"I'm going to kill myself."
"Crying wolf, Ophelia."
"I mean it this time," the bleak blonde turned her head from the car window to meet her sister's subtle grin. "And it isn't a dreary thing, you know. It's a simple fact, a premonition. I saw it in the owl's eye."
"Owl?" Morticia folded her hands in her lap and glanced downward to inspect her manicure.
"The owl on the branch outside my window the other evening. He showed me the end. His large pupils, the blackness of eternal peace."
"How nice."
Ophelia turned back to the window and traced the fallen raindrops with her finger. "It is convenient, isn't it? Knowing what's coming?"
"Yes. More convenient if it comes after we've finished our shopping."
The car screeched to a halt, jerking the ladies' heads. They sat patiently as Lurch struggled to get out of the driver's seat, the car shaking with every movement he made. Morticia sighed at the back of Ophelia's head and placed her chin on her shoulder.
"You're just depressed after Stavros, darling. Don't give him another thought. Come, I'll let you pick out what you want me to wear to your funeral."
Ophelia's eyes flashed with a curl to her lip. Lurch, holding a black umbrella, opened her door and she patted his bowed head. He took her hand while she stepped onto the sidewalk and then assisted Mrs. Addams out of the car, handing her the umbrella. Morticia offered room under the umbrella for Ophelia before she kindly declined.
"We won't be long, Lurch," the mistress waved at the gangling man struggling to get himself back into the driver's seat. The two walked together on the wet cement where city lights reflected yellow and orange.
"And for my wake, I want Maria Callus playing on record with an overwhelming arrangement of hyacinths and wilting white larkspur around the open casket." Ophelia's eyes solemnly fluttered as raindrops fed the white petals on her head, trailing down the stems and seeping into her scalp. Her hair frizzed.
"And chamomile scattered atop your corpse?"
"You do have a divine eye!"
Morticia raised a delighted brow and pulled open the door of Jacques Connard's boutique. The top corner of the door tapped a bronze bell.
"Ahh, greatly anticipated, greatly anticipated!" A happy black man with a quick pace greeted the two women in the doorway, his French accent just as phony as his purple velvet Ralph Lauren. "Mrs. Addams, you take my breath, woman, you do it every time," he took her hand in both of his, "and still as cold as ice."
"Jacques, it's been too long." She simpered as he pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. "You seem in high spirits."
"I've had a few. And Mrs Ophelia!" He almost took Ophelia's hand out of habit but stopped himself. He tugged his collar. "Lovely, and damp as ever."
"It's Miss."
"Still? Goddamn." He took Morticia's umbrella for her and shook it dry. "Nevertheless, angel, my heart aches at the very sight you."
"Really?"
"Yes. Ever since you fractured my rib cage the last time you were in my shoppe."
"You remember." Ophelia blushed.
He turned and made his way to the glass counter with a jaunty step while the women followed. "Mrs. Addams, your husband stopped in yesterday and set aside some remarkable pieces he thought might be to your taste."
"Of course he did." Morticia smiled, coyly, and placed her elbows on the counter while observing the shimmering jewelry underneath. The tattered fabric of her sleeves dripped over the glass. Jacques slipped on a pair of black gloves and placed a thin case on the counter. He removed the lid and carefully picked up a long thin necklace with a large glittering pendant.
"Stunning. What is it?" She examined it.
"A crimson crystal, belonged to Heena of Bhangarh, India. Also known as the Terror of Bhangarh. She was buried with it until they dug up the grave to build a Popeyes, and it has been said to release a great curse if ever removed from Heena's resting place. 98,000 dollars."
"Cursed? Of course... to pair with the earrings from Nairobi." She shook her head and rested her cheek in her hand. "After our last safari. I love him... Ophelia, why don't you get something?"
"Nothing appeals," her eyes glossed over a wall of paintings, "nothing heals."
"Poetry!" Jacques pronounced in awe, still cradling the necklace.
"It's almost dinner time, anyway. Go ahead and charge everything my querido chose, it will make him happy."
"He already bought it, cheri."
"Darling..."
"Is that all, dear, no shoes? Taxidermy?"
Morticia shook her head and watched as he skillfully wrapped and bagged each item. He handed her the delicate bags along with the umbrella. They kissed each other on the cheek and he moved to escort the ladies out.
"Now you mustn't be a stranger, darling, or I'll lose business."
After the trio said their goodbyes, a passing stranger opened the shoppe door for the sisters. Morticia's thank you to him was met with a long whistle as he scanned the length of her. Ophelia stopped directly in front of him, her eyes vacant and unblinking.
"Impressive tone. Shrill. But you should know screaming is far more effective."
The man stared down at Ophelia with confused expression. Ophelia took a sharp inhale and let out a blood curdling scream at the very top of her lungs. The shoppe windows cracked. Dogs on the street began dragging their owners in the opposite direction. Blood trickled out of the man's ears.
He cried out in pain and took off down the sidewalk, holding his head. Morticia took her fingers out of her ears and rubbed Ophelia's back, comfortingly.
"Beautiful. Come, let's go home."