A/N: Welcome back! I had writer's block with this story like never in my life, but it seems sometimes what we need is a break to write something else and I finally, finally managed to return to this fic.
There were a few of you who sent me messages here and on tumbrl about whether I will continue the story, but to anyone who might have wondered silently - yes! Absolutely, fear not. I will finish writing this story, I have it all planned, I promise. Just... bear with me. 🙏
A/N 2: I regret nothing.
Chapter 18
Ophelia tapped the ash from her cigarette and watched it fall listlessly on the fresh blanket of snow covering the terrace floor. She rested the soles of her ridiculously expensive diamond stilettos against the glass garden table and wrapped the duvet more securely around herself. She was still wearing her ball dress - a beautiful pink, backless satin gown, her white fur coat wrapped tightly around her. It was still freezing cold.
She flicked the half-smoked cigarette bud into the snow and almost immediately reached for another one in the packet. She didn't know what time it was, it must have been early, or late, it was hard to tell this time of the year - five in the morning might as well be five in the afternoon if you didn't pay much attention to the time around you.
She was spending the night at her parents' mansion, fuck knows why, but then when faced with the choice of spending the night at the Addams' sorry excuse for a mansion and facing her parents-in-law and their pitying, heartbroken looks she would rather face her own family of cluster fuck-ups.
What a choice, Jesus wept.
What a circus.
How all of a sudden, the biggest problem was Morticia finding out about her little, deceased whore of a mother, she had no idea. The little wench was screwing her husband behind her back and suddenly what? She was the victim? Her mother acted like the world was about to end because Morticia finally knew the truth and why shouldn't she know, anyway? How long were they all keeping up this little charade? Their little twisted secrets.
Fuck her. Fuck them all.
She didn't care, she didn't care about anything but making sure that this whole blasted affair didn't see the light of day.
Her mother promised to take care of that matter, to speak with Gomez, although what was talking with him was supposed to change, Ophelia had no idea. The man was obviously thinking with his dick. But there was no way Ophelia was allowing that little harlot to steal her husband, she would claw her way through her if she had to, but Morticia was out of her mind if she thought, even for a second, that she would take Gomez away from her.
There was a quiet rustling behind her, and not a moment later, she felt a presence beside her.
"Quite a night, hm?" Her grandmother remarked, sitting on the chair next to her, her fur coat wrapped over her ball dress."Come inside, you'll catch pneumonia here."
Ophelia spared her a half-hearted look.
"Did you know?" She asked, slowly drawing another puff of her cigarette before realising the grey, fragrant cloud."Did you know she was fucking my husband behind my back?"
"She?" Particia echoed, wrapping her arms around herself for warmth. "I do believe it takes two to tango."
Ophelia snorted loudly.
"Why am I not surprised that you're defending her?" She remarked in disgust.
"That's not what it is," Patricia insisted."What they've done to you… is horrible -"
"Spare me," Ophelia interjected, turning her gaze towards Patricia. "You haven't answered my question."
The older lady swallowed heavily and lowered her gaze to the snow under her feet.
"I knew, yes, for about a week or so," her grandmother finally replied, looking back at her."I tried to -"
"Sad isn't it?" Ophelia interjected sharply."You've always favoured her over me and yet she ended up being the same whore as her mother."
"You're angry, that's understandable."
"Oh, don't patronise me," Ophelia snapped before bringing the cigarette to her lips.
"I'm sorry this happened to you," Patricia told her, gazing at her softly."No one deserves to be humiliated like this."
"You might save your pity for someone else, I won't allow it to happen," Ophelia mused, tapping the ash from the cigarette." The only person facing humiliation will be that little bastard whore."
She almost smiled when she sensed her grandmother tense next to her. Yes, there might be a scandal, but she'd make sure it won't involve Gomez's little indiscretion. Although, she would make sure he would be very, very careful not to make the same mistake in the future. She would fix it, she would resolve the matter so swiftly and so violently, they all won't know where to start picking up the pieces. Even if it ended her father's political career might end before it even began - he deserved it, even if this whole family went to hell in the basketcase - they all fucking deserved it.
"I've already told her, you know," Ophelia remarked quietly in a slow, purposeful tone and heard Patricia's quiet gasp. "I told her everything. All your lies, all your secrets - she knows."
"What,-"
Ophelia's lips curled into a small, satisfied smile at her grandmother's hoarse whisper.
"She cried," Ophelia continued," she looked quite heartbroken, devastated really and you know what I felt?" She asked, but before Patricia could reply she went on," I was glad. I liked to see her tears, I enjoyed the thought of her suffering because I just... hate her so much I often wished she never existed but this - fucking my husband, was the last straw -"
"There's no excuse for what they've done to you," Patricia finally spoke, her voice heavy with regret," but you had no - "
"No," Ophelia shook her head firmly." There are no buts, Granny. All she's ever brought to this family was pain. She's the worst thing that ever happened to all of us - "
"That's not true," Patricia interjected sharply, swallowing heavily. " I know how hurt you are but that's just not true - "
"I told her I wished she died with her, with that whore of her mother," Ophelia said with every ounce of malice she felt and tilted her head, snorting softly when she noticed her grandmother's eyes well up with tears.
Tears.
It was too late for tears.
"You can't mean that," Patricia breathed out.
"Oh but I do," Ophelia retorted and flicked the remaining cigarette into the heap of snow and wrapping the duvet together around her as she continued in a firm tone of finality," I don't care for all your little fucked up secrets, your lies and your indiscretions. You can all go to hell. But I'm not like my mother, I will not allow them to humiliate me - Gomez will not leave me, not for her, not for anyone. I want that little slut out of my life and if I have to make her life completely unbearable to make it happen, I will."
Morticia slipped quietly off the bed, careful not to disturb the man sleeping soundly next to her. At least one of them should be getting some sleep, but after lying there awake for hours, it was clear that it wouldn't be her, that the sleep would elude her again.
