Aleksander and Wednesday strolled casually down the street, watching the neat little houses lined in a row. Just ahead, George Harvey was mowing his front lawn. The hum of the mower cut off as he spotted them approaching.
He straightened, wiping his hands on his khakis, his blond hair neatly combed, glasses catching the sunlight. And yet, behind his polite smile, his eyes gleamed—an almost predatory curiosity locking onto Wednesday.
Harvey tilted his head and gave a genial nod.
"Hello there. I saw you coming out of the Salmon house. Are you their relatives, perhaps?"
Aleksander stepped forward smoothly, his own smile carefully guarded."Yes. We're their cousins, here to support them."
Harvey's face lit in rehearsed sympathy as he drew a long, drawn-out breath through his nose."Ohhh… I see. Such a devastating situation for your family. Truly, I just… felt so awful about what happened to little Susie Salmon. She was such a sweet girl. I only hope the family manages to find peace." His tone dripped calculated sorrow, the way he always staged himself as the concerned neighbor.
Aleksander matched the tone with his own mask, showing no crack of suspicion.
"Yes. Indeed. It's been hard. But they're strong people. They'll push through."
Harvey nodded, folding his hands in front of him, shifting his stare back to Wednesday as if studying her. He smiled warmly—but the kindness never reached his eyes."Yes. I'm sure everything will be fine in the end."
Wednesday stood motionless beside Aleksander, eyes fixed on Harvey in that sharp, unblinking way of hers. Her voice came flat, deliberate, each word sharp as glass."Me too."
The way she said it—calm, cool, laced with the faintest trace of mockery—hung between them as Harvey blinked once, as though taken off balance by her composure.
Aleksander broke the tension with an easy nod."Well, we should let you get back to your work. Have a good day, Mr. Harvey."
Harvey's eyes lingered on Wednesday just a heartbeat too long before he finally smiled again, adjusting his glasses."Yes… you too."
He restarted the mower, but the gleam in his eye as they walked away left Wednesday muttering under her breath, just loud enough for Aleksander to hear."He couldn't control himself seeing me," she muttered, flat and scathing. "His mind is rotten to the core."
Aleksander's lips curved faintly, though his tone stayed low and measured."Yes. His mask cracked for a second. That was enough."
He glanced down the street, toward the Salmon house."Now let's go get the evidence."
Wednesday's gaze flicked back once toward Harvey, then forward, her reply blunt as ever.
"And when we do, I'll enjoy watching that mask finally tear apart."
From their hiding spot across the street, Aleksander's eyes narrowed as Harvey stepped into his car and drove off.
"We've got a window," he muttered. "If we're going to get the book, it's now."
Wednesday gave a short, decisive nod. "Then we don't waste it."
Aleksander raised his hands, and with a flick, both of them shimmered and vanished from sight. Together, they crossed the street unseen and approached Harvey's house. With a subtle wave of his hand, the front door gave a soft click and swung open.
Inside, Aleksander lifted the spell, their outlines becoming visible again. He kept his tone calm but firm."It's best if you check upstairs."
Wednesday didn't hesitate. "You keep watch. If he comes back, we need to know before we end up in that safe."
Aleksander moved toward the windows, keeping his eyes sharp on the street, while Wednesday ascended the stairs.
Harvey's bedroom was almost disturbingly neat. She searched dresser drawers, nightstands, even the closet. Nothing. Just as she was about to give up, her heel pressed into the carpet—and she felt it: a subtle, hollow creak beneath her weight.
Her eyes narrowed. Kneeling quickly, she tugged the carpet back and spotted one floorboard slightly different than the rest. She pried at it, and with a crack, the wood lifted to reveal a hidden compartment.
Inside lay a thick, weathered book.
Wednesday pulled it out and flipped through the pages. The contents were worse than proof—they were his confessions. Hand‑drawn diagrams of underground rooms. Detailed, handwritten passages describing how each victim "made him feel." Page after page documented with clipped newspaper articles. And, pressed between pages, strands of hair taped carefully next to each victim's photograph—as though catalogued in some grotesque collection.
Her expression didn't waver, though her tone was edged with cold certainty."Got you."
She closed the book and walked swiftly downstairs. Aleksander turned at the sight of it in her hands, the faintest fire sparking in his eyes."So, you found it."
Wednesday gave a sharp nod, her voice firm.
"He's not getting away this time."
They slipped back toward the door, book in hand, the evidence that could finally bury George Harvey forever.