Even during the flight home from Transylvania, Wednesday could not help but review her notes on Practice of the Dark Arts. Her whole academic life, she was forced to study subjects that hardly mattered in real life, with the exceptions of history and science; so now that she is in college and studying the craft closes to her heart, Wednesday could not stop her growing obsession. If only her parents allowed her to study in Salem, she could have been a better student.

She was hunched on her seat with her nose buried inside her notebook, completely ignoring her boyfriend Joel who was fidgeting beside her.

"Please, Wednesday, do not set this plane on fire," he pleaded, clutching the armrest for dear life as they take off from the runway.

"Do not be overdramatic. I am not studying pyrokinesis." Then she added with a wicked smile, "I'm trying to control the weather. Turbulence would definitely make this trip interesting."

Joel whimpered and resumed his uncontrollable fidgeting.

It was not until he stepped on her foot for the sixth time that Wednesday snapped her notebook shut and turned to face him, her face in its usual deadpan but her eyes murderous.

"What is wrong with you?" she finally asked in a whisper so quiet and deadly that Joel immediately stopped jiggling his legs. His hands also stilled from drumming the armrest of his seat.

He looked at her with a pained expression. "Are you not nervous about coming home?"

Not a single reaction crossed her pale face, not even a muscle budged as she stared back at him. Sometimes she wonders how she could have fallen in love with such a clueless man. Wednesday Addams is truly the epitome of what they call 'the resting bitch face.'

"Why would I be nervous?" she asked monotonously. "I am coming home, to my family."

"Yes, I know," he almost whined. He could not believe how obtuse Wednesday could be. "But I am with you."

She raised an eyebrow at him before reopening her notebook and going back to her reading. "So?" she finally asked.

"Your father does not like me," he answered. The mere thought of seeing Gomez Addams again after almost a full year rattled Joel again. Unconsciously, he started fidgeting with his tie.

"Oh, he likes you plenty," she replied, not looking up from her book. Joel was about to breath a sigh of relief when Wednesday flipped a page and nonchalantly continued, "He just not prefer to see you with me."

"Wednesday!" He definitely could not help but whine. They were already airborne that he unlatched the seatbelt from his waist and turned to face her directly. "Maybe I should not come with you after all. I think this is a bad idea."

She rolled her eyes in exasperation but still did not look up from her reading. "Joel, dating me has been a bad idea since Camp Chippewa. And don't you dare chicken out, Mother will kill you."

"But if I come, Mr. Addams will."

"Choose your murderer."

"Wednesday, you're hopeless!"

"Am I?" she asked testily which immediately pacified him. Her tone warned him that he was very close to pulling the ultimate Wednesday move and he would rather not witness it on board an airborne plane with God knows how many passengers.

Her temper was not close to the brink as during that dreadful summer camp, but it was like lighting the wick of a dynamite.

He swallowed.

"We had this similar conversation last year when we went home, and the year before that when you forcibly took me to the school prom, and the year before that when you told my parents that you wanted to date me." She side eyed him. "I don't think it could get any worse than that."

Joel had to agree with Wednesday on this one. Mr. Addams had definitely lost his marbles when he came to their doorstep asking for permission to take his daughter out. He did not know he could run that fast given his asthma. But then again, anyone being threatened by a sword in one hand and a pistol on the other proably could as well.

Seeing that their discussion finally has come to an end, Wednesday returned to her notes. "Do not forget to remind your parents that Mother and Father would be very much delighted to have them over."

He snorted.

Scared was too mild of a word to describe how her parents feel about the Addams family.

Unlike her sister, Pugsley opted to stay in mainland USA for college. Although while he was accepted in Harvard Medical School that is just a five-hour train ride from home, he chose to attend in Stanford Medical School on the other side of the continent, to the family's horror.

At first, he thought her parents were just overreacting about his choice. But the moment he stepped on California, he understood their hesitation -- the sun was consistently out, the weather was too warm for his liking, and the only place he found solace in is in his dorm room that is nice and gloomy.

