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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Sept 28, 2008 12:59:57 GMT -5
Jerome saw no need to ask his wife the name of the person she had referred to only as “he”. He reached out a comforting hand to lie on her shoulder, and was shocked when he felt her trembling.
“He was there when I arrived,” Esmé went on. “He was there at my desk waiting for me…”
“But… the fire… he should have…” Jerome began.
Esmé laid her hand on her husband’s. “Yes, Jerome. He should have. But he didn’t.”
“Did he tell you anything about how he escaped?”
“No,” Esmé replied softly. “He was too busy asking me questions about your family’s wealth.”
“What did you tell him?” Jerome asked.
“I panicked. I didn’t want him to hurt you or Emma, and so I told him how your father had left everything to Andrew and Geraldine Julienne when you refused to divorce me. Olaf said he’d give me forty-eight hours to—” Realizing the danger that she had put a journalist she despised and her brother-in-law in just by divulging this information to her ex-boyfriend, Esmé felt a rush of anger surge through her. In a moment of rage, she slammed her head as hard as she could against the dashboard in front of her.
“Esmé, stop it!” Jerome cried, his heart breaking as she began to cry. “It’s not your fault.”
“Yes, it is!” Esmé sobbed, and this time she pounded her fist against the dashboard. “If I had just run away the night before my parents sent me to live with Olaf, then—”
“Then you and I wouldn’t be together now,” Jerome said, as tears slipped from his eyes. Esmé turned to look at her husband, and as she did he noticed a small bump in the middle of her forehead where she had hit it. “Oh, sweetheart…”
“We have to go to Prufrock Prep right away,” she said.
“Yes, of course,” Jerome agreed, and started up the engine. He had to force himself to look away from his wife’s devastated face and focus on the parking lot in front of him. “Do you want to crawl into the back and lie down? It’s quite a drive from here to Prufrock Prep.” Jerome didn’t add that this suggestion had derived mostly from his concern for his wife’s safety.
“No,” Esmé said. “I want to sit up front with you.”
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Post by Jenny on Sept 28, 2008 14:01:53 GMT -5
Jerome didn't ask his wife why she was so intent in staying in the fornt seat, but as her eyes darted about the roads at different cars it became steadily obvious.
'He's been following us, you know,' she continued, leaning her head against the window. 'Taking pictures. He knows where Emma goes to school, knows where Carmy works, knows that yesterday the elevators broke, he even knows that Emma goes to acting classes and I don't know how, unless he was there all the time--'
'Darling,' Jerome's voice seemed to bring her back into reality, and her breath hitched as she started to sob. 'Darling, stop. We're going to sort this out, and we're going to get that man arrested so that he can't do us any more harm.'
'He's avioded it for so long,' she said breathlessly. 'It's been over thirty years ow he's escaped the authorities, why now, how now could we ever--'
'--I don't know yet, sweetheart,' Jerome soothed. 'But we'll do it. He won't escape again. I'll make sure of it.'
As much as she would have liked to pretend that statement comforted her, it simply didn't. Esmé knew first hand how dangerous and unpredictable Olaf could be, and she didn't want any of her family including Jerome anywhere near him if possible. Just look at what happened to Fernald.
'We have to call your brother,' she said quickly. 'I told him about Andrew, and we need to call your mother. If we all stay in the penthouse together, he can't get to us, can he?' she laughed nervously. 'If Emma takes time off school, and Carmy gets someone else to run the restaurant, we can all just stay in the building, and he can't get to us!'
'But for how long, Esmé?' her husband asked. 'Until he dies? We can't hide forever. Andrew's a grown man, and I'm sure--'
'No,,' Esmé hissed. 'Olaf is a dangerous criminal, Jerome! I'd never forgive myself if something were to happen to Andrew because of me--'
'Thi is not because of you,' Jerome insisted, and wrapped a spare arm around her shoulders. He knew it wasn't safe while driving, but he couldn't bear it if she tried to hurt herself again. 'This is not your fault.'
~
'What?' Emma Squalor asked her vice-principal and brother-in-law. She had been called to his office ten minutes ago, and was still waiting with her bags. 'I don't understand.'
'All I've been told,' he said again. 'Is that Esmé and Jerome are coming to pick you up immediately, and taking you home. They haven't given me a reason, Emma--but I imagine it would be safe to assume that it's bad news.' He paused. 'And I suggest you take off some of that make-up before your stepfather arrives.'
Emma might have been about to follow his orders--or perhaps not--but at that moment there was a knock and her mother and stepfather appeared.
It was apparent immediately that Esmé was worried, upset and had been crying, and Emma ran to embrace her instantly.
