Previously…
“Parker...?” she whispered.
“Hi, Mom,” replied Parker Needler-Addams.
And that mere moment of hesitation, that momentary paralysis of Margaux upon seeing a variant of her daughter, was all it took for her head to be immediately struck by a shovel that appeared out of nowhere.
It was an old clock.
How old? Impossible to know. Like so many other things in the Addams Mansion, its presence was something inexorable, a constant that had been there for generations and had never been questioned.
It was, at least in its most basic elements, a standard grandfather clock. But its wood was so black that it did not reflect light, and above the clock hands it was crowned by a miniature replica of the mansion with animated figures representing the members of the family.
Figures that changed every few decades as the inhabitants of the Addams Family in the mansion changed with each generation. And no one really knew how... it was just that way.
(Enid had theorized that it was Grandmama Addams who changed the figures, but the old witch merely laughed as her only response).
The clock struck twelve, and the sound of multiple gears inside the wooden case echoed throughout the room. In the miniature replica of the mansion, in the center of it, two miniatures of Gomez and Morticia appeared on either side, slowly moving toward the middle and standing face to face.
And with the first loud chime of the clock striking the hour, the little figure of Gomez proceeded to bow, simulating a kiss on the bosom of the miniature Morticia with an enthusiasm equal to that of his flesh-and-blood counterpart.
The sound of the chimes also caused Margaux Needler to wake up with a jolt of alarm.
The first thing she noticed was that she was tied up with multiple ropes. They were so tight that even trying to just squirm was difficult. The second thing was that the chair she was tied to was very comfortable.
Abnormally comfortable. The kind of comfort that was uncomfortable because it felt so unnatural.
The room was almost dark, with only a lamp lit in one corner. It was not the main hall of the mansion but a kind of small study. Portraits of exquisite realism and sickening detail decorated the walls. In one, a man with two heads could be seen, seemingly in the midst of an argument with each other. In another, Margaux could see an elderly woman with a decrepit appearance and a sinister smile who seemed to be following her with her gaze despite her immobility.
As soon as her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she noticed five figures standing some distance away.
“Welcome back to the world of the living,” said Detective Addams, “I hope you enjoyed your nap.”
Margaux tried to respond, but upon hearing that, her memories came flooding back, and as if something had clicked, she suddenly felt the persistent headache starting at the back of her skull, courtesy of Shark's shovel blow.
The aforementioned Addams stood next to the detective, shovel in hand, smiling with sharp teeth.
“Addams,” Margaux muttered, venom dripping from her words, “Two Wednesdays, as if one wasn't bad enough.”
“Wow, she said your last name almost like it was an insult,” said another person present. Margaux turned to her, her eyes suddenly wide with surprise and disbelief at the presence of Parker Needler-Addams.
And her appearance.
“Parker? No, no... my girl, what have they done to you?” Margaux asked, sudden anguish in her voice.
“Well, at least the prejudices are consistent with my mother's,” Parker said, “Although it's obvious that this variant hasn't been able to move beyond them.”
Margaux narrowed her eyes, “You're not my Parker... you can't be...”
“The name is Parker Needler-Addams.”
The captive woman's face seemed to turn almost green with disgust, “Addams?!” she shouted, “So it's not enough for you to take my daughter away from me in one reality, you do the same in others!”
“Take away?” asked Eamon, a hint of skepticism in his voice.
“My daughter died because of this grotesque family!” exclaimed Margaux, almost literally spitting out the words, a glint of growing insanity in her eyes. “Because she insisted on helping them instead of being a good, obedient girl!”
Detective Sinclair, who until then had been standing a few steps behind Detective Addams, approached her and whispered in her ear, “What do you bet she's responsible for Parker's death and this is all just projection?”
“That would be a foolish bet, Enid,” said Detective Addams, “It's crystal clear.”
“Don't put words in my mouth!” Margaux retorted. “If my daughter had listened to me, she would still be alive and leading a happy, normal life! That's why I joined the cause! So that your aberration would stop infecting everything it touches, everything that is good and pure!”
You could almost hear a religious fervor in her voice.