Unfortunately, his dorm was on the other side of the campus which meant that either he does not attend his classes or he suck it all up and walk under the searing heat of the sun.

From the moment he arrived at that blasted state, he was decided to transfer to Harvard. So, despite all his body's hesitations toward the light and heat, he came to all his classes and distracted himself with studying.

These past few weeks before the much awaited summer break -- the beach for most but the comfort of home for him -- Pugsley processed all the documents he needs for the transfer. He has excellent grades so he was certain that Harvard will not decline his request.

To say that he did not enjoy his year of stay at Stanford would be a great lie. He miraculously made a few friends, some of whom agree with his sentiments about the heat and have also decided to transfer to Harvard. At the very least, he was comforted by the thought that we won't be alone in starting over again at the new school in the fall.

He was also sure that his mother would be very pleased to have him study so near. This means they could visit him at any time without much of a hassle as riding an airplane because most airlines decline Lurch and insist on having Cousin Itt in the cargo hold together with pets.

Pugsley smiled at the prospect. He missed the whole family, especially his little brother, Pubert.

Despite how their relationship started when Pubert was born, they grew a bond very different with what he had with Wednesday. With his older sister, it was always her domineering him, threatening him his imminent death, which he undeniably enjoyed. But with little Pubert, Pugsley felt more responsible and protected the boy. He taught him how to blow things up, which did not interest Wednesday much, who preferred more sleuth ways to destroy.

As the plane started to lose altitude, he looked at the pocketwatch gifted by his father when he graduated from highschool -- they did not expect him to finish at all -- and saw that he will just arrive on time. He timed his flight to match Wednesday and Joel's because God knows how impatient he gets while waiting.

Not too soon, the wheels of the plane roughly landed on the runway and he could not hide his excitement.

It was already dark; Lurch has been gone for a few hours already to fetch Wednesday and Pugsley at the airport and are surely on their way home, yet Morticia still has not returned.

For the most part of the afternoon, Gomez could not help but go back to that unintended burst of fiery passion between him and his wife.

He was pacing their bedroom, unsure of what to do with himself.

It has been, what, months? No, years, since they shared such kiss. Gomez reminisced. Has it always been like that? How could he let go of her just like that? What happened between the two of them? Have they lost their love? Surely not.

He ran a frustrated hand through his hair where Morticia's hands feasted in just several hours earlier.

Where is she? He thought. Did she run away? What, just because of the kiss? Hell, they are married after all.

Married. Gomez repeated inside his head.

They have been married for almost 25 years. Was that it? Have they've been married for so long they lost contact to their libido?

He looked at the bed they shared for most of their marriage. She and him only left that bed when they are out of town, honeymooning. Even after some wild exertions at the dungeon, the library, the kitchen, and all over the house, they still retreat at the confines of their bedroom, where they have the most privacy. Where they would never fear discovery nor would any member of the family attempt to come into without repeatedly banging at the door first.

No. Gomez shook his head and resumed with his pacing. They could not have lost their desire for each other. The kiss earlier just proved it. No, he won't accept that.

He looked again at the bed, this time longer, letting his memory of the recent years flash before his eyes -- them snuggling next to each other, them talking, them too tired to talk but just lying on their side and watching the other, them letting the night pass without much as a touch or a kiss, him waking up before her and leaving her peacefully asleep, her coming to bed late after having to finish the young witches' syllabus.

Then it clicked to him.

It was not a loss of love, nor was it a loss of passion, at least not yet completely. It was the comfort after a long, tiring day at work.

These past years they have both started doing day jobs which require too much of their energies, that at night, they'd rather go to sleep than spend the remaining of their vigor in throes of passion.

Gomez could not help but feel bad about it. After all, during their wedding he vowed to keep her miserably happy and content. Yet with just 25 years of marriage, he already failed.

With his head hanging low, Gomez sat on their bed and he ran a hand over the side where she usually sleeps.

"This cannot go on forever," he whispered and his mind was set. He has to rectify the situation before it's too late. If only Morticia would be home soon.

