Wednesday sat frozen on the spot, blinking as she fought the rising tide of anxiety that threatened to overwhelm her. She clenched her hands into fists until her knuckles were white, gritting her teeth as she fought to restrain herself and avoid losing control. The horror, the sheer existential terror of the sight, was more horrific than anything she had ever witnessed before.
Enid screamed, seated beside her. "Isn't this amazing, Wednesday?" she gushed. "An Addams-style wedding!"
Wednesday blinked. "Yes...It's terrifying," she muttered with a barely suppressed shudder. The obnoxious contrast of dark and light vibrant colours, the garish pastel, floral designs, and abundance of pink and white was a direct assault on not just her sensibilities, but her entire philosophical stance.
She glared sideways at Enid. "This is all your fault," she hissed. "You manipulated me into agreeing to attend this...excruciating facade of merriment."
Uncle Fester chuckled, shoved two sticks of carrots in his nose and clapped. "Look Wednesday! I'm a walrus!" He declared with a cackle. "Lighten up, kiddo, it's a party!" He said, sculling his drink with a loud burp, as he put his hand over his mouth with a smirk. "Oops!"
The display was revolting, crass and offensive, yet despite herself Wednesday felt her teeth unclench and her grip slackened. Uncle Fester was the only person she would tolerate such nonsense from.
A few seats up Morticia gazed down at them with a disapproving frown at Fester. Her gaze moved to Wednesday and she smiled.
Wednesday wasn't sure if the smile was supposed to be reassuring or patronising, so she gave her mother a curt nod as she released her grip and folded her hands on the table.
Thing scuttled across the table and stroked Wednesday's hand reassuringly.
Wednesday peered down at him and stroked Thing back, as the disembodied hand vibrated with glee.
The corner of her mouth lifted slightly. "It is good to see you again, Thing," she said, as Thing bounced with joy.
Enid, impressed with Fester's burp, did one of her own and the two of them engaged in a burping contest, until glares from Wednesday at them on either side of her put a stop to it.
"Although just between you and me, the decor is terrible," Fester said. "They could've done with a nice rotting corpse or two," he said with a chuckle, nudging Wednesday with his elbow.
She barely succeeded in suppressing a smirk. "Decomposing bodies would be considerably more appropriate for this setting. It's a prudent reminder of our mortality and an apt symbolism of the nature of Cousin Itt's romantic history. It would be a visceral reminder of his past relationships," Wednesday said with a nod of approval.
The meals finished and music played as the bride and groom had their first dance together as husband and wife. Wednesday watched with passive indifference, her mind wandering to the conversation she had yet to have with her mother.
The dance finished and people swamped the dance floor. Fester extended her his hand and Wednesday raised an eyebrow in response. He laughed and offered his hand to Enid who smiled and took it as he led her out onto the dance floor where they engaged in a frantic, uncoordinated dance. Elsewhere on the dance floor Gomez and Morticia slid through the crowd embracing each other and they began a spirited and intense dance that was as sensual as it was flamboyant.
Wednesday rolled her eyes and signalled a waiter for another drink.
Thing scampered up her arm and sat on her shoulder as she glanced sideways at him. "Don't get too comfortable."
He patted her shoulder in response, and then made a series of gestures.
"I know. It's complicated," she replied, a hint of remorse in her tone. "I've missed you too," she admitted. He gestured again. "Yes, I have been well aware my estrangement from mother has meant I have neglected the rest of the family as well. An unfortunate consequence that affects everyone involved. Another reason for me to resent my mother," she said, her voice coming close to being emotional. She reached up and stroked Thing softly again. "A regrettable circumstance."
Thing stroked a braid before he resumed a happy gesturing. She looked out over the dance floor full of poorly dancing couples and nodded. "Yes, you are correct. It is," she agreed, then added. "It's a shame Pugsley could not be here."
Her parents finished dancing as Morticia began dancing with Cousin Itt and Gomez sauntered over to them. "Ah! My little storm cloud! Pray tell me you haven't grown so serious you cannot enjoy a dance with your papa?" he said, with a hopeful smile and a glimmer in his eye.
She smirked. "Of course not. Thing?" Thing jumped up and scurried away as Wednesday stood and walked around onto the dance floor, extending a hand to her father as he took it as they began to dance.
They danced through one song and began another when Gomez asked. "So how have you been? We have not heard from you in so long."
"I know, and I don't want to get into it. I have been well. Work is productive and there is no shortage of clients," she replied. "I have made two significant acquisitions in the past several months. An excellent first edition of the Cultes Des Ghouls, a definitive work on the topic and a complete copy of the English edition of the play The King in Yellow."
"Oh my! The King in Yellow?!" Gomez exclaimed. "That is a brilliant addition to your library!" he said, beaming with pride.
She twirled under his arm, spinning around on the spot several times before coming around to face him once more, still grasping his hand. "Indeed!" Wednesday agreed.
"And facing the King himself! Purging the city of a ghoul nest and exposing the Vorlack family legacy as one paid for and tainted by blood! What excitement! What fun! What adventure! What horror!" He said, with a hearty laugh, clapping his hands joyfully as the song came to an end. "I must insist, please! If the opportunity ever arises bring your dear old Papa on one of your adventures! It's a part of your life I am desperate to experience! The thrill! The madness! The screams of terror!"
Wednesday opened her mouth to reply, but a voice interrupted her.
"The indignity," Morticia said, appearing beside them. "Gomez, you shouldn't be encouraging Wednesday to be engaging in such degradation," she chided her husband.
Her eyes flicked to Wednesday. "Really Wednesday? Gallivanting around in sewers again? What on earth would people think to learn that our daughter was below the streets wallowing around in the filth?" She shook her head with disapproval and sighed. "Sometimes I think you go out of your way to attempt to embarrass me, even if it means debasing yourself."
Wednesday glared at her. "How quaint of you to assume everything I do is specifically designed to irritate you personally. Really mother? Has your ego spiralled that out of control?"
Morticia fixed her with her narrow eyed smile, a predatory glint in her eyes. "You came on the condition we would talk. Let us converse as mother and daughter and see if we can resolve this bitter conflict."
"I cannot wait. The suspense is killing me. I pray it finishes the job before we even have the opportunity to commence," Wednesday replied, her voice devoid of emotion.
Morticia rolled her eyes and lead the way. "Jokes. I see your humour is as inappropriate as always."
"What joke?"
Morticia didn't respond as she entered a study at the country estate where the wedding was held. Morticia took the biggest, most elaborate seat in the room, positioning herself like a queen on her throne. "Wednesday you need to accept that I don't approve of your chosen profession. I don't understand why you didn't just stick with the book collecting. It's a far more prestigious and profitable business."
Wednesday raised an eyebrow. "You are chastising me for refusing to accept your refusal to accept my career path? That is quite ironic, mother."
"Frame it however you want, Wednesday. The fact of the matter is we are at an impasse and there seems no way in which to move beyond it. You're being stubborn, provocative and insolent. Yes, I am being opinionated as well, so how do we come to terms with this?"
Wednesday's hands curled into fists at her sides. "You tell me. You are the one with the problem here, not me. I am perfectly happy with my chosen profession."
"Despite what you seem to believe, Wednesday, I really do want to move forward and put this behind us," Morticia said. "Which is why I am presenting you with a peace offering. You have long wanted Thing to come and work with you at your investigation agency. I have decided to finally relent and provide you with Thing," Morticia said with a soft smile. "Consider it my attempt to cross the divide that's come between us."
"Showing basic respect for Thing's autonomy isn't the generous gift you seem to believe it is. That is not a peace offering. It's relenting to wishes both Thing and I have held for several years," Wednesday retorted. "I will welcome him as part of my team without hesitation, but I refuse to thank you or pretend it was some grand gesture on your behalf."
Morticia sighed and rubbed her forehead. "Wednesday, I am trying to be supportive, but you're making it difficult. Your mother's opinion is just that. I don't know why you hold it in such high esteem."
Wednesday scoffed. "Don't make me laugh. What you so innocently frame as 'just an opinion' comes with a lot of excess baggage. If you want to be a peace keeper...if you want to cross the divide as you put it. Keep your thoughts and opinions to yourself. All you have to do is pretend my agency doesn't exist. Your begrudging acceptance in the form of your silence and no interactions with my work is an acceptable concession I am willing to make. Those are my terms and it's not negotiable."
