[Okay, this is the very first time— aside from that brief round in V.F.D. (The Very Fordmidable Date) —where I am writing Olaf, so I hope I did okay. ;D This chapter was so hard to write because it's sad... and involves Jerome doing something terrible even though it's a lie, obviously. I dunno... I just have this unnatural attachment to him, I suppose. But to find a guy
exactly like him is all I really want out of life, as pathetic as that sounds. I know I'm weird, you don't have to tell me.
Anyway, here is chapter 3. Enjoy.]
Chapter 3
From her position at the top of the stairs, Emma carefully inspected the outdoor area of Veblen Hall. Of course, the darkness made it difficult to see
anything— particularly a man dressed in a black and white pinstripe suit wearing a pair of dark sunglasses. What made things twice as frustrating for her was that there did not appear to be anyone in sight.
She was beginning to wonder if Gabby had made the whole thing up just so she could be alone with Walter, when the rustling of leaves caught Emma’s attention. Turning her head to the side, she saw a glimmer break through the darkness and then watched a figure step out from behind a tree.
As the figure passed beneath a lit streetlamp, Emma realized that it was the same man she had seen from the stage back at the Ned H. Rirger Theater. He was still clad in the same outfit he had been earlier, and as he drew closer, Emma pulled further away.
“Who are you?” she asked.
Lifting one boney hand and removing his sunglasses, the man revealed a pair of shiny, shiny eyes. They were nearly identical to Emma’s aside from being the color of black pearls rather than the sky blue she had inherited from her mother.
The man smiled down at her, his thin lips curling over a set of teeth that had obviously not been brushed in some time judging by the particles of food stuck between them. Having been brought up in a respectable family, Emma couldn’t help feeling a little put off by the man’s appearance. Even so, she did her best to show him respect, which was something that Jerome had always stressed for her to remember.
“My name,” the man said in a rather hoarse, raspy voice, “is Count Olaf.”
“Are you the one who’s been following me?” Emma asked.
Olaf tucked his sunglasses into the inner pocket of his pinstripe jacket. “And what exactly makes you believe I would do something like that?”
“Because I saw you this morning at the Veritable French Diner and again at the Ned H. Rirger Theater this evening. I spotted you from the stage. Our eyes met. You looked
right at me.”
“So it would seem,” Olaf said. “You’re a very observant child.”
“I’m
not a child,” Emma informed him firmly.
“Yes, I suppose you’re right. Thirteen is
hardly a child, after all.”
Emma furrowed her single brow at him. “How do you know I’m thirteen?”
“I know a great many things about you,” Olaf continued. “For instance, I know that your name is Emma Esmélita Salinger Squalor and that your birthday is on March 6th. You attend Prufrock Preparatory School and live in the penthouse apartment at 667 Dark Avenue with your mother and stepfather.
She is the city’s sixth most important financial advisor and works at Mulctuary Money Management, and
he is a stockbroker. Your favorite foods are raspberries and parsley soda. I also know that you are among the top performers in Cork St. Clair’s Acting Studio for Gifted and Aspiring Performers, and that you dream of someday attending the Moonstone University of the Performing Arts, the most prestigious drama school in the country.”
Emma’s eyes widened and her mouth fell open, but no sound came out. For some reason this made Olaf laugh, as if her reaction reminded him of someone he had once known. However, this idea did not occur to Emma, who was too surprised and disturbed by how much Olaf knew about her to think of anything else. Taking another two steps back, she reached for the door.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Olaf asked, and the way he said it sent shivers down Emma’s spine. “Aren’t you the least bit curious to know how I’ve come to learn so much about you?”
Emma nodded slowly. She
was curious, that much was obvious, but the idea that this man who she had never met had been following her for only God-knew-how-long was both distressing and disturbing. Not only that, but he also knew where she went to school as well as her mother’s place of employment. What if—
Olaf was now offering Emma his hand. “Come with me,” he said. “We’ll go for a walk and have a nice, long chat. How does that sound?”
Emma hesitated, but her curiosity quickly overcame her better judgment and she took Olaf’s hand. Together, they descended the steps and made their way to the back of Veblen Hall to the small but peaceful courtyard.
As they walked about, hand-in-hand along the cement path set between the well-kept green grass and passed the rustling trees, the feeling that she knew Olaf from somewhere suddenly returned to Emma. Glancing up into his long face with its hollow cheekbones, she asked, “Is there a reason you’re wearing that bandana, or do you
enjoy being out?”
For some reason, her statement was enough to cause Olaf to throw back his head and laugh, a high-pitched wheeze that caused Emma to shiver once more. Although she was beginning to realize that Olaf was not exactly the type of person she would want to run into in a dark alleyway, there was also something about him that intrigued her. Maybe it was his mysterious exterior, or the fact that he appeared to be genuinely interested in her. Whatever it was, she felt a strong connection to him: it was the same connection she felt towards her mother, though not as much as she would have liked to feel towards Jerome. It wasn’t something that could be easily explained, and so she simply chose to accept it.
“What’s so funny?” asked Emma.
Wiping his eyes, Olaf shook his head. “Oh, nothing,” he said. “It just amazes me the way you’re more like your mother than your father.”
“Well, I suppose that’s to be expected. Jerome
is my stepfather.”
“I wasn’t referring to Jerome.”
“Oh?”
