A sombre silence followed after their conversation. Adam and Wednesday walked quietly, each in their own headspace, perhaps readying themselves for what is about to happen.
It didn't take long for them to reach town, and even shorter for them to reach the area where the neighborhood was located. Small colonial houses lined up with 4-5 blocks of difference on the side of the road, amongst the deep woods separating the forest and this space. The gap between houses was good news for Wednesday, not for the house owners themselves.
Wednesday and Adam treaded the area carefully, alert for any witnesses or any tracks they might leave. The girl's eyes darted to the windows of each house, scanning for any eyes prying in. Their steps were carefully taken towards the impending lair of the monster that was Tyler Galpin and his father.
Soon, they reached the familiar place — familiar for Thing, at least. The hand served as their guide, indicating which house was the Galpin's. Wednesday's eyes landed on the wooden abode. The blue walls looked white because of the night, and the pick-up truck with police lights served as a beacon that they had reached the right place.
The two stopped just a little below 50 meters before the house, covering themselves behind the thick trees. Wednesday scanned the windows, trying to get a glimpse of the inside. Silently, on her shoulder, Thing pointed to the 2nd floor, towards an opening barred only by a thin curtain.
The structure of the Galpin house was unusual, with the entrance door facing the right side of the house instead of the front, along with a tiny porch.
She didn't need any words to know that what he was pointing at was Tyler's room. In her mind, Wednesday began listing the possible things she could snatch.
'Toothbrush; too obvious. A used utensil; same thing. A used bandage… could work.'
If there was one, 4 days was enough for bleeding to stop and healing to start — who knows, his…physiology might offer better results. The only way to find out was to see.
Wednesday turned to her side, to her companion for tonight, Adam. His attention's turned forward, eyes not leaving the house. There's tension in his eyes, Wednesday could see; perhaps it's because this is his first time committing a crime. Amateur, she mused, a smirk threatening to grace her face.
Conversing with this masked boy is always a challenge. Sometimes because of his endless questions, often times because he proves to be a challenge towards her worldly views. Wednesday wonders how a mere weeks-old creature could gather so much word-play from books, or that he might be lying about his supposed age.
Then again, what for? The agony in his eyes is real, and so is the sorrow towards his fragmented existence. His eyes, for the lack of a better word, contained innocence one can only be found from an immature child — or a too-mature adult. One or the other.
'You know, he says.' He speaks like a monk, a century-old philosopher who's already seen everything the world has to offer. Except he hasn't; he's probably never even seen anything at all.
'He's a fool.' Wednesday insists, 'An ignorant fool who doesn't know what he speaks of.' The words were sharp, and distasteful. The words tasted bitter in her tongue despite not saying it at all. It tastes like defeat, like childish pettiness.
Still, she persists; their… partnership will end the moment she achieves her other part of the deal. To find his unknown, mysterious, possibly mad and dead maker. A strange melancholy courses through her body at the thought; well, melancholy is not quite the right word. Parting with this man means losing a wonderful biological specimen.
That said, Wednesday shook her head lightly to get rid of her thoughts, to focus. She looked at Adam again, the same look still on his face.
"It's time." She whispered, loud enough to be covered by the wail of the wind, and loud enough for him to hear. Adam turned with a steeled face laced with resolve. Wednesday took one sling of her bag off her shoulder, turning it to her front. She reached inside, pulling a balaclava out and offering it to Adam.
"What's this for?" He asked, taking it off her hand. "To cover your face." She replied, wearing one herself.
Adam looked at her incredulously. "I wear a mask already." He pointed towards his face. He couldn't see her face anymore, but he's sure she's raised a brow. "A mask that everyone has seen. Wear it, unless you want your picture posted all over the town for burglary." She retorted annoyingly.
Adam hummed, seeing her point. He put it over his mask, feeling the fluff of the wool as he put it in. 'This must be what Gaspard Caderousse felt.' He mused. They, however, did not come here to rob— they did, but not in— they are, they're here to rob. The boy let out a sigh, may he be condemned for what he's about to be a part of.
"Thing said they have no CCTV, no external security in case of a break-in," Wednesday spoke as she put on a pair of gloves, "I need you to sound the car's alarm, lure the Sheriff somewhere in the woods while I get what we need. Clear?"
