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Assistant: Title: Denying the Will of Fate
        Author: maus1941 maus1941 
        Chapter: 1/18 
        Summary: Wednesday, home from Nevermore, mourns the loss of Enid, who did not survive her fight with the Hyde.In a moment of either clarity or insanity, Wednesday discovers a way to save the girl she had fallen in love with.Trapped in the past, she discovers saving Enid Sinclair would be far more difficult than she could have ever guessed.
            
            Wednesday is home after Nevermore, reeling from the traumatic events surrounding the death of Enid Sinclair.Grief and loss are taking their toll. Help arrives from an unknown source.What would Wednesday be willing to risk to save the girl she had fallen in love with?Perhaps a better question would be: What wouldn't she risk?
        Contents: Chapter 1: You Left My Soul to Bleed
    

    

        
          
          
            Wednesday is home after Nevermore, reeling from the traumatic events surrounding the death of Enid Sinclair.Grief and loss are taking their toll. Help arrives from an unknown source.What would Wednesday be willing to risk to save the girl she had fallen in love with?Perhaps a better question would be: What wouldn't she risk?
          
        

  

  
  
    
    
  Wednesday frantically ran through the dark forest, following Thing as he led the way.  Terror clutched at her heart.  Her breathing was gasping and ragged but not merely from exertion. 

  After finishing off both Crackstone and Laurel Gates; Wednesday, Eugene and Xavier followed Bianca to the place the students had been evacuated.  Wednesday greatly desired to see one in particular to both celebrate the girl's first transformation and also to properly thank her for saving Wednesday’s life.  By doing so she also saved the rest of the school as well.  The Addams always repay their debts so whatever she needed from then on, Wednesday would provide.

  But she was not there.  Before she could long wonder, a terrified Thing found her and was now leading Wednesday to her.  

  
    She’s hurt!  I'm coming, please hold on!
  

  They rounded a tree to come to an opening in the woods.  There in a clearing lay a naked body still bathed in the dying moonlight, unmoving.

  Wednesday rushed forward.  “Enid!”

   

  Wednesday gasped and choked as she awoke.  Feeling as if she had been drowning and just now pulled her head above the water.  Confused, she reached up to touch her forehead thinking for a moment that it had all been a nightmare.  That any moment Enid would ask if she was ok.  Then she remembered where she was.

  Wednesday lay on her bed in the Addams home.  The room itself was dark as pitch.  Heavy black curtains completely blocked any outside light and a rolled up blanket at the foot of her door blocked out any ambient light from the hallway.

  Wednesday stared at the ceiling or at least she thought she did.  In absolute darkness she knew nothing was to be taken for granted.

  The internal clock in her mind told her it was 4:43am.  This “clock” had been intrinsically accurate since her first seance so many years ago.  She remembered telling her mother that she had been possessed.  The excitement in her voice gave way to disappointment when her mother told her it wasn’t uncommon for an Addams to show a new ability after speaking with spirits.

  She was understandably disappointed afterward. She expected her first exorcism to be wonderfully dreadful.  Sadly it was not to be.

  When her mental clock read 5:02 she decided returning to sleep was not in her future.  Her hand felt around the surface of her side table and located the book of matches.  She struck one.  The sudden light hurt her eyes in a way that felt right.  She lit the three candles on a candelabra.

  Flickering light filled the room.  Wednesday swung her feet over the side of the bed and stood up.  The light fell on the clock above her desk.  It read 5:33.  

  
    I’m losing time.
  

  Nothing had been right in her life since returning from Nevermore Academy.  This was yet one more example to show how she was falling apart.  

  She wondered if she was beginning to lose her mind.  She had dreamed of that moment in her youth.  Joining her uncle in a tour of the worst asylums in the world.  Electroshock therapy.  Her first lobotomy.

  
    I no longer deserve such enjoyment.
  

   

  In the flickering light she began to replay, as she had every night prior, her brief time at Nevermore.  The hidden passages, the balcony where she played her cello, the murder mystery, Eugene.  

  She winced as she felt her heart keen, missing the one who had become more important to Wednesday than any other; Enid.

