Chapter 9: Family Secrets
Wednesday Addams stood in Jericho's sheriff station, her black dress stark against the flickering fluorescent lights, the air heavy with the scent of stale coffee and ink. Adam Stiels lingered by a bulletin board, his HUD glowing: Level 1, 11/100 uses, 10-minute cooldowns. Gomez Addams' arrest for a decades-old murder had sent shockwaves through Nevermore, and Wednesday was on a warpath to clear his name. Adam's memory gaps—blurry voids around the Hyde and Crackstone—made him a shaky ally, but he was all in, determined to help. His goals: back Wednesday, support Enid, and unravel the mystery tying Nevermore to Jericho. Don't screw this up, Stiels, he thought, the system's snarky voice echoing: Detective work? Stick to pranks, hotshot.
Sheriff Galpin's office was a mess of files, the desk cluttered with coffee mugs and crumpled reports. Wednesday grilled him, her voice cold as a crypt. "My father's no murderer. You're missing something, Sheriff." Galpin scoffed, his mustache twitching, but Adam caught a flicker of unease in his eyes. Slow Time: 25 seconds. Activate? The world slowed—Galpin's pen crawled across a notepad, Wednesday's glare frozen like a statue's. Adam slipped behind the desk, his boots silent on the linoleum, and scanned a file. A witness statement from the '90s mentioned a "monster" near Nevermore—vague, but a lead. His gaps blocked any clarity, frustration coiling like a spring. The system snarked: Snooping on a sheriff? You're bolder than you look, kid. Time resumed, and Adam rejoined Wednesday, whispering the lead.
"Morticia knows more than she's saying," Wednesday said, her eyes narrowing as they left the station. They headed to Nevermore's greenhouse, where Morticia stood among climbing vines, her elegance a stark contrast to the chaos. The air was humid, thick with the scent of earth and blooming orchids. "Wednesday, this arrest is a misunderstanding," Morticia said, her voice smooth as velvet. Wednesday pressed her about a prophecy tied to Crackstone, her words sharp. "The amulet's runes point to Nevermore's founders. What aren't you telling me?" Adam listened, his gaps a barrier, the prophecy a puzzle he couldn't solve. Why's my brain a blank slate? he wondered, his fingers twitching.
Pugsley Addams burst into the greenhouse, his grin mischievous, his backpack stuffed with prank supplies. "Hey, Stiels, you're the prank guy, right?" he said, eyeing Adam like a kindred spirit. Adam grinned, sensing an ally. "Guilty as charged, kid." They bonded over prank ideas, Pugsley suggesting a firecracker stunt in the quad. Adam used Slow Time: 25 seconds to draw mustaches on Pugsley's comics, the ink bold against the colorful pages. The system laughed: Mustaches? Pugsley's gonna love or hate you, prankster. Time resumed, and Pugsley roared with laughter, clutching his comics. "You're alright, Stiels!"
Enid Sinclair found Adam later in the quad, her face drawn, her pink sweater dim in the fading light. "My transformation's messing me up," she said, her voice shaky, her nails digging into her palms. "Last night, I clawed my bedframe to splinters." Adam sat with her on a stone bench, the air crisp with fallen leaves, their edges curling like tiny flames. "You're tougher than you think, Sinclair," he said, squeezing her hand, her skin warm against his. Her smile was faint but real, her vulnerability pulling him closer. "You make it better, Adam," she said, leaning against him, her head resting on his shoulder. His heart raced, his monologue swirling: She's struggling, but she's got me. Gotta keep her smiling through this.
Wednesday and Morticia's conversation grew heated, the prophecy's runes a tangle of blood and rituals. Adam listened, his gaps frustrating him, the Crackstone connection just out of reach. Pugsley tossed a rubber snake, which Adam caught, grinning. "Nice try, kid." They plotted a prank on Weems, but Wednesday's focus stayed razor-sharp. "This prophecy ties to Nevermore's core," she said, her voice low. "Find more, Stiels, or you're useless." Adam nodded, her words a challenge he couldn't ignore. His monologue churned: Wednesday's relentless, Enid's my anchor, and Pugsley's a mini-me. But these gaps are killing me. Gotta dig deeper. The system pinged: 12/100 uses. Keep up, or Wednesday'll bury you in the crypt.
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