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

c. 6: A Lead

  Insane isn’t how Wednesday Addams would describe herself, though she did fancy herself to be a deranged, hatchet-wielding killer. Even so, murder can be justified, and Wednesday never killed without reason; she was completely sane. Although, her recent obsession was challenging that notion. Her stalker still alluded her, and that was maddening to Wednesday. She had been tricked, an occurrence that was becoming far too common for her liking.

  The fact that this person had managed to one-up Wednesday truly irked her, and she just couldn’t fathom how she had allowed it to happen. So, Wednesday had thrown herself into her work, vowing not to stop until her adversary was identified. But how? For the first time in her life, Wednesday was well and truly stumped. Even last year she had leads and no shortage of theories, but this time was different.

  There was nothing. Not a scrap. Not even a modicum of information to be gleamed.

  Wednesday had been desperate, even allowing herself to rely on technology, which, of course, ended terribly. No surprise there. Still, the fact that Wednesday had went to Xavier in the first place implied that she had some hope in the idea. Wednesday stared at the device, disgust written all over her face. Never again will I be a slave to you; you're useless.

  Wednesday stared down at her hardwood desk. She opened one of the drawers, retrieving her stalker's phone from inside. She stared at it, letting out a sigh. She trudged over to her bed, sinking into her mattress. It felt truly odd to be trapped; she didn't really know how to feel.

  Was it humiliating? Agitating? Intimidating?

  A bit of all of that, she supposed. Wednesday held the phone above her face, staring into the darkness of the screen. Despite her thorough investigation, not once had Wednesday opened the phone, which was foolish now that she thought about it. If this person was just as phone-obsessed as Enid was—and the wolf was chronically addicted—then Wednesday could likely gleam this person's entire life story in a few button presses. But, of course, she hadn't, and Wednesday knew precisely why.

  You see, Wednesday was stubborn, and she was always keen to do things her way. She had conceded to Enid's tip and accepted help from Xavier, but only because she had no leads. She'd much rather do things the old-fashioned way, which was, again, foolish. Perhaps mother was right: I do get in my own way. Wednesday pressed the 'power on' button, but her head suddenly flew back as she did, a jolt akin to an electric current shooting through her body.

  It felt like a dozen hands had suddenly seized Wednesday by the head, desperately pulling her backwards like their lives depended on it. Her head snapped back into place, and suddenly Wednesday found herself some place different. The world around her was saturated—it looked as though she was seeing through a pair of purple-tinted glasses. She recognised the space, too, it belonging to an area in downtown Jericho, one caught between the Weathervane and what used to be Crackstone's memorial. Wednesday, who was sprawled out in the middle of the street, shuffled to her feet, pressing two fingers to her temples in an attempt to quell a sudden headache that had emerged.

  Nausea plagued Wednesday, and there was a searing pain in her gut. Laughter echoed around her, seemingly coming from every direction. They drew closer and ever-present, until...

  "Found me."

  Wednesday quickly spun around to meet the voice. An obscured figure stood nearby, basking in the darkness a nearby alleyway provided. The only source of light in the space was a faint, bluish glow emanating from a rectangular object in their hand. A phone, Wednesday recognised. Wednesday drew a baited breath and stepped closer, that same elated laughter persisting.

  It was deafening, only growing more and more unbearable as Wednesday trudged closer and closer, as did the pain in her gut swell out of proportion. But, just as Wednesday had reached the figure, she was suddenly strung back like a puppet on a string and plunged back into reality. Her head flew backwards against her bed, signalling the end of her vision. She was back in the comfortable silence of she and Enid's dorm. Although the laughter had stopped, Wednesday’s ears still rung; she winced.