Chapter 3: Futile Resolve

 

 

“The heart has its reasons which reason knows not.”
― Blaise Pascal.

 

No plan survives contact with the enemy. It was something that Wednesday Addams should have foreseen.

True, the plan was not so much a plan as a vain hope based on the proven existence of certain constants between different universes. And the enemy is, irony of ironies, the very object of that hope, twisted and altered by the whims of the cosmos.

That should also have been foreseen. That is, in another dimension there is a version of herself dressed in pink. She should expect anything.

But in a way she had allowed herself to be blinded and clouded by blind hopes. Her rational mind more dominated by effervescent hormones than by logical thoughts in what was undoubtedly a rebellion of her organism prey to the clutches of the nefarious puberty. Something she had always disdained, but to which she had proven not to be immune. Was that why she had been overcome by that uncomfortable feeling of discomfort?

Because a series of expectations had not been fulfilled?

It was ludicrous.

She took those feelings, held them inside herself and crushed them with an iron will. They were unworthy of her. Worse, they were unjust. She had no right to impose a set of expectations extrapolated from one version of Enid on another version and then be disappointed that she was not a carbon copy of the perceived “original”.

So she ruled that it would be best to save her self-respect and pride, and keep her distance. Forget the whole episode and just get through what was left of the school year at Nevermore. She would make up some excuse or pretext for a future transfer, or if her patience ran out, perhaps she would organize an event that would result in her expulsion. Nothing exaggerated, just a little exercise to keep in shape. The presence of some bullies in the academy was obvious, and it had been a while since she had sharpened her knives.

It should be noted that despite Wednesday's decision to keep her distance, more often than she would like to admit, her gaze and attention would fall on that walking object of bewilderment that was Enid Saint-Clair over the next few days since her arrival.

And no, that had nothing whatsoever to do with the look Enid had given her as she was dragged away by the principal after the altercation. Nor were the gleaming fangs in the smile she threw at the Addams a factor.

Not at all, certainly. She didn't even think about how they would feel sinking into the pale flesh of her neck.

Okay, maybe a little bit.

Who could blame her? They were wonderful fangs.

Although that was another difference she noticed in the ensuing days. The presence of claws and fangs had led Wednesday to think that Enid Saint-Clair was a werewolf, like her counterpart from the other universe. But with each passing day she noticed signs that suggested something different. The Enid she had known was not a standard example of lycanthropy, and perhaps it could be assumed that the lack of behaviors common to werewolves in Saint-Clair might indicate a similarity to her interdimensional variant. But this Enid displayed very particular behaviors on a daily basis: her way of interacting with Tanaka's counterpart and the other blonde student who was part of her group (demanding their attention while projecting an air of indifference while showing affection with long, slow blinking glances), a habit of climbing on high places or sleeping spontaneously in the sun at the bottom of windows even during classes, pushing objects close to the edge of a table onto the floor, the emission of certain very revealing animalistic vocalizations…

Enid Saint-Clair was some kind of monstrous feline. What kind, Wednesday couldn't tell. But it was clear, she was no she-wolf.

That was certainly one of the most noticeable distinctions. Oh, of course then there were the purely physical ones, or perhaps the lack of many of them. It was striking how in terms of physiognomy there was hardly any change. The body was similar to the other Enid's, perhaps somewhat less athletic (or at least with less defined musculature). The face had the same features, identical to the last inch except for the lack of scars. This indicated that either this Enid had never been involved in a fight with an opponent of the same level as her or that her regeneration was better than that of an average werewolf.

In fact, the only noticeable physical difference, was the brown hair. She couldn't rule out a possible use of hair dye, but this Enid didn't seem to have any appetite for chromatic experiments. Even her clothes, outside of the school uniform, were slightly more sober. She seemed to have a preference for wearing stripes on her shirts which Wednesday found herself approving of.

And speaking of colors, then there were her eyes.

When Wednesday first saw her they were a phosphorescent green, similar to the clouds of putrid gas in the swamp near the Addams residence. But over the next few days she could see how their natural state was the same kind of bright, light blue as Enid Sinclair. When she was with her friends, they glowed the same way, lively and cheerful.