“I expect he and your mother must have told you a little about the person your birthfather was,” Olaf said as he reached up and began to untie the bandana from around his head.
“Yes,” Emma agreed. “As a matter of fact, they have. They told me that he was a volunteer firefighter who died before I was born. They said that he—”
As Olaf finished removing the bandana, Emma was absolutely shocked by what she saw basking before her in the bright blue moonlight: aside from Olaf being completely bald except for his scraggly beard, the first thing Emma noticed was the single eyebrow identical to her own.
Like it had done back at the theater when their eyes had first met, she felt her breath catch in her throat. She suddenly felt as if she had been plunged into a time warp, the questions she had spent years asking both herself
and her parents coming at her in one quick gesture of revelation. Suddenly feeling very dizzy, she stepped back and leaned against a nearby tree for support.
“Judging by your reaction,” Olaf said as he stuffed the bandana into his pocket and then pointed to his eyebrow, “I’ll assume that this is
not what you were expecting?”
Her mouth hanging open, Emma shook her head.
“Do you have any questions you would like to ask me?”
Emma nodded.
“Well, then,” Olaf said, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against a tree. “Hit me with your best shot.”
There was one thing in particular that Emma had always wondered about. It was something she had inquired once of Esmé that had, in turn, caused her mother to burst into tears and lock herself in her room for the entire day.
But Esmé wasn’t here, and so there was no reason for Emma to fear the outcome of what she was about to ask: “Did you love her?”
Olaf pondered the question for almost a whole minute, tapping the sole of his shoe against the trunk of the tree on which he was still leaning.
Why was Olaf hesitating?
“I guess your mother failed to inform you that we had ended our relationship long before you were born,” he said at last.
“Apparently,” Emma agreed.
“It was just a few weeks before our nuptials were to take place. We had just found out that your mother was pregnant and we wanted to get married as soon as possible. It was the week of her birthday, and as my gift to her we were spending seven days at the Hotel Denouement. I was out making last-minute preparations for our wedding, and Esmé was spending some time up atop the rooftop sunbathing salon. I remember because her choice of clothing happened to be a lettuce-leaf bikini.” Olaf chuckled weakly, tilting back his head and looking up at the moon. “Without me there to protect her, she fell prey to every advantage a man could make towards her. It was only a matter of time before she met up with Jerome Squalor— your
stepfather —who stole her from me.
“At first, I didn’t think anything of the way Esmé had to keep running off in the middle of dinner to fix her lipstick or sneaking out of our room late at night to telephone her mother. I just accepted it as being part of her normal routine.
“Then one night, she told me she was going out to buy a pack of cigarettes. After a few hours had passed and she didn’t come back, I grew suspicious and went in search of her. I asked the clerk at the front desk, who told me he had seen a woman fitting Esmé’s description leave the hotel with a young man.
“That night I waited up for her and when she returned I confronted her with what I knew. She confessed to seeing Jerome Squalor behind my back as well as to sleeping with him. I was so distraught that she would cheat on me with some other man who she had known for only a few days that I sprung forth with an assortment of insults, ending it by saying that I never wanted to see her again. She left me immediately after that and, from what I’ve gathered, returned with your stepfather to 667 Dark Avenue.”
For a long time, all Emma could do was stare in shock and disbelief up at the man who was obviously her
real father. Had Jerome really
stolen Esmé away from Olaf the way he had just described? It was a terrible, unreal accusation: Jerome, who was the kindest, most gentle person Emma had ever met! It just didn’t seem possible…
“I suppose I can’t really blame her,” Olaf went on, and Emma could have sworn he was crying. “Jerome had so much more to offer her that I couldn’t: looks, a vast fortune, a luxurious penthouse apartment complete with seventy-one bedrooms. How could I ever compete? Over the years I’ve managed to convince myself that— in spite of the pain her actions caused me —that your mother really
did make the right decision.”
“But… how can you
say that?” Emma asked, close to tears herself now. “He stole her from you!” She didn’t like to admit it, but she was actually beginning to hate her stepfather now. How could he do something so cruel and unforgivable?
“Yes,” Olaf replied, reaching into his pocket and retrieving the bandana, which he used to dab at his eyes. “But the more I thought about it, the more I realized how much better off you and your mother would be with someone who could support you better than I ever could. All I had to offer was a tiny, dingy, two-bedroom apartment in a miserable neighborhood.”
“So?! My sister and her husband lived in a one-bedroom apartment for
years before they finally moved out, and they did alright!”
Olaf looked up. “Esmé has another daughter?” he asked.
“Yes,” Emma replied. “My sister, Carmelita.”
As she said this, Olaf’s eyes seemed to light up, and the corner of his mouth turned up in a half-smile. Emma wasn’t sure what to make of it, and she waited for him to say something.
“It’s late,” he said. “You should get back inside before your mother comes to the conclusion that you’ve been kidnapped.”
“Do I
have to?”
“Yes. But I promise that we’ll meet again soon. Just keep watching the mail.”
Emma seemed disappointed, but agreed to Olaf’s request nonetheless. Smiling, she walked over and threw her arms around him.
Wrapping one arm around his daughter and using the hand of the other to stroke her hair, Olaf leaned back against the tree.
Now, with the first part of his plan in full action, he closed his eyes and smiled wickedly.
I’ve got you now, Esmé, he thought.
And your little girl, too.