Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“You know, I’ve never seen the sun rising up like this before.”

The moment the words slip out of Fernald’s mouth, Quigley suddenly stops walking. Duncan and Isadora, having been following their brother, also stop abruptly. This causes a minor backup, with Fiona quickly slamming into Duncan, and Fernald nearly bumping into Fiona.

“What does that mean?” asks Quigley, turning back around.

“It means exactly as I said,” says Fernald, turning his direction to the sun, using his hook to shield himself from the sun’s rays. “I’ve seen the sun setting into the ocean before. No doubt you seen that before too. Seeing the sun rising out of the ocean makes no sense.”

The area the seven are in is abandoned; there’s a torn-riddle sign flopping over, and several food stalls and game stalls on a dirty old boardwalk. Despite that, it has a lovely view of the ocean. Duncan and Isadora keep quiet as they use their hands to shield away the sunlight. Fiona however, looks down at the sand below, and starts scratching her chin.

“Well, it makes sense when living in the east,” says Fiona. “And perhaps one can see the sun rising over a lake, like Lake Lachrymose, or one of the Great Lakes. But since we were last in the Pacific Ocean, we must have landed somewhere in the west.

“Maybe we all got affected by that creature, and it’s making us see things that shouldn’t be seen. Or existing,” suggest Duncan. “We were in its stomach for quite a while.”

“If you’re suggesting we got bitten by those weird leech-tadpole things, I think one or all of us could have made a comment about it before now,” says Isadora, lowering her hand. “We’re clearly out from its stomach. Maybe the sign could give us a clue on what’s going on here.”

Isadora soon walks to the torn-riddle sign, and pushes the paper upward to read it. The others stay put and glance at one another, before Isadora’s sudden scream has them jumping. Everyone rushes towards Isadora, who is now lying on the sand itself.

“What’s wrong, Isadora?” asks Duncan, as he and Quigley reach out one of their hands.

Isadora quickly takes both of her brothers’ hand, and pulls herself up. “What’s wrong? Read the sign! You won’t believe me if I tell you! You’ll think I’m making it up or something!”

Fiona gives a look at Fernald, and he nods his head. The two siblings went up to the sign, and lifts the paper upward. Lifting the paper as upward as it can be, every one of them read the once bright red dazzling bubble font words of the sign:

WELCOME TO CROWN CITY BEACH! IT’S THE DIAMOND BY THE SEA!

 “Crown City? Why that’s—” Duncan blinks a few times. “Actually, considering we’re away from the City, that means we’re away from where V.F.D. could find us.”

Quigley slowly gives Duncan a confuse glance. “Why wouldn’t we want V.F.D. to find us?”

---

“So, what we have is two lighters, a blanket, a first-aid kit, a Swiss army knife, a wallet that happened to be lost on the beach, and a compass!” Widdershins claps his hands. “Not a bad haul! Aye! It’s workable! Except maybe sharing the blanket!”

Hector crouches down onto his feet, and stares at the wallet. “I still think we should leave it where it was. This beach may be less than easy on the eyes in comparison to Briny Beach, but that wallet is proof people still visit this place.”

“Hm…” Widdershins crouches down also, and eyes the wallet. He briefly curls one end of his mustache, and then grabs the wallet. “You’re right! We just need the cash that’s inside the wallet! Aye! We don’t need the owner’s ID card at all! Or any other things he or she may have!”

“That’s not what I—” Hector doesn’t get to finish his sentence.

Widdershins opens up the wallet, and throws a thick wad of cash to Hector. Widdershins keeps the wallet itself, examining it for whatever reason. Hector gives a tired sigh, and then counts the wad of money. He couldn’t help but whistle in surprise. He has counted a total of exactly one thousand, two hundred, and fifty dollars.

“Well! This explains something that puzzled me! Take a look at this, Hector!”

Curious over Widdershins’ words, Hector folds up the cash wad, and places it inside the front pocket of his overalls. He then leans over Widdershins’ shoulder, and stares at the white ID card in his hands with bugged out eyes.

“Crown City Identification Card!?” exclaims Hector, falling backward onto his bottom. “We’re in the east!? But we were last in the Pacific Ocean! That’s in the west!”

“And never did you realize that sun was rising out in the apparent west,” mutters Widdershins.

Hector clicks his tongue, and ignores the comment. “Care to shed a little light on our dilemma? You have an idea how we went from the west to the east?”

“I can only assume after we got swallowed alive by the aquatic behemoth of legends,” says Widdershins calmly, as if he’s describing the weather, “the beast in twenty-four hours, swam from the middle of the Pacific Ocean to the shores of Crown City Beach to cough us out.”

Hector groans, and then lies down on the sand. “Just our luck. And considering what we know about Crown City, I’m not willing the risk of the organization finding the Quagmires and I.”

Widdershins nods his head. “Aye. After everything that happened to my stepchildren over the last few days, I don’t want to take that risk either. It’s best to go back westward. The further away we’re from the east, the lower the risk it’ll be.”

“And where to exactly?” Hector quickly stands back up. “East or west, north or south, V.F.D. will still be a risk. They have a grasp everywhere, Widdershins.”

“But a low risk is better than the opposite, aye.”

---

As the question slips out of Quigley’s mouth, something changes. The lovely view of the ocean now matches the down ridden condition of the Crown City Boardwalk. Isadora’s fear of being in the east coast soon melts away into anger. Duncan’s relief of knowing he’s away from the City and V.F.D. quickly transforms into confusion.

Isadora pulls her hand away from Quigley’s, and narrows her eyes. “Why wouldn’t we want the V.F.D. to find us? Why would we want them to find us in the first place?” asks Isadora.

“Because they can help us.” Quigley narrow his eyes at her. “I know you done research on the organization, and everything about them says otherwise from what you experienced.”

“Lack of experience is more fitting,” says Duncan calmly. “For an organization hell-bent on helping the world keep quiet, they sure did a splendid job on keeping our and the Baudelaires’ lives quiet, especially in the last few days.”

“Oh yes,” agreed Isadora, and she gives a quickly sharp glare at Fernald. “They sure helped the Baudelaires when allowing them to enter Count Olaf’s care. Or all the times that terrible man showed up in disguise with his allies.”

Fernald winces, but he remains quiet as he averts his eyes to the sand. Fiona keeps quiet too, curling up her hand into a tight ball.

“Let’s talk about the role they played were when we were kidnapped by his allies, doing everything in their power to find us.” Duncan’s voice is louder than before, but it still remains calm. “Or how they did everything in their power to try stop that excuse of a newspaper slander the Baudelaires’ names. Oh wait. They did nothing to help us.”

“Speaking of helpful, let’s talk about how helpful they were to you!” Isadora’s voice is louder than Duncan’s, as well as shaky. She places her right hand on her chest, and blinks rapidly. “We thought you were dead! For weeks, we thought you were gone, just like our parents! And all this time, you were alive, kept away from us by the organization! They deliberately kept you away from us!”

“They didn’t though!” Quigley’s voice rises too. He makes his hands into fists, and glares at Isadora. “I told you! I wanted to be with you two again the second I discovered you were all at that school! But when Jacques found me, he told me it was best for me to stay low! He said if I revealed myself as alive, or if the wrong people knew, it would cause trouble!”

“And the right people who got to know about you were Kit Snicket, Fiona, and her stepfather?” interrupts Duncan. “Are you saying that we weren’t the right people who ought to know?”

“No! All I’m saying is that—”

“I think you’re saying it clear,” cuts in Isadora. “That you’re willing to pick some now dead man that you barely knew over your own siblings!”

“Jacques Snicket wasn’t just some now dead man!”

---

And with that, the conversation ends. Hector and Widdershins gather their things (sans the wallet, for they decide to leave where they found it) and walk in whatever direction they are heading, which is more or less north. As they walk, Hector continues to look straight ahead, carrying the money in his front overall pocket, and the blanket in his arms.

Widdershins look in random directions —up, down, left, right— while carrying the first-aid kit now holding the two lighters, the compass, and Swiss army knife. The few times he looks at Hector’s direction, Widdershins open his mouth, but closes it. The silence between them goes on for quite some time.

Even from the corner of his eyes, Hector grows tired of Widdershins’ gawking. He stops in his walking, which in turns has Widdershins pausing too. Hector stares directly at Widdershins, and clicks his tongue.

“You clearly want to tell me something,” says Hector. “So go on. Say it.”

“Regarding places with the lowest V.F.D. activity,” begins Widdershins, “One place I can think of is the Kingdom of Arizona. Their current laws make it difficult for them to operate as before. But I don’t think anyone of us could survive the hot, dry environment. Aye, except you.”

“I have enough with the desert, as well as dealing with ridiculous laws due to the Village of Fowl Devotee. The Kingdom of Arizona is a no.” Hector readjusts the blanket in his arms. “Why not Cascade Country? The northwest isn’t such a terrible place.”

“No, it’s not. But V.F.D. could send agents from across the Canada border to track us all down when it’s least expected.”

Hector sucks in his breath. “Shoot. I forgot about British Columbia. V.F.D.’s grasp on the Manitoba province—especially in the city of Winnipeg— had it slip my mind.”

Widdershins briefly bob his head. “There’s always living back in the Land of Districts.”

“But—”

“The Land of Districts isn’t completely in the organization’s grasp. Aye, and some places lost V.F.D.’s influences, even if said influence was minor.”  Widdershins scratches a spot near his sideburns. “Remember that town we visited Snicket in his apprenticeship? Stain'd-by-the-Sea?”

“I think Snicket and Markson’s time in that town has them vary of outsiders. And on the off chance their mark left, we’ll no doubt be consider suspicious. Seven strangers looking worse for wear with little belongings…” Hector readjusts the blanket again, and runs a hand through his hair. “Widdershins, while I understand why you want to discuss this now, we should return back to the important matter at hand: finding the Quagmires triplets and your stepchildren.”

Widdershins blinks a few times, and then walks away. Hector stands there awkwardly for a few seconds before he continues walking too.

As they continue their walk, there isn’t a sound in the air as they continue walking north. At least until they hear a familiar group of four teenagers and one adult.

With the four teenagers being almost seconds away from fighting one another.

---

Quigley soon unexpectedly lunges right towards Isadora. Isadora quickly takes a few steps backward towards Duncan, yelping in surprise by her brother’s sudden actions. Quigley, because he has no support to help stop him from falling, falls face down into the sand. He quickly picks himself up, and gags and spits out the sand that’s in his mouth, wiping off the rest of the sand with the back of his hand.

Isadora couldn’t help but chuckle, which soon became a decision she quickly regrets. Quigley then again makes the attempt to lunge at not only her, but Duncan as well. As Isadora and Duncan scream together, Fiona rushes in. She quickly places herself between the three in time, keeping them apart by arms’ length.

“Duncan! Isadora! Quigley! As much as I understand both of your arguments,” says Fiona, “the fact is that we’re all focusing on the wrong thing!”

“The wrong thing?” asks Isadora.

“Yes,” replies Fiona. “The wrong thing!”

“How is thinking of our lives onward from avoiding indigestion is the wrong thing? This involves all of us, you now!” Quigley narrows his eyes at Fiona. “This isn’t just about me and my siblings. What about you? Do you want or not want to rejoin V.F.D. after all this?”

“What I want won’t be said until everyone is together,” replies Fiona. “We still need to find Hector and my stepfather. This is a group matter! Everyone ought to have a say in it! And not everyone is here! That’s why we were walking around in the first place! To search for them!”

Fernald couldn’t help but laugh at her statement. “Ha! You speak as if Stepfather would agree to a collective group decision. That man never thinks. He never hesitates, after all.”

“Considering his compliance with Hector inside that creature, I think this time he would!” Fiona narrows her eyes at her brother. “At the very least, I think he will be willing to listen to others, and most importantly, not go diving into a stupid decision without informing me! Us!”

“Considering everyone’s goal was to escape that creature,” says Duncan, crossing his arms, “who wouldn’t be compliance in that situation? But we’re no longer inside the belly of the beast.”

Isadora nods her head in agreement. “I agree. I daresay that your stepfather could either—”

“There you all are!” Hector’s sudden voice interrupts her. “I’m glad you’re all together! Granted, I could do without you all fighting one another!”

Everyone turns their heads towards the direction of the familiar voice. All five see Hector and Widdershins running towards them, with items in their hands they didn’t have before.

Fiona quickly drops her hands to her side, and soon starts running. Fernald mutters something about his stepfather, and follows soon after her. Duncan and Isadora glance at one another with a smile, and they too break out running. As for Quigley, he remains near the dirty boardwalk, before giving out a sigh, and sprints off after the others.

Chapter Text

“Why do I have to apologize first? You were the one who started the argument with Quigley!” whispers Isadora harshly, for Duncan is slightly pushing her towards Quigley, who is walking ahead of them alongside the rest of the group, sulking with his head down.

“I’m not the one who called Jacques Snicket ‘some dead guy’. That set him off more than what I said,” whispers Duncan back, his stern tone of voice that has her thinking of Mom.

“Because he is! He’s some dead guy we know was doing dubious work, working in a dubious organization. And considering what we sorted out what’s fact and fiction, his siblings committed one crime each. You can’t blame me to thinking he’s not above his siblings’ actions.” Isadora huffs, and crosses her arms. She couldn’t believe what she’s hearing from Duncan.

“I don’t blame you at all. But considering the way Quigley reacted, in hindsight, it shouldn’t have been said at all.” Duncan sighs as he rubs the temple of his head, and then lowers his head, as if he’s ashamed of himself as well. “Never did we thought about how Quigley felt on his end. He survived the fire because of a secret tunnel. And for days at Dr. Montgomery’s house, he though we died in the fire alongside Mom and Dad. He thought this for days until learning the ‘truth’: that he ‘died’ in the fire alongside our parents. And so, he decides to go to find us.”

Isadora gives another huff. “We know how this part ends. What’s your point?”

“My point is that he was in a more terrible position than us at the time,” says Duncan, staring at Isadora once again, with the same stern look from before. “We had each other for comfort, to talk to over the fire. But Quigley had no one. He was alone, Isadora. We were at least Duncan and Isadora. We were together. But Quigley? He was by himself. He was just Quigley.”

“…Until Jacques Snicket came to Dr. Montgomery’s house. He was the first person that Quigley meet and talk to in such a long time. If someone I grew close too after being alone for so long suddenly vanished, and I learned later on that they got murdered…” Isadora briefly averts her eyes to the dirt road, and then looks up again.

“I’ll apologize for what I said about Jacques Snicket,” says Isadora. “He was there for Quigley after the fire. That deserves some respect from us, in that regard. I just hope Quigley hears me out. The both of us, in fact. No doubt what we said to him hurt more than we intended.”

Chapter Text

“Hey Fiona, did Stepfather ever spoke in his first language around you?”

Fiona looks up from her book, for she was lying on her bed, and stares at Fernald, who is standing in her bedroom doorway. “Why are you asking me this?”

Fernald continues to stand there. “I was downstairs in the kitchen eating apple slices when Stepfather came in for a glass of water. He then started talking to himself.”

“And?” asks Fiona. “That’s just a regular habit of his that started long before I was born. You know, the way you’re describing it now makes it seems it’s something to worry about.”

“Fiona, when the man talks to himself, it’s in English. This time around, he was speaking in his first language,” continues Fernald. “He was speaking in his first language of Khmer as he sat across from me and stared at my plate of apples, all while drinking his damn glass of water.”

Fiona scrambles to sit upright on her bed, and pushes up her glasses. “So instead of asking Stepfather about the sudden switch to Khmer, you went to my room to ask me a question?”