It was only on certain occasions, or when looking at certain individuals, that they shimmered with an emerald greenness.

No doubt, Wednesday thought, an indication of her ability to transform, just as the eyes of many lycanthropes take on yellow or amber hues, or the red in many vampires.

Yes. That was her only interest in those eyes. It had nothing to do with the intrigue that could be read in them whenever their gazes met, before Wednesday pretended to focus her attention on other matters.

Yes, other matters. Focus on other matters and keep your distance, Addams. Let it go. That was the plan.

But, again, no plan survives contact with the enemy.

 

 

§§§

 

 

"She was looking at me again, Yolks. She's trying to conceal it, but she was,” said Enid.

Yoko Tanaka shot a glance at Wednesday Addams, seated at the other end of the classroom. The newcomer was at a secluded table in the back row by the window and seemed to be immersed in reading a book that Yoko was pretty sure had not come out of the Academy library.

The covers that looked like stitched human skin gave it away.

They were on a short break between classes. Many students were taking advantage of it to take a short break, but others were simply waiting at their desks, chatting with friends, or getting ahead on work, etc.

At that moment, Enid, Yoko and Marilyn Munster were at the second row of tables, next to Yoko's table, with Marilyn sitting next to her and Enid perched on top of the same table, watching the entire classroom from a higher vantage point.

“You probably scared her with that little look you gave her when Weems dragged you into her office,” Yoko said, “You weren't subtle at all, Nid.”

“Yeah, the poor thing probably thinks you want to eat her,” said Marilyn, “You know, she's probably heard some of the stories they tell about you by now.”

“Hmm,” Enid muttered absently as she placed a straw in a small tetra brik of juice and began to drink it.

“Oh, Nid wants to eat her, but not in a cannibalistic way if you know what I mean,” whispered Yoko, as she wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

"Σκατά, Yolks. Clean thoughts,” said Saint-Clair, trying not to choke on her drink, just before shooting another look at Addams. Which was looking back at her and she averted her gaze again as she was caught in the act again. Enid smiled.

She couldn't deny that Addams intrigued her from that first exchange of glances. All her instincts went on alert at the sight of her, but it wasn't the typical reaction of aggression or territorial defense she usually had when someone got on her nerves or angered her. No, this was something different, something more primal than the oh-so familiar fury. Something more intense. And the beast inside her wanted to feel it again. She had to suppress a dangerously pleasant shiver as her mind was suddenly flooded with images of those dark eyes, and that pale skin and....

“Enid!”

Yoko's voice snapped her out of her reverie.

“Uh? What?”

“You're drooling, dude.”

“Agh,” she said, rubbing her mouth with the sleeve of her jacket, “Τι μπελάς…”

Marilyn stifled a laugh, “Oh my, you're really thinking of eating her.”

“Bite me Marls.”

“No, you might as well like it.”

Something akin to a growl emerged from Enid's throat as she pinned an irritated look on Marilyn. But her eyes remained blue the entire time, a clear sign that there was no real aggression in her reaction. Yoko merely sighed, trying not to think how dire her circumstances were if she had to be the voice of reason in the group.

"Before your little head went to daydreaming, I was asking you what your talk with Weems came to in the end. It's been a few days now and...”

Enid shrugged, “Nothing. The usual. She's not going to call my foster parents after all. Weems is a bureaucrat, but she's not a rat. So no, so far I'm not due for expulsion or juvie yet, but I'm going to be without Jericho visitation passes for a while."

“You're not missing much either, the only interesting thing about that place is the Usher boys and you're not...”

“Chss, speak lower Marls. Delicate info,” Yoko interrupted.

“Oops, sorry.”

“That's okay, goldilocks,” replied Enid patting her friend's head. Enid's preferences were not a secret between her and her friends, but it wasn't openly known among the rest of the school either. It wasn't something anyone in her position talked about too much or openly, though from stories Yoko had told her she had it much better now than if she had lived in the eighties if it ever became public. That didn't stop her already notorious reputation from occasionally being peppered with homophobic accusations that reeked of the work of Laurel Gates or some member of her cohort of psychophants.

