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The sound of the typewriter lingered in the room even after her fingers had stopped moving.
Wednesday stared at the page in front of her, a deep emptiness swelling within her.
It was the final chapter of the story she had lived over the past few months.
She typed the last period and set the sheet aside with the rest.
This was a story she would never share.
Her story…
His story…
Tyler’s story.
His name slipped into her thoughts like a winter breeze whispering through the dark. Wednesday clenched her fists and locked the manuscript away.
That’s when her phone buzzed, like a bad omen impossible to ignore.
"Have you decided whether you’ll come back?" —Xavier.
But the worst part wasn’t the message. It was the fact that she answered.
"I’m not entirely against the idea." —Wednesday.
In that moment, Wednesday opened a door she didn’t know how to close.
Xavier began to creep into her life like a chronic illness: slow and persistent. The next messages came sporadically, disguised as casual reminders of his presence… and his friendship.
The dull ache in Wednesday’s shoulder was a constant mark of her mistake and guilt. So, with the bitter taste of remorse, she would type out a quick reply and then tuck her phone away for the rest of the day.
Then, the messages became daily. Xavier began to share the paintings he was working on, and she sent short updates from her training with Goody’s Book of Shadows.
Before she even realized it, the small chats with him had become a habit. They became just another step in her precise nightly routine, like brushing her hair with surgical discipline before bed.
She didn’t look forward to them. But she didn’t avoid them either.
They simply happened.
Wednesday placed the brush down on her vanity and glanced at the drawer where she kept the manuscript, catching its reflection in the mirror.
A fist closed around her chest. She swallowed hard, trying to ease the pressure.
Like an automaton, she stood and walked to the wardrobe. She opened the drawer, and the pages of the manuscript greeted her impassively and accurately. The truth mocked her, cruel as Tyler’s smile when she stepped foot into the Weathervane.
—“How does it feel… to lose?”
Wednesday felt Tyler’s warm breath graze her ear. His deep voice tensed every fiber of her skin.
Her blood began to boil. The humiliation and pain surged like foam. In one swift motion, she slammed the drawer shut and climbed into bed.
The phone buzzed.
She didn’t even notice.
She closed her eyes, lips pressed tight, arms crossed over her chest like her own hands could replace the fading ghost of Tyler’s touch.
She wanted to erase him—as if his hands had never touched her, his lips had never kissed her, as if his voice didn’t still haunt her nightmares…
"I’m investigating an old serial killer," she texted Xavier one afternoon. Somehow, those conversations had become a kind of journal, helping her untangle her thoughts. "I just need to find an article to trigger a vision."
"Isn’t that illegal?"
"Only if I get caught."
He replied with a string of images she couldn’t quite interpret. She set the phone aside, disappointed by Xavier’s lack of help, but the feeling faded easily as she went back to writing.
Halfway through a paragraph, a soft voice crept into her mind: He would’ve offered to come with me.
Wednesday’s fingers froze on the keys. The hair on her neck stood up.
She resisted the urge to glance behind her, to look for him hiding in a shadow of her room.
She knew he wasn’t there.
Wednesday let out a deep sigh and kept writing.
It was nearly the end of her extended winter break when Wednesday started sharing photos of her activities. Xavier had messaged her just as she was removing her black latex gloves. Without thinking much, she showed him the squirrel she’d used for her taxidermy practice.
"Oh god, Wednesday! A little warning next time. I don’t think I can keep eating."
The mental image of Xavier’s tortured expression almost made her smile. Almost. Until a voice whispered: He would’ve laughed.
Her chest tightened painfully. Maybe it was the thought. Maybe the memory. Or maybe just the cruel certainty that it was true. Tyler would’ve let out that rough, almost purring laugh, his shoulders shaking, and his bright eyes tracing her from head to toe before raising a brow with that dumb smirk of amused curiosity.
—"Is this a hobby or just you polishing your forensics skills?" he would’ve said, draping his arm over the back of a chair at the Weathervane.
