Chapter Text
Something mysterious falls to the earth
Maybe a blessing, maybe a curse…
The brightest flash begins our darkest of days
Something sinister appears in the haze.
-- Look To The Skies by Creature Feature
Violet wished for nothing more than to go back in time to that day on the beach so long ago, one so similar, with fog roiling in the air and the water cold and bleak, when she had learned of her parents' deaths. It had been so long since that day, when she had naively thought the weather to be her biggest concern—or perhaps whatever invention she had been working on at the time. Her friends would still be alive, she would be with her family, and she would never have met Count Olaf. The miserable day at Briny Beach when her life had changed forever would have been ordinary–nothing more than a boring, foggy day.
Yet here she stood, alone, with the wolf not at the door but standing right next to her.
While Olaf and his henchmen unloaded what they needed from the ship, obscured from the view of distant passersby by the fog, she wandered down the beach as far as she dared, still within eyesight of her captors but far enough away that she could breathe a sigh of relief. Spotting a boulder to perch on, she sat and gazed as far out to sea as the fog allowed. In some ways, her past was now as separate from her as the sea was from the land, divided by either fog or cruel twist of fate.
Her gaze drifted across the sand, to where a smooth stone stuck out of the grains. It felt cool against her sweaty skin when her fingers plucked it from the ground. She flipped it over and over again, studying its contours. At one end, a small spiral shell's fossil was a bright spot against the rest of the dark stone. Had she really ever been that girl, so innocent, that had once tossed a stone like this one into the deep water only a few feet from where Violet now sat?
Yes. Her fingers curled around the stone and slipped it into her pocket. It would serve as a reminder not to be led astray. If indeed Olaf had at some point been good, something had led him down the path to villainy and cruelty…and she would do everything in her power to prevent taking that same path. The small fossil in her pocket would be a symbol of all she had been through—and her link to the poor girl that had been destroyed, turned to ash and dust just as her home had been.
A rather lopsided, egg-shaped henchman with several days' stubble on his chin and very few teeth lumbered down the beach towards her. She stood, expecting to be pulled back to the crowd, and was not disappointed. His callused hands dug into already-present bruises but she did not wince, simply let him tow her back to where Olaf stood bantering with his troupe.
"Well, I see you've finally decided to join us again, Miss Baudelaire!" He grinned with gusto, posing again for his amused lackeys. "Didn't think you'd get away that easily, now, did you?" Laughter broke out sporadically, and then increased with Olaf's glare; most of the henchmen were, however, in good spirits, anticipating the rewards that lay ahead if their leader's plan succeeded. And this plan, more than any so far, seemed to be headed in the right direction—
"To the bank!"
As the group lurched forward towards Mulctuary Money Management, Olaf yanked Violet away from his toothless cohort and pulled her alongside him, so that to the unknowing eye they appeared to be strolling arm-in-arm just as any loving couple might on their daily walk about town–accompanied by a large group of society's worst and least clean citizens. He smiled down at her, looking almost happy.
"Now, I'm sure I don't need to tell you this, but try running or making a scene—"
"—yes, yes, you'll cut my throat and kill me. Isn't this all getting a bit repetitive? I'm not going to run. I've already told you that, Olaf."
His face darkened and he squeezed her arm until she yelped. "Good. Don't get uppity with me, wench, or I may find killing you to be preferable. You're still my captive, don't forget."
She wasn't likely to need reminding. Compared to her past experiences with the man, he was almost being civil. Violet wondered if his mood would last past the trip to the bank…and shuddered to think of what would befall her if the transaction did not go through.
Walking the streets of the city she had once considered her home made Violet's stomach twist with cruel sadness. The last time she had travelled to the bank…she shook the bleak memories from her mind as they reached the bank's massive doors.
Olaf dragged Violet up the steps and raised his fist to the henchmen behind him in triumph. "Wait here, and in a few short minutes, a fortune shall be mi–ah, ours!"