  The damnable words she spoke on that fateful night came unbidden to her mind.  

  
    I need to get back to the school.
  

  She screamed in rage as she threw the candelabra at the wall across the room.  The light extinguished leaving her in absolute darkness once again.  She took shaking breaths as she considered how this is what it must be like to be buried alive.  It was what she deserved after all, to forever exist in eternal darkness.

  
    Would that I could trade places…
  

  She felt her eyes moisten.  
  
    No, I will not do this.  I will not!
  

  She sat down in her chair and put on her shoes.  She had to get out of this room, this house.  No one could be allowed to see her weakness.

  She strode down the steps and out the front door.  She made her way to the cemetery beside her house.  Walking purposely she approached her grandparents mausoleum.  She pressed the hidden switch to open the doors before going inside.

  She looked at their tombs and considered how lucky they had been to spend their lives together and then rest together for all eternity.  Despite the ugliness of their violent end, at least neither had to endure life without the other.

  She climbed up on her grandmother's tomb and lay on her side just as she had done as a child when this damnable world became too much.  She allowed her mind to remember the words that should have never passed her lips.

  
    We all die alone, Enid.
  

  Here, hidden from view and lying above the bones of a woman who died long before Wednesday was born, she admitted a truth that had become as obvious as it was inescapable.  She had fallen in love with Enid Sinclair.  How she only had realized it once Enid was gone was a sin Wednesday could never forgive herself for.

  
    It doesn’t matter anymore, she’s gone. 
  

  Wednesday began to cry. 

  
    All my protestations against tears, abandoned.  I deserve this pain.  How could I have been so careless?  How could I have left her alone? 
  

  Her tears grew to wracking sobs as she pulled herself into a fetal position.  It was her fault, all her fault!  She deserved pain, so at least she was getting her due.  But she knew without a doubt, she deserved far worse.

  
    May it arrive soon.
  

   

  —---

   

  Wednesday waited in her family parlor.  Her hair braided to perfection.  Her clothing, crisp and clean without a seam out of place.  Her face, impassive, not a trace of emotion to be seen.

  Her eyes, however, were dulled and sunken from lack of sleep.  Her face was thin, almost gaunt, revealing she had lost a concerning amount of weight.

  She had arrived at the parlor 31 minutes early.  The better to throw this woman off her game.  If Wednesday played her cards right, there would be no follow up appointment.

  She smiled inwardly.  When she was finished, this “Therapist” would need therapy.

  The door opened and Morticia Addams led a surprisingly young brown haired woman inside.

  “Wednesday, this is Dr. Serena Stevens.  Dr. Stevens, this is my daughter, Wednesday.”

  Dr. Stevens smiled at Wednesday as she made her way to the chair prepositioned across from Wednesday.  She turned to Morticia.  “Thank you, Mrs. Addams.” She waited for Wednesday’s mother to leave.

  Dr. Stevens nearly sat down in the chair that sat across from Wednesday.  But then moved and brought a wooden chair from a nearby reading table over to sit in instead.

  
    How could she have known what I did to the chair? 
  
  Wednesday wondered. 
  
     Is she psychic?
  

  “Wednesday, it’s good to meet you.”

  Wednesday nodded.  She’d give the woman nothing.  Make her work for scraps.  All the better to eventually break her.

  “Let me tell you about myself. I specialize in outcast mental health.  Also, let me be clear about something.  Everything said in this room is kept strictly confidential.  Your parents will not know unless you tell them.”

  “We both know that isn’t true.  There are circumstances where you will break confidentiality at the drop of a hat.”

  Dr. Stevens nodded.  “Yes, if my patient becomes a threat to herself or others, I have to notify.  You understand, right?”

  “Of course.  I understand when and under which conditions you would do so.  But to say this will be held strictly in confidence is a lie.  It is clearly conditional.”

  “You have a very strong and precise mind.  To be equally precise, let me say this.  I am here to help you.  You have been through traumatic events at Nevermore.   You’ve been attacked, nearly killed, watched your friends harmed,” she paused, “and lost someone close.”

