A Crossbow Aimed At the Heart

Jeremy took one last glance at the street map as he pulled up to an intersection, and then placed it down on the passenger seat. He made a point not to have to drive into Manhattan too often, but thankfully he still felt somewhat familiar with the neighborhood which surrounded him.

He rubbed his eyes — he wasn't particularly looking forward to arriving at his destination. His previous conversation with Gomez, which laid the premise for the day's visit, had left Jeremy with the same pit in his stomach as every other set-up date gone wrong that he'd ever been on.

He brushed the thought aside — Gomez' absurd secondary instruction was obviously not the reason he'd decided to come down here. In fact, this would be the only Addams property remaining that he hadn't yet seen in his time working for them.

One more turn.

Jeremy let out a short breath in amusement as he pulled into the street — the building he was looking for was unmistakable. Nestled among a row of tall, conjoined townhomes was one appearing at least twenty shades darker in its stone construction, as though it swallowed all light from its surroundings.

'Boy, they must love the Halloween crowds...' he thought to himself, observing the distinctly gothic building as he parked on the street in front of it.

He buttoned up his coat as a chilling breeze belted through the otherwise quiet Gramercy street, observing a single dead tree rooted in a tiny front yard as he strolled over to the stairs leading up to the entry.

The front door itself was, like the rest of the exterior, black, and several sizes larger than seemed necessary, as if to intimidate unwanted visitors.

Jeremy hadn't forgotten the key Gomez had given him, but felt the need to knock anyway; he felt much less intrusive being invited into a stranger's home than by barging in without notice.

Without an answer, he tried the chunky iron door knocker instead.

No response. He sighed, and unlocked it with his key.

As he pushed the creaky, wooden door open, the light from outside streamed into what looked like complete blackness inside the house. Jeremy half-wondered to himself whether he would in fact find any living beings inside the place at all.

As he closed the door behind him, his eyes adjusted to the much darker environment in which he now found himself.

The interior was, much like the manor at which Jeremy had just been a day ago, gothic and ornate despite looking well-worn, and yet somehow felt even less homely — the walls showed dusty outlines where paintings had clearly been taken down, the blood-red rugs almost melded with the dark, oakwood floors they lay upon, and every window he could see was covered by blackout blinds. Even a large, tall window at the top of the tall staircase leading up to the second floor allowed no daylight into the house — the only light in the building emanated from the number of chandeliers and candelabras decorating the decrepit space. He felt out of place, standing there with his messenger bag under his arm.

He took a few tentative steps forward, poking his head into the open doorways on either side.

"Hello? Anyone home?" he asked the silent foyer.

No reply.

He checked the time. 6:30.

'Maybe evening starts later for these people...' he thought.

At that moment he heard a grunt come from somewhere deeper in the house. He turned his head toward the sound, and slowly began toward it. It took him through a large, antiquated, black-tile kitchen, with an open pantry which looked to contain mostly onions, garlic, sprout-covered potatoes, and wine bottles.

The kitchen connected to another dimly-lit room, which had a small vintage television in the corner playing a football game on silent, and in the center of the room, what looked from behind to be a large throne. He watched the game for a moment, when a deep, growly voice emanating from right in front of him exclaimed in celebration.

Startled, Jeremy realized his eyed had deceived him, and that the throne in the middle of the room was in fact a regular-sized chair with a gargantuan man sat upon it.

Jeremy must have inadvertently vocalized his astonishment, as the man turned to notice him.

"Oh, a little man has wandered in here," he said aloud, in an imposingly deep voice.

'Yeah, little compared to you!' Jeremy's mind spun.

"Hey!— Hi!" he sputtered, attempting to regain his faculties, "I'm, uh, I'm here to see the lady of the house… do you know if she's in?"

The man looked toward the doorway to the kitchen, then back to Jeremy. "Master Wednesday usually wakes when supper is ready."

"…Right, okay, so she's here," Jeremy replied. He noticed the man's face more in the light — he had white, cropped hair, his skin a colorless gray. His expressionless face reminded Jeremy of depictions of Frankenstein's monster, but without the sewn-up scars and such.

"Sorry — they did mention there'd be a butler here, I've forgotten what they called you though," he explained.

"Lurch," he said, extending a hand. "Pleasure to make acquaintance."

