Secrets

Chapter 10

Asking questions but receiving no answers is a rather frustrating and horrible way to go through one's life. Sometimes the answers are easy to acquire by merely taking the time to find them. For instance, if you wanted to find out the square root of 100 or learn the true reason as to why parrots learn to talk, the best way is to pick up a book and research or browse through the nearest site of information. Yet, sometimes the answers can never be found no matter how hard you might look; even after spending years and years listening through walls or reading mountains of books or disguising oneself as a stuffed lion to hear the horrid details of a recent crime at a mediocre cocktail party. There has always been one question that I have asked myself over and over, even scratching it on the back of my sister's beloved rocking horse long after she has put it away in hopes that one day her own child might use it.

Why did my beloved Beatrice have to die?

I have never found the answer and the pain of never knowing what might have happened had the circumstances been different or perhaps a villainous monster had not been pursuing her all those years later has haunted my every waking and sleeping nightmare. It is like a burning fire in the mind that will never be extinguished, like my beloved's house.

However, the question Holly S asked herself as she stood in front of a mechanical device, typing in the desired code and waiting would receive the most dreadful answer as she heard this on the other end:

"Please leave a message after the tone..." a mechanical voice at the other end of the telephone line answered.

Holly sighed heavily, her eyes filled with tears. She hated hearing the mechanical device's answer to the question that was in her mind of whether her father was home yet. She had gathered what little pocket change she could find in order to make this call, to hear from her guardian, and to have one of the many questions she had resolved, a phrase which here means, extinguishing the fire burning inside her mind.

It had been almost a week or so since Holly had been enrolled in Prufrock Preparatory School and so far, things just seemed to be making the girl ask more questions. The group of friends had done very little to find any of their own answers that they were seeking; including how their parents knew one another and this secret book that the Baudelaires and the Quagmires were looking for that they believed was the key to solving all these mysteries. The entire group had gone to the library to ask for advice from the librarian after the designated ten minutes, but unfortunately, they had been caught by the wicked principal and were actively shamed for breaking the rules, despite the rule seemingly being the most ridiculous one of all.

The brown-haired girl leaned her arm against the wall and rested her head there, contemplating what to say to the man she missed dearly. She swallowed a lump in her throat as she heard the tone.

"Papa..." she said, trying not to sound as sad as she felt. "It's me... I... I just wanted to call and see if you were home yet. I miss you a lot and I wanted to hear your voice again. I've made some friends here at school so it's slightly better than before and I'm playing you and Mama's favourite songs whenever I can... it helps me feel closer to home and you. I hope that wherever you are you can hear the music. I hope you come back soon, and you can meet my friends..."

"Hey Cakesniffer, other people have parents they would like to call too," one of the students behind her called out. The student folded his arms sternly and glared at the young girl as she made this emotional call. He was obviously one of Carmelita's lackeys, a word which means a person who aligns themselves with another individual, who is often rude and loudly opinionated and gives him or her their blinding support in either the unpleasant chants that they create or enforce the insults the leader created. It was obvious to Holly that he was cruelly jeering at her because he thought he would get his way like the spoiled Carmelita Spats often did. And unfortunately, he was right. Holly had heard this nickname one too many times since she'd come to the school, and she'd rather spend the rest of her life on a desert island if it meant never having to hear this pastry-related insult again. She sighed, deciding to avoid any further chants or insults by ending her call.