"Three!" Olaf half yelled, waiting for the answer, not listening to all the 'stops' uttered by the helpless adults. And then he heard the more strong willed yell of the eldest Baudelaire brat.

"Stop!" Violet yelled immediately after he had announced the third digit.

Olaf stood tall, confident, harpoon gun in hand aimed at Dewey, the Baudelaire children the only thing standing in his way between the three words that would open the lock to the room he believed to hold the sugar bowl. A little away from him, he also heard Esme, his now ex, squealing on some ridiculous subject. But he kept his eyes on the harpoon gun.

He heard himself responding to some unheard question. "When it comes to slaughtering people, I'm very flexible! Ha! Four!"

And then something surprising happened. Violet stepped forward, and his harpoon gun was aimed right at her chest. Following her a few countdowns later were her two siblings. He was less confident now. Someone was standing up for the sub-sub. They were trying to sacrifice themselves? Well, he'd destroy anyone in his way.

"Seven!" He yelled, showing nothing but indifference. And then everything changed.

One more 'Stop!' rang through the air, and Olaf's eyes snapped to the cold familiar voice.


Kit Snicket walked out of hiding from the brush. Some of her clothes were torn from sharks she had tried to elude when contacting captain Widdershins, only to find he was not at the clump of sea weed they had agreed on. She was only left to guess someone had intercepted the code.

She had rushed over to the hotel. The last safe place was safe no longer, and she had rushed to help the Baudelaire children.

"Stop!" She called out sternly, walking toward the field. She would not see Violet, or Sunny, or Klause dead, not if she could help it. Neither would she see Dewey, the man whom she loved, sacrifice himself for the cause. Not today.

Olaf's harpoon hadn't budged, but his head was trained on Kit walking in the dark across the field. And suddenly, as if time had sped up right before his eyes, she was pushing the Baudelaire's out of the way, taking Violet's place.

And she looked upon the face of the man she had tried to forget. His harpoon was now aimed at her, directly at the bulge in her stomach. And he noticed it as well. He looked down briefly, in amazement, shock, surprise.

Then he met her stern gaze. And his eyes brought the surge of memories she wished to leave forgotten.