Wednesday's eyes locked onto Lief, subjecting him to a disturbing scrutiny.
There was no blinking, no doubt, nor the slightest alteration in her face; it was like being watched by a doll that came to life only to judge you.
However, next to her, Pugsley stopped his game and lifted his head, unable to hide the spark of curiosity.
"Know the future?" repeated Wednesday, with an eyebrow arched a millimeter, "A cheap trick. It is charlatanry that feeds on the stupidity, hope, and fear of humans to empty their pockets. Do you really believe we are so naive as to fall for that?"
Lief did not flinch at the verbal attack and maintained his relaxed posture.
"It doesn't matter if you believe in magic, in science, or in chance. The truth is the truth, regardless of the label you put on it," he replied calmly, "And I am not asking for blind faith; in fact, I can offer you a free sample before we close the deal."
Slowly, he wiped the smile from his face and his expression turned serious, and his eyes lost the mocking glint to acquire a depth that made even Wednesday be on guard.
"It all started with a lawyer named Tully Alford," Lief began, lowering his voice, "A hypocritical and greedy man who has hated the Addams forever, but who has envied their fortune with the same intensity. He is the one with the idea, but he doesn't act alone. He conspired with a woman, a con artist named Abigail Craven."
!
Although Wednesday's face remained stoic, Lief caught the imperceptible contraction of her pupils and Pugsley opened his mouth wide, alternating his gaze between the strange biker and his older sister.
Enjoying the effect that his words were causing, he continued.
"The plan was simple. They found a corpulent and bald man, Abigail's son, named Gordon Craven. They disguised him and sent him to your door to pass himself off as your Uncle Fester, lost in the Bermuda Triangle twenty-five years ago."
This time, Wednesday's hands, which rested on her lap, closed into tight fists.
Those names... those specific details.... They weren't vague conjectures a carnival worker could improvise.
"And it worked, right?" continued Lief, softening his tone with compassion, "With the help of a corrupt judge who also hated you, they managed to transfer exclusive ownership of the mansion and the immense wealth accumulated by generations of Addams to that impostor's name. And then, they had the audacity to throw their own family onto the street. Am I mistaken on any point, Wednesday Addams?"
!
Upon hearing her name and the exact recap of her misfortune, the girl's ice mask cracked.
"Who are you really?!" she demanded to know, her voice losing for the first time its usual monotony.
"Just a traveler passing through. A motorcyclist who casually has studied a little the movement of the stars and the whispers of the wind," replied Lief, extending his hands with innocence, "Now tell me, do you still believe I am trying to scam you out of a simple glass of lemonade?"
"...."
Wednesday stared at him with her brain working at full speed.
This man didn't have the look of a scammer desperate for money, his clothes were good, his motorcycle, although rare, looked expensive and his attitude was that of someone who has control.
Besides, the information he possessed was worth millions, not a hundred dollars.
"Sister..." whispered Pugsley, tugging timidly on the sleeve of Wednesday's dress, "He... he seems to know everything. Maybe he can help Mom and Dad."
Wednesday ignored her brother, but doubt had already taken root.
She knew they were in a desperate situation and that her pride wouldn't recover the mansion.
She remained silent for a long minute.
Finally, revenge won.
Taking out a clean paper cup from under the counter with rigid movements, she poured the bright yellow liquid from the large glass jar.
She straightened up and extended the cup to Lief.
"It's a deal..." she said squeezing the words between clenched teeth.
Flashing a grateful smile, Lief took the cup and, without thinking twice, took a determined gulp.
!
But it was a monumental mistake.
An indescribable taste, a violent mixture of battery acid, rancid lemon and what seemed to be a pinch of salt, exploded instantly in his mouth, attacking each of his taste buds.
His eyes watered reflexively.
This wasn't a drink... It was a chemical weapon!
He had to summon every ounce of his self-control not to spit it out right there or make a grimace of pain, forcing himself to swallow the corrosive brew with stoic dignity.
With his throat burning, he placed the cup on the wood.
"Delicious... it has an unforgettable aftertaste," he lied, clearing his throat to get rid of the roughness in his voice.
And his expression, previously mocking, suddenly turned grave, "But a deal is a deal. It is time to look at what is hidden in the shadows of your future."
Leaning slightly forward and lowering his voice so only they could hear, "Let's talk about your father first. Gomez Addams is a man of passion and fire, but right now... he is extinguished. Immersed in an abyss of self-denial and guilt, convinced that he failed his own blood. He has lost his spirit, hasn't he?"
Wednesday's lips tightened.
"But Morticia..." continued Lief, and his gaze seemed to unfocus for a moment, "Your mother has never settled for being a victim. She is a fiercely loyal woman. For her family... She would dare to walk on burning coals!"