Morticia waved a hand dismissively as if it was of no consequence. "Okay, fine fine! I'll not mention or go anywhere near your private investigation work. If that's what it takes to get my daughter back, then so be it."
Wednesday nodded. "A cessation of hostilities is the most effective means of reconciling our differences. We are two fundamentally different personalities. Nothing will change that and the more we can come to accept it, the better it will be for us both...and everyone else," Wednesday said.
Morticia was silent for a moment before she asked. "You're still upset about Goody's book?"
"I will never not be upset about Goody's book," Wednesday said.
Morticia sighed and nodded. "Wednesday, really you have to let this go. It was seven years ago and you're still carrying on about that damn book like I flayed your pet bunny alive. I've said it before and I'll say it again," she said with a shake of her head. "It wasn't intentional and I'm sorry. I did what I thought I had to at the time to protect you and stop you from going down a path you would've regretted."
"The path was mine to take, whether I regretted it or not. You not only took my autonomy away from me, you destroyed my most prized possession and shrugged it off like it was irrelevant. Because you couldn't control me. And worse....you blamed me for it," Wednesday said, her voice razor sharp.
"Wednesday..." Morticia said, her expression grim. "I was doing what any mother would, I was trying to protect you. I have apologised for this many times and I'm sorry Wednesday but I refuse to feel guilty about it any longer. You've been milking this for years as a weapon against me and I am tired of it. I refuse to apologise any longer."
Wednesday's lip curled in the faint hint of a sneer, she paused. Was her mother right? Had she been milking this single act as a weapon this whole time? Morticia had repeatedly apologised and had always seemed sincere...until now.
"You...refused to acknowledge its personal significance. It was my first acquisition," Wednesday retorted. "Your apologies have been remorseful, but superficial and lacking in any sort of reflection. That is why I keep...harping on about it. As you have so eloquently put it."
Morticia nodded. "You can't keep trying to control how other people react to things my dear. If you keep holding everyone to these impossible standards, ones you hold even greater than your own...you're going to continue to have problems with your relationships," Morticia warned. "We can't begrudge people because they won't react the way we want them to."
Wednesday gave a curt nod and stood. "We find ourselves at yet another impasse. Although I must admit this did go considerably better than I had expected. We are finished here," she said as she abruptly turned and left.
As Wednesday walked back out into the ballroom Gomez rushed up to her, putting an arm around her shoulders. "Come Wednesday! You must tell Uncle Pubert about the ghouls!" he beamed excitedly. "I must hear the story again!"
Wednesday glanced up at him. "I have already told you and Uncle Pubert the story of the ghoul nest Father," she reminded him.
"Ah, yes! But such a thrilling tale needs to be heard more than once!" Gomez insisted with a huge smile. "Come! Let us live vicariously through your adventures!"
Wednesday sat reading The Chronicle newspaper. It was an older issue, but she had only just got around to reading it with everything that had been happening lately. It was the front page story that interested her. Written by a one Felicia Falcone, the same initials as her journalist contact Fiona Fanelli, it detailed the supposed true story of the Vorlack scandal that had rocked the city a month ago. The article spoke of a nest of ghouls beneath the city who had been receiving tributes from the Vorlack family, insider information known to very few in Wednesday's close circle. Fiona had done her job well, presenting a sanitised and normalised version of the story for mainstream society, while then telling the whole gritty, horrific truth under a pseudonym in the tabloids.
She looked over at the bookshelves on her right, noting the presence of The King in Yellow amongst her collection. The newest addition to her private library and a significant one.
The intercom crackled to life.
"Wednesday?"
"Yes, Enid?"
"There's someone here who needs our help. I think you should come hear this. It's...different."
"I'll be right down."
Wednesday descended the staircase to see Enid with a young couple in the waiting room. The woman looked anxious and concerned, the man uncomfortable and unwell.
"I am Wednesday Addams, how can I be of assistance?"
"Hernan Hernandez," the young man introduced himself, making no movement.
His companion smiled. "Cassandra. We're here because we suspect Hernan is the victim of a curse of some sort," she explained.
"I see," Wednesday replied. "Come with me," she said, turning and making her way into the hallway that led to the back office.
They followed her as Enid lingered briefly, then decided to tag along, taking the seat behind the spare desk as Wednesday sat at the desk that had the two client seats before it.
They took the seats as Hernan shuffled uncomfortably.
"You believe he is the victim of a curse of some sort?" Wednesday asked, picking up the conversation from where it had left off. "Tell me why you suspect this to be the case and the story behind it. Leave out no details, no matter how seemingly small or inconsequential."
Cassandra nodded. "Well, I'm not sure how much there is to tell. One day Hernan was fine, the next he started having these terrible bouts of agonising pain out of nowhere," she said. "Obviously, we thought it was something medical so he went to the doctor and they did all sorts of tests, but couldn't find anything wrong."
"I took blood tests, X-rays, MRIs, everything. They couldn't find anything wrong with me. Despite my numerous complaints and the pain being in all different places. The doctor eventually referred me to a shrink, saying he thought my fits of pain were signs of an intense case of psychosomatic symptoms," he explained.
"Right!" Cassandra agreed. "It made sense at first, despite the very random, sudden and chaotic nature of the pain."
"I knew that wasn't it," Hernan insisted. "Sure, I experience stress from the pressure I'm under at work. I'm a chef, but my true passion is wrestling as a Luchador for NYX," he said. "It's a local promotion, but over the last five years I've worked my way up to being one of their stars. I'm considered one of the top rising talents in the business right now. I can't afford to have this happening. It could ruin any chances I have for making it to one of the big companies like TNA, AEW or even WWE," he said, the anxiety evident in his tone.
Wednesday listened in stoic silence, only her eyes moving as she absorbed everything they said.
"But the shrink just confirmed what I already knew. I'm not under any significant stress or anxiety to warrant this sort of extreme pain. If anything I've been a lot more stressed since it started happening," Hernan said.
"I thought it might also be related to his wrestling. He takes a lot of bumps and hard hits just doing it. Like even if you're not injured those guys get smacked around a lot. That's got to take a toll on your body," Cassandra said, glancing sideways at Hernan with concern.
"It's fine. I mean, you're right. But apart from the odd aches and pains every now and then, I've been fine. This is different. Very different!" He insisted. "It's not aching muscles or sore bones, it's a sharp, stabbing feeling in my abdomen, or an intense, painful pressure in my ribs like someone's punching them."
"This pain, does it come at random with no warning? When it stops does it fade or just abruptly cease?" Wednesday asked.
"Yeah. That's what makes it so scary. I'm paranoid and anxious all the time because it can just happen anywhere, any time, just like that!" he said. "And it just stops. One minute it's there and I'm in agony, feel like I'm gonna die, then nothing…..it's like it was never there to begin with. No marks, no nothing."
"Wow! That's so weird," Enid said, shaking her head, even though she had already heard it.
Wednesday gave an almost imperceptible nod. "So you both suspect some supernatural cause for your suffering?"
"We're at our wits end!" Cassandra exclaimed. "We've explored every other possibility and nothing makes any sense. I spoke to a healer friend and she suggested it might be paranormal. Like a possession or a curse of some sort."
Hernan flashed her a look of disdain. "I don't believe in any of that crap. It seems insane and like nonsense to me."
Without a word Wednesday stood and strode out of the room, standing in the doorway as she pointed towards the entrance. "Then our business here has concluded. The exit is the way you came in. Please be sure to close the door on your way out," she said, indifferent.
"What? You mean you're not going to help him?" Cassandra cried, her voice edged with panic.
Wednesday stood statuesque as her head moved to address them. "Hernan has already decided a supernatural cause for his mysterious pain is, in his words 'insane nonsense,' she replied flatly. "Ergo, it's only a matter of a short interval between now and when he decries me as a charlatan and accuses me of attempting to fleece you," she said. "And I assure you my services do not come cheap, which is sure to be a point of contention. My methods are unorthodox and invasive, and he is likely to be an unintended hindrance to my work and uncooperative. I'm making the preemptive decision to decline your case, based on these factors. I value my time above all else and you've wasted more than enough of it already. So if you'll please, Enid will escort you out."
"No! Please you've got to help us!" Cassandra pleaded. "We've got nowhere else to turn and this is our last hope!" She said. Then shot a glare at Hernan. "Ignore him! He's a stubborn jerk."
