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

c. 7: It's Not Paranoia If She's Out To Get You

  Wednesday didn't like being cared for all that much, especially by people she hardly knew. Whenever she'd injure herself when she was younger, like the time she had broken her wrist whilst fencing, Wednesday would be cared for by her father, Gomez. Even then, she insisted he teach her how to treat wounds and broken bones herself, which they did. Truthfully, Wednesday didn't trust people, and she found the idea of compassion sickening, at least when it was directed towards her. She could cope with Enid being expressionate, the same goes for her parents and a few scattered individuals, but random people in the hallway?

  After her stroke with death, Wednesday had been placed in hospital, which by itself was bad enough. Not only had she been stabbed, most perplexingly by somebody who appeared identical to her colourful roommate, but now her life rested on people she did not trust. Then, when Wednesday was finally discharged a fortnight later, rumours of the attack had spread. Wednesday still maintained her 'hero' status after she had defeated Crackstone last year, and many of Nevermore's denizens had changed their minds on the plaid goth. They still flinched whenever she rounded a corner, but they now had a new-found appreciation for her, one that only got more incessant and more annoying after the attack.

  Constant questions in the hallways: "Are you alright?" "You were so brave!" and "Like anybody could kill you!" were the most common. Enid told her she should appreciate the care; she'd rather have been killed by her stalker. Speaking of, the girl—or at least she assumed it was a girl—kept messaging her, mocking her with veiled threats and distant pictures of she and Enid. It was maddening. Once again, Wednesday had been bested, but not because she was outsmarted, but because she allowed her disbelief to get the better of her.

  Enid had felt awful about the whole ordeal, as did Xavier, who both saw it as their responsibility to look out for their friend. Wednesday once again assured Xavier that he had tried, even though she knew he was still unconvinced. As for Enid, well, she seemed worried about two things at once. Of course, she was worried for Wednesday, but there was something else, something distant. Wednesday had pressed her on it, but she didn't budge.

  Instead, Enid shifted the topic of the conversation to Wednesday's still ambiguous stalker. Wednesday was still torn on what exactly had happened, but she and Enid had a decent hunch.

  "They're a shape-shifter like Weems?" Enid had questioned, and Wednesday, decently set in her ways, nodded.

  "It all adds up," Wednesday said. "It couldn't possibly be you, you were with Xavier, Yoko and Ajax—they all attest to that. So, unless you have a brown-haired twin running around, then no, it wasn't you."

  Wednesday also picked up on the lack of scars on her stalker's face. Enid had been horribly scarred by the Hyde last year, something that the werewolf detested. She could have covered it up with makeup, but where was that makeup now? How come Enid never tried to cover them up? Then there was the skin, too rough, which was nothing like Enid's supple, smooth skin.

  This wreaked of a shape-shifter, and a shoddy one at that.

  "Addams!"

  The disgruntled voice caught Wednesday's attention, causing her to turn in their direction. Donovan Galpin emerged from around the corner, sporting his police uniform, which looked as worn as his patience. He looked tired, as though he hadn't slept in days. "Sheriff," Wednesday replied blandly, hands joined togethet politely.

  "To what do I owe the pleasure?" Sheriff Galpin gave a tired sigh, removing a small blade from his pocket.

  "You remember this?"

  "Of course, it found a home in my abdomen just two weeks ago," Wednesday said, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "Thank you for reminding me, it's always a joy to revisit traumatic memories."