"She is not waiting for her husband to recover. In fact, she has already moved. At this precise moment, Morticia has returned to the mansion, she went to confront the usurpers to demand justice by her own hand."
"What?!"
The shell of stoicism that Wednesday had maintained with so much effort shattered.
She stood up from the chair abruptly, knocking over the box where she was sitting, and for the first time, panic seeped through her eyes.
"That is suicidal recklessness," Lief sentenced shaking his head, "Because they underestimate their enemies. Tully and Abigail don't just want the house. What they truly covet... the reason for all this charade, is access to the hidden vault and its incalculable treasures."
"Your mother doesn't stand a chance alone," he added cruelly, "She will be captured and those two have no scruples, they will use any means, including physical and psychological torture, to force her to reveal the combination or the location of that vault."
"No!" shouted Pugsley, bringing his hands to his mouth, terrified at the image of his mother suffering.
Every word from Lief hit Wednesday harder and harder.
The logic was flawless, her mother was exactly that kind of brave woman, and her enemies were exactly that kind of vulture.
"T-Then, what can we do?" she asked with an unusual tremor.
" The only hope lies in Gomez," said Lief, locking his gaze on the girl's, "You have to pull him out of his depression. Only if Gomez Addams recovers his fire, if he becomes the swordsman he was again, will you have a chance to storm the mansion, save his wife and reclaim your legacy. And the key to waking him up... is knowing that she is in danger right now!"
As soon as the last syllable left his mouth, fate seemed to want to confirm his prophecy in the most theatrical way possible.
Tap-Tap-Tap-Tap-Tap-Tap
A sound of rapid and desperate tapping resonated on the worn wood of the stand.
Out of nowhere, a disembodied, pale hand jumped onto Pugsley's shoulder.
Its fingers drummed frantically on the boy's collarbone, transmitting a message in a code that only they understood, vibrating with extreme anxiety.
"Thing!" exclaimed Wednesday involuntarily.
But Thing wasn't there to say hello.
His sudden appearance was the irrefutable confirmation that Lief's words were not charlatanry.
Something terrible was about to happen to her mother.
...
Meanwhile, in a room of a motel on the outskirts of Westfield...
The curtains were closed, blocking any attempt of the sun to enter, but they could not block the humming of the television.
Gomez Addams, the patriarch who was once a whirlwind of passion, fencing, and family devotion, seemed now like a puppet whose strings had been cut.
Dressed in his characteristic striped suit, now wrinkled and neglected, he lay slumped on the sofa in a posture of absolute defeat.
His eyes were glassy and fixed on the flickering screen, where a daytime talk show was vomiting trivial dramas.
"Oh, Gomez~..." sighed a female voice, laden with a sensual and deep concern.
Morticia Addams emerged from the shadows.
Her silhouette was unmistakable, a black, long and tight dress, she glided along the carpeted floor with the same elegance with which she would walk the halls of her mansion.
Her pale face unusually shone in the gloom, and her lips, an intense blood red, were the only note of color in her figure.
Even in such a distressing and vulgar environment, she maintained an aristocratic bearing.
She approached her husband slowly and extended her hand to gently brush a lock of hair away from his forehead.
"Look at you, mon cher," she murmured, with a palpable pain in her voice, "The fire in your eyes has gone out... your smile has disappeared. That demonic box... that parade of human banality is corroding your soul minute by minute."
But Gomez did not react.
His gaze was still chained to the television, lost in an abyss of apathy, ignoring the presence of the woman who was the center of his universe.
A flash of pain crossed Morticia's eyes, but it was fleeting and replaced by a coldness of steel.
She observed the dejected profile of her husband and understood that she could not wait any longer.
Gomez's paralysis was the condemnation of the family, and if he could not wield the sword, she would have to be the shield and the dagger.
Her family needed her. Her husband needed her.
She leaned over him, enveloping him in her scent, and placed a deep and prolonged kiss on his icy cheek, a kiss that promised eternal love.
"Tish..." Gomez blinked slowly, snapping out of his trance for a second, "That is French."
The phrase was like a whisper, lacking the usual explosive lust, but it was enough for Morticia.
"Yes, my dear. It is French," she replied straightening up, "I am going to return, Gomez. I am going to return to our home."
She didn't tell him anything about the danger that implied, nor about the madness of confronting Tully and Abigail alone. She didn't want to burden his tormented conscience with more worries.
Upon opening the door of the room, the outside world welcomed her with a heavy gray sky.
Morticia turned her head one last time, observing the silhouette of her husband bathed in the blue light of the television and with a heavy heart but a clear mind, she closed the door behind her.
________
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