"It'll be on your right, Lurch, with a stone archway."
The butler nodded in the driver's seat, his enormous hands handling the wheel with delicacy. She sat behind him and stared out the window, studying the passing houses. She rested the back of her head on the seat and marveled silently at how she used to ride through this neighborhood, preparing to live amongst this community, whoever they are. Come to think of it, she never met anyone on this street when she used to stay with Rupert. He didn't like sharing.
Irony.
But she figured she would make the most warm and inviting neighbor to whomever lived behind all these white picket fences and loud, vibrant gardens, even if their styles differed. At least her own home would be to her liking.
Now her home was four stories high and about the size of five of these quaint houses. She grinned to herself, but her stomach jumped in her throat when the car stopped at an all-too familiar red brick house strangled with ivy. She swallowed, aware that this house marked her destination across the street. She slowly turned and lowered her head to peer through the other window, where a large stone archway and handsome gray manor with looming ebony trees opened a floodgate of memories.
The thing is, they weren't bad memories. They were beautiful ones. Tainted, of course, but nothing unpleasant had happened in this house. Quite the opposite, actually. That's the thing about her relationship with Rupert; it had unraveled and dissolved in one night. No discussion, no closure. Perhaps that's why she accepted that bullshit invitation.
With the exception of her mother, any loving friend or family member would tell her he didn't deserve one last word from her. And he doesn't. They would tell her it was an idiotic thing to go through with. And it was. But she was doing it for herself. She was courted by and engaged to this man, with the rest of her life entirely scoped out in her imagination. She was once obsessed with him.
In love?... Maybe. Maybe not. Are you loving someone who is building your trust on a foundation of lies?
Did he love her?
She closed her eyes and took in a large breath, exhaling through her nose. She reached her hand in her purse and gently circled her finger over the muzzle of the pistol. Protection. She thought of her querido, and she felt an instant warmth take over her entire body, followed by a painful need. She was seconds away from ordering Lurch to turn the car around so she could throw herself in her beloved's arms and let him devour her whole, the way he did last night. God, yes. She put her hand on her racing heart and smiled.
Among the ocean of differences between Gomez Addams and Rupert Styx was, Rupert may have loved her, lusted for her. But Gomez found her soul and he stole it. This understanding eclipsed her feelings of fear and guilt with the fierce urge to show Rupert the woman she had become; the woman Gomez Addams unsealed. Forgive me, mon cher. She sat forward and undid her seatbelt.
"Thank you, Lurch... Lurch-" she quickly put a hand on his shoulder, "- would you mind waiting here for me? I have a feeling this won't take very long. And we'll go for lunch afterwards, hm?"
Lurch grumbled a delighted agreement. Morticia gently squeezed his shoulder and he exited the car, causing it to wobble and creak as he did so. He opened her door and helped her out, escorting her to the sidewalk, but as he turned to leave her she took his hand. She looked at him with wide eyes, full of doubt and hesitation. He simply looked down at her with his uneven stare, waiting for her to say something. Instead she blinked and dawned a small grin.
"I'll be back out, soon."
She turned and breathed an unsteady sigh, clutched her purse to her side and walked through the archway toward the front porch. Just an hour of her time. A final word and that will be all for the rest of their separate lives. That is what he promised, but what's the value of his promise?
She reached the porch steps and stepped past the gargoyle she had gifted him on his 27th birthday. It was a gorgeous one, too, with its crooked grimace and large talons. A bit weathered from the years gone by. It's still here. She stopped in front of the black door with the brass knocker that she used to glide through eagerly every day. Before she could lift her arm, it swung open so fast that her hair blew with the gust of air.
They stood before each other, both frigid and unblinking. Scarcely breathing. His eyes conveyed wonder and astonishment as he took in the sight of her, all of her. Hers never left his face, which showed the slightest bit of age, but not much difference. None except a scar under his right eye. It must be true that the feeling of fear ultimately lies in anticipation, because standing before him now, she felt none. She actually felt entirely formidable and she emphasized that with a subtle lift of her chin.
"My God..." he laughed in amazement and put his hand on his chest. "You look... and you came. Perfectly punctual as always. Some things never change, I suppose..."
He kept ending his sentences with nervous laughter. She didn't speak. He cleared his throat and noted the car sitting at the curb, windows too tinted to see who was in the driver's seat. He kept rubbing his fingers together at his sides until he finally stepped aside and motioned to the doorway. "Please, come in."
