Chapter 107: The Gothic Girl's Assessment - This Guy's Not Normal!
The gothic girl's eyes, black as ink, were like two bottomless wells, silently watching Edward.
Her face was devoid of any expression—neither curiosity nor suspicion, only pure, analytical coldness. It was as if she wasn't looking at a living person, but rather an antique awaiting appraisal, or a corpse prepared for autopsy.
Her younger brother, by contrast, was a completely different story. He'd stopped his idle poking of the ground with a stick and looked up curiously, his pudgy face filled with confusion. Fortune telling? The word was clearly beyond his simple comprehension.
"Fortune telling?" the gothic girl finally spoke, her voice as cold as an inscription on a tombstone, without a trace of warmth. "An ancient scam that profits from human stupidity and fear. Do you think we'd fall for that?"
"Whether you believe it or not, you'll only know after trying." Edward's smile remained unchanged. He extended a finger, and its tip lightly tapped the air, as if touching an invisible barrier. "I can even show you my 'sincerity' first."
He dropped his smile, his gaze becoming focused. His eyes fell upon the gothic girl, and he spoke slowly, deliberately, each word clearly striking the silent air.
"Your home was stolen by a lawyer named Tully Alford. He's a despicable con man who's coveted your family's fortune for years. Working with him is a woman named Abigail Craven, a greedy loan shark."
The moment he finished speaking, a subtle, almost imperceptible contraction appeared in the gothic girl's pupils. Although this detail was extremely minute, it didn't escape Edward's eyes.
The gothic girl's brother Pugsley's mouth dropped open. He looked at Edward in surprise, then turned his head to look at his sister.
Edward continued without pause: "They found some guy and made you believe he was your uncle Fester, who'd been missing for twenty-five years. But in reality, that man is Abigail's son, Gordon Craven. A pathetic puppet controlled by his mother."
This time, the gothic girl's body stiffened slightly.
Her hands, resting on her knees, tightened at the knuckles.
These names, these details—they certainly weren't something a random stranger on the street could know.
"They used some bogus 'law of primogeniture' claim to transfer your family's ancestral mansion and wealth to that fraud, then threw your family out like trash." Edward's tone carried a hint of sympathy, but his gaze remained sharp as a blade, as if it could pierce straight through to the heart. "Am I right, Wednesday Addams?"
When her name was spoken by this stranger, Wednesday could no longer maintain her absolute composure. She suddenly looked up, and for the first time, her black eyes flashed with wariness and lethal intent.
"Who the hell are you?!" Her voice was very low, like a small predator whose territory had been invaded, letting out a threatening growl.
"A passing traveler who just happens to know a thing or two about destiny and fate." Edward spread his hands, looking harmless. "Now, do you still think I'm a con artist?"
Wednesday stared at him intently, her mind racing. The man before her, riding that badass motorcycle and wearing an expensive leather jacket, didn't look like some broke scammer. But every word he spoke accurately described the desperate situation their family currently faced. This was beyond what simple research could achieve.
"Wednesday..." Pugsley tugged at Wednesday's sleeve and whispered, "He... he knows everything."
Wednesday ignored her brother. She remained silent for a long time, as if engaged in a fierce internal struggle. Finally, she took a clean paper cup from under the stand, scooped up a cup of bright yellow lemonade, and stiffly handed it to Edward.
"Deal." She forced out the word through gritted teeth.
Edward smiled as he took the lemonade and took a sip. An indescribable sourness and bizarre taste instantly exploded in his mouth, almost making him lose his composure. This stuff... did she seriously mix it with battery acid?
He suppressed the urge to spit out the lemonade, drank it all, and then placed the empty cup on the stand.
"Excellent. Now it's fortune-telling time." Edward cleared his throat, his expression becoming serious and mysterious. "Your father, Gomez Addams, is currently drowning in self-doubt. He's lost his fighting spirit, like a deflated balloon. Am I right?"
