Chapter Text
The outside of the house was no more appealing the second time around. Enid had kept quiet on the ride back, a small smile occasionally crossing her face. Perhaps that was how she looked when she plotted? Wednesday preferred a more murderous visage, but that tended to be true in general. This time, despite the return to the house, Enid’s shoulders were steel.
“I got this. We got this.” She opened the door.
“Mom? I have a question. Me and Wednesday were talking.”
“Wednesday and I.” She whispered. Grammatical errors would not be used in conjunction with her name. Down the pale, fleshy steps came Enid’s equally pale, fleshy mother, a frustrated expression already parked upon her face.
“Enid, what is it? I know you don’t do anything useful, but some of us have actual things to do in the evening.” Her tone was cruel. Wednesday knew far too many people with that tone— people with bikes, grasping hands, and rough bricks against her back. Her nails dug into her palm, the sharp sting providing a welcome relief from the derision. Enid could handle this. Enid would be unhappy if Wednesday maimed her mother. Not that Wednesday had any reason to want to maim her mother. Esther had done nothing to her— the tone was not meant for her— and yet, the twisting, seething heat in her chest crept in.
“Mom. Wednesday and I were talking, and I think it might actually be good for me to try out one of those summer camps?” Enid phrased it as a question, but Wednesday could hear the false ring of her voice. Deception, through and through. Perhaps she really was rubbing off on her. That was a much more pleasant thought.
“Oh, that’s wonderful, honey.” Enid’s mother looked at her with the first positive emotion that Wednesday had ever seen. There was a tumult inside of her. Pleasant thoughts meant nothing. How dare she look at Enid like that now.
“I know it’s sudden but I just thought we could drive—“ Enid was cut off quickly.
“I knew you’d be reasonable in the end, even with your silly notions.” Honeyed tones belied the insults that she was spewing, like a dribble of sewage out of a clogged pipe.
“My—“ Enid‘s steel shoulders were beginning to melt. Despite the high temperatures needed for that, Wednesday felt ice-cold.
She stepped towards her horrible, minimalist closet (reminiscent of Dr. Kinbott) and pulled out a gray suitcase. “I already packed for you— this suitcase is so much nicer, don’t you think?”
“Wait— what? You packed—“ Enid sputtered. She could not look at her. If she looked at her now, she could not control herself.
“Don’t give me that look. One way or another, you were going to go.” Esther tried to look at Wednesday, as if in commiseration about Enid’s behaviors. Wednesday hoped for her cruel, painful end. She would get nothing from her. Nothing against Enid. Not like this.
“And— don’t you guys want me to sta—“ Her mother railroaded over her, decimating the natural flora of Enid’s voice. Wednesday hated industrialism.
“You can leave in the morning— me and your dad will be at Grant’s football game, so no need to stick around.The money is in your suitcase, and I’m sure you can handle yourself. You have to learn to be independent someday. ” With no further care, Esther pranced back up the stairs, as if a great weight had been lifted from her back. Looking at Enid’s face, Wednesday had a strong urge to actually drop a weight on her back.
“Grant’s football game. Of course.” Enid’s hollow laugh sounded less appealing than it should have been. Was Wednesday coming down with something? “And she was just— god. So eager to get rid of me, isn’t she?” Devastated, but not surprised. Something inside of her was screaming.
Wednesday couldn’t do much but look. What combination of words would return her typical roommate?
“Wednesday? Can we just— go? Now?”
“The less time I have to spend around these colors, the better.” At least that brought a small smile to Enid’s face.
“Let me double check that everything is packed. I’ll meet you by the car in five.”
-
The bags were in the back. They were in the front.
“Wednesday? Where do you actually live again?”
Enid was still quiet, still drowned-pale, but her voice had the sharp undertone Wednesday had been waiting for. The first time Wednesday had heard it, she’d known there was something different about Enid Sinclair— something buried underneath the pastels. Wednesday was no stranger to digging.
“New Jersey.”
“New— Wednesday, we’re in California .” Enid pulled out her phone, muttering to herself as she went. “It’s 3000 miles away . 41 hours of straight driving. In this car? That’s at least a week. Are you— sure?”
