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Halloween seemed a more than appropriate date for the execution of the infamous Tyler Galpin.
Wednesday arrived early to the hall and smoothed her black dress as she took a seat on the ancient wooden benches. The thick heel of her shoes had echoed throughout the room with each step she took down the aisle, but it failed to draw the attention of Donovan Galpin, who remained in the first row with his head bowed and shoulders slumped.
He didn't seem to notice when Wednesday sat beside him, either.
Two years had passed since that man had to neutralize and then hand over his own son. The only son he had, whose mother he had mourned in silent grief for over a decade. Vaguely, Wednesday wondered how many years he would mourn Tyler and whether he would erase every memory of his existence as he had done with Françoise.
Wednesday turned to look at him, unsurprised by how those two years had aged him like a decade. His hair was sparser, the dark circles decorating his face were large and deep, and his eyes were swollen and red, surely from crying all night next to the unconscious body of a son who would never hear all the times he had whispered "I love you." He had also lost weight, which was evident in his gaunt cheeks.
His appearance wasn't surprising. Tyler's capture had been so sudden and heavily broadcasted by every news channel that it had secured the reelection of the mayor of St. Louis.
And, she had to admit, it had been under quite convenient circumstances.
After his initial escape and the slaughter of a special team trained to contain highly dangerous Outcasts. Tyler's story had become rather infamous, and she tried not to think about how the publication of her first novel was likely boosted by the publicists eager to know the most morbid details of the case. People quickly assumed Viper was her and that her enemy, Mason, was him.
The whole matter had nearly given her a stomach ulcer, and not in a good way.
His escape had earned Tyler a place on the world's most wanted list at the young age of seventeen. Quite an achievement, and his parents hadn't stopped bragging about their brief connection to the boy at the family reunion that year. However, with his new celebrity status came additional problems. His identity as a Hyde had become public knowledge, and soon not only were law enforcement agencies after him, but also radical groups and hunters... and the latter were the worst.
Naturally, Wednesday had gone after him too.
She found him before anyone else, making it very clear that she knew him as well as he knew her, and that his game of manipulation could work both ways. After all, what better revenge than a taste of his own poisonous venom?
While dismantling one of the groups that wanted to enslave the Hyde to their will, Wednesday had been kidnapped by her stalker.
Tyler hadn't wasted any time coming for her in the basement of an old, abandoned house, and she had barely regained consciousness when the Hyde appeared and redecorated the basement with blood and viscera.
The memory of the Hyde's rage still made Wednesday clench her fists tightly, wrinkling the fabric of her black dress.
She was getting sentimental, she thought, but if there was ever a good time to be sentimental, wasn't it now?
Later, when Tyler transformed back into a human, naked and drenched in blood, Wednesday hadn't been able to stop herself from burying her hands in those curls and planting a kiss that was anything but innocent. That night, when they returned to their hideout, Wednesday had learned other forms of torment that, upon remembering, made her press her thighs together tightly.
Their celebration over defeating her stalker didn't last long, as it soon became clear that those they had killed were nothing more than disposable pawns.
The whole ordeal was a tangled web involving con-artist cults, mercenaries, and numerous jobs offered through what Tyler had introduced her to as the Deep Web. They discovered that her stalker was not only targeting her but was also funding most of the groups that sought to possess the Hyde.
Just weeks ago, they had finally tracked him down.
Wednesday let out a sigh and lifted her eyes, ensuring no emotion shone in them.
The hall had filled up as her mind wandered through memories. She looked back at Donovan Galpin and wondered if he was also reliving memories of a little Tyler or just berating himself for being such a terrible father after Françoise's death.
The relatives of Tyler's victims had seated themselves across the aisle, their faces smug as if they had personally captured the terrifying Hyde.
"Why don't you go to the other side?" Donovan murmured without lifting his gaze. "I know you hate him."
Wednesday allowed a dramatic pause before responding.
"I have a better view from here."
Donovan shot her a glare as fierce as his monstrous son's.
The lawyers arrived, and silence fell heavily over the hall. Each introduced themselves and read their credentials, followed by a local priest who positioned himself behind Donovan and Wednesday due to the catatonic state of the sinner.
Finally, they brought in the convict.
His limp, unconscious body was dragged in a wheelchair. His head slumped onto his chest, and the remnants of his brown hair swayed lazily. Half of his body was bandaged, but even so, severe burns were visible on the skin of his right arm.
As the lawyers began their litany of Tyler Galpin's many crimes committed during his short, intense criminal life, Wednesday's mind drifted back to her memories, including his most recent transgressions, which weren't even on that list. She knew each one of them and could provide numerous details, but doing so would incriminate herself, and one thing he had always insisted upon was that she keep her record clean... or at least free of any indictable offenses.
Not that she enjoyed hiding her work, but if she had to see the big picture, she knew it was for the best.