Hernan looked offended and then embarrassed as he suddenly didn't look so confident. "Please! I'm sorry….Look I don't care what the cause of it is. If you can help us and get whatever it is to stop, I'll pay you whatever you want. Believe whatever you want!" he insisted.
Wednesday stood by the door staring at them for what felt like an eternity, but in reality was about five seconds. Wednesday very rarely stopped and thought about anything for this long off the cuff. They all thought she was about to reject them when she nodded and walked back into the room, retaking her seat.
"Very well. I'll take your case. I'll even give you a diagnosis for your condition right now. The cause of your mysterious bouts of pain is indeed supernatural. A classic case of voodoo magic," Wednesday said. "The absence of any physical wounds internal or external, the random and sudden nature of the attacks, the chaotic manner in which it manifests in different areas of your body with differing types of pain. These are all indications of a voodoo curse."
"Wow! Really, voodoo! I thought that only existed in movies!" Enid exclaimed.
Wednesday shot her a look of irritation.
Hernan echoed Enid's surprise. "Voodoo? Like as in voodoo dolls and all that stuff?"
Wednesday gave a nod. "Yes. Someone is using a voodoo doll of your likeness to inflict this pain onto you, likely a rival or an enemy of some description. I want you to begin by compiling a list of any enemies or rivals you have who you believe would wish you harm."
"Through voodoo magic?" he asked sceptically. "I don't believe in that stuff."
Wednesday exhaled in irritation. "What you do or don't believe is irrelevant. You've agreed to hire my services and if this is going to work I need your full cooperation. You are not hiring me to convince you of the legitimacy of the supernatural. You will keep your doubts to yourself and do as I say without question. If you cannot follow these simple requirements I won't waste my time and effort trying to help you. The choice is yours."
He shrank back a bit in his seat. "Okay, I just mean like…that only works if you believe in it, doesn't it?" he asked, trying to cover himself.
"An incorrect assumption. It's less likely to work on a believer, because a believer will immediately go and take the necessary requirements to protect themselves against black magic," Wednesday pointed out. "Now, the list?"
"That's quite a list," he replied. "I work with another two dozen guys. They're all rivals."
"She means actual rivals, not co-workers you pretend to be enemies with," Enid piped up.
"I know what she means. what I'm saying is that despite our matches being predetermined we're competitive guys. Everyone wants to be one of the top guys, so we're competitors for those places. There's only a handful of stars and two dozen of us, so we are always fighting to be the best, put on the best matches, win over the crowd, get opportunities to improve our standing in the company. Only people who've proved themselves get the chance to be on top," he explained.
"Excellent. We have a good list of potential culprits," Wednesday replied.
Hernan bulked at the idea. "I would hate to think it's one of them. Luchadore's have a code and it would be very dishonourable to go to such lengths to strike at a rival. You're supposed to defeat your rivals fair and square in the ring by earning the victory. Working hard, putting on the best matches you can, even when you're supposed to lose. Being a team player, having a strong work ethic."
"Do you have any enemies outside of your luchadore work?" Wednesday asked.
He frowned. "Not really. No one comes to mind."
"Think long and hard and get back to me," Wednesday insisted. "Anyone you have embarrassed, betrayed or would have any reason to seek revenge against you. No matter how seemingly petty."
"We can do that," Cassandra agreed. "We'll go brainstorm anyone who might have reason to hold a grudge."
Hernan nodded his agreement.
Wednesday stared at them. "See that you do."
Once they had gone Wednesday began making plans. "Enid, find out when NYX's next show is and obtain us tickets."
"Sure thing!" Enid beamed as she turned to her computer and got to work. "I'll also look into who's on their roster and everyone who works with the company. Check out online spaces such as forums and social media, see if there's any backstage drama or anyone that has it in for Hernan's character, King Cobra."
"I will compile a list of known voodoo practitioners in the city," Wednesday said.
"And then what?" Enid asked, looking up, curious.
"I will visit them one by one if I have to and convince them to cease their actions against Mr Hernandez," Wednesday said, flicking on a Zeppo lighter. "…I can be very persuasive."
On her shoulder Thing bristled with excitement.
"Uh huh. Santa's Little Helper in the 5th. You sure he's good for it?" Willy asked down the phone. "Okay! Put me down for two hundred! Hee hee! Bye!"
He hung up and turned his attention to Wednesday. "Howdy Wednesday! What choo want now?"
"Betting on the dogs again I see," she observed.
"I gots a hot tip!" he beamed with a toothy grin.
"I'm sure. Although your hot tips have a history of not going well," she countered. "Regardless, I need you to find me a list of the more clandestine voodoo practitioners in the city. Those who aren't so commonly known by outcast society."
He frowned. "Why you want a voodoo priest?"
"That's none of your concern. Compile the list and ring me when you've got it. I'll be waiting," Wednesday said.
"You never came back about the cult," he complained. "I dug real deep to help you and you didna come back."
"Circumstances changed. Events spiralled out of control and I was forced to accelerate my plans and forego thorough investigations," Wednesday explained. "Although your assistance is appreciated."
He snorted. "I find out about a cult, a snake one at that. Can you believe that? A cult worshippin' snakes! They got em for everything now a days."
She nodded. "Snake cults are actually quite ancient, among the oldest in fact. Although the knowledge there's one operating in New York is unusual. Thanks for the information. I'll keep it in mind." With that she turned and left.
Fiona was sitting at her desk, typing away as she replied to an email when Wednesday Addams suddenly appeared beside her. She jumped in her seat. "Ahh! …don't do that!" She cried with a frown.
"I need you to use your contacts to compile me a list of every known voodoo practitioner in the city," Wednesday said. "And I need it as soon as possible."
Fiona rolled her eyes. "You forgot to say please!"
Wednesday's foot darted out and kicked her chair, sending it spinning around so it faced Wednesday as she lunged forwards, slapping a palm on the headrest right beside Fiona's ear.
Fiona gaped in surprise, then swallowed hard as Wednesday glared at her, her head tilted to one side ever so slightly as her eyes burned into Fiona's. That intense dark stare holding her attention as Wednesday took her time to respond.
Fiona tried to look away in discomfort, but Wednesday's other hand came up and grabbed her by the chin, forcing her to meet her gaze. "Do not think I have forgotten or dismissed your act of cowardice," Wednesday hissed. "When the time came to prove your mettle you bulked and ran. Even with the fate of the world on the line, you ran and hid like a coward. I will not forget that. Agnes and Enid may be understanding of your plight, but you will get no such sympathy from me," she said, her voice dangerously low. "You have proven yourself an unworthy ally. So now you are a mere tool. From here on in when I say jump you will say 'how high?' and I will feed you news stories at my leisure, if and when I choose to. The transactional nature of our association is over. Now you will comply like all tools. And know this, I do not suffer fools, but I suffer cowards even less. Until such time when you redeem yourself, you are my puppet. Understand?"
Fiona tried to nod, but Wednesday's hand kept her head in place. "Y…yes. I understand," she sputtered. This was a side of Wednesday she had never seen before and it was frightening.
"Very good," Wednesday almost cooed. It was the most patronising response possible. "Now the list." Then she turned and walked out of the Times offices.
A guy built like a muscular bulldog entered through the rear entrance, letting the door swing shut behind him. Just before it closed, it came to a sudden halt, before opening again and swinging shut once more.
Agnes wandered backstage as she followed the luchador into the locker room, where a group of buff guys in various states of undress were talking. She couldn't help a smile as she admired the view. The thought occurred to her: what if she wasn't invisible? Making her giggle as she clamped a hand over her mouth.
The luchador turned around with a frown, then turned back to an older surfer looking guy with long, blonde hair. "Dios mio, I swear this place is haunted, man. I just heard a girl laughing!"
The surfer snorted in amusement as he laced up his wrestling boots, preparing for the show.
A handsome Hispanic man in his late forties entered the locker room in a fashionable suit, the Booker who made the matches. "Hola! Pre-show talk, pre-talk," he said with a charming smile. "What's going on, guys?"
A big guy with a close-shaved black beard and long black hair spoke up from his seat. "Losing the title to Hernan. It don't sit well with me. The kid ain't ready," he said, the spandex singlet stretched across his muscular chest saying "Bonesaw" in a blood-splatter script.
"That's for head office to decide, not the champion," the handsome man replied.
