Chapter Text
Donovan Galpin woke up from a deep sleep, trying to make sense of his surroundings. It wasn’t the Day of the Dead yet. And he was in the Jericho graveyard. Did someone summon him? No, summoners won’t be interested in normies like him.
Spirit guide assignment, an ineffable awareness came into his mind.
Wait, what?
Donovan recalled the words of Goody Addams, uttered at this very cemetery on the day of Tyler and Wednesday’s wedding. If he was a spirit guide, it meant his grandson was a Raven.
Donovan heaved a sigh of relief.
Raven, not Hyde.
Tyler was doing perfectly well health-wise, thanks to Wednesday’s efforts and the progress made in Hyde research. And Donovan wouldn't be too surprised if his daughter-in-law was hoping for her monster baby to turn out to be a Hyde. But after everything they went through as a family, Galpin Sr. had been praying for his grandchild to be anything but a Hyde. For once, fate has been kind to him.
More than kind, in fact. With the boy being a Raven, Donovan had a selfish reason to rejoice: he could talk with him in his capacity as a spirit guide. So far, he had only seen Ed during the Día de los Muertos celebrations. He didn’t really know what his grandson was like. This would be a good opportunity to get to know him better. In life and afterlife, he was a terrible father. Maybe he can atone by being a good grandfather, Donovan hoped.
As he floated up to the surface, the surroundings came clearer into view. And there was the boy, right in front of him. He had black hair and eyes like Wednesday’s, but otherwise looked exactly like Tyler did at this age. And in the dark of the night, Tyler’s hair and eyes would have looked similarly dark, that it could easily be Tyler standing in front of him now.
Hang on. What was Ed doing at the graveyard in the middle of the night?
“What are you doing here?” Donovan asked his grandson.
Ed was startled to hear the voice, and dropped the shovel he was holding. He turned to face Donovan. “Who—uh, sorry, Sheriff—wait, you’re not the Sheriff. I mean you were, I know you. Um, hello, Grandpa! Were you buried like that?” he asked, pointing at Donovan’s uniform.
He said so many words, but didn’t answer the question, Donovan noticed. Shouldn’t have expected anything different from a child of Tyler and Wednesday, he supposed. “I asked you a question, young man. Answer me first,” he put on his stern face.
Ed glanced at the shovel and the grave. “What do you think? Gravedigging, of course,” he said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. To be fair, what else could anyone be doing in a graveyard, equipped with a shovel?
“You are digging at my grave?” Donovan was horrified. “What for?” he wasn’t sure if he wanted the answer, but he needed to know.
“For the badge. That’s why I want to know if you were buried in uniform,” Ed pointed at the Sheriff’s badge Donovan was wearing. “My metal detector dinged when I ran it over here,” the boy added, as if that was enough explanation for his actions.
Donovan had more questions now. And answers he did not want to give his grandson this early into their first meeting. “Why do you want my badge? I died after I—retired, so I wasn’t buried with it.” He paused, then decided to be honest. “And the badge is only given to Sheriffs after honorable discharge from service. Mine was very much not so,” he admitted.
“But the headstone says 35 years of service. They didn’t let you keep the badge after all those years?” Ed sounded indignant on behalf of his grandfather.
Donovan had no idea how much he knew of his last days as the Sheriff. He did not expect Tyler or Wednesday to be the kind of parents to keep secrets from their son, not after all the trouble caused by himself and the Addamses making that same mistake. But just in case they hadn’t told it to Ed yet, Donovan felt that it wasn’t his place to reveal to the boy that his father had been a serial killer at the age of sixteen, and that Donovan lost his job for failing to arrest him on time.
“Never mind that, why do you need my badge?” Donovan repeated his question. He very much doubted that this boy wanted it for sentimental reasons. “The metal was probably my wedding ring,” he added, to discourage Ed from digging.
“I made a deal with Uncle Fester. Promised to get him a Sheriff’s disguise, and he said he’ll take me along for the next robbery. They could do with a hostage. And I’ll get to see the inside of a high-security locker,” Ed replied enthusiastically.
Hearing this, Donovan felt thankful that he was already dead. He might have gotten an aneurysm if he wasn’t.