“Yep. I just went up from my seat, and left my apples slices—” Fernald pauses in his talking all of his sudden, and his eyes soon widen in a sort of revelations. “Discussing this now with you, I realize this makes me a giant asshole. Please excuse me while I try to do damage control.”

Fernald soon runs out of Fiona’s view. Fiona only stares at the empty doorway, before returning back to lying on her bed. She flips a page of her book, before closing it.

“So, Stepfather never spoke in his first language around Fernald then,” says Fiona. “I guess that’s something Stepfather and I have that’s just ours. I don’t know how to feel about that.”

---

“The more I look at my Spanish One book, the more I want to cry,” says Quigley. He then buries his face into his hands. “I should have taken French. This is a nightmare to learn!”

“Why would you want to take French?” Duncan peels off the skins off the orange in a perfect nonbroken spiral. “It more or less has the same difficulty. The only difference is that the difficulty varies on what stages one is learning it.”

Isadora looks up from her world history book. “I would have like it if they offered a bit more variety. Though we should be grateful our new school offers any foreign language class.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s a requirement in the legal and educational sense for school to offer foreign languages, Isadora,” says Quigley, unburying his face from his hands.

“Prufrock Prep didn’t.”

“Let’s not bring up that hellhole again.” Duncan soon drops the spiral peel onto the table. “You know Quigley, you could always ask Hector for help. He is fluent in Spanish, after all.”

“I could, but that would mean admitting defeat to the Hook-Handed Man,” replies Quigley.

“That man doesn’t even speak a slick of Spanish!” snaps Isadora. “Are you really letting his words get to you that badly?”

“YES!” Quigley buries his face into his hands again.

“Why don’t I try helping you then? I know some basic Spanish from watching telenovelas with Dad.” Duncan leans over, and looks at the page Quigley is on. “We even have an orange on hand to act as our example!”

Quigley unburies his face, and stares at Duncan, who’s holding the unpeel orange.

“Now, repeat after me,” says Duncan. “Na.”

“Na.”

“Ran.”

“Ran.”

“Ja.”

“Ja.”

“Naranja.”

“Naranna.” Quigley sputters the last syllable into something else entirely.

Isadora grimaces at the pronunciation. “Wow. You weren’t even close to what Duncan said.”

Chapter Text

One thousand, two hundred, and fifty dollars is a budget that can work for one person. Can such a budget work for seven people? Not really. There’s no way seven people could make that budget work, unless the group got lucky. And luck rain down on the group consisting of the Quagmire triplets, Hector, and the Widdershins family.

The group of seven, upon reaching Crown City (after half a day of walking there from Crown City Beach plus a night's rest) found a donation/second-hand store. There they bought some new clothes, as well as two duffel carry-on bags, and a mini-sewing kit at reasonable low prices for their budget. Good luck continued to rain down on them, for nearby was a laundromat that allowed dollars exchange for coins and detergent for customers (also at a reasonable low price).

Now, why would they need two duffel carry-on bags and mini-sewing kit? Quigley couldn’t carry everything in his backpack. Another two bags were needed to carry the rest of their belongings. And the mini-sewing kit was brought to sew up potential rips and tears on their clothes.

As the group currently walks around, watching a black-haired woman with sunglasses approach a mini-van, a collective thought hits them. They need a vehicle to travel back westwards…and hitchhiking is not an option. If they hitchhike, V.F.D. could find them and do who knows what with them. There’s also the regular hitchhiking risk of being pick by a criminal to worry about.

The black-haired woman soon opens up the passenger door of the mini-van, and places a decently size cardboard sign on the dashboard. The sign reads, “WILLING TO BARTER AND/OR TRADE: Call Ella Jane Wile at 555-9023.”

“If we had a ride like that,” says Hector, slowly down his walking pace to admire the minivan from afar, “we wouldn’t need to potentially hitchhike all the way back westward.”

“I’ll agree to that,” comments Isadora. “And that mini-van appears to be the right size. A seven or eight-figure seat configuration, from what I can tell from here.”

Quigley stares at the minivan as he readjusts his backpack. “It’s too bad we have nothing good to trade with what is equal to a minivan.”

Widdershins stops in his tracks suddenly, and then curls the end of his mustache. “Why don’t we try bartering for it? Aye. It’s an option on the sign.”

Hector completely comes to a halt, which in turns has Isadora and Quigley bumping into one another. Duncan also comes to a stop, but he avoids getting bump into, for he was walking ahead of his siblings. Fernald and Fiona simply stop walking, and stare at their stepfather.

“We can’t,” says Fernald. “If we have nothing to trade, then we have nothing to barter with.”

Duncan briefly scratches the small area between his ear and cheek as he stares at Hector, and the minivan. “Well, bartering is the direct transaction of goods or services with other goods or services. We could barter with Hector’s handyman skills in a service. Who to say Ms. Wile has something in need of fixing, or something that’s in need of maintenance?”

“Who to say she doesn’t?” asks Fiona. “But you do have a point. If she does need something fix or in need of maintenance, Hector’s handyman skills may be our only hope to get that minivan.”

“I don’t like the idea of me being our golden ticket,” says Hector, staring back at the woman now talking to someone on her cellphone, smacking the palm of her hand onto the mini-van hood. “Even if I wasn’t, intruding on her making a possible important phone call that I suspect she’s not happy about won’t do us any good in our attempt to barter.”

A silence rolls over the group as they watch the woman talk on her cellphone. Widdershins soon shrugs his shoulders, and brushes them off, despite it not being dirty. He then looks both ways, looking for incoming cars driving by. Luckily for him, there are none.

“He or she who hesitates is lost, handyman! It’s not our only hope, but our only chance!” Widdershins then jay-walks across the empty street to the woman. Well, jay-running across the now empty street. Still, walking or running, he’s disregarding traffic rules for the pedestrians.

“Are you—Stepfather! What the hell!?” Fernald soon runs after his stepfather, but he didn’t look both ways on the street. He still manages to avoid getting hit, for there are no incoming cars.

“Stepfather! Fernald! Wait!” Fiona quickly follows after Fernald. Like her stepfather, Fiona looks both ways before running out on the street. And just like the previous two, Fiona doesn’t get hit either, because there are still no incoming cars. That is truly, a real sign of good luck.

The now group of four watch Widdershins crossing the street at last, and taps the woman’s shoulder. The woman in response, nearly strikes him across the face. Widdershins ducks in time, and yells loudly to where the group can hear him. Widdershins then talks to himself, and whatever he said, the woman somehow heard, for she tilts her head with curiosity.

As the Quagmire triplets give glances at one another, Hector takes note of the woman. The woman is now staring intensely at Widdershins, before she speaking to him. From what Hector could infer, the woman asks a question. A ‘yes-or-no’ question, for Widdershins’ inaudible response to her has him also nodding his head.

The woman and Widdershins don’t speak much, for Fernald arrives soon, with Fiona quickly joining several seconds later. Quigley quickly observes how Fernald waves his right hook in the air, which sends Fiona in a brief panic. Duncan and Isadora meanwhile, notice the sudden smile on the woman’s face, as if she’s happy the Hook-Handed Man has, well, hooks for hands. Eventually, the Widdershins family and the black-haired woman soon enter a discussion. It’s a discussion that ends with the woman waving from across the street.

“What do you think the Widdershins family said to her?” asks Duncan, watching the woman now clapping her hands together.

“I can’t really guess,” says Isadora, as she sees the Widdershins family and the woman jaywalking together, “but whatever said, it wasn’t a mess.”

“Hopefully,” mutters Quigley, going quiet for the Widdershins family —and the woman— have rejoin them on their side of the street.

The woman quickly places her sunglasses to the top of her head, showing them all her green-color eyes. The she stares at them with that now close-up smile on her face, has the Quagmires and Hector feeling rather nervous. Hector more so, faintly recalling a person he never met but heard from others. However, knowing that it’s very unlikely the woman is said particular person, Hector pushes aside his uneasiness, and gives the woman a smile.

“I assume you’re Ella Jane Wile?” asks Hector, giving out his hand.

“Yes, I am,” says the woman—Ella Jane Wile— and briefly shakes his hand. “No need to call me by all of that. Ella Jane will do just fine. And you’re…”

“Hector.”

“Hector. Well, Hector,” continues Ella Jane, pulling back her hand, “your friend and his stepchildren told me of your group’s current problem. I’m willing to give you my old mini-van, if you assist me in something that’s a bit unorthodox.”

“Unorthodox?”

“Yes. Unorthodox.” Ella Jane tucks a strand of her black hair behind her ear. “What I need assistance for isn’t even something for me. It’s for an associate of mine. She’s in a rather terrible situation that has yet change for the better.”

Ella Jane then looks down at the phone still in her hand. “In fact, several minutes ago, I got a phone call from a mutual acquaintance that the situation gotten worse. All I can say is in public is that my associate needs the someone with the skills of a handyman, someone who can menace without causing harm, and someone willingly to drive her to safety without hesitation.”

“And we fit the bill,” says Widdershins, pointing to Hector, Fernald, and then himself. “So, Hector, you’re willing to help a woman who’s just want to help someone else?”

“I’m willing to help. But…where would the children be during all of this?” asks Hector.

“The children will be in my apartment safe and sound, while us adults take care of the matter,” says Ella Jane. “In fact, my apartment is nearby. I can take you all there right now. Us adults can also discuss the matter more there.”

“Please lead the way then,” replies Hector.

Ella Jane nods her head as she moves her sunglasses back down onto her eyes. She then turns around, and begins walking in the same direction the group was walking in before.  Everyone else follows, Ella Jane starts humming a rather somber and slow song. But the only people paying attention to Ella Jane’s humming is Fiona and her stepfather. Fiona, walking beside her stepfather, sees the confusion —or slow recognition— on his face.

“Do you know what Ms. Wile is humming, Stepfather?” asks Fiona.

“Possibly,” replies the man. “It reminds me of a Duke Ellington song I heard before. That’s all.”

Chapter Text

“Fernald, you’re my brother, and know that I love you,” says Fiona. “But can you please explain to me why you’re in my room with a plate of orange slices?”

Fernald looks up from the orange slices, and smiles at her. “Remember how I thought yesterday I made a giant asshole of myself? Well, as it turns out, Stepfather was upset at my sudden leaving of the table due to thinking he mess up speaking his first language.”

Fiona pushes up the bridge of her glasses. “Good to know that you’re both on the same wavelength, but did you really need to bring a plate of orange slices in my room to tell me this?”

“I figure you would want a light snack.” Fernald stands up, carefully taking the plate of orange slices with her. “Stepfather cut them up for me.”

Fiona looks at the oranges, and take a slice. She pops it into her mouth, and chews, not caring about proper eating manners at the moment. “I thought the Quagmires ate the last few oranges. Did Hector bought more without telling us?”

“Nope. Stepfather was the one who got them,” says Fernald, the smile still on his face.

“Huh. That’s odd. I didn’t hear the garage door opening.” Fiona grabs another slice, before taking the entire plate for herself. “Where did Stepfather get these oranges then?”

“Oh, Stepfather took the broom from the closet and knocked out some oranges from the orange tree several blocks down.” Fernald still smiles as he says it so casually.

“The orange tree several block down?” Fiona looks down at the plate of orange slices, and then back up at Fernald. “And you didn’t stop him?”

“And get hit with a broom?” Fernald wags a hook. “No thanks! Besides, what are you worry about? That house been absent since we moved into the neighborhood!”

---

“Okay, let’s do this one more time. Spanish word for ‘orange’. Na.”

“Ran.”

“Ran.”

“Ja.”

“Ja.”

“Naranja.”

“Naranna.”

“Come on, Quigley!” Duncan throws his hands up in the air, before grabbing clumps of his hair. He doesn’t pull though, for he knows better. “Are you doing this to spite me now!?”

“Duncan, if I were trying to spite you, I would be doing a whole lot worse.” Quigley gives a sigh, and leans back on the chair. “You know, maybe we should do another word in the chapter.”

“A sound idea, Quigley. We both need a break from oranges.” Duncan looks at the page, reading through the list before snapping his fingers. “Oh! This word is a good one! It helps that the Widdershins Family went on their little outing awhile back!”

Duncan looks at the countertop, and rummages through the plastic bag until he found the biggest, reddest, apple either of them saw in their lives. Duncan throws it into the air, and catches it. He then places it in front of Quigley.

“Let’s start it off slowly,” says Duncan. “Spanish word for ‘apple’. Ma.”

“Ma.”

“Nza.”

“Nza.”

“Na.”

“Na.”

“Now together.” Duncan quickly clears his throat. “Manzana.”

“Manzana.” Quigley claps his hands, and smiles. “Hey! I said it! Manzana!”

“Manzana!” Duncan fist pumps into the air. “Manzana!”

“Manzana!”

“Manzana!”

“Manzana!”

“Manzana!”

“Manzana!”

“Manzana!”

Duncan and Quigley continue to shout ‘manzana’ to each other, parroting one another with glee. In their parroting, they fail to realize Isadora has reenter the kitchen for a glass of milk. Isadora glances at them in silence, before turning on her heels to leave.

“Nope. Nope, nope, nope, nope!” Isadora shakes her head as she walks through the family room, and then the living room. “No way will I deal with Tweedledee and Tweedledum’s little routine. No way am I going to go intervene.”

Chapter Text

“All of their coffee machines are broken!? I can’t believe this! This is so fu-uh…funny. Yeah. It’s so funny, I forgot to laugh. Ha. Ha, ha, ha.”

“Fernald, I’m a recently turn sixteen-year-old, not six. You can freely say, ‘fuck up’.”

Quigley quickly repress the urge to laugh out loud right then and there, as well as to not drop his large-size fruit punch slushie. The slushie machines are located at the back end of the convenience gas station store, which is nearby the coffee machines. Laughing or dropping his slushie would mean giving away his obvious nearby location.

And Quigley doesn’t want to get caught eavesdropping, especially by the Hook-Handed Man. Quigley as such, keeps stifling his laughter as he keeps his slushie close.

“Who in the world taught you to cuss!?”

“Fernald, I live on a submarine a majority of my life with our submarine captain stepfather. You think Stepfather would use kid-friendly colorful sea captain language twenty-four seven? He slips up from time to time, and that is one of those times.”

Quigley quickly turns on his heels and walks down the aisle down the opposite direction to potentially avoid interacting with Fiona and the Hook-Handed Man. In that direction, is the area where all the prepared meals like sandwiches, wraps, and others are kept. Standing in front of the case itself, are Duncan and Isadora.

Isadora is holding one small Italian sub sandwich, while Duncan is carrying two, one on top of the other. Quigley takes a rather noisy sip of his slushie, grabbing their attention. The two turn around and smile at him.

“Oh, hey Quigley!” Duncan slightly lowers his head. “I see you got your long-desire slushie.”

“Yep.” Using his free hand, Quigley rubs it underneath his nose. “It’s been such a long time I had one. It’s a good thing the machines are working here. Most of the time at these sorts of places, they’re not.”

“Well, don’t drink too much of it,” says Isadora. “We still got to eat lunch, and we decided on a good-old fashion Italian sub. Well, as Italian it can be made in a place like this.”

“We’re going to eat them with chips, right? A sandwich always has to go with chips.” Quigley takes another sip of his slushie. “Which chips are we having?”

“Sour cream and onion,” answers Isadora.

“The original classic,” replies Duncan.

