Kind of a short one, but LONGER ones in the works. Stay Tuned. The Plot Thickens.

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Enjoy~

~TLD

Part Twenty-Two: Hidden Demons

"You don't have to go," Morticia whispered to Joel.

He paused with his hand on the door handle to his room at the Addams' mansion. He'd been spending nights with the Addams' on and off over the past few days. Not trusting the security of his room at the motel, Joel had brought some of his few belongings and left them in the guest room at the Addams' house.

So when he had left the sitting room and hurried down the hall to his own room, the other Addams' had simply assumed that he'd desired a moment of solitude in his room.

Only Morticia had known better.

Joel spared a moment to take a deep breath, trying to calm the burning agitation barely contained within him, before turning the handle and shutting the door in Morticia's serene, if not slightly concerned, face.

Once alone in the silent dark of his room, Joel sank heavily to the floor, his back resting against the door. He leaned his head back, banging it hard against the door and his tightly balled fists slammed on the hard wood floor. He breathed heavily, crushing his eyes closed, his forehead crumpled and his jaw clenched with the effort of calming his body and restraining his urges, so much stronger than they'd been in years.

He took another deep breath, and behind his closed eyes, he relived the scene.

They'd moved to the living room after the dire revelations of the séance. Morticia had poured henbane tea for everyone. Joel held the steaming cup in his hands and fell heavily into a chair next to Morticia, using the warmth to try and soothe his nerves. He felt shaky, a live wire, equally chilled and burning with anxiety caused by the spirit's words.

He looked up from his tea as Wednesday, looking dazed and exhausted, clumsily dropped into her own chair. Her body looked weak, her shoulders slumped in exhaustion, her eyes clouded with the pain of her pulsing headache. Joel felt his body tighten with stress at the sight of her. Anger flared up in him at the thought of the spirit's haughty cackle and the way it had pulled and clawed at Wednesday as it was sucked back into Hell.

He took a deep cleansing breath.

Gomez was pacing and smoking a cigar, his stress evident in his quick puffs and his long, quick strides. Pubert was following in his father's wake, occasionally bumping into him when he paused to turn in his circuit of pacing. Pugsley stood slightly off to the side of the group, throwing knives into a makeshift target above the mantle. Mama was tottering in the kitchen, mumbling to herself about something unintelligible.

"Her son…" Gomez muttered, shaking his head slowly. He tried the word out again, "son…" It felt alien in his mouth.

"Lucifer's son," Morticia murmured, temporarily breaking Gomez from his trance. He stopped abruptly, causing Pubert to crash into his father's back and fall on the floor. Gomez didn't notice. His eyes were locked on Morticia's.

Joel looked between them. It wasn't fear they shared, or even fascination. It was some combination of confusion and concern as each of them contemplated the horror of losing the other.

Joel knew the Addams' weren't fans of Lucifer. They certainly didn't fear him. But, despite what many of their neighbors had claimed, the Addams' did not worship him. Sure, they glorified death, delighted in pain and suffering, and cultivated a morbid romanticism around the beauty of two corpses rotting away together for all eternity, but death, just like life, were intimately human affairs.

Lucifer hated all that was human, and so death and life had nothing to do with him. As far as the Addams' were concerned, Lucifer existed in absence. He broke, but not for the pleasure of breaking, and so, once his deed was accomplished; he was in constant search of something else to break. He lusted for power over all existence, but since he broke whatever he took, he soon reigned over nothing, his very being teetering on the edge of existence and non-existence. As humans lived and died, grew and changed, Lucifer remained untouched, forever trying to take hold over that which was constantly evolving and impossible to contain, as one trying to grip a stream of water between his hands. If God was incarnate in everything, then Lucifer was incarnate in nothingness, the absences between existences, the emptiness between the realms of being.

Still, even the Addams' didn't like the sound of Lucifer's son walking the earth.

"The death toll would be…" Morticia murmured, "astronomical." Awe colored her tone.

Pugsley threw another knife into the mantle with a dull thud.

"The Prince of Fire and Blood," Joel muttered into his tea. "Charming title," he added sardonically. Wednesday cocked an eyebrow, but Pugsley paused to throw an appreciative grin in Joel's direction.

"But why now?" Joel continued, "What's so special about this attempt of the rising ritual?" His eyes looked around the room, hoping someone might have an answer.

Silence hung heavily in the room as everyone pondered Joel's question.

Thwack. Pugsley's knife embedded itself in the mantle, jolting everyone.

Joel threw Pugsley a death stare. Pugsley shrugged his shoulders as if to say, Geesh. Sorry.

Just then, several things happened at once.

Pugsley pulled his arm back, gripping a long jagged knife between his fingers, preparing to launch it at his target. Mama screamed a blood-curdling shriek and came running into the living room, making everyone jump out of their skin and Wednesday jump to her feet. As Pugsley released the knife, his head and body involuntarily turned toward the sound of Mama's scream, throwing him off balance, and launching his knife directly at Wednesday's head, where it sliced a deep cut in her shoulder before embedding itself in the doorframe where, only moments ago, Mama had been standing.

"Ouch!" Wednesday screamed, "Dammit Pugsley!" She clapped at hand to her shoulder where blood was flowing freely down her arm.

With a sudden movement, Joel had jumped out of his chair, his eyes glowing deep crimson, his face contorted in rage, and his body tensing for a fight.

Just as he was about to launch himself across the room, Morticia's cold hand appeared on his shoulder.

She never could have held him back, but the startling coldness of her hand burned him and stung, for a second, through the monster rising up in him. He'd had just enough self control to mutter, "Excuse me," before he ripped his eyes from the bloody scene and rushed down the hall to his room. In the periphery of his senses, he heard Pugsley call after him, "Sorry man, it was an accident."

Alone in his room, he hoped, selfishly, that the family had written off his combative behavior as protectiveness for Wednesday, as anger on her behalf. As he sat on the floor, pounding his fists into his forehead, he tried to make that the truth.

I was just mad he hurt her. I was upset to see her injured. I was worried for her. Joel repeated the mantra as he pounded his fist against his forehead.

But, as a single tear burned down his cheek, a ray of truth filtered in.

He remembered the scene again.

The sight of Wednesday's red, gushing blood. The smell of her adrenaline and the pulsing of her anger. The warmth of her blood and her body reacting to the cut.

He felt his eyes reddening and felt a sick hunger in his stomach.

NO!! he thought. I wouldn't have hurt her, he thought desperately. He remembered Morticia's hand on his shoulder, restraining him.

I wouldn't have hurt her, he thought again, willing it to be true.

Tears filled his eyes, his rage succumbing to self-disgust.

"This is stupid," Wednesday said, her voice acerbic.

Wednesday and Joel stood in the Addams' foyer. Joel had his bag thrown over his shoulder in a casual stance that kept him, Wednesday noted, further away from her than usual.

"I need some things from my motel room," Joel said casually, "Especially now since we've learned the scope of things. Son of the Devil's no joke. We're gonna need some heavy artillery." He shrugged in what he hoped was a casual sort of way.

Wednesday wasn't buying it.

She stepped closer to Joel and dropped her voice. "It's not a big deal. The cut's not even deep. Pugsley's a tool, but I've definitely had worse." She rolled her eyes.

Joel swallowed hard. She thinks I'm mad at Pugsley. Shame filled him. She didn't suspect him of lusting after her blood. This is exactly why I have to go, he thought.

He didn't know what to say, so he cocked a half-hearted smile, touched her cheek briefly before promising, "I'll see you tomorrow."

He turned and opened the door to leave.

And stared directly into the sparkling sapphire blue eyes of Lilith.