She took one look at herself in the bathroom mirror; god she looked awful, her face looked drawn, as if stretched over her bones, the dark circles under her eyes even more visible than before. She brushed her hair with her fingers and twisted her long tresses into a simple bun at the nape of her neck. She grabbed her black robe and left the bedroom quietly.
She didn't even bother putting the light on as fixed herself a cup of tea to ease her queasy stomach. She grabbed the black and red afghan - a gift from her dear cousin Melancholia - off the sofa and wrapped it around her shoulder before opening the balcony door, wincing immediately as the cold air rushed inside.
She pulled the plastic cover off the wicker chair and settled in heavily, folding her bare legs underneath her as she hugged the hot cup closer to herself and took a dainty sip.
If she believed in karma she would consider this heartache her punishment, that her own betrayal of her sister would be met with one from the people she held dearest to her heart and the sense of betrayal was so acute she could barely breathe.
But what now? What should she do?
Talk to them? Demand explanation? Why did they lie? Why did they never tell her about her?
The woman from the photo - her mother, she was her mother and yet she meant nothing to her. She never knew her. The woman in the photo - that's all she was to her, an abstract piece of art, blurry and undefined. She knew nothing about her… well, except for the indisputable fact that she had an affair with a married man. The skewed moral compass seemed to be something they had in common, besides their outward appearance.
The woman - what did he say her name was? Hester, she recalled, her name was Hester - Morticia rolled the name off her tongue in a quiet whisper, trying it out loud. It still didn't mean much to her, if anything, but when a person had a name, it seemed more real, less of an idea and more of a flesh and blood. Hester used to be a person, a woman - with hopes and dreams, she had her family, her best friend, her married lover and her bastard child. In the end, it was the bastard child that ruined her.
The woman, her mother, died over twenty-two years ago.
She died yesterday. She died through Ophelia's lips. She died with every hurtful word and each word settled in Morticia's soul so heavily and so thoroughly that she truly didn't know how did she still have the strength to draw another breath.
She deserved every word because her betrayal was abominable. She would never deny that. She deserved this heartbreak, she wasn't feeling sorry for herself, she had no right to it.
She lifted the cup to her lips and took another sip, she closed her eyes, focusing on the hot liquid travelling through her oesophagus and settling in her stomach.
What if she didn't die? Would it have changed anything or would she have just given her away - her baby, her mistake - a problem, an inconvenience? Would she have given her away and Morticia would have grown up in some orphanage? Or would she have gone against the grain and kept her? A single mother with a bastard child - not exactly a dream scenario by any standards. Did she even love her, or was Morticia really the worst thing that happened to her? Did she curse the moment she met her father? Did she wish they never met each other? Did she too wish Morticia never existed?
And her father? All those years, were they really all a lie? Did she mistake his guilt for love?
Granny? Why did she, of all people, never even breathed a word of it to her? Especially when she knew how much heartache Morticia carried as a little girl, so many times she had asked Patricia if she's done anything wrong, why was mother upset with her. What was it? What could she do to make things better? What could she do to make her mother love her? Surely, there was something she could do.
All that time Patricia just looked at her helplessly and drew her into a hug, and told her how much she loved her and that was all that mattered. Why didn't she say anything then? Why didn't she say there was nothing she could ever do because her mother - her stepmother, would never love her no matter how much she tried?
Morticia let out an impatient sigh, feeling her eyes well up with tears again. She really needed to stop that, there had to be a way to stop feeling this gaping hole in her heart, there had to be a way to stop... feeling.
The was a creaky sound of the balcony door opening behind her and not a moment later, she felt him standing behind her chair, placing his palms gently on top of her shoulders.
She felt her lips stretch into a small smile, despite herself and she placed her palm over his.
"Are you trying to turn into an icicle?" Gomez asked, pressing his cheek to hers.
"Seems like a better option than turning into a pathetic mess," she retorted and cleared her throat, trying to shed the hoarseness from her voice.
"How long have you been up?" He asked gently and felt her gentle shrug under his hands.
"A while," she admitted, cradling the warm cup closer to her chest.
"Did you manage to sleep at all?"
She shook her head.
"Not really," she remarked quietly.
"Come back inside," he prodded, adding facetiously, "have mercy on my sinuses."
She smiled faintly, and nodded in acquiescence, following him back to the living room. She watched him turn towards her and look at her softly. He took her teacup away and put it on the coffee table in front of the sofa, before reaching for her and framing her face with his palms, gently sliding his thumbs under her eyes.
"I'm sorry," Morticia whispered before adding sardonically," one would think I should have no tears left in me after last evening."
"Sometimes a good cry is as much needed as a good murder," Gomez retorted."My grandmother used to say that."
"Well, who am I to question the wisdom of Grandmama Addams," she quipped, her lips curling into a small smile.
He smiled back, pressing his lips against hers in a soft kiss.
"Let's have some more tea," he offered."My treat."
Morticia nodded at him, feeling suddenly almost ridiculously grateful to have him here with her, and in her life. All those weeks ago, they were barely aware of each other's existence, and not she could hardly imagine a future that didn't include this mad, wonderful Castillian.
"Not too long ago," he started, almost hesitantly, as he handed her the saucer with a steaming teacup and settled next to her on the sofa, "I had a defence case - a very good friend of mine, Paolo Bonanno, specialises in arms dealing and money laundering, a delightful fellow, you'd like him."
Morticia smiled, surprised but grateful at the change of topic.
"I didn't know you still practised law," she remarked, folding her legs under her and took a sip of her tea.
"Occasionally," he smiled, almost bashfully." Mostly as a favour to old friends. Anyway, it was a very complex case," he went on, gently rubbing the tips of his fingers against her nightgown-clad thigh."He was caught arms trafficking - one of his people was an undercover police officer, they had an iron-clad case and thought it would be the fastest conviction in the history."