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Sept 28, 2008 14:52:18 GMT -5
“Mother, what’s wrong?” Emma asked. “Why did you and Jerome have Nero pull me out of class?”
Esmé’s own arms tightened around her daughter, and Emma listened as her mother began to cry softly.
“What is it?” Emma demanded. “Why are you crying?”
“Here, Esmé,” Jerome said, and guided his wife into one of the two available chairs in front of Nero’s desk. “Why don’t you sit down, darling?”
“What’s this all about?” Nero asked.
Jerome nodded for Emma to sit beside her mother in the other chair, and then put his hand on his wife’s shoulder before turning to his son-in-law. “Someone’s been secretly stalking my family,” Jerome explained. “They finally revealed themselves at Esmé’s place of business this morning. It is a person that she, you, Carmelita, and I all know.”
“What about me?” Emma asked.
“No, darling,” Esmé said. “You’ve never met, thank goodness.”
“It’s Gunther,” Jerome told Nero. “Or, as you knew him, Coach Genghis.”
“Who are Gunther and Coach Genghis?” Emma asked.
“They’re your biological father,” Esmé said through her tears.
“I didn’t think such a thing was even possible.”
Had things been any different, all three adults would have laughed, but this was certainly no laughing matter. As Esmé continued to cry, Emma looked up at her stepfather with wide, questioning blue eyes, and Jerome took it upon himself to explain the situation.
“Olaf has returned,” he said. “He made a threat involving my brother, and there isn’t a doubt in my mind that Olaf means to the rest of us all harm as well.”
Nero reached across his desk for the telephone. “I should call Carmelita,” he said.
As he picked up the phone and began to dial the number of Café Salmonella, Emma turned back to her Esmé. “Mother,” Emma said. “If that man you spoke to at the bank is my biological father, then why did he threaten Uncle Andrew? I thought— I was always under the impression that my father was a noble man.”
“Emma,” Esmé said, wiping her eyes, “I’m afraid that Jerome and I weren’t completely truthful when we told you that your father was a firefighter. He was just the opposite.”
“So he was a… an arsonist?”
“Yes, darling. That’s exactly what he was.”
“Then what were you?” Emma asked, and bit down on her bottom lip in anticipation of her mother’s answer.
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Post by Jenny on Sept 28, 2008 15:12:40 GMT -5
'I--' Esmé didn't know quite how to finish the sentence, and she was feeling quite weak and upset anyway. 'Well, I---'
There was a long silence, and soon enough the tears welled again and Esmé was unable to continue with her answer. Her husband pulled her close to him, and answered in her place.
'You mother was nothing like him,' he answered half-truthfully. 'Your mother was misguided and young, but never evil.'
'An arsonist, too?' Emma asked quietly over her mother's sobs, and Jerome declined to answer. 'I don't know, Emma,' he said in reply. 'But you have to understand that the past is now irrelevant in terms of your mother. What matters now is the reappearance of your father, and what we;re going to do about it.'
Emma was feeling very torn all of a sudden. She knew Jerome was a father to her, but she couldn't help wondering what her real father was like, or whether he really was as bad as they made him seem. Being an arsonist wasn't the worst of crimes after all (as long as that was all he was, and as long as there were no people killed in the fires he set), and perhaps he'd changed since. Perhaps he just wanted to get to know his daughter a little.
'What does he look like?' Emma asked suddenly, and everyone in the room fell silent. Esmé's sobs started to fade, and Jerome didn't seem prepared to answer her.
'Is he like me?' she asked, and her mother made a sound not unlike a gasp.
'No he most certainly isn't, Emma,' she said, voice laced with her tears. 'He was---he is--a dangerous, unpredictable, heartless criminal.' her voice was venemous, so much so that it took both Emma and Jerome by surprise. 'It can't be easy for you to understand this, Emma, but there isn't good in everyone. In some people there is just evil, and I'm afriad that your biological father is one of those people.'
'What did he do that was so terrible?'
'He was an arsonist, Emma,' her mother repeated. 'A murderer, a psychopath. I can't even begin to explain all the things--'
'If he was so dreadful,' Emma interrupted. 'Then why did you ever have me in the first place? Why did you stay around him long enough to become pregnant in the first place?'
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Sept 28, 2008 15:45:28 GMT -5
“Emma,” Jerome hissed, “that is enough! Can’t you see that all you’re doing is making your mother even more upset?”
Emma’s question had not been meant to upset Esmé anymore than she already was, but rather to gain an understanding as to why she had mothered a child with a man as despicable as the one being discussed.
