The crime board lay still in front of Adam, the island of evidence connected to each other like the web of a spider unraveling in the middle. He observed it, etching it in his mind in archives that he can access. He turned to Wednesday, arms crossed as if she were not the one to make all of this.
"You must have a lot of questions," she said, glancing briefly at him. Adam nodded but did not speak. "The inscription on Crackstone's crypt says the same thing as the one burnt in the yard— 'Fire will rain when I rise.'"
She pointed at a Polaroid of the yard, connected to a new picture of the carvings. "Before your crude attempt at ambush—"
"Ambush?" Adam interrupted before she could finish.
Her glare snapped to him. "Ambush— I was in the process of contacting Goody for guidance."
"Did it work?" Adam asked. Wednesday shook her head. "No. But I managed to get in contact with her in my vision in the crypt."
Her finger pointed at a piece of paper connected to a sketch of a manor — To stop Crackstone, this place you must seek. — "That's where my vision brought me, and that's what she said."
Her pale hands glided to another, two statements encircled with different colored pens. One connected to the sketch of Tyler — When the sun surrenders, they will release a raging beast. — "This, I deduce, means Tyler."
The other, connected to an outline of a woman with a question mark in the middle — Vengeance will come pouring out of his blood. — "I suppose you have not forgotten the witch, yet?" She asked. Adam hummed, the grand picture forming in his head. "You're smart for someone so foolish, I'm sure you get what this all means—"
"—they're planning to resurrect him." He finished.
Adam's gaze flickered between the lines of red and black ink, watching the spiderweb of images and notes spin a darker tale in his mind. The mutilated corpses of Tyler's victims, missing limbs and pieces of their bodies— it is to make a chimera of the devil.
It was not yet a certainty, but all evidence points to the same conclusion. The riddles, vengeance, and the prophecy. All tiny pieces of a puzzle ongoing before Wednesday ever stepped foot in these halls.
But a thought crossed Adam's mind that he could not make an answer of. A missing 'why', a missing reason— Tyler.
"It also means," he began, voice low, "that Crackstone's descendant, a witch, is working with Tyler, another Outcast." Wednesday's eyes narrowed, turning to him. Adam exhaled, confusion radiating from him like a beam. "Huh. Why?"
"Why what?" Wednesday replied, brows furrowed, more baffled by him.
Adam looked at the facts again, at the board, recalibrating his words to make it all clearer. "Two Outcasts are wreaking havoc to resurrect an Outcast bigot for… vengeance? Wouldn't the first people Joseph Crackstone would point his fork to be them?"
Wednesday took a step forward to her board. Her eyes drifted towards everything she put together, unable to conjure a valid answer. "But a witch doesn't automatically mean being an Outcast…"
"Nevertheless," Adam responded, "Why is Tyler acting like her hound? From the last time we saw him, he clearly wasn't under any spell, Wednesday."
Wednesday's lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes scanning each piece of the web she had so meticulously arranged. The lamplight cast harsh shadows across her face, deepening the scowl that had rooted there.
"Then he's helping her willingly," she said finally, her voice cold.
Adam's arms crossed, discomfort creeping into his posture. "Which means he knows exactly what resurrecting Crackstone will do. This… makes it an even more puzzling question."
"Tyler's been on a murdering spree before I got transferred." Wednesday noted, "That would imply his motive being beyond anything we know… for now."
Adam shook the thought away, changing the subject. "What do you plan to do?"
"I intend to investigate the mansion first." Wednesday said as she turned.
Wednesday pulled a large case of… espionage instruments under her bed. "Scout the area. Look for clues of their existence there. Once I get enough data, I can plan our next move of—""
"You're planning to go alone?" Adam cut her off. "You know what they are capable of. We have seen it firsthand."
She paused, her hand hovering over a lock-pick, then slowly met his gaze. "I can protect myself."
"That's not the point." He glanced at the web of evidence, then back to her. "You could die."
Wednesday's lips tightened. She turned away, clearly uninterested in hearing more. The shadows of the room seemed to stretch as the tension thickened. "Let me come." He asked.
"No." Wednesday simply replied, grasping at the metal touch of the flashlight. "You're too… obvious. I'm going on daylight. You will be my alibi in case something happens."
Adam sighed. "You'll call me," he said, half a statement, half a plea. "If you find anything."
She didn't answer. But her silence was not a refusal—it was a maybe, one only she knew. Adam stepped out, the door clicking softly behind him, leaving the girl and her spiderweb of doom plotting in the darkness.
Wednesday is not quite sure what to make of this meeting. One second, she was trying her best not to meet his eyes or reply at all. The other, she found herself once again confiding everything she knows. She is… confused. She covered the board once again, hiding it behind the cupboard on her table.
There is intensity, and a peculiarity when a human feels a tender affection for another. Confusion, irrationality, hastiness coalescing— creating a new creature within you that feeds upon whatever life delivers. It buds like the seed of a sequoia, slowly occupying the space that is you.
When the tree grows and its roots start to take the shape of your veins, and its leaves imitate your state of mind, swaying and dancing as the little birds flutter in your stomach. You will not know what to make of it because you cannot name a thing for which you've never seen.
Wednesday felt possessed.
It struck her suddenly, very painfully, that in the absence of his presence— that she had accepted him back in haste. She imagined how, maybe if it was someone else, could she have done the same?
Wednesday could not produce an answer.
—-
The Gates mansion stood before her like a relic of old history. Battered, dirty— plants outgrowing the structure, swallowing it slightly. The very same gate from her vision, the rusting gate with an old wooden sign 'Private Property'.