She did so, but turned around to face him again, never turning her back to him. She didn't look at the entry way, she didn't take in the familiar sights to see what had changed or what remained. She just kept both eyes on him while he closed the door. He turned to her and sighed, heavily.
"You look incredible."
She uttered not one word. He shifted his weight from foot to foot.
"...Here, allow me to give you the tour. I'm sure you remember most things, but I have had quite a few changes put in-"
"That's not what this is."
His cheery expression dimmed and he clasped his hands together, awkwardly. "What is it then? I mean... what is it you want to-"
"Exactly what your letter said. You say whatever it is you want to say, I say what I need to say and that will be the end of it."
He paused briefly, lowering his gaze to the floor and nodding. "Yes, of course. To the terrace, then." He stepped past her and lead her down the hall and up the grand stairs.
She wasn't afraid but not at all comfortable. Her eyes were glued to his back, monitoring his every move. Once they reached the landing he opened the double glass doors for her but she insisted he go out first, and he lowered his head with wounded pride as he did so.
Nothing had changed about the terrace. Quite literally nothing. The same plants that she used to tend to still sat in the same pots in their same positions, but now they were all dead and withered. What used to be the most impressive view of the surrounding landscapes now hardly compared to her own balcony outside her bedroom. The same round iron table for two stood in the center of it all, dressed extravagantly with tea and pastries, and she seated herself before he had a chance to pull out her chair. She kept her purse on her lap and dusted off a few daisy petals from the table as he sat across from her, proceeding to pour a large pot of tea into two cups.
"Black tea with a blend of natural herbs. Damiana, ginseng root, and muira puama, to name a few. I remember black Indian tea being your favorite, is it still? And don't tell me you've suddenly acquired a taste for sugar in these past years. Have you? Do you take sugar?" He cocked his eyebrow at her penetrating glare. He sat there with his arm extended across the table, offering the ceramic cup. "...What?"
"Do you honestly think that I would drink something that you serve to me?"
His eyes searched hers in confusion. He then chuckled and set the cup back down in front of him. "No. No, I suppose you wouldn't. But if you change your mind..." he gestured to the food and drink and sat back in his chair, examining her. "Well, look at us. I'll be damned. Deadly nightshade..."
"Morticia. Or Mrs. Addams."
He bit the inside of his cheek and broke his gaze, turning to look at the view. "Yes, right. I heard about your marriage. Caused a bit of a stir. I also heard it was quite the scandal." He tilted his head back to her with a lofty smirk. Her eyes narrowed.
"Excuse me?"
"Wasn't he your sister's betrothed first?"
"You don't know what you're talking about, and you're out of line. I didn't realize you were in any position to judge scandalous engagements."
He shook his head, but his proud smirk still painted his face.
"If you knew I was married, why did you write to my maiden name?"
He raised his shoulders and adjusted his silk shirt. "... I didn't realize I did that. I suppose it was an oversight." He took his teacup in hand and brought it to his lips.
"Mm. Yes, I suppose we both know you haven't much talent for letter writing."
He slammed his cup down on the table in one sudden movement, rattling the tea set. Morticia's shoulders tensed and she gripped her purse, on guard. He shut his eyes and tightened his fists, then relaxed after a moment.
"Dammit. Alright. Fine, here - I regret that night every day of my life, okay? Every goddamn day, I regret it."
"I'm sure."
"Listen! Just listen to me."
Morticia pursed her lips and adjusted herself in her seat. Rupert rubbed his neck and looked down at the table.
"I stopped drinking, you know... That very night, I stopped, and I've been sober ever since. I don't even touch the stuff." He looked up at her with hopeful eyes, as if he expected some sort of praise. "I'm so sorry. I'm very, truly sorry. For all of it. You didn't deserve it, I know that, I... You were the universe, Morticia. I loved you."
Her silence and steady expression in response to his groveling was like a square kick to the groin.
"I was weak. I was untrue, cocky, a cad, an asshole, all of the above. I know that, I do. I was no man..."
"I recall you saying that night that you were only a man."
He rolled his eyes and flexed his fingers. It was something he did when he was frustrated, and it always looked to Morticia like he was fighting the urge to go ape. "Well, you went and married 'only a man'."