Esmé sniffled, and her voice rose just enough not to interrupt her brother-in-law while he was on the telephone. “Please,” she said, “don’t yell at her, Jerome. Can’t you see she’s only curious? Don’t you think she has a right to know the truth?”
“Of course I do,” Jerome said. “But look at yourself, Esmé. You’re trembling!”
And she was. The bottoms of her pale arms exposed from beneath the sleeves of her pinstripe suit as she hugged Jerome were covered in goosebumps. It was as Emma reached over to wipe away a tear trailing down Esmé’s cheek when the teenager noticed for the first time that there was a small bruise beginning to develop in the center of her mother’s forehead.
“Did my father, did he… give you this?” Emma asked, tenderly tapping the mark on Esmé’s forehead.
Esmé shook her head, right before dissolving into tears as she hid her face in Jerome’s chest. “No,” she whispered sadly. “I gave it to myself.”
Emma had always suspected that her mother— being a woman of emotional instability —was capable of self-harming behavior. Emma had first taken notice of this as a very young child, when she had woken from her nap to what sounded like someone banging their head against the wall, accompanied by crying. She had always known there was a reason why her stepfather never kept any knives or razor blades around that weren’t locked up, but she supposed her mother would find other ways of hurting herself.
“Mother, why did you do that?” Emma asked.
Esmé was grateful when she heard the sound of Nero setting the telephone back down on the charger. “I spoke to Carmelita,” he said. “She’s agreed to accompany you back to the penthouse this evening. I’ll be heading over just as soon as I’ve stopped by my apartment to pick up the twins and pack a few suitcases.”
To Esmé’s dismay, Emma was still intent on finding out exactly why her mother had stayed for so long with a man she had obviously come to despise. “Did he ever hurt you?” Emma asked. “Is that why you stayed with him? Because you were afraid of what he’d do to you if you left?”
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Post by Jenny on Sept 28, 2008 16:00:52 GMT -5
'Yes,' Esmé said quietly. 'But that's not---that wasn't the only reason I stayed.' she sniffed again, and her daughter wiped away a few more of her tears. 'I did love your father, Emma, even as silly as it sounds. I didn't know any better.' She paused. 'Right up until the fire at the Hotel Denouement,' she said, softly and angrily. 'Right up until we had an argument in front of half the occupants of the hotel, and then your father decided to set fire to the building with myself and Carmy inside it,' Emma had frozen, in shock at what she was hearing. Was she really related to someone so evil? 'Luckily, your father--Jerome, I mean--and Nero,' she stopped to nod at the man now sitting at the desk across from her. 'Were also trapped, and helped to get us out. Neither you or I would ever have been here had Nero and Jerome not demonstrated such bravery and such nobility.'
But Emma had stopped listening.
'He just left you to burn in there?' Emma asked, her one eyebrow furrowed. 'He just abandoned you, even though you were pregnant and with Carmy?'
'We didn't know I was pregnant, sweetheart,' her mother corrected. 'I didn't know until about three weeks later about that.'
'But that doesn't change anything!' Emma cried. 'He left you in the middle of a big fire on purpose! A fire he set!'
'Yes, Emma,' she replied. 'And I've never seen him again in fourteen years, except for today.' She bit her lip, and looked her daughter in the eye. 'Do you understand why I'm scared, why I'm upset?'
Emma nodded. 'But what does he want, mother?' she continued. 'Is it because he's sorry for leaving you in the fire?'
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Sept 28, 2008 16:49:22 GMT -5
Esmé laughed bitterly at the question, feeling hot tears stain her cheeks. “Olaf was a lot of things,” she said, “but there isn’t a time I can recall in which he was ever sorry for anything.”
As much as he would have liked to continue holding his wife, Jerome knew there was one last thing to be done. “I’d better call Andrew and my mother,” he said.
Sniffling, Esmé let go of her husband and sat back in her chair, while he reached into his pocket for his cell phone. As he flipped it open and inserted the number of his brother’s workplace, Emma put her arms around her mother.
“Andrew,” Jerome said after a moment, “it’s Jerome. How are you?”
“Jerome!” returned the voice of his younger, fitter brother on the other line. “I’m fine… I’m at the office on a lunch break right now. What’s wrong? You sound upset.”
“I’m afraid I have some rather distressing news.”
“What is it?”
“I can’t explain over the phone,” Jerome said, suddenly realizing the possibility that Olaf could be tapping into the phone lines. “Do you think you could come by the penthouse immediately after work?”
“Sure,” replied Andrew. “But why can’t you just—”
“I promise I’ll tell you everything when I see you. Just promise me you’ll come.”
