Emotions, unexplainable phenomenas in the human body brought about by countless machinations happening in the brain. Unlike most philosophers think, or idiots, emotions don't come from the heart. They're the culmination of chemicals, hormones mixing together to form what one 'feels.'
Then again, the human mind is as foolish as it is complex. Emotions often become the source of incompetency, the utter suppression of common sense brought by a flood of the melancholic, or otherwise.
Logic does not derived from how you feel, it does not care for what you think — just as the sun rises from the east and sets in the west, truth is absolute. When the mind settles and it begins reigning emotions, the rational part of the brain takes control once more.
The drive to Nevermore was quiet, peaceful as one might say. Principal Weems kept to herself, driving in silence which truthfully, creeped Wednesday out more than she wants to admit. No small talk, not even a scolding because she went 'off-course.'
'Weird.' Wednesday thought, glancing briefly at the woman beside her. Her face looked expressionless, but her eyes looked heavy with thoughts known only to her. She was curious, but not as curious to it more than what she's pondering on.
She faced forward again, eyes on the passing woods in front of her. Autumn is coming, but the forest of Jericho is still lush in green, as if possessed by some spirit keeping it alive. Doesn't matter, back to what does.
'A sledgehammer.'
The sheriff's description of Tyler's injury — hit in the face with a sledgehammer. Wednesday thought the motive of the crime was revenge, assault. It was a solid view, a logical one, even if she were plagued by sentiments for the briefest moment.
But the more she thinks about it, the lesser it becomes valid, less… logical per se. A sledgehammer, in a stampede, where the people were panicking to escape for their own volition. An assault, again, in a stampede, where people were more focused on trying to get out. Maybe he was stomped over and over again?
'Then he'd be dead.'
Crushed in a stampede, but the only injury is on your head? No, something's not aligning. Something's off. The pieces of the puzzle are not sticking together, the edges are rugged, imperfect, flawed. When two pieces don't align, there are often times more pieces involved that aren't yet discovered.
Her gut tells her so and it's never been wrong.
Soon, they reached gates of Nevermore, the old hunks of metal moving on their own. Crooked, old. The stone sentinels seem to follow them with their eyes, eyeing them like prey to predators.
Wednesday got out of the car, immediately turning without saying good-bye. Unlike other times, Principal Weems let her be. Now, she needs to confirm it, and who better to ask than the one with the most motive for revenge?
—-
The quadrangle was filled with more students than usual, cliques bonded together in one table, chattering with smiles, gossips, maybe. It's intoxicating, like entering the ruins of Chernobyl with no radiation suit on.
Wednesday could feel the gag forming in her throat as she navigated this pentagon-shaped quadrangle. In one table, she could see Enid, her colorful werewolf roommate sat around her friends. The usual ones — the idiot merman, his sister, the quiet vampire girl, and… a new addition, the air-headed gorgon.
It seems her eyes lingered for too long because all of a sudden, the werewolf stood up, waving frantically at her with that goofy, careless smile. She'd rather be mauled to death first than return the same enthusiasm. Instead, she responded with a polite nod, earning a beaming smile from Enid who seems satisfied with the reply.
The girl sat once again, continuing her gossip with her simpleton companions. Colors were never the most pleasing to her eyes, more so to her body who rejects it with the outmost ferocity. Somehow, that weakness extends to more than physical attributes, as she found the black walls she built be constantly vandalized by this werewolf's… excitement.
Enid is… peculiar, a whole other species from her. A stark difference, an absolute contrast, an opposite. Living in a pastel colored world, she's an anomaly in Wednesday monochromatic vision. A raging comet in the endless void of space, a lone star surviving in the abyss.
That should make her even more disgusted, more repulsed, but no. Wednesday found herself respecting Enid, commending her strength… her beauty. In some ways, they are alike. Living in two corners bordered by the mediocrity of others. This, again, was a result of the human tendency for emotions.
She sighed, her eyes wandering the area once more. It landed on an unfinished painting on the wall, a painting of ravens soaring a blue sky. Wednesday approached the piece, her eyes analyzing every crevice, a habit.
Three ravens, the upper and middle one left unfinished. The painting was, in her assumption, a tribute to Edgar Allan Poe's work. The source of this school's name. The Nevermore raven.
She hummed. The painting was good even if unfinished, the strokes were refined, the colors were pleasing to the eye. Dismiss the boy's suspicious activities, his brooding personality, and everything else except his skills — you'd find him a good artist.
