There was silence again, and then… merciless life.
Adam's eyes shot open. The first thing he felt was the wind, stroking his body, a cold, soaking ache settling on the side of his neck. 'It… hurts.' On his back, he felt something different, a surface unlike the soft embrace of his bed, leaves grown and withered. The whole of his body felt stiff, encased in stone, petrified by Medusa's unforgiving gaze.
The sharp pain, the gushing blood, the beast he fought — the kid, Eugene. The memories came rushing back faster than a raging avalanche on a snowstorm. He died, then he lived. For a brief, brief moment — he felt the silence of death. The air was taken from his lungs, the life taken from his soul. But, as inevitable as the rising of the sun, his heart beat once more.
Adam moved, stretching his arms upward, reaching for a pedestal only he seemed to see. He moved ever so slowly, he felt his joints crack, his muscles contort, betraying the death of his material form. The blood came rushing back in his veins, carrying a renewed strength, unnatural and unholy.
He pushed himself up, he could feel a stabbing pain in his feet, a thousand needles piercing through his numb soles. He creaked, an old chest opening after a thousand years. The pale giant in the sky watched, soaking him in its light, and then, akin to a drowning man, he breathed.
For a second, there was a burning sensation in his throat, quenched only by the air so cold and sweet it felt like nectar from the gods. His mind was dazed, but his rationality endured. He'd awakened, now with questions. How does one react to knowledge such as this? In discovering your immortality, your transcendence over what all considers inevitable.
Most men would rejoice, for they had conquered what is unconquerable. Resist what is unstoppable. Vanquished what cannot be. They had defeated death. Yet in Adam's heart, there is only one emotion that persists — that is, grief.
Because in this mystery was the last strand keeping him grounded from the thought of his monstrosity. If he dies, so be it; he is like every other mortal of flesh and blood. But if he cannot? If he, unlike any other, prevailed in the palm of the Grim Reaper, damned is all he is.
He wanted to scream. He wanted to wail, a child whose gift was taken back. A child who lost what he considers precious. A child, abandoned and desecrated. But he did not. What would his scream do? What would his wail change? He was created, and he cannot be undone.
That is true, that is fact, that… is eternal. So he resigned. For another brief moment, only he existed. The heavens he was under, the stars that shine in the deepest darkest corner of the vast emptiness of space. He, alone, is accursed.
'The beast…' Cold water washed over him. 'Eugene…' he turned his head, feeling the built-up dried blood on his neck as he moved. There was no pain anymore; there was no wound. His eyes did not just see the boy, but also another. A face familiar to him, a person whom he often thinks of, Addams, bloodied from head to toe.
What happened while he was out? Why is she covered in blood? His eyes locked on hers, seeking answers from what he could see. She looked surprised, not frightened like the kid behind her, merely… taken aback.
Adam was about to step closer when his vision turned dark for a second and a soft thud hit the ground. Perhaps, did his vision flicker? He asked himself before he felt the wind grazing past his face. 'My ma—'
"Adam…" before he could panic, before the realization dawned on him, he heard the voice of the girl in front of him, softer, tired. "Wednesday…" he replied hoarse and breaking, a primal instinct developed from interacting with people around him.
Her eyes changed, and for a second, Adam dreaded it was fear. He had expected it, imagined it countless times in his head. That this girl who looked at him without fear, without intimidation, would react just like those pilgrims in Outreach Day. But what followed was not what he had prepared for.
Wednesday did not run, did not look at him with terror-laced eyes. She… stepped forward, and looked at him with awe, with reverence. And she opened her mouth, a sense of innocence permeating from her. "What… are you?"
She looked at him not like an alien, disgusting and repulsive. But with interest, a scholar to a textbook. A painter to art. A poet to words. Wednesday looked curious, a light shone bright in her eyes, eclipsing the darkness around them.