Both Duncan and Isadora slowly begin to stare at one another. The two lock eyes, and then glare at one another with a frown. Well shit. Quigley’s time away had him forgetting to never ask them a question with chips as the topic at hand.

“Sour cream and onion? That’s too strong of a flavor, Isadora,” says Duncan.

“And original classic lacks it!” Isadora exclaims. “Why not pick a chip with more zest?”

“Because we’re going to eat an Italian sub sandwich! That’s always bursting with flavor!”

“Why don’t we compromise and go with sea salt and vinegar chips?” asks Quigley. “That’s a chip we all enjoy eating with sub sandwiches from before!”

Duncan and Isadora slowly turn to stare at him. The glares and frowns soon disappear.

“That works, Quigley,” says Isadora, nodding her head with a smile.

“A perfect balance chip,” says Duncan, with relax eyes. “Would you mind getting us a big bag of salt and vinegar? That’s better for us than buying three smaller size bags.”

“Sure thing.” Quigley gives a thumbs up at Duncan, and strolls away from the two, glad that the crisis has been averted. For now, at least.

As Quigley walks away from his siblings to the aisle where all the chips are located, he couldn’t help but glance out the convenience gas station store window. Outside, are Widdershins and Hector. Widdershins is refilling the gas to their eight-figure seat configuration mini-van that once belonged to an Ella Jane Wile. Hector meanwhile, is holding a folded map of the North America Continent and their intersecting roads. The map was given to them by one V. Rocher —Ella Jane Wile’s troubled associate— free of any bartering or trading.

In fact, Ms. Rocher gave the group more than just a map. Before parting ways with Ella Jane Wile and Ms. Rocher at Cavendish Street —a minor road in Crown City that eventually led into one of three main roads westward—Ms. Rocher gave the group a proper payment.

Three-thousand dollars in cash. With now almost four-thousand dollars in their pocket and a means of transportation, the group were truly ready to get back westward.

Based off what he’s seeing between Widdershins and Hector, the men are discussing where westward. Widdershins unclicks the gas pump, shakes it a bit, and puts it back where it was once before. As he closes the gas tank, he says something Quigley can’t make out.

Hector shakes his head, and replies something back. He points to Widdershins, then back to himself, before pointing at the convenience gas station store. Quigley swiftly turns on his heel, and goes back to getting a large bag of salt and vinegar chips from their favorite brand.

As he starts to return back to Duncan and Isadora, both Widdershins and Hector enters the store. Widdershins gives Quigley a smile as he went to his stepchildren. Hector stares at Quigley, before turning towards the wall stack with water bottles in packs.

“Tell Duncan and Isadora that we’re going to be leaving soon,” says Hector, slightly turning his head towards Quigley. “We just need some other supplies, like water and trail mixes.”

Quigley nods his head, and leaves Hector be.

Chapter Text

“Hey, Quigley! We finally got the DVD player to work! You want to watch—you’re still working on your homework?” Duncan enters their bedroom, keeping a short but still reasonable distance.

Quigley, sitting at the study desk, has his hands together in its tent-like position. “I’m thinking.”

“Thinking about what?” Isadora skips into the room, and joins Duncan’s side. She then takes notice of the math book on the study desk. “Are you thinking what’s the greater than and less than symbols? Again, the less than symbol is the left hand, and greater than is the right hand.”

“I’m not thinking about linear inequalities, but thanks for the reminder.” Quigley sighs, and drops his hands. He then spins in his chair to face them. “I’m thinking about Hector. It’s been one year since we escaped that creature. A year of us living together. I thought a year could change things, but it didn’t. Or maybe things did change, but I’m blind. Because I swear, I get the feeling Hector doesn’t like me. Or he does, but doesn’t make the attempt to know me better.”

“…And where did you get that impression?” Duncan slowly turns his head towards Isadora, who is repeating the same action. Both of them stare at each other with a puzzle expression.

Quigley gives out a hum, and twirls a lock of his hair. “This morning. We were eating breakfast, talking about my Earth-Space project of the Solar System, and then a dead silence came over us. Neither of us talk again until you two came in, asking us about which toothpaste to use.”

Duncan and Isadora turn their direction back to Quigley. “That’s funny for you to think Hector doesn’t like you,” they say in unison, “because Hector thinks you don’t like him.”

Quigley quickly narrows his eyes, and stands up. “Where did he get that impression!? How could I not like the man! He willingly decided to stay and raise us after we escaped that creature! A man we barely knew continued to stuck by us! He thought we’re worth it all! Even everything that happened in in that vile village, after what he let happened to Jacques—”

“And there it is!” Duncan sighs as he lowers his head, and runs a hand through his hair. “We said it before, and we’ll say it again. Isadora and I do agree that what happened to Jacques Snicket was wrong. He got murdered for crimes that weren’t his own, and he never got to defend himself. And while we don’t like his methods, the man took care of you. He was in a way, your guardian. We understand why you’re still mourning him, even a year later.”

“And Hector freezing up was terrible,” continues Isadora, walking her way to Quigley himself. “Terrible, yet understandable. You don’t know how vile that village truly is, Quigley. You really don’t. They didn’t know us, yet still wanted our heads off and dead the second they saw us.”

“Please, understand that Hector’s freezing up didn’t kill Jacques Snicket,” says Duncan calmly.

“Anything Hector could have said or done wouldn’t change it.” Isadora then places a hand on Quigley’s shoulder. “The subconscious grudge you have on Hector, it’s time to let it go.”

---

Quigley continues to observe Hector drying and putting the dishes away. The man is whistling a tune he never heard of, but it’s remarkably catchy. Quigley keeps his hands in his pockets, and walks further into the kitchen. He stands beside Hector quietly, and then clear his throat.

“That’s a really catchy tune you’re whistling. Great whistling, in fact,” says Quigley, moving his hands out of his pockets, and start swinging them around. “What it is exactly?”

Hector stops drying the bowl he’s currently holding. “Thank you. I’m whistling La Llorona, the weeping woman. It’s one of my favorite songs. First heard it in my childhood.”

“Oh? That’s interesting.” Quigley tilts his head to the right. “What’s La Llorona about?”

Hector soon places the bowl into the cabinet shelf, and then leans back against the counter, folding the towel into a little square. “The legend is of a young woman who marries, and upon seeing her husband with his new lover, drowns her two children in a rage.”

“…I’m sorry, she did what?”

“Drowns her two children in a rage.” Hector says it all so casually. “Depending on what variation you heard, she had reasons to fear her husband will want to take her children when they separate, and drowns them so they won’t raise by the other woman. Either way, the woman eventually drowns herself in grief due to committing murder. Instead of passing on, she is force to roam the earth until she finds her children again.”

“That’s morbid as hell.” Quigley shakes his head, and shudders from the horror he just heard.

“If this helps you feel less disturb, the song has little in common with the legend,” says Hector. “The song is about a singer who is in my opinion, misses his love terribly so. The suffering and grief are akin of the weeping woman’s own pain by her terrible lover.”

“Ah.” Quigley slowly nods his head. “Less morbid. But still, who makes a kid listen to this?”

“My papa. Whenever I didn’t go to school and got the chance to hang out with him, he would sing La Llorona.” Hector places the towel down beside himself, and sighs. “It’s a very fond memory I have of him, in fact. I suppose you have a memory of someone you miss too.”

“Yeah,” answers Quigley, smiling and sticking his hands back into his pocket. “I do. Several people, in fact. I always think of those memories when I feel their absent is greater than usual.”

Quigley soon turns on his heels and begins walking away. He stops though, when he reaches the door. “You know, I know how to whistle, but not a tune. Well, not properly at least. But my mom —and Jacques— could. Would it be alright if you could teach me, in your spare time?”

“…Yes. I would. I should warn you, I’m not good whistling a tune too. I can only do so for a few songs.” Hector soon gives out a sudden chuckle. “Someone I knew took pity on me and gave me lessons, though I think he wanted an excuse to make a whistling band of sorts.”

“Snrk…ha-ha!” Quigley couldn’t help but chuckle also, before he continues on walking.

Chapter Text

Once nice thing about visiting the Ordin Shopping Center is that Fiona can visit Fernald on his lunchbreak. The Ordin Shopping Center, located in Downtown Ordin, while design to be a tourist hub —having clothing boutiques, electronic stores, numerous juice bars and restaurants, and a wonderful colorful sculpture fountain perfect for taking photographs— also attracts the attention of regular citizens who just want to wander around and enjoy the fun in their city.

Because of how it’s design, there are many hotels nearby. Some are brands hotels, while some are independent. The hotel Fernald works as a day-shift doorman — the Jove — is the latter, and is the second-best hotel in the Land of Districts (first best now being the Hotel Preludio).

Fiona sits beside Fernald on the edges of the forementioned wonderful colorful sculpture fountain, and watches the ever-shrinking crowd of people losing more of its number. A half-hour before, a stand was being set up for a raffle, with the grand prize being free movie tickets for a movie adaptation of a young adult book Fiona never heard of before.

“This has been going on for the last several days,” says Fernald, carefully holding his bottle of lime soda in his hooks. “I saw people walking with high hopes, and trudging away with grand disappointment. I bet the damn thing is rig. I mean, free movie tickets? It’s too good to be true.”

As soon as those words left his mouth, another dejected raffle player trudges by, their face long and their mood so gloomy, Fiona looks down on the pavement to see a growing flower weed sulking down, though of course that could a total coincidence given said flower weed is dying.

“Did you try your luck on the raffle?” asks Fiona.

“Nah. I’m not enough of a sucker to risk my hand, er, hook, playing a damn raffle.” Fernald takes a small sip of his lime soda, and gives out a refreshing sigh. “But you want to be a sucker and try your luck, be my guess. The first entry is free, and then after that you pay five dollars for three more. It’s a rip-off if you want my opinion.”

Fiona knows Fernald is trying to discourage from risking losing her money. But if the first entry is free, there’s no harm in trying it once. Fiona gives her brother a thumb up, and stands up. She stretches her arms, and then walks towards the stand and the shrinking crowd, which by now only has five people left, excluding herself and the middle age man with an anchor goatee.

The raffle itself looks simple enough. On the stand is solid metal brass raffle cage with a hand crank on its side. Alongside the raffle cage is a brass bell using for ringing, like for a Gustav Sebald movie. Fiona watches the man with the anchor goatee move the crank towards him, fast and strong. The man soon stops after a minute. The skinny man running the raffle then slides open a small door on the bottom of the cage, and a small blue ball drop down.

“Ah, will you look at that! I’m so sorry, sir! It looks like you win another box of complimentary soap!” The skinny man gives smile, and hands the man with the anchor goatee a box of complimentary soap tied in in a thin, blue ribbon. “Do you want another try, sir?”

“And lose another ten? Forget it! I’m outta here!” The man with the anchor goatee soon stomps off, pushing away a few other people with little care, carrying his free soapbox in his right hand.

The skinny man continues smiling as he ways goodbye the man as formalities. He then turns towards Fiona. “What about you, little lady? Honest John’s the name, and do you want to try your luck on Honest John’s Raffle Game? The first entry is free of charge!”

“Sure.” Fiona stands in front of the raffle cage, and grabs the hand crack. She slowly starts to move it towards her, before doing a complete turnabout and moves the hand crack backwards.

Fiona spins the crack as hard as she can, and as fast as she could. After a minute, she lets go of the crank, and watch the raffle cage continue spinning by itself. It spins and spins until it slows down into a complete stop. The skinny man —John— slides open the small door, and a small yellow ball drops down.

“Oh my God.” John grabs the brass bell, and rings it three times in a row. “We have a winner!”

---

“Duncan? Isadora? Quigley?” Fiona takes off her sneakers, and casually throws them onto the living room floor. “I’m back from visiting Fernald! I got great news!”

Fiona briefly looks back at her sneakers, before shrugging her shoulders. She can put them back in their proper place later, before Hector returns from his shift at the Omni Anything Agency. Fernald and Stepfather aren’t much for tidiness —Stepfather in particular— but Hector certainly is. He likes a proper house presentation.

“We’re in the family room,” calls out Isadora.

Fiona walks to the living room with a grin on her face, and pulls out the four tickets from her jacket pocket. When she arrives, she sees Duncan sitting upside down on the sofa, Isadora lying on her back and staring up at the ceiling, and Quigley sitting against the back family room wall, writing something in his commonplace book.

“You wouldn’t believe the afternoon I had,” says Fiona. She raises her hand up in the air, allowing the tickets to be bath in the family room light. “I was visiting Fernald, and there was a raffle going on at the Ordin Shopping Center! The prize for winning the raffle is movie tickets, and I tried my luck and I won! And it was my first try!”

Duncan nods his head in approval, while Isadora gives her two thumbs up. Quigley stops writing, and sets his pencil down. He closes his commonplace book and soon looks up with a smile on his face. 

“Congratulations, Fiona,” says Quigley. “So, what are you going with them?”

“Well, given today is a Friday night, and these tickets have to be use by today, I figure we can go to the movies! Isn’t that a great start to a weekend?”

Duncan soon falls off the sofa in a half-summersault with a soft ‘thump’. Isadora gives a small screech as she rolls towards Quigley. Quigley’s eyes widen as he quickly grabs his pencil and stands up from his position, and jumps over Isadora’s rolling.

“Come on! Does it have to be this weekend in particular?” asks Duncan.

“Um…yes,” replies Fiona, her smile now turning into a frown. “Why? Is something the matter?”

“The matter is that Hector grounded us,” says Quigley, stuffing the pencil and commonplace book into his sweater pocket. “He found out about our little argument with Karen Tiff from Vice Principal Hardass. Pardon, Hardling. The email Hardling sent had pictures of the end result.”

Isadora briefly laughs at Quigley’s little slipup as she stands up. “Giving that his first name Richard can be shorten to Rick, it’s no surprise the man is such a dick. But yeah, Quigley is right. Hardass emailed Hector, and we got the lecture of the century.”

Duncan soon positions himself into a sitting position, with his legs cross. “Even though Hector understood we were only defending ourselves from Tiff’s cruel remarks, he thought keying her car was totally over the line. That’s why we’re grounded.”

“All four of us, by the way,” added Isadora. “Hector was very disappointed to learn you were the one to come up with the keying idea. So now we’re not allow to go out without permission.”

Fiona purses her lips, and soon fiddles with her triangle glasses. “What does my stepfather have to say about this? Where is he anyway? I know today is his day off. Is he out on a walk?”

“Your stepfather is in the kitchen attempting to make us some pizzas for dinner,” answers Quigley. “He came back from his afternoon stroll after Hector gave us the lecture, so he got the run down before Hector went off to work.”

“Ah. Thank you for that, Quigley. If you excuse me, I need to speak to him.” Fiona soon makes her way to the kitchen, with a plan formulating in her mind. So, they’re grounded and what they needed was permission? That should be easy to get around, in theory at least.

Fiona quietly enters the kitchen, and observes her surroundings. On the kitchen counter are two pans of rolled out pizza dough cover in tomato sauce and cheese. There are small containers of diced onion, cut bell peppers, slice olives, slice mushrooms —Fiona couldn’t help but steal a few and plop them in her mouth for a little snack— and cooked chicken in cubes.

In front of the oven is Stepfather. He’s squatting, feet completely flat down on the floor. Fiona quietly joins him in his squatting, though unlike Stepfather, she can only squat on the balls of her feet. If she attempts to do a full squat like him, Fiona will just fall over.

Even though the oven light is on, there’s nothing baking. Fiona turns to her stepfather. “Stepfather, why are you looking at an empty oven?”