“Edgar Addams Galpin—” he wanted to address the boy by his full name but remembered only after uttering the first syllable that he did not know what ‘Ed’ was short for, and ended up making a guess.
“Edgar? Like Poe?” Ed looked amused to find that Donovan did not know his full name. “Close, but not my name,” he said.
Donovan felt embarrassed, and decided to keep the conversation to the more immediately relevant matters. “Why does Fester Addams need a Sheriff’s badge?” he asked Ed.
“The plan is for Aunt Debbie to rob the bank. And then Fester would stop by, dressed as the Sheriff. He’ll pretend to arrest Debbie and take the loot as evidence, and they will escape together. I offered to find the disguise in return for letting me be a hostage. Debbie will take me to the locker, then free me when Fester arrives,” Ed explained.
There was so much to unpack here. But Fester and Debbie were long-lost causes, so Donovan chose to focus on his grandson. “Why do you need to be there?”
“Research. For my comic series. It would be more realistic if I could be there for the robbery,” Ed answered.
Comics. The kid had at least one hobby that was not illegal. Donovan felt slightly relieved. “Well, the badge isn’t buried with me, so you will have to find a different way of gathering material,” he said to the boy.
“But if it isn’t there, what did they do with the badge? The new Sheriffs get new badges, so they won’t have had yours. You think it might be somewhere in the station?” Ed was curious.
“I suppose it must be in the archive storage,” Donovan thought aloud, and realized his mistake too late.
“Great, let’s go there! Tonight’s Friday, the station will be understaffed,” Ed said eagerly.
“Listen, Edward—” Donovan hazarded another guess at his grandson’s name.
“I’m not a Vampire, Grandpa. Even if I were, Mother won’t name me after anyone from that book,” Ed smirked.
His was a literary name, then? Donovan mused. “No, you’re a Raven, I know. Otherwise I won’t be acting as your spirit guide,” he acknowledged.
“So you are my spirit guide! I was expecting someone with magical powers, but Mother warned this might happen. I don’t mind, though. This is great, really. Since we’re in Jericho and you know the town well. You can guide me around the police station. In this town, it wouldn’t have changed much since your days,” Ed began exiting the graveyard.
Donovan was never a proper spirit guide to Wednesday, having taken up the assignment for the selfish (and utterly foolish) goal of separating her from Tyler, but he was better prepared this time. “I am supposed to help you gain better control of your psychic abilities, not guide you around Jericho,” he told Ed, who was busy hiding the shovel by a fence and retrieving a black leather satchel.
“But I’m already in control of my visions! Mother has taught me all about Ravens. Just tell me where this archive storage is located,” Ed demanded, and led Donovan towards the police station in which he had spent the majority of his life.
*
Ed was mostly correct in his assumption that the police station wouldn’t have changed much since Donovan’s time. But the interiors and infrastructure had been modernized, because even Jericho would eventually catch up with changing times. Donovan watched without comment as Ed carded through the drawers and files. He had made a lot of comments earlier, when the boy snuck into the station with the aid of a break-in kit which was apparently a birthday gift from his uncle Pugsley. Ed had used every warning Donovan had made to his advantage, so after a while the late Sheriff decided not to waste his non-existent breath.
“There—I found it!” Ed exclaimed happily, taking out a rectangular box with the label ‘Galpin, Donovan’ on it. Donovan hoped he wouldn’t look through the document, in case it contained gruesome pictures of his corpse.
Ed, meanwhile, had found the badge he’d been looking for, much to Donovan’s chagrin. He did not want his badge to be used to accessorize Fester Addams in preparation for a bank-robbery. But he couldn’t do anything about it, nor tell the boy his opinion on the matter. He had tried suggesting getting a fake badge from a costume store instead of going to all this trouble—but no, it had to be authentic for his dear uncle. Ed might look like a carbon copy of Tyler, but he was still an Addams. Come to think of it, Tyler wouldn’t hold any respect for his Sheriff’s badge either, Donovan thought sadly.
Ed was almost at the door when the security alarm went off. Neither he nor Donovan had any idea what triggered it. Ed scrambled to the side of the door, trying to hide, but it was no good. Moments later a deputy officer had stormed into the archives section. The boy was still holding the box with Donovan’s name on it.
“How did you get in?” the young deputy, Glenn (it said on his uniform), asked Ed.
