"Haah… haah…"
Violence has long been the nature of man, the prehistoric instinct born from milleniums of war and hate. From the very moment humanity learned to wield their fists, to claw at their enemies — the knot of violence tied itself to the very arteries of their hearts.
To harness the power of nature, kind and good, to inflict pain upon your neighbors with malice and contempt. Such depravity, the overwhelming defeat of empathy to wrath.
Despite its innate immorality, to Adam, perhaps that is the one gift his maker left him. The act of violence rooted itself deep in his being, as deep as the ocean of darkness settling afar to the woods.
A predicament, however, arose. Unlike animals who strive in the violence of the wild to survive, they are conscious beings, men.
Man is different from beasts. They walk the same Earth, breathe the same air, enveloped by the same sky— but they are different. The lion does not kill to kill, simply to survive, to eat. An instinct, a primal force of deliverance to its prey.
The man does not do the same. Whether it is for duty or for one's self. There is decision in the action, Adam thought, and the intellectual scale of conscience weighed the murdered lower. Judgement passed and the claws came down.
Adam wonders, despite the crippling anxiety of failure creeping down his spine— In which manner does Tyler fall on? A beast that simply does things to survive, or a man killing consciously for the act of it.
But as the claws of his opposition strike his flesh and carve themselves a ravine of blood in his skin, as that madness-stricken bulging eyes meet the mismatched sunken his, the answer came as quickly as the question arose. Tyler is not a man, nor a beast. He is rotten, and a house that is rotten will collapse— or must be demolished.
So, Adam did not hesitate. Every strike was true, every time the knuckles of his fist met and crushed this thing's bones, all of it is honest, raw. All men, once in their life, must succumb to violence, for only in doing so can they learn how to resist it.
Amidst the clash of fists and claws, there was an oddity that Adam felt. This thing, Tyler felt more sinister, infinitely more than their first brief meeting. It moved rather erratically, whatever that could entail for a wild beast. It held no self-preservation, no sense of protection.
That oddness revealed itself to be an ability it perhaps acquired — the ability to heal. It healed from broken bones, from delayed bruises. Their clash did not become a battle of life and death, but rather, a battle of attrition.
A battle that did not last long. Wednesday shot and the beast fell, bleeding, half-destroyed. Its blood pooled on the ground, proving to be too much for even the soil to absorb. That said, Adam wasn't sure if the blood on his face was his or not.
Then, as if some fever nightmare of a child, it revealed its true self. The human, Tyler, stood before them like a trembling prey. He raised his remaining arm, his face pained and carried with whatever strength he had left in his gangly, bleeding body.
"W-wait!" He cried, the act of pleading seeming to be his last resort. Adam glanced at Wednesday, who held the gun, the executioner. "Don't kill me, Wednesday! P-please!"
He begged, and that scratched something in Adam's brain. To plead, and show your most vulnerable side. Tyler, now returned, naked and about to die, showed the humanity inside him.
While he, a beast who wore the skin of others, played the role of human despite being a monster, pleaded so earnestly towards God for himself to be real, to be man — but could not be so. Here was Tyler, who wholly accepted the opposite and was granted what he desired.
It's… unfair, Adam thought. Why was he given what he wanted? Why was he real and he not? What made them so different? Both monsters. The questions sickened him, the thought filled him with wrath. Envy enveloped his heart like a hungry beast, devouring light, scattering inside him like a virus.
He wants to scratch this itch, to rid himself of it. But it is so far inside his head, so deep in his brain that he fears doing so would inflict so much pain and suffering that he'd jolt himself awake.
Adam does not want to wake up; he wants to keep dreaming. To keep attending Nevermore, to converse with his friends, to keep reading books. He fears that scratching this itch would take that away, turn it to ash like paper in a pyre. He won't.
Strands of his hair covered his face, dampened from dirt and blood. It swayed softly with the wind, dancing gently like the leaves of the trees that witnessed everything. Adam glanced at Wednesday, her shotgun pointed straight at Tyler's head.
She's contemplating, the pause lasting for not a second longer. With her eyes on her target, she opened her mouth. "Goodbye, Tyler." Her words were merciless, cold, and to Tyler, God's judgement.