"But you've won?" She guessed.
He nodded, smiling proudly before his expression turned serious again.
"In this job, I've learnt that there's always a solution, there's always a way to play the law to your advantage, "he told her softly," and the key is to turn the insurmountable problems into smaller chunks and tackle those chunks individually one by one, step by step, one moment at the time."
Morticia swallowed heavily, locking her gaze with his.
"Does it work as well when applied to a case when one's life seems to be falling apart?" She asked hoarsely.
"I don't know," he admitted quietly." I never seem to handle my personal life as well as I handle my work, not even close but…," he paused, chewing on his lower lips for a short contemplating moment," no time like now to try and find out. Together."
"Gomez," she whispered, feeling her eyes fill with fresh tears." I completely don't know where to even start with this mess," she confessed. "To deal with the aftermath of our affair is impossible enough but this…this… - I don't understand why they've kept it a secret from me, why…," she paused and swallowed heavily, rubbing her forehead tiredly." I feel so angry… I have never felt so angry in my entire life."
"I think it would be odd if you didn't feel angry," he pointed out gently, covering her hand with his before admitting quietly, "Tish, I don't have the answers to any of it - I wish I did, but …," he paused, swallowing heavily before he lifted her palms to his lips, placing a soft kiss to her hand," I'm here. You're not alone in this."
"Thank you," she whispered, setting her tea aside on the table, and watched him do the same. And then she kissed him, long and hard, pouring every bit of love and gratitude into it.
She broke the kiss, and they both turned towards the sound of the lock turn, and not a few moments later, none other but Debbie Jellinsky stumbled into the living room, drunk like an Irish Catholic on St Patrick's Day -
"Oh…hey yoooouuu guys," she slurred before, quite unexpectedly, climbing gracelessly over the sofa to sit in between them, accidentally kicking the table and almost spilling their hot teas in the process if Gomez didn't have a fine reflex to grab both of their cups and pushed them further back on the coffee table.
"Debbie, you're all cold and wet with snow, get off me," Morticia complained, trying to pry herself out of Debbie's embrace when Debbie wrapped her arms around her and tried to hug her.
Debbie completely ignored her and placed a cold, drunken kiss on Morticia's cheek.
"How much did you have to drink?" Morticia asked, still earnestly trying to free herself from Debbie.
"Boy, what a night! I love you guys soooo muuuush, you're like my family I didn't kill yet, boy what a night, I had soo mush fun - god I really need to pee, my bladder is about to burst - you should have come with us honestly -" she cut off suddenly, snuggling against Morticia, her lips slightly parted.
"Debbie, don't you dare to fall asleep on me," Morticia warned when Debbie let out a faint snore but her friend barely budged.
"Where did you two meet exactly?" Gomez asked, watching her struggle through the affections of drunk Miss Jellinsky.
"In a seedy bar in Harlem," Morticia replied, wincing as Debbie snuggled even closer to her.
"Figures."
"Get her off me, it feels like being hugged by a wet cat," Morticia pleaded.
Before Gomez could so much as move Debbie opened her eyes, and sat up immediately, pointing her index finger at the sealing.
"Oh, wait I remembered something…," she declared but then frowned." No wait…I forgot - no wait! I remember," she turned sharply towards Morticia." Morticia … you went for the wrong cousin at that funeral," she slurred."You should have gone for the furry fellow - I… really need to pee."
They both watched, stunned, as Debbie stumbled towards her bedroom before they finally turned towards each other.
Gomez bit his cheeks in barely concealed amusement.
"Did she - "
"Don't," Morticia stopped him, covering his smiling lips with her hand."I don't want to know."
James Frump gritted his teeth as he poured himself another hearty glass of whisky. He knew the sleep wouldn't come without it, it rarely did these days, it was better - no, easier - it was easier to drink himself to sleep. Although, he wasn't sure if the alcohol would do the trick, not with that bloody disaster hanging above them, not with all his sins hanging above him like the Sword of Damocles ready to strike.
He just couldn't believe it, he could not fucking believe it. The audacity of that damn Castilian, the utter lack of remorse.
Bastard.
What the hell did he think, what did he try to imply? That he was better than him? That he stood on some higher moral ground because… what exactly? He was going to divorce Ophelia and marry Morticia? And how was that going to help? What did that idiot think was going to happen? How long would he go against the grain? Against his family, his father, his heritage? How long would that so-called love last?
And was Morticia really so painfully naive? Did that Castilian Lothario somehow manage to wrap her around his little finger, didn't she see that it was all hopeless?
Oh, God, if he could only make her understand, make her see reason but he knew, better than anyone, that words would be useless. When it came to such intense feelings words were useless, they were soundless, nothing but a faint echo.
Yet, he could not just stand by in allow that to continue, it was impossible.
He tilted the crystal glass, drawing the whole content in one go and winced at the sharp burn in his stomach. If he kept this up, soon he'd have no stomach left but that was the least of his problems at the moment.
What was he to do? How to avert this disaster? Should he do what he was once told to do?
He remembered so well the very moment his own father found out about his affair - his father, who despite all his faults, was loyal to his own wife until his last breath. He remembered his father simply punching him in the face, he punched him so hard, he broke his nose. He wasn't even interested in who the other woman was, he ordered him to end it. Immediately.
Oh, and his mother told him to be a man and do the right thing. He had a wife. He had a child. How dared he disgrace his family like this? How dared he humiliate his wife? She was disgusted. She shouted and begged and even cried. She was so different back then. What would she do now, when her own beloved granddaughter was involved?
What if Morticia really was in love with that Castillian fool?