Ironic that when they call me a dyke as an insult it's one of the few truths about me that those fuckers are telling, she thought.

There was a brief silence among the trio of friends that was broken by the sound of increasing activity in the classroom. Other students were returning and taking their seats in a clear sign that sooner rather than later the next class was about to begin.

Enid hopped gracefully down from the table and stretched with a yawn, trying not to think about the more than possible snooze she would get from having to listen to Professor Perkins' monotonous voice mumbling for the umpteenth time about Chaucer and a bunch of other dead poets. It wasn't that she didn't like literature, but some teachers managed to turn the most interesting subjects into an insufferable bore.

“Well, what are you going to do after all?” asked Marilyn as she got up to head to her seat.

“Uh?”

“About Addams. The whole staring thing and stuff... Are you going to talk to her?”

Enid rubbed the back of her neck, thoughtfully. She cast a sly glance at Wednesday at the back of the classroom. The Addams was immersed in her book one more time, seemingly oblivious to everything around her. But for a fleeting second her eyes lifted and her gaze met Enid's once more. Once again, the Addams averted her gaze with a jolt and something akin to a slight blush took possession of her pale cheeks.

“You know, maybe I will. She looks very lonely... but first I'm going to try to find out a little more.”

 

 

§§§

 

 

Hillary Hillard had always had a placid existence in Nevermore. Yes, she was an outcast, but a very inconspicuous one, with discreet abilities and no outward signs to give her away. She could pass for one of the normie students at the school without much trouble. Not even many of the few other outcast students at Nevermore knew she was one of them.

Except Enid Saint-Clair and her damn nose, of course.

“I smell the chlorophyll in your blood,” she had told her, and Hillary feared that the meager peace of mind she had achieved by devoting herself to studying and not drawing attention to herself to avoid trouble with bullies or the cliques of popular girls was going to come to an end. But Saint-Clair kept her silence, and her distance. Hillary thought that maybe she could breathe easy for the rest of her stay at Nevermore...

Until that precise moment when Enid ambushed her in the hallway on her way to the library, grabbing Hillary by the shoulders and turning her around until she was face to face with her.

“Hills!”

“PLEASE DON'T EAT ME!”

Enid blinked. A look of weariness, resignation and irritation was contained in a face that suddenly became motionless as if it were made of granite. Finally, the young woman frowned and sighed, releasing the shoulders of the frozen Hillary before speaking again.

“Hills, I know what the rumors say about me, but I promise you I am not a cannibal nor have I ever devoured anyone.”

“Oh...,” Hillary mumbled. She suddenly felt like a fool, and somewhat guilty. Well of course all those stories about Enid were surely the fabrications of the very girls whose attention she herself was trying to avoid! Maybe she should apologize...

“All I did was maul a piece of shit, causing him permanent deformities and loss of limbs.”

“Eep!”

“But he was a bastard who deserved it. So you're safe, Hills. Unless you're a bastard who deserves it, but I don't think that's the case, is it?” finished off Enid, smiling. A smile that was perhaps intended to be reassuring, but with teeth as sharp as hers the effect was rather the opposite.

Hillary merely nodded silently.

"Anyway, I don't want to hold you up too long Hills. I'm sure you have a lot of things to do,” Enid said, as she rested her arm on the shorter girl's shoulder and began to lead her walking back down the hallway.

“Lots of things to do, yes,” Hillary replied in a quiet voice.

“Actually, I had to call in a favor, ask you a few questions...,” Enid said. Despite her nerves, Hillary noticed that the taller girl seemed flustered, somewhat unsure. Finally, catching her breath, Enid seemed to work up the courage to ask her question “What can you tell me about your roommate?”

Hillary's eyes widened like saucers.

“Wednesday?”

“Yes, Addams, is there anything you can tell me?”

Hillary was in thought for a moment. Truth be told, she didn't have much to tell. Her roommate was quiet and reserved. Any attempt at socializing on Hillary's part had been firmly, if somewhat politely, rebuffed. Certainly with much more cordiality than other instances she had witnessed the past few days: some girls had tried to ingratiate themselves with the Addams and had been dismissed with a curt coldness or sharp words. Many had left their respective encounters with Wednesday disoriented or terrified. At least one had run away in tears.