"Oh, no, you see, that's where you're especially mistaken. Gomez is no mere man, my Gomez fell to the earth. He's..." Her mouth opened and closed, trying to form the words she needed. "He saw me, completely. He took me and he, he..." she suddenly shook her head and laughed with pure elation, eyes illuminated and welling at the very thought of him. She brought her hands to her smiling cheeks. "I just realized, I can't possibly explain this to you. I can't explain it to anyone. And I pity you, Styx, that you may never come to know what this feels like. All I can say is, I need to go home to him, now, " she pushed herself back in her chair, "-and I need to tell him we're expecting our second child."
"Wait-" Rupert coughed, choking on air. He raised his hand to motion for her to stay seated while he cleared his throat, his face turning a pale pink. "Wait, wait, wait, wait a moment, you... you have a child with him?"
Morticia nodded. "Our son. He's breathtaking. And another on the way. And another and another, and then grandchildren-" she jumped when he slammed his fists on the table and stood, knocking his chair to the ground behind him. Her face hardened and her fingers clutched her purse, once more. She looked up at his rabid expression as he pointed a shaking finger directly at her face, his voice full of venom.
"You had children with him... when I was going to give you the fucking world?"
She shrugged and spoke just above a whisper, "I have it, Rupert."
His eye gave the slightest twitch. He turned his back to her and walked over to the railing and ran a hand through his dark hair. Then with a roar, he whisked around and charged toward her, flipping the iron table completely off the ground. Shattered glass and food scattered over the terrace and the table landed four feet away with a crash. Morticia just stared at him, frozen, trying her hardest not to let herself shake. He pointed at her once more, shoulders heaving, lips parted in a scowl. The scar on his eye made him look more feral than ever. With a sharp turn of his head, he briskly walked to the double doors and shouldered himself through them, disappearing into the house.
Morticia stood without hesitation and hurried to the railing and peered over, desperate to find some other exit, but she knew she was too high off the ground. No ladder, no lower platform. She scanned her surroundings, but it was clear there was only one course of action: go into the house, go down the stairs, and leave through the front door. She counseled herself with deep breaths and slipped one hand into her purse, gripped the gun and clicked off the safety. She kept it in her purse with one finger resting gently on the trigger. Lurch is right there, right there at the curb, she repeated in her mind. Don't hesitate.
She booked it into the house and began descending the stairs, eyes shifting all around her, watching every corner. She reached the first floor and hustled for the door, watching it get closer and closer as her quick steps turned into a sprint. She could see the car from the small oval window through the door and she extended one arm for the handle, the other hand clutching the gun and purse to her stomach, but she almost fell backward when he stepped in front of her from the hall closet. She found her footing and stepped back.
He scratched his head with the muzzle of his own gun and let out a slow hissing laugh that made her wince.
"You're such a cliché, Rupert."
"I'm a cliché? Get your fuckin' hand out of your bag, I know you're packin'. You're a fool, but you're not stupid." He didn't break eye contact as he lifted his other hand to take a large swallow from a glass of brandy. Morticia arched a brow but her hand remained in her purse.
"Sober?"
He raised both arms in a shrug. "I mean, I gotta toast to this. This pathetic look of girlish fear in your eyes."
"I'm not afraid of you."
"No? Doesn't really matter either way, I guess." He gulped down the rest of the drink and smashed the glass on the floor, then pointed the gun directly between her eyes. Morticia stood firm.
"Other than you being gravely ill, why so desperate, Rupert? What frayed thread of satisfaction are you barely hanging to? Once you've done away with me, what insatiable thirst will you have quenched?"
He gave her that impenetrable sideways smirk. "I just want what you promised me all those years ago. When we were writing our vows to each other... that you will take your last breath right here with me. This may not have been what you had in mind, but you had to go and throw everything off course. Classic Nightshade." He placed his finger on the trigger. "I'll deliver the news to your mother, personally. She always liked me."
The door burst open, cracking Rupert on the back of his skull. He hollered and dropped the gun, stumbling forward as Gomez threw himself in the entry way, eyes blazing. He looked at Morticia and the gun on the floor, and before he could assess the situation, he took the gun and grabbed Rupert by the neck, shoving him against the wall and pressed the gun to the center of his forehead.
Morticia's shriek pulled Gomez out of his blind fury just enough to notice the putrid stench of vomit, and he looked down to see it dripping down the front of his shirt. He looked up at Rupert, whose eyes were wide with terror, foam spilling from his mouth. He coughed up again and this time, foam and blood sprayed Gomez's face. He quickly let go of Rupert, who crashed to the floor, scratching at his throat and gagging. Morticia and Gomez could only watch as his face turned blue and blood vessels burst in his eyes. In under a minute, he stopped struggling and hacking, and his limbs only twitched slightly as fluid spilled from the corner of his mouth, pooling under his head.