Lurch's polite manners in contrast with the low growl of his voice made for an interesting impression, Jeremy thought.

He shook Lurch's hand, although it felt like a small child trying to handshake an adult. "Sure, pleasure's all mine, man," he chuckled uneasily, "I'm Jeremy. Your, uh, your team's winning, I take it?"

Lurch grunted in affirmation, and turned his attention back toward the game.

Jeremy took that as his cue to leave. He ventured back into the foyer, hoping to look for a library or study for him to set up with his materials.

He continued to find the overall darkness of the place rather disorienting, added with the fact that flickering flames were certainly not the most static of light sources.

To add to the sensation, he suddenly felt a chill grace the back of his neck.

"Who are you?" a stony female voice inquired.

He spun around to face the staircase, at the top of which stood an unimpressed Wednesday Addams, half-shrouded by darkness. Her dark hair dropped down below her shoulders, and she wore a lustrous, flowing black robe which extended to the floor. Candlelight danced off her unblemished pale skin.

Words didn't manage to reach his lips for the first few moments.

"Jeremy," he finally replied. "I'm sorry I wasn't able to phone ahead, you uh, you don't seem to have a line hooked up to the place—"

"That's quite intentional, I assure you," she interjected sharply. "Did Lurch let you in here?"

"No!— No, uh, your parents sent me, they gave me a key," he faltered, "I knocked a couple times, I just—"

"Let yourself in, how lovely," she said impassively. Her callous stare unnerved him a little.

He chewed his top lip, unsure what to say next.

"So, what are you supposed to be, their doctor?" she asked.

"No! No," he replied, "I'm uh, well, in a roundabout way I suppose I'm the money manager for the entire Addams estate — your parents mostly just have me keeping tabs on their illiquid assets at the moment, um, of course, one of which I am currently standing inside—"

"They're cutting me off?" she interrupted, still deadpan.

"No!..."

She stared expectantly.

"…Or, well," he backtracked, remembering Gomez's request, "I don't really know for sure, it might depend on—"

Wednesday rolled her eyes, turned and walked away from the landing.

Jeremy quickly climbed up the stairs after her, while attempting to qualify his previous statement.

"—It's really not anything like that, there's just a bit of—"

He followed her into the next room, where he found her relaxing in a leather armchair. It appeared to be the reading room, with bookshelves lining the walls. She gestured toward a great mahogany desk opposite her and in front of a tall window, which of course was also shuttered by blackout blinds. He acquiesced and took a seat, emptying a binder of papers from his bag. He took care not to drop them too close to a lit candle at one corner of the desk, planted inside of a prop of a human skull. Or, at least, he supposed that it was a prop…

"Right, then," he muttered, as he struggled to get situated in the dim environs. "You're not like, a vampire, are you?… No light in here?" he joked meekly.

He glanced up at her and she was simply looking at him, though he thought he noticed a subtle wry smirk from one side of her mouth. He escaped her menacing gaze and began to set his papers in order.

"My family had an accountant. He was... older," she eventually retorted, "how do I know you're not an imposter, scheming after the secrets of our fortune?"

He wasn't sure she was even being sarcastic. "Uh, well, they took me on just over a year ago, should be coming up on... 13? Yeah, 13 months now."

Her eyes narrowed. "That's only a few weeks after I left home..." she began slowly. "Somewhat suspicious, wouldn't you agree?"

He looked at her quizzically. "Uh, why…?"

"Are you a Pisces?" she continued, talking past him, "my father always talked about wanting to have a Pisces around."

"…Maybe they missed having somebody your age in the house, I don't know," he offered.

She leaned forward. "Someone with healthy organs, I'd imagine, you know, just in case?" she mocked. "Did they ask you your blood type in the interview?"

He chuckled uneasily. "Listen, Wednesday, you can like, relax, I mean, this isn't an audit per se—"

"No?" she asked, unconvinced.

"No, I'll explain, just give me a second," he encouraged.

She leaned back while keeping her eyes on him, making him feel as though he were being studied for weaknesses.

"Are you familiar with the tale of the Sword of Damocles?" she asked after a moment, a hint of amusement in her voice.

He didn't wish to let her continue veering the conversation in every which direction, so he attempted to continue searching through his papers without humoring her.