“Yes.” Wednesday needed this horrible feeling to stop. That would only happen if Enid was normal.
No one spoke.
The air changed, slowly— Wednesday’s talents had never been in reading a room, but she could feel this. Enid’s silence spoke volumes. Her nails did not click, her feet did not tap, and the crickets chirped outside. She leaned back in her chair for a moment, and when she laughed it sounded as bitter as grapefruit pith. “Why does she hate me?”
“What.” Enid was crying. Enid was crying . Wednesday didn’t know what to do about that.
“I’m just— everyone else likes me! Mostly! So why—“ Enid was sobbing. Wednesday really wished Thing was here. Or a manual, a guidebook, anything to tell her how to respond, how to make her stop. What had she read about werewolves? What had she read about friends? Communicate— communicate on their terms. “Why can’t she? ”
Wednesday put her hand on Enid’s.
Enid’s skin was warm. There was a horribly dizzying sensation, a wrenching in her body, entirely concentrated on her right hand. Wednesday persisted. If Enid could become a werewolf for her— could overcome everything to save Wednesday, then she could do this. She would.
“Enid. You are horribly, persistently, constantly likable. Even I could not outsmart you. Let her be blind.” Did that make any sense? Would Enid understand? Had she said it right? Wednesday removed her hand from Enid’s again. Pins and needles threaded throughout, and if Wednesday looked, she could almost imagine the pinpricks of red that they were leaving behind.
“T-thanks.” Enid was crying more. “I don’t— this is the good kind. Don’t worry. Means a lot.” Perhaps Wednesday’s panic showed on her face, ( weakness, her mind tolled ) because even now, Enid was comforting her. Even now, she was relieving Wednesday’s suffering. Her fingers tingled, phantom pains of the hand they fleetingly knew. “Wednesday?” Enid wiped the last of the tears from her eyes.
“Yes?”
“Can we do something stupid? Teenage rebellion, or— just. I don’t want to be here right now.”
“I know exactly where to go.”
-
Stolen kayak in hand, they stood before San Francisco Bay.
“You know, when I said something stupid, I meant like dying my hair, not breaking into Alcatraz. ”
“There isn’t any danger. Unless you’ve forgotten how to pilot a boat?” Enid shot a Look at her. Even through clumped lashes, and gray smears she had tried to remove, she looked…better. A satisfied, purring animal had made its home in her chest. Wednesday was going to embalm it.
“Fine. But there better not be any sharks.” If Wednesday had been the smiling type, she may have grinned. As it was, a slight incline of the head was all that she gave in return.
The kayak splashed into the water. People really shouldn't leave their sheds unlocked. The plastic seats were slightly dented, but otherwise in good condition— it was basically begging to be borrowed. One of Enid’s knees brushed the ridge of her spine, and her body did its best to imitate rigor mortis. What was it? Why did her touch bring such—
“Let’s go.” Wednesday pushed off, moon reflection on the water their only guide. “Enid. You have a tapetum lucidum , correct?”
“A what?” Wednesday waited a moment— sometimes Enid needed to process the words before they made sense to her. Wednesday understood that. “Oh— yeah! Like the shiny thing in my eyes for night vision?”
“Yes. Please make sure we are staying on the correct course.” Judging by the sound of hair brushing a coat, Enid had nodded. “Otherwise, you have naturally enhanced strength, meaning you will go against any possible currents.”
“Got it!” The underside of the boat was cleaned, gooey alluvium washing away as Wednesday pushed off. The boat wobbled for a moment, but as it righted itself, they came into a facile rhythm. “So. Tell me more about this ancestor of yours, since we’re breaking into a probably-haunted prison for their stuff.” Despite Wednesday’s initial instinct to ignore any personal questions, she found herself obliging.
“Johnny Addams. Nobody is entirely sure why he was in Alcatraz, but the courts put him there just in case. His wife died while he was in prison, and he died…soon after. We’re picking up whatever he stored— he sent an encoded letter to my great-great-grandfather with the location.”
