Disgust, self-pity, annoyance. Emotions that Wednesday Addams is feeling right now. Not every day does she lay down her pride, put herself forward like a damsel in a dress, to ask someone to a dance she, herself, does not even want to go to.
She clicked her tongue as she walked the halls of Nevermore. The other students, sensing her mood, parted to clear her way, avoiding her like she'd kill them. Not that she wouldn't.
Wednesday clenched her fist. She could sense their stares. It seems Xavier wasted no time in telling everyone what happened. It's humiliating, demeaning as she catches bits of their whispers.
If, God forbid, that Xavier is the monster, she'd waste no time putting him behind bars where he belongs. From the way she's feeling just imagining it, you'd think she already made up her mind. Guilty!
Right now, she's just killing time, hesitant to go back to her dorm room. If these people already know, then for sure, her annoying roommate must've known first. The gossip queen of Nevermore, she calls herself. Wednesday could feel her blood boiling as she imagined the blog she'd make out of this.
Somehow, she can't do anything about it. Had it been anyone else, they would've been 6 feet under. Enid Sinclair has something about her that seems to lengthen Wednesday's patience. Maybe it's those colors preventing her from fully raining down her wrath on the girl. It would be… mutual destruction, after all.
'One day.' Wednesday promised herself. Not now, maybe someday in the future she'd re-enact her revenge for every annoyance that werewolf caused her.
Just as Wednesday turned halfway to a corner, she caught a glimpse of a familiar masked figure. She quickly hid behind a pillar, peeking only her head in an almost comedic manner. "Adam." Wednesday whispered, observing the place he's heading to. "That's… the library."
Wednesday felt her bag move, then felt something crawling upwards to her shoulder, Thing. Her eyes turned to her partner-in-crime. "Shall we?" Familiar with this call, Thing nodded, the severed part of his body connecting to his wrist moving up and down.
Her bold move in stalking Xavier worked. She's got valuable intel, albeit not incriminating enough, still intel nonetheless. If that worked, why can't this? The moment Adam entered, Wednesday creeped her way after him, her steps agile and silent. 'Show me who you are, Adam Cain.'
—-
The library of Nevermore is gigantic. Filled with books, tomes, journals from acclaimed authors all around the globe, or as Adam would like to imagine. He's here to explore, something he's been postponing for a while now. To catch a glimpse of what Larissa has been boasting about. Perhaps, a trait needed for a headmistress is to be boastful?
Regardless, he is grateful. Being in this treasure trove of knowledge is a gift, one that he will not let go to waste. Adam's eyes wandered around, reading the titles on the spine of each book.
The genres are separated into sections, categorized to academic, fiction, spiritual, and… occult. A school that recognizes the occult, that's to be expected in a place like Nevermore.
What caught Adam's interest, however, is a whole shelf dedicated to Edgar Allan Poe. Arguably, or not, the most famous alumni of Nevermore Academy. He has statues here, two of them. One in the courtyard, the other in where he first met Addams.
He picked a book, thin, hard-bound in leather, old and dusty. He patted the cover revealing the engraved - The Raven. 'Interesting.' Adam thought as he read the title. Somehow, it reminded him of that gothic girl. Her deep dark eyes, her jet-black hair, traits that could be described as 'raven-like.'
He sat down on a chair, opening the lamp as he unfurled the cover. The first stanza revealed itself to him:
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door—
Only this and nothing more."
'A poem.' Adam thought, like The Divine Comedy. But different, more modern, easier to digest. He read the second stanza, and then the third. 'Perhaps?'
Adam got to the third and fourth, a slow realization dawning on him as he read. Maybe the poem is not as simple as it presents itself, like rambling, the incessant thoughts of a mad man. Adam's ideas were confirmed by the succeeding stanzas.
The character began talking with the bird, the fowl from whom Adam would like to believe the school was named, Nevermore. It was named so as it is the only word it could say. The poem became… erratic, leaning to insanity than coherence.
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!—
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—
On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—
Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."
'This is about madness.' Adam concluded as he read. 'A man driven to insanity.' That conclusion begs another question: is the raven just the man's hallucination? Or is it real, driving him to insanity on purpose?
Grief turns to madness, or is it madness lit by grief? Whichever existed first could have shone light on the other. Nonetheless, it is the consequence of love. 'Lenore.' Adam remembered.
And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted—nevermore!