“I like looking at the oven when it’s pre-heating,” answers Stepfather. He turns to Fiona, and curls one end of his mustache. “Do you and the Quagmires want something else for dinner?”

“Pizza is fine for dinner, Although…,” Fiona falters a bit, and briefly places a finger near the corner of her mouth. “Stepfather, I would like to know if it’s alright for the Quagmires and I to go to the movies. I won a raffle near Fernald’s work, and well, I know you know about us keying Karen Tiff’s car, and that Hector grounded us for it.”

Stepfather stops curling his mustache. “Aye. Hector showed me the email. Miss Tiff’s car suffered clear coat damage. Minor damages that her family car insurance can cover.”

“Ah.” Fiona briefly pauses. “Are you not giving us permission to go to the movies then?”

“What? Oh no!” Stepfather blinks quickly at Fiona, and shakes his head. “You can go to the movies, Fiona! You and the Quagmires! Aye! Why do you need my permission for it? It is because you’re grounded? If that’s the case, you’re all allow to go to the movies! Aye! Just don’t buy snacks from the movie theater! Their jack-up prices aren’t worth it!”

“Oh! Thank you, Stepfather. We’ll try to get back home before Hector’s return. I don’t think movie is too long.” Fiona pats Stepfather’s shoulder. She then stands back up, and runs out of the kitchen. There, the Quagmires are talking to one another in a huddle.

“Quagmires, get some candy from the pantry and stuff them in your pockets!” cries Fiona, with the smile back on her face. “Stepfather gave us permission to go to the movies!”

---

“You gave them permission to go to the movies?!” Hector drops the pizza pan back into the sink. “Widdershins, they were grounded!”

“Are they not supposed to go out when grounded?” asks Widdershins obliviously.

“Yes! That’s what grounded means!” Hector then groans. “Did you not ground Fernald?”

“Hell no!” Fernald laughs as he sits in a kitchen chair. “One time when I was grounded, I attempted to sneak out under his nose by climbing out the window.”

“Aye. When you got caught, all I asked is that you return by dinnertime.”

Hector groans again. “This is not helping your case.”

Chapter Text

As Fiona and Fernald continues to walk down the street of Downtown Ordin —Fiona holding her shopping bag with her right hand, while she holds her brother’s shopping bag with her left hand— she couldn’t help but stop. In the distance a few blocks down, is a frozen dessert place.

It’s a gelato shop. A gelato, if Fiona recalls correctly from her V.F.D. tutor, is an Italian based frozen dessert that is similar to ice cream. It has less air and butterfat compare to ice cream, and the texture is supposedly different too. What is the texture, Fiona has no idea.

“You want to get some gelato, Fernald?” asks Fiona, gesturing her head at the shop. “We have some leftover money, and it is our Saturday together. Why not get ourselves a nice little treat?”

“I rather have a sorbet or a shave ice, to be honest,” replies Fernald. “But if a gelato is what you want, Fiona, a gelato you will get. I just hope that the workers don’t freak out over my hooks.”

---

Fernald and Fiona take one of the window booths, and sit opposite from one another. Fernald has a mango gelato, and is taking his slow time. Fiona eats her strawberry gelato faster than him, though she too, is taking her time. Fernald gives a sigh as he leans back against his seat.

The bell of the door chimes, and enters two adults. The first person is a woman whose light color hair is mostly cover by her sunhat which obscures much of her face—except her ears, which shows off her pearl earrings. The second person —a bowtie wearing man carrying a satchel —takes off his hat, and reveals a quiff that reminds Fernald of a stick of dynamite.

Fernald couldn’t help but give a sharp gasp as he watches the woman take off her hat. The woman and the man briefly look at his and Fiona’s direction. Fernald quickly looks downward at his gelato, and starts eating it rapidly. He can’t believe who enter the gelato shop.

“Fernald, are you okay?” asks Fiona quietly.

---

“I’m fine. Totally fine,” says Fernald, his voice going slightly higher than usual. “I’m totally not freaking out that Elizabeth ‘Lizzie’ Haines walked into the gelato shop with her brother!”

Fiona blinks behind her glasses. “Am I supposed to know who is Lizzie Haines, Fernald?”

“What!?” Fernald hisses at Fiona, and leans over the table. “You never heard of Lizzie Haines? She’s just one of the greatest actresses of our time! She starred in the seven-time award-winning film The Long and Winding Road! Hell, one win was her as ‘Best Actress in Leading Role’! She appeared in plays like Pygmalion and The Mouse Trap, and many more! I can go on about all the roles she did, but we could be here forever!”

“Wow!” Fiona sets down her spoon. “I never seen you gushing over any actor or actress before! Why don’t you get Lizzie Haines’ autograph?”

Fernald couldn’t help but laugh, and gestures himself. “You think she would want to sign an autograph to a guy like me?”

“You never know! I could ask on your behalf!” Fiona slides out of the booth. “In fact, I’m doing it right now! He or she who hesitates is lost!”

“Fiona! No!”

As Lizzie and Kellar look away from the brother and sister—she can tell that the two are siblings by their similar facial structure— she hears her little brother laughing, and waves down one of the workers behind the counter. The worker smiles at them, and Kellar raises four fingers.

“We’re taking our gelatos to go,” says Kellar. “Two limes, one coffee, and one peaches, please.”

“You got it, sir!” The worker nods her head, and scurries over to the gelato counter.

As the worker gets out four takeout cups with lids ready, Kellar turns to Lizzie. “I didn’t think that we’ll find a fan of yours here. You think he wants to take a photo, but is too scare?”

“I wouldn’t know why he has to be scare of me,” replies Lizzie, looking back at the brother and sister. “Do I give the impression of being scary?”

“Well, you do take after Mom more than me.”

Lizzie playfully slaps Kellar’s shoulder. “Says the one who inherited her love of all things Italian! Especially food!”

---

Kellar starts to tease Lizzie when he hears a soft, teenage girl clearing her throat. He turns around, and sees the triangle-glasses wearing girl in the navy inspire outfit standing in front of Lizzie. In her left hand, is an annotated copy of T.S. Elliot’s, The Waste Land, and a blue pen.

“Hello,” says the girl softly. “You’re the actress Lizzie Haines.”

“Yes, I am,” answers Lizzie, and gestures at Kellar. “And this is my little brother, Kellar.”

Kellar watches the girl turn her attention to him. “Hello.”

“Hello, Mr. Haines,” replies the girl, and re-focuses back on Lizzie. “Ms. Haines, if you don’t mind, would you sign my older brother’s book? He’s a major fan of yours.”

“Of course!” Lizzie gently takes the book and pen from the girl’s hand. “What’s your brother’s name, my dear? What’s your name as well?”

“Jules. And I’m Freddie. Short for Winifred.”

“Well, Freddie,” says Kellar, slapping a hand on his knee, “I have a question for you. Is Jules willing to take a photo with my sister?”

---

Jules —and Freddie— as it turns out, is willing to take a photo. The photo is taken outside the gelato shop though. Lizzie and Kellar had to take their gelatos to the hotel where Mom and Stepdad are at, and Jules and Freddie were done eating their gelatos and needed to go back home to their own stepfather.

“It is okay for me to be in the middle?” asks Lizzie, staring upward at Jules; he’s several inches taller than her and Freddie.

“That’s-that’s fine, Ms. Haines,” says Jules nervously. “Uh, it is okay for me to put my arm and hook around you?”

“Oh, for sure!”

Jules carefully places his arm and hook around Lizzie’s shoulder. Lizzie does the same for Jules and Freddie. From the corner of her eyes, Lizzie can see Jules forming a big smile on his face. Clearly, the man was scare she wouldn’t be accepting of his physical disability.

“All right! Give a big smile for the camera!” Kellar presses the button on the instant camera.

A bright light soon flashes. The instant camera then prints out the photograph of the three. Kellar carefully takes it, and smiles.

“Now I call this photo a keeper!”

Chapter Text

“I ask you to please take off your shoes when entering the apartment. If you don’t feel comfortable walking around in your socks, I have a few house slippers you can borrow.”

Ella Jane pushes the door, and gestures them all inside. The Quagmires triplet and Widdershins enter first into the woman’s apartment, removing their footwear, placing them all gently in the mostly empty shoe rack, and continue walking in their socks. Fernald and Fiona enter the apartment next and remove their shoes, placing them to the side of the shoe rack. Fernald elect to go in his socks, while Fiona chooses to wear blue house slippers.

Hector stands at the door, feeling the same nervousness from before back on the street. Ella Jane stares at Hector intensely with her green eyes, and raises one her eyebrows. Hector never realizes until now that Ella Jane’s eyebrows are more curvy than other people’s eyebrows.

Combing her eyebrows and the smile she gave to everyone back down on the street has Hector feeling nervous again. He has to reminder himself that Jane Wile isn’t the person he was told by associates in the past. It’s just a coincidence they share physical features, that’s all.

“Is something wrong?” asks Ella Jane.

“Nothing’s wrong,” answers Hector, a bit too quickly. “I’m just…”

“You’re wearing no socks at all?” asks Ella Jane. She tilts her head to the side.

“What? I am wearing socks, since you asked!” Hector pulls up his left leg pant up, and shows Ella Jane his grey and white polka-dot socks. Because his sock is also falling down, Hector is showing Ella Jane his tattoo-free ankle. “I’m just…”

“Just what?”

When the organization recruited him, Ike, and Gregor, they did not receive the tattoo. The practice was discontinued by this point, for some associates’ ankles who were recruited after them —like Joan Morstan (later Quagmire) and her sisters, and Esmé Squalor— lack the tattoos too. Fernald, also doesn’t have it, for Duncan and Isadora knocked the man down and such a move accidentally had Fernald revealing his ankles.

Widdershins however, does. While he too was recruited after the discontinuing, Widdershins got the tattoo at some point at an unknown time after his sixteenth birthday. As such, whether or not Ella Jane Wile is the particular person Hector thinks she may be, she will no doubt ask questions to Widdershins —maybe Hector himself— about it if the eye tattoo is seen.

“…not comfortable being a stranger’s apartment, even if said stranger is as pleasant as she can be,” finishes Hector.

“Fair feeling to have,” replies Ella Jane. “It’s better to err on the cautious side of things.”

Ella Jane then enters her apartment, taking off her shoes, and continues walking in her black socks. “Just close and lock the door when you finally decide to stop standing around and enter.”

---

“I know this is sudden to spring onto you all, but I have to ask,” says Ella Jane, who is once again holding her cellphone in her hand. “Well, I have two things to ask. First of all, what foods are you okay with eating?”

“…Is this related to the bartering of the mini-van?” asks Hector, setting down a vinyl record of Louis Armstrong and Duke Ellington’s collaboration, Together for the First Time.

“Oh no!” Ella Jane waves a hand in the air, and laughs. “I’m asking you all this because you all genuinely look like you need a good meal to eat.”

“Ah.” Hector pauses. “Well, I don’t know what food to eat. Anything sounds good to me at the moment. I’m not a picky eater, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Anything goes for me too,” states Fernald, sitting on the sofa with his sister and stepfather, with Fiona between the two men. “Just as long it’s edible and won’t make me puke.”

“Aye,” says Fiona. “Unless it’s something from the Anxious Clown. I can’t forget my fifth birthday there. When the waitress—”

“Oh, don’t bring up the Anxious Clown, Freddie.” Widdershins gives a groan, and lowers his head while clutches his forehead. “What happened that day is why we never went there again.”

The Quagmire triplets sits on Ella Jane’s living room floor, all in a semi-circle. They’re playing with Ella Jane’s Uno cards, though they’re not playing a game of Uno. They’re actually playing a game of Go Fish; creative usage, if you ask Hector. The Quagmire triplets stare at Widdershins for a few seconds, before turning their gaze at Ella Jane.

Hector couldn’t help but briefly stare at his associate also. He has no idea why Widdershins would call Fiona by a different name. Considering the Quagmires’ reactions, this isn’t something the children came up with back at the beach, and Fiona told her stepfather and brother later.

“Well…what about you three?” asks Ella Jane. “Do you have anything specific? Hamburgers, hotdogs, pasta…anything I can order on my cellphone?”

Duncan breaks free of his gaze from the woman to stare at his siblings. When Isadora and Quigley give head nods of some sort of approval, Duncan then stares back at Ella Jane, and asks, “Is pizza an option? My siblings and I haven’t had that in months. We love a good pizza, alongside breadsticks and garlic butter to dip in.”

“I think I have a few menus from several local pizza shops, but I have to find them.” Ella Jane turns her direction to Widdershins, and gives him a smile that once again, has Hector feeling nervous. “Heng, care to help me?”

Hector couldn’t help but quietly suck in his breath. What Ella Jane just said…

“Aye.” Widdershins stands up, but then turns to the Hector. “Oh! By the way, Hector, please keep the triplets under control. I don’t want Jules to be a victim of their jokes again.”

“I’ll do just that, Heng.” Hector slowly nods his head. It feels weird to say it again after so long.

Widdershins nods his head also, and soon follows after Ella Jane into the kitchen. While some apartments have kitchens that are openly join to the living room, her kitchen is separate by a door frame and beaded curtain that makes the design of music symbol notes.

Hector takes this as an opportunity. He narrows his eyes at Fernald and Fiona, and sits down in their stepfather’s spot. “Care to tell me what why you two are going by different names, as well as to why your stepfather is going by the surname of Heng?”

“Heng is our stepfather’s birth surname,” whispers Fiona, blinking behind her glasses.

Hector knows Fiona is telling him that because she believes it’s an unknown fact. But it isn’t, not to Hector. But he can’t go tell her that without revealing himself. “That doesn’t explain to me why your stepfather called Fernald ‘Jules’ and you ‘Freddie,’ which I assume is short for Winifred.”

“Well,” answers Fiona, still speaking in a whisper, “when we first talked to Ella Jane, she asked for our names. Stepfather answered with Heng, not Widdershins. That snowballed Fernald and me into using fake names on the fly. And your correct that ‘Freddie’ is short for Winifred.”

“Did you expect us to use our real names?” hisses Fernald, glaring at him. “We’re trying to keep a low profile from the organization, Hector.”

“Hector, I’m sorry we didn’t tell you and the Quagmires of this until now.” Fiona now stares at the triplets, and gives them an apologetic smile. “I hope you’re not terribly offended by it.”

“Not offended, just confuse. And apology accept,” says Duncan. “Consider we avoided saying our names to Ella Jane this entire time, I think we can suspect her second question is asking for mine, Isadora, and Quigley’s names. I think it’s wise for us to go by fake names like you two, at least for the time being.”

“Ooh! Fake names!” Isadora claps her as softly as she can, and has a smile on her face. “Our dad always told us about the tradition in his family —his biological family— that to be safe, it’s best to go by an alias! To think with this glance, we now got our chance! I want to go by Irene!”

“Good to know you prepared that name for quite some time now,” says Quigley dryly.

Isadora slaps Quigley’s shoulder. “Says the guy that went by Qwerty in our search for us.”

“Fine, you got me. But what about our last name?”

“Dashiell Quagmire has a nice ring to it,” says Duncan. “The same goes for Irene Quagmire and Qwerty Quagmire. With the world idiotically thinking of Isadora and I as officially twins—”

“The world thinks of you two as what now?” asks Quigley. No one answers him though, for the sounds of the beaded curtains and Ella Jane’s humming takes them all by surprise.

“You three can continue this conversation later,” says Hector, getting up from the sofa.