"He's right, Dario," the surfer said. "The kid's good, real good. He's a crowd favourite, is professional and sells a lot of merch. But he can't cut a promo to save his life."
Bonesaw nodded in agreement. "Until he learns to talk, I say he's not ready. I don't wanna drop the title to someone who isn't ready."
"What if we got him a manager?" The bulldog guy asked.
"Yeah, that'd work," agreed the surfer. "Put him with Carl. Solves the problem."
"But Carl's already managing Los Banditos and Crispy," Dario retorted.
"Crispy doesn't need a manager. He's a psychotic clown. The gimmick sells itself," the surfer insisted.
Agnes noted that the guys in the meeting looked older as she realised they were the roster's veterans. All of them looked to be at least in their late 30s, while the surfer, Rick, looked to be in his early 50s.
"Rick's right," Bulldog agreed. "Crispy has a manager to keep him in line, but it would be fun to have him turn on Carl and go off the rails."
"A new angle. Crispy gets a fresh approach, Carl gets a new client and Hernan gets his mouthpiece. It's a win-win," Rick said.
Bonesaw still looked unhappy. "I still say he ain't ready. I helped train the kid; I know what I'm talking about. But whatever. Just remember, Dario, that accidents can happen, and people can get hurt," he said, jabbing a finger at the booker.
Dario rolled his eyes at the thinly veiled threat. "That works. Now onto other business. Rick, we wanna build up Senor Loco more with his rivalry with Hernan, so when he wins the title we want you to job to Loco to put him over."
Rick raised an eyebrow. "Lose to Loco? That doesn't work for me, brother," he said, with a shake of his head.
Dario grunted in frustration as they began talking alternatives. They didn't get far before loud voices filled the air and more wrestlers arrived to prepare for the show. The locker room quickly filled up as Dario ended the meeting.
Agnes hung around to gather more intelligence and bask in the glory of being surrounded by barely dressed, muscular men before she decided she had seen enough and slid out the back door.
Wednesday and Enid took their seats among the stands around the ring, Cassandra ushering them in before she sat down. Some 300 hooting and hollering wrestling fans filled the venue to capacity as loud music blared and the show began.
The crowd cheered a loud Latino gangsta rap as the ring announcer declared, "The following contest is a tag team match, introducing first, the NYX Tag Team Champions, El Pendejos!"
Two masked Luchadores dressed as rappers emerged from backstage as the crowd went wild.
Enid frowned in confusion. "El Pendejos? Why would they call themselves that?"
"I believe it's supposed to be whimsical," Wednesday replied with a glance in her direction.
Enid's frown didn't disappear. "I don't get the joke," she admitted, turning back to the ring and watching the tag team champions roughhousing with the crowd in the front rows, giving high fives, headlocks, and noogies to energetic fans.
Soon it was time for the main event. Wednesday took note, her intense analytical gaze not missing anything, while beside her Cassandra and Enid were quite vocal about their enjoyment of the show. "Wow! This is actually a lot of fun!" Enid beamed. "Wednesday, we've got to come again some time!" She insisted, her eyes shining with delight.
"Despite the predetermined results of the matches, the illusion of competition and the execution of sequences of moves make for a unique style of visual storytelling. One that, when presented effectively, plays to the emotions of the audience and draws them into the spectacle. It's an effective manipulation of sentiment and basic psychology," Wednesday said with a nod of approval.
Cassandra nudged Enid. "Hernan's match is up next!"
An evil-sounding music, like something from a Tim Burton movie, played as a guy wearing a straitjacket and Hannibal Lecter mask was escorted to the ring by two police officers on a chain, snarling like a rabid dog as he lunged at the crowd.
"The following contest is a number one contenders match for the NYX championship. Introducing first….at 6'4'' and weighing 280 pounds, from The Asylum…..Senor Loco!" the ring announcer boomed.
There was a mixed reaction of cheering and boos from the crowd as Enid laughed. "Senor Loco? And he's a crazed Hannibal Lecter character? I love it!"
"That's Chris, Hernan's best friend. They watched wrestling together on TV as kids. Then they decided to actually become wrestlers," Cassandra explained.
A loud rap-rock anthem blared as green and yellow lights flashed over the crowd.
"And his opponent! From New York City, standing at 6 feet tall and weighing 240 pounds…King... Cobra!"
Hernan appeared on stage in yellow and green snake-scale pants and a mask shaped like a cobra's head complete with little fins on top.
The crowd went nuts as he sauntered to the ring, embracing fans and slapping high fives and fist-bumping those at ringside.
The match began in earnest as the two luchadores wasted no time getting into it. They were clearly experienced at working together as the ebb and flow of their match progressed with smooth transitions from one sequence of manoeuvres into another.
King Cobra, ducked under a wild swing from Senor Loco and hurled him into the ropes, pulling him off them and sending Loco careening into the rope on the other side as he charged his whiplashed opponent; who deftly anticipating his attack crouched, stood and picked him up, hurling Hernan over the ropes and out of the ring.
The huge monitor that caught all the action showed Hernan getting dumped onto the back of his skull as he grabbed his head and rolled around on the floor outside the ring.
"Oh no! He got dropped on the back of his head!" Enid exclaimed. "Is he okay?" she asked Cassandra, concern in her voice.
"He's fine. He landed on his shoulders, tucking his head into his chest. A well-executed deception that, to the casual observer appears he was injured, thus creating an added sense of danger and excitement for the match," Wednesday explained.
"Oohh!" Enid beamed, turning her attention back to the action where Senor Loco was shoving King Cobra back into the ring.
From there Hernan began to make a come back as the two exchanged blows.
"Kick me, gimme a head scissors," Senor Loco said as Hernan smirked. He obliged, giving his opponent a convincing kick between the legs as Loco doubled over, clutching at his groin.
Hernan raced to the ropes, bounced off them, ran across the ring, bounced off the rope on the other side and jumped into the air, his legs sweeping in a scissoring motion over his opponent's head as Loco jolted and collapsed to the mat.
Hernan span into a crouch and took a pose with one arm partially extended like a cobra ready to strike as the crowd cheered.
Their contest continued, and they met in the middle of the ring, exchanging punches and then grappling each other as the referee issued instructions from production. "Wrap it up, fellas. Loco, suplex, Cobra counters into one, then elbow drop, and finisher," he said, dancing around the two luchadores as they huddled in the centre of the ring, each trying to overpower the other.
"Right," Loco said, giving Hernan a pulled kick to the stomach as they broke apart and he hunched over only for Loco to grab him, haul him standing upright and lift him up vertically into the air only to pause partway as Hernan began thrashing and kicking his legs as the crowd roared and he came flipping over and onto his feet as Loco lost hold of him. Hernan grabbed him from behind in a bear hug and flipped Loco over himself in a belly to back suplex, releasing Loco to crash to the mat as the crowd roared once more and King Cobra leapt to his feet and ran to the ropes, bouncing off them as he leapt and brought his elbow down into Loco's sternum with the elbow drop.
The crowd cheered again, and Enid clapped frantically as King Cobra flipped from his back onto his feet and pointed to the corner of the ring as the crowd roared, knowing what was coming next. His finishing move, a 450 splash he called Cobra's strike!
Hernan moved towards the corner. He had taken no more than four steps before he stumbled and hunched over. A mumble of confusion and disbelief went among the crowd as Hernan cried, "Aaaahhh! Fuck!" in agony, a sudden, searing, stabbing pain flourishing in his stomach as his knees felt weak and he struggled taking a step forwards towards the corner.
Gritting his teeth, Hernan straightened, forced the pain aside and raised a beaked hand into the air, his vision blurred with tears of agony. The crowd began to clap, a slow drumming pace as he snarled and forced himself to plod towards the corner of the ring, one agonising step at a time.
Meanwhile, the referee was asking if he was okay, genuine concern on his face.
Senor Loco began to stir. What was taking so long? Hernan should've hit his finisher by now, and he couldn't just lay here waiting for it. From his vantage point he couldn't see Hernan without sitting up, which meant rousing himself in plain view of the audience.
Senor Loco stumbled to his feet just as Hernan reached the top rope, Loco turning as Hernan changed his move at the last second, unable to hit the Cobra Strike on a standing opponent and distracted with the pain that wracked his body he went for a crossbody instead. The sideways belly flop collided with Loco, who caught him and went down on cue, the move being executed perfectly, despite the circumstances.