After all, it wasn't that James didn't love his own wife, that he didn't love Laura, he did, he was once absolutely crazy about her. She was smart and beautiful, and her smile was once so radiant it was absolutely infectious. He loved her, he loved his wife and was delighted when Ophelia was born but Hester… gods, she was so otherworldly, she seemed to him almost like a fairytale. He has never met anyone like her.
It really all went to hell the moment he met her, the very afternoon when Laura introduced them - her best friend, she said. She was barely twenty then, both of them were, they'd announced their engagement just weeks before and Laura was so eager for them to meet.
Hester, her beloved friend, the most wonderful person she's ever met, oh darling you just have to meet her, you will adore her. He wished she never said that, he wished she never introduced them.
The very moment he saw her, he felt as if struck by lightning, he could barely say a word, barely draw another breath and he just couldn't help himself, he felt instantly drawn to those large sapphires - almost violet eyes, he has never seen such a shade in anyone's eyes before and her skin - gods, that ivory skin, those raven tresses. She was stunning, and he was absolutely bewitched.
When Hester bestowed her interest on someone, she made one feel like the most extraordinary person in the world and when one felt so wanted, so desired it got to one's head like a drug and all he wanted was for that drug to constantly course through his veins.
He wanted her, desperately. Against reason. He wanted her so much it didn't matter to him that she was his wife's best friend. It didn't matter that she rejected him when he confessed his love for her. It didn't matter, he pursued her relentlessly because how could they resist?
How could something that felt so wonderful be bad? They were in love, after all, the most beautiful feeling in the world.
The most treacherous feeling in the world.
Love made one justify almost everything.
And he loved her. He loved being in love with her, the joy of it, the torture of it - he loved the idea of her. She was exciting and she was forbidden, and he wasn't able to resist her.
Hester loved him, just as he loved her - madly, passionately. But she also loved her friend - his wife. There was a bond between her and Laura that would often make him jealous and he could barely stand listening to Laura's constant Hester this, Hester that. He wanted that, he wanted his wife to love him like that, despite being in love with another woman.
He didn't even kiss Hester until almost three years after his marriage. It didn't do beyond silent looks, fleeting touches, and then, much later - letters - she wrote the most beautiful letters of love and regret, that if things were different if they met before he marries then maybe, possibly yes, he was the love of her life but Laura meant so much more to her than any romantic love could ever encompass and to hurt her like this was to her unimaginable.
He would re-read them constantly, secretly, he felt his love for her grow with every agonising word, his obsession with her grew with every forbidden thought of her. He dreamt about her, he constantly feared waking up with her name on his lips.
Maybe he idolized her at that point.
And when it finally happened, when she finally succumbed to him, it was better than anything he could ever imagine. Holding her in his arms felt like dying and being reborn.
Until the deed was done, and Hester spent the rest of the night crying, sobbing with guilt and regret.
She never touched him again. She begged him to stop writing to her, to go back to his wife and daughter, and pretend that this thing between them never happened.
But he couldn't imagine his life without her, he couldn't imagine never touching her again. He pleaded and begged and then Hester has done the unthinkable -
"Have you seen Laura?"
He turned towards the doors, to see his mother, still in her evening attire, looking absolutely exhausted, her eyes were red and her face drawn with worry.
Misery loved company, indeed.
"She washed down her sleeping pills with a hearty glass of martini, so we probably won't see her until midday," he replied dully, pouring them two glasses of whiskey. There was barely anything left in the bottle, they might as well finish it.
"Fantastic," his mother sighed before her tired gaze rested on the bottle in his hand."I hope that bottle wasn't full when you started."
He turned towards her, offering her the drink, looking at her pointedly and then the sudden thought occurred to him. No, it wasn't sudden, it felt like the puzzle pieces finally finding their way together - all that talk about Hester, about his affair, something that was untouched and buried deeply for over two decades and it finally made sense.
"Why didn't you tell me?" He asked, and to his relief, she didn't even bother pretending she didn't understand his meaning.
She held his gaze steadily but there was such a striking vulnerability behind that steel gaze that for a second he wanted to draw her frail form into his arms.
When was the last time they hugged?
"And what would you have done?" She asked, taking a hefty drink of the amber liquid before settling heavily on the settee.
"I would try -," he offered immediately but then his voice falter, and he swallowed heavily.
"You would try what?" She prompted, her tone mildly sardonic."Reason with her? Trust me, it didn't change anything. It seems she's a lot like her father when passion clouds her judgement - "
There was no malice in her tone but he felt instantly chastised, that somehow he was at fault. That somehow, his actions, his guilt, and his misguided love for Morticia were the reason for her actions.
"Eudora spoke with Gomez," his mother continued."That didn't do much either."
"I spoke with Gomez," he whispered, exhaling heavily.
"And?" She promoted when he stayed silent.
James shrugged, resting his arms against the mantelpiece where their family photos were immaculately displayed.
"He didn't seem impressed with my life choices," he replied, picking the frame with the photo of himself and his daughters, both of them hugging him from each side - gods, how young was Morticia there, barely three, he realized, it was just after her third birthday.
There was this brief passage of time when he still thought they could all make it work. They could all be a family. The time when he told himself that his sins didn't define him, that he would make it up to her - to all of them.
"Can't say I would applaud his either," Patricia snorted contemptuously.
"God, what a mess," James muttered, swallowing another hefty drink of his whisky. "There has to be something we can do. He can't leave Ophelia, -"
"Agreed but this," Patricia interjected, pointing at the tumbler in his hand." Is not going to help."
"It's not going to hurt either," he threw carelessly, finishing the drink, and leaving the empty tumbler on the mantelpiece.
"She told her, you know," Patricia went on."Ophelia -"
He blinked, and for a second her words didn't seem to register. Told what? Told whom?
And then, every nerve in his finger prickled and it felt as if his body forgot how the exchange of oxygen was supposed to work as realization dawned on him, and he had to bite his lips to make him feel something - anything, to feel anything other than almost debilitating anxiety.
