Chapter Text
There were few things that irked Wednesday Addams more than an unsolved problem. She preferred her world to be black-and-white, cut-and-dry, logical—without a hint of uncertainty. Unfortunately for her, Tyler Galpin was none of those things.
He had entered her life as an unassuming normie—less despicable than most, to be sure, but almost excruciatingly normal. His strange fondness for her had been somewhat of an annoyance, yet not entirely intolerable. As time passed, she had even begun to think that she might be fond of him too.
Then, in a single moment, her understanding of him had been flipped on its head. She wasn’t often wrong, but even she could admit she had been terribly wrong about Tyler. He was the Hyde, the serial killer, the monster lurking in the woods. He hated outcasts, and above all—he hated her. She had never been anything more than a pawn in his game, and as a fellow chess master, she couldn’t help begrudgingly admiring his prowess.
And so, her mind had tossed out “Tyler-Galpin-the-unassuming-normie” in favor of “Tyler-Galpin-the-serial-killer-Hyde.” As he transformed before her eyes in the woods, she had had no doubt that he was about to finish what Thornhill had failed to do. She had known—with black-and-white certainty—that she was about to die.
But then her newly revised paradigm had shifted once again. For no matter how many times she replayed it in her head, she knew that she hadn’t imagined it.
Tyler had hesitated.
He had had a chance to kill her before Enid came to her rescue, yet he had failed. The next logical question was why. She could see no advantage to be gained, no reason for delaying her death any further. She had fulfilled her purpose, so getting rid of her was the only sensible response. But then, why hadn’t he? She had spent the last several hours lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling as she turned the problem around in her head, yet no answers were forthcoming.
Tyler Galpin was an enigma that she couldn’t puzzle out—and it was threatening to drive her mad.
She finally sprang upright in bed, like a daisy popping out of a grave bed. Research was needed, and she had an idea of where to begin.
“Thing,” she said, “I need you to bring me Nathaniel Faulkner’s diary. Start your search in Thornhill’s room. It’s likely still there.”
As Thing scuttled out of the room, she flicked on the lights and settled at her desk to wait. She was determined to get to the bottom of this, even if it took all night. After all, there were few things she despised more than an unsolved problem. Her obsession had nothing to do with the aching, asthma-like sensation in her chest every time she thought of Tyler. Nothing at all.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
The next morning Wednesday strode into the police station, clutching Nathaniel Faulkner’s leather-bound diary under arm. Most would have said her expression—or lack thereof—was the same as usual, but those who knew her best would take one look and know to be wary. The gleam in her eyes said she was chasing a lead and would plow over anyone or anything who stood in her way.
She made a beeline for the sheriff’s office, entering without knocking as usual. She found Sheriff Galpin poring over some documents. He glanced up and met her gaze, and she noted that he seemed to have aged a decade overnight.
“What do you want, Addams?”
“I’m here to see Tyler. Where is he?”
He leaned back in his chair wearily. “As much as I’m sure you’d like to kill him, Addams, I can’t allow it. He’s in the hands of the law now. A van will be here in an hour to take him to a secure penitentiary facility.”
“I’m not here to kill him. Now, answer my question. Where is he?”
Sheriff Galpin’s eyes flickered with some emotion—anger, perhaps. “We aren’t allowing visitors. Even I haven’t been able to see him.”
Her patience with this charade was quickly wearing thin. She leaned forward, planting her hands on his desk. “You’re the sheriff,” she said, her voice as dry as dust. “Make an exception.”
“Why do you want to see him so badly?”
“Because I can help him.”
“Help him?” Sheriff Galpin echoed, incredulity clear on his face. “Why should I believe anything you say?”
Wednesday resisted the urge to gouge her eyes out. Conversing with narrow-minded people tended to have that effect on her.
“I’ll answer your question with another,” she said. “If there’s even a chance that what I say is true, why wouldn’t you at least try?”
Sheriff Galpin stared at her, and she matched his gaze without blinking. Finally, he heaved a long sigh and fished out a set of keys from his pocket.
“Come on, then,” he said, moving to stand.
“One more thing,” she said. “Regardless of what happens in there, I need you to stay out of it.”
He shook his head. “I don’t think I need to tell you how dangerous he is, Addams. If anything happened—”
“Sheriff Galpin,” she said firmly. “I assure you that I have it under control. I need you to trust me, no matter what it looks like. Is that understood?”
“Fine,” he agreed at last. “Just don’t get yourself killed. I have enough of a mess to deal with here already.”
Her lips twitched slightly. If he had given any other explanation, she would have made
him regret it, but she understood his sentiment. Death was not to be feared, but it could be terribly inconvenient at times.
“Your concern is unnecessary,” she informed him. “I have already made detailed plans for my eventual demise, and none of them include being mauled by a monster in a backwater police station.”
Sheriff Galpin simply shook his head, saying nothing as he led her down a long, narrow hallway. They stopped in front of a reinforced metal door—a strange thing to come across in a small-town jail like this one.
“I had this cell made after everything happened with Tyler’s mother,” the sheriff explained, unlocking the door. “Just in case.”
“I see.” It was always wise to be prepared, and she could appreciate the twistedness required to create a cage that you knew might one day hold your son.
“I’ll be waiting outside,” he told her. “Press the red button next to the door when you’re ready to leave.”
She nodded to show that she understood, then pulled open the door, straining slightly from the weight.
“And Addams?” Sheriff Galpin said.
She turned impatiently to look at him.
“Good luck.”
“I would prefer if you cursed me,” she replied flatly.
She stepped inside, the door closing behind her with a clang of finality. There was no turning back now.