The small, frightening group cheered with malicious glee and greedy celebration as Violet was pulled through the heavy doors, which slammed behind her and her captor with a thud not unlike the crash of a casket lid on a corpse. Violet almost expected to see the phlegmatic, nervous Mr. Poe behind the desk but instead the two were greeted by a squat, dour matron whose nametag read: "Please ask me how I can cheer up your day!"By getting me out of here, Violet thought.
"Well, now, what can I do for you today, sir?"
Olaf smiled, eyes shining brightly, and presented the paper Violet had signed for the woman's inspection. "I would like to withdraw the entirety of the account. My wife and I are moving, and we will unfortunately have to switch banks."
The woman squinted at the writing on the crumpled page, studying it much as a jeweler would inspect a diamond for imperfections. She looked at Olaf, then Violet, then Olaf again. "Violet Baudelaire? This you, then?"
Violet hesitated until the viselike grip of Olaf's fingers almost made her yelp. "Y-yes, that's me. Is everything in order?" She attempted to sound confident but knew she sounded more like a lost little girl than an assured young woman.
Suddenly, a thought tore through to the front of her mind, sending an icy shiver down her spine: did the woman recognize Violet's name as that of a fugitive from the law? If the teller suddenly knew she was assisting an alleged criminal, would the police arrive to arrest her, only to have Olaf free to flee? Or worse, return for another of the Baudelaire siblings to try again?
She knew that the only way to ensure no trouble would be to play along with Olaf's wretched ploy of their being a young wife eager to arrive at her new home. Swallowing her disgust in favor of self-preservation, Violet pouted like a spoiled debutante.
"Darling, how long is this going to take? The movers will arrive before we do, and they won't know where I want to put things!"
Olaf turned toward her, completely flabbergasted. "What?"
"Time, darling! It's such a long drive and you know how tired I get after car trips. I don't want to start out too late." She widened her eyes meaningfully in Olaf's direction, praying that he understood, and leaned against his shoulder as if exhausted.
An invisible switch clicked in his mind. He was shocked by the ingenious of the plan Violet had come up with–and wondered why he had not thought of it. "Ah…honeycakes, it will only be a minute, I'm sure. Are we all set, then–er, ma'am?"
Smiling slightly at the display of ridiculous love in front of her, the clerk nodded and headed to the back of the bank, disappearing behind a thick metal safe's door. As soon as she was out of sight, Violet scrambled to return to a safe distance from her captor and received a raised eyebrow and a smirk from Olaf.
"Well. You're quite the little liar, aren't you?"
"I'm just trying to save my own skin, Olaf, you know that." She did not like the leering look he gave her.
"I don't know about that, orphan. You seemed rather eager to rest your weary head on my shoulder, after all."
"You disgust me. Let me go." She tried to pull away from him but he jerked her closer to his side.
"I think not." The sound of footsteps caused both of them to freeze. "Back in place. Now."
She obeyed, wrapping an arm around Olaf's waist in what appeared to be a loving embrace, and staring at him in a manner that she hoped seemed dumbly adoring. Their eyes locked, and each searched the other's eyes–but neither would have been able to say what they were looking for.
The clerk reappeared, carrying several black paper binders. "Well then, here's the entire account, in high-denomination bills. Would you like to examine them?"
Olaf broke eye contact with Violet and turned to smile joyfully at the clerk. "No, no need, my good woman. We must go, it's a long trip and I wouldn't want my precious dear to grow fatigued while I count bills. Er, I hope you have a pleasant day."
He stacked the folders in one arm, catching Violet's hand with his free one. They turned to leave and had almost reached the door when the clerk's voice stopped them in their tracks. "Wait a minute."
Olaf turned, thunderclouds forming on his brow. "Yes?" Violet did not dare turn, simply closed her eyes and waited for the accusation to come.
"Oh, nothing. I just thought…your wife looks awfully familiar. She isn't famous, is she?" The clerk's jovially conspiratorial tone would have been more expected from a giddy schoolgirl than a bank worker.