"The, uh... the king with sword above his head?" he finally replied once her expectant silence had become uncomfortable.

She raised an eyebrow slightly. "The life of a king was Damocles' wish," she recounted, "of course, he was clueless as to the anxiety-inflicting apprehensions that a real ruler is constantly under, and so his king chose to demonstrate this to him in the most unambiguous way possible."

Jeremy had found what he had been rummaging for, and was hoping she'd arrive at her point sooner rather than later. Though, as the moments passed, he began to wonder if she were somehow waiting for him to continue with her story.

"I— yeah, I think I've heard it," he offered, "I'm uh, assuming that it isn't super pertinent though, right? So…"

Still she refused to speak. He felt as though she were somehow dressing him down with only her stare.

"…Or, maybe it is? I don't—" he caught himself, "wait — are you saying that you think that I'm here because I fancy ruling over you or something?"

"I'd be interested to find out," she leaned forward. Her wry smile had reappeared. "Do you imagine yourself living in this place instead of me? Do you really imagine you'd fare here unharmed?"

"What? No—" he began in protest, until he noticed that she had finally ended her scrutinous observation of him, instead allowing her gaze to list toward the ceiling.

By the time Jeremy followed suit, fearful instincts caused him to immediately flinch his entire body backward, as he discovered that there was in fact a full medieval sword suspended high above the chair he'd been sitting on, the blade aiming downward. He was equally startled that he hadn't noticed it as he'd walked in, though the entire house did have unusually tall ceilings.

'And here I thought the parents were something...' he thought in panic, as he caught his breath.

She grinned at him maniacally.

"You—" he panted, utterly bewildered, "What is the purpose of that?! Do you try to kill everybody who steps foot in this place?!"

Her expression returned to normal.

"Only trespassers," she retorted, hopping up and turning to leave the room.

"Listen, I'm not here to boss you around, or make your life miserable," he interjected, still uneasy about the blade hanging from the ceiling by only a strand of wire, "there are just some like, expenditures your folks were curious about, that's literally it."

She stopped.

"That's what that list is?" she motioned toward the spreadsheet scrunched up in his hand, his knuckles still white from the fright.

He huffed and attempted to flatten the papers out against his body. "Yeah, I mean, it won't take long, or anything, they just want me to—"

"Fine, but walk with me," she interrupted.

He sighed, trailing after her back out onto the landing.

"Sure, well, I mean, on the 5th of last month here, you've got a, seems like a bulk order of... candles? 450 candles, 14 thousand dollars…? Like, is that—"

Wednesday only offered a slight crinkle of the eyebrows in response, continuing down into the next room.

"I mean, sure, I guess that's what you use for light around here… You're probably overpaying though," he mumbled, penning a mark against the amount.

When Jeremy looked back up, he realized she'd led him into the bathroom, where she had just finished drawing a bath. She began tying her hair up into a bun.

"Oh, sorry, did you want me to—" before he could finish, she disrobed in one motion and slinked into the tub, paying him no mind. He thought to himself that she moved rather like a cat.

After what must have been several stunned seconds, she finally turned to him.

She rolled her eyes. "You can sit," she gestured toward a high-back chair facing the bathtub, over which she had draped the robe she'd been wearing a moment ago.

"Just hang that over the door for me," she added.

After a beat, he did as she instructed and then sat down, doing his best to steer his mind toward observing the craftsmanship of the tiling on the walls.

He could sense her amusement over his predicament even without seeing her face.

"Will you be reporting on this portion of the visit when you return to them?" she sneered.

The sides of the tub were fairly tall, but Jeremy still wasn't entirely sure where he should look. "Wednesday, I—"

"What other excuses did they have to dredge up in order for you to have to come all the way down here?" she went on.

He felt her penetrating eyes on him.

"I mean… what was the alternative?" he argued.

"Send a letter," she replied curtly, turning to stare idly ahead.

He craned to look at her finally, doing his best to ignore whatever was visible below the waterline.

"And if they had?" he asked. "What would you have said?"

She side-eyed him. "You do know that you're only here because they wanted me to interact with somebody from the 'outside'?" she remarked, shifting uncomfortably in the tub.