“Dang. And nobody has been there since?”
“No. There was a whole debacle afterwards, and the Addams family tries to stay away from public debacles. Except Uncle Fester.”
“I really can’t decide if I want to meet your Uncle Fester or stay as far as possible away from him.”
“That’s how he likes it.”
The nighttime dearth of wind was proving helpful. They were almost to shore. The splashing of the boat didn't do much as they dragged it up the shore— until Wednesday heard a familiar screech.
“ What was that?!” Enid shivered, hunching her shoulders in— as if she didn’t kill the Hyde; as if she hadn’t saved Wednesday; as if she needed protecting. Wednesday wanted— Wednesday didn’t want, because she had nothing to want for, and interpersonal relationships were useless. That was that. And…
“ That was a black-crowned night heron.” Enid’s shoulders relaxed. Wednesday had done that. It was a sickening thought.
“Do you…like birds?” There was an inquisitive gaze on the side of her cheek, and she would not meet it.
“I don’t despise them. Black-crowned night herons are harmless. They nest around this time of year— I suspect we surprised a juvenile. Occasionally they nest in cattails, though it's more common in trees.” Her hands fluttered, though involuntary. Unable to be contained. Wednesday— perish the very thought— did not mind talking about a certain few subjects. Ornithology was one of them. Not that Enid would be interested in ornithology— Wednesday was lucky to get much out of her parents, and their interests tended as kooky as hers.
“That’s awesome! Do they— like— attack? Can we look at the baby bird? Are they common?” Enid had…questions. A plethora of questions. Enid had listened. That horrible, disgusting feeling rose within her. Her hands fluttered again.
“They can be territorial, though they won‘t really attack. Occasionally they regurgitate on intruders, though the parents seem to be in the process of acquiring food, so I doubt that would happen. If we are quiet, we could look at them. They’re less common than average heron species, but one can still find them easily, especially in marshes. If there’s a colony of them, they can continue to nest in that place for decades, meaning they establish influence quickly.”
“If they throw up, it better get on you. But I do want to see them… if you say they won’t, then…baby birds!” Enid looked to Wednesday— for permission? For guidance? Oh. She wanted her to go first.
Wednesday began creeping through the long reeds, twitching as they brushed her ankles. A cream-blue eggshell gleamed under the moonlight, like dead doves to the home. Behind it, nestled into the long cattails and marsh grasses, lay a carefully woven nest. Inside was a bird. Not just any bird, of course— Wednesday was right. A juvenile black-crowned night heron, likely waiting for its parent to return, eyed them, flint sharpening its gaze.
“That. Is. Adorable!” Enid’s whisper-squeal was an appropriate volume, for once. “Look at its little eyes! And it’s so tiny… I just want to squish it.”
“Careful. Get too close and the territorial nature wins out.”
“Just like wolves!” Werewolves were territorial. Perhaps Enid didn’t see her car as her territory? She didn’t seem to mind Wednesday being there. Or offering to stay there for extended periods of time. Wednesday had— no. Not now. First, the mission. A cry startled the both of them, though Enid responded by clinging back onto Wednesday, while she just blinked.
“Ah. The mother. It would be wise to leave now.”
“Yeah, yeah, no problem! Got it! Which way are we going!?” Enid was tugging on her, and that really should bother Wednesday more than it did. But through her sweater— through her sweater, Enid’s hand was just warm , and terrifying, but predominantly warm.
“This way.” The cattails rustled, and they made their hasty retreat. The moon was shining down onto Enid, who startled for a moment, and took her hands off Wednesday.
“Sorry! Sorry. I didn’t mean to— I know you don’t like— I was just—“ At least giving her looks could still shut Enid up. Wednesday set off again. Nothing she could say in response to that would come out the way she wanted it to. She could feel the dread swirling in her stomach.
Wednesday had memorized her father’s instructions. With her customary single-minded focus, it wasn’t particularly long before they arrived at the assigned place. They walked past the warden’s house, the main prison block, and the dining hall, to the only place an Addams would hide anything: the morgue. “Alright.”