Wednesday could practically smell the hate of the spirits in the house. The boy her father was accused of murdering, his bigot family going extinct after. A legacy of hate washed down by their own doing.
She stepped closer, surprised by the unlocked lock, but not shock. Taking one last look at her surrounding, she pushed the hunk of metal open, barely making any noise. The pathway is dirty, trash everywhere, cans of energy drinks mostly— perhaps because it's a common path for runners.
The setting sun did very well to hide her presence, she's always preferred to work in the dark. Wednesday treaded carefully, avoiding even the slightest of noises.
Wednesday eyed the windows, looking for signs of movement. She soon got to the back entrance, an arch porch with a wooden door. A step-forward until—
She dashed out, to the deep bushes beside the house. Questions ran like clockwork in Wednesday's mind. Had she been found? How did they expect her? The door opened after a click and out came…
'Mayor Walker?' Wednesday identified the man in the brown coat. 'What is he doing here? Could he possibly be…?'
Thing perched onto Wednesday's shoulder. "I need a distraction."
The older man began to walk out of the property, Wednesday trailed in the dark, watching. He grabbed his phone in his pocket, dialing someone only to fail. He clicked his tongue in annoyance.
"Sheriff, pick up your damn phone, it's Noble." A voicemail. The Mayor continued, "Listen, I might have figured out who's behind all this."
As soon as he finished talking, a rattling sound came from the bushes behind him. "It's a long shot. I'm gonna have to lay it out for you." Wednesday moved the moment Mayor Walker turned, tip-toeing behind his SUV into it. "We'll do it over pie at the Weathervane, just like the old days. See you soon."
He hung-up the call, entering his vehicle cautiously watching out for the noise. The sun soon fully fell as Mayor Walker, and Wednesday unknowingly, rode to Weathervane.
Wednesday crouched low at the back, her breath even and silent as she listened. The Mayor mumbled to himself, his voice carrying a frustration that was both familiar and revealing.
When the SUV finally rolled into a lot by the café, he parked under a flickering lamppost. The crunch of the parking breaks levering. Wednesday poked her head over the backseats, watching Mayor Walker stride into the Weathervane, his coat billowing slightly behind him.
It happened fast, too fast.
A speeding car came barreling at the very edge of Wednesday's eyes, colliding with Mayor Walker's side. A heavy thud rang aloud across the street as his body was tossed above the car itself, across the windshield onto the trunk. He rolled, falling on his back as the suspect drove on.
Sheriff Galpin came out of Weathervane in panic, Wednesday opened the rear door and approached, her eyes wide as Mayor Walker lay bleeding from his mouth and his head held by the sheriff's hands.
Wednesday could not make of the fading silhouette of the car anymore, its engine sound long gone in the night. She couldn't see who it was, it all happened in the span of a second.
A poison of suspicious, however, rose up her throat. Just moments ago, Mayor Walker talked about discovering something— how he figured out who's behind it all. Wednesday is not sure, but the motive is there, present.
It could not be a mere coincidence, it could not.
This is… a textbook witness-tampering, a brutal one.
—-
The ambulance lights flashed so-and-forth inside the cafe. The sirens were long silenced, people gawk on the side-walk, gossiping among themselves as they watched the paramedic roll Mayor Walker inside the vehicle.
Sat across Sheriff Galpin, frowning suspiciously, is Wednesday. The blankness and indifference of her face is further accentuated by the lights, red, blue, and back to red again.
None said a word for a moment, but the stillness was soon broken by Sheriff Galpin himself. "You look unfazed…" he said, almost a mutter if not for the distance.
"I've seen my fair shares of accidents. This is just another to add to the list." Wednesday sarcastically responded. Sheriff Galpin exhaled, clamping his hands together on the table. "Tell me what you saw."
"I've already said my testimony to your deputy, if you want to kno—"
Before she could finish, the sheriff slammed his fist on the table. Wednesday could see the rage in his eyes, forming a tangible aura around the man. "Disregard that. You talk to me— now." He pulled out a recorded, leaving it on the middle of the table in record.
Wednesday paused, scrutinizing. Anger, stress— no sleep, perhaps for a few days now. Sunken cheeks indicates more, exhaustion, hunger. She continued. "No matter how angry you get, my testimony won't change. Blue Cadillac with no plate."
His head lowered, but his eyes were boring onto her. "Why were you in his SUV?"
Wednesday's grip on her knuckles tightened slightly. "I saw him coming out of the Gates mansion."
His brows furrowed in a mixture of anger and confusion. "What were you doing around the Gates mansion?"
"House hunting." Wednesday replied flatly. She tilted her head, "I overheard the voicemail he left you. I was… intrigued."
Sheriff Galpin leaned back on his cushioned seat, clearing his throat. "It's a long-standing tradition from back when the mayor is still the sheriff. He'd share theories in cases he couldn't solve, we'd dissect them over pie right there on that booth." He pointed.
"And then he was ran over on his way here. I am not a conspiracist, but when someone is silenced just as they're about to deliver key information…" she paused— "it could only mean that they were onto something."
She leaned forward, almost whispering her words. "All of this points at the Gates family and their house."
The sheriff grunted, letting out a sigh. "Great. A dead family reaching out from the grave to drive a car and kill the mayor." He stop the recording, putting the device in his pocket.
He stood up, putting on his hat. "Time to go. I'll escort you back to your school."
Wednesday reined in the brewing frustration in her chest. The dead reaching out for vengeance… this might as well be a Nathaniel Hawthorne book. But she knows, the dead don't rest just because they are buried— they leave their bloody legacies behind.
—-