---

The footsteps of Widdershins and Ella Jane Wile came to a sudden halt. Hector thinks about looking back, but doesn’t. He continues his descent down the stairs. Surely, there’s nothing to worry about leaving the two together. Again. Hector is certain that back in the kitchen, Widdershins didn’t let anything slip out of his mouth, and helped Ella Jane with the pizza order.

“Shouldn’t you retie your boot laces?” asks Ella Jane.

Or not. Hector couldn’t help but stop. He watches how Fernald is already halfway down the second floor and out of earshot. Hector slowly turns his head, to see what exactly is going on.

From his low angle on the stairs, Hector can see Widdershins crouching down, with his right foot completely flat on the carpet floor. His left foot heel is up at a slight angle. Ella Jane is standing over Widdershins, tossing her black hair behind to her back.

“Aye. I should. No need to unnecessary trip over them.”

Hector gives a sigh of relief, which is odd, because Hector has no idea that he was holding in his breathe. Hector watches his associate quickly retying his laces, double knotting them.

“There!” Widdershins stands back up, and wipes his hands. “Retied tight! Aye! Now let’s get a move on! If what you said is true back in the kitchen, your associate Bernstein may already be waiting for us at the parking lot! Are you certain he approves of six extra hands helping out? Aye! I don’t want to feel as if we’re intruding or making trouble!”

“Bernstein isn’t the sorts to turn down extra assistance,” says Ella Jane, covering her mouth with her right hand. Her voice is slightly higher as well.

“All right then! Aye! Off we go! Aye! No time to dilly-dally! Aye! Or shilly-shally! No dilly-dally shilly-shally!” Widdershins quickly descents down the stairs, and gives a sudden nod at Hector, before continuing on.

Hector stands there in silence, unsure to be awe or angry with Widdershins. Probably both. Actually both. Hector is awe and angry. But he doesn’t stay that way for long, for Ella Jane’s sudden laugh gets his attention.

Ella Jane is laughing as she walks down the stairs. Her green eyes have forming tears, and the smile, unlike the one that made him nervous, is not doing that. Ella Jane’s smile is one he feels comfortable to see. The current smile on her face, unlike the smile he was once told by associates that could mean anything, has one clear meaning.

Ella Jane wipes the tears with the back of her hands, but the laughter doesn’t die out. “I barely gotten use to your friend’s usage of the word ‘aye’ but this—this takes the cake! Why is your friend talking like a weird pirate?”

“It’s something—,” begins Hector, but finds himself unable to answer her question. He too, starts laughing. “You know, I never thought of it like that before!”

Chapter Text

“You know Ella Jane, when you told me one of the people that you’re bringing along has hooks for hands, I assumed they were the prosthetics type. I didn’t think you’ll be bringing Captain Hook who lost both hands to the Crocodile!”

Fernald fights back the need to scoff at the auburn-hair, pale skinned man standing before the group, leaning against a retro-looking blue van. The man is slightly older than Fernald —he’s probably around that waiter Larry’s age, if Fernald has to guess— and has a rather fresh scar on the upper part of his left cheek. His thick Crown City accent grates Fernald, even more than the joke regarding his hooks for hands. If the man wants to play, Fernald will play.

“If one hook is threatening, two hooks is more sinister,” answers Fernald, giving the man a cheeky smile. “It gives the teenagers in their car at a lover lane all the more reasons to get the hell on home.”

The man gives a hearty laugh. “Oh, that’s great, man! Ella Jane, care for some introductions?”

“Gladly. Everyone, meet my acquaintance Bernstein. Bernstein, meet the men assisting us.” Ella Jane then gestures to Stepfather. “This man here is Heng. You’re going to be entrusting him with driving Rocher’s Madden if things get ugly.”

“Hello!” says Stepfather, walking up to the man, and forcibly shakes Bernstein’s hand. “It’s a pleasure you meet you! Aye! How do you do?”

“…I’m doing fine,” answers Bernstein, keeping quiet as Stepfather drops his hand, walks over to the other side of retro van…for some reason. No doubt that Bernstein is shaken up by Stepfather’s odd behavior and his way of speaking.

“Don’t worry. You’ll get use to the ‘aye’ in no time,” says Ella Jane, now gesturing to Hector. “This man here is Hector. He’s the former handyman that is going to do some maintenance work and repairs in the row house.”

“I’ll do the best I can,” says Hector. “If what your associate told me is true, we might be on a time limit. I’m thankful that your associate Rocher has a toolbox in her possession already for me to use.”

“And this young man over here,” says Ella Jane, gesturing to Fernald, “is Jules. Jules, you’re going to assist Bernstein with Alps. Hopefully you two can get along well.”

Fernald says nothing, only a small wave with his right hook.

“No need to worry about us, Ella Jane. I have a feeling we’ll get along wonderfully.” Bernstein snaps his fingers, and makes them two finger-guns. “Now, let’s get this show on the road!”

As Bernstein slides over the hood of the retro van, Fernald wonders how much of the work he has to do. From what Fernald have seen of Bernstein so far, Bernstein is a person who can’t menace in general.

---

“Yes! I win again!” Bernstein dances in his seat as he throws down his hand of cards onto the dashboard. “I am the Fernald’s Folly champ!”

“You clearly have a case of beginner’s luck,” snarls Fernald. Three games played, and Fernald lost them all. Fernald had never lost the game of Fernald’s Folly, a game he created as a child. A game he originally created for himself and his dad, it’s now mostly play by Fernald and others.

Fernald has no damn idea how Bernstein keeps on winning. Not excluding his dad, anyone who Fernald taught the game always loses. Even those that has years of experience —Stepfather, Ike, and Josephine, just to name a few— of Fernald’s Folly under their belt still lost.

“You’re just mad that I’m beating your ass.” Bernstein gives a sharp laugh as he collects all the cards from the pile, putting them into a true proper deck.

Fernald gives a scoff and rolls his eyes. “I’m not mad. Just pointing out the obvious.”

“Is that so?” asks Bernstein. “You tone of voice and expression says otherwise. You make it seems as if you created the game itself and thus have the expectation of always winning. While there’s nothing wrong with winning game, it’s more fun to lose.”

Fernald wishes he could say, “Yeah, I created the game, jackass! So, pardon me if I do feel like winning to everyone except to the one person in my life who hurt me the most,” but doesn’t. It’ll be hard to explain why a man name Jules created a game call Fernald’s Folly.

Bernstein separates the deck into two smaller stacks, and riffle shuffles them. He does it twice more, and gives himself five cards, face down. He does the same for Fernald, and then sets the remaining deck onto the middle of the dashboard. Fernald stares at the five cards before him, and then back at Bernstein, who has his five cards in his hand.

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, if I lost a game to any talent opponent —not just one who I have a rivalry with— it would make me want to sharpen my skills, and thrive for a rematch that leads to my win,” answers Bernstein. “I wouldn’t be able to do that if I kept on constantly winning.”

“I guess not,” mutters Fernald, leaning back against the passenger seat.

“Hmm, tell you what,” says Bernstein, taking one card from the deck —a Joker card— and sets it down face-side up. “Let’s make this game more interesting with a wage. If you win, you’ll get my playing cards. I have plenty at home, and losing this one deck will make no difference.”

“I do miss having a deck of cards to call my own,” says Fernald, smiling. “If I lose again?”

“We keep on playing until you win, or until we see Alps making his way around here to make his so-call surprise visit to the row house.”

“Fine by me.”

---

“Will you please give me a chance to explain myself? You know there’s two sides to every story!” The brown-haired man outreaches a hand towards Bernstein’s right shoulder, barely touching it with the tips of his fingers.

Bernstein gives a bitter smile as he quickly pulls away from the other man, and shakes his head. “Two sides to every story? I have a feeling if I heard your side of things, Alps, you’ll still get the same response from me.”

Fernald keeps quiet as he leans against the hood of Bernstein’s retro van, and continues to watch the conversation unfolding. Despite thinking poorly of Bernstein early on, Fernald can see that the man is doing a good job holding up against Alps with menacing. The pain and betrayal Bernstein has is doing a much better job than anything Fernald could ever do. Still, he’s hanging around in case he needs to do something.

“Come on! We know each other since fucking elementary school!”

“And?”

“And? Think about it! A black-haired beauty shows soaking wet from the rain to our hangout. Despite our probing, she tells us little about herself.” Alps hacks a bit, then spits onto the ground. “Yet out of the goodness of your heart —all of our hearts— we befriended her. We showed her around Crown City when no one else could. All we done to help her, and she’s suddenly saying all this bullshit about me. We might have known her for five months, but she’s still a still technical stranger to us. You’re believing the words of stranger than your best friend!”

“Of course I’ll be taking Ella Jane’s words over yours. She was the one who stopped you from verbally insulting V at Wellington’s Arms two months ago after closing hours.”

“I got hammered! You make it seems as if drunk people never get into a—”

“And it was Ella Jane who took V to the ER room a few weeks ago after her apparent ‘flight down the apartment stairs,’ which is something you apparently didn’t hear happening.”

“I had my earphones on! I couldn’t hear a thing. You know that I’m a bit hard of—”

“And you literally gave me this thing as I pulled V away to safety from you, in front of a crowd of people, just yesterday.” Bernstein points to the still fresh scar on his upper left cheek.

“Well…it’s just that…it was supposed to be a private matter! Can’t you understand that?”

Fernald couldn’t help but scoff at hearing Alps pathetically trying to answer back to his friend. He can’t believe the man is serious. Fernald just has to say his two cents.

“You know damn well that it isn’t,” says Fernald. “Considering people saw you raising your hand at your fiancée in public, if Bernstein wasn’t there, someone else would have intervene instead.”

“I say otherwise, but I’m not the mood to argue, freak.” Alps narrows his eyes at Fernald.

“I have a physical disability, asshole,” replies Fernald.

“Then why not get fake wood hands to cover them?”

“Because I don’t care for them much.”

“I say you should.” Alps’ lips forms into a cruel smile. “I’m honestly not surprise Wile managed to get a freak outsider like yourself into her lies. She must have smooth-talked you really well.”

Fernald growls in responds. “That’s not what happened.”

“I bet you loved all the compliments she whispered to your ear,” continues Alps, clearly pretending to not have heard Fernald speaking. “Consider your lack of hands, I bet you had a hard life, going through many trials to get where you are now, which is still pathetic.”

“I was born with hands, and loss them later in life.”

“Really?” Alps raises an eyebrow. “The chip on your shoulder must be something else then.”

Fernald narrows his eyes. “You better stop talking before you do something stupid.”

“But what could it be?” prattles Alps. He mocks thinking, and then snaps his fingers. “Of course! It’s too obvious! It’s daddy issues! Your old man left suddenly and unexpectedly at a young age, promising to come back, but never did. And that’s because you discovered years later as a freak, he remarried, and moved far away. You got abandoned, and you know that—”

“I said stop talking, you fucking idiot!”

Fernald quickly takes two steps towards Alps, and swipes his right hook towards the man’s face. Both Bernstein and Alps move away from him, but Alps falls down onto his ass.

Fernald continues to chase Alps, who is scurrying away on the ground. The faster Alps scurries, the faster Fernald walks. When Alps finally reaches the chain fence. Fernald smirks and laughs; this is always his favorite part. Fernald slowly raises his right hook above his head—

“Jules!” cries Bernstein’s voice. The man’s voice is right beside him now, shaky and scare.

And stops. Fernald stops his smirk and laughing, and he slowly lowers his right hook to his side. Fernald stay quiet as he watches Alps slowly standing up again, with all the blood draining away from his face. Alp is pale, and he turns to look at Bernstein, now standing by Fernald, with a grateful expression. Fernald watches Bernstein stays quiet as he suddenly raises a fist and punches Alps across the face, near his chin. And Alps falls down, unconscious.

Fernald stares at Alps, and then once again stares at Bernstein. “I didn’t—I wasn’t planning to hurting him. Please don’t tell my stepdad and everyone else when we get back. Please don’t.”

“Don’t worry about it,” answers Bernstein calmly, placing a reassuring hand on Fernald’s shoulder. “Anger can get to best of us. And I won’t tell anyone what you nearly did. Your secret is safe with me. Now, let’s try tying the bastard to the fence so he doesn’t cause more trouble.”

Chapter Text

Knock-Knock-Knock!

“The door is already open, Hector. No need to be polite,” says Ella Jane in a rather airy tone. Her back is turn away from him at the door, alongside two other people.

Ella Jane, Widdershins, and one Vanessa Rocher —though Vanessa prefers to go by ‘V’, or her surname— are folding up clothes into one of two suitcases. Well, Ella Jane and Widdershins are. Rocher’s left arm is in a blue arm sling, as a result of her now ex-fiancé’s actions from the day before for all the public to see.

After being introduced to Rocher —Rocher greeted them all with a handshake with her right hand— Fernald and Bernstein parted ways in Bernstein’s van. Everyone else entered the row house, with Rocher explaining Hector about the pipe in the kitchen, the lights in the living room, and the hole that’s also in the living room.

Hector fixed the lights with ease, for what they really needed was to be replace with new bulbs. The hole took more time. Boarding it up could have been easier if he had a second pair of hands. It’s hard to nail something and hold something up at the same time, even after years of experience underneath his belt. Reframing the painting of the sad cat was the easiest part.

Regarding the kitchen pipe, Hector doesn’t plan on holding the flashlight with his mouth. Besides, Hector figures he can use this as an excuse to talk to Widdershins about something.

“I’m just a polite person, Ella Jane,” replies Hector. “I know my associate is helping you here, but I need his minor assistance. May I steal him away for the time being?”

Ella Jane raises one of her unusually shape eyebrows, and turns to her associate.

“I think it’s fine,” says Rocher, tucking a strand of her straight, long, brownish-red hair with her right hand. “I have most of my clothes pack already. I just need to get some important things from the safe. Ella Jane and I can get it ourselves. You can have your friend back.”

“Thank you. C’mon, Heng.”

Widdershins carefully sets down a folded long-sleeve short, and nods his head. Widdershins keeps quiet as he follows Hector. Hector doesn’t make the attempt to speak to his associate until they got back to the first floor, when inside the kitchen itself.

The kitchen is like any kitchen. A table to eat at, a refrigerator, stove, a dishwasher, drawers, cabinets, and of course, a sink. The lower cabinet door that exposes the pipe to the sink is open, dripping water into the bucket below. The tool box is on the tile floor is open, alongside other items that were inside that shouldn’t be wet. The flashlight is standing on its flat end on the counter itself. Hector takes the flashlight, twists it on, hands it to Widdershins.

“I need you to shine the light for me while I tighten up the pipe,” says Hector, as he bends down, picking up the wrench. “No need to make the thing brighter. I can see it perfectly fine.”

Widdershins keeps quiet as he crouches down near the corner where the sink and other counter meet. His position allows him to shine almost all of the flashlight at the pipe. Hector stares at Widdershins, and thinks about speaking to the man right now. However, Hector doesn’t. All he does is get on his back, and tighten up the coupling nuts.

Hector gives one of the coupling nuts a few turns before stopping. “Is there a reason why you told Ella Jane Wile your surname? Your birth surname, I mean.”

“I’m allow to tell people it.”

“…Yes.” Hector continues to tighten the coupling nut completely. “But Fernald and Fiona told me how they decided to use fake names on the spot. Even the Quagmires took up the idea of using fake first name for the trip back westward. Excluding me, you’re the odd one out.”

“What’s it to you?”