“Alright, I will. I promise.”
“Thank you, Andrew. I’d better go now, but I will see you tonight?”
“Of course.”
“What did your brother say?” Esmé asked, once the call had ended and Jerome was hitting the number for his family’s estate. “Is he safe?”
“He’s fine,” Jerome said, as he waited for his mother to pick up on the other line. “He promised he’d come to the penthouse right after work.”
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Post by Jenny on Sept 30, 2008 13:13:03 GMT -5
Emma still didn't undertand what her biological father had to gain by making her mother so absolutely miserable, and disrupting the lives of all of her extended family so much, but she could tell by the way that her mother's slim arm had coiled itself around her and refused to let go that it was something she was extremely worried about.
'Do you think ---' she stopped. How should she refer to him? 'Do you think he'll go after Uncle Andrew, Mother? He hasn't got anything to do with us really, he barely ever comes round anymore!'
'Shh,' Esmé whispered into her hair, and Emma felt her chest tighter a little. She hated her questions being left unanswered, and she hated even more the reason for them being left that way. 'We just want to make sure, Emma. Nothing's going to happen to Andrew if he's at the penthouse with us, is it?'
'Why would anything happen to him if he just stayed at work?' Emma asked persistently.
'It probably wouldn't,' Esmé replied, hating the fact that she needed to lie to her daughter at such an important. The more Emma knew, the more likely it was she could get herself in trouble. 'We just want to be sure.'
'Mother,' Jerome spoke into the reciever. 'Mother, I can't tell you on the phone, but it's very, very important that you come to the penthouse. If possible, bring some clothes with you. You might be staying a couple of days.' He waited while she spoke, and then rubbed his forehead despairingly. 'Mother,' he said again. 'It's integral for your own safety that you come to the penthouse tonight. Tomorrow isn't good enough, I'm afraid...'
'I don't understand all this,' Cora Squalor replied, flustered. 'It's difficult for me to get all the way into the city, Jerome, I can't just come on a whim!'
'This isn't just a whim, mother!' Jerome hissed back, angered at her apparent stupidity. 'This is just the opposite!'
'Tell me, then!'
Jerome lay a hand across his eyes, and prayed Olaf hadn't thought of monitoring the phone lines just yet, or hadn't discovered his mother's address. 'Alright,' he said, sighing. 'It's Olaf,' he said, and was surprised to hear a little noise come from his mother on the other end. 'He's come back. Almost from the dead, so it seems.'
For a moment Cora said absolutely nothing, and then she spoke very softly.
'How serious do you think this is really, Jerome?' she asked. 'Think about it for a moment. I'm sorry to say it, but how can you be sure it wasn't Esmé that planned the whole thing?'
Jerome took one glance at his heartbrokem wife, and clenched his jaw.
'You come to the penthouse tonight, Mother,' he said. 'Please. This man is dangerous above anything else, and I wouldn't be surprised if he knew where the house is located.'
'So you're just going to ignore what I said about Esmé?' his mother asked.
'Yes, I am,' her son replied. 'Because you're wrong. You come round tonight, and I promise you'll see.'
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Sept 30, 2008 15:58:49 GMT -5
“Very well, then, Jerome,” Cora answered with a deep sigh. “I’ll see you soon.”
“Goodbye, Mother,” he said, and pressed the “off” button on his cell phone.
“What did your mother say?” Esmé asked. “What were you accusing her of being wrong about?”
Jerome shook his head. “It’s nothing,” he told his wife. “She just thinks there’s a possibility that we could be overreacting in regards to Olaf.”
“Overreacting?!” Esmé asked in a voice that was just below a shriek, and everyone— including Nero —jumped. “Jerome, if your mother had any idea what sort of violence that man is capable of, then… then she’d… she’d…” Esmé could feel her heart begin to race, and her breath come in slow, uneven gasps. She wasn’t sure how she had managed to hold off a panic attack for this long, but she just couldn’t do it anymore.
Emma had lived with her mother for thirteen years, and in that time she had gotten quite good at recognizing the signs. As Emma felt Esmé’s hand on her shoulder begin to shake, she looked concernedly up at her stepfather. “Jerome,” Emma said, “Mother is—”
“Esmé,” Jerome said, gently untangling her arm from around her daughter so that he could both of his tightly around his wife and keep her warm. “Darling, listen to me. Olaf is not going to find a way to get to us, or to anyone else in our family. I promise that I’ll protect all of you.”
