She's an Agent of Chaos, I'm a Softie

c. 2: The Monster In The Woods.

  “You want me to do what? ” Xavier asked, dumbfounded.

  “Trace their IP address. You’re the only person I could think of who could possibly do that, so here we are,” Wednesday answered, already seeming to have grown impatient with the boy. Wednesday hadn’t been very concise, so Enid had just followed along, accustomed to that dynamic. It was almost cartoonish, the main character rushing off into the face of danger whilst the slapstick sidekick followed close behind, not really aware of what was going on, but happy to be included nonetheless. Wednesday had led them to an area just shy of the school grounds, a dilapidated looking shack in the woods that looked as though it hadn’t been tended to in a while.

  A fitting place for a tortured artist to be at work. Like Van Gogh, just without the ear severing. Indeed, the shack was exactly where Enid expected Xavier Thorpe’s secret art retreat to be, a remote area nestled away from prying eyes. A place for him to express himself—to articulate his inner most strives on a canvas.

  “Well, allow me to rephrase: Why do you want me to do that?” Xavier questioned, furrowing his brows. “And since when did you know what an IP address is?”

  “Morbid curiosity,” Wednesday answered plainly. “Will you help me or not?” Xavier straightened himself up, a look of genuine concern on his face.

  “Sure, but not until I know why.”

  “Why do you insist on knowing? It’s unlikely to affect you in any way.” At that, Xavier scoffed, shaking his head.

  “Unlikely to affect me? Not to sound like a prick, but I don’t exactly like the idea of not knowing what I’m helping you with. Knowing you, it could be anything. The least you could do is tell me. You know, to ‘ease my conscience’ or whatever,” Xavier said, crossing his arms in defiance, something Wednesday observed with a look of tired resentment.

  Enid could tell a fight was brewing—she had lived with a pack of boys all her life, so it was easy to tell—and so she decided to mediate. “Okay, how about this?” Enid said, stepping between the two. “Whatever weird tension you two have can get to fuck, okay?” she cursed, turning to Xavier. “We have a stalker problem—Wednesday does, they don’t give jack shit about me, actually. Still, she’s my roomie and I prefer her happy, and a happy Wednesday means finding the person responsible for this.”

  “Now, I don’t know anything about tracing IP’s, and of course Wednesday doesn’t, but she has a hunch that you do. So, please, help a Nevermore sister out?” Enid ranted, practically losing her breath by the end of her speech. Xavier was stunned, meanwhile Wednesday was standing off to the side, mildly taken aback, if not slightly impressed. Xavier grinned, holding the door open for the two.

  “See? Not too hard to be open and honest, Wednesday,” Xavier said. “Oh, and no, I’m not your stalker if that’s what you’re thinking, don’t flatter yourself,” he added with a hint of humour in his voice.

  “Given your infatuation with me last semester—”

  “Okay, that’s enough of that!” Enid interjected, pushing past Xavier, who offered an amused huff. Stepping inside, the interior of the shack itself was different to what Enid had expected. She knew that art took many forms, very personal to one’s soul, but what she saw was almost terrifying. Canvases lined the walls in neat columns, all standing to attention as if Xavier might bark orders at them. The art depicted varied in colour and contrast, but they all followed one consensus: The Hyde.

  Enid could recognise those bulbous eyes blindfolded; they had been forever burned into her retinas that faithful night. The night they had almost lost Nevermore, and Wednesday in turn. It was a night that Enid never wished to repeat, though it was something she was repeatedly thrust back into every night since. Night terrors were a dime a dozen nowadays. It was hard for Enid to get a wink of sleep because of it, for she was terrified of having to face him again.