But aside from antisocial tendencies, an alarming number of bladed weapons suddenly appearing in various corners of her room, and the suspicion that her roommate was setting up a spider menagerie, Hillary didn't have much else to say about her. Each minded their own business and left the other alone without interacting too much in their room. Heck, giving Addams the class schedules had been perhaps the most far-reaching interaction she had had with her since her arrival.

“Oh, she likes spiders?” asked Enid, and Hillary realized mortified that she had said all that out loud.

“Uh... yes?”

“Good, good, it's a talking topic,” Enid said, holding her hand to her chin and nodding thoughtfully, “At least it'll serve as an icebreaker, maybe tell her about the black widow's nest in the gym's storage room...”

“The nest of...?” began Hillary before being interrupted again by a resounding pat from Enid on her shoulders.

“Thanks a lot, Hills!” she exclaimed, “You're a legit gal!”

And without another word, Enid Saint-Clair vanished as quickly as she had appeared, leaving a perplexed Hillary Hillard wondering what the hell had just happened and having a strange feeling, as if she had helped unleash forces beyond her comprehension.

 

 

§§§

 

 

Wednesday Addams was sitting in the privacy of her room, a much smaller and more mundane chamber than the one her interdimensional variant had inhabited in one of the towers of the other Nevermore.

She had just returned from a brief tour examining the various clubs and extracurricular activities available at the Academy that she could join. She had been provided a two-week grace period before having to make a final decision, but Weems had made it very clear that it was necessary to join at least one club to earn a credit essential for graduation.

At the moment only the drama club held the slightest interest for her, although the catalog of plays to be performed was not the most inspiring. She wondered if they would allow original plays or improvised performances. She still remembered with nostalgia Fester's lessons on how to simulate realistic wounds and abundant spurts of fake blood on stage.

Too bad we can't use real blood, she thought.

Sitting before her notes, she couldn't help but keep her mind wandering involuntarily back to Enid Saint-Clair despite her futile resolve to try to stay away from the young woman. The behavioral patterns of this Enid were another element she couldn't stop turning over in her head. There was a more open and unleashed aggressiveness in this incarnation than in that of her counterpart from another universe. She lacked the same bubbly, friendly character open to everyone. Enid Saint-Clair's less caustic facets seemed to be more reserved for a select group of close friends who...

Someone knocked on the bedroom door, interrupting her thoughts. Wednesday cast an irritated glance at the old wooden door, wordlessly waiting for whoever it was to leave. Weems or one of the teachers would have entered by now.

The knock on the door was repeated, more loudly. Wednesday stifled a resigned sigh before deigning to speak.

“Hillard is not present at the moment. Try your luck in the library,” she said.

And then, suddenly, the door burst open as if someone had delivered a heavy kick to it. Wednesday turned, rising from her chair and pulling a knife out of one of the sleeves of her uniform by pure reflex, ready to repel any possible attack that...

“Χαιρετισμούς!” exclaimed a newly arrived Enid Saint-Clair. Her head and hair covered by half a dozen spiders scurrying over her, “I hear you like these μικρά πλάσματα!”

Something...something changed in Wednesday at that moment.

The sight of the young woman before her was already a wonder in itself, and she wouldn't deny that the vision of her covered in spiders was disturbingly endearing. But no, it wasn't that...

It was something else, it was...

Oh.

She felt it in her blood. She felt it in her skin. She felt it in her eyes. She felt it in other parts of herself that could not be mentioned in public.

Oh no.

The knife fell to the ground.

“Saint-Clair,” she whispered, and surprised herself by the low, hungry tone of her voice.

“Er... yes?”

“That's greek.”

 

 

NOTES

Oooh. Oh, it's happening 👀

 

Some translations!

Σκατά: (greek) Shit.
Τι μπελάς: (greek) What a nuisance/What a pain in the ass, etc.
Χαιρετισμούς!: (greek) Greetings!
μικρά πλάσματα: (greek) little creatures