  Wednesday interrupted, her eyes flashing and her voice full of cold rage.  “I didn’t 
  
    lose 
  
  her.  She was murdered.”

  Dr. Stevens spoke, but Wednesday wasn’t listening.  Her attention was focused on the woman’s writing in her notebook.  Writing that began when she lost her composure speaking of Enid.

  
    I was supposed to give her nothing.  I continue to be a failure.
  

  In less than an hour, the appointment was over.  Dr. Stevens would return next week.  Wednesday had been given printed sheets and instructed to use them to keep a log.  A record of when she went to bed and when she awoke.  As well as when she ate.

  “There are no wrong answers,” she had explained.

  Wednesday knew that to be a lie.  She didn’t fall asleep anymore but instead collapsed into unconsciousness when exhaustion became too much.  She seldom ate, finding the foods she once enjoyed tasted of bitter ash.

  Clearly those would be considered wrong answers.  But she couldn’t completely lie, this woman was no fool.  She’d have to thread this needle as carefully as suturing a wound.

   

  —-

   

  Laurel Gates called to her from the doorway, a gun in her hand.  Wednesday had to way to reach her.  She would certainly perish, but she’d go down fighting just the same.

  Then the bees were upon her and she screamed and collapsed to the ground.  Eugene was here!  He was awake!

  “Yeah, that’s what you get for messing with Nevermore.  B@tch.”

  Wednesday stood dumbfounded at the turn this had taken.  Eugene smiled broadly.

  “Hummer’s stick together, right?”

  Wednesday looked down at Laurel’s pathetic cries of pain.

  “I’ll take it from here.”

  “Maybe we should call the sheriff.”

  “Turn around, Eugene.”

  Afterward, she walked with Bianca and Eugene and Xavier to the place the rest of the students had fled.

  Wednesday looked around for one student in particular but couldn’t find her anywhere.  

  Finally she asked, her voice breaking in fear.  “Where’s Enid?”

   

  Awareness came back slowly at first and then all at once.  Wednesday found herself in the library sitting on the floor.   A vast semicircular arc of open books surrounded her.  In her lap lay a notebook and pen.  Looking down at the notebook she found strange diagrams and a list of ingredients.  Most were familiar but others were quite bizarre, even by her family's standards.

  
    The dying screams of your enemy… the poisoned blood of the heartbroken…
  

   

  She didn’t have any memory of arriving in this place.  It was no matter, she would treat this as a mystery and document the clues.  She opened a new page and began diagraming the books followed by the title and the page number each was open to.  

  When she had finished with her notes and had placed all the books upon a table and returned to her room.  She would attempt to sleep once more.  Her mind needed to be sharp in order to properly battle with Dr. Stevens come morning.

  She was about to climb back into bed but then stopped herself.  She kneeled down to pull a wooden box from under her bed.  Inside was a strong chain with a shackle at each end.  She threaded the chain through her bedframe and then locked the shackles securely around her own ankles.

  She tossed the key across the room.  Far enough away that she couldn’t easily unlock herself but still close enough that she could reach if she lay on the floor and stretched her body to the limits of the chain.

  
    This should keep me from wandering off again.
  

   

  —

   

  Fester drove a windowless van somewhere outside Utica, NY.  In the back were two passengers.  Thing and Ophelia Frump.  On the floor was a small cauldron that was kept under a low heat with cans of sterno.  She slowly stirred the potion.  It had to be kept at a constant temperature until it was used.

  Picking up the Hyde’s trail after his escape from his prison transport was difficult but now that they had it, he could not escape for long.  They had missed him in Utica by a day and a half.  

  He was traveling west, Fester was sure.  Likely to cross the border into Canada to be hidden by whoever was helping him.

  He would not make it, Fester swore.  Once they found him, Ophelia’s potion would prevent his transformation long enough to be subdued.

  Ophelia advocated killing him immediately but Fester refused.  He would be brought back to the Addams home.  Only Wednesday would be allowed to end his life.

   

  —

   

  “Wednesday, how have you been this past week?”

  
    Using small talk to lure me in?   Pitiful.
  

