'In my dreams, I see… memories.'
Flesh knitted, sewn together like cloth. Muscles, ligaments, nerved — bonded, and sutured like God creating man from clay. But each flesh was once whole, each flesh once lived. In each one was a memory, a feeling, another life treaded and ended.
'That is why I can feel, why familiarity surges from my very touch towards everything.' Because these flesh once felt, these hands once worked, tired, and bloody. Carpenters, masons, soldiers, or cooks — what did these hands and feet do?
'Who has kissed this cheek and whispered romance? Who has loved it and yearned?' Whose son is the face he wears? Whose father is the body he controls? Who cradled this once mortal body to age?
Questions, questions, questions. The desire to know, to uncover every fiber of one's self. Before words, before language, the mother tongue of man is desire. Adam, from the moment he gained consciousness in that pit of darkness and void, he had learned desire.
To ask is to yearn, and asking is all he's ever done. Who am I? What am I? Where am I? Such primal thoughts, instinct to every creature that roams the earth, rides the sky, and swims the ocean. Even a beast knows where it belongs, as God's decree to everything in creation.
The land for the man, the seas for the fish, the birds for the sky — that is what he spoke, that is what he commanded. But outside of that, what else did God say about creatures not of his hand? Scorn in life, rejected by death.
That is who he is, Adam Cain. He glimpsed the unbecoming and became. The hand of death passed through him, yet he lived. Not a man, not an outcast, not even of nature. Created for the purpose of defiance, a victory over the laws of the universe.
Yet who is there to celebrate? No maker to remember, no memories to uphold. 'How cruel is man to create a living abomination?'
He was dead, a second later, he's not. Silence reigned and he felt peace, so much peace. Like going home from work to the comfort of your room, like a child embraced by their mother. Alas, reality is cruel, and he was pulled back to the living. How could he live, knowing he is incomplete?
Finding his creator, that's impossible. Victor Frankenstein waited for his creation to live, his did not. Thrown in the gutter, left in the forest for beasts to feast upon, he is nothing.
'I'll never find him. I have no clues, no hints, not even a glimpse. There's no hope—'
"… then I'll help you find them." The words rang like cathedral bells in his head, echoing from every corner of his mind.
Porcelain skin like glistening marble, or the white of a corpse. Eyes like orbs of endless void. Her touch to his skin like ice, cold and indifferent, a blade. Yet her voice, flat and sharp, gave warmth not even the sun could provide — hope.
"Wednesday Addams. How peculiar you are…" he whispered, the darkness responding in silence, the wind whispering hymns through the window as he flipped the pages of his book.
'My body, a map.' The very thing he hid could provide the answers to questions he so desperately sought. It disgusted him to his stomach, simply looking at himself was nauseating. How ironic, how laughable. He's never thought of that, never even considered it.
Adam traced his scars once more, his finger remembering every edge, every roughness of his skin, until it stopped at his throat, the place where she touched. Unbothered, without judgement, eyes blank like everything in the world is beneath her. Larissa's gesture felt kind, but Wednesday's brought him hope.
How could something as simple as that shake his very core? How could it rekindle the fire he put out himself?
'Wednesday Addams. Where will you lead me to?'
—-
The timing of his discovery at the forest really wasn't the best time. It was an accident, an unintended revelation, a bad coincidence. One that Adam himself is realizing after Wednesday revealed her first encounter with the beast.
Rowan Laslow, a student resident of Nevermore who was also an unfortunate victim of the beast that attacked him the night of the Rave'N. Unlike Adam, however, cannot resurrect from the dead. At least, that's what Wednesday believes.
He had it coming, she said. If not that thing, then her. It's not every day a classmate goes insane and tries to murder you.
The following day, much to Wednesday's sanity, Rowan returned to Nevermore unscathed, with no sign of the brutal mauling the beast gave him that Wednesday described. On the same day, he was expelled under the pretense of misconduct, and Adam was admitted.
It's clear, anyone with half a brain could suspect that Adam had something to do with his expulsion. A cover-up? A replacement? Not really, but Wednesday begs to disagree. One thing Adam learned from the girl is that she insists on what she believes.
Another thought, however, weighs heavier than the others in his mind: Larissa's involvement in the matter. The moment Adam heard of the second half of the story, he deduced exactly what happened, what Larissa did. It's simple. She's a shapeshifter.
"Long is the way and hard, that out of Hell leads up to light." Adam whispered.
Reality is… harsh, especially for Outcasts. Sacrifices after sacrifices were taken just to get a glimmer of peace, to achieve harmony with your oppressors, your butchers.
Years and years of destructive pilgrimage did unimaginable damage to the Outcast population. Dwindling the numbers to mere minorities, akin to endangered species in the wild.
It is… unnatural that despite their mystic abilities, they were the ones reduced to so few. Then again, Normies accumulated hundreds of years of war experiences. Birthing generals who could conquer half the known world at the age of 30. Who's to say they didn't create another one in the span of more than 2000 years?
Outcasts lived in peace with nature, but not with each other. Infights happened from time to time, tribes enslaved tribes, weakening their already feeble forces.
