Chapter Text
Jersey wasn’t big enough for the two of them.
Rather, it felt overly saturated. She’d spent enough of her time here: this coast, this State, this city, that house. It served her well enough in her time there, enough to rear her ugly head into a society that she’s not even necessarily fond of. For the most part anyhow.
She can admit to something like sentiment for her kinfolk or formidable allies she’s made in her journey. Peers, or what have you that still try to contact her well after graduating from institutions she’d prefer to remember even less. She chose not to pursue higher education for a reason—the real passion came in trades, or crafts that came from word of mouth like tales. Her family had told her plenty when she was coming up.
No, she preferred to throw herself further into her investigative work as it tended to find her. Not always in well spirits, (though, was she ever?) but they dug her out of her dwellings soon enough. Her visions had only come to expand the older she’s gotten. She didn’t think something like college was a necessity when she had such clear hindsight.
Give or take a few bloody mistakes.
She didn’t go keeling backwards anymore every time she had a premonition, or saw another’s demise. Granted, she’s only blessed with such wretched visions every blue moon nowadays. In garnering more control, it made the ‘randomness’ of her black outs no longer a factor. She specialized in her ability to find stories in objects—in cold hard evidence. Bloodstained and/or not.
Recently she’d switched coasts—her intention being to reside somewhere just as dreary if not more than her hometown. And, of course, her personal space.
“But just remember—we’re always a crystal ball away my little storm cloud…” Her father crooned, cupping her face like she’s still a child. Right before she took the last of her things down to the hearse to prepare for her move.
She had sneered at the sentiment and pried his grubby hands off.
She’d miss things like the unknown browned stain that was most likely blood or bile on her bedroom ceiling. Or the nightly ventures she’d take in House’s dungeon to hear the moans and tragic cries from the spirits yet to cross over. But, never her family—she already had their DNA coursing through her veins. This kinship that deemed them ‘worthy’ to bombard her peace and quiet.
Pugsley gifted her the bent baseball bat they’d used to hit fire crackers and scare travelers in the woods. Pubert, ever the over achiever, had given her a bear rusty bear trap he’d ‘found somewhere’ while exploring the perimeter. Suffice to say, they aren’t the least appealing things that sit on her mantle.
Oregon was a compromise. Far away from her demons, not nearly as populated or hot as California or Arizona, but dreary and rainy this Spring. If not even more so than her home—the rain and frequent storms were like music when her fingers were distracted with her writing.
More of a passion project nowadays. After graduating and going full throttle into her own investigations, a majority of her writing was battling with the ‘legality’ of her profession. Because, first and foremost she is not a cop. The US justice system left entirely too much to be desired for her to adhere to such.
Thats why she has her own private investigative office. Just her and Thing, she had been mulling over cold cases for the better half of her early 20s. Turning the drinking age only gave her something to wash down the more garish crime scenes she uncovered.
But that was Jersey. The law was entirely too familiar with not only her, but her family name. The Addams were known in Jersey.
On the West coast, there were other outcasts. Other families and pockets that she’s too proud to mingle with. She’s aware the state is familiar with things like serial killings and dead ends. And she would much rather be dealing with them.
Not these insignificant domestic cases because someone had made her ‘Ad accessible.’
“Thank you so, so much miss!” A young brown skinned girl holds a fluffy white cat that looks just as enthused as Wednesday. “I never would’ve found Mr. Flufflekins without your help.”
Wednesday feels the corner of her eye twitch, hearing such a humiliating and degrading name. An apex predator buried in such a small body, reduced to such…such fluff.
She sniffs, eyes going to the two accompanying adults and the blinding smile from a child with half her teeth missing. Suddenly, she missed her mother asking too many questions about what she’s doing.
“Don’t mention it. Genuinely,” Wednesday replies with arms crossed. She nods at two sheepish parents before walking back to her office space. She usually left Thing with the burden of ‘goodbye, have a horrid day.’