“What’s it to me? Widdershins, you told a complete stranger your birth surname!” Hector sets the wrench down, scoots out from underneath the sink, and sits with his arms cross. “Even though Ella Jane Wile has no ill intent towards us or anyone else, what if she didn’t? She could have used such knowledge for some nefarious purpose! We could have gotten into more trouble than we are now! Can’t you see what you did was idiotic? Do you not realize you’re—OW!”

Hector knows Widdershins’ lack of hesitation makes him do many things. A lot of those things are on the stupid side that should had gotten him kill. Hector should have seen this coming, yet he is still surprise by Widdershins throwing the flashlight. Right at Hector’s chest.

“The hell is that for!?”

“If you want to insult me, you didn’t have to use a ruse to do it. I’m strangely disappointed in you, Hector.” Widdershins gives a bitter laugh. “At least you didn’t call me the nickname others say! Be it behind my back or to my face! Aye! They think they’re so clever! Such a nickname was use towards my adopted father! Aye! But I think you of all people have the right to say it!”

Hector couldn’t help but feel insulted himself, and worry. As much as Hector wants to insult Widdershins, this isn’t the time. And Hector has no idea what Widdershins talking about. Nickname? What nickname? He has problems with Widdershins’ personality and quirks, but it never warrants calling him a nickname. Did Hector miss something while in the village?

“Widdershins, I—”

“Holler when you’re done, or if you truly need my assistance with something.”

Hector watches the other man stand up, and walk out of the kitchen. As Widdershins descends up the stairs, he looks back down at Hector, with almost with an emotionless stare.

Widdershins blinks at him, and soon goes back to walking. Hector couldn’t help but sigh.

“Good going, Hector,” mutters Hector, running a hand through his hair. “The one time you try showing concern, and you messed up. I hope Widdershins calms down after a little while.”

Chapter Text

“I think we should just go on ahead with the plan,” says Hector, tapping his finger on the hood of Rocher’s Madden impatiently. “Not only are Bernstein and your stepson running late for whatever reason, but Ella Jane is as well. She been running late for an hour and a half. The former I can understand. They must have gotten into a run-in with Alps. But not Ella Jane.”

“I think you should have more faith in Ella Jane, Hector,” says Widdershins, putting the last of the two suitcases inside the trunk. “Isn’t that right, Rocher?”

“Oh, yes,” answers Rocher softly, gripping the metal briefcase in her right hand. “The reason for Ella Jane’s delay is due to what she, Bernstein, and I discussed beforehand.”

Hector says nothing as he stops his tapping, narrowing his eyes at the metal briefcase. No doubt he’s wondering what’s the content inside. Even Widdershins has to admit he’s curious of its contents. Rocher has been carrying it tightly since nearly everyone left the row house; Ella Jane stayed behind for unknown reasons as mentioned by Rocher.

“Are you sure you don’t want to put that in the trunk?” asks Widdershins to Rocher, hands on the trunk door, ready to shut it close at any given time.

Rocher shakes her head. “If you’re thinking it’s holding something suspicious, it’s not. Well, nothing suspicious that would get us all arrested. I would rather have it within my sight. What’s inside the briefcase is important.”

“How important it is to you that you’ll not rather have it in the trunk?” asks Hector.

“Important to where she shouldn’t answer that question,” answers a familiar voice; her voice overpowers the sound of a running engine. “At least not now.”

Widdershins slams the trunk door close, and turns towards the direction of the voice. There in the distance is Ella Jane, exiting the front passenger seat of Bernstein’s retro van. Ella Jane looks similar to Rocher in appearance now. Except for the green bag hanging on Ella Jane’s shoulder, both women of same height are wearing the same orange cardigans, grey V-neck shirts, and red and black plaid pants. Ella Jane even dyed her black hair to match Rocher’s.

As Ella Jane approaches them, the differences make themselves known. Ella Jane has slightly shaper jawline and cheekbones than Rocher’s. And Rocher’s eyes are brown, while Ella Jane’s are green. Most importantly, Ella Jane’s very curvy eyebrows are still in its natural color of black. It’s curvy eyebrows that has Widdershins thinking much of childhood today.

“That explains the hold-up,” says Hector. “The plan is to mislead Alps. You’re the red herring in Bernstein’s van, while Heng drives the real Rocher in the Madden.”

“Correct, except for one detail,” answers Ella Jane. She then places a hand on Widdershins’ shoulder. “I’m going to be the red herring in the Madden.”

“You’re what.” Hector says it outright, not as a question.

“You heard me.” Ella Jane turns her attention to Widdershins now. “Bernstein will be the one driving Rocher —as well as Jules and you— in his van until we reach the abandoned Lacuna Hotel. There you’ll take over as discussed in our barter, while Bernstein drives me back so I can return with the mini-van, the triplets, and your stepdaughter.”

“I don’t like this plan,” says Hector. “What if Alps chases after you and my associate in Rocher’s Madden, instead of Bernstein’s van? I don’t want to sound rude, but—”

“Bernstein’s tin can van doesn’t look like it can withhold a car chase?” interrupts Fernald, sticking his head from back passenger seat window. “That’s the point!”

 “V never allows people drive her Madden without her in it, but she made the sole exception for Heng,” calls out Bernstein from the driver seat. “And don’t call my van a tin can, Jules.”

“Despite the fact that it is?” asks Fernald.

“Yes.”

“Alps knows I hate riding in my friend’s van,” says Rocher, walking towards Hector. “Elle Jane figured there’s a higher chance of Alps chasing my Madden, and took the risk of disguising herself as me to make that chance greater.”

“Well…” Hector briefly bites his thumb, and stares at Widdershins. “Are you okay with this?”

“Aye,” answers Widdershins. “No need to think this over. You know my philosophy, after all.”

---

“I didn’t think Alps would be chasing the Madden like a mad man!” shouts Widdershins. “Aye! I guess that’s what happens when one drives an automatic, while one drives a manual car!”

Widdershins presses down on the clutch, and moves the shift stick to a higher gear. As he makes a rather sharp right turn, Widdershins does a side glance at Ella Jane. Ella Jane is holding her right hand on the grab handle, while some of her long, dyed brownish-red hair flying out from the front passenger seat of the Madden. Ella Jane is burrowing her eyebrows.

“I didn’t think about the possibility Alps would drive his automatic,” says Ella Jane bitterly. “It may lack the speed at times, but control is much easier.”

After making the sharp right turn, Widdershins once again presses down on the clutch, and shifts to the last highest gear the Madden can provide. For a short time, this change allows the Madden to get some distance away from Alps. However, Alps eventually starts to catch up.

“Shit.” Ella Jane grips on the grab handle tighter. “At this rate, the only way we can avoid Alps is if we ignore the Lacuna completely, and find an alternate route after turning left.”

Widdershins keeps quiet as he watches a group of construction workers pouring out onto the sidewalk. They’re discussing something—probably whatever inside the nearby giant warehouse.

Widdershins continues to drive as fast as he could on the highest gear. From the corner of his eyes, he sees what’s inside the giant warehouse: a decently size semi-trailer truck. Decently size to be able to fit inside the warehouse, as well as to block up the road. In fact, the group of construction works went to their own truck, and start pulling out bright orange signs.

“I think we can avoid that option, Ella Jane! Aye! Keep your grip on the grab handle!”

“What do you mean by that?”

Widdershins passes by the construction workers. From the both the rearview mirror and driver side mirror, he sees they’re trying to figure out the placement of the signs. Also from both mirrors, is Alps gaining speed, getting yell at by the workers. One of them even flip the bird.

“Heng, you got to start preparing to change gears to make a left!”

Widdershins does as Ella Jane says. He presses down on the clutch once again, and goes to a lower gear. However, he doesn’t prepare to make a left turn. Instead, he repeats the process as fast as he could, going to another low gear, still driving straight down the lane they’re in.

“Heng! What the hell are you doing?! Are you trying to make us crash!?”

From the mirrors, the bright orange signs are now almost properly in place. Widdershins once more puts his foot down on the clutch, and goes one more down, to second gear.

“Trust me on this.”

Widdershins soon quickly turns the Madden, right into the opposite lane. In a very control skid, the Madden enters the opposite lane, completely turn around, and enters a complete stop.

“Did you just do a—”

“Bootleg turn? Aye.”

Widdershins quickly sets his foot on the gas pedal, and drives back as fast as possible on second gear. From the both mirrors, he can see Alps being force to make that complete left turn, and disappears from view. Widdershins focuses back to what’s in front of him; the last orange sign being place to warn people of the semi-trailer truck.

Widdershins goes from second gear to third gear to fourth gear in succession, and prepares to make a right turn to the Lacuna. Once more, he looks at the mirrors; Alps is following again, but the semi-trailer truck is already exiting the warehouse.

When Widdershins makes that right turn, the semi-trailer truck is blocking the road completely.

“No! No way!” Ella Jane’s voice rises in excitement. She sticks her head out fully out the front passenger window to look back. “You actually delayed the bastard with that move of yours!”

“Well—,” answers Widdershins, but stops. In his incoming view, is a dangerous amount of greenery and shrubbery of the Lacuna Hotel.

---

“I guess I should have warned you about that particular detail,” says Ella Jane, looking at all her belongings laying out on the edges of the empty Lacuna Hotel Fountain.

Widdershins recognizes Ella Jane’s cellphone and her sunglasses. He also sees two water bottles, a box of fruit-grain bars, a brown wallet, a green personal diary with a black pen, and what Widdershins suspect is a crumple, folded-up photograph.

“And of course, I didn’t bring a packet of napkins.” Ella Jane gives a heavy sigh, and touches her forehead. She then looks at her fingertips, which is slightly bloody. “Then again, I didn’t expect to get hit by a branch and leaves today.”

Widdershins keeps quiet as he quickly digs into his coat pockets. He doesn’t like to keep much on him, only things that can fit in his pockets. Widdershins is glad he has one such important thing currently on him. He thinks it will be useful for Ella Jane’s predicament.

As he grabs ahold of the soft fabric in his right pocket, Widdershins feels a cold breeze on him. It’s a breeze that soon has Ella Jane screaming.

“No! No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no!”

Widdershins looks up at Ella Jane —green bag back on, everything that she currently has back inside— and sees the woman running after the now confirm photograph, floating and flying in the air. Every time it seems she is able to grab it, the photograph flies just slightly out of her reach. He couldn’t tell from the distance if Ella Jane is ready to cry her eyes out of anger, or out of grief. Maybe both.

“Don’t worry! Aye! I got it!”

Widdershins watches the photograph flying toward him now. He too, gives chase, and bends his knees. He then leaps up into the air, and grabs the photograph. He lands back on the ground on his two feet, though he slightly stumbles, barely landing straight.

Widdershins couldn’t help but look down and stare at the photograph. Despite it being faded with age and crumpled and folded so many times —the person in the photograph looks like he could be wearing a mask— Widdershins can make out some details. The photograph is of a man in his late-thirties or very early forties. The man is smiling a smile that has one meaning, kindness. The man also shares features belonging to Ella Jane herself: black hair, green eyes, and curvy eyebrows.

He is taken back when Ella Jane quickly snatches the photograph away, narrowing her eyes at him. The blood on her forehead is starting to trickle down.

“Sorry,” says Widdershins, once again digging into his right coat pocket. “I didn’t mean to look.”

“Apology accepted,” replies Ella Jane briskly, her tone clearly not really that apologetic. “Why are digging into your pocket for, Heng? You have a small first-aid kit in there?”

“No. I just have this old thing.” Widdershins pulls out a dull white handkerchief with ‘A.F.’ stitch onto it in a dark green thread. It gently moves from the still ongoing breeze. It doesn’t fly away, because he’s keeping a good hold on it.

Ella Jane, still narrowing her eyes, focus her glaze intensely on the handkerchief. She slowly folds up the photograph, and carefully places it into her plaid pants.

“That handkerchief… Why do you—” and here Ella Jane stops herself. She tucks back a strand of her long, dyed brownish-red hair behind her right ear, and continues. “What’s with the initials embroidered on it? That can’t possibly be yours.”

“Not initially,” answers Widdershins softly. “I got this as a kid. It’s a gift in fact, aye. But I doubt you want to hear the full story. Most people I told it to don’t find it very interesting.”

“Well, I find it interesting.” Ella Jane stops narrowing her eyes at him. She stares at him with somewhat wide eyes. “If you got it as a child, and held onto it since…well, I can say that it’s a story that has me wanting to hear more about. If that’s alright with you.”

Widdershins stays quiet as he stares at the handkerchief, and then back at Ella Jane. “Let’s go back to the fountain. Aye, I’m a bit tired from all this standing around.”

Upon their return to the Lacuna Hotel Fountain, the two of them sits down at the fountain edges. Widdershins stares inside the empty fountain. He sees the dead brown leaves and coins inside, all forgotten. He then clears his throat and asks, ““Have you ever heard of Killdeer Fields?”

“I’m familiar with it,” answers Ella Jane, almost coldly. “It was a poor town that got flooded on orders of the second CEO of Ink Inc. —Ignatius Knight —to save his livelihood and the place he once called home. Hundreds of people and animals lost their lives and their home to it.”

“Well,” continues Widdershins, turning his attention to Ella Jane now, “my story takes place before that. Aye, Killdeer Fields was one of the several places to become home to overseas war refugees from the Southeast Asia region. Mainly war refugees from Vietnam, Laos—”

“And Cambodia,” says Ella Jane.

“Aye,” says Widdershins. He then curls the end of his mustache with his right hand. “To live in these places, you have to be on a sponsorship. My ma and I were two of the lucky ones to get them. Our sponsorship landed us in Killdeer Fields, aye. Ma got a job at Killdeer Textile Factory, and I got an education at Killdeer Elementary School.”

Widdershins looks back down at the handkerchief in his other hand. “I’m going to be honest with you. I’m not the most likable person. I get insulted to my face or behind my back, for all the right reasons. Some insult me with a nickname once used for someone else. But back then? It was for all the wrong reasons. A good chunk of the kids at Killdeer Elementary insulted me in ways I never want to hear again. And the school staff turned a blind eye to it, because it wasn’t physical. I wasn’t hurt in their perspective. But one day…”

Ella Jane leans forward, and frowns. “It got physical.”

Widdershins stops curling his mustache. “Bruise eye, bloody nose. It was after school hours too. If someone in the staff actually wanted to do something about it, they couldn’t. I ran to one of the bathrooms to clean up. As I was running, someone saw me. Not a classmate, because we didn’t share a class. We only saw each other at lunch time. The student was a girl. She had black hair in two braids, greens eyes, and curvy eyebrows. Eyebrows that look similar to yours.”

Ella Jane stays quiet. The blood is still continuing to trickle down her face.

“Anyway, she somehow got inside the bathroom. No idea how. Maybe she teleported inside, or came from the bathroom window,” chuckles Widdershins. He carefully gives Ella Jane the handkerchief, his hands touching hers. Her hands unlike his, are warm.

“She gave this to me so I can clean my bloody nose,” he continues. “I thought it too pretty, and tried to give it back. The girl then told me it’s mine to keep. She said her father talked to my ma a few times, and that I can think of the handkerchief as a late-welcoming gift. Then she left.”

Widdershins quickly pulls his hands away from Ella Jane, and then stands up. He then readjusts his coat, and clears his throat once again. “Regarding the initials, I think the handkerchief was her father’s! Aye! It makes sense! No doubt he gave something for his daughter in case she needs it! Aye! And she gave it to a person who needed it more than her! Aye! Didn’t think it would be me! I don’t deserve it, in my opinion! Aye! But I’m grateful for her kind gesture! Aye! Kept it on me since that day! Aye! Until now! Because I’m giving it to you! Er…”

He slowly turns back to Ella Jane, who now has a small smile forming on her face. Widdershins hunches back a bit, and sheepishly rubs the back of his neck. “If that’s alright with you?”