Love with no place in the world becomes grief. Grief with no end becomes madness. Madness leads to insanity. It is not a cycle, but a path chosen wrongfully under the blurred glass of pain.
"There is no greater sorrow than to recall our times of joy in wretchedness." Adam whispered, a line from Dante Alighieri. Perhaps, in his sorrow, the man drowned himself in his memories. Chaining himself to a past that gradually swallowed him whole.
'Let go, but never forget.' To move from grief is to let go. That is the truth. Adam closed the book, his fingers brushing the engraved title once more before standing up. 'Edgar Allan Poe. You are fascinating.'
Adam placed the book back on the shelf and, just as he was about to grab another one, he heard the sound of wood creaking and a thud, something hitting the ground. His head turned to the sound, a book fell, and perched on a shelf was… a hand, just a hand, stitched and scarred.
Like deer in headlights, Thing froze. "You are…" Adam stepped closer, his eyes lighting up despite the dark lighting of the library, "Wednesday's."
"Come." Adam said calmly, lending Thing a hand. It paused, hesitating as if looking around. After a second of contemplation, Thing crawled to Adam's palm as the man brought him to the table.
Thing, half-expecting Adam to be tricking him, was surprised by the gesture. But still! The act must go on! He can't know! Thing watched as Adam sat down in the chair again, and then he… just stared?
If Thing had a head, he'd be scratching it right now. Why is he just staring? Moreover, why is he staring like some starstruck child?!
Thing snapped his fingers, waking Adam up. "Ah… were you lost?" He asked, his tone curious. Thing tapped the table, earning a confused look from Adam. "Apologies, I… do not know your language." Adam paused to think, an idea entering his mind. "Tap the table once if it is "yes" and twice if not."
Thing tapped once, and Adam nodded, an agreement forming between them. "Fascinating. You can think." Adam said in amazement, "How is that possible?" Thing stood still, unsure of how to answer. "I'm sorry, that wasn't an easy question."
"I am just… amazed. That you are conscious. You have no brain, yet you can think." Thing, offended, formed a fist, threatening the masked man.
Adam chuckled as he leaned closer. "How is that possible? That you possess intellect despite having no head. Perhaps, your brain is somewhere inside you?" Thing slammed himself on the table.
"I'm sorry. I've overstepped." Adam replied, amused as the lamp reflected on his mismatched eyes. "Do you have the rest of your body?" He asked. Thing, calming down, tapped twice, a no.
"Mhm…" Adam replied. "Then, do you know who made you?" The question came out with much more intensity than the last, something Adam was unaware of. Thing paused, taken aback, before finally tapping twice.
Adam nodded his head in dismay. "Ah… I see." He replied, his tone hinting at a deeper melancholy.
He brought his gloved hands under the table, the melancholic feeling gone, replaced by an internal conflict. Adam took deep breaths, calming himself down. "Are you afraid of me?"
Thing could sense something was about to happen, something that could potentially help their case. He just needed to act. He tapped twice on the table, a no.
"Good." Adam replied, his tone grave and somber as one of his hands was grasping the other. Slowly, he pulled one of his gloves off, inch by inch. Thing leaned closer, wanting to see whatever he was hiding beneath that leather cover. "Do not be afraid." Adam whispered to Thing, or maybe… just maybe…
— to himself.
—-
"Oh my God! Wednesday Addams is going to the Rave'N!" Wednesday watched as her roommate jumped in excitement, squealing like some child given a candy. "My whole world is tilted!"
Enid leaned closer. "You know what you need now?" Wednesday rolled her eyes. "A bullet to the head."
"A dress!" Enid exclaimed like it's a big reveal. "I already have one." Wednesday retorted.
Enid cringed as she shook her head. "Not the one you showed up here in. That thing was a fashion emergency not even lightning could resuscitate." She paused, turning to Thing. "Thing, back me up here."
Much to Wednesday's dismay, Thing gave no response, just quietly sitting on her desk. Nevertheless, Enid continued. "You need something that screams, "First date. Stand back, bitches! I have arrived!" And I know just the place!"
Without waiting for her answer, Enid started packing her things into her… awfully colorful pink bag. "Come on! We're going shopping!"
"I haven't agreed yet." Wednesday replied, standing still to her side of the room. If any of that color touches her skin, she might go straight to a seizure.
Enid stomped her feet on the floor, like a kid throwing a tantrum. "Ugh! You really plan on going with that ridiculous dress?!"