Jeremy was finding himself uncomfortable with how much she'd been able to surmise as far as her parents' intentions, and the pretense under which he'd been instructed to visit. Naturally, he didn't feel as though he'd had much of a choice, and so he'd hardly have considered it to have been his pretense, but still, the point awkwardly remained.

Surprisingly enough, Wednesday continued to vent her frustrations to him.

"They've been all about expanding the family, in terms of the lineage… It had started ever since I was wi—" she faltered, "well, never mind. I think they're simply worried that they're not as important as they once were — socially, I mean."

Jeremy paused for a moment. The types of considerations she was describing almost struck him as the kind he'd read about concerning some sort of medieval lordship in a fantasy novel. Though, he couldn't say the pieces didn't fit — Gomez had been rather obnoxiously insistent on having this face-to-face interaction take place. On the positive side, at least now Jeremy knew that her parents' machinations were secret to neither Wednesday nor himself — it actually took a load off his mind.

The only anxiety he felt in the current moment stemmed from the taboo that was his immediate situation.

He stood up and turned to make his exit, before she could concoct a way to add to his discomfort.

"You do feel awkward, having them put you in this position, no?" she posited, before he could leave.

He shook his head in befuddlement. "I— yes, of course, yes," he bumbled, glancing back at her. "Not that you care, clearly, or you wouldn't have… I don't know, all this," he managed to finish, gesturing in her direction.

She ignored the second comment, instead deciding to press him further. "Do you ever plan to stand up to them?" she smirked, folding her arms over the side of the tub to face him, "do they have you contracted into some type of indentured servitude?"

"It's… I—" he stammered, failing to find words. He didn't really feel like arguing the point anymore. She also seemed to possess a unique knack for exhausting his social stamina.

While he wasn't yet fully confident in his ability to read her facial expressions, hers seemed to change into one he could only describe as pity.

"Okay, well, you can go now if you want," she said glumly, laying back again and turning her gaze toward the ceiling. "Lurch should be making supper by now. We can continue your 'not audit' afterward."

"Sure, yeah, I guess we could do that," he managed, before leaving.

He gingerly closed the door behind him, though he didn't imagine the household's privacy etiquette even demanded it.

He dropped his shoulders in exhaustion. On top of everything, he wasn't particularly accustomed to working late into the night. Presumably a home-cooked meal would serve as a pick-me-up, though he felt the need to enquire as to what exactly that would entail — when it came to the Addams', he knew better than to presume to know what to expect.

After dropping his papers back in the study, he ventured slowly downstairs to be greeted by a smell he couldn't describe. Poking his head into the kitchen, he spotted Lurch in front of three tall pots boiling all at once. He thought Lurch looked somewhat comical wearing a chef's apron.

The giant turned to notice him.

"Germy!" said Lurch with enthusiasm.

"Ger— Oh, you mean—? Right, sure," he managed to laugh, "it's Jeremy, but, that's good..."

He noticed a pile of used rat traps in the corner of the room.

"Big rodent problem in this area?" Jeremy asked cautiously.

Lurch grunted in agreement. "Nibble on fingers when you sleep."

Jeremy recoiled a little at the thought. He tried to peer into one of the pots that were boiling away. The mixture was a dark red.

"It smells... interesting," he remarked, "what is it?"

"Making ratatouille," said Lurch.

Jeremy's stomach let him know that the meal was well awaited.

"You–" Jeremy glanced back at the rat traps. He felt queazy all of a sudden.

'This has got to be some kind of joke...' he thought, while his heart sank.

He swallowed. "Are they... are they in there now?" he asked quiveringly.

"Hm?" Lurch looked confused. "The tomatoes?"

Jeremy let out a sigh in relief. "Oh, that's the tomato sauce, of course," he panted. "Man, between the rat traps and the giant pots, for a second I really thought you were making the ratatouille out of actual rats..."

"Oh," Lurch smiled, "no, master Wednesday is vegetarian since being here. Had me learn whole new recipe book just for her."

"Oh, I see," Jeremy mused.

"Besides, rat flesh, not to my liking, very stringy," Lurch continued.

Jeremy chuckled nervously.

Backing away, he decided to wander around a little. He browsed down the corridor on the other side of the staircase, which opened to a narrow dining room containing a stone fireplace and a table long enough to seat a dozen people. The corridor contained a couple other rooms which were closed, however the door at its very end was cracked open slightly. Curious, Jeremy ventured over and pushed on it.