“I have the right to remain silent,” replied Ed.
“I haven’t seen you before. Are you a Nevermore kid?” Glenn asked, ignoring the sass. Ed remained silent.
“You should talk to him and ask to call someone for help,” Donovan advised. “If it’s your first offense, they’ll go easy on you.” Was this his first offense? Donovan had no idea. Ed had only started at Nevermore last month, surely he wouldn’t have had time to accrue a record? Then he remembered how much trouble the boy’s mother had given him in her first few weeks, and did not feel very hopeful. At least Wednesday had been trying to stop crime, not aid it.
“What was the alarm about?” asked a familiar voice from just outside the door.
Donovan turned around to take a look at the newcomer, and suddenly felt like he was twenty-two years old once again, on his first ever day on the job. When Sheriff Noble Walker had welcomed him warmly to this police station.
But that was so long ago, and Noble himself has been dead for some twenty-five years now. Murdered by the woman who destroyed Tyler’s life until Wednesday put him back together. Murdered because he, Donovan, had been blinded by denial to see the truth in front of him.
Could this be another ghost, haunting the station, wearing the uniform he had much preferred to the mayor’s suit? Had he been waiting for Donovan to return, to blame him for all his failures?
No, this man looked younger than the mayor had been at the time of his death. This wasn’t Noble at all, but his son, Lucas. Donovan had known the boy from when he used to be friends with Tyler in Jericho High. Lucas was also present at Wednesday and Tyler’s wedding, he recalled. The Walkers had moved out of Jericho after Noble’s death, he had no idea they had moved back. Or that Lucas Walker was now the Sheriff of Jericho County.
It seemed Ed had known, judging by his response to Lucas’s unexpected arrival at the station. “Good evening, Sheriff,” he said pleasantly.
“I caught him stealing from the archives,” Glenn informed the Sheriff.
Lucas sighed. “Really, Ed? This is strike two,” he told Ed, and led them to the Sheriff's desk. Donovan wondered what strike one had been.
Ed was asking the same. “Strike two? I’ve never even been here before!” he protested.
“Bea told me about the rattlesnake incident from your first week at Nevermore,” Lucas replied.
“Rattlesnake incident?” Donovan raised his eyebrows, but Ed ignored him.
“Aren’t you supposed to *not* mix professional and personal lives?” Ed asked Lucas.
“Yeah, what of it?” Lucas was confused.
Ed was ready with his argument. “Well, you know about the rattlesnake incident only because you’re married to Aunt Bea—I mean Principal Barclay. Unless she made a formal complaint, which I know she did not, you should be officially unaware of what I did at Nevermore. Therefore you can’t call this strike two.”
Lucas was listening to Ed with eyes widened. “Already preparing to join the family law firm, I see,” he commented when the boy stopped talking. “Well, I can officially inform Bea about one of her students breaking into my office. That would be strike two for you at Nevermore, and I will also make a report of this incident, how about that?” he asked.
Ed looked caught out for a moment, and then his face brightened. “Make a report of this if you have to, but please don’t tell Principal Barclay, it’ll upset her,” he told Lucas.
Lucas stared. “Upset her, will it? And why is that?”
“You’ll have to tell her why I broke in,” Ed replied.
“I assume you wanted to steal old case files like your father was in the habit of doing, why would that upset Bea?” Lucas asked.
“Actually, I wanted to steal my grandfather’s badge,” Ed told Lucas. Donovan was surprised at this unexpected show of honesty.
But not for long.
“It’s the Day of the Dead in a couple of weeks. So I thought, if I got the badge, I could gift it to dad, because he has very little memorabilia of Grandpa. But at least he has some photographs. Aunt Bea doesn’t have anything of her dad, so if you tell her why I broke in, she’ll get reminded of her own dad, and become sad,” Ed explained.
Lucas wasn’t fooled, though. Thanks to their school-day friendship, he knew exactly what Tyler thought about being the Sheriff’s son. “Oh really, you think Tyler would be happy to receive his late father’s badge as a Día de los Muertos gift, do you?” he asked.
Ed nodded weakly. “Where is it anyway? There were only some files in the archives,” he asked Lucas.
