Truth and justice are two things that are never far from each other. Truth is the foundation, justice is the result. But what if one is lost? Can the other still stand on its own? If justice exists without truth, is it still justice? If truth exists without justice, then what is the truth for?
In the short amount of time after talking with Larissa, Adam went to Jericho's public library. He needed to… think, rest. He arrived at a one-floor building filled with second-hand books gathered from donations. It's small, but he found it warm. The smell of old paper, the feel of hard-bound covers felt like home, felt like comfort.
When the heart is heavy and troubled, the mind looks for distraction; his is reading. The thing he's most curious of right now is the town's founder. He found history books detailing the founding of Jericho - Joseph Crackstone, a pious pilgrim, a lover of peace, a pacifist. Adam read with an open mind, but he found it… skeptical. Too positive, too perfect.
Vices are something innate to man. Julius Caesar was a great conqueror and military genius, but he was arrogant and ambitious. Alexander the Great was the same, but his was rage, wrath. Vices cannot be removed completely, only controlled. No man is perfect, no man is God.
So he scoured other sources, other books, older ones. The back of the library contained older books detailing the founding of Jericho, all made by Normies except for one - "Echoes of Exile: Outcasts and Witch Hunts of Jericho." Adam read aloud, "by Mortimer Frump, 1950."
The book cover looks old, with nothing but the title written in cursive. Adam opened the book, welcomed by the aging paper, rough and fibrous. He could smell mold in the book, like it was trashed the moment it came here. "For Outcasts, banished from their homes." Adam read.
"This is… new." Adam muttered. The books he read said Outcasts and pilgrims lived in harmony. It said that Joseph Crackstone negotiated with the native leaders, building a settlement united in peace.
Adam flipped the page, reading each one with careful eyes, afraid to miss a word. As he read the book, his throat began clogging up, a knot began to tie itself in his stomach. Each page contained detailed accounts of atrocities - men, women, children, the old - victims of crimes that could make the common man gag.
"Burned alive… flayed… impaled…" Innocent Outcasts, killed mercilessly by invaders from another land. In their hands is a crucifix of their God, in the other, a sword for their enemies. "Enemies… their enemies were children." He mumbled. He got to another page with a header, "The Meeting House Massacre, 1625."
"Joseph Crackstone assembled the inhabitants of the early Jericho settlement under the pretense of order and unity. With the support of armed followers, he led a violent purge against the native Outcast population, binding them in chains and shackles before condemning them to death by fire. This brutal act of persecution would come to define one of the darkest chapters in Jericho's early history, leaving a legacy of fear, division, and injustice that echoed through generations."
Adam paused, digesting what he had just read. Below the paragraph is another small account, "From the devastation, only a single survivor emerged: Goody Addams. In a cruel twist of history, she would later become the instrument of Crackstone's demise, ending his life not long after the massacre he had orchestrated."
"Addams…" Adam whispered, remembering the face of a certain pale girl. 'Could this be her predecessor?' Adam pondered, remembering the look she gave on the Meeting House painting at Crackstone's exhibit.
Adam concluded in his mind that Wednesday is aware, and could very well be actively looking for this truth.
'Addams.' The only one who's never looked at him in fear. Would she still be as fearless once she witnessed his true nature? He let out a deep sigh before remembering something. "The hand. The moving hand."
Seeing that hand for a short while, he felt some sort of… kinship. Adam looked around the library, seeing no one in sight, not even the librarian who looked at him with disgust when he entered. He took off one of his gloves, revealing the scarred, stitched hand that is underneath.
He analyzed it, comparing it to Wednesday's… pet? That thing's stitching were rough, like the wounds never healed. His were, God-forbid, perfect. As if each stitching was merely designed. Had it not been for the scars, it would've looked like a tattoo.
Another question formed in his mind, how could it think? He saw the subtle signals Wednesday sent to it, it understood. Like it had a brain. But how could something without a head form consciousness? It defies nature… like him. For a moment, a hopeful thought entered his mind - what if whoever created that hand, created him?
Adam clenched his fist, his pale skin turning even paler. 'It's possible.' But if one man could defy nature's law, what's stopping another? Nonetheless, he made up his mind. He will ask. Only a fool would let this knowledge pass without doing anything with it.