There were no candles inside to light up this room, but as Jeremy strained to see he could perceive a slight drop down past the doorway, where the floorboards appeared to end. Taking a tentative step down, he felt that the ground was gravel. There appeared to be a number of old closets haphazardly lined around the edges of the room, some of them leaning on one another, some laying on their side.

With some apprehension, he took another pace forward. It was odd — in the center of the room the ground appeared to fall away. If there indeed was a large hole in the ground, Jeremy didn't desire to test the theory. As he stared down, he felt a faint breeze grace his skin. The air felt moist.

'Does it lead somewhere?' he wondered.

He backpedaled to the safety of solid ground, shaking his head in befuddlement.

'I'm gonna get myself killed staying in this place too long...' he mused.

At that moment, he turned to hear the low rumble of Lurch's voice carry through the house: "Dinner is served!"

Jeremy returned the door to its ajar position and made his way into the dining room, where he found Lurch huddled over, working on lighting the fireplace.

"Hope you find it to your liking," Lurch gestured toward the table, where a humongous-sized dish filled with colorful slices of vegetables sat, steaming.

"Geez, are we having guests?" exclaimed Jeremy.

"Not beside you, no," Lurch paused. "...I have a high metabolism..."

"Oh," Jeremy nodded with a chuckle, "fair enough."

He took a serving and sat down near the head of the table, which had a somewhat larger chair he supposed was Lurch's seat.

As the food cooled, he took a spoonful and was pleasantly surprised. Jeremy was no chef, but he felt the sauce was seasoned to perfection, especially for being made from scratch in a dingy kitchen.

As he went for another spoonful, Wednesday wandered through the doorway to join the dinner party. She was now wearing a shabby, dark, long-sleeved dress with white collars, which hugged her body in a way that made him wonder if it might be a size too small. She had on black tights, and on her feet a pair of plush slippers of the same color. Her hair had now been tied into two long braids, resting on either shoulder. She stopped, clearly not appreciating Jeremy observing her as she approached the table.

"Is Lurch's food not to your liking?" she chided.

"Um, no, it's really good actually," he said, finally placing in his mouth the spoonful he'd been holding. "You know what you're doing in there, hey, big guy?" he gestured pleasantly at Lurch, who acknowledged with a grunt.

He glanced back at Wednesday, who seemed to nod in satisfaction.

"Lurch comes from a long line of culinary talent actually," she said, taking her seat. "His grandmother was once known as the only living woman able to bake a twenty-four layer cake."

Jeremy nodded along.

Lurch stood, vocalizing contentment, as he'd finally gotten the fire burning. Wednesday seemed to meet him with an expression of gratitude, as he joined the party at the table with a thud.

"Mother and father rarely allowed Lurch to sit with the family for dinner," she remarked toward Jeremy, portioning a serving of food for herself and then for Lurch, who shrugged, not seeming fussed.

Jeremy was just relieved to see that Wednesday was capable of exhibiting somewhat of a warmer demeanor.

They all ate quietly for a few moments.

"Kind of a crazy room down the hall there," Jeremy broke the silence.

Wednesday looked up. "I'd ask you not to go down there — I'm attempting to grow a delicate species of cave mushroom."

"Right…" he replied, perplexed, "was it like that before you got here?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Like what…?"

"The— I don't know, what is it? A sinkhole?"

Her eyes had turned to stone. "Is this what you're really here to do — snoop around and see if I've made any unsanctioned modifications to the home…?"

He rubbed his eyes and sighed. "No, I don't care, truly — every property you guys own are all weird as hell. I was just curious, is all…"

She continued to look at him. "You think of us as weird?" she asked.

"I— I mean, you aren't a particularly normal group of people, no," he remarked, filling his mouth with food.

Wednesday had fully paused from eating. "And do you consider us to be unworthy of space on this earth because we don't fit inside of a tiny little box of your understanding?" She spoke with a measured hostility.

Jeremy took a beat, placing his spoon down slowly. He honestly hadn't expected to have even been capable of offending her.

"You— no, what do you mean?" he began innocently.