Then his limbs went still.
Utter silence.
After an extended moment, Morticia cautiously approached Gomez, both of them stunned. She put a gentle hand on his shoulder and slowly took the gun from him. "I'll call an ambulance."
...
The drive home from the police station was completely silent. Lurch drove alone while Gomez drove himself and Morticia in the station wagon.
The forensic pathologist guessed Rupert's cause of death to be poisoning by sarin or cyanide, but they wouldn't know for sure until the autopsy was complete. But how he had ingested poison was the question. Morticia thought perhaps it was meant for her and he drank the wrong tea, but if that was the case, he would have died much earlier than he did. It was perplexing, to say the least. She explained to the policemen that she was having tea with Rupert, and they had had a history. He lost his temper, and when her husband arrived to join them was when Rupert began to seize. She tucked her purse and gun away in the car with Lurch before anyone had arrived to the scene.
She kept her hand on Gomez's knee, although neither said a word. But his silence with both hands on the wheel said a million things, all of which made her feel an immense amount of shame and guilt. She wanted to disappear right there. If Gomez hadn't arrived when he did, she may not have been here. She was aware how tremendously lucky she was that he found out everything, even where she was, despite her keeping everything from him. How he must feel...
Their gate opened for both cars and they parked in the drive. She leaned in with hopes that he would at last turn to her and say something, but he undid his seatbelt and got out of the car with not so much as a glance. He came around to her side and opened her door to help her out. She put her hands on his arms and pulled him closer.
"Gomez, I-"
"I just need you inside. In the bedroom, please."
He put his hand on her back and walked with her into the house and up to their bedroom. The silence through the house was almost as unbearable as the car ride. She glanced into Pugsley's open door in the hall to see his crib empty.
"Is Pugsley with Mama?"
"Her and Fester took him to the swamp."
He walked closely with her to the east wing and ushered her into the bedroom first while he turned to shut the door. The second she turned to look at him, his lips were instantly on hers. He held her head in his hands and shoved her backwards until her back was against the wall. His lips attacked hers frantically, giving her every last drop of zealous passion and intensity he could, desperate to show her how relieved, how gracious he was to have her in this moment. She moaned from the solace and ran her hands through his hair, taking it in her fists. He broke the kiss to allow them to catch their breath and he pressed his forehead against hers, his glare so sharp that she felt like cowering.
"Don't you ever do that to me again!"
"I'm so sorry-"
"No, I'm your husband, you're married to me, you know what that means? It means you don't have to be alone, you don't have to deal with things alone! You don't keep things a secret to protect me and devoid yourself of protection, you understand?!"
She nodded and pressed her lips, and he wiped the few silent tears gliding down her cheeks.
"Did he hurt you? Touch you?"
She shook her head and he wrapped her in his arms, tightly, resting his chin on her head. She pressed the side of her face into his chest and listened to his rapid heartbeat. He was still in his undershirt from the night before.
"How did you find out?" She whispered. He sighed and combed her hair with his hand.
"I overheard you on the phone with your mother the other day. I didn't want to ask you about it... I did but I didn't, and I got the story from Ophelia instead. So, I'm sorry, too. And I found his address on the letter he sent."
Morticia's brow raised then relaxed. They began to sway gently in their embrace. "You shouldn't apologize. I most likely would have done the same. Probably would've psychologically tortured you, as well."
"Oh, don't worry, that's still coming."
She laughed louder than usual, thankful for a reason to laugh. "Is that why you broke glass? And cut your hand?"
He dipped his head low to kiss her, again, bending slightly to wrap his arms around her waist. He picked her up off the floor and carried her to the bed while she made love to his cheek.
"I never meant to hurt you in any way, Gomez, I need you to know that. It's not that I didn't want to tell you or-"
"I know."
"I never intended to-"
"Tish," he laid her down gently and hovered over her, "I understand. I was never upset with you, I was just..." he grazed her cheek with his lips and kissed the nape of her neck. "You're just not to leave this bed until our sixth anniversary."
She stroked his hair while he kissed her chest and stomach. Each kiss was slow, deep and tender, piercing through her dress and driving her desire through the roof. Her breathing quickened as his lips trailed lower, but he suddenly stopped, resting his head on her stomach and looking up at her. She propped herself on her elbows to meet his eyes.
"Cara mia?"