Adam put on his glove again, reaching for his inner pocket to bring out his hand-clock. He whispered, "It's time." He began returning the books to where he found them, careful and gentle. He paused on the last one, the Echoes of Exile, the book that brought to light the darkness he's been looking for. He gave one last feel on the old book before returning it to the quiet corner he found it from.
—-
The afternoon breeze could be felt in the air. Nevermore students and staff, along with the town's locals, began gathering at the memorial ceremony. In front of the Church is a bronze statue in pilgrim clothes, the man himself - Joseph Crackstone standing in a fountain.
To the left is a row of chairs for officials of the town and the school. To the right is a colorful band with one person looking out of place, Wednesday Addams in a death glare standoff with Crackstone's statue.
Adam took a seat in a free space, surrounded by his fellow Nevermore students. Adjacent to them were the town locals; he could see disgust in their eyes, a quiet prejudice that threatened to explode when provoked. He could feel it, hell, he could probably touch it. Almost 400 years of history, but disdain doesn't go away with time.
'This town… reeks.' Adam thought as he peered at the locals' side. Do they know? Do they know the atrocities their forefathers committed? He asked himself. Perhaps they do and choose to ignore it; perhaps they do not and are blinded by whitewashed history. Regardless, the prejudice is etched in their very ancestry. The kids of the locals whisper to themselves as they glance over. 'Even their children.'
'Justice. Truth. Where are they? Lost in this town's God-forsaken past. They relinquished the sword and rope, now brandishing their hate with words.' Adam clenched his jaw, feeling anger bubble up inside him, anger he doesn't quite understand himself. Perhaps, in his difference, he's already identified himself as an outcast.
"Humans fear what they don't understand…" He whispered, remembering the words of the macabre-incarnate girl. "And fear polishes hate…" But could it have come from the simple fact of incomprehension; or is it purposeful ignorance, cultivated with attention spanning centuries?
As Adam was thinking, he felt a tap on his shoulder that shook his mind awake. "Hey…" he heard someone say beside him, familiar. He turned to his right, seeing… colors. Gold, shades of blue, purple, pink… "Hey!" He heard a call once more. "Ah.." Adam whispered.
He looked down, noticing the person's face - Wednesday's friend from last time, the one who cornered him. "You've been whispering like crazy! Are you okay?" She asked, leaning closer. When Adam didn't answer, an idea struck her mind. "Oh! I forgot to introduce myself last time! I'm Enid! Only the gossip-queen of Nevermore herself!" She said with excitement, contrasting Adam's mood.
Adam was speechless. "Apologies, I was just… confused." He replied. "You introduced yourself fine before." Enid huffed. "I knew it! I thought you forgot! It's okay, you're kinda new so I get it."
A moment of silence passed between them, an awkward tension slowly building itself up as Adam didn't know what to reply and Enid was just… smiling with anticipation. "Sooo… are you and Wednesday friends?" She asked, breaking the silence.
Adam shook his head. "Acquaintance is better appropriate." Enid leaned back, curiosity in her eyes. "Aww… too bad, you two kinda give off the same vibes."
He tilted her head, confused. "Vibes?" Enid nodded. "Intimidating. Mysterious, the whole package, you know?" The girl answered, misunderstanding Adam's confusion. Nonetheless, he nodded, reading between the lines what this 'vibes' word meant.
"I am… merely curious about her." Enid's eyes widened, like a hungry beast seeing prey. "You're interested in her!?" She asked, a tad bit too loud for the boy's liking. Still, he nodded, surprising her even more. "OMG! Looks like Xavier has a rival!" She said giddily.
'A rival?' Why would his curiosity constitute a rivalry? And who is this Xavier? "Why are you interested in her?" Enid asked, scooting over to his side, "Come on, tell me!" She said persistently. Adam's face twitched, taking his eyes off the girl to look at Wednesday sitting by the marching band.
Slowly, articulating the proper words in his mind, he opened his mouth. "She… opens my mind to a window only she could perceive." Enid stared at him blankly. She expected something like, "She's pretty," or "Her eyes are beautiful," not whatever he said.
"It's interesting, don't you think, how she developed such extremities?" He added. Enid blinked, her bright smile faltering for a second as she tried to process Adam's words. "…Sooo… you think she's smart?" she asked, tilting her head.