Donovan frowned suspiciously. The boy couldn’t seriously think they’d fall for that? He warned how unpleasant it would to be caught red-handed with a stolen badge. Ed maintained his inquisitive expression, completely ignoring his grandfather.
Lucas turned around, looking confused. “It should be in the same box with all his files,” he said.
Ed claimed it wasn’t. Donovan shook his head at the audacity.
The deputy was peering at Ed. “I don’t know, Sheriff, he might have already taken it before I caught him,” he said.
Donovan felt anxious and embarrassed for his grandson, who was looking too calm for someone hiding a stolen article on their person. Could he have gotten rid of it while he was escorted to the Sheriff’s desk by Glenn and Lucas? At the time, Donovan had been reminiscing about his days being mentored by Lucas’s father to pay attention.
“You think I’d be stupid enough to lie when you could easily search me?” Ed challenged.
“Empty your pockets,” Lucas told Ed, who did as he was asked. When nothing was found, Glenn took him to the security check area, and was surprised to find the machine give an all-clear to Ed. Donovan himself was surprised. How did he manage to hide stolen property in such a short time?
“They probably buried it with him, he died not long after resigning,” Lucas said to Glenn. He had finally come to a decision as to what to do with the teenage thief. “Fine, I won’t tell Bea about this. But I will phone Tyler and ask him to come pick you up. The two of you can come up with whatever excuse you want to give Nevermore,” he said to Ed, and ordered Glenn to lock him up in the cell while they waited for Tyler.
“Can I take my sketchbook with me?” Ed asked as Glenn was leading him to the cell. “Please? I’ll have to stay all night, and I didn’t really steal anything,” he argued.
“You broke into the station and tried to steal government property,” Lucas pointed out.
“But it was my grandfather’s badge, as family I should have some rights to it?” he pleaded again, looking so convincingly sincere that Donovan couldn’t find the heart to react cynically as he normally would have done in this situation.
It seemed the trick was working on Lucas, too. He picked up the sketchbook from amongst the contents of Ed’s satchel which laid emptied on the table.
Ed looked slightly anxious as Lucas skimmed through the notebook.
“What’s this?” he asked Ed.
“A comic series I’ve been working on,” Ed replied.
“Bea said you liked to draw,” Lucas said, a small smile playing on his lips. Donovan wondered if he was remembering Xavier Thorpe’s mural that Tyler and friends—including Lucas—had destroyed when they were in high school.
“It’s called the Fetch. Like the Irish myth. The protagonist sees doppelgängers of people who’re about to die.” Ed said.
“Which one is the protagonist?,” Lucas seemed interested in the story.
“He’s the narrator. The story is told through his viewpoint, literally, so you can’t see him,” Ed explained.
“And he saves all these people’s lives?” Lucas asked.
“No, he just sees when they’re about to die, and finds more about their lives,” Ed replied.
Lucas frowned. He had had enough outcast literature for one evening. “Fine, you can keep it with you for the night, I’m not formally arresting you anyway,” he said, handing the sketchbook and pencil to Ed.
“What are you doing this late in the station? Anything sinister happening in town?” Ed asked casually. Donovan detected a hint of hope in the boy’s expression, very much like his mother’s whenever she learned of a new murder.
Unlike Donovan, the deputy Glenn did not know Wednesday, and misinterpreted Ed’s curiosity. “Some burglary at the Burlington bank, all neighboring counties are on alert,” he answered in a reassuring tone.
Lucas glared at his junior officer. Donovan mirrored his expression. They were not supposed to share important police information with civilians, especially not teenagers caught breaking into the station. (And who happened to be the great-nephew of a pair of seasoned bank-robbers). Clearly, this Glenn was new to his job. He looked about the same age Donovan had been when he joined, but he would have never made a blunder like that.
The only mistake he had made in his job came much later in life, and to much worse consequences, Donovan remembered bitterly.
*
“This is some bad fix you’re in, Edwin—” Donovan made another attempt at guessing the boy’s full name.
“Mother once wrote her own ending to the Mystery of Edwin Drood, and held a séance to summon the spirit of Charles Dickens to see if she got it right. She did not name me after the title character,” Ed said.