"Yes, my one..."
"Did you love him once?"
She tilted her head, running the question through her mind. Her silence seemed to worry him because he pushed himself up and frowned, but his boyish expression brought a loving grin to her lips. "Lay down." She sat up and straddled his hips as he did so.
"Did you? You can tell me if you did, I just want to-"
She shushed him and dragged her hands down his chest. "No. I didn't. I loved the idea of him. The person he created for me, that's who I loved. A figment."
His gaze shifted from her eyes down to her stomach. He took her hands, interlocking their fingers and nodded, but he still didn't seem quite convinced. "Is it sick that I wish I pulled that trigger faster so he would have died by my hand?"
"That's mental." She pushed herself forward onto his groin and his body jerked at the sensation. He growled, lowly.
"Did you poison him?"
She threw her head back and laughed. "I wasn't mental enough."
"Do me a favor and never speak of him again." He ran his hands up and down her sides as she nodded a silent agreement. He gazed at her, longingly. "... Are you okay, my love? I mean, as okay as you can be? For now?"
Her smile remained and she pushed herself onto his stomach. "I'm with you. And you know something I realized today?"
"You had time for realizations?"
"Hush... I realized that saying that I love you feels like an understatement. There will never be words for what I feel for you. I can only show you."
"Is that so?" He smiled and sat up to touch her cheek. He brought her face close to his, but she stopped him and took his hand. He watched her intently as she carefully placed his palm on her stomach and pressed it there. As she watched the cognizance settle in his eyes, she wrapped both arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his forehead.
"You and I? We've only just begun, mon cher."
...
The love they made that night was slow, sensuous and lasted hours. They touched, tasted and tortured each other until they completely lost themselves, the events of the day almost drowned out by the ecstasy. But not entirely. She sat awake with her head on his chest, being soothed to sleep by the slow rise and fall. His body glistened like gold in the candlelight, and she drew her finger gently down the center of his damp torso while he snored softly into her hair. She began to replay the day in her head frame-by-frame, recounting her every mistake, as she knew she inevitably would. Sweet and saintly Gomez may have let her off easily, but her own personal guilt was just getting started. She would apologize to him for months after this and he would shut each one down with a kiss and one kiss would turn to several, and several kisses would turn into nights like the one they just had.
Well, that's not exactly a terrible existence, she thought.
She cringed knowing that Gomez was aware of Rupert Styx these last few days while she nonchalantly danced around him. That must have been torment. She recollected the drive to his house, him opening the door. She should have shot him then, turned around and got back in the car... but the sound would have disturbed the neighbors. She replayed watching his back while climbing the stairs to the terrace, him opening the glass doors, all of the familiar dead plants, sitting at the table, swiping off the daisy petals-
Daisy petals.
Daisy petals...
Fresh daisy petals?
On the table?
She sat up in bed. There were no live daisies on the terrace. She had never even raised daisies.
Once her racing mind eventually landed on one particular thought, she quietly slipped out of bed and threw on her robe that was draped over an armchair. She opened and closed the door of their bedroom as softly as a whisper and tiptoed down the hall to the writing room. After closing the door behind her, she made her way to the desk where the phone was, picked it up and dialed. After waiting around a few rings, the call was answered.
"Ophelia Frump."
"Foxglove..."
Ophelia gasped, delightedly, "Moonbeam... Oh, my heart sighs at the sound of your voice."
Morticia chuckled, "As does mine. I was just thinking of you... what are you up to?"
"Packing the last few items for Mexico, what are you up to?"
"Mexico? But weren't you just released today?"
"I may have engaged in some, let's say, fruitful affairs that require me to lay low for a while."
"Already?"
"Always on my toes. So tell me, was today eventful for you?"
"Whatever "eventful" means." Morticia leaned against the wall and twirled the phone chord between her fingers. "Rupert Styx passed away, today."
"Did he, now? How queer. These violent delights have violent ends."
"Truly... Forensics say he was poisoned."
"By the very brandy he reeks of?"
A chill trickled like a finger on harp strings down Morticia's spine, hearing her sister quote her very words from that night six years ago. She stood, frozen, her hands tingling while she kept the phone pressed to her ear. Ophelia evoked a bell of a giggle.
"Well, I really must be getting along. I'll return once things die down, in time to meet my niece."
"How did... How did you..."
"The petals, my dear. They tell all. La revedere, sister... enjoy your life, now."
Her laughter echoed even after she ended the call.
~ The End. ~