Adam froze. He had expected resistance, fear, a scream perhaps. Not… fascination, awe, reverence. Not however it is she looked at him right now. It's unsettling, faced with this reaction when you braced for another. Adam was about to open his mouth, to reveal what he had long hidden from the world, maybe she'd accept him as well. He was about to, until a heavy thud clattered behind her.
Adam's eyes went past her and Wednesday turned. Eugene, sprawled on the ground, passed out like a candle fire put out. Once again, Adam remembered the boy. Quickly, he crouched to pick up his bloody mask, putting it over his face to cover himself.
"Oh my God! What happened here!?" A yell sounded now from behind Adam. They both turned, Ms. Thornhill, panicking and bloody like Wednesday, standing there as she covered her mouth.
—-
The Rave'N Incident, they call it. Lucas Walker, the mayor's son, coordinated with his friends to set up a prank none of them expected. Bathing the joyous Rave'N dance in blood-red paint. It was ingenious, smart, infiltrating the event in the guise of a date. The cold betrayal even had Wednesday impressed. Nonetheless, that's strike 3.
In her books, 3 strikes meant a painful retaliation or death. Depending on her mood, really. Fortunately for him, her revenge would come at a later date. More important matters came up.
For example, one of the suspects on her list was written off. Meaning, it's only Xavier Thorpe who's the center of her investigation board. Another is her vision; she's gotten it after bumping into someone, that could only mean that the monster was at the Rave'N at the time of the incident. Last but not least, of course, well, it's probably the most important out of all them — Adam Cain, once again.
The day after that night felt like a lucid dream. Albeit not a nightmare like the countless ones she usually has, or is it? The man whom she was sure was dead, gone, deceased — resurrected right in front of her very eyes. Spoke to her with clarity, and then walked back to his dorm room like nothing ever happened.
Maybe she'd seen wrong? Maybe he wasn't dead and was in fact alive. Except he wasn't, for a moment, that is. No one survives a cut from the neck that deep; Wednesday heard him gurgling his own blood as the life faded from his body.
'Those scars…' especially those scars. The place was dark, but she could see them as clear as day. He had countless scars in his face; a portion of his skin didn't match, half of his nose isn't even of the same skin tone. It looked morbid, gruesome, "beautiful."
She knew, from the moment she'd laid eyes on that masked man, that something was different from him. An eerie, unnatural feeling she didn't quite understand. But she knows now. "Frankenstein's creature." Wednesday whispered.
Her fingers stopped typing; another error. Without a second thought, she snatched the paper off the typewriter, crumpling it before dumping it in her bin. Today is Sunday, and Sunday meant the whole day was writing time. However, she just can't seem to make any progress.
She's too distracted, her mind too full of questions from an answer she so desperately looked for and found. Tap, tap, tap. Wednesday turned her eyes from the typewriter to Thing. "I can't focus." Wednesday frowned.
Thing tapped again, replying. "How can I ask him if I haven't seen him at all?" She rolled her eyes. "He doesn't come for breakfast, for lunch, for dinner." She clicked her tongue as she reloaded the typewriter. "With his… constitution, he could stay holed up in his room forever."
Thing, reeking of sarcasm, gave Wednesday a series of signs. The girl blinked once. "Of course. Why didn't I think of that?" Just go to his room, simple, polite. Perhaps too many mischievous activities began corrupting the rational part of her mind.
Wednesday got up, sling her leather backpack over her shoulder, blew the candle beside her typewriter. "I'll get answers from him." She looked around her room, seeing if she missed anything. Noticing nothing, she walked towards her door. "Or I'll force it out of him, one way or the other."
With a soft click, her door closed and Wednesday quickly made her way out Ophelia Hall. Wednesday's footsteps echoed against the stone hallway, each tap a quiet declaration of her resolve. Ophelia Hall was full of students as usual, girls. The walls were bathed in the muted glow of late afternoon light filtering through the tall windows. Dust motes hung suspended in the air, swirling with every step she took. Thing rummaged inside her backpack, most probably making himself comfortable.
The hand confessed everything when she relayed what she found. Out of some weird sense of kinship, he decided to hide what Adam revealed to him at the library. Wednesday could see some logic in that, forgiving the hand came easy with that knowledge.