“Oh, yes,” answers Ella Jane, her small smile becomes bigger. It’s a smile that Widdershins likes very much. Despite being warned of certain smiles by associates, Widdershins thinks Ella Jane’s smile isn’t one to be wary of. “Thank you, Heng. Not just for the handkerchief, but for the story as well. I needed to hear your story after what happened today.”

“You’re welcome.” Widdershins stops his hunching, and stands straight. He then sticks both hands into his coat pockets. “If you don’t mind, it is okay for me to leave you alone, and explore the area a bit? I heard the Lacuna back in its prime had a wonderful aquarium. I would love to see it, even if it empty and in ruins.”

“It’s fine. I need to clean myself up, anyway,” says Ella Jane, pointing to the blood stream trickling down to her cheek now. “Just come back soon, okay?”

“Okay.”

Widdershins turns on his heels, and soon walks to the abandoned Lacuna Hotel. As he pushes the glass doors, he’s glad to know that Ella Jane feels better. No doubt that his former classmate would appreciate that her kindness made another person’s day.

Chapter Text

“Where it is!? Where it the damn thing!?” screams Duncan, as he scrambles onto the sofa. “When was the last time either of you saw it!?”

“I think I saw it a few minutes ago! It went down into the basement!” Isadora quickly joins Duncan on the sofa, keeping her eyes on the open door that leads to the basement.

“You think, or you know!?” Quigley runs and jumps onto the sofa also. “Just because the door is open doesn’t mean the thing decided to change rooms!”

“You’re doubting what I saw with my own two eyes?!” screams Isadora.

“Considering you’re the only one to have seen this cockroach-mouse hybrid, maybe you’re trying to send Duncan and me into a panic! Not the first time you done it!” screams Quigley.

“You’re calling me a liar!?”

“I’m only saying the truth at it is!”

“Truth, huh? Well! Can you recall the truth of that one time back when our parents were alive? Recall the broken Ming vase you said you didn’t touch, even though you were in the library!?”

“Again! It was two stray orange cats that came into the house due to the open back door!”

“Could you two please shut up! We have bigger things to be worried about! Can’t we just agree we all want that damn thing DEAD!? Because I sure want it DEAD big time!” screams Duncan.

A minute after Duncan scream at the top of his lungs, the three triplets soon heard someone running down the stairs. Widdershins soon appears in the family room, staring directly at them,

“What’s wrong, Duncan?” asks Widdershins.

“Isadora spotted some cockroach-mouse hybrid, and it possibly went into the basement!” answers Duncan. “And we’re not getting down from this sofa until it’s dead!”

“Got it!” Widdershins nods his head, and without hesitation, goes down to the basement.

The three siblings stand there on the sofa. The second they heard the man shouting like the former captain he is, Quigley yelps, and quickly hugs Isadora. As the triplets keep quiet, they continue hearing the sounds from the basement. There’s more shouting, a bang that sounds like something metal colliding with the floor, and soon, the sound of a spray can going off.

Eventually, it goes silence. Duncan, Isadora, and Quigley give glances at one another, before looking at the direction at the door. Several minutes later, Widdershins walks back up to the family room. In his hand is a spray bottle that kills insects of all sorts, one being cockroaches. The expression on the man’s face is one of exhaustion.

“Good news,” says Widdershins. “The cockroach-mouse hybrid is dead. Aye, by its own doing. The thing in its panic knocked over a pipe. I still sprayed it though, as a precaution.”

“And you’re leaving it down there?” asks Isadora. “Are you serious, Widdershins!?”

“I agree!” says Duncan. “How do you know it’s not actually dead?”

“It’s dead, Quagmires. Aye, I used up the whole can. And it wasn’t moving the last five minutes of me watching it.” Widdershins throws the spray can into the air, and catches it. “If you excuse me, I need to get old rags to touch the blasted thing. Aye, I think whatever that creature is, it’s something that needs to be dispose of properly.”

The Quagmires slowly remove themselves from the hug they were in, and got off from the sofa. Duncan slumps down to the floor sighing in relief. However, Isadora and Quigley glances at him, realizing something the grown man had said was odd. As they turn their attention to Widdershins, the two see him making his way to the bathroom, where many old rags are kept.

“Why were you asking Duncan if he was okay, when Isadora and I are also here too?” asks Quigley, as they begin following the man.

“Yeah! Are you becoming blind?” asks Isadora. “Care to tell us what happened in your mind?”

“Duncan wouldn’t scream unless it’s an emergency,” says Widdershins. “You two scream whenever you have a chance.”

Chapter Text

“Hey Fiona, do you know the computer password?”

Isadora sticks her head inside Fiona’s bedroom. The older girl is currently lying on her bed, flipping the pages of her history book on a chapter Isadora has no idea what it’s about, taking notes in her spiral notebook. Judging from image of two people in a carriage, with another person pulling a gun on them, it might be the chapter that covers World War One.

“I do, but why ask me about it, as if you don’t know what the password is,” says Fiona, not looking up from the history book. “Hector, Fernald, and my stepfather know it, since they set it up. Quigley was able to use two weeks ago to print something off for his Spanish class. And Duncan used it just last month to research something about The Thistle of the Valley incident.”

“If you’re think one of brothers told me, they didn’t. My brothers are still brothers who like to see their sister suffer sometimes,” answers Isadora. “Neither one of them told me it.”

Fiona snaps her head upward. “Really? That makes a bit of a difference then.”

“Are you going to tell me the password then?”

“Depends on why you’re asking me for the password. Was there not a hint regarding the password? I know there was a hint the last time I used it.”

“How is ‘Look down from the top, at three you’ll stop. It’s six long, you can’t get it wrong,’ a hint? An apparent hint that are in two freaking couplets!” Isadora throws her hands up into the air, and then brings her thumb and forefinger together. “I’m these seconds away to losing it, Fiona.”

“Well, I can’t have that happening on my watch,” says Fiona, sitting upward on her bed now. She takes off her glasses, and wipes them with her shirt. “Do calm down, Isadora. I’ll tell you the password. But be warn. You’ll might slap your palm to your forehead when hearing it.”

“I serious doubt it,” says Isadora, giving the older girl a smile. “With a hint that ridiculous, the password must be something that has to be told from the get-go. So, care to tell me it?”

Fiona closes her eyes, and gives a deep sigh. “…Qwerty. The password is Qwerty.”

Isadora stops her smiling. She opens her mouth, but no words came out. Qwerty. Qwerty. QWERTY. Isadora couldn’t help but slap her palm to her forehead, as Fiona said. “Son of a bitch! It’s telling me to stop at row three when looking at the top, and look at the six letters!”

“Aye,” says Fiona, reopening her eyes. “Don’t get angry at yourself. It’s not every day you run into an Occam’s razor, and in poetry form at that.”

“Yeah,” says Isadora. “A weird Occam’s razor. Thank you for the help, Fiona.”

“You’re welcome. Have fun with whatever you plan on doing on the computer.”

Chapter Text

“Please, I’m begging you. Go to a doctor,” says Hector.

Widdershins keeps quiet as he stares at the cut wound on his lower right arm. The cut wound came to be in his attempt to work on the front yard, for it was overgrown with tall grasses and dead bushes. The cut didn’t go in deep and such, doesn’t worry Widdershins much.

Hector however, in contrast, is very much worry.

“I’m sorry, is this our cut wound?” Widdershins continue to glare at the cut, not looking up at all to Hector. “Stay out of it!”

“It’s hard for me to stay out considering your history of injuries.” Hector crosses his arms. “I honestly thought as a grown man, you—Never mind. At the very least, let me tend to it. You think you don’t need medical attention, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

Widdershins keeps quiet. He then gives a sigh, and reluctantly sticks out his arm to Hector.

All while Hector is looking over Widdershins’ cut wound to determine how to tend to it, Fiona watches from the front window. Fiona watches how Hector briefly touches her stepfather’s arm, and how her stepfather’s face is flush. Fiona isn’t sure if her stepfather’s flush is because he’s upset for having to accept Hector’s more physical help, or if it’s something else.

“Looks like Hector is showing who controls the leash between them! Oh, that came out wrong!”

The sudden voice besides Fiona has her jumping in surprise. The surprise also has Fiona raising her hand to smack the speaker across the face. Said speaker is Duncan. Duncan tumbles back few steps, and now bears a red cheek on his face that stings like hell. Fiona desperately wants apology to him, as well as to know if he’s okay. The two thoughts blur together to where Fiona shouts one of the worst things she could say possible.

“Oh my God! Duncan, are you fucking sorry!?”

Fiona quickly covers her mouth with her hands. She wants to disappear into thin air badly.

Duncan stares at Fiona blankly, and then laughs. Smiling, he waves a hand in the air. “In a way. I should know better than creep up behind you in deep thinking. I just wanted to get water from the kitchen, and you looking outside got me curious. Is my face okay though?”

“It’s better than Stepfather’s injuries,” says Fiona, slowly removing her hands from her mouth. Fiona then gives a small smile, walks closer to Duncan, and pats Duncan’s back. “Come on. Let me make it up by giving you a good cold icepack.”

Chapter Text

“Do you think different paints have different tastes?”

Fernald admits this is one of the dumbest conversation starters he ever had to make. And that’s because the silence between him, his stepfather, and Hector is finally taking its toll. Most of the time, Fernald likes silence whenever he’s out shopping.

However, that’s difficult to achieve whenever he’s out shopping with his stepfather. Even before Stepfather became Stepfather, the man would always make the attempt of small talk of the most mundane things, like ants. Fernald doesn’t mind small talk, but it’s only small talk if both parties agree to it. And Fernald currently is not in an agreeing mood.

Silence is a guarantee when shopping with Hector. Fernald can’t blame Hector for not making the attempt of small talk. While Fernald knows Hector’s behavior is because of the Anwhistle Aquatic Fire, Fernald suspects Hector is more upset and angrier at him due to past actions towards the Baudelaires and Quagmire triplets. Especially towards Duncan and Isadora.

As for Stepfather and Hector’s experiences when shopping together…well, Fernald has no clue. Fernald knows they have late-night talks with one another (despite their denial). But Fernald knows from experience late-night talks in private isn’t the same as talking together in public.

Based off the silence, Fernald suspects that if they did talk to one another in public of topics not related to topics discuss in private, this is something out of left field. At least out of left field to Hector. Hector’s sudden expression change on his face nearly has Fernald snorting. The man’s once calm and collect looking over rows of paint cans became one of confusion.

Stepfather’s expression didn’t change much. He’s clearly taking the task of what can of paint to paint the house they’re now calling home very seriously.

“Aye,” says Stepfather, reaching out to a can of a pale orange paint. “They do.”

“They what.” Fernald isn’t sure if he heard correctly.

“Different paint has different tastes,” says Stepfather.

“…Why did you said that with such certainty?” asks Hector, now shaking his head in what Fernald hopes is the same exact emotion he’s going through at the moment.

Chapter Text

Fiona still can’t believe she had the notion that gas stations either have a nice indoor seating area, or a nice outdoor seating area. All of the gas stations she seen so far, especially since on the trip back westward to the Land of Districts, only had one or the other.

The gas station they’re at has both. And Fiona is eating her two corndogs and lemonade inside at the counter alongside Quigley, who said he wanted to discuss something with her. He’s currently in the restroom, with Fiona guarding his fruit punch slushie and turkey wrap.

Fiona sits at the counter, and unwraps the first corndog, setting it down on the wrapper itself as a makeshift plate. Fiona carefully rips open the first ketchup packet, for she doesn’t want the ketchup to potentially spray over Quigley’s food. And after successfully opening up the packet, Fiona squishes it all out over the corndog in a squiggly line.

“I always squish the ketchup into a pile and dip my corndog in there,” says a familiar voice.

“Well, I like squishing it over my corndog,” replies Fiona, spinning in her stool to see Quigley standing before her, with his slushie in hand. “What if you run out of ketchup to dip into? This method allows me to distribute the ketchup evenly.”

Quigley takes a somewhat loud ship of his slushie. He then sets the slushie back onto the counter, and takes a seat to the stool beside Fiona “Good point. But I never run out of ketchup. I make sure when I dip, I don’t take too much.”

“Never say never, Quigley.” Fiona spins back around to the counter, and picks up her corndog. “So, what it is that you want to talk about with me? I doubt you wanted to discuss how we eat food with condiments.”

“Nope. In fact, what I want to discuss with you is something regarding your stepfather.”

“My stepfather?” Fiona turns sharply to Quigley, who is now opening up the packaging his turkey wrap is in. Why would he want to talk about Stepfather?

“Well, it’s about your stepfather and…” Quigley hesitates a bit, picking up the turkey wrap in his hands. “And Hector.”

“Hector?” Fiona narrows her eyes at the younger boy. “What about them?”

Quigley doesn’t answer her. He instead, takes a large bite out his food, and stares out the window before them. Fiona sees Quigley is chewing slowly, looking outside with a strong intensity. Fiona doesn’t want to say Quigley is glaring, but there is something in Quigley’s eyes that is evoking some strong emotion in him. She couldn’t help but follow his gaze.

Outside, is the rest of the group.

Fernald is not easily visible as the others. He’s sitting inside the front seat of the mini-van, his face hidden from behind the car sun visor, taking a nap.

Duncan and Isadora are having their turkey wraps and soda at one of the two outdoor tables. They’re having what Fiona thinks is a discussion about Stepfather. Isadora is giving Stepfather a particular look, very similar to Quigley’s look from before. This has Duncan slapping her shoulder, which forces Isadora to look away sheepishly.

Stepfather is awkwardly nibbling away on his roast beef sandwich at the other outdoor table. His nose soon twitches, and Stepfather soon sneezes into the crook of his arm.

Hector, who is sitting on the hood of the mini-van with his coffee cup that has no sugar but an abundant amount of creamer (for Fiona witnessed it herself), then talks. Fiona isn’t sure what the handyman is saying, but she thinks Hector is saying, “Bless you.”

Fiona sees Stepfather looking upward at Hector’s directions, and is likely saying, “Thank you.”

“What about them?” repeats Fiona, slowly glancing back at Quigley. Fiona can now see that Quigley’s gaze from before is directed at Hector himself.

“You remember back at Crown City, when we were in Ella Jane Wile’s apartment, while the adults were out doing what was bartered?” Quigley is still staring at Hector. “We got bored of playing ‘Go Fish’ and we elected to watch a movie?”

“Aye.” Fiona takes a rather large bite out of her corndog. She chews for a bit, and then swallows. “To think that of all movies, we watched a movie adaptation of an Andrew Lloyd Webber musical. And it’s Cats of all things. Never thought Ella Jane Wile would have a DVD copy of it. I guess she enjoys poetry, like your sister, Fernald, and Stepfather.”

“T.S. Eliot is a popular poet,” says Quigley. “Anyway, for the last few days, I keep on thinking back to ‘The Naming of Cats’ number. About how cats have three different names. A daily name, a fancy unique name, and their secret name no one knows.”

“…And this relates to my stepfather and Hector how?” Fiona is completely lost.

“Do you know your stepfather’s full name, Fiona?” asks Quigley, his gaze now on her. “As in, his biological full name?”

“I only know his biological surname is Heng,” answers Fiona. She takes another bite out of her corndog, deciding to chew and talk this time around. “He says his first name is hard to pronounce due to past experience, especially within the organization.”

