Part Seven: Family Values

Wednesday looked around the room at the faces of her family members as her mother relayed the troubling news of Thing's disappearance.

"Weaklings," she thought. Fear and grief lined the faces of her family. It was an altogether hideous look, in Wednesday's estimation. She loathed weakness, especially in members of her own family.

She watched as her father paced back and forth like caged tiger, but without any of the beast's ferocity. Her mother stood in complete opposition: arms wound tightly around her angular body, lips sealed tightly, and looking as if she weren't breathing at all. Lurch stood aloof as usual, the only clue as to his mental distress could be seen in his ringing of his duster, which he held behind his back. Mama was humming to herself, not remotely understanding that Thing was missing and that the rest of the family was in a fine state worrying about him. Pubert mimicked his father, pacing in much smaller, much slower circles behind the sofa. Pugsley actually sat rather impassively.

Wednesday spent another moment staring at Pugsley. She'd kept up a relentless campaign against Pugsley for the past couple of days, haunting his room at night, alternately ignoring him or showering him with "acts of kindness" as her mood struck during the daylight hours. Though he screamed nearly every time he found her mark in his room – a scalpel here, a doll's head there – he never bothered to confront her or their parents about it, cry, breakdown, or show any real signs of weakness. He hadn't even retaliated. Wednesday was confounded by her brother's approach to her torture, but had to admit she was a tiny bit impressed by his impassive stance to it all. So she studied him now, hoping to find out if Pugsley's new stoic demeanor was for real or just a by product of sleep-deprivation or some newly found acting skill.

She noted his eyes did seem a little out of focus, and there was a strange, tiny curve of his lips as if he were enjoying a private joke, that gave him a slightly dream-like appearance. Never one to show her cards early, Wednesday waited to see what this new development might mean.

She was jolted out of her investigation by her father's voice.

"As you all know by now," Gomez began, "we have called this family meeting to discuss the mysterious absences of Thing. Now, I would like you all to think back to the last time you saw Thing and recount any information that you believe may aid in locating him."

The room was silent as everyone thought back to the last time they saw Thing.

Pugsley spoke first. "Yesterday morning, I saw him pacing in the conservatory."

Wednesday followed, "I saw him after lunch yesterday in the playroom, he handed me a mace that I couldn't reach on the top shelf."

Lurch chimed in, "Arghh, urghh urghh arrgggggggggggggggggg."

The family members nodded, contemplating this new evidence. Gomez was unsatisfied and paced with new vigor, "Yesterday? Is that all we have? Mama? When is the last time you saw Thing?"

All eyes shifted to Mama who was rocking in her chair and humming softly to herself.

"Thing?" she croaked, "What thing?"

Morticia answered, "Our Thing, Mama, Thing T. Thing."

"Thing?" Mama squealed. "Name doesn't ring a bell. What does he look like?"

Gomez intervened, "Mama!! You know Thing. He looks like, well, he looks like a disembodied hand!"

"Oh that Thing." Mama replied. "I know him. I helped him into a packing box and put him out for the mailman early this morning."

"WHAT!?!?" the entire clan yelled. (Well, Lurch growled, but he meant 'What?').

Morticia found words first, "Mama where did you send him?"

"Huh?" Mama answered, distracted, "Oh, Paris, I think."

"Paris?" Gomez asked, hysteria beginning to hitch his voice. "France? Why on earth would you do that?"

"Well, he certainly couldn't have stuck the mailing label on the box himself once he was inside," Mama answered, matter of fact.

"He asked you to mail him?" Wednesday inserted.

"Well, sure," Mama said. "It's all here in his note."

Gomez's impatience boiled over and he grabbed the note out of Mama's hand with almost feral intensity.

His eyes raked over Thing's elegant script, and he read aloud.

"Dearest family, do not be disturbed by my sudden departure. For many weeks now, I have suspected that something dire had befallen my beloved Lady Fingers. Just yesterday, I received an urgent email that confirmed my fears. I believe that Lady Fingers is being held against her will in Paris. Of course, I know that I could have come to you all with this urgent need, and I know that you would have aided me in this rescue mission, but in this matter, I felt that the speed and stealth with which I can travel outweighed the benefits of the force and skill of your assistance. Please forgive my unexplained departure and understand that sometimes a Thing has to do what a Thing has to do."

By the end of Thing's letter, Gomez had tears in his eyes. "Old noble Thing. Always a fighter."

Gomez's eyes turned speculative; "Perhaps I should call some of my associates in Paris have them investigate Lady Fingers' disappearance, and provide Thing any extra muscle he might need."

Morticia rose and came to her husband's side, "Excellent idea, mon cher."

The lovers smiled at each other and the rest of the family knew the worst of the scare was over.

Across town, the worst was yet to come as Teeter, now free of her wheelchair came barreling into her sister's room, screaming.

"Totter!!! What on earth is this!!" Teeter shrieked.

She came barreling in, a dead rat hanging pinched by its tail between her thumb and forefinger.

Totter replied, "Teeter! Don't you remember? You used to sleep with Ratter every night when you were a girl!! He was your safety blanket. I thought a bit of homey touches might help you regain your memory!"

Teeter shrieked louder, a high-pitched, girly sound that sent shivers down Totter's spine. "EW!!" Teeter screamed, "Totter, don't you DARE put any more nasty things in my bed, do you hear me!!!" before storming out of her sister's room and stomping down the stairs.

When Dementia entered Totter's room minutes later, she found the girl curled up on her bed, crying her eyes out and clutching Ratter to her chest.

She sat next to the whimpering girl, and pushed her soaked hair out of her eyes.

"Still no luck with the memory?" Dementia asked gently.

Totter wailed louder.

"Don't worry, Totter," Dementia said, "It just takes time. You'll get her back. We must just keep trying."

Totter nodded through her tears.

Suddenly, Dementia's eyes brightened. "I have an idea," she crooned slyly. And she leaned in and whispered her new idea into Totter's ear. Her swollen eyes widened, and a tiny smile curled her lips.

"That just might work," she said.