Pain wrecked Hernan as he realised that he had rolled off of Loco when he hit the mat. Or did Loco push him off? He had landed on top of his friend when a fresh spike of agony made him see stars.
He didn't have time to think about it as another burst of pain lanced through him. Suddenly Loco had his hands around his neck, pretending to throttle him. "Hernan? What's going on, man?"
A scream of pain was his only response as Loco's eyes went wide. "Holy shit!"
Hernan's gaze followed his friend's. To his horror, he saw a trio of searing burn marks around his waist like someone had pressed a poker to his abdomen.
The referee was counting Loco out, then stopped and pretended to try and pull him off Hernan, as the match wasn't supposed to end like this. "You'll have to pin him," the ref declared. "We gotta end the match."
"Stuff that man! I'm not lettin' Hernan go out like that," Loco snarled at the ref as he continued pretending to strangle Hernan. "Disqualify me!"
"I don't….." the confused ref muttered, not sure what to do as production was screaming in his ear.
Loco stood and roughly shoved the ref across the ring. "I said DQ me, bitch!"
Then the referee made a gesture, and the bell rang and King Cobra's music played.
"The winner of the match, by disqualification...King Cobra!"
The referee held his hands up in an X sign to signal a legitimate injury as EMTs raced towards the ring with a gurney.
Enid instinctively grabbed Cassandra by the hand as the other woman turned pale. The crowd cheering the victory, but the cheers quickly faded to confusion and concern as Hernan was placed on the stretcher. Was this some innovative way of breaking the fourth wall? Or was there something seriously wrong with King Cobra?
Cassandra whirled on Enid, grabbing her arm. "I have to go to him!"
Enid nodded, and the two of them scrambled to their feet and ran down to ringside.
Among the confusion, worry and panic of the crowd Wednesday Addams sat statuesque and impassive. "Interesting."
The next day in the office, Enid was scanning NYX's social media accounts for suspicious activity while Agnes gave her report to Wednesday. Cassandra sat in the chair beside her as Wednesday sat behind the desk.
"The exclusive meeting held prior to the event's official meeting tells us a number of things. The promotion's veterans wield a significant amount of political power that is openly acknowledged and accepted by the owners and management. This is likely measurable in real terms, where their experience and name recognition equate to significant revenue in tickets and merchandise sales," Wednesday said.
Cassandra nodded. "Yeah. Hernan has mentioned to me a few times that the older guys have more power and influence than they should. Like it's normal for big stars to have a level of creative control over their own story lines and stuff, but the veterans at NYX like to wield it over the younger guys."
Wednesday nodded. "Agnes, you said Bonesaw mentioned he trained Hernan? And made a thinly veiled threat that accidents happen?"
"Yeah."
"That tracks. The veterans help train and mentor the younger guys," Cassandra explained. "It's how the business works. Your veterans help build up the younger talent and make them into the stars of the future. As your older wrestlers begin to wind down their careers, the young guys can step up and take their place. It ensures there's always a new batch of younger wrestlers there to be your top talent," Cassandra explained.
"An efficient self-sustaining system," Wednesday noted.
"Yeah, but as you can see from Agnes's surveillance, egos can get in the way, and not everyone is keen on younger talent stealing their thunder. That's where the politics comes into it," Cassandra said.
"Bonesaw is the current champion and apparently doesn't want to give up his position of prestige within the company. Combined with the direct threats to Hernan's well-being, that gives him a motive and makes him a key suspect. It's no coincidence that Hernan experienced an extreme bout of pain during a key point of the match. Whoever is behind the voodoo curse on him was at the show, quietly slipping out once their job was done," Wednesday said, thinking out loud. She looked at Cassandra. "You have the list of potential suspects?"
"Yes, right here," Cassandra replied, reaching into her bag and pulling out a document several pages long.
"How's Hernan doing?" Enid asked.
Cassandra took a deep breath. "He's going to be okay. They want to keep him for a day or two just to monitor him, but he has some serious burns on his stomach no one can explain. It's like someone put a hot poker to his flesh," she said with a wince.
"The attacks are increasing in severity. They have gone from merely inducing pain to physically damaging his body. This isn't just someone acting out some form of vendetta or revenge; they are seeking to destroy Hernan mentally, emotionally, and now physically over a prolonged period," Wednesday said. "We must move quickly to expose the individual behind this. The risk has risen significantly."
"Whoa!" Enid cried. "Check this out. I'm looking at NYX's Facebook page, and there's a guy here who really doesn't like King Cobra. Just look at this comment: "Ha ha ha! Seeing King Cobra stuff up and injure himself through his own stupidity, costing him the match, was damn priceless! Here's hoping he gets what he deserves, getting his ass kicked by the mighty Bonesaw and a bullet in the head!"
"Gee, there's someone who takes his wrestling way too seriously," Agnes said with a cringe.
Enid did some more typing and scrolling while she searched, and Wednesday discussed the list Cassandra had provided her with. She had been thoughtful enough to include a summary of each suspect's history with Hernan.
"And Chris, Senor Loco. You said he is Hernan's best friend who got into wrestling with him? Are they at a similar level in the company?" Wednesday asked.
"Sort of. They were both on the mid-card together for ages, but Hernan's moved to the upper mid-card and he'll soon be one of the top luchadores in the company," Cassandra said.
Wednesday nodded. "Lifelong friends who got into the business together and have found success. One of them becoming a top talent."
Cassandra left a while later, and Enid raised her hand. "Holy macaroni!" she declared.
"What have you found?" Wednesday asked.
"This guy is a certified psycho, like potential serial killer material," Enid said, poking a finger at the monitor. "He's all over Facebook, Instagram, and X doing all sorts of trolling, but he has a real intense hatred for King Cobra. It seems he's Bonesaw's number one fan. Look at this comment on Instagram. 'Bonesaw's gonna bend the Cobra over and make him his bitch. And this one: Peasant Cobra is a little….c word. I can't wait to see him get jumped, ...…I'm not saying that, and beaten to death with a crowbar."
"Gee wiz," Agnes said. "That guy's got some anger issues."
Wednesday considered the comments. "Trolling, a puerile and vapid activity engaged in by spineless cowards who hide behind internet autonomy. Based on the level of imagined violence and apparent hatred for King Cobra, which indicates a potentially disturbed and unstable mind, we must consider this fan a key suspect."
Enid nodded. "Right! His screen name is Necrolord666, no actual name. But that's not going to stop us for long."
"Discover everything you can about our self-confessed Necrolord," Wednesday instructed. "Name, address, bank details, everything."
Agnes and Enid nodded then got to work without a moment's delay. "And then what?" Enid asked, not looking up from her PC.
"I go and pay him a visit and terrify him to within an inch of his life, so he tells me everything," Wednesday explained.
Wednesday had studied the list of potential suspects Cassandra had supplied her with, scrutinising each one closely and weighing the potential for a vendetta serious enough to warrant such a prolonged campaign of terror against him. Most of them were dismissed easily enough. Petty schoolyard rivalries, a few instances of childish bullying most young people engage in, and a few sporting rivals, but nothing that screamed "I want revenge!" There were two standout incidents, however, and both of them had occurred in the past few years. One, Peter Gray, an apprentice chef, Hernan had got fired for stealing meat from the restaurant they worked at. A workplace crime that could easily escalate into a long-standing grudge over a ruined career, before it had even began. And an incident from college where Hernan had provided key testimony against another student, Markus Galanis, for secretly filming up girls' skirts, stalking and harassing one young woman in particular. The student had been expelled from the college and deemed a potential threat to others, which had meant he would never be able to complete his degree in nursing. Fertile grounds for a grudge to sprout and fester over the few years since. She took the information to Agnes and had her look into the two individuals to see if their circumstances showed any signs of long-term consequences over the incidents.
Agnes returned a few hours later, coming up the stairs with a satisfied smile. "Great job picking the ones who were likely to hold a grudge. Peter completed his chef's apprenticeship, but word gets around. No self-respecting restaurant would give him a job. He finished his apprenticeship at some seedy dive bar and works there. He's essentially just a cook, working a deep fryer and making burgers for local drunks," Agnes said.
Wednesday gave a curt nod. "A disappointing fate for an aspiring chef. He works in the industry, but the indignity of his fall faces him every day, a perfect environment for resentment to boil. A stark reminder of his personal and professional failure mocking him daily."