In the courtyard, she could hear the chatter of students talking with their friends. Still the same topic, the Rave'N. A night of joy turning into a full-blown crimson-red stampede.
Identifying the culprit didn't take long, revealed not even an hour after everyone settled down. No one was surprised that it was Lucas Walker, the pilgrim boy was like a plague of prejudice and everything bigot for Outcast students visiting Jericho. 'At least his father does a better job at hiding it.' Wednesday mused.
Soon, she reached the building where Adam was roomed in. The faculty dorm, not part of any of the other 4 halls. Right between the Thisbie and the Caliban. 'Another why solved, I suppose.'
As she approached Adam's dorm room, she felt the air grow heavier, a palpable tension that pricked her skin. She paused just before the door, her hand hovering over the doorknob. A part of her welcomed the anticipation, the thrill of uncovering the dark truth she had long suspected. The other part—small but undeniable—felt an unfamiliar flutter, perhaps curiosity, or something more.
A faint creak emanated from within the room. Breathing? Or the shifting of old wood? She knocked, once, twice. Silence. Wednesday frowned, just as she was about to break in. "Come in." A deep voice from inside the room spoke, beckoning her.
Wednesday grasped the knob, turning it open with excitement emanating from her chest. Inside, the room was dim, curtains drawn tight. The smell of paper and hard-bound books filled her senses. Shadows draped over everything, the light was off, the room was lit only by the filtered sunlight blocked by the curtains.
One thing about Wednesday, or any Addams for the matter — none of them fears the dark. From the far end of the room, Wednesday felt a movement. The wooden floor creaked under the heavy footsteps of whoever, whatever was approaching her. Then the strand of sunlight hits his face, illuminating his mask, new and unscathed.
"Adam." Wednesday called, meeting the man—no, creature's gaze. "Off with the mask." Wednesday said with not an ounce of fear in her voice.
"Why are you here?" Adam replied, tilting his head as he narrowed his eyes towards this girl, Wednesday Addams. The goth girl, unblinking, replied. "You haven't answered my question yet."
Adam let out a sigh, watching the girl bravely confront him. Slowly, he raised his hands towards the buckle, the only things hindering this goth girl from her obsession with his identity.
And so the mask came off, but before Wednesday could properly see, Adam turned towards the curtains. With a resolute stride, he parted the covers, letting the sun inside the room. His face, now even more visible under the light, became an even bigger wonder for Wednesday.
She stepped closer, inching in front of him, her head barely reaching his chest. Adam could feel her analyzing gaze, her sharp eyes taking in every scar, every feature of his face.
Adam looked back and could feel her eyes held no judgement, no fear, no disgust. "Are you satisfied?" He asked. Wednesday hummed. "You haven't answered my question." Her eyes left the crevices of his face, turning to his eyes. "What are you, Adam Cain?"
Adam's throat tightened, the words clinging to the back of his tongue like a curse. He had spoken so rarely of what he was, even to himself, that to give it voice now felt like undoing the fragile balance he had built in silence. How could he answer? Should he renounce his humanity, right here and now?
"I… don't know," he said at last, his voice low, a rumble against the still air of the room. The memory of last night fresh in his mind. Death, losing his grip on him. "Not anymore."
Wednesday tilted her head, her braids shifting slightly as she studied him. Her eyes, sharp and unyielding, reflected the dim sunlight that slipped past the curtains. "You don't know," she repeated, as if tasting the uncertainty on her tongue. "Or you refuse to admit it?"
Adam didn't flinch. Instead, he stepped back, putting a careful distance between them, the floorboards groaning under his weight. "I am Adam Cain, that much is true. A name given to me by Larissa in my wake." He paused, clenching his fist, free of gloves and veils. "To answer your question, in the manner of my being. That, I… don't know."
He reached for the curtain, covering the room in darkness once more. "I simply came to be. I just am."