She leant back and finally broke eye contact with him. "I pity people who consider it a point of pride to be no different from anybody else — specks in a colony of ants, all marching in the same direction." She glanced back at him. "That's what 'normal' means."

Fire danced across her hazel eyes.

Jeremy wasn't sure he'd be able to find anything disarming to say, so he gingerly returned to his meal.

"Lurch, could you pass me the salt?" he heard her say with a sigh.

Perhaps she was right. He normally couldn't stand people like her, the way she was so sure of herself, but perhaps that was merely because it was a trait which he envied. The mind could be such a bothersome thing. He supposed he did feel like a bit of an outsider himself, sometimes — most of the time he'd rather stay in and play whatever new video-game he'd been able to pick up that week than to go out and socialize by conventional means. He happened to know plenty of people who'd consider that to be out-of-the-norm, perhaps call him an introvert, or something.

He had to shoot a glance over the table quickly to confirm that his thoughts weren't somehow being overheard.

He dabbed his lips with a napkin, and then watched in surprise as Lurch finished off the entire rest of the Ratatouille dish by himself.

Wednesday had just about finished with her food as well, and was almost beginning to look bored.

She caught his eye for a moment, and he assumed that she was concocting another jab. He quickly thought of something mundane to ask, so that she wouldn't be able to.

"What do you usually do around here anyway?" he wondered, "besides, uh… sleeping?

She leant forward and clasped her hands together casually. "Oh, occasionally I lure strange men in here, murder them brutally, and then repurpose all of their belongings for my own uses."

He pressed his lips together. "Oh yeah?…"

"What else do you have on you, besides your work bag?" she pressed, impishly.

"…My wallet?" he replied, disinterestedly.

"Let me see," she requested.

Jeremy shook his head and half smiled. "No, I'm okay."

She slumped back in her chair, looking bored again, while Jeremy cleaned off his plate.

He spotted a grandfather clock in the corner of the room, which didn't appear to be functioning. His watch had the time at around 8:30. He somehow didn't imagine Wednesday's parents would mind if he charged them overtime rates for this visit. In fact, they often insisted that he bill them for things that he couldn't imagine charging a client for under normal circumstances, such as getting himself a new bag, or a meal for himself after making the drive out to their manor. It was some form of pampering, he was sure of it.

"We don't need you coming back here and bothering us again tomorrow, by the way," Wednesday suddenly remarked, noticing he'd finished eating, "so how about you go ahead and finish up with whatever dull bookkeeping you came down here for."

"Oh, yeah, okay," he replied, pulling himself away from his thoughts. "Your— oh, thank you," Jeremy remarked toward Lurch, who fetched his finished dish along with the rest of the table's, and exited toward the kitchen, leaving the two of them alone.

"I think they wanted me to, uh…" he began again, struggling to remember his place.

She grew impatient. "If my parents are going to be placing conditions on me staying here, why don't you go ahead and state them."

He tilted his head indecisively. "I… don't really think that's what they're going for, to be honest…"

Wednesday let out a quiet chuckle in disbelief. "They really are cruel to send you down here all by yourself for this," she smirked, "by what day exactly do they expect us to be wed?"

"No— no, we're not doing that," he squirmed.

"It's fine, I'm plenty used to it," she shook her head, still vaguely grinning, "so I'd bet that all of that other business was just a ruse then?"

He sighed in exasperated fashion. "I guess— unless you want me to do your taxes, or something. You're pretty much the only Addams whom I know nothing about."

The last comment evoked a conflicted expression. "There's nothing really to know," she said plainly.

He contemplated for a moment, not entirely sure what to say.

"You get out of here much?" he offered, trying to seem as casual as possible, "I get pretty cooped up sometimes, I don't know."

She looked suspiciously at him, as though unsure of his intention, but decided to bite anyway. "I do leave, occasionally, while Lurch is asleep," she pondered, "I think… Last month, probably."

"…Just at night, huh?" he replied, "That, just— that's always been your sleep schedule?"

She shrugged. "Carpe noctem."

He nodded along, to her amusement. Part of him had merely been curious as to whether he'd be able to have a regular conversation with her. He'd be lying to himself if he said that he didn't find parts of her personality to be engaging. She was strange, though.