“But he… he could be here right no-ow,” Esmé said, her voice slightly more than a shuddering breath from where her face was pressed into the crook of her husband’s arm. “He could be outside the door, or waiting for us back at the car, or—”
“Sweetheart, please. You’re getting yourself all worked up. You’ve got to relax.”
“How do you expect me to do that, Jerome? When there is an arsonist somewhere in our city?”
“Mother,” Emma asked, “do you have your pills with you?”
“No,” Jerome said. “I left them at home. Besides, she can’t have anymore until tonight. The label on the bottle states that one must wait at least twenty-four hours between doses.”
Emma was thankful for not only Jerome’s insight on this matter, but for the fact that he was here with his wife and stepdaughter. Emma didn’t like to think what would happen if Esmé was to overdose on her tranquilizers.
“We’ll head home,” Jerome said, “just as soon as your mother is calm enough to walk.”
“Are you alright, Esmé?” asked Nero, who felt like a useless lump just sitting there while his mother-in-law experienced one of her episodes. Carmelita had explained to him about Esmé’s occasional panic attacks, but until now he had never seen one occur, and he had to admit that it scared him a little.
Esmé nodded once more, her face now pressed up against her husband’s neck so that he could feel her cold nose on his skin. My poor darling, he thought, and tightened his arms around her.
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Post by Jenny on Oct 1, 2008 12:52:44 GMT -5
'Colette,' Fernald Widdershins said unhappily, and attempted to keep his eyes ahead on the road rather than turning them angrily on his wife. 'We've had this conversation so many times--we don't have to see Esmé again if you don't want to.'
'But Faust wants to, doesn't she?' Colette replied, and wasn't oblivious to her husband shaking his head crossly as he attempted to change gear with his hooks. She had never liked letting him drive because with his hooks he'd never quite gotten the hang of it, but these days it made her awfully nervous, and she had to leave the job up to Fernald. 'She's never once stopped talking about Esmé's daughter, has she? I hate to tell her no to something so reasonable just because I don't like the Squalors. Isn't that unfair?'
'Yes,' Fernald replied bluntly, not bothering to sugarcoat the truth. 'It's obvious Esmé's changed, isn't it? I know she tricked you all those years ago Colette, but without Olaf's influence I can't imagine she could ever do that again.'
'I don't understand how you can say that,' Colette responded. 'When if she hadn't ever become involved you might never have lost your hands.'
Fernald flinched, and almost didn't stop in front of the traffic lights in time--a combination of his strange brakes and his shock at reliving the momory again. He'd never told his wife the whole story about what had happened--he had told her that he was defending the future Mrs Squalor, but he hadn't told her that it was because he'd loved her at the time. In a way it made him look more noble, he supposed--and it wouldn't make Colette any fonder of Esmé to know the truth behind it. He kept quiet.
'That wasn't her fault,' he said after a moment. 'It was Olaf's.'
They pulled up outside Faust's school--they had agreed to pick her up, although they hardly ever did, because she had been acting a little strangely in the past day, mainly because she was starting to blame herself for the arguments frequently occuring beteween her parents. They had decided earlier that they intended to take the ten-year-old ot for ice-cream, even though they were really unable to afford that sort of expense. Nobody could ever say they didn't treasure little Faust, and they would have had more children had they been able. It killed Fernald not to be able to spoil her--and his wife-- and to make her go to such a dreadful school, and live in a house which was frequently cut off from it's heating and electricity because the bills were late. He thought that Colette probably felt the same about their daughter, and this was part of her apparent hatred of the Squalor family as a whole. How could it be possibly fair that Esmé Squalor of all people could live such a life of luxury, when good people such as Fernald and Colette were forced to struggle?
Before Fernald could even climb out of the car, Faust had arrived behind him, grinning. She was not bullied at school, he didn't think, but he knew she didn't exactly fit in. He imagined he probably wasn't much help, either--kids were cruel, and they must talk about her family at school, her freak father above all.
She cloimbed into the backseat, and told every possible story about her day at school, what lessons she had, and how well--or badly, most of the time--she had done in her tests and lessons for the whole twenty minutes until the family arrived at the ice-cream parlour, with her parents only needing to supply a few words along the way. No wonder he and Colette never seemed to talk much.
Everything ran smoothly until on their way walking through the town, a man managed to purposefully collide with Fernald on the street, Faust holding her father's left hook, and looking up at the trech-coat clad man beside him.
'Good afternoon, Hooky,' said the raspy, hoarse voice of the stranger, and Faust felt both of her parents freeze. 'Long time no see.'