"James - ," he heard his mother's voice, washed with concern.
He turned towards her sharply and watched her looking at her expectantly. He closed his eyes and shook his head in denial.
"Fuck," he seethed, pressing his fingers into his forehead, feeling his eyes well up with angry tears. "Why the fuck… she didn't have to… why did she have to - it had nothing…," he paused, letting out a shaky breath,"fuck."
He felt his mother's hand on his arm, and his eyes snapped open, blurry with tears.
"You need to speak to her, James," she insisted."You need to explain -"
"And tell her what?" He hissed, turning away from her sharply." That if I wasn't such a bloody coward maybe her mother would still be alive? Don't you all understand?" He asked, desperately." Don't you all understand that if there were even a modicum of a chance that she wouldn't hate me for it for the rest of my life, I would have told her years ago? Is it so hard to understand? "
"It's not your fault that she's died," she told him in a fervent whisper." You had a wife and a child. These things happen, women die in childbirth but surely, Morticia - "
He waved her off, shaking his head in denial.
"She'd told me," he said and watched his mother frown in confusion. "She'd told me she was pregnant," he whispered and watched her blink as if he just struck her." She never expected me to be involved, she just… informed me."
"James - "
"I was a coward, I told her she couldn't possibly have that baby, it was impossible, she had to terminate it, I told her I would pay for it, that she had nothing to worry about," he went on feverishly, looking at her helplessly," I told her it was the right thing to do, because what was she going to do? Have this child on her own? How was she going to support it? I could never claim the child as my own, and her family would never raise a bastard child - don't cry," he pleaded when he saw Patricia cover her mouth with her hand and the tears just rolled down her cheeks in silent agony at his words."Please don't cry."
"That's not true," his mother insisted quietly." You would never do that…my son," she stressed, her voice shaky."My son would never do that."
"I thought if you and father found out… if Laura found out, I was afraid to lose everything… that I would lose my family, do you understand?" He pleaded, then swallowed heavily."Of course, you don't understand, because what I've done was nothing but cowardice, a desperate act of self-preservation. And she told me not to worry, that she'd have that baby on her own, and I would never see her, because her child didn't have a father."
"I don't want to listen to this anymore - "
"I never spoke to her ever again," he continued regardless, his confession spilling forth and he just couldn't stop himself, "I didn't know her family sent her away to some distant relatives to have the baby - I didn't know, I didn't want to know - until it was too late."
God, the disappointment, the heartbreak on his mother's face seemed to claw his way through him, he wanted to reach for her, to comfort her but she flinched, pushing his hand away.
"How can I tell her, mama?" He whispered pleadingly." How can I tell my own daughter that I didn't want her? How can I tell her that if it weren't for me her mother would still be alive?"
It was an immense relief when Morticia finally succumbed to an exhausted sleep somewhere around mid-morning. Gomez pulled the heavy curtains in the bedroom to shade her from the measly winter daylight before settling on the bed next to her.
There was no question in his mind that they had to leave as soon as possible. It wouldn't solve anything, of course, but there was no wisdom in staying in the country and bearing this circus either. What was the point of staying here and constantly reopening the wounds?
Not to mention, the last thing he wanted Morticia to speak to her father, he didn't want her to know what bastard he really was. He despicable coward, gods he wished he could just punch him, for every disgusting, cowardly word he said. He never wanted Morticia to know any of it. She didn't need to speak to any of them, she needed time away from all of them as far as possible.
In fact, there was no point to wait at all, they should leave immediately, even tomorrow. He could go now and give his travel agent a call to arrange two tickets -
"Fuck," he muttered quietly, tilting his head in exasperation, realising that his first call should be to arrange for his charges to be dropped for alleged Balthazar's murder because he certainly didn't fancy himself arrested at the airport. He didn't have time for that.
The devil, he completely forgot about bloody Balthazar and that damned investigation.
Gomez sighed heavily and turned towards the clock at the bedside table, realizing Mortici barely slept for two hours, he didn't want to wake her up, she was in desperate need of sleep, but then he didn't want to leave without telling her either.
"Tish," he whispered, leaning to place a soft kiss on her bare shoulder but, unsurprisingly, she barely stirred.
He decided to shake her gently.
"Querida," he said a bit louder, squeezing her arm lightly.
Morticia let out a tired moan, turning to her back and her eye fluttered before opening, she winced immediately, pressing her fingers to her forehead.
"What's wrong?" She asked, sparing him one look, before wincing again.
"I need to go out for a few hours," he told her.
She nodded mutely, her eyes still closed as she turned towards him, pressing her face into his arm, resting her hand just above his hip.
He placed his hand on the back of her head, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head.
"I have a meeting with a police officer," he continued quietly.
"Why?" She muttered sleepily into his skin.
"We need to have a little chat before I'm able to leave the country," he offered.
"Oh, right, of course," she realised, lifting her head to look at him."You're still a suspect."
"I need a few days to sort this out," he explained apologetically.
Morticia nodded mutely.
"And then we'll leave," he promised."I will arrange for the tickets."
"Where?" She asked, but to his relief didn't object to the plans.
"Anywhere you want," he promised.
"Choose anything," she whispered softly," it doesn't matter, as long as you're with me."
"Always," he promised, leaning forward to place a loving kiss on her lips."I have a good friend in Baku, we can visit him and his wife. You will like them, her great - grandfather was executed by the Bolsheviks - shot thirty times, he died laughing."
"Sounds like a plan," she smiled at him and leaned to kiss him. "Are you going to be out for long?"
"I'll be back as soon as I can," he promised.
"Let's meet at the other apartment," she proposed." I want… I need a few days to get my head around all of it."
He nodded in understanding, kissing her softly.
"Do you want to go out to dinner later?" He asked before he could even think the offer through.
Unsurprisingly, he felt her tense.