"Oh yeah. I looked the place up and it's a dump," Agnes agreed. "The other guy, Markus? After getting kicked out of college and ruining his chances of a career in nursing, he took to nursing of another kind and now works at a plant nursery. Not only that, but his girlfriend left him over the incident. It turns out he had been planning to propose, according to his social media posts from the time."
"Sexually harassing multiple women, taking perverted videos of them without permission, stalking and obsessing over another while in a relationship. A model citizen," Wednesday commented dryly. "Alert Enid, we have a team meeting in fifteen minutes."
Agnes and Enid entered the briefing room and took their seats around the table as Wednesday killed the lights and began a PowerPoint presentation. She talked them through Hernan's case and the voodoo curse that had been placed upon him before getting to their list of suspects. "Suspect number one, the individual known as Bonesaw. A fellow wrestler, sometime mentor and rival who enjoys a position of power in the wrestling promotion, NYX. As the current champion, he takes exception to the idea of Hernan defeating him and thus losing his position of prestige. He physically threatened Hernan's safety in front of management and other members of the roster. The inner politics of the wrestling world, their relative positions and Bonesaw's threats make him our primary suspect," Wednesday said. "Suspect two, Necrolord666, aka Michael Morris. Local wrestling fan, internet troll, and antagonist who holds an intense irrational hatred for Hernan's character, King Cobra. He has frequently described violent fantasies aimed at Hernan and appears to be unable to create a distinction between the theatrics of professional wrestling and the real world."
Wednesday moved on to the other two suspects Peter Gray and Markus Galanis, and detailed their personal history and reasons for grievance with Hernan before bringing the briefing to a close. "I am ninety percent certain I know who the culprit is, however, I might be mistaken pending the discovery of some vital piece of evidence we currently do not possess," Wednesday said.
"Oh? Who?" Enid asked.
"That information is confidential. If I told you I risk contaminating the investigation by putting ideas in your head that could lead you to unconscious biased towards my suspicions. Potentially dismissing important information because it didn't fit with the narrative," Wednesday explained.
Enid rolled her eyes and then nodded in understanding.
"I will deal with Bonesaw and our Necrolord here. The two of you will visit the others and conduct interrogations to uncover any plausible involvement in the voodoo curse," Wednesday instructed them.
They confirmed they understood and got up to leave as Wednesday stopped them in their tracks. "Time is of the essence; the attacks on Hernan are escalating in frequency, unpredictably and severity. We need confessions, not intelligence. Question them with extreme prejudice," she said, her dark eyes blazing.
Enid grimaced but nodded.
Agnes's eyes shone with delight. "Finally! A chance to engage in some psychological torture, maybe even some good old physical torment!" she beamed. "A girl can hope!"
The smell was the first thing that greeted them when they entered the seedy bar. A faint aroma of urine wafted through the air from the poorly ventilated toilets. The subpar lighting bathed the corners of the establishment in shadow, casting the areas that were lit in a sickly yellow glow. Agnes kicked a dust bunny off her shoe as they walked in. Enid's nose wrinkled in disgust at the smell as the hair on the back of her neck stood on end, her keen canine senses on alert.
This was the kind of place you read about in the newspapers where someone was mugged and stabbed in the toilets, only to be discovered by staff hours later.
The smell and grisly sight of poor hygiene standards, urine and general neglected maintenance and upkeep didn't seem to deter the bar's regulars.
The back wall was lined with a pass through into the kitchen beyond. Lights flickered around the pass as the chef placed a pasta on the bench and tapped a little bell that dinged as the waitress came to collect it.
Enid led the way towards the kitchen and palmed the swinging door open, waltzing into the kitchen like she owned the place.
"Oh, hey! You're not allowed back here!" The chef cried in annoyance.
"Peter Gray?" Enid asked.
"Yes. You can't be back here," he repeated.
Agnes smiled. "You've got bigger problems than that. We know what you've been up to, Mister Gray, and our employer is most insistent we make you talk," she replied, moving towards the stove tops while Enid marched right up to him and got inside his personal space.
These two young women didn't look intimidating in the slightest at first glance, but the way they held themselves, the menacing looks in their eyes and the absolute conviction they conducted themselves with had him feeling very nervous.
"Who are you?" he asked Enid, taking a step back as his eyes darted to the bench as he saw her pick up the knife he had been slicing potatoes with.
Enid casually waved the eight-inch blade around in front of him. "Think of us as problem solvers…..of a very specialised variety. People have a problem; they hire us to solve it," she said. "And Mister Gray, we've good reason to believe you've been causing someone some significant problems as of late."
"What? Who? What are you talking about?"
"Hernan Hernandez, you're well acquainted," Enid said.
He paused for a brief moment as a look of recognition crossed his features. "Never heard of him."
Agnes tsked. "We don't like lies," she said in a creepy sing-song voice.
"Or liars for that matter," Enid added.
The chef was caught at a right angle between the two young women.
"You've got to be careful when working in a kitchen," Agnes continued, his attention switching back and forth between the two of them. "There's a lot of hazards and potential for serious injury."
"Yeah. Like knives and all sorts of sharp things," Enid agreed, waving the knife in his face as she narrowed her eyes at him. "You've got to be prepared for the unexpected," Enid said as she casually put the knife down and held up a hand as his eyes widened in terror as her fingernails suddenly began to grow and morph into lethal claws right before his eyes.
"And lots of hot things, and fire," Agnes said, turning up the heat on a nearby element. Its tiny flame grew as it roared to life, and she studied it for a few moments before her unnaturally large eyes fixed him with a blank stare. "You wouldn't want to accidentally stab yourself and fall onto a burning element. That would be most painful and unfortunate."
"So you're going to tell us everything," Enid said, her eyes burning into his as she stared at him, a blank, lifeless gaze of her own she had mastered by imitating Wednesday. While her best friend's dark gaze seemed to look right through people and read their mind, Enid's own stare was horrifying on another level as it looked vacant and lifeless.
About ten minutes later tears were rolling down Peter's cheeks as he confessed to everything. "And I let my brother take the blame, and I got off Scott free," he sobbed. "But that wasn't the worst part; the worst part was seeing how devastated he was he didn't get to go to camp that year. All because I was too scared and selfish to admit it was me," he whimpered.
More time passed as his confessions continued. "I know I shouldn't have, but I served it to them anyway. Even though it was off," he whined, his cheeks red with embarrassment.
Enid made a face. "Eeeww!"
Agnes sighed and rolled her eyes, tapping her nails on the bench top as she propped her head up on her elbow. With a grunt of exasperation, she slapped the counter. "How about we just fast forward to the Hernan situation where you were stealing food from the kitchen and he busted you?" she insisted.
"I bet that made you really mad," Enid said. "Ruining your apprenticeship and all. Getting you blacklisted from every reputable restaurant in the city. Forced to work in a seedy dive bar where every day you're reminded of what was taken from you. It must've made you really angry," Enid said, taking a step towards him.
He backed up defensively. "Hernan? I haven't thought about him in years. Truth is I owe the guy. I love it here," he said with a smirk. "I get paid a typical chef's wage, and I never get really busy or stressed out. I get to make the menu myself, and work's always steady, but not super busy. Plus we get some real characters among our regulars," he said. "If anything, I owe Hernan. The whole experience taught me a valuable lesson, and I never would've got this job if it hadn't happened."
"Wait, so you're not angry at him? Not plotting a brutal and sadistic revenge?" Enid asked, suspiciously.
"Revenge for what? Something stupid I did five years ago? Nah, as I said. I love this place, sure, it's a dump, but the work's easy, it pays well, and I'm an invaluable addition to the team. It's great to feel so needed and valued," he explained with a smile. Then shrugged. "Which may seem odd, but the place has character and a certain charm to it that grows on you."
Enid and Agnes made their way through the twisting maze of trees, flowers, potted plants, shrubs and ferns that crowded the nursery. The air was thick and heavy with humidity, condensation lingering on seemingly every surface as the wet, earthy smell invaded their senses. Enid smiled and took a big whiff as she let out a happy sigh. "Aaahhh! It smells so wonderful! Everything smells so vibrant and alive! It's like that smell after it's rained!" She declared, happily.
Agnes wrinkled her nose is disgust. "It smells like mould, and it's way too hot in here," she complained, wiping a few drops of sweat from her brow.
The two of them followed the maze like path through the nursery, looking for their suspect. The lady they had spoken to out the front had confirmed he was here "somewhere."