The gangly boy covered his face in fear, and Adam waited, and waited, and waited… for a gunshot that never came. Tyler's head did not explode in gore, and Wednesday's fingers did not pull the trigger.
The silence was deafening, and Adam began to be filled with worry. "Wednesday?" He called, receiving no response from the girl. The quietness was ultimately broken by the sound of a woman trying to stifle a laugh.
"He… hehe.."
Adam flinched at the sound; something in the pitch of her voice screamed malevolence, madness. The snicker turned to chuckle, and the restraint came loose — it turned into a full-blown laugh.
"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" The voice echoed in the forest, and Wednesday still gave no reaction. The girl was out cold standing, baffling Adam.
He twisted and turned, trying to find the source of the voice to no avail. It was everywhere — to his left, right, above him, behind. It was a laugh of mockery, of ridicule. Then, he turned back to Tyler, finding the boy gone.
'A distraction!' He screamed in his head, a trick. Tyler's wound left a trail of blood, but before Adam could even begin to think of following, a flicker of light manifested deep inside the woods. He eyed it, and the hairs on his skin stood up — fear.
It was so quick, so sudden that his body moved before his mind could think. The tiny light grew in size, and Adam found himself shielding Wednesday with his body.
The impact wasn't strong, no. But the pain that came after exceeded what Adam had felt in the short span of his life. The feeling of being burned, of standing inside the sun.
Pain spread in his body, even to the parts that were not hit. Just seconds ago he was brawling with a beast, now half of his body is burning. Fire that sustains life now burns him to ash.
Adam wanted to scream, to howl, but he found his mask melting, constraining his mouth like Philippe's iron skin. His hand that wasn't burning cradled Wednesday's head while the whole right side of his body trimmed down to his bones.
At this very moment, it feels like pain is all he's ever known, as if he was born with it. He could not see with half his vision, but his one eye landed on Wednesday's primeval state and a weight left deep inside his heart.
From a distance, he could hear the laughter intensifying, the raw sound of sadism emanating from the laugh brought forth a surge of wrath Adam has never felt before. His anger raged forth, a tsunami of red, all-consuming.
He feels as though they had been played. A puppet, a dog leashed just as they were about to bite. Seconds passed yet the flame continues to burn, like hell itself came on Earth and latched itself onto him. The smell of burning flesh permeated the air, and Adam could do nothing but grit his teeth and endure.
'Who was it?! Who was that woman?!'
No answer came up. She came and left, taking Tyler along with her. The laughter still rings and the echoes in his head heightened. It bounced from every corner, carving itself familiar in the deepest crevices of his brain. In the heart of darkness, a foreboding malice of sadistic nature made itself known.
—-
Wednesday stood before her table, arms crossed, eyes locked on the evidence bag laid flat. Tyler's blood has long since oxidized, turning the brown shade of the bandage even darker. 2 days have passed yet she's still in possession of this evidence. Why, you may ask?
Due to… their activities, the town's vigilance has raised to the maximum. You see, burglary in itself wouldn't create such a reaction. But the fact that said burglary included an assault on the sheriff and a kidnapping of his only son? Every fork and musket were raised and loaded.
'Kidnap.' Wednesday thought, a faint snicker leaving her ever emotionless pale face. After Tyler's mysterious magic-wielding accomplice attacked the two of them, not a glimpse of the boy was found. No recent attacks, not even a visit on his comatose father.
She doesn't understand how, in all their deviousness and orchestrated planning, did they not think of ousting her to the authorities. If Tyler himself came out and told everyone she's a suspect, there'd be no investigation, straight to the gallows they would've sent her simply for the fact that she is an Outcast.
Wednesday pressed her lips. 'There's a deeper reason for all this. If chaos is their motive, there would be no point in letting someone who knows everything roam free.' Lest they don't think of her as a threat. That seems to tick a vein in her forehead.
'Adam said that mercy is not a word that laugh could possibly know. As much as it pains me to accept an answer as simple as that, I have none myself.'
Sheriff Galpin, the suspected main target of the crime lies incapacitated in the town's hospital. Great. Wednesday had Thing survey the room for the past two days, the only visitors were friends and colleagues.