“Do you know that your stepfather’s first name starts with the letter V?”

“Of course! Some people call Stepfather by his first initial, but he prefers going by his last name. Your father was one such person to call him by his initial.”

“Dad did refer to him as V a lot,” says Quigley, almost softly. “Okay, so let’s say you didn’t know your stepfather’s first name initial, or his biological surname Heng,” continues Quigley. “Would you have reason to believe that Heng is his first name, had you heard it for the first time?”

Fiona takes another bite out of her meal, and once again talks with her mouth full. “Aye. All of my life, people refer to my stepfather as Widdershins. I would have instantly jumped to the conclusion his first name is Heng. How does this relate to a T.S. Eliot poem?”

Quigley sets his turkey wrap down, and picks up his slushie. He doesn’t take a sip out of it though. “In a way, your stepfather has three different names. The name people call him daily is Widdershins. His fancy unique name is his first initial, V. And his third secret name that no one knows. Or at least partly know about. Like you, and I assume your brother.”

He then stares directly at Fiona. It’s an inquisitive stare, curious of something. “Can you think back to what Hector asked you, when your Stepfather was with Ella Jane Wile?”

Fiona continues to eat her corndog, and thinks over Quigley’s question. She goes back to that moment in time, with Stepfather going with Ella Jane Wile into the kitchen. She thinks to how Hector without hesitation, steals Stepfather’s spot on the sofa, and—

“Care to tell me what why you two are going by different names, as well as to why your stepfather is going by the surname of Heng?”

“Surname…” says Fiona softly. “Hector said surname before I even explained to him.”

Quigley nods his head. “Using your answer as a baseline —especially in regards to your Stepfather’s preference on why he goes by Widdershins— unless I’m overthinking things…”

Quigley trails off, for he looks back out the window. Fiona couldn’t help but follow suit.

Fiona couldn’t help but stare at Hector, who still sitting on the hood of the mini-van hood of the mini-van with his coffee cup that has no sugar but an abundant amount of creamer.

Hector, the poor handyman from the Village of Fowl Devotee, who got suddenly caught in the drama that is her family, the Quagmires, and the Volunteer Fire Department, and took it all in stride when everything came crashing down.

“How could Hector have known in context, Heng is a surname?” finishes Quigley.

Fiona doesn’t know how to answer Quigley’s question.

Chapter Text

“Tell me why I have to do this again?” asks Quigley. He’s currently being push to the front door by Duncan and Isadora, where Widdershins is outside. The man outside has his checkered-pattern scarf wrap around his head, with a grey bucket hat on top, shading him from the sun.

“You’re the one who Widdershins remotely likes,” answers Duncan, “unlike Isadora and me. Isadora especially so. Ever since she went and harassed him about his past within V.F.D.—”

“Again, I did not harass Widdershins! That’s what the Hook-Handed Man said to get back at me for scaring him when I asked him if he ever spent time in jail!” snaps Isadora.

“Regardless if you did or didn’t harass him, Isadora, I think Widdershins would not say no to a trip to the Sunrise International Supermarket in Routin City if one of you had ask,” replies Quigley. “But if you’re worried that much of rejection, I’ll do it. The things I do for you guys…”

---

“It’s a shame Quigley suddenly came down with an unexpected cold,” says Widdershins. The man is keeping his eyes on the road, his hands gripping the steering wheel. “To hear him say we should go without him…how nice of him to do that! Aye! I say we make the most of this day! And get him something to cheer him up!”

“Yep,” replies Isadora, popping the ‘p’ in the word. She and Duncan are sitting in the middle row of the mini-van; she’s in the middle, while Duncan is in the right passenger seat. “It’s nice of Quigley to decide we should have a day out together. Just us three. Yip-yip, hooray.”

Isadora soon feels Duncan nudging her with his elbow. She turns her head, and sees Duncan glaring at her.

“Be polite,” whispers Duncan.

“I am.”

“Be polite without hinting any sarcasm. We have to get along, and not just for Quigley’s sake.”

Isadora says nothing. All she does is huff, and looks away.

---

“Is it alright for Duncan and me to wander around?” asks Isadora suddenly.

The three of them enter the Sunrise International Supermarket, which turns out to be a shopping center. The supermarket is the one main anchor, while other businesses surround it.

“You don’t want to wander around the supermarket itself? It’s rather big,” asks Widdershins, taking one the shopping carts.

“I honestly wouldn’t mind—” begin Duncan, but Isadora soon slaps his back. Hard.

“Mom and Dad gave us lots of free reign when it comes to shopping centers!” Isadora gives a smile at Widdershins. “Just as long we have a meet-up location! Safety reasons, you know.”

Widdershins curls one end of his unusual mustache. He then points to a bench, nearby a seemingly stone statue of a woman standing with interesting hand gestures. “Wait for me at the apsara, if I’m not done shopping.”

Duncan opens his mouth to speak again, but Isadora soon drags him away.

“Got it! See you later, Widdershins!”

---

“I think we should have shop around with Widdershins,” says Duncan, watching Isadora browse the aisles of the antiquity store they’re wandering around in. “We use to shop around with our parents for a bit, before we wander off with their permission.”

“We can do that another trip,” snaps Isadora, not looking up at him. Isadora picks up the small dancing figurine of what Widdershins said earlier is an apsara. “A trip with Quigley tagging along with us.”

“Oh. I see what’s this is truly about.” Duncan crosses his arms.

“What do you mean?” Isadora quickly turns to look at him.

Duncan couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s too obvious now. You’re still upset that Widdershins knew about Quigley’s survival before us.”

Isadora sets the apsara figurine down. “I am. With Fiona, I found myself forgiving her quite fast. She’s still a kid, after all. But with him…”

Duncan watches Isadora trailing off, and her walking away. He does nothing but sigh, and follow after her.

---

“For the last time, we’re not loitering around!” exclaims Duncan. “We’re with someone! We’re waiting for him because he’s shopping inside the supermarket itself!”

Isadora continues to resist the urge to make a rude, snappy comment. She and Duncan were waiting by the bench near the apsara statue. For about ten minutes the two played hand games like slaps, thumb wars, and odds and evens.

And then the woman showed up. Coming out from her small business that is an herbal shop, she began to pester them. Isadora wishes she would just leave them alone.

The woman raises an eyebrow. “I heard that plenty of times before. Why don’t two you hang out by the plaza a few blocks down? It’s more age appropriate than here.”

“Ma’am,” says Isadora at last, “We are waiting for someone. We’re waiting for—”

And Isadora sees Widdershins carrying two plastic bags in his hand.

“Our stepfather,” finishes Isadora. She raises both hands into the air. “Stepfather! We’re here!”

---

“You called Widdershins ‘Stepfather’!?”

Quigley grabs a tissue from the box Duncan is holding out, and soon blows his nose. He then wads the tissue into a small ball, and throws it into the trashcan near his bed.

“I just wanted to get the woman off our backs,” says Isadora, giving back the warm mug of tea to him. “Lucky for me that Widdershins’ philosophy of not hesitating had him going along with the bit. The woman looked so flustered when he called us his stepchildren.”

“When Widdershins told her about you, she took pity on us as well,” says Duncan.

“The tea you’re drinking came from the woman’s herbal shop, with a small discount,” adds on Isadora. “Widdershins made it himself for you.”

Quigley gently blows onto the mug, and then takes a small sip. “It’s not bad tea either. Hm, I guess my sickness got you all to get along better? Especially you, Isadora?”

Isadora playfully slaps him. “You and your high hopes!”

 Bonus: So, Your Deceased Associates’ Children Are Trying To Get On Your Good Side…

As Widdershins continues to pull out the weeds from the backyard, he couldn’t help but sing a Sinn Sisamouth song. Not hum; sing. The song is a favorite, being one of Sinn Sisamouth faster, upbeat songs. And Widdershins can recall the song enough to feel confident in singing it.

It’s been years since he sang the full song.

“~I toil night and day/For who? For you only of course/Look here, a diamond ring~.”

“That’s an interesting song you’re singing there, Widdershins,” says a young boy’s voice.

Widdershins pulls the stubborn weed from the ground, and tosses it into the bucket with all the other pulled-out weeds. He stands up, and turns around. Behind him are Duncan and Isadora, with smiles on their faces they usually don’t give him.

Duncan has a folded-up grocery store advertisement underneath his armpit, while Isadora is holding a can of honeydew soda. Isadora pulls open the tab, and puts it in front of Widdershins. Widdershins takes the can; it’s not cold at all.

“Thank you,” says Widdershins.

“You’re welcome,” says Isadora. “Like my brother said earlier, that’s an interesting song you’re singing. Can you please tell us more about it?”

“It’s just a favorite song of mine. There’s nothing special about it,” replies Widdershins, taking a sip of the honeydew soda. It’s too warm and too sugary. But a drink is a drink.

Widdershins sees how despite their smiles, Duncan and Isadora give each other brief worrying side glances. They must have thought he would go on a tangent about the song, to delay the inevitable. He feels sorry for them. Widdershins wouldn’t want to deal with himself either.

“…Well, since we have your attention,” says Duncan, finally unfolding the advertisement, “we wanted to ask you something. The weekly mail gave us ads for the new Ordin International Supermarket that opened up a month ago.”

“And looking at the ads, we thought back to our shopping trip to the Sunrise International Supermarket,” says Isadora. “It was fun, looking back at it.”

“And let me guess,” says Widdershins. “You want me to take you two and Quigley there to wander around, while I go shopping for groceries in the supermarket itself.”

Isadora continues to smile, though she blinks rapidly. “Was it that obvious?”

“Aye,” answers Widdershins, and shakes the can of soda. “Too obvious, in fact.”

The smile on Duncan’s face quickly vanishes. He quickly turns to Isadora, and smacks her arm. “I told you giving him a warm soda isn’t the way to go. But noooo! You and your impoliteness!”

“At least I wasn’t going overboard with politeness!” Isadora’s smile turns into a frown. “You wanted to give him the soda in a glass! With ice! Ice, Duncan! That is equally suspicious!”

“Aye,” interrupts Widdershins. “Either one would have given away your hidden motives. Aye, but you know what? I still would give you the same answer.”

Duncan and Isadora’s anger at one another disappears fast. They slowly turn to look at Widdershins. The worrying look from before is back.

“What day do you three want to go to the Ordin International Supermarket?” asks Widdershins.

Chapter Text

“I can’t believe I lost my deck of cards!” Fernald grumbles as he trails behind beside Fiona, as the two of them begin walking down the stairs. “We search my room and turned it inside out! How the hell could I lose them!? If your annoying little friends have something to do with it—”

“Again, why would the Quagmires want with your cards? Even though they have every right to do things to spite you, they won’t swoop to this.” Fiona slowly starts bopping her head up and down. “Well, two-thirds of the Quagmires won’t swoop to this.”

“Two-thirds? That doesn’t help my problem at all!”

“Yes it does.” Fiona’s head bopping moves up a pace, and hums for a bit. “Quigley and I were ready to join up with his siblings at the park when you began screeching at the top of your lungs. That means the thief would have to be either Duncan and Isadora.”

“Oh, great.” Fernald hangs his head low. “And with both of them equally having beef with me, I’m no off better than we were before this part of our conversation and our search.”

Fiona briefly hums once again, with her head bopping now in sync with the low singing from the family room. “If you want, I can go ask politely on your behalf so they won’t—”

Fiona reaches the third-to-last step before stopping in her walking and bopping her head. “Do tell me I’m not the only one hearing that singing.”

Fernald stops walking. With Fiona having better hearing of them two of them, it makes sense she notices first. Fernald can the low and bit rather inaudible singing. Inaudible not in the sense that the singer forgotten the words, but because of the distance of being a room away from its origins. That said, the few words that are audible is “an octopus’ garden.”

“How the hell did Stepfather get what is very likely, a cassette player?” asks Fernald quietly.

“Forgot about that for a moment,” hisses Fiona, taking one more step before jumping off the penultimate stairstep—for the first step makes a creak that needs to be fixing. “Let’s ask how did Stepfather found a copy of the entirely that is Abbey Road!?”

“That’s what you’re worried about!? Fiona, we don’t have anything in the house that can play music!” Fernald runs down the stairs —jumping over the first step— and pass Fiona. “Dumpster diving or not, whatever he got, he has to go return it to where it belongs!”

“I’m pretty sure if Stepfather dumpster dived for it, that means he technically owns it,” replies Fiona calmly. “One person’s trash can be another person’s new personal property.”

Fernald doesn’t reply back. All he does is make his way to the family room, where Stepfather is sitting on the floor, legs crisscross applesauce besides a beat-up looking cassette player, as Fernald guess. Stepfather is intensely focus in his hand-sewing, sewing a patch on sturdy heavy jeans a dock worker would wear. It makes sense really, considering Stepfather’s new job.

Stepfather is bobbing his head as Octopus’s Garden continues playing, clearly not realizing someone has just enter the family room. Fernald —and Fiona, who is soon besides him— keeps quiet as the next parts of the lyrics play in the air:

 “We would be warm/Below the storm/In our little hideaway/Beneath the waves.”

“Truth to be told, I quite like this song,” whispers Fiona. “I wouldn’t mind hearing it a bit longer.”

“Resting our head/On the seabed/In an octopus' garden/Near a cave.”

“Well, I don’t. No way in hell I want to have another Beatles earworm stuck in my head for the next several days. I can’t believe Stepfather, and you apparently, can stand and listen their nonsense without it eating your mind,” whispers Fernald back. He then walks his way to the cassette player, and his hook over the stop button.

“We would sing/And dance around/Because we know/We can't be—”

Upon hearing the song stopping, Stepfather pauses his sewing. He looks up to stare at Fernald, and blinks a few times. “Fernald, if you were that upset with the volume, I could have turned it down had you asked.”

Chapter Text

“Hey, did you know as a kid I accidentally ate paper?”

Again, Fernald admits that this is one of the dumbest conversation starters he ever had to make. And again, it’s because the silence between him, his stepfather, and Hector is finally taking its toll. They been sorting papers between being recyclable, needed to be black out with a marker, shredded, or combination of option two and three, for the last two hours.

The silence wouldn’t be bad to Fernald if it they were doing this at night, to avoid waking up Fiona and the Quagmires. But they’re doing this at nine in the morning, on their rare day off together, with no fear of waking Fiona and the Quagmires up, because they are at school.

Hector slowly lifts his head up, looking away from the envelope with their address on it, ready to black it out with the marker in his hand. “No.”

“…I do,” says Stepfather, looking up from his sorting of the recyclable papers. “Your mother told me in my very early days of babysitting you. Aye, to make sure you wouldn’t do it again.”

“What did you do that had you accidentally eating paper?” asks Hector, now setting the marker down. “It must have been food related, considering your stepfather before becoming your stepfather knew about it.”

“My dumbass as a child failed to realize there was a slip of paper in a chocolate candy,” answers Fernald. “I only knew because I complained about the taste to her. I never felt so embarrass before in my life.”

“There’s no reason to feel embarrass about it,” says Hector. “I feel like we've all done that at least once, and told someone about it.”

“Have you done it?” asks Fernald.

“Not me, but I’m sure other people did,” replies Hector.

“Aye,” says Stepfather, nodding his head. “I ate it too—”

“See?” Hector makes a brief gesture to Stepfather. “Living proof of others doing it.”

“On purpose,” finishes Stepfather, scratching the back of his neck, almost awkwardly.

“…What?” asks Hector.

Fernald gives out a groan. “Stepfather, what the hell?”