Slowly, and somewhat deliberately, Wednesday stood from her chair and moved over toward the fireplace. "Do you live here, in the city?" she asked over her shoulder.

"Uh, I've been looking for a place," he replied a little timidly, "I'm renting the guest house from my parents at the moment."

"Must be fun," she jested, warming her hands, without turning to face him.

"Oh, I have no privacy," he chuckled.

"You must be relieved to have normal parents, though, I'm sure," she added.

"Yeah, I don't know," he grimaced, "I always kinda feel like they add five years to my age in their head whenever they judge whatever it is I'm doing."

She gave him a sideways glance in curiosity.

"Ah, like, I don't know," he continued, "they sorta flipped out one time when I mentioned that I'd decided to take a semester off before my final year at college," he said.

She was silent for a moment. Jeremy wondered if he should perhaps join her by the fire to make conversing a little easier.

"What'd you do instead?" she finally asked.

"Oh, I uh," he chuckled, "we road-tripped the Great Lakes. Couple of buddies of mine, we rented a Winnebago, the whole deal. Was kind of exhausting by the end of it, to be honest, but we always wanted to do it, so…"

He couldn't quite tell what she was thinking. He supposed that compared to the oddly macabre, and vaguely magical world she was from, his stories probably seemed fairly humdrum.

When she finally turned around, her eyes seemed to dart around the room; anywhere but at him.

"I—" he stopped, as they had both begun to speak at the same time.

She seemed to roll her eyes at herself, moreso than at him.

"I might," she began, "you know, get a glass of water or something, do you want one too?…"

He'd actually been certain that she was about to ask him to leave.

"Uh, yeah," he replied, "that'd be great, thanks."

She left the room, leaving him to drum against his leg with his fingers awkwardly. He decided to get up and make use of the fire instead. The masonry around the fireplace was as ornate as anything else in the house — now that he thought about it, the place probably would fetch a small fortune, even without any fixing up.

He turned to see Wednesday standing in the doorway looking at him, stone-faced as usual, holding out one of the beverages for him to take.

"Thanks," he said, taking the unusually pointy glassware into his hand and having a sip.

"You'll sleep well tonight," she remarked, nodding toward his drink.

He looked down at it, perplexed.

"My father always took a sedative in the later hours — he told me that this was typical of adult men," she explained, "I thought you'd appreciate it."

He looked at her in disbelief.

"I'm only joking," she retorted, taking her original place in front of the fire, next to him. He noticed her little smirk, from the corner of his eye.

Oddly enough, she now seemed eager to fill the silence.

"How'd you find it, anyway — learning to count?" she asked.

He puzzled at her, but she offered no further explanation.

"You m— Oh, sure," he said, as it clicked for him, "you've still got the knives out, huh?" He smiled at her, while she seemed to try not to smile back.

"It was fine, I guess," he continued, "three years isn't horrendous, I suppose, as far as degrees go."

"Any despised professors?" she prodded.

"Eh, I guess, but also not really," he mused.

He turned to look at her again.

"Have you… ever?" he asked, "Or thought about going, or?"

She pursed her lips as she considered his question.

"I find myself quite enamored with the realm of literature… I don't think I could say the same about academia, however," she replied. "Besides, I wouldn't be eager to place myself back into any kind of environment that even remotely resembles any school I've ever been to."

Jeremy nodded. "I mean, for what it's worth," he offered, "it's really not like high school, or whatever, at all… Or, maybe only a tiny bit. Definitely less of the vibe of a slave labor camp."

She gave him a smirk again, and took a sip of her drink.

When the silence returned, he slipped a hand into his pocket and sort of swayed back and forth, awkwardly.

She glanced at him. "You can leave if you want, you know," she commented, "I'm not meaning to keep you from anything."

"No, it's fi—" he couldn't manage to delay a yawn.

"Seems like it's your bedtime," she said rhetorically.

Jeremy held his hand against his mouth, hoping that his yawning fit had concluded.

He chuckled. "Uh, you know, it's whatever, I'll get out of your hair if you want."

She hummed in agreement, and they ventured slowly back into the foyer.

He tilted the empty glass back and forth in his hand. "Did you want me to ri—"

A thud originating from above them reverberated through the house, cutting him off mid-sentence. Jeremy glanced around, mildly alarmed.

