We all know that our time in this world is limited, and that eventually all of us will end up underneath some sheet, never to wake up. And yet it is always a surprise when it happens to someone we know. It is like walking up the stairs to your bedroom in the dark, and thinking there is one more stair than there is. Your foot falls down, through the air, and there is a sickly moment of dark surprise as you try and readjust the way you thought of things. The Baudelaire orphans were crying not only for their Uncle Monty, but for their own parents, and this dark and curious feeling of falling that accompanies any great loss.

What was to happen to them? Stephano had heartlessly slaughtered the man who was supposed to be watching over the Baudelaires, and now they were all alone.

What would Stephano do to them? He was supposed to be left behind when they went to Peru, and now he would be leaving with them on the Prospero. And what terrible things would happen in Peru? Would anybody rescue them there? Would Stephano get his hands on the fortune? And what would happen to the three children afterward? These are frightening questions, and if you are thinking about such matters, they require your full attention, and the orphans were so immersed in thinking about them that they didn’t realize that Stephano was about to collide with another automobile until the moment of impact.

There was a horrible tearing sound of metal and glass as a black car crashed into Uncle Monty’s jeep, throwing the children to the floor with a jarring thump that felt as though it left the Baudelaire stomachs up on the seat. The black suitcase lurched into Violet’s shoulder and then forward into the windshield, which immediately cracked in a dozen places so it looked like a spiderweb.

Stephano gave a cry of surprise and turned the steering wheel this way and that, but the two vehicles were locked together and, with another thump, veered off the road into a small pile of mud. It is a rare occurrence when a car accident can be called a stroke of good fortune, but that was most certainly the case here. With the snake-shaped hedges still clearly visible behind them, the Baudelaires’ journey toward Hazy Harbor had stopped.