There was a fence around it. Chainlink. The lock was remarkably easy to pick. Small and concrete, with a peeling, formerly white wooden door, it didn’t look like much. The entrance to a former Civil War Tunnel, if Wednesday remembered correctly. The glass windows on either side were coated with grime, though intact, and the door was shoddily locked with a padlock. Perhaps they assumed most of the challenge would be in getting here. Amateurs. Locks were easier to deal with than the pit in her stomach, so Wednesday handled them quickly. A moment to take in her surroundings only worsened the feeling.
“Wednesday? Not that I don’t absolutely adore walking around creepy abandoned morgues, but how long is this going to take?” The door creaked open, and Wednesday stepped in. Enid stepped in behind her. Wednesday could feel— no. She couldn’t.
“Not long.” The bricks on the wall weren’t loose— until Wednesday pushed the third one down, fourth one to the left, and second one up from the location of the morgue if the wall were treated as a map of the island. Then, the brick directly below the center brick came loose enough to wiggle it out— revealing a small metal lockbox, and a book. Though slightly mildewed, the book seemed unharmed, and the box unrusted— Wednesday sniffed it. Human fat, in order to keep it clean— Wednesday couldn’t deny that she liked the smell. Perhaps she’d keep that part from Enid.
“You…weren’t kidding.”
“Am I ever?”
Wednesday redid the mechanism, and turned back around. She was aware she was speaking less than usual. She was not aware of why, and she’d like to keep it that way. Growing pits in her stomach were fine, and they were normal, and they didn’t exist. Wednesday was breathing at an entirely average pace. She was making sure of it.
“Once we get out of here, can we at least check what’s in the box?”
“Why.”
“Curiosity? And— payback, for dragging me out here, because it might be cold enough that there aren’t any spiders but there could have been spiders, or ghosts, or bears, or- or—“ Enid was less used to not talking than Wednesday. That much was clear.
“Fine.” Payback, at least, made sense in her terms. That was safe. That kept the pit calm. Transaction— you give, and you take— that was fine. Wednesday knew how that worked.
Dimly, the blades of grass reflected the light from Enid’s cellular device. They crouched over the box, Enid holding the flashlight as Wednesday picked the lock. Far superior to the others that night— as to be expected of an Addams. Click. With nary but a soft squeak, the lid fell open.
“What is it?” Enid had eyes, Wednesday refrained from pointing out.
“Papers. Presumably the ones my dad wants. They’re genealogy related. And… potentially treasure, though I’m not meant to look at them without him.”
“Treasure?!”
“Us Addams like to collect it.” Wednesday certainly did.
“Is there anything else? I mean, treasure’s like— super cool and whatever, but if we can’t look at it, it’s kinda boring. In the moment.” Curiosity killed the cat. Idly, Wednesday wondered what it would do to a wolf. Brushing her hand over the bottom, she found two more things: a small photograph, and a necklace.
“There is this.” The photograph— Wednesday knew, before she even looked, who it would be. Delilah Addams. Johnny’s wife.
She was smiling at the camera, dressed in a light (despite the black and white photo, Wednesday was sure it was green), polka-dotted dress. She looked nothing like an Addams. She’d still felt the weight of it, clearly— her love had run deep enough. Deep enough to kill.
“She looks nice.”
“She was a banshee. Nobody wanted Johnny to marry her, considering her predisposition to color , but it was decided that, for a banshee, that was odd enough to be an Addams. That’s how my dad tells it.”
“That’s… really sweet. Your family history seems so rich.”
“Everyone’s family history is rich.”
“Nobody in my family cares enough to look into it. Can’t even care about their own kids.” The last part was mumbled, but Wednesday heard it. That wasn’t good. Enid needed to be normal. She needed this constrictor to stop wrapping itself around her organs and squeezing. She needed the absence of the first to stop causing the second. She needed to stop thinking about Enid.
“There’s a necklace too.” That caused Enid to perk up somewhat. Of course it did. Wednesday pulled it out of the box. On each side, two periwinkle moonstones were set into shining silver metal, connected by round, semi-heart-shaped silver pieces, dotted with tiny pearls. It connected in the middle, where a smaller moonstone sat, and a teardrop pendant, ringed with silver, hung off of it. Halfway up on each side, it turned into a twisted chain. Even to Wednesday’s color hating eyes, it was beautiful. There was no doubt who it was meant for.