"I don't think it's a good idea for us to be seen together," she rebuked gently.
"I know…yes, of course, you're right," he agreed, shaking his head.
"I don't want her to think I'm rubbing this… whole affair in her face," she continued," it's bad enough already."
"I know, you're right," he nodded, a little chastised."I don't know why I said that."
"But I'll hold you up to this dinner," Morticia offered, in a lighter tone, pressing a small kiss to the corner of his mouth."Many, many dinners."
"Now that," he whispered, capturing her lips in a loving kiss."Is a promise."
She could not fall back to sleep after Gomez left, and since Debbie would undoubtedly wake up to a mighty hangover, Morticia decided that a walk might be as good an idea as any.
The gallery was unexpectedly crowded, and full of children no less. Parents, children looking bored out of their minds, crying toddlers. It looked like she walked into someone's nightmare and, perhaps, if her circumstances were different she could certainly appreciate the sadism of the experience.
Art was one of the very few things in her life that brought her a sense of tranquillity, something she could channel her emotions into when words were not enough, when the words failed or when the words were useless. The act of painting brought her tranquillity, each piece was part of her, an emotion she wanted to part with - loneliness, rejection, pain. When she was a little girl, she used to love drawing pictures of their family, all of them, her father, her mother, Ophelia, her granny and herself. She always made herself and Ophelia hold hands or hold their mother's hand. She liked to draw them as a happy family. She doesn't remember when she stopped - oh, no, right, she remembered, it was when Ophelia started to tear the image of Morticia off her pictures. Sometimes she did that with their family photos as well until Granny found out and told her off. Well, at least it all made sense now.
Still, despite all that, art was always her escape.
Less so now, although Morticia sincerely doubted there was anything that could bring her tranquillity at this point, not for a long time. Or maybe never. It wasn't the tranquillity she was looking for now, anyway. She slowly navigated between running children and parents pushing pushchairs right into the rooms with modern and contemporary art, she didn't know why did it even occur to her that it would be his choice of art. She didn't know anything about the man, she could barely recall his face.
What was his name? She couldn't remember, the only thing her mind could recall with vivid clarity was the sepia photo.
Oh, God, what was she even doing here, even if she met him again, and the chances of finding one person you couldn't even properly recall on a 1.6 million square foot were ridiculously low. And even if, by some miracle, she encountered him again, what did she want from him exactly? She didn't know, but it occurred to her that if she and Gomez left the country within mere days, there was simply no chance in hell that their paths would cross again. There was a slim chance of it now, in the gallery full of people, let alone somewhere halfway across the world.
How long has she been here already? Minutes? Hours? Did she really hope to spot that man in the crowd? She barely remembered what he looked like, she doubted she'd even recognize him if she really bumped into him.
She felt restless and confused, and among all this heartbreak and betrayal, even her own - or perhaps, especially her own, her mind grabbed onto one thing that would be able to provide her with some clarity. One person to whom she felt no emotional attachment, who had no reason to lie to her.
Ugh, it was stupid. Stupid and hopeless, she thought and sat down heavily on the stone bench in front of Ruben's painting of St Teresa of Avila, interceding for souls in purgatory - how fitting, she thought, resting her elbows on her knees, and pressed her fingers into her forehead.
Perhaps, it was a sign. Perhaps, finding out more about the past, about her mother would provide more questions than answers, more heartbreak than closure. Gomez was right, they should just go away, vanish, and have a clean start somewhere else… but how ridiculous. What clean start? How could they just wipe clean all that happened?
She was suddenly aware of a presence beside her, she turned and was faced with a pair of dark, curious eyes.
"Hello," the girl next to her said.
Morticia blinked, slightly taken aback, she rarely interacted with children, and frankly, they were usually too scared of her to approach her, something she usually found amusing. Even her young cousins were wary of her - something her grandmother found absolutely hilarious.
"Hello," she replied, turning her gaze towards the girl.
She must have been no older than ten or eleven, her dark hair was braided into two, long braids, and she wore an awfully colourful, stripy sweater dress and shiny lemony legging, completed with a pair of white snow boots.
"Do you like my outfit?" She asked, apparently noticing Morticia's look on her.
"No," Morticia replied, shaking her head but the girl only smiled and shrugged carelessly.
"That's the idea," she told her smugly." My granny said I look as if I dressed in the dark. She's looking after me today - my mum is at work, she told me to get inspired by the great art," the girl rambled on, pointing at the drawing in her hand - which looked like an unevenly torn piece of paper covered, quite viciously, with black crayon circles.
"Interesting," Morticia said politely, taking the picture in between her hands.
"It's a picture of how bored and frustrated I am," the girl explained. "I like your hair," she added.
"Thank you," Morticia smiled, despite herself."I like yours"
"I braided it myself," she informed her.
"It's very nice," Morticia praised, quite unsure where this conversation was supposed to go.
What did people talk with children about? More to the point, did parents no longer warn their kids about talking to strangers?
"What's your name?" The girl went on, swinging her legs.
"Morticia."
The girl frowned at her.
"I never heard of such a name," she said, making Morticia's lips curl in a lopsided smile.
"What's yours?" Morticia asked and quite unexpectedly, the girl let out a huge sigh.
"Wednesday," she replied and immediately explained, "I wasn't born on Wednesday, it's from a nursery rhyme my mom liked… Monday child is fair of face, Tuesday child is full of grace and then there's me - " she recited carelessly.
"Wednesday child is full of woe?" Morticia completed, smiling at her.
"That's the one," the girl, Wednesday, nodded forlornly. "My mum doesn't like traditional names. I think she tried to be original, whatever, it's stupid."
"I think it's a really lovely name," Morticia remarked honestly. Perhaps she could change her African Strangler's name to Wednesday, it certainly fitted her perfectly.
"I hate it," Wednesday replied," It's stupid and the kids in my class keep teasing me about it but I guess, Morticia is no picnic either."