"Pugsley's here! Wednesday's here!" Pubert's voice rang excitedly the moment his older siblings arrived.

"Wednesday and Pugsley're here!" he shouted again to make sure that their arrival will not go amiss.

Much like his father, he impatiently waited until every member of the family gathered at the hall to welcome the older children. He shifted from foot to foot as he watched his Uncle Fester and his wife Dementia emerged from down the hall; he tapped his foot on the floor while waiting for the small shuffling of Grandmama from the kitchen; and he was practically jumping in excitement as Thing slid down from the staircase balustrade.

When Gomez has not arrived, Pubert took a deep breath before bellowing, "FATHER! MOTHER! WEDNESDAY AND PUGSLEY ARE -- !"

He immediately stopped upon seeing his father's arrival from upstairs, his hands up in complete surrender and a small smile on his lips.

"Your mother is not yet home," Gomez said. A brief frown crossed his face but he immediately regained composure so as not to worry anybody else -- he was already too worried and he did not want the rest of the family to be, too.

Wednesday frowned upon her father as he leaned in an kissed her on the forehead. But her immediate thoughts were brushed aside as felt Joel's uncontrollable shaking from just behind her.

"Mi -- Mr. Addams," he squeaked. He held out a quivering hand for the older man whose eyes narrowed upon seeing him.

Gomez opened his mouth to give out a snide comment but after a side glance at Wednesday, silently pleading for some leniency, decided not to. Instead, he took Joel's proffered hand and shook it, but not without a dangerous and painful squeeze.

"Joel," he acknowledged with a slight nod before turning to his oldest son with a big grin on his face. "Pugsley, my boy!"

Pugsley enveloped him in a bear hug, his face mirroring his father's.

"Where is Mother, though?" He asked Wednesday's unvoiced query.

The rest of thr family busied themselves with greeting and hugging, or in Lurch's case, bringing in his young maters' luggages.

"Oh, she went to the market," Gomez answered, trying to sound nonchalant.

Wednesday's eyes narrowed.

"Mother? At the market?" she asked. She scoot down, opened her bag, and took out an ill-wrapped packaged. She dangled it playfully in front of Pubert.

"Woaaaah!" he cried and madly grabbed the parcel from her hand.

"She wanted to cook something for your return," Gomez replied.

"Kebab?" Pugsley excitedly asked. He handed Grandmama a woven basket.

She looked inside it and broke into a murderous grin.

"You, Pugsley know just how to spoil your grandmother!"

He winked at her.

"Yes son," Gomez replied. Then raised his voice for Wednesday to hear, "And stew."

She glanced at him, eyes sparkling.

She approached her father and handed him a box of cigars. "Transylvanian tobacco." She gave him another box, this time, unmarked. "For Mother."

He shook his head. "Why don't you give it to her, instead? I'm sure she will be home in a moment." He turned to Pugsley who also handed him a box of cigars and on top, a small beaded bag for Morticia. "You know your mother, she cannot resist seeing all her children home, albeit in one piece."

Gomez clapped Joel at the back, while at the same time nodding at Lurch.

"Go settle in your rooms in the meantime while we wait for your mother," he said with a manic glint in his eyes. "Joel and I on the other hand will just have a little chat."

Wednesday's eyes flashed in alarm to which Gomez laughed at.

"A joke, paloma," he conceded. Joel though, did not look convinced. "Just a game of chess in the parlor, yes?"

Joel nodded meekly, knowing that he had no choice but to agree. And before Wednesday could protest, Gomez dragged him away.

It has been hours since the new arrivals, yet their matriarch was still MIA.

Gomez could not help but worry. His anxiety was palpable that Joel excused himself, bringing Pubert with him.

Dinner time was long gone but no one seemed hungry enough, even to eat the lizard biscuits Wednesday brought from Transylvania.

"Father, you don't believe Mother could be in danger, could she?" Wednesday finally asked after being sick of seeing her father pace the room for what felt like the hundredth time.

But Gomez appeared to not have heard her.

He again crossed the room and lifted the curtains to see if the Packard had already returned.