“That— it’s beautiful. ” The emotion in Enid’s voice made her itch. She looked at the necklace. The necklace, bereft of eyes, did not look back. Wednesday thought about her mother, and about her father, and about Pugsley, and Lurch, and Thing, and Uncle Fester, and Cousin It. Wednesday could feel Enid’s reverence like bugs crawling under her skin. Her family would not wear this necklace, she knew. A dull sweat permeated the back of her neck. Wednesday was teetering on the edge of a precipice, that much she knew— but Wednesday didn’t know how to fall. Didn’t know how to do anything but grasp, clutch, and tear. The bugs climbed higher.
“It’s yours.” The words shocked Enid. Wednesday was adept enough to notice that. Unfortunately, the words shocked her too. She didn’t quite know (and how she hated that feeling) what she had meant to say, but it hadn’t been that. Jerky, Wednesday dropped it into Enid’s hand. Their fingers didn’t brush. That was how it was supposed to be. And yet—
“You— you can’t give this to— Wednesday, what? This has to be worth— it’s a family heirloom. ” Enid made very good points. And yet—
“You’ve seen my family. Nobody would wear that. I don’t want to see the color.” Somehow, somewhere, her prefrontal cortex was failing her. Perhaps Uncle Fester was right. A lobotomy was the best option. She’d see the color anyways , if she gave it to Enid, and Enid would know that, and Wednesday was embarrassing herself, and it was horrible. She wanted to rip someone’s fingernails out. Possibly her own.
“I—“ Enid was silent, for a long moment. “Thank you.” For once, the stream of words was silent. That had been happening more often than normal, the functional part of Wednesday’s brain noted.
“We should head back.” Wednesday was already on her feet. Back to the kayak. Back to the car, back to somewhere , back to normalcy. She was unbalanced. She hadn’t even done anything, and she was unbalanced. Curiosity didn’t kill the wolf. But it might kill her.
Enid was learning. She hadn’t pried, yet, though it must be digging into her. Wednesday couldn’t see her, eyes focused on the blackness ahead, but she could feel her. She wanted to scream. The sand crunched beneath her boots.
“Wednesday, do you have pockets? Because mine are super shallow, and I don’t want this to fall out.” Enid had wanted to say something more. A tidal wave behind her lips. And yet— she was horrifically considerate, even now. Wednesday didn’t have pockets. Her feet, moving off their own accord, turned her around. The sight of Enid hit her harder than an arrow. She shone. Even beneath nothing but the moonlight. She was inevitable.
“Just put it on.” Her tongue felt thick in her mouth. Maybe she was having an allergic reaction. That would explain all of it. The gnawing inside of her ribs as she watched Enid fumble with the clasp. The scraping, as if hollowing all the flesh off her bones, as if compacting it together in her stomach, as she watched Enid curse quietly. At least there was one familiar feeling, in between it all— annoyance. Wednesday clung to it like a life raft. After the second time Enid nearly dropped it, Wednesday felt calmer. She should have known that was a trap.
“Wha—“ Wednesday was holding the ends of the necklace. She must have crossed the distance to Enid somehow, not that she remembered it. “Gonna do it for me? Thanks!” Something was off about Enid’s voice. Wednesday didn’t have the time to figure out what. This was a task. This needed to be a mission. This was normal between people who spent time together, Wednesday reminded herself.
And yet— her fingers rested on top of the down on Enid’s neck. The back of her sweater had slipped down slightly, revealing the dents and shadows of her spine. She had a freckle above her right shoulder blade. Worst of all, Enid was warm. What was she supposed to do with that knowledge? Wednesday was burning into a crisp. She was cremated. There was nothing left of her, she realized— it was all searing into her fingertips. Into the soft skin. It dimpled from the weight of her knuckle. The clasp was fastened, and she yanked her hands away.
“Let’s go.”