It must be a name from some book, Donovan was certain by now. He wasn’t thinking of any literary characters when guessing Edwin; it was the boy’s choice to make a comment about some incomplete Victorian novel. Speaking of unfinished mysteries—
“What did you do with the badge?” he asked Ed.
The boy smirked, then pointed to the bed inside the adjoining cell. There it was—the badge, lying camouflaged on the beige and blue striped mattress. “I threw it there when we passed the cells and the officers were distracted, hoping to retrieve it when they locked me in here,” he said with pride.
“Except they locked you in this cell,” Donovan pointed out.
Ed huffed. “Small hurdle. I’m sure that with a little effort—” he listened for any noises to ensure Glenn or Lucas wasn’t coming this way, then put his arm between the bars separating the two cells, trying to reach the bed in the other cell. Donovan could see instantly that this was a fool’s errand. Unless Ed possessed some magical ability to extend his hand, which being a Raven he most certainly did not, there was no way he could reach the badge from inside his own cell.
Donovan looked around to see if they have security cameras installed in the holding cell, and was relieved to find none. “Stop that now or you’ll get yourself stuck between the bars, kid,” he warned his grandson.
Ed ignored him and continued trying to push his body between the bars.
“I said stop it, Edmund!” Donovan tried another name that began with Ed.
He knew from the boy’s reaction that he’d got it wrong again, but at least it had the desired effect of making him stop for a moment.
“Edmond? Like Dantès? I wish. Could really do with a neighbor in the other cell right now,” Ed said.
Dantes who? he almost asked aloud, but then remembered the real name of the Count of Monte Cristo. Though Donovan had been thinking more along the lines of Narnia, and not post-Napoleonic France, when making his guess.
If he couldn’t get the boy to stay put by ordering him around, he’d do so by distracting him, Donovan decided. “What was that Lucas said about dead people in your comics?” he asked.
The tactic worked. Probably for the first time since they met, Ed was giving his full attention to their conversation. “The narrator sees when some people are about to die. He learns more about them and makes sure they don’t leave behind any unfinished business in the world of the living,” Ed said.
“But he doesn’t save them from dying?”
“He tries to, but fails. They end up dead no matter what he does,” Ed replied.
“Why would you write about a hero who always fails?” Donovan asked. This was too morbid, even for an Addams.
“Mother’s heroine, Viper, she always wins. So do every protagonist in every story I read. It’s boring,” Ed said.
“It’s also boring if your hero always loses,” Donovan argued. “It’s worse than always winning. Why would anyone read about a hero who keeps losing?” he asked.
Ed did not seem bothered by the question. “Hope?” he suggested lazily.
“Have you been fighting with your mother?” Donovan was curious. He recalled that Wednesday had used the Viper novels as an outlet to vent about her mother.
“No, why would you ask that?” Ed seemed genuinely surprised at that query.
Donovan felt relieved. He was the last person emotionally equipped to help if Ed were having problems with his parents. “You seem to have an issue with her writing, and since her heroine is based on herself…”
Ed shrugged. “The protagonists who always win—they do so because they’re heroes—they know the morally good choice to make, always. Except their options are just different versions of that old tale with the three chests. It doesn’t take a genius to pick the lead chest over gold and silver. What if there were only three silver chests to pick from? But heroes don’t face choices like that. If they did, they won’t stay heroes. They’d be monsters.”
“That’s not true of all heroes.” The boy needed to expand his reading list, Donovan thought. “Anyway, you’re not writing about a monster,” he pointed out.
“Are you sure? You haven’t seen what he looks like,” Ed said.
“I assumed he looks like you, just as I pictured Viper to look like your mother,” Donovan said.
“Have you run out of guesses for my name?” Ed asked abruptly.
Donovan wondered why he was asking this again. He had run out of guesses, but did not want to give up just yet. What other names began with ‘Ed’? He thought hard. “Edison?” he suggested at last.
Ed chuckled. “It wasn’t Uncle Pugsley who named me,” he said. But still did not give his real name.
At least he had stopped trying to wiggle into the next cell. Donovan watched with interest as Ed began tearing out empty pages of the sketchbook in long strips. It took a while, but the strips were twisted and braided together to make a small lasso. Annoyed as he was at the overall turn of events, Donovan couldn’t help but feel a little proud of his grandson’s resourcefulness. If he were alive he would have loved to take the boy hiking, like he used to do when Tyler was little.