"Don't mind that," Wednesday remarked, "probably just an owl. I believe there's a skylight up there in the roof somewhere, that's likely why it makes such a racket."

He scratched his head. "No kidding," he replied, "I don't think I've ever seen an owl in Manhattan."

She shrugged. "They're around. A few different species of bats, too."

"Oh yeah," he nodded, "I've seen some of them from time to time, in Central Park and stuff."

"Hm," her eye twinkled, "they're quite attracted to this place, actually. We'd probably see a fair amount of them if we were to go out back, especially now, coming out of the colder months."

"Bats are pretty cool," he bantered, "some of the uh, stuff that I like to read has a bit to do with, um— well, you know, it's fairly bat-related, I suppose…"

He did his best to resist mentioning the words 'comic-book' or 'Batman'.

"I see," she responded, "I suppose if you ever found yourself back here in the future we could go out there and see if we could spot some, or something."

Jeremy couldn't help but linger on that comment, a little, as it notioned toward the idea of the two of them spending more time together.

Wednesday seemed to realize it too. She looked down at her shoes for a moment.

"You'll probably need your bag, won't you?" she remarked, before he could say anything, "where is it?"

"Oh, uh," he replied, "I must've dropped it back in the study up there, I guess. I can grab it, lemme just—"

"It's fine, I'll go get it," she said, placing her empty water glass in his other hand, "I wouldn't want you to hurt yourself," she sneered. "You can leave those by the sink, if you'd like."

Somewhat charmed, he did as she'd said. While he was at it, he also poked his head out into the room behind the kitchen, expecting to find Lurch there watching the TV again, but he supposed he must've turned in for the night.

He crossed into the foyer again, in time to see Wednesday traipsing back down the staircase with what she'd retrieved for him.

"Is this your taste, or did my parents buy this for you?" she asked with some undertone, tracing her fingers over the deep brown leather finish.

"No, that's… I picked it out," he squirmed, omitting the fact that they'd all but paid for it.

She rolled her eyes at him, though it almost felt playful by this point.

"So… what're you gonna do all night, anyway?" he asked, allowing her to place the bag back in his hands.

She was hesitant. "Well," she finally said, "I'm partway through reading Dostoevsky's Crime and Punishment, so I'll probably finish that."

"Oh," he replied, starting to move toward the door.

"Yeah…" she murmured. "I hope it's not a horribly long commute for you, getting back," she added.

"Uh," he chuckled, yawning again, "it'll be just as bad as it was making it over here, I guess."

"I see," she empathized, "long car rides certainly don't agree with me."

"Yeah, that's fair," he replied, "it's maybe a bit better when you're driving, but only a bit — obviously you can't really rest your eyes or anything."

She nodded, looking on.

"Well... uh, it was nice meeting you," he held out his hand.

She reluctantly took it. They slowly shook hands, then stood awkwardly for a moment.

"You know," she began, and then almost immediately looked as though she regretted it, "uh… well, if you want, if you didn't feel like having to drive back to your parents' tonight, we have… you know, we have a guest bed upstairs..." She looked at her shoes again. "You know, if you wanted..."

"What like, stay the night?" he replied.

She glared at him.

Jeremy was too tired to even read into the situation, so that felt reason enough not to get on the road.

"Um... okay, sure, yeah, that's, uh, thanks," he babbled.

"Okay," said Wednesday, "I don't make very much noise or anything either, so, you won't be disturbed..."

"Oh, great," he said.

Neither of them moved.

"So, I'll show you the room," she finally said, "it's up here, just to the left of… yeah," she somewhat feebly gestured, leading him up the stairs.

He followed her into the guest room, placing his bag down once again, near the door.

She turned to him.

"Well, Lurch will be in the room next to you, actually... you may hear him snoring..." she said.

As if on cue, a low rumble penetrated their shared wall, as the giant slept.

"Oh," he laughed sleepily, "I'm sure I'll manage."

"I'd put out the candles before you turn in, so you don't get accidentally burned alive," she added quietly.

"Okay... gotcha," he noted.

"Um... okay, well," she mumbled, "have a pleasant night."

She turned and left, closing the door for him.

Without even pulling down the covers, Jeremy dropped onto the bed and fell immediately asleep.

The candle flames flickered through the night.