Wednesday's lips tightened into a straight line. Her father's condition was what worried her most right now.
"And your mother, Morticia Addams—she'll never just sit back and do nothing." Edward's gaze seemed to penetrate the barriers of space, seeing what was happening in the distance. "She's a strong and elegant woman, and for her family, she'll face any danger. So... she's preparing right now, or rather, has already left to return to the mansion occupied by the enemy. She wants to take them on single-handedly and get justice for you."
"What?!" Wednesday's icy facade, which she'd maintained, finally shattered completely. She abruptly stood up from her chair, panic appearing on her face for the first time.
"That's extremely unwise." Edward shook his head, his tone grave. "Because those two scumbag thieves want more than just your house and bank accounts. What they're really after is the legendary Addams Family vault. Your mother's trip is basically walking into a trap. She'll be caught, she'll be interrogated, she'll be tortured by every means possible to force her to reveal the vault's secrets."
"No!" Pugsley cried out in terror.
Every word Edward spoke was like a sledgehammer, striking Wednesday's heart. She knew her mother, and what Edward described was exactly what her mother would do.
"Then what do we do?" Wednesday's voice held a tremor she herself hadn't noticed.
"Hope lies with your father." Edward's gaze deepened. "Only when Gomez recovers his spirit, picks up his sword, and rekindles his passion will you have a chance to rescue your mother and reclaim everything that belongs to you. And the key to awakening him... is happening now!"
No sooner had Edward finished speaking, as if to confirm his prophecy—
Tap, tap-tap, tap-tap-tap!
A rapid and urgent tapping sound suddenly rang out.
A pale, disembodied hand appeared out of nowhere on Pugsley's shoulder, its five fingers frantically tapping his shoulder blade with an extremely anxious rhythm.
"Thing!" Wednesday exclaimed.
That was one of their family's most loyal servants—"Thing."
Its appearance, and its unprecedented panic, undoubtedly confirmed the terrible prophecy Edward had just uttered.
Their mother, Morticia, was truly in danger.
Meanwhile, in a dingy motel on the outskirts of Westfield.
Gomez Addams, the patriarch of the Addams family, who was once passionate and held family honor as sacred as life itself, was now like an empty shell with his soul hollowed out.
He wore a wrinkled pinstripe suit, slumped dejectedly on a beat-up sofa, his eyes vacant as he stared at the obnoxious daytime talk show playing on the television.
The room was filled with the scent of despair and mildew.
"Oh, Gomez, my dearest husband."
An elegant yet slightly worried female voice spoke.
Morticia Addams, wearing her signature form-fitting black gown, slowly walked to her husband's side. Her face was pale, but her eyes were still bright, and her red lips were like blood. Even in such dire circumstances, she maintained an impeccable aristocratic bearing.
She extended her slender hand and gently stroked Gomez's disheveled hair.
"Look at you, my love. The fire in your eyes has been extinguished, the smile on your lips has vanished. This mindless program on television is corroding your noble soul."
Gomez showed no reaction; his gaze remained fixed on the TV screen, as if it held all the meaning in his life.
A flicker of pain crossed Morticia's eyes, but it was quickly replaced by firm determination. She knew she couldn't wait any longer. This family needed her, and her husband needed her.
She leaned down and pressed a deep kiss on Gomez's cold cheek.
"Tish... that's French." Gomez finally showed a hint of reaction, murmuring. It was their secret expression of love.
"Yes, cara mia." Morticia straightened up, her eyes becoming incredibly resolute. "I'm going back—back to our home. I'm going to tell those thieves that the dignity of the Addams family will not be trampled upon."
She didn't tell Gomez about the dangers she'd face; she simply straightened her skirt, turned, and walked toward the door, each step resolute and elegant.
She pulled open the door, revealing a gray sky outside.
Morticia looked back, taking one last glance at her despondent husband, then unhesitatingly stepped into the unknown danger.
She was going to face the enemy, in her own way, to protect her family.
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