A house with no camera, no alarm system — it's almost primitive in Wednesday's eyes. It's understandable, a small town like this tends to have little to no such crime. With no pressure, there comes no necessary action to prevent. Except for murder, that seems to be the trend here. Good for her.
Her eyes met Adam's, she could practically hear the words about to come out of his mouth. And he spoke. "What's a C—"
"Doesn't matter." She interjected, cutting the boy off before she gets bombarded with questions, "What matters is you do what I said." A brief pause followed after she spoke, the boy looking downcast now.
"And Adam," Wednesday called, her eyes filled with cold determination, "Don't play the hero. If I get caught… run." Adam paused, silently looking at Wednesday with a complicated gaze. After a moment of thought, he nodded in understanding, his face rid of any questions.
Wednesday couldn't read him, couldn't read if he really understood. But duty calls, they have a monster to prove. "Let's go." With that declaration, Wednesday wasted no time. She walked towards the house, slowly, in a crouched position to better blend with the night. The boy followed closely from behind.
The two separated 15 meters before the front door, Wednesday going to the left of the house whilst Adam positioned himself beside the truck.
From her side, Wednesday could see a tiny glimpse of the boy's large stature. He peeked, their eyes meeting from a distance. Adam's eyes seemed to glow despite the darkness, an eerie glow of a beast, the amber color of a bear.
She gave him a nod, a signal. Adam stood up, he took two steps back, shoulder in front and then — a thud! Like flesh hitting metal, he tackled the side of the truck with strength enough to make it tilt over, but not enough to make it fall.
The loud car alarm rang in the air, and the boy ran towards the woods behind the house.
Wednesday waited, senses focused on the inside. She counted the seconds in her mind — one… two… thirteen… twenty — a rustle, a footstep going down the stairs, and the cocking of a shotgun.
She could hear the steps coming closer to the door before stopping, the person most probably peeking through the front window. After a few seconds, it continued. Wednesday heard the door click, so she peeked. Out came the barrel of a shotgun, then the sheriff himself.
She followed his figure, the sheriff's eyes darting everywhere like a veteran of war. He walked out slowly, pausing briefly on the porch before continuing towards the truck. "Who's there!" He shouted, tone laced with authority, and the commitment of a man ready to shoot.
Wednesday, seeing an opportunity, crept herself inside the living room window. Why is it open, you may ask? Who knows, it's not her house. She peeked one last time, locked on the sheriff who, all of a sudden, snapped his aim towards the woods and began walking towards it. By this time, the car alarm had stopped.
'Good.' She thought, the boy was doing his job. Wednesday stood up, calmly dusting herself before she let Thing out.
Inside the living room is one many would expect a typical suburban home to look like. Patterned wallpaper decorated the walls. A carpet lay on the floor, a sofa and a coffee table facing a tv on a traditional stand with DVDs in mini storage spaces beside it. Far-off in front of her, left of the entrance door was a hall towards the kitchen, just beside the stairs to the 2nd floor.
Wednesday surveyed her surroundings with the utmost detail, noting the places in her mind that might provide the things they need. Her eyes landed on Thing on the coffee table waiting for her instructions.
"Take this floor, I take the 2nd," she said without looking, "leave no stones unturned, Thing. Check even the garbage cans."
Without another word, Wednesday began moving, sticking closely to the wall so she could hide easily. Her footsteps left no sound as she walked up the stairs, eyes unblinking so as not to miss anything.
The 2nd floor was dark, a short hallway with doors left and right. The door at the very end was half-opened, presumably the master bedroom, the sheriff's room, she guessed. To its left was a door with a sign — "Tyler" — it says. 'Best leave that for last.' Wednesday thought.
She moved carefully towards the closest door, hand gripping the metal knob, slowly turning it open. Wednesday pushed and the door relinquished, darkness, until she flipped the light open — a bathroom. What welcomed her was a sink, a toilet and a bathtub with a shower.
Wednesday scanned the room. The bathroom was dry, not humid like someone had just used it, but dry. Her eyes landed on the bin beside the sink. She crouched down, taking the lid off only to be disappointed, empty. She clicked her tongue, turning off the light on her way out.
Once again, she's at the hallway. Before continuing, Wednesday leaned over the rail of the 2nd floor, sensing if there's movement in the living room — none, so on she goes.