Turning his attention back to the badge, Ed removed his jacket and laid it on the floor of the next cell like some sort of carpet. He then carefully threw the paper lasso onto the neighboring bed. After some maneuvering, the loop was around the badge and he was able to drag it to the edge of the bed.
Ed was just about to pull the rope when they heard footsteps approaching.
“Careful!” Donovan hissed. If the badge fell anywhere but on Ed’s jacket, the clanging noise would alert the deputy doing his rounds.
As if on reflex, Ed extended his left hand through the bars once more, despite previous attempts having already proven this to be a doomed venture.
Except it wasn’t. Not this time. Ed and Donovan both watched with wide eyes as the badge fell horizontally onto Ed’s extended hand instead of the floor. There was no clanging, only a small whoosh sound which was easily missed by the policeman passing the corridor.
Donovan hadn’t fully processed what just happened. He watched agape as the boy threw the badge upwards, and it stayed floating in midair, seemingly following Ed’s hand movements.
“Eidolon,” Ed said in a strange voice, not taking his eyes off the badge.
“What was that?” Donovan didn’t understand.
“My name. Ed is short for Eidolon,” Ed explained. He let the badge fall onto his right palm and continued examining it, glancing up intermittently to compare it with the ghost badge on his grandfather’s chest.
“Eidolon? That’s not a real name!” Donovan felt tricked. It didn’t even sound like it could be shortened to Ed, but he would rather call his grandson ‘Ed’ than ‘Eidolon’, and refrained from commenting on the choice of nickname.
“Neither was ‘Wednesday’,” Ed retorted. He was now trying to put on his jacket without actually touching it, and it was working, Donovan saw with surprise and disbelief. Only psychics had spirit guides, and psychics didn’t possess telekinetic powers.
“Yes, but ‘Wednesday’ is a day of the week. I know your father loves Greek myths, but...” Donovan shook his head, annoyed at his son for burdening the child with such a dark and ominous name. Though maybe it wasn’t Tyler’s choice; the Addams family gave names like ‘Fester’ and ‘Pugsley’ to its scions. He should probably count himself lucky that his grandchild wasn’t called Lucifer or Beelzebub.
Ed confirmed Donovan’s suspicions. “It was Mother who named me, and she got the name from a book that dad was reading to her just before she went into labor. Though I wonder if she always knew…” his eyes got a glassy look.
“Knew what?” Donovan asked. He felt uneasy. What could Wednesday know that would justify naming her child Eidolon?
“That I’d be a Davinci—well, a hybrid, really—but part Davinci,” Ed replied, then quoted Edgar Allan Poe: “By a route obscure and lonely, haunted by ill angels only, where an Eidolon, named Night, on a black throne reigns upright—that’s from ‘Dream-Land’. The poem where she got my name. I am part Night, after all, and most men in that family were Davincis.”
Donovan wondered how much the boy knew about Isaac. He was about to ask, but was interrupted by Glenn coming towards the cell. Ed hid the badge in his pocket.
“Your father is here,” the deputy informed Ed.
That was quick, Donovan thought. Ed expressed the same surprise when he found Tyler exchanging pleasantries with Lucas. “Dad! How did you reach here so fast?” he asked.
“Your mother had a vision of you in the cell, so I left her book-signing event early to check on you,” Tyler explained. Donovan noted that he did not look angry or upset to find his son in police custody. To be fair, given the family history, he was probably feeling relieved that the charge was unlawful entry and not murder.
“It would have been helpful if you’d warned me or Bea,” Lucas complained.
“Wednesday didn’t know what the charge would be,” Tyler said. “I came prepared to act as his lawyer if needed.”
“Addamses,” Lucas muttered under his breath. “Take your kid and leave,” he told Tyler, then turned to Ed. “If there is to be a repeat of this, I won’t be so forgiving—it will go on your record,” he warned.
“Don’t tempt him, man,” Tyler said to Lucas, who shook his head in resignation. Donovan sympathized with the younger Sheriff. If the short time spent with Ed was any indication, Lucas had a very difficult few years ahead. Not that it would be totally undeserved—given the kind of teenager Lucas himself had been—Donovan thought with a smile.