Artistic interests, however, are often possessed by serial killers. Samuel Little, Otis Toole, Arthur Shawcross… Wednesday could list about 5 more that she knows.
The girl's eyes went low, gazing at the fresh paint on the ground, the smell of sulfur — strong and chemical. She doesn't mind, she's smelled worst. A rotting corpse, for example, and tear gas. One of the two could make the common man gag, imagine smelling both at the same time.
'He'd be here any minute now. I just need to wai—'
They say the devil answers to his name more than God does, perhaps that's true. At the very corner of Wednesday's eyes, a familiar figure appeared. Long brown hair, a lanky body, and that brooding, spoiled teenager face.
"What are you doing here?" Xavier said sharply, his tone still containing the bitterness of what happened before the Rave'N. When would he move on? Exhausting.
Wednesday stared at him for a second, thinking whether she should go about it slowly or just get straight to the point. Alas, patience the virtue, won. "I came to ask you a question," Wednesday replied, her voice calm yet carrying a razor edge.
Her eyes lingered on the half-finished ravens beside him before moving back to his face. "Something happened to Tyler. He was… beat-up, after the Rave'N, I assume."
Xavier's brow furrowed. "And?"
"After the stampede, and the panic, did you see anyone perhaps… following him?"
He hesitated for a moment, his jaw tightening. Xavier put the bucket of brushes he's carrying on the ground, hands now in his pockets. "No." He said, his voice low and quiet. Something in Wednesday is telling her he doesn't wanna talk to her. "I left before he did. He was looking for you."
Wednesday tilted her head slightly, observing any slight movement in his expression, one that could entail something different from the words he lets out.
Xavier noticed and his eyes darkened, body tensing, an idea dawning on him. "You think I did something?"
"No," she replied, voice even as she's taking a step closer, "but someone did. I intend to find out who."
The boy's face twitched ever so slightly, more out of nervousness than guilt. "He's a pilgrim, Wednesday. Someone ought to have teach him a lesson." Xavier scoffed before continuing, "Bringing him here was your mistake."
He went past her, attention moving towards the ladder leaning to the wall. Wednesday watched as he began climbing, his materials now in hand as she's choosing the words properly in her mind. With a weary sigh, she spoke. "Who else did Tyler trouble?"
Their eyes met, and for a brief moment, Wednesday saw… anger. Raging anger. Then he turned towards the quadrangle, in the sea of students chatting and laughing, pointed with his head. "Ask them."
Wednesday followed his gaze, realizing what he meant. Was Tyler such a terrible person? Was she… wrong? She turned back to Xavier, eyes onto her.
"If I wanted revenge, trust me, you'd know." With one last look, he turned to the girl again, bitter emotions circling the iris of his eyes, "You're always looking for monsters, Wednesday. Maybe you should check the mirror first."
From a choking infatuation, she's now become… a monster. People's view could change as fast as the seasons, faster, even. An apathetic, emotionless monster is now what she's become in the world of Xavier Thorpe. Funny, just days ago he was fawning all over her.
Seeing the conversation is over, and the boy seems to want nothing to do with her at the moment, she turned to leave.
Monsters. She's had her fair shares of encounters with them. Her family is full of one. Unapologetic, uncaring, genuine monsters in their own right — like her. But some monsters are extreme. Some kill, some ravish. Despite the facade of ferocity, however, lies some sense of humanity.
So little, so insignificant that you'd barely see it. Like others, much to her dismay, they live in a pack, a family. Grouped together by a common characteristic, bonded in blood. That's the kind humanity these monsters have. Even these monsters feel, even these monsters bleed.
'Bleed… monsters bleed.'
Wednesday stopped right in her tracks. The sound of chatter, of laughter in the quadrangle muffled in her head. The universe, as if done in some sort of mockery, began collapsing around her, space crumbling like paper until only she was left in the void of her mind.
'It was bleeding, the monster.' She remembered, memories flashing in her mind, memories she'd never bothered to look back to. Why? Why didn't she? Foolish questions, she knows why.
'Because of him. Adam.' Yes, him. His… resurrection, that's why. She was distracted by another case, an amateur mistake, but easily understandable because of the gravity it represented.