The building was two stories, tucked between a corner store and one of those places that repair phones. She lives upstairs out of practicality, along with her habit of never truly leaving her work at work. Theres a ceiling fan whirring, keeping it a crisp below 70 degrees. Her steps are easy, but with a culprit in mind.
She finds him inside her office rather than the lobby. He tended to stay away from those he thought scared easily. Even though this was entirely his fault—still he twiddles his fingers about as he flips through Cosmo, radio going in the background.
“I hope your satisfied with yourself—though you certainly look it,” Wednesday condescended as she rounds the desk. She shuts off the music roughly, “This is entirely your fault.”
The limb looks confused, off put then genuinely offended. Wednesday only narrows her eyes.
“That God foresaken Advertisement you put online!” The seer growls through gritted teeth. “I went from solving decades old cold cases and illegally examining remains to rescuing….Mr. Fluff-and-overfed.”
Her lip curls with disgust at her situation. She moved to create more opportunities for her criminal investigations. She could’ve been going over the Zodiac Killer’s cyphers, but instead she was analyzing cat nipped filled toys all morning until she saw a familiar landmark in her visions.
Thing tries to be what he believes to be reassuring; he gestures softly, pleading with her.
“Its no matter if we’ve only been here a month,” Wednesday stubbornly retorts. “I’m well aware of my own skillset and even more so—my worth.”
Her time was precious to her. Speaking of, it was getting about that time; when she winds down for the day and types up her notes. Some of which still became short stories, especially the more gruesome cases that made it hard to sleep. Her mind mulling over each strand of DNA and every clue.
While Viper’s adventures came to a close, her personal ventures only just began.
She waits for Thing to finish his spiel. His meaningless pitter patter that translated to nothing more than drivel about her ‘wellbeing’ or how not every case has to be bloody. That maybe it felt good to put a smile on a little girl’s face—tuh. Thats what roadkill was for; when she was little girl the only pets she had were dead and on her make shift autopsy table.
Well, aside from Kitty Cat…but she hardly tended to his litter box. That was a Pugsley and/or Pubert chore.
“Yes, yes…I’m sure it was very fulfilling for the little cretin.” Wednesday waves him off, going to grab the paper she’d half read that morning. “A better lesson would’ve been in keeping a proper eye on things you don’t want to go missing. A shock collar for starters.”
She says it very pointedly, making the hand gesture tiredly. Like he’s over her for the evening too. He drags his magazine with him as he throws in the metaphorical towel, likely heading up to her apartment space.
“Don’t wait up,” She absently tosses to the slighted limb. She sits at her desk with her newspaper rolled up, waiting for Thing to leave entirely before she rolls her eyes to herself and sighs.
She should probably eat something. She spent a majority of her evening chasing the ungrateful furball up a tree. And subsequently shaking a bag of treats at the stump for an undisclosed (for her pride and sanity) amount of time until it was enticed to come down. In her mind she’d seen the little thing scared—too high up and looking down at herself.
She felt the pitiful thing shivering, days having passed of needing to burrow away from the rain. Desperate and lost without a hand to aid it.
Such malleable creatures…so weak, She thinks to herself.
☾
When she does finally drag herself away from her work, its after rifling through police reports she probably shouldn’t. While she’s not in-tune with the vapid intricacies of social media, she has become more adept at using the computer. If not only to have a leg up on the surveillance state she lived in.
She preferred her crystal ball of course and she has found that in the grander scheme of things that magic and technology do in fact coincide. A little charm here and there for luck and she can see just about anything she wants, passwords and encryption be damned.
A majority of what she’d been viewing all evening was meaningless to her. The main focus of the local branches being lower class individuals and breaking up student protests, when there were actual things that needed solving. She’s deciding whether or not she wants to look through the police archives again when she notices that putrid ad. Leave it to the insolent hand to have his bases covered.
Apparently he’d been advertising her ‘services’ much more than she thought.
She had no real interest in assisting others. She didn’t do this for other people to benefit. If she wanted to ‘help’ people she would’ve taken Alchemy class more seriously; or perfected her lobotomy technique. Regardless, it was placing a damper on her more important investigations.