Parker shook her head, her expression somewhere between surprise and disgust. “My mother had her prejudices, and she was a controlling lunatic in her own way, but this... Are you even aware of what you're doing? You go from one universe to another killing people and you call that normal??”
“Not to mention that her weapon reeks of magic,” added Detective Sinclair, “Normal, or what is considered normal, is not…”
“The devil’s weapons serve well against his work!” replied Margaux.
“Ah, the end justifying the means as a basis for defending your own hypocrisy,” said Shark, “Classic fundamentalism.”
“It's obvious that reasoning with you isn't going to be an option,” said Detective Addams, “But surely you can answer some questions about your organization.”
Margaux stared at her for a few moments. Then she began to smile, a slow, mocking smile that contrasted with her furrowed brow. “Ha! You wish!” she exclaimed, with childlike pettiness.
She began to move her tongue around inside her mouth, as if searching for something, but without success, stopping with a perplexed expression after an awkwardly long moment of silence.
Detective Addams continued to stare at her, her expression monotonous and inscrutable. “We already anticipated that you would have something like a false tooth loaded with poison,” she said, “It was one of the first things we extracted after knocking you unconscious.”
Detective Sinclair smiled after her, holding up a plastic bag containing a premolar. “You learn a lot of interesting little things in this profession!”
“And we've also removed your dimensional device and the communicator in your ears,” added Eamon, standing with his arms crossed next to his female counterpart, wearing the same wolfish smile, “So no communicating with your friends to have them kill you from a distance by dissolving you into light, like they did to the first one of your people we met.”
“In short,” Shark continued, leaning toward Margaux until they were face to face, “You'd better talk if you don't want to face a world of pain.”
Margaux tried to spit in her face. Shark shielded herself with her shovel in one swift motion.
“Fine. Pain it is, then.”
Detective Sinclair took off her jacket and began rolling up her sleeves, revealing patches of growing fur as her claws extended. “All right. The two of us will take care of this from now on. The rest of you might as well wait in the main hall.”
“That's fine with me,” Parker said. “She may not be my real mother, but I wouldn't feel comfortable being present.”
“Aw, I wanted to join the torture session,” said Shark. “I need to ask the lady a few questions.”
“It's not going to be a torture session,” interrupted Detective Addams, lighting a cigarette. “Torture compromises the reliability of the testimony extracted. No, variant of mine, this is going to be something much worse and more gruesome on a psychological level.”
“This is going to be a police interrogation,” said Detective Sinclair, standing in front of Margaux and baring her fangs, “And I'm the bad cop.”
The werewolf's eyes glowed with a golden light. Despite her misguided courage born of fanaticism, Margaux felt a chill of primal fear.
“And my partner?” she continued, “She's worse.”
In the end, it only took them an hour and a half.
Shark, Parker, and Eamon had waited in the main hall, occasionally chatting with the other members of the local Addams Family, who asked them lots of questions to help pass the time. They asked about their universes, what things were similar to theirs and what were radically different, in which realities Uncle Fester had managed to get rid of his rash, etc.
Gomez and Morticia were overjoyed at the news that other versions of themselves were already grandparents, something they had not been able to discuss before with their new multiversal guests.
They were looking at some of the photographs of Dora, Theo, and Varadi that Eamon and Parker always carried with them when the two detectives returned.
Both were without their jackets, their shirts untucked, smoking cigarettes and leaving a trail of thick smoke behind them. Sweat marks and light splashes of blood stained the fabric of their clothes.
“Ah, mija! How did your Q&A session go?” exclaimed Gomez.
“Well, I'm disappointed to say we didn't get much out of her,” said Detective Addams.
“She didn't talk?” asked Parker, surprised.
“I knew I should have stayed and pulled out the screwdriver,” Shark lamented.
Detective Sinclair shook her head and slumped down on the sofa next to the young Addams. “She’s talked. She’s talked at length... the problem is, she doesn’t know much more than you already know from what you’ve told us.”
“They're a small army,” explained Detective Addams. “She couldn't give us exact figures, but it seems that each ‘Prime’ of the Nine commands about a hundred variants, give or take.”
“So there are about a hundred Margauxs,” said Parker, “and a hundred Crackstones, a hundred Laurels... ugh...”