Olaf turned back, a quizzical smile on his face as Violet's eyes met his. He turned back to the clerk. "No, no, she just looks like one of those girls…you know, the ones in that movie." Before the clerk could reply, he had dragged Violet through the doors and out into the dim sunlight.
Olaf and Violet had barely let the doors close behind them when they were surrounded by henchmen pawing at the folders, each lackey worked into a frenzy by the success of the plan–one of Olaf's few plans to, well, go as planned. Their leader smiled benevolently for a moment, enjoying the celebration of his victory, before barking, "Enough!" and forcing the henchmen down the steps to a safe distance.
"Now then, friends! We finally have the Baudelaire fortune!" Olaf struck a pose, much to the delight of his cheering assistants. "After long years of tragic defeat, we have succeeded in obtaining the riches we so deserve from the bratty orphans!"
Violet ignored the rest of his speech and instead began looking for ways to escape. Now that Olaf had what he wanted from her, she doubted her life would last much longer if she remained where she was. She had dreaded this day for so long: the day when the lives of her and her siblings would no longer be protected by the elusiveness of their money.
The henchmen had formed a circle around the steps that looked impenetrable – and she did not want to call attention to herself by attempting to shove past them. She was rapidly becoming more and more panicked, desperately searching for an escape she knew was not going to appear…but her attention snapped back to what was taking place before her when angry cries echoed from the mob that fenced she and Olaf in.
"What do you mean, we don't get the money now?" "Yeah, you told us we'd split the fortune!" "Yeah!"
Olaf looked annoyed. "You heard me! You'll all get paid once I find somewhere to set up base, and–"
"Hey, wait a minute! We want our money now!" "He's trying to trick us so he gets to keep all the money himself!"
More and more angry voices raged up from the mass. Panic returned to flutter in Violet's chest. Suddenly, someone shouted, "Get him!" and the henchmen surged forward. She turned to run but one of the henchmen saw her movement and screamed, "The bitch is getting away!"
Now, cries of "It's all her fault!" and "Kill her!" joined those calling for Olaf's blood–exactly the situation Violet had prayed would not occur. As the henchmen raced up the steps, Violet closed her eyes and prepared for the end. Would it be best to try to run, or stay and fight while she could?
A yank on her arm made her eyes pop open, and then Olaf was dragging her down through the sparsest side of the mob towards the main road. As they tore through the mass of bodies, several of the irate men and women managed to land sturdy, rage-filled blows on her face and body before she and Olaf were through, and he was hailing a taxi with the arm still carrying the black folios.
Almost as if by magic, a black car appeared. Violet was dragged inside, and the car sped away from the now-running mob into the grey fog. She leaned back against the seat and let a sob of fear and relief escape her before she remembered exactly who she was sitting next to. Olaf, having given directions that she had not heard to the driver, was turned sideways, watching for his betrayed lackeys through the back window.
"Why did you save me?" She could not believe that the man who had tried to kill her so many times in her not-so-long life had just saved her from what would have been, for him, a most convenient way to rid the world of the annoyance that was Violet Baudelaire. She was completely, utterly surprised. Had Olaf actually…done something good?
"You're bleeding, orphan." He glanced at her face without emotion, and threw a handkerchief at her that looked like it sorely needed the attention of some water and laundry soap. Violet lifted a hand to her face and winced when her fingers touched a rather large cut across her forehead. She pressed the handkerchief against the wound and repeated her question.
"Why did you save me, Olaf?"
He looked as if he was not exactly sure how to answer her query. He sneered to hide his confusion–a front whose transparency she suspected he knew she was able to see through. "Well, I'm not going to doing everything for myself–you might come in useful as a servant until my other men arrive. Besides, I suppose you did just give me all your money…that's not to say I won't decapitate you later, but for now I need someone to order around."
"Other henchmen? But …"
Olaf laughed mockingly. "Stupid girl, you didn't think I'd just keep those idiots around, did you? Especially when I never planned on giving any of them even a cent of my money?"