She opened another room, feeling less of a vigilante detective and more of a burglar. Another click left her mouth as the light turned on — a storage room.
A frown is beginning to find itself in Wednesday's face, her brows furrowing by the second. She looked at the last two rooms, the sheriff's and… Tyler's.
She stood in front of the master bedroom, reeking of cigarettes and alcohol. Wednesday took one look before deciding that going inside is useless. Her eyes turned to the left, a flicker of hesitation coming and going like a broken lightbulb.
Wednesday put her ears against the wooden door, the surface meeting with the wool balaclava. She focused her senses to hear… silence responded back. No rustling, not a single sound.
With a deep breath, resolution replaced doubt, and her gloved hand gripped the door knob. She turned — locked. 'As expected.' Wednesday thought, hand going inside her pocket. Burglar or detective, who cares?
Lock-picking is second-nature to her, it didn't even take a minute before she got the door to surrender under her will. It creaked softly as it swung open, revealing a room that instantly confirmed what Wednesday had imagined—and yet, it held more than she expected. Tyler's bedroom was a messy array of adolescence and secrecy.
To the left was a large table housing a computer with a mess of things beside a drawer. Toys, papers, cans of energy drinks laid flat on the table unorganized. Typical of a teenage male. Behind it, the wall, was covered with a white wallpaper patterned with wooden boats.
The thin curtain Thing had pointed out swayed lightly with the wind sneaking through the cracked window. Wednesday stepped in, her boots making no sound against the carpet save for the slow creak and click of the door as it closed. The air was tinged with the faint smell of sweat and something metallic—rust… blood.
The bigger issue, however, lies somewhere else. 'He's not here.' Wednesday thought grimly, eyes landing on the empty single bed to the right. Typical for teenagers to escape during the night, not-so typical for injured teenagers to do the same.
Sprawled on the nightstand beside the bed was exactly what she's looking for: bandages, used ones, too dark for anything recent, still works. Wednesday slipped some of them inside her evidence bag, carefully putting it in her backpack
'Package secured.'
She stood up, backpack secured behind her. Wednesday turned to leave. All she needs to do now is collect Thing and find Adam, how she could do the latter is something she'd think about on the way.
But, just as Wednesday reached the doorway, she paused. Amidst the stacks of garbage and mess on the table, what caught her eye beneath the rubble of useless materials is… a journal. A worn journal.
She shouldn't, now that she had the blood sample, she doesn't need anything else. With just this, the mystery could be solved, the case would be complete. It would be a domino effect, everything would fall in place. She shouldn't— but she did.
Wednesday turned around, pushing the mess away from the notebook. It's leather-bound, the spine was cracked from repeated use. She gripped the edge of the cover with her gloved finger, slowly turning it open. Inside— the inside was filled with incoherent sentences, words written incomprehensibly.
She flipped again, same thing. Then another, to another, to—. Everything looked the same, all jumbled, all a mess. It looked like it was written by a mad man. Seconds passed, then some minutes, Wednesday scanned every page, trying to get a glimpse of understanding in whatever it is Tyler wrote… only to fail miserably.
Wednesday had half the mind to take it with her, to decipher it back at Nevermore. That is, until a soft creak behind her made her freeze.
Her eyes snapped to the door—opened, and standing before it is none other than Tyler, eyes wide. Wednesday held her breath as their gazes met. She didn't hear anything, didn't sense anyone. How is he here?! But, the time for questions is later. Like a supercomputer, her mind procured a path for escape and her body followed immediately.
Wednesday turned, sprinting towards the window with the speed of a cat. Her hands gripped the windowsill, preparing to jump to the roof.
"Wait!" The voice from behind shouted, but Wednesday didn't care, she didn't— "Wednesday, wait!" And so she froze, at the mention of her name, Wednesday froze. Hand gripping the edge, she turned around, meeting Tyler's confused gaze.
He took one step closer, and Wednesday leaned back. She didn't notice it before out of haste but… he looked fine. His cheek looked to be swelling, but other than that, he's fine, too fine.
Wednesday narrowed her eyes. 'A broken jaw takes months to heal,' she noted, 'he shouldn't be moving so early, much less speaking.'
The boy scratched his head, eyes not leaving her. "T-that is you, right? Wednesday?"
