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On a set of grimy stairs, Klaus sighed and tilted his head. He stared at the sky as he pulled a box of cigarettes out of his pocket.
It had been three years since the island. Three long and tiresome years. Adults had told him his whole life that things get better with time. Klaus was starting to learn that simply wasn't true.
He pulled a cigarette out of the box and stuck it between his teeth. If things got better with time, he and his sister wouldn't be working two minimum-wage jobs each. If things got better with time, Violet wouldn't sleep with the lights on. If things got better with time, Klaus wouldn't be smoking right now.
He flicked open his lighter and carefully lit the cigarette in his mouth. He took a long drag, letting the smoke flow out through his teeth and nose. If Violet were here, she'd yell at him. She'd shout and tear up the box until Klaus promised he'd never smoke again. They've done the whole thing so many times.
"Those things will kill you, Klaus!" Violet would scream at him, "after everything?! You'd breathe poison right into your lungs?!" She'd rip the cigarette right out of his mouth.
And he would apologize and promise he'd never smoke again, throwing away the box and his lighter to emphasize the point. But a month or two later he'd be right back at that gas station. The gas station doesn't bother asking your age.
The footsteps came up behind him and Klaus nearly jumped out of his skin. He quickly threw down his cigarette. He carefully crushed it with his heel as he turned around. "Oh, hey Sunshine. I thought you were still at your friend's house."
She looked at him with sad eyes that made guilt course through him. "Bella's mom dropped me off a few minutes ago."
Klaus shoved his lighter into his pocket. "How was your time with Bella?"
"I can smell the smoke, Klaus," Sunny said, her voice flat.
He laughed nervously. "Smoke? I don't know why you'd smell smoke. I don't hear any fire sirens."
"You smell like them, Klaus. You smell like Sir."
Klaus flinched. "I didn't know you remembered Sir."
The little girl shuffled her feet. "A little."
Sir's cloud of smoke. Dr. Orwell's sickly sweet smile. His glasses. The chair. The woodchips that wedged themselves everywhere. The noise. Olaf.
Klaus tried not to cringe. He needed that cigarette. "Do you remember anything else? About the mill?"
"The sound, I think," Sunny said, "and something bad happened there. Everything else is what you and Vi told me." She fiddled with her hands, "I wish I could remember…what you guys talk about. Everything before the island."
Klaus sucked in a breath. "No, you don't, Sun. I wish you didn't remember any of it. Any of him." He could feel those piercing eyes on him. It made his skin crawl.
"It makes you guys so sad." Sunny said, "I want to understand why."
"If you understood why, you'd be sad too, Sunshine." Klaus sighed and ran a hand through his hair, "when someone is in danger for a long time, it can feel like they are always in danger, even when they are safe. Sometimes, I still feel like I'm in danger, even though it has been a long time since I've been in danger. That makes me sad."
Sunny seemed to think about that for a moment. Then suddenly, she hopped down the stairs and wrapped her arms around him. "I'm sorry, that you're sad."
"Sunny," Klaus sighed, hugging her back, "thank you. But I can handle being sad.” Liar , he thought sourly, thinking of the cigarette underneath his heel. Klaus pulled back a little to look her in the eye, “What’s important is that you and Bea are happy. That’s all Violet and I want.” And that was true. After a late-night conversation with many tears, the two older siblings agreed: a future for Sunny and Beatrice was more important than a future for them. Though they were young, their time had already been spoiled by one eyebrow and an “eye” ankle tattoo.
They didn’t have the money for high school. Wanted criminals cannot claim an inheritance, the Baudelaires learned after some very careful and inconspicuous research. So the older kids replaced their schooling with low-paying jobs. The family scraped by with a shabby apartment and canned food. If there was one thing the Baudelaire children were, it was scrappy.
Sunny buried her head into his shoulder, her grip becoming a little tighter. Klaus exhaled and rubbed her back a bit. “It’s okay, Sunny. Everything’s going to be okay.” He tried to believe that, he really did. He ignored the pit in his stomach telling him that wasn’t true.
With one last squeeze, Sunny pulled away. Klaus pulled away too, giving her a weak smile. “Why don’t you go make us something for dinner,” Klaus suggested, “Violet picked up more groceries this morning.” Sunny nodded and stood up. Klaus followed her as she walked back towards their apartment door.
He stopped for a moment as he entered the kitchen. Sunny had already busied herself with looking through the fridge. His fingers curled around the cardboard of the box of cigarettes in his pocket. With a sigh, Klaus tossed them in the trash and kept walking.
He ignored the way his fingers itch as he helped Sunny reach a pot on a high shelf. He ignored it as he punched in an order for an ungrateful customer. As he slid the bookmark out of his book. As he opened an envelope from a tax collector. The itch subsided as he placed some money on the counter and a box was handed to him.
Klaus flipped open the box and sat down on the stairs. Three and a half months, a new record.