly, quietly, he came closer and put himself between me and his suitcase. When I said he put himself, I mean he pushed me away from it, as it was going to explode.

"What are you doing?

- I prepare my stuff," I replied calmly. "I told you I had to do it a dozen of times.

- You don't need to go.

- I do. Jacques, are we really going to have this conversation?"

I raised my eyes and stared at him. They were pleading – as always. I gritted my teeth and tilted my head, unyielding. I had to go. Did I want to? A bit, I must say. Did I want to leave him? No, not really. But lately it wasn't about what I wanted, rather what I had to do. I tried to go back where I was. He grabbed my arm and kept me away from the suitcase.

And he stared. He stared. He stared. Just in case I'm not clear enough, I'm trying to say he stared a long time. Very long time, without a word. His look had changed. It wasn't pleading – it was confident. I sighed. I didn't know what was going on in his head. Maybe it was better off this way, I would have panicked.

"You don't need to go," he repeated. The precision he added didn't sound so important right away – I was such an idiot. "Not tonight. You can wait until tomorrow.

- I don't see why I would wait. I'd lose time.

- Cassandre, please."

I didn't really have much chances to see men begging me – it happened, but it happened this way only twice. Each time it was a Snicket, and each time in the same circumstances or so. Dumbfounded by the tone he used, I looked away for a second. Enough for him to get closer until I raised them again. His eyes were not begging – his beautiful green eyes were staring with confidence. Well, a tiny bit of pleading was still there, but less than his voice suggested. His beautiful green eyes that would haunt me until I leave this godforsaken world.

"Jacques, I don't have the choice.

- You'll leave. Not tonight.

- I don't have…

- I can give you a reason to stay."

Looking back, when I play this scene again and again, I can't help thinking that if I'd left anyway, I would have spared us pain, a lot of tears and perhaps I would have spared his life. But I was alone, lost, desperate and young. And he was all I had left. He was my only safe place and my last hope. He saved my life and still saved it every days that passed. He valued me the way no one valued me before. He looked at me the way no one ever looked at me. And in the shades of the room, he was handsome, and tall, and strong and he looked at me with such sadness that I simply couldn't move.

I should have stopped him, perhaps merely because he was my father's age, but when he leaned toward me to kiss me, I couldn't move either. Because for the first time in ages, I felt like I was where I was supposed to be. Because it didn't have anything to do with Olaf – no, nothing. There was no violence, his hands around my arms would have released me if I had moved. It was Jacques. He would have never been able to hurt me. And I was never able to spare him.

"Forgive me," he sighed, stepping back, suddenly guilty. "I shouldn't have. It was stupid. And selfish.

- You're not stupid. And not selfish." I grabbed his arms too to stop him from leaving. "And it was not stupid. And not selfish.

- You should go.

- No," I retorted with a smile. "No, I think I should stay."

And I was wrong, or at least, that's what I like to believe. In fact, I wouldn't have anything else than what happened. His kiss, his caresses, the night we spent together. The tacit promises that I ended up breaking. The silent hopes that I also broke. No, not anything, even the possibility of not living them and, as a logical consequence, not causing this wonderful man's death.

Yes, that's what I became. I still repeat that Jacques Snicket was the love of my life and that his death broke me, but I'd still be incapable of exchanging a night for his life. It would be laughable, if it didn't make me cry. But this night… There's not word to describe what it represents. It's my lighthouse, like Beatrice's memory is yours, Lemony. When I'm lost in the dark, I remember it and I remember I wasn't always a ruin. And I remember that perhaps there's still hope for me to be the woman Jacques loved this night. It's a lie. A fantasy, but who are you to blame me?

This night was the last time Cassandre Dupin was really honest with anyone. No I'm not turning crazy, speaking about myself using the third person – it's just that this Cassandre was soon to die. You'll see. I won't ruin the suspense.

God, I loved him. I still do. I justify myself way too much in this chapter, but I need to tell myself that all these things, all it triggered, was justified.

And Jacques was gentle, so gentle, and it's a gentleness I can't imagine possible anymore. And still I didn't find sleep in his arms, lying naked against him. I heard his breath going deeper and deeper, slower and slower as he fell asleep, but I couldn't. I was staring at the roof above us.

I felt incredibly good, but I hurt. It hurt. I knew it was a mistake. The worst in this, was that I was eager to repeat it. Because even if it hurt, I felt so incredibly good. I felt light. I felt fine, so fine. Too fine.

You want to know what's the worst? He wasn't sleeping. He was pretending – I know because he held me tighter when he realized my wide eyes were still staring at the roof. And what he whispered in my ear still echoes today in the few dreams I manage to have – at least, those that don't end up being a nightmare.

"You're safe," he sighed with a sleepy voice. "With me, you're safe. When you find your father, everything will be over. I promise." Another promise. Another lie. "Trust me.

- I trust you."

That was true. It still is.