“A troop of approximately nine hundred in total,” said Eamon, “Well, it's no more than what we had to face years ago... although I suppose we'll have to recruit again.”
“We don't even know where to attack,” Shark said, before turning to her variant, “Right?”
Detective Addams shook her head. “I examined her dimensional travel device in hopes of tracking down the point of origin. Science isn’t my strong suit, but as an Addams descendant of witches, I can tell you that at least this particular model can only be used by Margaux or other variants of Margaux. The magic on it is clear.”
“Although that piece of junk is strange,” added Detective Sinclair, “It’s as if each of its parts has been cannibalized from different sources.”
“Is there no way to hack it?” asked Parker, “I’m her daughter. Or at least a variant of her daughter… Couldn’t my blood relation help bypass the lock?”
“I'm afraid not. Margaux, and only a Margaux, can activate the trip back home,” said Detective Addams. “On the other hand, her weapon... anyone can use that thing, even a small child.”
“So we're back where we started,” said Shark, crossing her arms.
“Be at ease, dear,” Morticia interjected, “Take comfort in knowing that you have succeeded in your initial goal. You have neutralized your enemy and saved my daughter.”
“And for that we are very grateful,” said Gomez, “This calls for a celebration!”
“I'm afraid there's no time for that, Father,” interrupted Detective Addams, before turning to the visitors, “I imagine you will now return to your... headquarters?”
Shark, Parker, and Eamon examined the devices on their wrists. “They're stable, finally,” Eamon explained. “And yes, I think it would be best to return to Morningstar's base first. At the very least, he owes us an apology.”
“There's something else,” said Detective Addams. “We asked Margaux who leads her organization.”
“Oh, yes,” said Detective Sinclair. “She mentioned someone called The Mistress.”
“Do you think it could be...?” Shark began to ask.
“That Bright One you told us about? Impossible to say for sure,” Detective Addams replied.
“We tried to ask her about The Bright One, but Margaux didn't recognize the name. And believe me, I would have smelled it if she had lied,” said Detective Sinclair.
“So either your Bright One is using a proxy or another alias or identity... or that Mistress is a completely new adversary for you.”
§§§
In a perfect configuration of reality, the multiverse would have been like a honeycomb. Each universe contained in its corresponding cell with other adjacent and contiguous ones, without cracks, without gaps, without empty spaces.
Everything geometrically perfect and balanced, rational and functional at almost divine levels.
Unfortunately, the multiverse was more like a ball of frayed wool with threads from multiple sources, the occasional pair of scissors and needle in between, leftover spaghetti with dried tomato sauce, and the odd black hole decorating the whole thing.
And all of it reflected and multiplied in broken pieces of mirror.
In short, the multiverse had holes.
And between one reality and another, there was often not emptiness, but... things.
Pocket dimensions, parallel realities, remnants of aborted timelines, small limbos of existence regurgitated by incomprehensible cosmic entities... the kind of places where the standard human mind would end up like swiss cheese just for taking a peek.
In one of those realities, if you could call it that, a barren and empty limbo of white sand, floating rock debris, and an eternal night sky, a little girl was crying.
In truth, of course, Mary Sue was not a little girl. Her actual mass would surely be as large as that of a giant red star if she stopped folding in on herself, breaking multiple laws of causality and physics.
But let's say she was a little girl, because that's how our senses would perceive her, trying to be merciful.
And as we've already said, she was crying.
Out of anger.
They had broken her toys, you see.
Such a beautiful universe to play in and make friends... she had always wanted a Wednesday for herself, and that other Wednesday had ruined everything.
And she hadn't even been able to hurt them because in that material reality she had limited herself and the stupid cat had been able to scratch her, and they had done something that had broken everything...
Broken.
Broken.
Everything.
There was nothing left.
Ǹ̴̥͆̋ ō̸̯̤ t̵̫͕̒͘ h̸̡̤̔̈́̒ i̴̻̮͍̓̇̚ n̷̠̯̳̮̅̽̀̔̈́͆ g̶̡̜̰̺̻͔͐̀̌̓͠ .̴̥͕̻̩̳̑͊
It's the end of this universe. Of all this reality. Consumed in its entirety. Your private playground no longer exists, Mary Sue. And no matter how powerful you are, if you stay, you too will cease to exist.