"No," Morticia agreed, almost acutely aware of the truth of that statement."It certainly isn't."
The girl smiled sympathetically.
"Did I make you feel better?" She asked, somewhat cautiously."You looked pretty sad."
Morticia looked at her in surprise, then forced a small smile on her face.
"You did," she lied."Thank you."
The girl turned sharply at the sound of a stern voice calling her name and let out an annoyed sigh.
"That's my grandma, I gotta go, keep the picture," she said, jumping to her feet and handing her a black crayon."Whenever someone makes you sad, just draw an angry circle in their name and curse them and their families - may their crops whither, their hens stop laying eggs and every doughnut went straight to their asses."
In many ways, it was fortunate that it was the Yuletide season, not that it was ever a good time to break the families, but logistically - businesswise, it was a dead season, so there was nothing outstanding for Gomez to wrap up before he and Morticia left the country. Just a few more bits and pieces here and there, such as ending the game of cat and mouse with his good, old friend Chief Inspector Haley. Normally, the two of them would enjoy gently driving each other into madness for a few good months to come but, alas, Gomez had no time for mindless pleasures.
"I need at least a month to clear you," Haley insisted, leaning in the chair in front of Gomez's desk in his office.
"Out of the question," Gomez insisted, taking a low puff of his cigar." I'm leaving the country within a week."
"Are you out of your god damned mind, Addams?" The inspector thundered but then rolled his eyes at himself."Stupid question. Do you realize what it will take to drop those charges?"
Gomez shrugged.
"Money is not an issue," he retorted."I don't care if you need to bribe the devil himself."
Chief Inspector Haley threw him an exasperated look.
"You picked up a helluva a time for this, Addams," he growled. "The devil happens to be on his Christmas vacation with his wife and his mistress and even he's on thin ice - "
"Relax, old man," Gomez smiled."No Addams in the history was ever convicted on a crime they might have or might have not committed."
"That's because your family bribes the hell out of the judicial system," the Inspector pointed out accusingly.
"Why break with the tradition?" Gomez smiled, spreading his arms.
Chief Inspector Haley shot him a withering look and stood up from his chair.
"I'll see what can be done, but can't promise anything," he conceded, putting his hat on his head before pointing at Gomez with his index finger."But until then, do not - I repeat - do not move a toe out of line and keep your damn ass in the country. Why the hell it's so important that you need to leave right away anyway?"
"Need to know," Gomez replied unhelpfully.
Haley scowled in annoyance.
"One of these days I will sure enjoy seeing you behind the bars," the man before him remarked.
"If that day ever comes, we'll probably share the cell," Gomez quipped, smiling at him. "You'll have the money within two hours," he added and watched the man leave without another word.
He waited until he was sure the office was completely deserted before letting out a jaded sigh and leaned heavily against his leather chair. It was hardly ideal, to say the least. There was no way for him to be charged with Balthazar's murder, simply because, first of all, he wasn't the murderer and second of all, he wouldn't waste even a plastic fork on that half-witted fool, anyway but then he wasn't about to tell the Inspector who did it either because one simply did not tell on one's friends, let alone the family members, no matter the circumstances. But the last thing he wanted, or needed for that matter, is a completely unnecessary delay, if they were not able to leave the country then he was at least planning to leave this bloody city until he was given all clear.
He rested his gaze on the envelope on the table, containing two one-way tickets to Baku, just five days from now, and gritted his teeth in annoyance. He didn't care whose hands needed to be greased or how much it was going to cost him, he wasn't about to make Morticia endure this disaster a second longer than it was absolutely necessary.
He sighed heavily, glancing at the ruined display of his model trains - courtesy of Miss Debbie Jellinsky, he really ought to clean that up. None of it was salvageable anyway.
He went over to the table and picked up one of the smashed carriages, an exact replica of GWR Hirondelle, it always blew up beautifully.
He wondered what would Morticia think of as an idea to travel Europe by train. They could start with touring the British Isles, of course, Edinburgh was a good starting point, then Glasgow and Manchester, Liverpool perhaps? They could take a ferry to Northern Ireland as well and - oh, Morticia would love Ireland, Gomez only visited twice in his life but he remembered the country being absolutely hauntingly beautiful.
His lips curled in a small smile at the thought when he heard movement behind him, as expected, Haley wasn't the one to leave without having the last word.
"Changed your mind?" He asked, with a note of amusement.
"No," the female voice replied."But hopefully, you will change yours."
Gomez felt his body stiffen, as he slowly turned around, already bracing himself for whatever was to come as he faced the woman standing at his office door.
"If you're here to convince me to 'do the right thing' you might as well save yourself time," he remarked.
"You don't seem surprised to see me here," Laura replied, taking a few steps into her son-in-law's office.
"I think we all had enough surprises to last us a lifetime," he retorted stiffly."Drink?"
"Why not," she nodded.
"Martini?"
"Gin and tonic," she said instead.
She fell quiet, taking a silent interest in Gomez's office, finally noticing the trashed heap of trains and slowly made her way towards it.
"When you were marrying my daughter," she finally spoke, tracing the metal finish of one of the barely surviving model train carriages. "Did you ever think you could fall in love with her?"
He blinked, surprised at the question.
"I wanted to try," he replied truthfully, in a quiet whisper, offering her the drink. "I tried to."
"But you never loved her," it was a statement of fact, not a question.
"No."
"I knew that," she said, accepting the cristal glass from his hand."I knew that when we were arranging for your marriage, I knew it every step of your courtship and I knew it, beyond doubt, when you both stood at the altar. You didn't love her and you never would."
He didn't reply, not sure what to say to that.
"You know when Patricia first met you," Laura continued."She said that she has never seen two people more unsuitable to marry each other than you and Ophelia. She was in love with herself and you were desperate to be loved - that's what she said. Do you agree?"