Wednesday's surroundings blurred, she was transported back to the scene, back in the forest as if she's having another vision. Dark, the rustling of the trees, the wind, it all felt real. Then she was running, as fast as she could, and there — the monster… staggering, bleeding from its mouth, spitting teeth like it tasted something terrible.
Along with the memory was a voice, old and grumpy.
"…doctors said he had a broken jaw. Some of his teeth's gone, he looked like he was hit by a sledgehammer."
The words of Sheriff rung like Cathedral bells in her mind, echoing in this God-forsaken forest.
Then there's Eugene, beside the bleeding form of Adam.
"…t-the monster! He hit it b-but it tackled him and slashed his neck!"
He hit it. That's right, Adam did that. He had… inhuman strength. His punch has to be strong, perhaps strong enough to hit like-
'Like a sledgehammer.'
Her dark pupils dilated, like the embers of a black sun fading out.
A new piece formed in the murder board of Wednesday, a new picture pinned in the middle. The Harvest Festival, he was there. The old meeting house, he knew she was there. The Rave'N… there again. He was everywhere, he knew everything. That's why it didn't kill her. Red strings formed, all connecting to one picture, one person.
Back to reality did Wednesday came back. Her figure stood unmoving in the middle of Nevermore's hallway. Students looked at her as they pass by, some stares lingering for a moment too long. But she did not bother, she did not care — she couldn't because she knew something they don't.
Slowly, Wednesday's mouth opened. Beneath the noises, the voices of her peers, out came a whisper only for herself.
"Tyler is the monster."
—-
The wooden door of the Hummer shack swung open. Adam and Eugene turned their head at the same time in an almost comedic timing. But who they saw was the stark opposite of that word.
The amalgamation of everything gothic and macabre, carrying an even more than usual morbid aura around her — Wednesday Addams.
Her eyes landed on Eugene, then to Adam. She nodded to herself. "Good. You're here." She said, her tone flat, a stark contrast to her seemingly happy greeting words.
Eugene's face lit up with excitement in seeing his fellow Hummer. "Wednesday!" He exclaimed joyfully with an exaggerated wave. Wednesday responded with a silent look, more than what she gives most.
Adam stood quietly beside Eugene, his eyes locked to the girl in front of him, narrowed, as if looking for something that's not there. 'Her perpetual scowl is… gone.' He thought, while a relief to many, Adam found himself unexplainably bothered.
His eyes darted to every corner of her face — to her eyes, her mouth, her porcelain cheeks, and pale lips. Everything felt off, as if he's looking at an unfamiliar person rather than the Wednesday he's always known.
His vision tells him there's nothing wrong, that he's illusioned only by her side that he's accustomed to — but his heart tells him otherwise. There something amiss in the girl in front of him.
"Adam." Wednesday's cold voice called out, breaking the boy's trance. Their distance only at an arm-length now. When did that happen? Adam's intense stare broke, realizing the look he's giving her was… weird. "Wednesday." He responded, with their gazes towards each other lingering for a second too long.
The exchange was broken by Wednesday as she walked past him, nonetheless, Adam continued his… observation? The way she carried herself was less assured, less confident — less absolute. In a sense, one might describe her as more human, more normal.
She approached the square clothe, the one near the window. Slowly, she reached out, her hand looking heavier the closer she gets to the end of the seam. Nonetheless, she persevered. Wednesday snatched the cloth off with strength unbefitting of her stature.
As she did, Adam took a step back. A morbid disgust forming in those milky mismatched eyes of his. It was a board… filled with grotesque polaroids of mutilated bodies and crime scenes.
The look of wounds and blood isn't new to him, no. He's seen his fair share of that simply by looking at a mirror, but this… mutilated, mauled flesh — it's disturbing.
His eyes caught the sketch of a familiar creature — the beast. "A victim board?" He asked, his tone laced with obvious disgust. Wednesday nodded. "A murder board, but call it whatever."
Adam turned to Eugene, expecting the boy to be terrified or at least disgusted. But, expectations often betray, the boy looked expressionless. Then again, this is his shack, how would he not know. He shook his head before stepping closer.
His hand moved to the sketching above, the beast covered in darkness. "You draw this?" Adam asked, turning slightly to Wednesday.
"No, Xavier Thorpe did." She replied as she unpinned another sketch, one of the beast surrounded by a spiral. "Along with this."
"This Xavier Thorpe… is he—" but before Adam could finish his question, Wednesday interjected. "No."