—
*beeeeep* “Um, hello, my name is—-and I could really use your help…”
Or,
Subject: Re: Craigslist Ad
Good afternoon,
My name is —— and I saw the ad you put up the other day offering your private investigator services and was wondering about…
—
Wednesday could no longer stand it. She’s not running an operation of petty observation. She’s not a care in the world about the whereabouts of the father of another’s children…why on Earth would she? Certainly its not hard to install tracking devices nowadays.
Her visions were glimpses into man made horrors beyond her wildest dreams—it was reality that could not be escaped. Rescuing a cat from a tree was practically insulting to herself at this point.
She brings in a pile of mail that promptly gets left on a console that sits by the door. She kept her taxidermy squirrel in the electric chair at her entrance right next to it. She doesn’t see Thing, figuring he must have retired to his hole for the evening; maybe he never even came up and he was sulking elsewhere.
I hope he doesn’t expect an apology, Wednesday thinks to herself with faux amusement.
She doesn’t feel particularly peckish, but she does have a glass of something stiff before she finally crosses her arms and lays her head to rest. As always in anticipation of her final.
And the morning, its stale on her tongue.
When her eyes shoot open; she never blinks awake, or finds herself well rested and stretching her limbs. Its always abrupt, her body raising like an awfully lively corpse in need of caffeine lest she lay back at her wake. Thankfully, she had her own espresso machine—nothing too expensive, but enough for her prudent tastes. Pretentious even, as her younger brothers like to call her.
Pugsley could drink one of those frozen abominations, drenched in chocolate and sugar from one of those fast food establishments. She sipped it before only to have her lips purse and her gag reflex tested.
She shivers to herself like a spirit had passed through her body at the memory. She much prefers to ritualistic actions of making her coffee every morning. She didn’t go out for things she could do better herself. Especially now that she no longer inhabited a dorm with no kitchen space. She doesn’t like to ponder her stint in Ophelia Hall often, (as it wasn’t even that long ago) but when she did it felt strange.
Thing called it nostalgia or sentiment. When he was bold he’d even insinuate that perhaps she ‘missed a certain someone.’
Wednesday preferred to forget just like the other schools she’d been subjected to. Regardless of if her classmates still tried to include her in things like ‘group chats’ and email chains. She ignored them as she was establishing herself.
Her work always came first. She’d been described as single minded and obsessive for good reason. Anyone that truly knew her understood that.
She has a bit extra ‘oomph’ in her tamping of her shot. Its a single slot machine, so she gets to do it twice. The first shot pours like rich syrup, the layers satisfying to her eyes enough to do the next. Both poured prompt over a glass of ice, melting water to cut some of the acidity and bitterness. She certainly wouldn’t be adding milk or sugar.
She takes a slice of toast with it, nearly black with the ghost of butter and a fair bit of arsenic spiked jam that her mother had made. Theres a tang to it that she enjoyed in tandem with the treat. She figured she earned that much, already dreading descending the steps and entering her office for another day of dodging petty requests.
She already noticed Thing still wasn’t back. She’d be worried but she’s seen him sulk up to a week before—she’d try to remember the top coat he likes next time she’s at the store. The key word being try, as she’s assed to do it at all.
She takes time to enjoy her silence. She liked the stillness of her early morning.
Mundane, perhaps, all things considered. And when she’s back down in her office she’s expecting much of the same. Though, today she finds that she’s already got a guest at the door before she can unlock the front. She doesn’t do walk-ins per say, but she knew Thing would be back sooner than later most likely.
And she’s correct—the second she opens the door to collect the paper and check the temperature—Thing is there when she opens the front door. Only, he’s not at all what catches her eye.
Rather, what’s strangely just above eye level.
“Howdy, old roomie,” Comes the ever cheery voice of her previous dorm mate. Blonde hair in a half bun, she almost looks shy, “Long time no see?”