Wednesday's death glare seemed to, as usual, not affect this werewolf in front of her. The goth girl sighed in resignation. While the validation of her peers, or anyone for that matter, isn't important to her, dressing up instead of looking absurd is still a must. More for herself, never for others.
Seeing her roommate finally relent, Enid giggled and continued packing up. Wednesday went to her table, picking up her bag to check her things. UV Flashlight, check; taser, check; camera, check; zip-ties… check.
'Good.'
No technology other than her camera. Everyone would've said to just bring a phone, but living a Neo-Luddite life is something she chose for herself. Death over being a slave to technology.
Just as Wednesday was pondering her lifestyle choices, Enid spoke from the other side of the room. "You know… I've been thinking…" her voice unsure, hesitant even. "Since Ajax did… you know, last night…"
"Spit it out." Wednesday interrupted, her patience running out. Enid paused, took one big breath. "I've been thinking if I should ask Adam to the Rave'N."
"…" Wednesday was… uncharacteristically, speechless. Enid, seeing her roommate and friend quiet, stepped closer, waving her hand in the air like a kid making excuses. "It's just to make Ajax jealous! Don't worry! I figured since you already have a date, and Adam didn't ask you even though he said he's interested, I figured I'll ask him instead and… also…"
And there she goes again, Enid's mouth became a blur to Wednesday. An endless barrage of nonsensical words was coming out of her mouth one by one. "But if you don't want to and you're uncomfortable, I won't ask him, and that's okay! I can just find another guy to ask, but Adam's cool, you know! And…"
"Enid!" Wednesday shouted, prompting the too-talkative-werewolf to quiet down. Why is she telling her? Why would she care whoever she comes with at that stupid dance? But… it's concerning, he is, after all, suspect number 2.
Wednesday pressed her lips together, opening and closing her mouth before finally. "No. You can't go with him."
Enid sat down on her bed, downcast, her fingers clutching each other. With a sigh, "Why? Do you two have something… you know… going on?"
Wednesday's gaze met Enid's disappointed eyes. "No. Nothing like that." She replied, her tone flat and casual. "Yoko saw you two together a lot at Pilgrim World."
The goth girl groaned internally. One thing that she hates the most is being at the center of a misunderstanding, especially in romantic subjects. "He's… suspicious." Wednesday stepped closer to the now-covered investigation board. "He's one of my suspects in this case. Think of this, Enid, he was admitted the very next day after Rowan died."
Enid eyed her roommate strangely. "You're still going on with that? We all saw Rowan!" Wednesday clenched her fists, her patience thinning. "Xavier asked Rowan if they could go snowboarding like they did last year. How could you explain Rowan's reply saying he can't make it?"
"Maybe he's busy or something?" Enid replied, shrugging. Wednesday let out a tired sigh. "Enid, they didn't go snowboarding last year."
"Oh…" was the only thing Enid could muster. "And there's something I haven't confirmed yet. Tyler told me his dad, the sheriff, found a Nevermore student at the forest the same night Rowan died."
Enid spoke slowly, her eyes widening. "And that Nevermore student could be…" Wednesday nodded, meeting her eyes. "It could be Adam, but he wasn't a Nevermore student that time, and he is now."
Wednesday continued, her voice icy and deliberate. "The reason I don't want you going with him isn't because I like him, nor is it because we have something. It's because he could be dangerous."
Enid froze, her hands tightening around the edge of her bed. "Dangerous? Like… how dangerous are we talking?"
Wednesday glanced at her investigation board, strings crisscrossing the photos and notes like a web. "Potentially deadly. Until I confirm otherwise, Adam is a walking question mark with blood on the edges."
Enid gulped, ears twitching nervously. "You really think he could… hurt someone? But he seems so… sweet. Like a giant clueless baby."
Wednesday stepped closer, her expression dark. "If he hasn't already, I suggest you reign in your fantasies. Clueless as he may be, a man wearing a mask and gloves all the time is not a 'baby.'"
'And then there's that matter.' Her eyes glanced at Thing, her usually annoying confidant still quiet, unmoving since earlier. What did they talk about? What did Thing see that seems to have pulled whatever soul he has left out of his body? No matter how much she tries, he won't talk, just won't budge.
Wednesday tried every threat she had on her book. Flaying, imprisonment, mutilation, but none that the severed hand would respond to. Even though he usually does.
The room went silent. Finally, Enid spoke in a whisper. "Okay… I won't ask him."
