Like that, Wednesday, Morticia, and Ethan arrived at the Jericho cemetery.
They stopped in front of a single grave.
Garrett Gates.
Ethan took the shovel without comment. Digging graves wasn't new territory for an Addams, but it was different with Morticia watching. Wednesday would have done it without hesitation, expression unchanged, but Ethan stepped in first.
Ethan adjusted his grip on the shovel and kept digging, steady and uncomplaining. If nothing else, he intended to make a respectable impression—grave-digging included.
Morticia watched with a faint, distant smile. "This reminds me of the first time Wednesday dug up a grave," she said thoughtfully, as if recalling a family picnic.
Ethan paused for half a second, then continued. "This is also my first time digging one," he said, dryly.
Morticia turned her gaze to her daughter. "Did you hear that, Wednesday?"
"It makes no difference," Wednesday replied without looking away from the grave. "Everyone starts somewhere."
Ethan glanced up at her. "You make it sound like this is going to become a regular hobby."
"With your life choices," Wednesday said evenly, "it's not an unreasonable assumption."
Ethan wrinkled his nose as he pushed the shovel deeper into the soil.
"What makes you think I enjoy digging graves?" he said. "I'm a vampire, not a zombie. I don't eat dead bodies."
The smell was getting worse—damp, sour, unmistakably rotten. He grimaced despite himself.
"But Wednesday enjoyed digging graves," Morticia added mildly. "She was smiling so brightly the first time she dug one."
Ethan chose not to comment. Some facts were better left untouched.
Morticia tilted her head slightly. "By the way, Ethan—may I call you that?"
"Yes," he replied without hesitation.
A brief pause followed as she studied him again, the way she always did—calm, perceptive, unsettling.
"Why didn't your parents come for the weekend?" Morticia asked.
Ethan's movements slowed, just a fraction. Then he answered simply, "I don't have any."
Morticia's expression softened, her voice gentle. "I see."
Ethan shrugged, returning the shovel to the soil. "It never bothered me," he said evenly. "I may look like a teenager, but I've been grown on the inside for a long time."
That much was true.
His first life hadn't offered much space for softness. A house filled with constant arguments. A father ground down by responsibility, carrying the weight of everyone.
A mother who wanted more—more money, more comfort, more attention—and was never satisfied with what she had. Voices raised every night. Silence thick every morning.
Until one night, it all snapped.
After that, there was no family to return to. At twelve, he learned how quickly a life could collapse and how little sentiment did to stop it. Foster homes. Empty rooms. Too much time to think. A roller coaster that never slowed long enough to feel safe.
So when he said he didn't mind having no family, he meant it. Absence had been quieter than chaos. Freedom had come with scars, but it was still freedom.
The shovel struck wood.
Ethan froze, then set the shovel aside and pried open the coffin lid. The stench hit immediately—thick, sour, unmistakable.
"Okay," he said, backing out of the pit without shame. "I need space."
Wednesday stepped down in his place, unfazed. With practiced efficiency, she cut through the rotted bindings and exposed the remains. Morticia leaned in as well, her composure intact despite the sight.
There—on the finger. A faint bluish tinge, subtle but telling.
Wednesday's eyes narrowed. "Even after all this time," she said, "that discoloration is unmistakable. Nightshade."
Morticia inhaled slowly. "So he was poisoned before his death."
Wednesday nodded. The implication settled quickly. "Which means my father didn't kill him. Garrett Gates was already dying. The stabbing was incidental."
Ethan, still above ground and pinching his nose, added, "There's more. Garrett didn't come to Rave'N empty-handed that night. He brought nightshade with him—enough to poison Nevermore. Orders from his father."
Wednesday looked up sharply.
"He carried it in his coat," Ethan continued. "Bottle cracked during the scuffle.By the time the blade touched him, the poison was already doing its work."
"Why didn't you say this sooner?" Wednesday asked, eyes sharp.
Ethan frowned. "I was going to. You didn't exactly give me the opportunity," he said. "I told you—I was heading to the mayor to explain all of this."
Before Wednesday could respond, a beam of light cut through the darkness.
"Well," a voice said dryly, "this is turning into quite the family reunion."
Bernice stepped closer, lowering her flashlight. The badge at her belt caught the light as she took in the open grave, the coffin, and the three of them standing there without a trace of surprise.
"Digging up bodies after midnight," she continued. "That's one way to spend quality time."
Wednesday didn't flinch. "We were correcting a historical inaccuracy."
Bernice sighed. "Of course you were." Her gaze lingered on the exposed remains, then shifted to Morticia. "The sheriff's going to want to hear about this. Immediately."
"Before that," Ethan said calmly, already pulling out his phone, "I'm exercising my right to call my lawyer."
Bernice opened her mouth to object, then stopped. Something in his tone suggested this wasn't a bluff.
"Mayor," he said when the call connected. "It's Ethan Corvin. Yes—that Ethan."
"I found out what Garrett Gates intended to do twenty years ago," Ethan continued, voice level. "Nightshade. Enough to poison Nevermore. He was dying before the blade ever touched him."
Another pause, longer this time.
"Yes. There's proof."
He glanced back at Wednesday and Morticia, then at Bernice's stiffening posture.
"I want this case closed by tomorrow morning," Ethan said. "Quietly. Because if it isn't, every news outlet from here to the coast will hear the full story. And that won't be good for Jericho's future. Or its residents."
He ended the call without waiting for a reply.
Bernice exhaled, clearly regaining her footing. "All right," she said, tone firm again. "Whatever that call was, it doesn't change this."
She gestured toward the open grave.
"You three are under arrest for grave desecration."
Wednesday tilted her head slightly. "A misdemeanor to expose a felony."
Bernice ignored her. "You can debate that with the sheriff."
*****
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