"My money, you mean. My family's money."
"No, my money. Anyway, my second group of assistants should be arriving at our new headquarters a day or so after we get there, so don't go trying to escape. I'm not unwilling to just shoot you if you try anything, orphan."
Violet was very confused. One minute the man saved her from his lackeys, the next he was threatening her with violent death. It seemed to her that an unconscious battle was beginning to emerge from within her captor's twisted soul…maybe she still could change him, at least make him give up whatever plans he had…
"And why do you need your henchmen? What are you going to do now that you have the money?"
He smiled evilly. "That's for me to know, and you not to know, orphan."
Violet checked to see if her head was still bleeding but the flow appeared to have ceased. She looked at the handkerchief, embroidered with a large, simple "O" in the corner in what was now both dirty and bloodstained blue thread. She wondered who had done the sewing, a mother or sister or lover now long gone from his life. The pathetically homey touch, splattered with gore, made her eyes tear up suddenly with a feeling she couldn't name.
She stared at the handkerchief and said quietly, "My name is Violet. Not orphan or wench. Violet."
Olaf studied her bent head thoughtfully, and then forced her chin up with his hand not gently so that she was forced to look at him. "It never ends, you know. Never…Violet," he almost spat.
It was then that she realized that Olaf appeared a bit blurry. "Why not?"
Olaf seemed to notice as well, and watched her eyes carefully, sizing her up almost as if he was a dog groomer studying a canine for show. "You're not going to be much good to me as a servant if you have a concussion. I suppose you'll have to do, though, won't you?" His disgusted tone indicated more concern for his own inconvenience than the fact that she had a serious wound.
She felt dizzy, as if the stress of all she had endured, coupled with the gash on her forehead, had drained her of all her strength. Not quite sure if it was a good idea or even if she had decided to do so, she suddenly grabbed both of Olaf's wrists desperately.
"Why can't it end? Why can't you just give up hurting people? Why can't you just begood?"
Not for the first time that day, Olaf was shocked by the daring of his captive. Would he have had the strength…dare he think, the bravery…to confront his captor–and more than once, at that. He was about to reply with his usual facetious mockery when Violet's eyes rolled upwards and she slumped forward against his chest, unconscious.
He could feel the heat of her now feverish body against his, burning through his shirt. The girl was probably seriously ill, perhaps dying. He knew he should just throw her out of the cab to be found alongside the road…but he hesitated, and in that moment, saw something in himself that frightened him more than he had been scared in a long time. He did not know why but he could not bring himself to throw Violet Baudelaire, plague and fouler of almost all of his plans, to her death.
And he had actually saved her life earlier–actively prevented one of his worst nemeses from meeting a death that he should have relished. What was happening to him?
He did not move her off of his chest but rapped sharply on the glass separating the driver from his passengers. "Are we about there yet? It really isn't that far away, fool."
The driver glared at him with bloodshot eyes. "It's right there." He slammed his foot down on the break, jerking Olaf and unconscious Violet almost into the seat backs in front of them.
"Good. Here's your fee, now get the hell out of here." Olaf threw the money at the man, and the bills fluttered around the front of the cap like green butterflies.
Ignoring the man's comment of "Hey!" Olaf picked up Violet and carried her away from the idling vehicle, past unkempt but strangely shaped bushes to the building that loomed from the fog, greenish windows condensed with dew.
Olaf moved Violet to hang over his shoulder, and, switching the black folios to the hand holding Violet, forced open the rusty and dented metal door with his free hand.
The room he entered was large and open, filled with stacks of books and empty containers. Light came in from above, tinted a strange verdigris. Olaf set Violet on a moldy, vermin-chewed chaise lounge and the folios on a splintered table before standing to look around him at not-unfamiliar surroundings.
"At this hour lies at my mercy all mine enemies...merrily, merrily shall I live now. Merrily indeed."
He threw back his head and laughed the laugh of the triumphant, and the sound echoed off the ruins that he had helped create.