"Good," Wednesday turned to her again, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "Now, let's go get your ridiculous dress so I can survive this event without a migraine."
Enid's lips twitched into a small grin despite the tension. "You mean your dress too?"
Wednesday sighed. "Unfortunately."
"Thing, let's go." The hand moved, leaping to her backpack. 'So he's still alive.' Wednesday thought, feeling Thing moving in her backpack.
Just as they're about to leave, a question popped up inside Enid's mind. "If he's suspect number 2, who's number 1?"
Wednesday turned around halfway, their eyes meeting briefly as she turned the door knob open. "Xavier Thorpe."
—-
Revenge through justice— that's the theme of the book, "The Count of Monte Cristo." The story of Edmond Dantès as he delivered justice to his accusers, men who coveted his own, and men who hid behind their cowardice as injustice ruined him.
To Adam, it's a play of sin. How envy, lust, and greed present themselves as success, all for justice to rain down upon those who sinned like the sword of Damocles.
Danglars fell to his envy at Dantès' success and glory, wanting to take it for his own. In the end, he was left with nothing. No gold, no glory, no success—a meaningless life devoid of treasures and honor.
Gaspard Caderousse, a man who is nothing. A drunkard, cowardly thief, ruled by his greed— nonetheless, someone Dantès treated like a friend. In his cowardice, he let the accusation happen, despite his ability to stop it. Unlike the others, he was given a second chance, but squandered it like the greedy man he is.
The vice grip of the sin of greed is unrelenting and unkind.
Gérard de Villefort was a self-serving man with an ambition that surpassed his moral values and dignity. He's calculating, pragmatic, living a life of undeserved success. The treason, done by his father, was framed to Dantès to save his own name and power his agenda.
In the end, despite his political persona of cold and ruthless, he became mad. Insane from continual loss, left with no family to carry his most prestigious name.
Fernand Mondego coveted Dantès' fiancée, Mercèdès, for his own. Colluding with the others to satisfy his desire, he ultimately gained a noble status and wealth. He covered his past in a shroud of lies, murder, and treachery. But one's past never goes away; it crawls, like a demon of consequences reaching you ever so slowly.
Once it does, despair and ruination follow. Hands so sullied that they could make the purest of water polluted. In the end, in shame and humiliation, he took his own life with his own hands.
'Ironic,' Adam thought, that these men ended with the opposite of their desires. Danglars lived in poverty, Gaspard the coward died in a bold robbery, Gérard turned mad, and Mondego took his life. 'Betrayal is the greatest sin there is.'
Dante in the Divine Comedy reached the deepest part of hell just before purgatory. The ninth circle, Cocytus, a frozen lake for the betrayers. There he saw three men, chewed in the mouth of the devil — the first betrayer, Satan (Lucifer) himself.
Judas Iscariot who betrayed Jesus; Brutus and Cassius who betrayed Julius Caesar. Each one in one mouth of the three heads of the devil. But why is treachery the worst sin of them all? Why not murder? Why not lust? Why not the other heinous things the animalistic man can commit?
'It's because treachery encompasses all other sins not in degeneracy, but in thought.' Adam stood up, folding the book close as he placed it on his shelf. 'All creatures could fall under sin, under wrath, under lust - but treachery takes decision.'
'It is not innate. It takes intellect to betray, not just desire.' Adam clenched his fist as his mind pondered on the new knowledge he'd earned.
"Truth… justice… honor…" he whispered, slowly uncurling his hands. "Those are the laws we must abide… as creatures who think."
"But… what of truth, if I do not even know of my origin? What of justice, when I, myself, am a wreck? What of honor, when I am built from scraps?" Adam ran his hands to his face, an empty, hollowed abyss forming in his chest. "I am incomplete."
The talk with the hand whom he came to know was named Thing, proved… useless. The hand did not know who created him, or whose body he even belonged to. To it, he just is.
But how could Adam, not a mere hand, but one in a complete body that resembles man, accept such answers? How could he, whose spirit had long existed before his physical body, accept such answers? "Maker, why have you left me with no answer? Not even a glance of your existence?"
The glimmer of hope that he had. That perhaps Thing could shed some light on his creation is diminishing, fading like fire on a matchstick. Regardless of the emptiness, Adam felt no rage, no wrath. Merely a sense of incompleteness, a sense of grief, of sorrow for the knowledge he may never know.
"And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted—nevermore…"
—-