They saw him up ahead with some pruning scissors as he was carefully trimming a table full of wild looking marigolds.
"So, how do you know wanna do this?"
Agnes asked as they approached.
"How bout good cop, bad cop?" Enid suggested.
Agnes smiled. "Perfect! It's a classic for a reason."
They walked right up to him as Agnes greeted him warmly. "Hello sir!"
He looked up from his work and nodded. "How can I help you girls?"
"We have some questions," Agnes said.
Another nod. "What would you like to know? I've been here four years. There's not much about these plants I don't know," he said with a small measure of pride.
"Oh, we're not interested in flowers," Agnes said with a chuckle.
He frowned.
"Hernan Hernandez, remember the name?" Enid asked, staring him down.
"No, should I?" He lied, suddenly looking nervous as his hand froze, stopping halfway through trimming some leaves.
"We know all about you, Markus. You disgusting pervert," Enid said with a sneer of disgust.
His hand shook he put the pruning scissors down and looked down the path through the nursery, apparently considering making a run for it.
He flinched when he turned back and Enid was right beside him, invading his personal space. He hadn't even heard or seen her move. She was just there. She narrowed her eyes as a low growl emitted from her throat, making him shrink back. "I wouldn't even think about it. I assure you, I can run faster than you."
Agnes appeared on his other side, gazing up at him. "Look buddy, just give it up and tell us what we want to know. It'll go much better for you."
"Hernan, you remember him, yes? He provided testimony against your sick little hobby and the girl you were stalking, you freak," Enid snapped. "This little revenge scheme of yours. Talk! now!"
He looked back and forth between Enid and Agnes, unsure of where to look as Enid growled again and even Agnes took a step back.
"Oh, you'd better tell her what she wants to know," Agnes said, wide eyed. "She's unpredictable when she gets like this."
He looked fearfully at Enid as she glared at him. "Hernan Hernandez. He testified against you back at university when you were up to your creepy little hobby," she said with a look of disgust. "That made you angry, didn't it? Especially when it cost you your relationship and ruined your proposal plans with your girlfriend!"
He shook his head. "I've no idea what you're talking about," he lied.
Enid frowned. He was trapped, nervous, and frightened at the confrontation, yet he was still denying it. Enid grabbed his arm and slammed his hand down on the table, making the flowers rattle. "We know all about you, Markus. You were charged with stalking and harassing a girl on campus, and it, along with your nasty hobby of filming girls, got you expelled and blacklisted from ever working in nursing," Enid insisted.
He shook his head in denial. "Nooo! That wasn't me! It was a misunderstanding!"
Enid looked to Agnes in exasperation.
Agnes flicked her gaze from Enid to him with an impassive "humph. I see you're going to insist on being difficult. You're going to tell us what we want to know, or things are gonna get real ugly, real fast," Agnes said, slipping the pruning shears around his index finger as he looked down in surprise, then up at her as he swallowed hard.
"Hernan Hernandez. You were really angry at him for testifying against you, right? His testimony played a key part in your downfall," Agnes said.
He nodded. "Yes! I hated him for years. He ruined my life!"
Agnes nodded. "So you planned revenge?"
He shook his head no. "I came to realise I only had myself to blame. I was a gross pervert in college, and I was insecure and hounded a girl who had rejected me and embarrassed me. Despite the fact I had found someone else. I still wanted to get revenge on her," he confessed.
"And Hernan?" Enid asked.
Markus wiped his brow with his free hand. "I haven't thought much about him in a couple of years now. He did what any decent person would've done."
Agnes studied him. "Hhmm…..such a significant turnaround from your predatory days," she observed. "How can we be sure you're not just telling us what we want to hear?" She asked, the shears' grip tightening on his finger and cutting into the skin.
He forced a frightened smile. "I'm telling the truth. I don't want to lose a finger. I've nothing to gain by lying!"
"Except potentially having your carefully laid plans for revenge ruined," Agnes retorted.
Enid shot her a look as Agnes shrugged in response. "We have to be sure," Snap!
Markus screamed in agony as blood spurted across the table and he gaped down at his severed finger in shock.
"Now! Tell me everything or you'll lose another!" Agnes said casually, repositioning the shears over another finger.
Enid looked away and grimaced.
Markus started screaming and protesting that he was telling the truth, then burst into tears and started crying and pleading with them.
"Huh, I guess he is telling the truth," Agnes said. "Oops, sorry about that. But yanno, gotta be sure. To make up for it, we'll
Call 911 for you," she offered with a smile.
Wednesday sat in her parked car, going through her phone as Thing sat on her shoulder, leaning over unexpectedly as he watched her fingers move over the screen. Thing gestured in annoyance.
"Fiona's list of voodoo practitioners hasn't led us anywhere so far, that's true. But we have eliminated the majority of the Voodoo priests in the city," Wednesday replied. "Most of them seem to have a moral code of some sort, however loosely applied. But the fact remains none of them have been involved with Hernan so far."
Thing tapped her shoulder enthusiastically.
"It would be ill advised to keep working on this list. Thus far Fiona's networking hasn't yielded the desired results. So, we go to an alternative source," she said, glancing out the window to where, across the street, the ever jovial Willy was hustling a customer.
She glanced sideways at Thing on her shoulder. "Wait here." She unbuckled her seat-belt and climbed out of the car as Thing jumped into the passenger seat. She paused as she closed the door. "And don't touch anything," she warned.
Thing gave a gesture of exaggerated innocence as a glint of amusement flashed in her eyes and the door thumped shut.
Wednesday crossed the street as Willy greeted her.
"Did you get what I asked?" Wednesday inquired, getting straight to business.
Willy smiled and nodded. "Of course!" He beamed, opening a drawer and taking out several loose pieces of paper folded together and handing them to her. "I got info on a few of the more clandestine operators," Willy said. "Although I think you would want to look into this guy they call Papa Mongo. Real bad news. He behind those incidents in the papers. The tongue…..and the fingers. You remember those?" Willy asked.
Wednesday looked up from a mugshot of Papa Mongo. "He was responsible for those? They resembled dark satanic rites more than voodoo."
He nodded. "Yeah. Real bad juju. They say he's connected to Papa Legba himself. A powerful man with powerful allies...the voodoo gods themselves. You're makin' powerful enemies messin' with him."
Wednesday looked back down at the mugshot before meeting his gaze once more. "Tell them to get in line," she said flatly. Without another word she turned and began walking away.
"Wednesday!" He called out.
She stopped and looked back over her shoulder.
"Be careful, girl," he warned with a concerned expression.
She gave a barely perceptible nod and returned to her car.
Wednesday messaged Cassandra and told her to head over to NYX. Hernan was there visiting his wrestling companions while they had a training day. "I'll be there soon with the identity of Hernan's assailant," she texted before she began driving.
Thing tapped a question from the passenger seat. She glanced down at him. "Out internet troll is just that. I never really considered him a serious threat. Like most of them, he's a coward who likes to talk tough online. Our culprit, as I had suspected is among his wrestling peers. I just need definitive proof, and Papa Mongo is going to give it to me."
The store was situated in a dingy side street off a busy main road in the Little Caribbean neighbourhood of Brooklyn. Squashed between the back of a Cuban restaurant and a shady-looking accountant's office. "This looks welcoming," Wednesday said as she entered the store and looked around.
Inside the store was bathed in dark shadows, layers of dust covering many of the shelves as she wandered inside and approached the counter. Various charms, crystals, pieces of jewellery and assorted supposedly mystical knickknacks cluttered the shelving, seemingly shoved in at random.
"Business is booming, I see," she commented as someone cleared their throat and a tall, ageing slender man emerged from the shadows. "I have been waiting for you, Wednesday Addams," he said in a low, menacing voice. "My master told me you would be coming."
"My reputation precedes me," she said, unimpressed.
"Indeed," he said, advancing on her. "Mind your own business, Miss Addams. You're interfering with powers you don't comprehend."
"You're working for a client who has placed a voodoo curse on a rival. A young luchadore, Hernan, works under the persona of King Cobra," she said, ignoring his threat.
"I don't discuss my clients with anyone, girl," he said with a sneer. "Leave before it's too late!"
Her eyes flashed with anger at being called girl, as she caught sight of his hand moving and tried to dodge, but it was too late. A spray of some fine sand-like mist burst forth from his hand as he hurled it at her.