"I think it's hard not to," he remarked dully, taking a sip of his drink.
"Yes," Laura agreed."I did agree as well. You two were not destined for a great love affair."
"And yet you didn't try to persuade her against marrying me," he observed.
"Why would I?"
He frowned at the question.
"I'm not sure I understand," he admitted.
"You were - how did your father call it? An agreeable match?" She mused.
"Close enough," he agreed wryly.
"I didn't want Ophelia to have a great love affair," she said."I wanted her to have a great marriage."
"Without love?"
"Great love affairs do not necessarily make for great marriages," she told him.
"I disagree."
"I thought you might," she offered him a sardonic smile. "You know, despite what you might think, I have no illusions about my daughter," she continued."And you might think she's spoiled and entitled, and perhaps she is, but the only way I could make up to her this… peculiar arrangement, was to put her needs first. Always."
"Peculiar arrangement," Gomez echoed with unbridled distaste."Is this what you all call it?"
"I know," Laura continued."That Ophelia told you, about Morticia's mother."
"Yes," he admitted stiffly."She did."
"Uncanny, don't you think?" She asked, taking a sip of her drink."The parallels, I mean. She was the closest person to me in the world, a sister… and she betrayed me."
"Laura - "
"We've met at school, Hester - Morticia's mother, and I," she recalled, there was a wistful tone to her voice, the memory shoved away for years, rusty." Her father accepted the job as an associate lecturer after Hester's mother died of tuberculosis. He was writing the course for the Fine Arts degree, a brilliant man but he didn't know anything about raising children, let alone a daughter, he sent her back to France to live with his brother's family within a few months but we kept in touch. I visited her every summer - "
"You should talk to Morticia about it, not me," he interjected tensely.
"I could never talk to her about it," Laura retorted, her voice hoarse.
"Why not?" He challenged."Why are you telling me all this? It's her mother."
"I was there," Laura went on heavily."I was there when she died - her mother. I watched her in agony for two days, I begged them to call the doctor, to help her but there was no doctor in that forsaken place. Or maybe he was busy elsewhere, too busy to come and tend to yet another compromised girl about to give birth to a bastard child. One more, one less, who cared?"
"I don't want to listen to it," he tried to interject.
"Oh but you should," Laura continued in a painful whisper. "Do you know how unbearable it was… all those years, to look at Morticia," she said, taking a few steps closer to his desk." Watching her grow up and look more and more like Hester - like her mother, you can't even imagine…," she paused, letting out a mirthless chuckle," it's an almost uncanny resemblance, she's like a constant punishment. Every time I look at her - I see her, I see everything that could have been, I see … all my regrets, all the betrayal coming alive, I can barely stand it. It's like living in purgatory."
"Why are you telling me all this?" He asked sharply.
"Her mother," she said and faltered, swallowing heavily," she was… everything to me, do you understand?"
He stayed silent, absorbing the meaning of her words.
"Yes," he whispered finally." I think so."
"And I watched her die," she went on."I watched her bleed to death after giving birth to a child that should have never existed in the first place. The child I could barely look at … but I couldn't leave her there, with those people, Hester's family would have never kept a bastard child, they'd have placed her in some godforsaken orphanage, I could not bear that to happen… she was still part of her, do you understand? Her flesh and blood," she paused, swallowing heavily, and then shrugged helplessly. "So I took her with me and… oh gods, James was absolutely furious, he said I was making a mistake, I was ruining everything…," she pressed her lips, offering him a tight smile," and he was right… it was a mistake. Because... every time I look at Morticia, all I see is someone who tore us apart, someone who took her away."
Gomez swallowed heavily, shaking his head in disbelief and felt his eyes well up with angry tears.
"That's absurd," he interjected hoarsely."I understand you felt very deeply about that woman - I understand that, I understand love, " he stressed violently," but blaming Morticia for her death is insane. She had nothing to do with it, surely you realize that."
"We've all made mistakes then, I admit that," Laura replied, letting out a tense shrug before looking away briefly." But whether you want to accept it or not, Morticia is the sole reason Hester is not here today," she paused and then shrugged," and I can never forget that."
He shook his head in exasperation.
"Why did you come here?" He asked her sharply."Why are you telling me all this? Do you really think any of this will change how I feel about her?"
"To make you understand," Laura replied softly. "To make you see -"
"Understand what exactly?" He asked sharply. "What the hell do you all expect from me? Pity? You'll get none, I can assure you."
"Listen to me - "
"I'm done listening to any of you, I find you all despicable," he continued, lowering his voice to a fervent whisper. "I betrayed my brother, and I betrayed Ophelia. What I've done is inexcusable and it's disgusting, but no one is to blame but me… not my brother, not Ophelia, not Morticia - me. It's the choices I've made that led to all this. If you want to cling to some irrational belief that Morticia is solely responsible for my marriage falling apart then that's your choice, but I won't stand here and listen to this nonsense, so if you're quite finished, the doors are behind you."
"You can't allow this - you can't allow her to ruin your marriage," Laura insisted, clearly trying not to raise her voice but he could sense every desperate note in her voice. "Don't you see?" She asked breathlessly." Can't you see her for what she is? That she brought nothing but misery to everyone involved, how can you be so blind and not see what's in front of you?"
"I'm really not going to listen to that," he said firmly."I will have to politely ask you to get the hell out."
"There's no future in your affair with her except one that ends in a disaster."
"I will take my chances - "
"She's a mistake," Laura continued vehemently, slamming the empty glass against Gomez's desk." She's a mistake that cost her mother her life."
"You're insane," he whispered back, shaking his head.
"Maybe," she whispered, her voice softer now."It was my mistake to take her in and it cost me my marriage and my daughter's happiness," she continued fiercely." And I can assure you, with every ounce of my being, she will be your mistake too."
Thank you for reading!