Her tone was sharp, sharper than usual with hints of… emotions. Of something else in those words. "I… thought so, too." she continued, her face hardening with every word, "But something came up."
Silence reigned for a moment after she finished speaking, her words lingering like the sword of Damocles in the air, a guillotine waiting to drop. The tension was palpable as the two boys listened with all their attention. Wednesday didn't look excited, didn't feel excited at what she's about to say — not that she ever is at anything.
Something, however, is different from how she usually is. Most people would ignore it and move on, but Adam couldn't. His vice, that curiosity he so desperately tries to hold back, couldn't. Perhaps it is because in his mind, he created a standard for which this girl presents herself.
A hyper-sensitive, overly observant standard. How odd, he thought, that he finds himself eyeing every expression she makes, trying to find the littlest, most subtle difference. Micro-changes many would ignore.
Alas, time passed and she began speaking once more. "I know who the monster is." she said, her tone strained and contained bits of disbelief, as if Wednesday herself doesn't believe in what she's about to say.
Eugene gasped dramatically, akin to Victorian noble lady about to hear a scandalous gossip while Adam stayed quiet, earnestly listening.
Wednesday turned to the board, eyes on the monster's victims, but her vision seems to see past through, looking at somewhere else. Finally, the sword dropped and no head rolled. "It's Tyler Galpin."
The girl visibly cringed at her words, her hands clenching to tight fists, but her eyes gained focus, hinting at detest, anger — sorrow.
"The Sheriff's son?!" Eugene exclaimed, his eyes widening before a confused look formed on his face, "w-wasn't he your date at the Rave'N?"
"… he was." Wednesday answered, her voice fading low to a murmur.
"So that's why! I was wondering why you were on a date with him!" Eugene perked up, slamming his fist on his palm, as if an ingenious idea entered his mind. "It was to get evidence, right?! Like with Xavier!"
Wednesday's face tensed, a deer caught in headlights. Nonetheless, she nodded coolly, affirming the boy's theory. "Yes. Exactly."
"You know, you could've told me that." Eugene replied, scratching his head. "I wouldn't have told anyone, it's Hummer code to keep one another's secrets!"
"If I did, then it wouldn't be an undercover mission." The girl sighed, hands unclenching at the gullible boy's silly assumptions. "As the saying goes, all warfare is based on deception."
Adam's eyes never left her face, studying every twitch, every subtle movement. 'She lies.' He thought. But the question is why? "What do we do now?" he asked finally, his tone calm.
Wednesday turned fully to him, a complex, unexplainable glint in those eyes of hers. "We retrace the scene," she said, her voice carrying the weight of cold determination. "That night, I saw the monster spitting teeth and blood. If we find a sample of its DNA, we can compare it with Tyler's."
Eugene shuffled nervously behind Adam, his earlier excitement dimming under the gravity of her words. "B-but… he's the sheriff's son. If you're wrong—"
"Then I am," Wednesday interjected sharply, her tone cutting like a blade. "We look for another suspect, we'll find that thing some other way."
Adam's jaw tightened as he processed her words. "And if you're right, he'll come after you."
A complicated look adorned her face. Wednesday's gaze lowered to the floor, for the first time since Adam had met her, bore a hesitant light. As quickly as it appeared, it was gone, replaced by something else. "Let him."
Adam glimpsed at something, something warm inside in this girl's dark, cold heart. He saw past the abyss, the darkness that swallows everything whole. He saw affection, and in her tone, he heard betrayal.
'That's it.' He thought, enlightened by what he witnessed. The difference, the subtle change, the reactions. That's why. She…
'She's in pain.'
—-
Note:
Been busy. Enrolled for another semester, girlfriend got sick from the vacation last week — had to take care of her, went on another one two days ago now with friends. Also reading "The Brothers Karamazov" I was talking about last time.
Overall, life's been good. Except maybe for the gambling addiction I'm developing. Hey, I'm winning.
If you find this story good, or at least bearable, feel free to leave a review or a comment. I appreciate it more than power stones, although I won't reject it if you feel generous.
I see this one doesn't have a lot of views compared to other fics, let's try and keep it niche here. If you know, you know!
Will try and upload every two days or a day after, depends on my thoughts. Also planning to make a House of the Dragon fanfic, this time, action-based. Still thinking though, want to finish this one.
Anyways, have a great day!