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Oct 1, 2008 15:00:27 GMT -5
It took Fernald Widdershins almost no time at all to distinguish the man standing in front of him. Fernald felt the slender fingers of his wife tighten around his wrist, and although he couldn’t feel it, Faust clenched her own hand tighter around her father’s hook.
He opened his mouth to speak, and heard his wife make a small, frightened noise significant to that of a trapped or wounded animal. “Colette,” he whispered, “Faust, get behind me.”
As his wife and daughter moved behind him, Fernald held up his hooks in defense against the man responsible for nearly causing the hook-handed man to lose both his wife and daughter in a terrible fire.
“What’s all this?” Olaf asked. “I must admit, Fernald, that I’m deeply hurt. I would’ve expected a slightly warmer welcome from you.”
“After all the people you’ve hurt,” Fernald said, “this shouldn’t come as much of a surprise to you, Olaf.”
Grinning, the villain showed off a set of jagged, yellow teeth. They reminded Faust of the ones she had once seen in a shark’s mouth, during a class trip to an aquarium. As she looked up into the face of the man who her father was apparently trying to defend his family from, the fear she had felt that afternoon at the aquarium returned. Shivering, she reached for her mother’s hand, which she was surprised to feel was as cold as ice.
“Speaking of surprises,” Olaf continued, “I was just on my way back from a visit with an old acquaintance of mine— who, I might add, was very surprised to see me.”
Fernald stood frozen, his two menacing hooks shaking in the air. “Es—” he began, and then stopped. There was a possibility that Olaf could be referring to one of his other associates, and not necessarily the financial advisor who Fernald had once loved with every ounce of passion that he now felt for his wife. “If you’ve hurt…”
“Relax,” Olaf said casually “I wouldn’t dream of harming that woman—not when I’ve already enlisted her help.” Turning to Colette, he extended his hairy, scraggly hand to the contortionist, and continued: “Enchanté, Mademoiselle Dubois. What a pleasure it is to see you again after all these years.”
Faust wasn’t sure what the word “enchanté” meant, or how this Olaf person knew Colette maiden name, or what he meant by “after all these years”. All Faust knew was how frightened her mother was, as she felt Colette’s grip tighten around her small hand.
“And who is this enchanting little creature?” Olaf asked, and Faust peered out at the man from behind her father’s arm. “She looks… familiar. She wouldn’t happen to be your daughter by any chance, would she?”
“That’s none of your business,” Colette said firmly, and was surprised at the strength in what had always been her soft-spoken voice.
By now, the passersby had begun to take notice of the situation unfolding in the street between the man with unusual hands, an extremely thin woman, a little girl, and another man who apparently had absolutely no sense of style whatsoever. Wanting to avoid the same unwanted attention that he had back at Mulctuary Money Management, Olaf grinned down at his two former henchpersons and their small daughter.
“Well, it was very nice seeing you again,” he said. “As well as you… um…”
“Faust,” Faust answered boldly, and felt her mother jerk her hand. “Faust Widdershins.”
“Ah! So you are their daughter. And a very pretty name you have,” Olaf added. “Perhaps we’ll be seeing each other again soon— and something tells me that we will.”
“Don’t get your hopes up too high, Olaf,” Fernald said, and held up his hooks a little higher as a warning to his former employer. “I’m going to make sure of it that you don’t come anywhere near my family.”
“Suit yourself, Hooky. But I can assure you that such hopes will remain as false as Esmé Squalor’s transformation.”
With that, Olaf turned away and disappeared soon after into the crowd of onlookers.
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Post by Jenny on Oct 1, 2008 15:34:19 GMT -5
The family remained frozen for a second, and then shortly afterwards Fernald turned and gathered his daughter into his arms without sayng a word. Faust lay her head into his collar.
'Who was that?' Faust asked softly, slightly muffled into her father's shoulder. Fernald bit his lip, and tried not to answer. 'Who was that?' she repeated, and then pushed her father back to look at him. 'Daddy?'
Her last word broke his heart, and he dreaded attempting to explain his association with sinister Olaf without incriminating himself too much in the eyes of his daughter. It was practially his worst nightmare, having to reveal to Faust the way he had treated people in the past, and the person he used to be.
'Just someone that used to know me, sweetheart,' he replied, and straightened up to curl his arms around his wife--she was not particularly tall, and at his fairly impressive height it was necessary to bend over to wrap his arms around her. Colette had started to shake with her tears, and he looked around at all the passersby, wondering if they were Olaf again every time.
'It's OK,' he whispered.
Colette took a little gasp, and then started to sob. 'Faust,' she said simply, too upset to form long sentences. 'He said about Faust!'