Adam could understand, despite the deception Larissa did, that she did it in order to protect the rest of Nevermore. An Outcast student was killed by, presumably, another Outcast. What could that implication bear, when surrounding the school are beasts in human skin seeking a moment of weakness to tear down this haven for the recluse?
A leader must know when deceit is needed, and when the truth must come out.
"The greater good." Adam whispered, the air replied in silence as he treaded the empty faculty hall. Such cruel words. To see to it whatever choice is needed to reach a positive result. But lies do not last long; they reveal themselves, or someone else uncovers them.
'Wednesday Addams.' The girl in relentless pursuit of the truth. The girl who only seems to see the malice of the world, the one who looks upon it in black and white. He had lived not even weeks, but Adam felt the girl, for the lack of a better word, more naive than he. Could she understand if he told her? Could she see the bigger picture? Could she put herself before the lives of those living here?
Adam was dismayed, for he could not imagine a world where that is possible. She is unique, possessing the ability to understand what others cannot. To perceive the world in a different standard than everybody else. But that is also her curse, her Achilles heel. With her gift comes blindness to others, something she denies wholeheartedly.
Arrogance from her superiority, pride from her excellence — that is her vice. She and Larissa would never come to terms with each other. One obsesses over the truth, the other hides it.
The two people who understood him contrasted each other so much. Larissa adorns a polite smile, a facade for the public. Wednesday relishes in her genuineness, uncaring for what others think. Two sides of a coin of which he stands in the middle.
Speak of the devil, and she shall appear. At the end of the hall, standing by the exit doorway, stood one of his dilemmas: Wednesday Addams, waiting for him. Each step Adam took was heavier than the other, his mind weighing the options of his problems. Telling her Larissa's abilities could do damage, but keeping the knowledge could bring repercussions in their collaboration.
He pressed his lips together, his cheek twitching slightly beneath his mask as his fists clenched and unclenched. Subtle signs of struggle, of conflict. Without noticing it, he had reached the peak of the hill.
Wednesday turned, her dark eyes bearing an endless void of nothing. "Adam." She said with a nod. He steeled his resolve, acting as normal as he could. "Wednesday." He replied with a nod of his own, his voice strained.
For a second, Adam felt as if Wednesday noticed. She stared at him, unblinking, her eyes digging holes in his knitted flesh through his soul. Did she see? Did she feel the conflict brewing in his heart and mind?
To her eyes, he felt like an open book. His secrets exposed to those cold, unblinking orbs of darkness.
Finally, she opened her mouth. "I hope you remember our deal." She said, and relief coursed through Adam's body. 'She didn't.' He thought, 'How could she?'
He nodded. "You will help me find my maker, and I will help you with your… work." He iterated. Wednesday does not give charity, and Adam does not accept blind kindness, except from Larissa whom he bears endless gratitude. But a deal with this girl felt like a deal with the Devil himself.
"Good." Wednesday replied, "for now we attend class. Afterwards, before fencing, we'll go to the library." Adam tilted his head. The library? Why there? The girl, seeing his confusion, clarified. "Did you think me saying your body is a map meant I'll be dissecting you?"
The boy choked on his own spit, caught by her unexpected question. "N-no." He did, he most definitely did. Wednesday continued, Thing climbing to her shoulder. "We narrow the population down to what method it took to create you. The only clue we have right now is that they're a skilled surgeon."
"Better than who made Thing." She whispered. The hand tried to protest, earning a death glare from Wednesday. She turned back to Adam. "Or we could go with your idea. It could prove… enlightening. Your call." She added, something in Adam tells him that the girl isn't kidding.
Adam chuckled, amused. "I'd prefer the former." He replied. Wednesday looked disappointed for a moment, making Adam wonder if she really meant what she said. "Let that be our plan B then." Wednesday sighed.
Adam's face cringed beneath his mask. "I still feel the pain of my injuries, you know?" Wednesday tilted her head, expressionless. "You'd be asleep."
"I would die again." He replied. Wednesday scoffed, a smug smirk threatening to grace her face. "I'll have you know, I've been dissecting… animals since I learned to walk."
"I'll consider it." Adam resigned, the girl insisting on her surgical skills. Wednesday nodded with a satisfied look, turning her head forward. "Good. Let's go."
She gave him one last look before walking. Adam followed from behind, his face hardening the moment the girl turned.
—-
Side-by-side inside the library of Nevermore was an uncanny, morbid-looking pair surrounded by a cathedral of books, grimoires, and tomes. Wednesday Addams and Adam Cain.
On their table are stacks of books, taken from the deepest part of the occult section of the library. One thing about Nevermore, maybe the reason why many students go insane, is that they do not restrict access to forbidden knowledge. Like resurrections, necromancy, and even demon summoning books.
"Sorcery is real?" Adam asked, flipping through an old dark grimoire they found. The grimoire of an old, ancient witch from London. Wednesday hummed without turning. "Why do you think witch hunts happened?"
"Bigotry." Adam responded, his fingers tracing the poorly written letters, "and religion." Wednesday glanced at the boy, taking her eyes off the tome for a split second, unblinking. "A major part, yes. But witches do exist. My grandmama is one. They procure potions, cast curses, throw hexes. Even trapping souls isn't far-off for them."