Tyler had arrived in St. Louis two weeks earlier to scout his next victim's routine, map out the area, and prepare for their final move when she joined him on November 30.
Yet Tyler had deemed it a brilliant idea to act alone and recklessly. Two years of absolute caution were thrown away with a Hollywood-style spectacle of temporary insanity.
Law enforcement had lost all trace of him six months after his escape (coinciding with the time when Wednesday found him). Until that fateful morning when he decided to walk in broad daylight through the heart of St. Louis, enter the building of a prominent businessman, transform into a three-meter monster, and carry out a stupid massacre that ended with the building's explosion and Tyler, naked, burned, and unconscious among the debris. Served on a silver platter for the specialists to sedate and finally sentence him in front of every national news camera.
"What a stupid beast," Wednesday had overheard some people say.
She agreed.
Of all the states in the United States, Missouri was one of the few that still had the death penalty. While he couldn't be sentenced to it for his known homicides since they were committed when he was still a minor, his adult-age brutality had changed the game.
Wednesday had been summoned to St. Louis to testify, accompanied by Enid, who stayed glued to her side throughout the tedious trial. Her words on the witness stand earned her an invitation to witness the execution.
She had smiled when she received the invitation; she had never seen a lethal injection before, though she knew the theory.
Two doctors laid the man's body on a metal bed and quickly secured him with thick chains around his feet, hands, and torso. They set up the monitors, and the sound of his heart beat slow and steady, unaware they were its final beats.
They skipped the first injection, as the convict was already unconscious. Then they administered the paralytic and waited a few minutes until the doctor picked up the final syringe.
Wednesday straightened her back in her seat and felt something twist inside her. She clutched her abdomen, and when she became aware of the position of her hands, she quickly withdrew them, clenching her fists until her nails dug into her skin.
She knew this had to happen, but she couldn't stop her breath from catching in her lungs as the doctors raised the third syringe.
She clearly saw the needle being inserted into his arm and the lethal agent slowly administered.
The body convulsed slightly, and Wednesday's heart seemed to mimic it. She stared at the bandaged figure, the chocolate curls, and bile climbed up her throat. Yet she didn't move from her seat and wiped away the tears that gathered in her eyes.
The vital signs monitor went haywire before displaying a flat line, signaling the end of Tyler Galpin.
If only he had suffered more, Wednesday thought, that creature deserved it.
The doctors announced the time of death, and Donovan collapsed next to Wednesday.
People began leaving slowly, casting enraged glances at the father of that monster, as if the torture and imprisonment had been the wish of a fifteen-year-old boy who had decided to trust the wrong person due to neglect and abandonment wounds.
Wednesday stayed seated until they placed the body in a dark bag and wheeled it off to the morgue.
And so, Tyler Galpin had died on October 31.
On a holiday that originally celebrated the end of life and the beginning of death. Poetic.
When she exited the building, Enid was waiting, visibly anxious.
"How are you?" she asked, concern etched on her face.
"Disappointed," Wednesday replied. "It didn't look painful at all."
"Wednesday," Enid added in an exasperated, patronizing tone. "You can be honest with me."
The building doors opened again, and Wednesday watched Donovan Galpin drag the remnants of himself.
"Go to the car," she ordered Enid.
"What?"
She shot Enid a withering look that warned her not to make her repeat herself. Enid sighed and left, leaving Wednesday to approach Tyler's father.
"Sheriff"
The man didn't stop, heading straight for the parking lot.
"Sheriff" Wednesday repeated, her tone even more authoritative.
"I'm not the sheriff anymore." He growled through clenched teeth, stopping in the narrow space between two cars.
"Good. I wouldn't want a repeat of the scene you made during my father's arrest when we get to my house. Although you might find some truly guilty people there," she added, as if the idea had just occurred to her.
"Why the hell would I go to your house?"
"For Tyler's funeral, of course," she replied, as though it were obvious, ignoring the way Donovan's face twisted in pain. "My family is willing to perform all the necessary funeral rites and accompany him until the cremation."
"He won't be cremated," he said, his face flushed red, and Wednesday couldn't tell if it was from pain or fury. "There's a plot reserved in Jericho's cemetery, next to his mother's."
"I know, but I remember Tyler mentioning that spot was for you."
"That doesn't matter anymore."
The former sheriff turned away, and Wednesday let out a loud sigh. She had really tried to do things in the most civilized way; she had promised Tyler, despite her better judgment.
In a swift motion, she drew her stun gun and pressed it against the back of Donovan Galpin's neck. She counted exactly five seconds before removing it and watched, a glint in her eyes, as the ex-sheriff collapsed onto the pavement.
She smiled; she had always wanted to do that.
When Donovan Galpin woke up, he was lying in the back seat of a hearse. His cheek rested against the red velvet seat, and his eyes managed to focus on a blonde girl who looked just as confused as he was, and Wednesday Addams beside her.