'I know,' her husband placated, rubbing her back comfortingly. 'Nothing's going to happen to Faust, or you. I'll kill him before that.'
This statement seemed to make Colette a little more upset. 'Esmé,' she said afterwards. 'He said he'd enlisted her help, didn't he?'
'You can't trust anything that man says,' Fernald replied quickly. 'She won't be helping him, I guarantee it. He's lying.'
Colette shook her head sadly. 'Fernald,' she said. 'When will you see that having such faith in someone so horrible is futile?'
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Oct 1, 2008 16:13:29 GMT -5
“Because,” Fernald replied, “I knew Esmé long before her recruitment into the organization.” “What organization?” Faust asked. Fernald forced himself to put forth a strained smile. “Snow Scouts.” And he left it at that. *** Esmé had stopped crying halfway between Prufrock Prep and 667 Dark Avenue, but her little body continued to shake as the elevator doors opened. Putting his arms around his wife, Jerome guided her out onto the top floor, while Emma ran ahead to unlock the penthouse’s door. “And you say Carmelita will be here right after work?” Esmé asked as they went inside. “Yes, dear,” Jerome said, helping his wife to sit down on the loveseat. “She and Nero will probably be arriving together.” At that moment, the telephone rang from its place on a table on the other side of the room. “I’ll get it,” Emma announced, and ran over to retrieve the phone. “What if it’s him?” Esmé asked, as Jerome wrapped a blanket around her trembling shoulders. Jerome wasn’t sure how to answer that, and he watched Emma as she picked up the phone from its charger. “Hello?” she said. “Esmé?” came the voice on the other line. It sounded like Mr. Widdershins. “No,” Emma replied. “This is Emma, her daughter.” “Oh, of course! You sound so much alike over the telephone.”Emma smiled to herself, happy that someone believed her to be so much like her mother to the point where their voices sounded identical. “How is your mother?” asked Fernald. Emma bit her lip, not sure of how to respond. “She’s fine,” she said at last. “I’m very glad to hear it. And what about you and your stepfather?”“We’re both well, thank you.” “Do you think I could speak with your mother a moment?” Fernald asked. “I have a rather… urgent matter to discuss with her.”
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Post by Jenny on Oct 2, 2008 13:22:28 GMT -5
'Yes, of course,' Emma said politely. She had liked Mr Widdershins when she met him the other night, and she didn't think it fair to treat him unpleasantly because of his wife's actions. She held the phone to her shoulder, and then turned to her mother. 'It's Mr Widdershins,' she confirmed, and her mother crossed the room and took the phone.
'Fernald?' she asked shakily, not stopping to wonder whether it would be more normal to refer to him as Mr Widdershins in front of her daughter. 'What is it?'
'Esmé,' he said quickly, and she felt by the urgent tone of his voice that he already knew what he was likely to say. 'Esmé, I'm not sure how to tell you this, it's terrible, I saw--'
'--Olaf,' she finisihed. 'Yes, Fernald. So did I.'
His heart practically stopped. He had not believed Colette's theory that Esmé and Olaf would ever again be in cahoots, but he supposed it was actually possible, even if he didn't want to comprehend it.
'He told me he'd enlisted your help,' Fernald said coldly. 'Is that true, Esmé? After all this time?'
There was a short silence on the other end. 'Of course it isn't!' she replied angrily. 'How dare you Fernald, how dare you, knowing about Emma, and knowing about Jerome! How dare you!'
Just as it seemed she was about to hang up, Fernald saw fit to take it back. 'No!' he cried quickly. 'I didn't think it really,' he calrified, even though he had done, for a long moment. 'It's just I didn't know what to think, and Colette said--'
'--Oh, well, of course,' Esmé hissed. 'First you believe the man that chopped off your hands and left me in a burning hotel, and after that you believe the woman who hates me, and then you accuse me!'
Jerome was thinking about taking the phone himself and sorting out whatever Fernald had done to infuriate his already tearful wife, but it seemed that he had found a way to smooth it over.
'What are we going to do, Esmé?' Mr Widdershins asked sadly, and she thought she could hear a sob in the back of his throat. 'He said he'd be seeing Faust, and there was nothing I could--'
'It's OK,' Esmé replied, and suddenly felt a little better for a reason she couldn't explain. The fact that someone else was as worried as she was, and for the same reasons, she supposed was of huge comfort to her. 'Nothing's going to happen to Faust, just the same as nothing's going to happen to Emma.'
He said nothing, and felt a lot stronger, and stopped shaking. Saying the words herself had brought it home; she didn't intend to let anything happen to the children, or to anyone else.