Wednesday's vision swam as she turned aside and coughed on the pungent stench. She heard the sound of a myriad of flapping wings as her attention snapped to the ceiling and she saw a dozen bats swooping at her, screeching and raking talons at her face as she fell to her knees and put her arms over her head to protect herself from the sudden onslaught.
Papa Mongo laughed as he faded from reality, becoming a black shadowy mass with eyes of crimson fire and a mouth full of needle-like teeth that gnashed at her.
She reached out and swatted at one of the bats that grabbed at one of her braids, frowning when her hand passed right through it. Breathing deep, she fell onto her hands and knees, concentrating on one of the meditation techniques Uncle Fester had taught her, controlling her breath, pulse and calming herself as she looked up at the bats as they fluttered around the store. Their shapes became transparent as she fought with all her mental strength to see through the illusion caused by the hallucinogenic he had hurled at her. The bats became like ghosts as she switched her attention to him, the visage of the shadowy monster fading to that of an old man leering down at her with spiteful glee. She narrowed her eyes and leapt into the air, ignoring the bats that weren't there as she kicked him square in the chest, sending him flying into some shelves. "Your master didn't tell you about that, did he?" she said, mocking him.
Papa Mongo sneered at her as he extended a hand and hurled another handful of the powder at her.
Wednesday, impassive, didn't inhale and instead dusted some of the powder off her shoulder. "Please, that barely worked the first time. I'm not going to fall for it a second," she chastised him. "Did you really believe I could be defeated by cheap parlour tricks?" she asked. "To be honest, I'm offended."
He snarled and withdrew a dagger from within his cloak and charged at her, stabbing and slashing as his other hand grasped a pocket watch.
Wednesday ducked under a slash and dodged aside of a stab as he thrust the watch in her face. "Behold the keeper of time!"
She saw its surface swirl with a kaleidoscope of shifting colours and felt its power drawing her attention to it, freezing her on the spot. Wednesday shut her eyes and batted it aside. "No!" she cried in defiance, as he tried again, ducking under it and kicking him in the abdomen with one foot before bringing her other around and kicking the watch from his grasp.
He barred his teeth at her and came rushing at her with the knife, hacking, jabbing, stabbing and slashing as it took Wednesday all of her focus to avoid the lethal blade that shone with some ambient blue polish.
Falling to her haunches, she kicked him in the groin, doubling him over as he whipped the blade at her again. She caught his forearm as she stood and kicked him once….twice…..three times in the face, releasing her grip on the third kick as he was sent hurtling into the shelves before falling to a heap on the floor.
Wednesday let out a long exhale as she approached him, glaring down at the voodoo doctor. "If I were you, I would stay down," she said as Thing appeared clutching the discarded knife and thrust it in his face.
Papa Mongo's eyes went wide with disbelief and fear at the sight of Thing as a small smirk crept onto Wednesday's lips. "Very good. I see we understand each other. Thing, stand guard over him while I find what we are looking for," she ordered as she began searching the store's back rooms. In the rearmost room of the store, she found a voodoo alter scattered with various dolls. She spotted the one she was looking for right away, one with a small photo of Hernan plastered across its blank face. She plucked the voodoo doll from the alter and pocketed it before she turned and marched back out into the store. "This!" she said, thrusting the voodoo doll in Papa Mongo's face. "Who hired you to place the curse upon this man?"
He sneered at her. "I'll never tell you. I guarantee my client's confidentiality."
Wednesday gazed down at him. "And I guarantee you a lot of pain and suffering if you don't cooperate." To demonstrate her point, she pressed a foot down on his pinky finger as he gasped and moaned in pain. "Who?" she insisted.
It took a bit of convincing, but after a few minutes of screaming he soon told her everything.
Once she had the information she needed, Wednesday left, ignoring Papa Mongo as Thing scurried to follow her, climbing up her coat and perching on her shoulder as she slowed but didn't stop.
He gestured wildly.
"Don't worry, we will deal with Papa Mongo later. First we have our case to solve and bring a stop to. Then we will deal with him, I promise."
Thing hopped up and down with glee.
Diego was wrapping up the monthly roster meeting when Wednesday entered, nodding in acknowledgement to Hernan and Cassandra as she approached the promotion's manager. Her timing was perfect as Diego was talking about how they all wished Hernan a speedy recovery and that they all wanted to see justice done for the bizarre curse that had been placed upon him.
"I don't believe in curses or any of that crap," Rick, the older surfer guy, spoke up. "But whatever it was that happened to Hernan can't be denied. We all saw it. It's some weird shit, and whoever's to blame, well, I hope they get what's coming to them," he said with a look of disgust.
"You won't have to wait much longer," Wednesday said as she approached the front of the group, where the seated roster was gathered before Diego. "My investigation is complete, and I have managed to identify the culprit," she said, looking out over the assembled group of wrestlers.
"Oh! That's great news!" Diego beamed. "Finally we can put a stop to all of this and focus on what really matters!"
He turned to Wednesday. "Who was it?"
Wednesday didn't look at him as she continued to look all the wrestlers in the eye. "The culprit is in this room. One of the other members of the NYX roster is behind Hernan's mysterious injuries and the sinister voodoo curse that's been afflicting him," she revealed.
A stunned silence filled the room, and Enid and Cassandra exchanged glances. "The guilty party made themselves known to me early in my investigations, but I had to explore every avenue of investigation I could in order to be sure. That I had not been mistaken and missed some crucial clue or piece of evidence I was of yet unaware of," Wednesday explained. "My informant network gathered intelligence on every significant voodoo practitioner in the city, and I was eventually able to locate the witch doctor behind Hernan's curse," she said, trailing off.
"So, who was it?" Bonesaw asked eagerly. "Who was the cowardly worm who attacked one of buddies?" he asked, glaring around the men assembled.
Wednesday looked at him as she replied. "Why none other than Chris, aka: Senior Loco!" she declared, her gaze flicking to him.
There was a mummer of surprise from among them as Hernan looked stricken and Chris leapt to his feet. "Bullshit! That's a lie! I would never….."
"Your match against Hernan was the first clue that made me suspect you," Wednesday interrupted. "But first your motive. You and Hernan were childhood friends who watched wrestling together on TV and grew up dreaming of being wrestlers yourselves. Then when you got old enough, you both started training, going to the gym and entering the industry together. For a few years you enjoyed living out your dream together as equals; but you weren't equal. Senior Loco could only go so far, while Hernan, the more talented of the two, had the potential to be a major star. Effectively leaving his old friend behind as his own career took off. But you couldn't stand the thought of that, could you?" Wednesday paused to let it all sink in. "To match with him was supposed to end your story line rivalry and be the platform for him to get a title match against Bonesaw that he was booked to win. So you hired the witch doctor to place a voodoo curse on your best friend. Then you had him strike during your match. Now you didn't want to defeat your best friend when he was clearly experiencing serious pain during a match he was supposed to win. That would've made you look like a bad friend and unprofessional. Nor did you want to lose, so you orchestrated it so you would lose by disqualification. Effectively neither a win or a loss, and it keeps Hernan on your level. When he managed to hit you with a jump from the top rope and pin you, that was the moment. Most in the audience probably missed it, but I saw the push you gave to get him off you. When you could have just laid there and let him get the win he was supposed to. Different ending to the match aside," Wednesday said. "But you didn't want him to win, so you shoved him off you, where a disoriented and confused Hernan looked like he had rolled off in a daze. You get your DQ finish and keep Hernan at your level. At least for now, until further voodoo mischief ends up ruining his career,"
Wednesday finished, laying out the entire conspiracy.
Chris went berserk as several of the others leapt up and restrained him.
Hernan stood and glared at Chris, turning to Wednesday. "It's true, I thought I felt him push me off of him, but I was in so much pain and so disoriented I supposed I was wrong and had rolled off him. I didn't have much awareness of what was going on," he said with a nod. Hernan glared at Chris. "And to think you would betray me like this after we've been friends for so long."
Chris began rambling as Wednesday turned, signalled to Enid and left the building as Enid hurried to catch up to her. Her work here was done.
Later that night the store of voodoo witch doctor Papa Mongo burst into flames in a fiery explosion witnessed only by a local drunk and several homeless people, who reported seeing a disembodied hand fleeing the scene. The case remains unsolved with no clear motive for the arson that demolished the store and its contents.