It was already dark outside and still not signs of their car, nor the woman he kissed so passionately just several hours earlier.

He let go of the curtains in frustration.

"I'll retrace her steps," he announced after a full minute of sitting down on his and Morticia's love chair. He now just realized that they have not sat on this chair for quite some time already. Gomez wondered whether she would still grace him with her presence. He pushed the thought aside, how could he think so morbidly?

"We're coming," Pugsley and Wednesday said in unison.

"Us, too," Fester seconded, pointing to him and Dementia. He felt bad for his brother, Gomez has not been this distraught over something and the least he could do is to help him find his wife.

Fester knew things were different now between Morticia and Gomez, but still he knew how his little brother could not live without her by his side.

"There is good in numbers," Dementia added.

Gomez just nodded. "Will you please stay with Pubert, Mama?" he asked in a quiet voice.

"Of course," the elderly woman replied. Without any further ado, she rise from her wicker chair and left the room to find the youngest Addams.

"Joel will keep him distracted," Wednesday assured to which her father merely nodded at again.

"Drive?" Lurch growled, also willing to help, but Gomez was already out of the door. Wednesday, Fester, and Dementia followed him.

On his way out, Pugsley touched Lurch on the arm.

"Please stay here," he said, appreciating his volunteerism. He also addressed Thing who jumped on Lurch's shoulder. "Mother might need assistance when she comes home before us."

"Pugsley, come on," Wednesday called out.

With a tight smile, Pugsley was out of the door.

Lurch nodded and he and Thing watched from the window the retreating figures of the family they served for most of their lives inside the Duesenberg, on their way to look for Morticia.

In silence, he prayed for his mistress's safe return.

They did not have to drive far from the forest perimeter.

Not a mile away from the outskirts of the secluded area going to Casey's was the green Packard. Or at least what was left from it after burning.

Gomez's heart stopped as sudden as the halt of the Duesenberg.

"No..." Wednesday whispered.

Like zombies, they each alighted off the car to inspect the wreckage.

No one would dare admit it out loud, but they all knew that no one could survive in that crash.

She felt a searing pain in her head. It might have woken her up, she does not know.

Her head feels as if her head was opened in half with some blunt axe then pieced back together by an inexperience surgeon. She tried moving her head but it was too heavy, like some turban was wrapped around it to make sure that her head won't crack open again.

She slowly opened her eyes and scanned the room she was in with it.

It was a peaceful cabin, mostly made of mismatched woods and logs. It was bare, just her bed, a wooden table with a matching chair by the curtained window on her right, and a small wooden dresser on her right. Beside it was a door with pegs on its back.

There was a single painting of a distant boat in the middle of a peaceful sea meeting a cloudless sky attached on the wall directly in front of her bed.

No other furniture, no electric appliance, not even a radio.

It was all unfamiliar to her. Come to think of it, everything in her mind was an incoherent mess.

Three knocks interrupted her confused musings. It slowly opened and a handsome bearded man peeked inside.

Despite not knowing who he was, she did not have the energy to feel alarmed and perhaps scamper away. She just stared at him inquiringly.

The man smiled at her and proceeded inside. He was tall and beefy but despite his size, his twinkling eyes assured her that he is a kind man.

He was carrying a tray of food, a glass of juice, and a glass of sparkling water. He placed it down the table and sat on the chair, facing her.

"Hello," the man greeted. "It's good to see you awake already."

"Have I been out for a long time?" Her voice was low and hoarse and for some peculiar reason, the sound of it surprised her, like it was the first time she heard it.

"Several hours," the man replied. He approached her and carefully helped her to a sitting position, stuffing her back with pillows.

Although he was doing his best not to shake her too much because of her injury, she still felt that any small movement was too much for her head. She winced visibly.

"I'm sorry," the man said as he handed her the glass of water. He watched her take a sip. "I am Christopher Balk, by the way. You don't have any ID with you when I found you."

"I'm..." she began but could not continue. She frowned.

She just realized that she does not know who she is.