'Why don't you, Colette and Faust come to the penthouse tonight,' she said eventually, and Jerome looked as shocked as he ever had. 'Most of Jerome's family are going to be there, too. No more arguments, I promise: and there's safety in numbers, isn't there?'
'Yes,' Fernald said after a moments hesitation. 'Yes, we will. What did he say to you, anyway?'
'He gave me a forty-eight hour deadline to make him a billionaire by whatever means possible,' she said, offering the much shortened version of all he had actually said. 'Or else.'
Another pause. 'But what does that mean for Jerome? Isn't that--'
'No,' she answered quickly. 'I lied. I told him Jerome hadn't inherited anything because he married me, and it all went to his mother and younger brother. No matter how untrue that is, it seemed to work at the time--Cora and Andrew Squalor are going to be there tonight, as well, now that I've put them in so much danger with those remarks.'
'Alright,' he said, pulling hismelf together. He had taken a moment and gone into the small back garden of their home to make the call, so that he wouldn't upset Colette. He couldn't afford to do that, not at all. 'Alright. We'll be there at seven, let's say.'
'You're vey welcome to stay if you wish,' she replied. 'We've plently of rooms, after all. And then we'd all feel a lot safer.'
'I'll have to ask Colette about that,' he replied, but inside his head agreed. 'Goodbye, Esmé.'
He hung up, and turned to see his wife leaning agains the back wall of their house, one eyebrow raised.
'How did you get out here?' he demanded. He hadn't heard the gate.
'Climbed out of the window,' she answered, and he looked at the small slither of space the window opened, and wondered how. 'Why were you calling her?'
'Because we're going over there tonight,' he said, and his wife's blue eyes widened. 'Safety in numbers, after all.'
Colette didn't say anything, and Fernald linked his hooks together nervously.
'How can you be sure this isn't a plot?' she asked. 'How do you know she doesn't want us there for Olaf?'
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Oct 2, 2008 14:57:26 GMT -5
“She’s very concerned for our safety, Colette,” Fernald said. “Particularly that of the children. And besides, Jerome Squalor will be there. He wouldn’t let anything bad happen, even if Esmé was planning something.” It pained Fernald to say this, but he had reached the point in which he would say anything in order to reassure his wife and get her to listen to reason. “Esmé Squalor was… your girlfriend once,” Colette said. “Wasn’t she?” “Colette, please. Don’t do this.” “Sometimes I wonder, Fernald. Sometimes I wonder which one of us you would have saved, had you fulfilled your promise and met me at the Hotel Denouement.” Fernald took a step forward, and went to wrap his arms carefully around his wife, only to have her pull away from him instead. “That was still the plan,” he explained calmly. “Fiona and I were on our way there, when we received the news that the hotel had caught fire. For two years I had believed you to be dead, and then you turned up in my life again.” “You still haven’t answered my question,” Colette reminded her husband coolly. “Which one of us would you have saved?” “What does it matter?” demanded Fernald. “I would have saved you both had I been given the chance!” “But what if you could only save one of us?” Why was she doing this to him? Why was she insisting on dragging things up from the past, things that hadn’t mattered until the day before? With an exasperated groan, Fernald lifted his right hook and struck out at the tree beside him, dragging his hook downward. After seeing firsthand the way Olaf had treated Esmé, Fernald had vowed to never strike out at anyone in the face of anger. At that moment, a small, frightened sob echoed from somewhere nearby, and the couple turned to see Faust standing in the doorway. One hand was pressed against the doorframe, while the fingers of her other hand rested on her bottom lip. “What are you fighting about?” she asked. “Colette,” Fernald said, his voice softening at the sight of his daughter’s wide, concerned eyes. “Why don’t you go inside and pack some things for you and Faust? I’ll be there in just a minute.” Without a word, Colette turned and headed up the path toward their house. She managed to shove Faust back inside, despite the fact that the little girl was looking desperately back at her father from behind her mother’s arm. Once his wife and daughter had disappeared, Fernald continued to stand, scraping the tree with his hook until the area was completely worn of its bark. *** “Here, Esmé,” Jerome said as he placed a cup of chamomile tea in his wife’s shaking hands. “Drink this. It’ll help you relax.” “When did you last buzz the doorman?” Esmé asked. Jerome sat down on the love seat beside her, putting an arm around her. “Just a few minutes ago. Don’t worry, darling. He said he promises to notify us just as soon as my brother has arrived.” “Where’s Emma?” “She’s in her room,” Jerome replied, “doing her homework.” “Go and get her, will you?” Esmé said. “I don’t want her to be anywhere in the penthouse alone.”
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