  “Fine,” Wednesday answered.   It was mostly true.  The shackles prevented any further attempts at sleep walking.  The research on the discovered texts was slow going but should yield progress before long. She even managed to choke down a full bowl of oatmeal this morning, her first meal in two days.

  “I think,” Dr. Stevens said, "that we should come up with a plan for our sessions.  Decide on how to make this time as productive as possible.”

  “If it is productivity you desire, then let us end these sessions and stop wasting our time.”

  “I think that would be premature.  I feel that perhaps, I may be the only person you have talked to this week.”

  Wednesday was silent.  
  
    How could she know that?  Is my mother spying for her?
  

   

  “I understand you are a talented fencer.”

  
    Why is she changing the subject?  What is her plan?
  

  “I am superior to some but not as skilled as others,” Wednesday answered truthfully but carefully.  Sometimes it was necessary to spring the trap to see what the enemy had planned.

  “I imagine it took a lot of hard work and practice to reach the level you are at.  I want to offer you this.  I can help you learn skills to manage your own feelings in a healthy way.”

  The thought of dealing with her feelings caused a look of disgust to appear on her face.

  “And the sooner we work on them and you practice them, the sooner you won’t have to see me every week.”

  The trap swung shut.  “Acceptable.”

   

  —-

   

  Wednesday had found that the intervening weeks had led to some improvement..  Most of the skills still sounded of ridiculous quackery but the mindfulness exercises were surprisingly effective.  She had even been able to sleep for four hours last night.

  With her mind and body having improved, she was finally able to make some progress on her book mystery.  She had originally assumed she had lost her mind and pulled random books in a state of delirium and drew nonsensical images in her notebook.

  She persevered and transcribed each open book page to a different notebook page and had laid the pages all out on the library table to take them all in.  A sense of exhilaration and dread pulled in opposite directions in her mind.

  Clearly this was not a random scattering of books.  The combined pages revealed a dark ritual that could be used to horrific effect by the wrong person.  Or worse, by the right person.  She should burn these notes and then tear the offending pages out of her family tomes to prevent anyone else from ever discovering it.

  However, someone clearly knew about it already.  There was no way Wednesday would have stumbled on those disparate books.  Not in a thousand years could that have occurred on its own.  

   Someone or something had possessed her.

  
    But who and why? 
  

  She frowned.  This was getting her nowhere.  She had to make a decision and clearly the right one was to destroy her notes and possibly the books themselves.

  But something unwritten in any book revealed itself in her notes.  If a raven were to perform the ritual they could do something truly unprecedented.  It could be wonderful or terrible, likely both in equal measure.

  All thought of destroying the notes was abandoned.  She stacked up the papers.  She’d hide them in the secret drawer in her desk while she gathered the ingredients.

  With her power as a raven, she could do this.  

  
    I will prevent it.  Enid will not die.
  

   

  —

   

  On the edge of her family’s bog, Wednesday had drawn a large circle surrounded by four smaller ones.  She used a sextant to ensure the smaller circles were properly aligned.  There could be no second attempt.

  In the center of the large circle sat a copper bowl sitting on a round flat stone of about two feet in diameter.  Inside it sat all the ingredients that Wednesday would need, save two.  When Uncle Fester arrived with their guest of honor, she’d add the missing elements.

  She began to pace nervously.  The full moon began to rise.  When its light hits the center of the circle, she would have only minutes to complete it. 

  The worry that caused her anxious pacing was that Wednesday hadn’t had a vision since returning from Nevermore.  She had to not only have one momentarily, she’d have to intentionally trigger it, something she has never done.

  She hardened her heart.  She had to do this.  Enid was depending on her.  

  
    I will have that vision!
  

  Footsteps could be heard on the path as Fester came into view, pulling a two wheel cart behind him.

  “Hello, Wednesday.”

  “You brought him.”

  He smiled maliciously at their captive.  “I did.”  He lay the cart down on the ground, Tyler lay helpless, strapped tightly to the cart.

  Wednesday knelt down by Tyler’s head.  “How does it feel, Hyde?”

  Tyler asked, confused, having only regained consciousness minutes ago, “Wednesday? What?”