—"Both," she would’ve answered, tilting her face up and locking eyes with him.
Then Tyler would’ve tilted his head with that usual look of bewildered fascination.
Just picturing it made Wednesday’s stomach twist.
She turned her head toward where the manuscript was hidden…
The phone buzzed.
"What are you doing this weekend?" —Xavier.
"Going to Arkansas. I’m following a lead." —Wednesday.
"Can I come with you?" —Xavier.
Wednesday blinked at the last message.
Wednesday marched out of the station, fists clenched, murderous intent stronger than ever.
The operation had been a complete disaster. Utterly humiliating. And all because—
"Wednesday! Where are you going?" Xavier shouted behind her. "Wait for me!"
Wednesday exhaled hard and quickened her pace. Unfortunately, Xavier’s long legs helped him catch up before she reached the corner.
He grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her around. Wednesday wanted to break every one of his fingers.
"Are you okay? Do you need a hospital?" he asked, his worried eyes scanning her face for signs of the hit she’d taken.
"I’d be better if you knew how to follow instructions," she snapped through gritted teeth.
"I wasn’t going to let you be alone with him! He’s a killer!"
Wednesday didn’t understand the complaint.
"Your attempts at chivalry are not only unnecessary, they’re counterproductive. You knew the objective of this trip, and you let him escape."
"I thought you were just going to observe him."
"Why would I waste my time like that?"
Wednesday looked him in the eyes. Really looked. And Xavier looked back.
They were green—like his—but she saw herself reflected in eyes that judged her, that didn’t understand her, that didn’t see her.
Her stomach churned.
She stepped back. Xavier’s hands slipped off her shoulders.
Unaware, she slowly shook her head.
Wednesday turned on her heel and walked away.
Back in her room, she went straight to the drawer where the manuscript was hidden.
Her hands trembled as she pulled out the pages and walked slowly to her bed. That night, she didn’t sleep. She read until dawn and kept reading until she devoured every word of the story.
His story.
Her story.
Their story.
The questions, the doubts, the truths… all twisted inside her chest like a knot impossible to untangle. She wished she were Alexander the Great, to slice through it with the edge of a sword…
… Or a claw, maybe…
Her guts turned. A thought invaded her mind like a deadly plague.
Her eyes drifted to the scattered pages on her bed. Her heart doubled its pace.
What if it was all a lie?
She swallowed.
But… what if it was all true?
She stepped out of the car and climbed the stairs with determined steps. Wednesday didn’t register the architecture, the windows, or any emergency exit at the Willow Hill Psychiatric Hospital. Her heart thundered against her chest, and anxiety rose to her throat.
—"Wednesday Addams," she said at the door, jaw clenched. "Addams with two D’s, like padded room."
The alarm buzzed. The metal door creaked open.
Wednesday’s heart stopped. Her breath caught in her lungs. This was the moment of truth.
She stepped inside, feet silent on the floor.
The white light in the cell flickered, and that’s when she saw him again. And somehow, air filled her lungs once more.
He raised his head, his expression darkening when he saw her.
Wednesday kept walking. She couldn’t stop.
Tyler stepped forward too, dragging the chains on his arms. Pressing the lips that had once kissed her.
She would be lying if she said she didn’t notice every detail. The way his defined muscles tensed, the red marks on his skin, the sweat glistening on him… Her eyes took him in completely, just as his eyes did with her.
When they were a single step from the glass, they stopped. Perfectly in sync, like dancing an old tango.
Wednesday lifted her eyes to his face. The truth didn’t need words.
Her heart remembered how to beat.
Wednesday saw her reflection in those green eyes—so different from Xavier's-and let out the softest of sighs. In them, she found herself surrounded by darkness, danger, madness, and obsession. She saw herself as she was... and as she could become.
The feeling that had haunted her all through the break finally melted away.
She took a step closer, lost in her own reflection; and like Narcissus falling into the pond, she drowned again in the green depths of the Hyde.
But it didn’t matter—because those eyes, and all they promised, was where she want to stay.