Chapter 108: Fester's Awakening! The Weight of Family!
Thing's fingers, frantic and forceful, practically sparked against Pugsley's shoulder. It used all its strength, gesturing wildly, trying to convey the danger Morticia, the mistress, was in—captured, bound, tortured.
Wednesday's face went pale. She clenched her fists tightly, her nails digging deep into her palms. She immediately understood the gravity of the situation.
"We have to save Mom!" Pugsley cried, his voice thick with tears.
"Shut up!" Wednesday snapped, cutting off her brother's panic. She forced herself to calm down, but her trembling body betrayed her inner terror. She turned to look at Edward, this mysterious man who now became her only lifeline. "You're right—we need Father!"
"Then let's go." Edward didn't waste words. He mounted Fenrir, and the engine let out a low growl. "Get on. I'll take you there."
Wednesday didn't hesitate for a second. She pulled Pugsley along and nimbly climbed onto the back seat of the motorcycle. Fenrir roared, like a black arrow shot from a bow, racing toward the motel.
The wind screamed past her ears. Wednesday hugged Edward's waist tightly, her cold cheek pressed against his leather jacket. She could smell a faint scent—a mix of leather and something else—and for some reason, it slightly calmed her wildly beating heart.
A few minutes later, Fenrir executed a graceful drift and came to a smooth stop in front of the run-down motel.
The three rushed into the room and saw Gomez still sitting on the sofa like a statue. He paid no attention to the children's return, or the panic on their faces.
"Father!" Wednesday rushed to him, shaking his shoulders forcefully. "Father, wake up! Mom's in danger! She's been taken by Tully and Abigail!"
Gomez's eyes moved sluggishly, but still without any light. Despair, like a thick cocoon, tightly enveloped his soul.
"It's no use." Edward walked over. He looked at the broken man before him and shook his head slightly. He reached out and gently pressed Gomez's shoulder.
A faint but pure holy light, like a gentle stream, silently flowed into Gomez's body. This power wasn't to heal him, but like a precise needle, it lightly pierced the cocoon that wrapped his soul.
Edward spoke, his voice calm and powerful: "Gomez Addams, your wife is in danger. She went to face the enemy alone to protect your home. And you—the pillar of this family, the patriarch of the Addams clan—sit here watching this mindless garbage, letting your passion and honor waste away?"
The holy light dispelled the darkness in Gomez's heart, and Edward's words, like a sledgehammer, struck hard at his awakening soul.
Gomez's gaze began to refocus.
On the TV, the talk show host was telling a stupid joke in an exaggerated tone.
"Mommy..." Pugsley's voice was tearful, "They're going to hurt Mommy with hot pokers..."
"Hot pokers?" Gomez's pupils suddenly contracted. Those words ignited the fuse.
"They'll put her on the rack!" Wednesday added, her voice cold but full of deliberate provocation.
"The rack?!" Gomez's body began to tremble—not from fear, but from something called "passion" that was reawakening in his veins after so long.
He suddenly leaped up from the sofa, the extinguished flame in his eyes reigniting with a roar at that moment, burning more fiercely than ever before!
"Cara mia!" He let out a thunderous cry, his pet name for his wife.
"They've taken my beloved! They want to torture my muse! This cannot stand!" Gomez waved his arms dramatically, as if conducting an invisible symphony. "Children! Arm yourselves! Lurch! Bring the car! We're going to rescue your mother!"
He rushed to the wall and pulled a gleaming, razor-sharp fencing rapier from an old trunk. The tip of the sword pointed at the ceiling, and his entire demeanor transformed; from a broken shell, he'd become once again the passionate, wild, charming patriarch of the Addams Family.
The Addams Family hearse—a black, classic Packard—let out a monstrous roar and shot out of the motel parking lot.
Gomez drove himself, a manic smile on his face. Wednesday and Pugsley sat in the back, preparing their various implements.
Edward rode Fenrir, following at a leisurely pace. He watched the hearse ahead, barreling through everything in its path, and a faint smile played on his lips.
This family is truly something else.
Meanwhile, at the Addams Mansion.
This magnificent Gothic manor was now shrouded in shadows.
In the basement, it was damp and cold.
Morticia was securely bound to a medieval-style rack, her limbs stretched in four directions by ropes, her body forming a spread-eagle position.
But even in such circumstances, her face showed no trace of pain or fear; instead, it held a perverse, almost pleasured smile.
"Oh, Tully, your technique is still so amateur," she said in a languid tone to the lawyer standing nearby. "Not enough pressure, and the angle is all wrong. True torture is an art form."
Lawyer Tully Alford's face was ashen. He held a red-hot poker in his hand, his forehead drenched in sweat. Morticia's composure filled him with profound humiliation.
"Shut your mouth!" Abigail Craven, the obese and greedy woman beside him, shrieked, her expression twisted with fury. "Tell us! Where's the vault! Or I'll brand that pretty face of yours with this poker!"
"The vault?" Morticia laughed softly. "How can you pathetic mortals hope to claim the Addams Family fortune?"
Gordon, the fake Uncle Fester, standing in the corner, watched this scene with a pale face, his stomach churning.
He remembered the days he'd lived in this mansion. Gomez would enthusiastically challenge him to midnight fencing duels with real swords. Morticia would gracefully teach him the family dance called "The Mamushka." The children would invite him to play "Is There a God?" and other dangerous games.
Although these activities were all bizarre and life-threatening, the genuine affection and acceptance in their eyes were something he'd never felt from his own biological mother.
In their eyes, he was Fester. He was family.
And now, his own mother was tormenting this woman—who had shown him nothing but kindness—in the cruelest way possible.
"Mom... Mother..." Gordon finally couldn't help but speak, his voice shaking. "Maybe... maybe we should just stop? We already have the house and plenty of money..."
"Shut up! You useless piece of garbage!" Abigail suddenly whirled around, glaring viciously at her son. "This pocket change isn't enough! I want the vault! All the wealth the Addams Family has hoarded for centuries! What good are you besides taking up space? If you didn't look like that idiot Fester, you'd be completely worthless to me!"
Those vicious words, like a poisoned blade, plunged deep into Gordon's heart.
He stared in shock at his mother, her face twisted by greed—so unfamiliar and hideous.
So he really was just a tool to her.
Just then, outside the mansion, there was a massive, metallic crash!
Followed by Gomez's passionate and furious battle cry: "Tish! I'm coming for you, querida!"
Gomez's hearse smashed directly through the mansion's heavy wrought-iron gates, charging into the courtyard like a battering ram.
Before the car had even stopped, Gomez had already launched himself out of the driver's seat like a missile, his rapier in hand executing a perfect flourish, pointing straight at the main castle entrance.
"Tully! Abigail! Come out and face me, you cowards!"
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