  She asked him a second time. “How does it feel?  How does it feel to lose?”

  Wednesday turned and lit the black candles ringing the large circle.

  “Are you sure about this, Wednesday?  It seems like a terrible risk.”

  “That is because it is.”

  “You’ll be changing the past.”

  “Only accelerating it.  Gates will die as will he.  It will just happen a bit sooner.”  She bent over and picked up a long knife.

   

  She stalked over and knelt down by Tyler and began tapping the flat of the blade on his chest..  “When you killed her, Hyde, it felt as if you had torn my heart out.”  She continued to tap the flat of the blade on his chest to accentuate her words.  “I’m going to show you exactly how that feels.”

  She flipped the blade in her hand and sliced down his chest, cutting through skin and muscle to the bones underneath.  Tyler screamed in terror.

  She cut laterally and deeply across his stomach, just below his ribcage before shoving her hand inside his body.  He shrieked and begged her to stop.  In his face she could see that the light of the candles changed from a yellow flame to a black one.  It was working.

  She reached his heart and squeezed it in her hand before tearing it from his body.  She held it up before his eyes.  He looked at it dazed for only a brief moment before his eyes glazed over and his pupils dilated. 

  Wednesday turned, dropped his heart on the ground and walked away without a backwards glance and entered the circle.  The moon was almost to the correct point in the sky.

  Fester tipped up the cart and unstrapped Tyler, allowing his body to unceremoniously tumble into the bog to disappear forever.

  “What of all the things you’ll change?” Fester asked, hoping even now to talk her out of this.

  “It will be for the best.  I’ll push my consciousness into my younger body, travel to Jericho, kill Gates and him before I ever come to Nevermore.  Then I’ll make sure I don’t dump the piranhas in the pool.  I’ll never leave that high school and eventually graduate from it.”

  She knew she was lying.  Her future was one of madness and despair.  When she returned she would forever have two memories, one of Nevermore and death and loss, the other of righteous murder and remaining at high school with her brother.  Memories of Enid, the only girl she would ever love alongside never meeting the girl again.  She couldn’t seek her out afterwards.  Enid would not know who she was.  She would appear to Enid as nothing but a deranged maniac.

  
    But perhaps that is all I’ve ever been.
  

  Fester wasn’t expecting this.  “You’ll never go to Nevermore?  Never meet this girl you’ve fallen in love with?”

  Wednesday bent over and picked up a vial. One that contained a mixture of arsenic and belladonna before drinking it down, poisoning herself.

  She took her knife and cut her palm to allow her now poisoned blood to drip into the copper bowl.  She dropped the knife and stumbled.  She had seconds to live but was able to choke down the antidote she had prepared.

  She gasped for breath and fell to her hands and knees, terribly weakened by her near fatal poisoning.  With extreme effort she lifted her head to track the moon's location.  It was fast approaching the right position in the sky.

  With her few remaining moments, she answered Fester’s question.  He’d have to explain her choice to her parents once she was gone.

  “I won’t risk her life again.  Without me there, her life will progress as it should.”  Wednesday’s voice cracked.  “Without me to save, she may never transform.  She might be kicked out of her family pack, never find a mate, perhaps spend the rest of her life alone.”

  The moon reached its zenith and the candle light changed from black to blood red.  The contents of the bowl burst into flame, heating the bowl to the necessary temperature.  While she knew the burn would hurt, pain was a familiar friend.  It would see her on her way.

  She weakly knelt in front of the bowl, extending her hands to either side of it.  She closed her eyes to concentrate on her needed vision while readying herself to take hold of the bowl with both of her hands to trigger the spell.

  “She might spend the rest of her life alone.” Wednesday repeated before setting her jaw in a firm line, “But at least she’ll 
  
    have 
  
  a rest of her life!” 

  Her flesh sizzled as she grasped the edges of the burning hot bowl.  Wednesday’s back arched, a vision taking hold of her.  

  With a loud thunderous boom, all the candles were extinguished.  Fester rushed forward to find Wednesday lying limp on the damp ground.  Her open eyes stared forward but there was no longer any light to be found in them.'
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