With Principal Weems instituting a ban on going to Jericho until further notice, along with the fact that the sheriff's office were hounding up the forest near Nevermore like hunting dogs, sneaking was out of the question.
Of course, the accused of the attack would be an Outcast. Who else in this innocent, colorful joyful town would execute such a cruel crime? Much less on the beloved Galpin family. That look the Principal has been giving her is awfully accusatory. How could she ever do that! Or not.
Wednesday let out a long restrained sigh. That said, proving to others that Tyler is the mass-murdering monster is simply customary. The fact revealed itself when that boy transformed and chased her all the way to the middle of the woods.
The memory is still vivid, and the shameful fact that she was hit with a hypnotizing hex at the most crucial moment. A wave of self-disgust coarse through Wednesday's being. How could she, a professional, the expert, jeopardized the whole operation?
She pinched the bridge of her nose as her brows curved to a frown. 'Three mistakes in the span of an hour. Uncle Fester would hang me upside-down.'
As she was reflecting about her mistakes, the consequences of her sequential failure to follow the simple steps of her OWN plan, and the fact that Adam did the damage control for her— a skipping sound made its way to her from the other side of the room.
The smell of perfume, of lavender mixed with subtle sweetness assaulted Wednesday's nose. That, along with the chemical smell only that of commercial makeup can procure. The smell was awful, yet comfortingly familiar in a way she'd never admit.
She turner around, meeting the source of the attack on her olfactory senses. Enid's bright blue eyes met the dark irises of hers. The girl is smiling, like every other time. Hands behind her back in a coquette-esque way. "Whatcha' doin'?" She asked curiously.
Wednesday blinked once, perhaps observing the girl standing before her. Finally, with less confidence than usual, she answered. "…Analyzing evidence."
Enid leaned closer, peering over her shoulder. "Ew… is that—Tyler's?" she whispered, almost with a sense of morbid curiosity that clashed with her usual perkiness.
The werewolf scrunched her nose, most likely now only smelling the pungent scent of rust from the evidence bag. Wednesday mused how that can deter her and not that awful perfume she wears.
Nonetheless, Wednesday nodded once, her fingers tapping the table in a rhythmic pattern, thinking, calculating. "Yes, and the puzzle doesn't fit. The image is too blurry to make something out of."
Enid tilted her head, her blonde hair swaying as she did. "So cryptic… you should definitely make a podcast or something. Bet you'd rack up a ton of fans!"
Wednesday looked back at her deadpan. Then again, what did she expect? She's told the girl about Tyler, how he's the monster causing havoc and how he has a deceptively smart accomplice with him.
Wednesday argues in her mind that it's a backup plan, in case something unfortunate happens to both her and Adam, that someone would still be in possession of the truth. But… even Thing knows that's a lie.
Caught in a vulnerable position, particularly in a position where she was carried by Adam on his arms all the way to her dorm in the middle of the night, unable to walk. Wednesday saw another version of the bubbly girl in front of her, the werewolf that thirsts not for flesh… but for gossips.
That moment of weakness became a token of blackmail. A gun to her head, a pink colorful gun. In a moment of haste, Wednesday suggested a treaty. Now, there are three of them in the case, four counting Thing.
Wednesday hesitated. Her eyes flicked toward the window, where the pale winter sun barely lit the room. "I'm in a cul-de-sac. We have absolutely no lead on who that woman is. With the sheriff out of the picture, we lost the only person who could rally against them."
The simple image of the sheriff about to shoot his transformed son revealed enough for Wednesday to know that the grumpy man was innocent, and is not in cahoots with Tyler in his murder-spree.
Enid's smile faltered, replaced by a mixture of concern and unease. "You mean… that creepy laugh in the woods?"
"The same," Wednesday replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "A woman. She wields power beyond our current repertoire. She might be… a witch."
The assumption burned like acid in her throat, but she stated it without flinching. Enid opened her mouth to offer words but thought better, simply standing in silence.
Wednesday straightened and grabbed the evidence bag, her expression hardening. "This is no longer just about Tyler. Truthfully, it never was. He was bait. A lure to pull us into their carnival of sadistic games."