Adam stared blankly, then nodded. "Yes. Her mind is… profound. It dwells where others refuse to tread."
Enid giggled, covering her mouth. "Wow, that is the most Wednesday-approved compliment I've ever heard. You guys are perfect for each other and don't even know it!"
'Perfect for each other? What does she-' before Adam could process, Mayor Walker and Larissa walked up the stage. The event is starting, he thought.
Mayor Walker stood in front of the podium, a mic pointed at him. "Thank you! It is my honor to celebrate our town's history and Jericho's noble forefather - Joseph Crackstone." He turned around, presenting the statue. "Now, he believed that with a happy heart and an open ear…
—-
"…there was nothing our town couldn't achieve."
Excitement - that's what Wednesday is feeling at this very moment. A smile is threatening to reveal itself in her face, fought back by a deep scowl she's so desperately trying to cover it with. The Mayor's obnoxious voice filled the air. Beside him on the stage is Principal Weems, her overly polite smile infesting the air around her.
'They make a good pair.' She humorously thought. "So together as one, our community and our friends at Nevermore Academy, we've built…"
'Friends. How utterly preposterous. Even now he separates them.' Her eyes turned to Crackstone's statue. The thought of tuition funding this statue's creation is making her sick in the stomach. She could see the students' excitement, blissful in their ignorance of how they're contributing to the lies that this town is built on.
She could see Enid, giggling as she talked with her frie- Adam? Wednesday narrowed her eyes, seeing the two talk. Her roommate, as usual, looked giddy, while the other, Adam, looked unfazed. He glanced at her, their eyes meeting before he turned to Enid.
"Now, may the spirit of Joseph Crackstone be memorialized for eternity!" Then music played, Wednesday's fingers grasp her cello's bow, moving before her mind could even follow. This is muscle memory to her, a skill honed to perfection by her relentless pursuit of excellence. 'Fleetwood Mac,' she clicked her tongue, 'who CAN'T play a Fleetwood Mac?'
After taking pictures for the papers, the Mayor pressed the comedically giant red button on the podium, opening the fountain's water. The crowd cheered, some locals even throwing their arms up like some crazed fanatic. Wednesday smirked. 'This is the cue.'
From under the seats, Thing lit up a match, starting a trail of fizz on the ground. The crackling sound startled the ice cream vendor near the gazebo. Why is there even a gazebo near a Church? Slowly, it went around the stage, reaching a plank behind the fountain. The crackling sound paused - then boom!
An explosion! A pillar of fire rose from under Crackstone's statue, startling everyone present - all except Wednesday Addams. The marching band stopped, the people screamed, and Wednesday's cello began playing a different tune.
Amidst the screams and panic, her hand moved intensely, the Fleetwood Mac gone, replaced by Vivaldi's "Winter." Inside, in the deepest corner of her cold, black heart, Wednesday felt joy as she watched the chaos ensued.
Students, Jericho's locals, the news crew - all running, running from the fire that she lit. This is her world, her orchestra. Wednesday looked around, the fleeing people, the fiery fountain, their panics and scream as she continues to play her piece. Yet, what caught her dark, cruel eyes were not their fear, not the way they look in terror at what she caused, but the figure of Adam Cain standing alone as he watched.
His amber and dark eyes glistening from the fire, the brightest she'd ever seen. It was like the sun, radiant. He stood there, a crowd of his own, his eyes locked on her as she intensifies even more. The people fled, some stayed and watched from afar while he didn't move a muscle.
Just watching, watching with child-like wonder. Wednesday's eyes disregarded everyone else, hers meeting his. If he wants a performance, she'd give him one - in fire and ash.
Slowly, she let him in her world. A deep darkness that could swallow anyone whole. In her world, they alone existed. Fear should've been what he exuded, but peace is what greeted Wednesday.
Soon, the screams and the fire calm down. Wednesday's lone figure, the sound of her cello could be seen and heard clearly by everyone who didn't ran too far. Vivaldi's Winter couldn't have been any more colder, except it did in the hands of this 16-year old girl.
To some, it looked terrifying - a girl in all black, pale skin, and dead eyes - playing a cello piece in front of a pillar of fire before a Church. To some, it looked poetic, an art even - her morbidly calm face as everything falls apart around her.