How she hated those words, and that they were true. Because, being tied to that universe, Mary Sue would also have been erased. But fortunately, she was able to escape to her little corner of unreality, and now there was nothing she could do but regret it.
For the moment.
She would give them time. Mortals always became complacent with time.
Clumsy, careless and predictable.
She would give them time, and then she would start sniffing around.
Through the angles and folds of space between spaces. She would find the trail of those two, of that pale Addams and her werecat, and then... then...
S̸̭̠̃̀ H̵̝̔͊ Ḛ̸̜̦͍̉̚ ̶̥͍̺͘͠ Ẃ̸̬̬̙̩͖͘ Ǫ̸͎̫̖̗̐̄̌ Ù̵̪̥͒ L̷̰͙̞̇ Ḍ̵͕̮̒͆́̇͠ ̴͙̘̜͋͊͛̀̄ P̶̼̌̀͘ L̶͉̠̼͓͍̅̊͐̉͠ Ả̴̹̣̬̮͒ͅ Y̴̲͖͐ ̵͙͕̉̃͋̈́͘ W̸̬̘̬̺͇̓͐́̕ I̷̯͚̗͔̐̅ Ţ̶̥̥̬̻͊̏̆͊͘ H̷̥̀̊̈́͠ ̴̱̼̯̒̃ T̴̻͙̩̄͗̅̚ Ḧ̴̠͇̩̤͔͒̇̈͑ Ĕ̷̢̹̀̎͝ M̵̜͗͐.̵̪̺̾́͊
Mary Sue would have liked to smile thinking about all she would do with them when she forced them to be her new playthings friends, but…
But she was still sad.
“Oh, you poor thing,” said a voice.
Well, that was impossible.
That unreality was as much a place as it was part of Mary Sue herself. Nothing, absolutely nothing could surprise her there. Let alone enter without permission.
So the entity couldn't help but feel genuine perplexity when it turned around and saw the woman who had seemingly appeared out of nowhere and was standing a few feet away from her.
It was a cloaked figure... and its entire cloak and cape looked like a mass of shadows and raven feathers moving and changing shape. And ravens... ravens surrounded her. At her feet, on her shoulders, fluttering around her, darting in and out of the shadows of her cloak, which suddenly looked like ink, or tar, and...
No, it wasn't possible. No way.
And yet there she was. Even after Mary Sue tried to make her own will real and dispel the intruder, she was still there.
“Little thing,” said the stranger, “You are powerful, but beings of your kind... well, you are glass cannons. You are only powerful if precautions are not taken. I would apologize for barging in here, but you see, I was following the trail of an erased universe, and you seem to have had a run-in with certain people of interest to me.”
Mary Sue was ancient. She didn't know how old. A few million years at least.
And she could sense that the woman in front of her was much younger... very old by human standards, but tiny compared to the stars and the neverending darkness. And mortal.
She should have been insignificant, but for some reason she wasn't, and Mary Sue felt something uncomfortably similar to fear in her presence.
“Who... what are you?” she asked. And she really did sound like a little girl when she did.
The stranger removed her hood. Long, wavy black hair fell over her shoulders, contrasting with the marble pallor of a symmetrically exquisite face with dark eyes and blood-red lips that smiled with mocking kindness.
“Lately they call me The Mistress... but honestly, that's more of a job title than a name,” she said. “And my name... well, I'm not going to tell you my real name, silly. I can't let you have that power over me. But I can tell you the name that defines me as an entity. The name I chose.”
One of the ravens cawed... except it wasn't a raven.
None of them were. Ravens' eyes didn't shine like burning embers. They took flight around the stranger, almost as if celebrating her.
Her smile turned sharp, like a needle stuck in an eyeball.
“Call me The Unkindness, dear,” she said, “And now... let's talk.”
NOTES
Unkindness
noun [ U ]
/ʌnˈkaɪnd.nəs/1. The quality of not treating someone very well, or not considering someone's feelings.
2. Collective noun for a group of ravens.
Well, she has a name.
Art in the mosaic by Karen Acobs (@thatwomanlovingpotatofromtwitter in Tumblr). The Addams Family Mafia AU is also her creation.