Enid shivered. "So… what do we do?"
Wednesday turned to her with a stoic expression, hidden behind is vengeance that rains strong. "We hunt."
"Didn't you say you have no lead?" Enid replied confusedly.
Wednesday hummed. "Explicitly, I meant. If we analyze what we know from the snippets of what happened, some mysteries could hit the light." The girl opened her drawer, placing the evidence bag carefully.
"First off, from Adam's accounts, it's a woman, thus, most likely a witch, a powerful one. This leads me to believe that there's a method in their murder." Enid nodded along Wednesday's words, "Secondly, we know they're still in Jericho and wouldn't go far. Thir—"
"Wait-wait!" Enid interrupted, "How do we know the second part?!"
"Because they chose this place for a reason." Wednesday replied with a sigh, "Don't just look at the facts, Enid, think about them. The only motive I could deduce from their erratic movements is that it has something to do with this God-forsaken town."
"If it was chaos they were after, there would've been no need to stop. They could commit massacres, raid the homes of unknowing families, but they didn't. Which leads me to believe that it's not just for fun."
Enid gulped in fright as Wednesday spoke her thoughts.
"Notoriety is also out of the question. Fame-hungry serial killers don't like sharing suspicions with others, this very school is doing that. Noting the fact that there's already two of them. The mere public existence of Outcasts in a town takes all the merit in their works."
A brief moment of silence passed between the two. The werewolf girl looked shook, while Wednesday's expression looked as pristine as ever. After another second, Enid bobbed her head up and down to a nod.
"Have I enlightened you enough?" Wednesday asked. "I-I get it now!" Enid replied with a meek tone, trying her best to seem unaffected.
"Good," Wednesday said, "As I was saying— third is that Tyler could possibly be an Outcast. What kind, I'm not so sure of."
The possibility presented itself a long time ago, the moment she realized the monster is human. There are countless others in Outcast history that could change between two forms.
The most famous of them all are werewolves, then sirens, afterwards are the minorities of the minorities— the cannibalistic Wendigo, the siren counterpart of the Celts Selkie, the fox-humans Kitsune. All endangered and are in hiding, none of which matches Tyler's description.
Enid's eyes lit up, Wednesday could practically see what the girl thinks of this revelation— a gossip. "Then that would mean… the sheriff is an Out—"
"The sheriff's former wife is an Outcast."
"—yes! Exactly what I was about to say!" Enid exclaimed, "OMG! A possibly-but-rather-obvious-bigot falling in love with an Outcast and having a kid, it's like a tragic love story! Like Twilight or something! Except Bella is sheriff Donovan and his wife is Edward!"
Enid twirled, the face of a lovestruck romance-loving innocent girl gracing her face. Wednesday watched blankly. A nonsensical reply is what she expected, but to this degree, even she's left speechless.
She turned around, swinging her backpack over her shoulder before walking towards the door, leaving the werewolf girl in her own world. Wednesday's sudden movement woke Enid up from her fantasy world.
"Wendsy! Where are you going?" She called out just as Wednesday's hand grabbed the door knob.
The girl slightly turned. "Scouting the incoming enemies." She replied flatly.
The light in Enid's eyes faded, and the colors of her hair seem to dull ever so slightly. "Right…" she muttered, "Parent's Weekend."
Enid's strained relationship with her mother is nothing new to Wednesday. It is in fact, the one and only thing that they seem have in common with one another.
Wednesday watched as Enid subconsciously scratched her elbow, how her eyes seem to snap here and there in search of something she herself does not know. The thought of her mother coming drained the excitement in the girl's eyes. She could see it all, the curse of her innate high observation skills.
"Enid," Wednesday called, catching the attention of the girl. A brief second pass as they simply look at one another, then, with a quiet voice, Wednesday spoke. "You'll survive."
Enid looked taken aback before the weight of Wednesday's words settled in her being. She smiled a bright smile. "You, too." She replied, her hands finding their way behind her back once more.
With one last look, Wednesday opened the door and left. The click of the door as it closed marked a new mission she must not jeopardize this time: survive the Addams family.
—-
Note:
Got lazy. Fleshed out the story in my mind, though.