She didn't speak, simply staring, gauging out the boy. But the silence was once again an answer in itself. "What are you doing here?" Tyler asked with a smile, "Did you come to check-up on me?"
Wednesday's sharp gaze lingered on Tyler, unmoving, her gloved hands tightening on the windowsill. The night breeze slipped through the gap, curling around her like a whisper telling her to jump. Tyler's casual tone, his almost friendly teasing, contrasted with the raw tension in the air.
In her head, calculations ran like clockwork. His posture—relaxed. His voice—steady. His jaw—healed far beyond what should be possible. Wednesday noted everything, filing each observation as fresh evidence that something deeply unnatural was at play.
"Wednesday… what's with the mask?" He asked, his smile stalling. A brief moment of silence passed between the two, his playful smile and her suspicious gaze felt like water and oil unable to mix in this brewing heaviness.
Tyler, seeing as she wouldn't answer, began observing the room. Wednesday followed his gaze — to the bed, his nightstand, then finally, to his table, to his journal spread opened. Each look seems to take something away from his smile, his lips straightening with every place amiss.
Slowly, like the act itself was unbelievable, his gaze landed on her. The casual smile was gone, the lightness of which he carried himself disappeared. He just… looked. Blankly. Then, he opened his mouth. "Were you looking through my room?" His tone hinted at something subtle, something wrong.
The gravity in the room seems to double, and the tension is heightening exponentially with every second. Wednesday narrowed her eyes, her instincts are telling her to run, that she's in danger, but another part of her told her not to. That there's something she needs to see, to hear.
His question, once again, was left hanging in the air. Tyler grinned, then he chuckled. A chuckle so fake it couldn't fool a half-developed child. "Why were yo—"
"You shouldn't be able to speak," Wednesday cut coldly, eyes narrowing. "You shouldn't even be standing."
Tyler's grin faltered. "Wednesday, I don't know what you're saying."
"Don't fool me, Tyler." Wednesday retorted, tone laced with , "I already know what you are."
The room thickened with unspoken tension. Tyler tilted his head, squinting at her with a strange mixture of curiosity and disbelief. "What I am? You- you know me, Wednesday. What are you talking about?"
"Stop it." Wednesday shot back, her tone laced with quiet readiness, body angled toward the window for a swift escape. "Give up."
He flinched, hesitating before glancing momentarily at the journal she'd left open on his desk. A shadow crossed his face, one that didn't belong to a mere teenager. His eyes turned cold, lacking the dorky attitude, the facade he usually carried, replaced by something different, something… terrifying.
"That's it, huh?" Tyler's jaw clenched, his fist tightening to the point his knuckles seems to burst from his skin. Wednesday watched, observed everything.
"I… didn't want you to know," he said, every word heavy with emotion, with what Wednesday presumes as regret. Tyler covered his face with his palm, clawing at his own face. "Why did it have to be you?"
Before Wednesday could respond, a loud roar cut through the air, like the scream of a beast, of a demon from hell, followed by a loud gunshot. The sheriff… and who?!
Wednesday's eyes flicked towards the woods, and in that instant Tyler, stepped forward, faster than she expected. In a burst of unnatural speed, he reached his hand out, a crazed look adorning his face.
'He's fast!' She thought, but she's bold. Without a flicker of hesitation, Wednesday threw herself out the window, dodging his grip by a hair's breadth. She landed on the roof on her back, rolling down before falling harshly on the truck's bumper with a grunt.
Then, as if waiting, Thing popped out from the half-opened garage, confused. Wednesday stood up, snatched the hand without another word before sprinting towards the woods, towards the gunshot.
Another roar rang in the air, this time, from behind her. Different from the last one, guttural, savage, familiar — the monster, Tyler.
Wednesday Addams is never the type to gamble, to rely solely on premonition. Some situations, however, require flexibility. Right now, she's putting all her cards in one person, in one man — Adam Cain.
If he loses… well, they all die.
——
Note:
Been thinking of that House of the Dragon fanfic concept. I want it to be a power-trip, but at the same time, with a story. A character idea I've been thinking of is a Targaryen prince with super-soldier serum, but no dragon.
For his arsenal, if you've read the manga "The Regressed Mercenary Machinations" there's a character there that carries around a whole package of weapons. Axe, sword, tomahawks, spear, etc. — on his back. I want that.
Idk idk idk. Might think about this later.