Wednesday narrowed her eyes. "You're immortal, have superhuman strength, and the ability to regenerate from grave wounds. You didn't just came to be, Adam. There has to be mo—."
"But I don't know!" Adam shouted, the tone of his voice heavier than he intended. Wednesday took a step back, her eyes widening in his reaction. "I have no memory, no birth. I… was made."
His hand grasped the collar of his shirt. "I… don't know what I am. I thought myself human, denying what's obvious. How laughable, I'm not even of the same nature as man, as you." Adam brought his collar down, exposing the scar on his chest atop his heart. "My heart is set not by the rhythm of God's breath or a mother's womb, but by another man's hands."
"Look at me, Addams. Do I look human to you?" The intensity of Adam's voice began to waver down, fading like an extinguishing fire. "Here is an answer for your question… a monster."
The room fell silent except for the soft rustle of the curtains in the draft. Wednesday approached without hesitation, closing the gap she had made. She reached out, not to touch him, but to gesture at his chest. Wednesday traced her fingers in the air, making a map out of the lines on his body.
"Everyone's a monster." She finally said. "Some of us have a good job at hiding it. Some of us, not so much." Adam's breath hitched, the weight of her words heavier than the stones that seemed to cling to his chest. Wednesday continued. "At most, you're a victim of a bigger one. A more ferocious and terrifying monster."
Wednesday's fingers continued tracing the air, sketching with the air as her canvas. Finally, she got to her face. "Do you know who?" She asked.
Adam shook his head slowly, his eyes meeting the floor, he bit his lips as it quivered. "No…" Wednesday nodded. "Then I'll help you find them."
Her certainty cut through the dim room like sunlight. Adam, for the first time since he awoke in that cold bed of leaves, felt the faintest tremor of something he couldn't name — perhaps hope, or perhaps the fear of it. "How? Why? I told you, I have no memories. There's no hope."
"You say there's none yet the first thing you ask is how." Wednesday retorted, her hand stopped moving, suspended in the air. "Your brain might not have a clue," slowly, her finger touched the end of the scar on his throat, "but this one has."
Adam, confused, tilted his head. Wednesday sighed at his reaction, her expression turning blank. "Your body. The whole thing is a giant clue."
"Ah…" Adam let the words settle, the echo of Wednesday's voice lingering in the heavy air of the room. He had spent every moment since his awakening recoiling from himself, shielding the truth with a mask and shadows. Yet here, in the dim light, with her eyes sharp and relentless, there was no wall left to hide behind.
"My body… a clue," he murmured, lifting his hands to his face as if to feel the seams of his own existence. He traced the faint ridges of scars running along his jaw and down to the mismatched skin of his cheeks. He thought of the chest scar, the strange stitching that held him together, and the absence of memory that made the silence of death feel more familiar than any life he had lived.
Wednesday's voice broke through his thoughts, smooth yet unyielding. "You're a map, Adam. If there's anything I know about mad scientists, it's that they tend leave traces of those madness in their projects."
Her lips curved — not a smile, no, but of fascination and insanity in the levels of obsession. "We find that, we find who created you."
"What if there's none?" Adam asked, a counter to the hope impending to swallow him whole. The curve in Wednesday's lips fell as quickly as it rose. "Then I lose, and your Victor wins."
Adam doesn't understand, but that short statement, not even of assurance nor confidence, made him more hopeful than any comforting words could.
"Why… are you helping me?" He asked again. Wednesday's eyes, for the first time, bore conflict in them. "I thought… I thought I'd solve Rowan's cover-up the moment I reveal your true identity." She paused, letting a sigh out. "But in doing so, I found myself an even bigger mystery. If you should know anything about me, I don't like leaving puzzles unsolved."
"So don't mistake it for kind help. I'm using you to satisfy my own interest." She said finally, scowling as she did. As cold and sharp as her remarks, Adam felt the opposite. A certain warmth that could only come from understanding, a warmth that could rekindle hope. Another question, however, began forming in his mind.
"Who's Rowan?"
—-