The masked boy paused for a second, digesting the knowledge Wednesday imparted. Fear comes from the unknown, but for that fear to take root, they must also, in some ways, 'know.'
Adam turned to Wednesday, interest shining in his eyes. "Are you…—", "No." Before Adam could finish speaking, Wednesday's blatant shut-down of his question came first. The girl turned to him slightly, scowling as usual. "Focus on the grimoire. We only have half an hour left before Fencing."
Adam sighed, his attention turning back to the book. "I'm… sorry. I was merely curious. The true existence of sorcery has never occurred to me before." He said, his tone laced with innocence of a child discovering magic.
Wednesday listened expressionlessly, perhaps a bit baffled. "Your scars suggest a highly skilled doctor, a surgeon. But your consciousness suggests… more. Science can't create souls, Adam." Adam scoffed. "What makes you think I have a soul?"
"You're not a zombie," She paused, her mind wandering. "I know because I've seen one. They don't think, they live for orders and servitude. They retain their skills when they were alive but that's about all they can do."
"Reanimation, rather than resurrection." Adam muttered and Wednesday nodded. "An easier way to put it. Let Thing be your example. He's a hand with a soul."
Adam's eyes moved to Thing, lazing amongst the stacks of books. His existence still amazes him. A hand that could think, could decide, could rationalize. It makes you wander what else mad men could create in their desire for dominance over death.
It could also make you wonder about other things. If he was made to resemble man, to create new life, then what was this hand made for? An experiment gone wrong? Or for another purpose?
Wednesday sighed, closing the tome she's been skimming. "Nothing here." She muttered disappointingly. She turned to Thing, like a trained servant, the hand dragged another book to her. Only to freeze from Adam's intense gaze.
"What's with the look." Wednesday said, more demanding over asking. Adam snapped out of his daze, eyes softening again. "I have… a question."
Wednesday hummed, glancing at the book Thing dragged to her.With how little time they have left, finishing another book is impossible, she might as well entertain some of his curiosity. "Pray, tell."
Adam paused, wondering if it's an appropriate question to ask. But, as usual, his love for knowledge won over his desire to be polite. "What was Thing made for?"
Thing, realizing he's now the subject of the conversation, was startled. "Assuming I was made in the pursuit of a new man. What was a lone hand like him made for?"
Wednesday's dark eyes lingered on Thing for a moment, then flicked back to Adam. "He was not made," she said dryly. "He was born… and then, he was severed."
Adam blinked behind his mask. "Born?"
"Thing was… once a man. A whole man, from what my father told me." Wednesday's tone was flat, but beneath it, a strange reverence flickered. "But who, that, I don't know. Just that Thing's been a friend of our family for as long as I could remember." Thing tapped his fingers on the table, as if in agreement.
Adam leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking, envy flashing in his eyes. "You were… born. How did it feel?"
Thing stared blankly, or stood blankly, however you want to interpret it. Wednesday, baffled as well, looked at Adam incredulously. After a second, the hand shrugged, giving a series of signs.
Adam turned to Wednesday again, her expression turning into a scowl. "When did I become you two's interpreter?" She sighed, interpreting nonetheless. "He said he doesn't know, and he said that's the most ridiculous question he's ever heard."
Adam stared at the table, counting the tiny little splinters of the wood in embarrassment. "People don't exactly remember being born." Wednesday added. "I see." Adam replied, his voice thinning to a whisper.
The question was innocent, naive. Something only a child, untainted by the world, could ask so seriously. At the end of the day, despite the wisdom he possesses, Adam is still only a week old.
He coughed, trying to distract the two from his shameful display. "This one doesn't have anything, too." He said, closing the grimoire. Wednesday furrowed her brows. "This may take longer than I anticipated…" she whispered.
"You do not have to help me." Adam spoke, noticing Wednesday contemplate. The girl's eyes snapped to him, hints of emotions flashing from them — pride, desire, and… madness. "You want me to give up? You think I'd be able to sleep when there's a mystery so much bigger than I am in the same room as me? I don't care if it takes weeks or months, or even years, I'll find who created you. I'll leave no stones unturned on the way."
Adam was perplexed. The girl was mad, more than he initially thought. Her obsession goes way beyond hobbies, this— this is her life.
She sneered. "Besides, it wouldn't look good in record. Who would trust a detective who couldn't solve a case?" Wednesday stood up, her eyes glancing at the grandfather clock at the corner.
Definitely mad. "You seem rather more determined than me." Adam replied. Then his face turned grim, a terrible possibility entering his mind, "What if, at the end of this all, all we find is a rotting corpse? Can you accept that?"
"Then we will have learned the truth," Wednesday said, stacking the tomes in a neat pile. "Truth does not require approval. It exists regardless of your comfort."
Mad and pragmatic, that is Wednesday Addams. It doesn't matter what the truth represents, it exists not to satisfy you, it merely does. Happy, sad, morbid — facts does not care what it makes you feel.
Wednesday smoothed her uniform, wrinkled from sitting down. She sling her bag to her shoulder as Thing hopped from the books to her. "We'll resume after Fencing, if you even survive."
—-