Wednesday got to the last few notes, stretching it even further, adding her own touch to the composition. The final note echoed into the cold air, and for a moment, silence reigned. Smoke rose from the cracked base of the fountain, and the last droplets of water hissed and turned to steam on the scorched bronze of Crackstone's statue.
Then, a slow clap broke through the stillness. Adam Cain, standing where he had been all along, his eyes never leaving hers, brought his gloved hands together deliberately. One. Two. Three. The sound was sharp against the backdrop of distant panicked murmurs.
Wednesday lowered her bow, her gaze locked on his. "You didn't run," she said, her voice soft, but it carried in the quiet aftermath. Adam stepped forward, the firelight casting his mask half in shadow. "Why would I?" he replied calmly. "I've never heard something like this. It's… beautiful."
A faint twitch at the corner of her mouth - almost a smile, appeared. "You're mad."
"Mad men don't tell truths." He replied.
She tilted her head. "And sane men run from explosions."
Adam chuckled, his eyes glinting like embers to light. "Then perhaps, we are both mad." A quiet hum left Wednesday. "Agree to disagree." She replied.
Wail of sirens rang from afar, and a crowd began forming around them. Students, locals, and the furious face of Principal Weems coming to their direction. Not even half-way there, Wednesday heard a yell. "Wednesday Addams!"
At the sound, Adam turned around just as Weems breezed pass him. "Show's over." Wednesday whispered as the Principal's figure tower over her. "We have a lot to discuss." She said firmly, to which Wednesday simply nodded, unbothered.
—-
Adam, back in his room, sat on the ground. His back against the frame of his bed, his favorite position to be in. Something about sitting beside your bed is comfortable to him. Maybe it's the irony in it, who knows.
Ever since returning, he's been playing the same scene in his head over and over again. He can't focus, can't read properly, evident by the book lying by his side. Alexander Dumas would've stomped the ground seeing his masterpiece ignored.
'Music, how wonderful it is.' Adam thought. Music. It's the foundation of living. It's what gives the world colors. It takes a piece of wood and turns it in to the most beautiful melody in the world. A piece of string can capture the very essence of all that's beautiful and living.
For the first time, Adam heard music. Not just the sound of trumpets - raw, unfiltered music from none other than Wednesday Addams.
As fire raged and calm around her, she played, uncaring. The most beautiful sound Adam has ever heard. He could still hear it ringing in his head, still hear the cold melody in the air.
Then a soft knock woke him. "Come in." Adam said, the door opening as if on cue. Larissa, wearing a coat entered, carrying something behind her. Larissa closed the door behind her with a soft click, her eyes scanning Adam's dimly lit room. The faint smell of old books and candle wax lingered in the air.
"I came to apologize." She said, her voice calm but carrying the weight of responsibility.
Adam looked up, meeting her gaze. "Why?" He replied.
"My concern shouldn't overturn your life." She replied softly, "Your choice is what matters most."
Adam stood up, gesturing for Larissa to seat. The two sat in silence on his bed, both not daring to say a word. Larissa, sensing the atmosphere, broke the silence firs. "I brought you a gift." She said, putting the thing she'd been carrying between them.
A wooden box with… knobs around it, and a stick with a needle at the end. "It's a vinyl player. It plays music when you put something like this," she points at a black disc, "at the top, then press this button." A melody began playing from the box, the same one Wednesday played, but less… intense.
Adam's eyes widened, surprised. If he hadn't known better, he would've called it sorcery. His eyes turned to Larissa who's watching him close. Slowly, he opened his mouth. "Thank you…" he said, grateful.
Larissa nodded, smiling before her face turned serious. "As you've seen today, Ms. Addams has a certain flare for chaos. She's unstable, unruly, and…" she paused before a sigh left her, "cruel."
Adam tilted his head. "I'll be the judge of that." He replied. Larissa's eyes met his. His once clueless eyes are now filled with wisdom, but behind it, she could still see that innocence he carries. Larissa's hand grasped his shoulder. "Promise that you'd be careful around her."
"I promise." Adam replied without hesitation. Larissa smiled. "That's all I ask." She said, standing up, heading to the door. Her hand grasped the door knob, turning once more to look at the boy. "Good night, Adam."
Larissa left quietly, the door clicking shut. Only Adam and the record player was left in the silence of his own room.
—-