"Just in time," said Wednesday, without taking her gaze off the window. "You'll find a more suitable suit for the ceremony in your room."
"What are you talking about?"
Finally, Wednesday looked away from the window and fixed her eyes on him.
"Tyler's funeral," she answered, slightly irritated, "and the Halloween party, of course."
"Do you really think I'm in the mood for this kind of nonsense? Let me out of the car right now."
"I'd love to, but that would go against the plan."
They stopped in front of the mansion, and Wednesday immediately got out of the car.
"What's going on?" Enid asked, trying to keep up with her.
The mansion doors swung open. Gomez and Morticia came out to greet them.
"Just in time," said Morticia, "the guests haven't arrived yet."
Lurch pushed Donovan toward the threshold, and out of instinct, he reached for his belt, where his gun used to rest.
"What you're doing is a crime," he complained, refusing to walk any farther than the entry hall.
A laugh behind him made him freeze.
"It wouldn't be the worst crime they've committed, I'm sure."
Donovan swallowed hard, almost afraid that everything was a hallucination born from his broken psyche. He turned around and saw his son carrying a huge arrangement of white lilies.
Donovan opened his mouth, but no words came out.
With some timidity, Tyler set the flowers on a nearby table and took a few steps forward.
"I hope you won't rat me out."
He shook his head and then looked at Wednesday, who had stepped closer.
"Tyler Galpin is dead," she declared. "There's a death certificate, witnesses, and a body to prove it."
"How...?"
"The fire disfigured his face," Tyler explained. "Then we just dyed his hair and got a little help with the DNA results."
Thing emerged from behind a vase, and the sight of the disembodied hand no longer surprised him more than seeing his son standing there.
"Why didn't you say anything sooner?"
"It had to be believable," Wednesday replied. "I wasn't going to risk the whole operation on the chance that your acting skills were as good as Tyler's."
"A compliment?" Tyler said with a half-smile. "Today must be my lucky day."
"Your death day, actually," Wednesday reminded him.
Tyler let out a light laugh and pulled Wednesday closer, draping his arm over her shoulders.
Behind Donovan, Enid gasped for air like a fish out of water.
"You should know that the person executed today was the creator of the hunters targeting outcasts. He deserved that injection more than anyone."
"And what will you do now?" Donovan asked. "Hide for the rest of your life?"
Tyler and Wednesday exchanged a conspiratorial look.
"Tyler Galpin died today, Dad." Tyler's arm slid from Wednesday's shoulder to her hand, intertwining their fingers. "But it'll be the first day of Tyler Addams."
"Halloween seems like a fitting birthday for you," Wednesday opined, tilting her head up.
"He's taking your surname because your parents will adopt him, right?" Enid asked. "A kind of long-lost brother, cousin..."
"The suspicion of incest would draw too much attention, Enid. The idea is to stay under the radar."
"So that means... — Donovan was left speechless again."
Tyler's smile lit up the whole room, and it was as if a warm ray of light had pierced through the mansion's dark curtains.
"That reminds me," Morticia interrupted, "the body will arrive in about ten minutes, and we need to finish the preparations before the guests get here. Darling," she said, taking Enid by the shoulders, "you'll find a suitable dress in Wednesday's room."
Morticia led Enid and Gomez away while Thing discreetly slipped out of sight.
"Are you really getting married?" Donovan asked in disbelief.
"The ceremony will be at midnight," Wednesday informed him. "Once Tyler is a free man."
"God, I can't believe I'll be related to the Addams family."
And though he tried to sound grumpy, the way his eyes couldn't leave his son and how his muscles insisted on pulling his lips into a smile betrayed the falsehood of his protest.
"In more ways than one," Tyler added.
Stunned, Donovan looked at Wednesday, and in response, she placed her free hand on her abdomen.
"Are you telling me you managed to execute a perfect crime but couldn't use a damn condom?"
"Dad!"
Donovan burst into a loud laugh, loaded with tension, stress, and immense relief.
He grabbed Tyler by the shoulders and hugged him like he hadn't in years. He felt his warm skin, his heart beating strong against his chest, and his familiar scent flooding his senses.
"I love you," he said, pulling back slightly to look him in the eye. "I'm sorry you had to die for me to say it."
Tears welled up in Tyler's eyes, and he quickly raised his hands to cover his face.
"You're going to make Wednesday not want to marry me if I start crying now."
Donovan snorted.
"As if you'd ever listen to me. Come on, your mother would never forgive me if I let you get married wearing jeans."
Tyler and Wednesday exchanged a sweet look before he guided his father to the room they had prepared.
Wednesday crossed her arms and mentally counted until the two men's blood-curdling screams echoed through the mansion.
A macabre smile formed on her face. Having Donovan Galpin in the mansion would be more fun than she had anticipated.