Chapter Text
Xavier Thorpe stared at the moving dots on his screen, awaiting a response.
Persistence is key , Vincent Thorpe had once said. It was, after all, how he had come to win over the aloof and beautiful, Angelica Hope.
For a while she wanted absolutely nothing to do with me. Vincent Thorpe had often said this with a hint of a smile, knowing the outcome. A true black cat, graceful and tucked into the shadows of Nevermore Academy.
By now, Xavier knew the story as much as he knew the back of his hand. His father had been persistent, showering his mother with offerings and affection. It took awhile but eventually she caved.
The day the mysterious and possible serial killer, Wednesday Addams, darkened the doorways of Nevermore Academy, Xavier knew this was his chance.
He had dreamt of her for as long as he could remember. That fateful day in the funeral home; she had saved his life and he swore to return the favour should the opportunity arise. Even back then he thought she was beautiful, something gothic and straight out of a dream or from the likes of a bleak mind such as Tim Burton. Ethereal.
It would be foolish to let such beauty slip from his fingers.
Finally the dots stopped moving. Taking its place was a text bubble.
Wednesday <3
Small talk is futile, and anyone who dwells in such is beneath me. Know I would not bother responding to your desperate little messages if I thought they were such.
Me
Very rich coming from you. When have we ever been reduced to small talk?
Wednesday <3
That is true. Though technology and social media are the bane of my life, I’m willing to suffice such torture if it means I get to avoid the torture of small talk with others.
Me
Flattering
Much to Xavier’s surprise, the phone had worked perfectly. Letters cost too much time to dwell on. And, at this point, he was running out of patience. He had saved her, fought for her, helped, advised, he’d done it all. And yet she brushed him off. She thought that painting might have meant something, even if he had not intended for her to see it.
But she did take that arrow for him. That had to mean something , right?
I knew the moment Angelica was seeing sense , Vincent had said. I had shielded her eyes that horrid night when that Gates boy died. She leaned into me and wept. I knew at that moment that she had finally surrendered and let her heart sing at long last.
Sometimes Xavier wondered how she had even been foolish enough to be charmed by some normie scumbag like Tyler Galpin. Well, he was technically not a normie, but he was still scum as far as Xavier was concerned. No man was worth Wednesday’s affections, and Tyler fucking Galpin was at the very bottom. That bastard wasn’t even a man; he was some mongrel beast. Hydes had no place in the world, never mind Nevermore Academy.
Thankfully that Hyde had knocked some sense into Wednesday and she finally saw who she should have seen all along; the boy she saved all those years ago.
And so he gave her the phone.
Two days had gone by without a word. Though he had partly expected that, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of disappointment sinking in his chest as he looked at the blank screen. Early into day three he sent a message. A simple, hi it’s xavier.
No reply. Not right away.
Then: Hello Xavier.
It was then he wondered if he had forgotten to add his number after all. Wednesday, however, did not offer an explanation, nor did he ask. She was talking to him. That was all that mattered. And they had talked every day since.
Wednesday was taking awhile to reply. Sometimes she took hours. Other times it was seconds. Xavier was yet to make sense of the sporadic nature. He theorised that she was holding back. Girls like her always did. Patience was a virtue when it came to women. Wait long enough and they gave in eventually. It had worked with Bianca. He just couldn’t justify being around someone who could control him so easily. He might have stuck around otherwise. Well, stuck around until Wednesday realised the truth.
While he waited, he busied himself.
School wasn’t starting for another few days, so he could leave studying for later. Not that it mattered, Vincent Thorpe had a hefty pocket and was a puppet master when it came to strings. The textbooks in his bedroom remained untouched.
Instead he went to his computer.
Quickly, he learnt her routine and utilised it. Every night she stepped out onto that balcony and played the cello. As though she were a siren herself, he was enchanted by it. When he realised she played roughly the same time, he crept underneath, fished out his phone and recorded. He still had them stored on his computer, but he had to edit them severely to pick up the quality.
He clicked onto one of the tracks and let it fill his room.
Wednesday was not just an ethereal figure he watched from afar. No. She was more than that. Darkness had made a nest inside her. Xavier would know; there was a nest inside him, too.
Just as the first track was coming to a close, his phone pinged.
Wednesday <3
Do you normally play my music while you wait for my response, Xavier?
Xavier inhaled a sharp breath.
Me
What do you mean?
Wednesday <3
Playing coy? Now that is unlike you at all. I can hear it from where I’m standing.
Xavier reread the message several times, puzzled. “Standing outside?” he muttered to himself.
Wednesday <3
Someone with sense would look outside. Are you not frightened?
Me
You’re not as scary as you think you are
“And you’re not as clever as you think you are,” said a voice from behind. Vaguely familiar.
Xavier spun around. Lurking like a shadow in his doorway was a figure. Glowing bright as the sun in the otherwise dim room was a lit up screen of a phone. Even from where Xavier stood, he knew it was the one he had gifted Wednesday.
But it was not Wednesday who was holding it.
It was not Wednesday who was in his home, in his bedroom.
And it was not Wednesday who was holding the knife.
XXX
The morning sun pressed harshly against Sheriff Galpin’s back as he ducked beneath the crime scene tape.
Vincent Thorpe was speaking with Deputy Ritchie as he approached Thorpe manor. By now Donovan knew he should expect this. He had dealt with the Hyde attacks only a month back, and yet it stung all the same like it was a fresh wound.
Donovan lowered his gaze as he approached the house. Since Tyler was sent away, the people of Jericho had been distant. Whispers wafted like flies around him and he happened to be the biggest crap they habited.
“Xavier had been glued to his phone ever since he got home,” Vincent was saying.
Deputy Ritchie nodded as she scribbled this down on her notepad. “Any idea why?”
Vincent shook his head. “Texting a girl, I assumed. Honestly, I assumed it was Bianca.”
“You sound doubtful.”
It was then Vincent finally shifted his gaze to Donovan. “Go see for yourself, and you’ll start having doubts, too.”
Forensics were already examining the scene. One was knelt under the window in the living room, faint muddy prints marked the otherwise pristine carpet. Donovan followed its trail.
It led up the stairs, straight into Xavier Thorpe’s bedroom.
After seeing the violence his own son inflicted onto those who dared enter Jericho, Donovan thought he could prepare himself for what was inside.
Laid out like a shrine were all of Xavier’s drawings. From the beautiful to the haunting and grotesque, they were placed about the bedroom like a museum for onlookers to see. At the centre of it all was Xavier Thorpe himself.
Even from a quick glance, Donovan knew whoever did this was sending a message. He knew even before he saw what had been carved onto Xavier’s bare chest.
Ignore me again and the mutt is next.
The writing was unsteady, like the canvas had fought back. The tears staining his face confirmed Donovan’s worst fears. Whoever had attacked him, they had let him die slowly. Tortured him first.
Donovan took a step back to allow the forensics to take pictures.
The bloodied knife was wedged into the palm of his right hand. Donovan would be surprised if anything else had been the murder weapon.
Then he saw it. Marked on his left were three letters.
W. F. A.
Donovan clenched his jaw. Calmly, he stepped away and laid his eyes on the final painting that loomed ominously over Xavier’s mutilated corpse. Splatters of red stained the otherwise charcoal image of Wednesday Friday Addams playing the cello.