heart_of_the_hearth

A single golden lightbulb illuminated the wooden cabin from within. Hunting weapons, a number of books about the area around Jericho, plates and cutlery, and a television were scattered about, along with a magazine with questionable content that you didn't want to think about much longer after tossing it into a corner.

Isaac sat at the table in the middle, the lightbulb above it swaying in the breeze. You stood by the sink, filling a bowl with water, since there was still some blood on his chin that he should wipe away. It smelled of wood, the forest and leftover food that should have been thrown away weeks ago.

He already looked different— better. Apparently, every brain he ate brought him a little closer to a full recovery, because he now looked almost completely human again. His skin hadn't quite returned to its normal color and was still wrinkled, but at least it covered his entire face again. His teeth were still dark and his tongue as black as oil, but you could ignore that. He looked almost exactly as he had before he died. However, his curly hair was even more disheveled than usual and looked as if he hadn't bothered with it in thirty years— which was probably true. When he was alive, he'd always used gel to keep it looking neat.

Your heart leaped every time you looked at him, because you no longer saw a zombie before you, but a young man. A brilliant, ambitious, handsome young man who pursued his own goals but hadn't told you anything about them just yet.

"Here," you said gently, carefully placing the bowl on the table in front of him. "For the blood."

His dark eyes met yours, and it seemed as if he were looking right through you, analyzing every single detail of you, weighing whether or not he could trust you. But why shouldn't he trust you? You were the girl who had been with him all these years, even if he hadn't recognized your face or your identity.

Now he knew. You were an Addams. The daughter of his former roommate and friend. The daughter of the woman who was partly responsible for his death. It was truly an irony of fate.

His left hand grasped the rag you had offered him, and he dabbed the tip in the rather cold water and began wiping the red, metallic-tasting liquid from his chin and lips. The taste of meat still lingered on his tongue, but his hunger was satisfied for the time being. Even so, he would need more in due course.

You cleared your throat to avoid breaking the awkward silence between you. “I’ve always wondered if you could sense my presence. You never saw me, never heard me, and I thought I would be invisible to you forever.”

“That’s not entirely true,” he replied, before leaning back slightly in his chair, rug still in hand. “I always knew you were there, I just didn’t know who you were. A few times I even thought I heard your voice or saw someone out of the corner of my eye. I chalked it up to lack of sleep, my father thought I was finally losing my mind for good, and my sister… she always believed in your existence.”

You rested your elbows on the brown tabletop and gave him a gentle smile. Every single word he said touched you deeply, and you wished he could see how much these facts meant to you.

“Francoise, right?” you asked, and he nodded.

“Yes, exactly. Francoise. And that’s precisely why I need your help,” Night explained to you, his voice still steady despite the tension. “I found out she’s still alive, and I want to find her.”

You didn’t have to think about it for long, because, of course, you would help him. Hell, you took care of him when he was still a complete zombie, freed him from Willow Hill, and ran away with him. After all that, you wouldn't stop now, because then it would all have been for nothing. All your efforts and your dream of one day meeting him.

"Why wouldn't she still be alive? She'd be in her forties by now, wouldn't she?" you asked him in return, genuine curiosity in your voice. To help him find her, you would first need to know more about her.

A sigh escaped him, and his shoulders slumped slightly beneath the brown coat he wore. It almost seemed as if a tremendous weight rested on his shoulders. A curse no one his age should have to bear. First his illness, and then whatever else was clouding his mind.

“Francoise is a Hyde,” he confessed, and you could feel your eyes widen instantly and your lips part slightly. You'd only seen the girl a few times in your dreams, but you'd never guessed she was a Hyde. She seemed far too sweet for that.

“She has a limited lifespan. Every time she transforms, the monster devours a part of herself until, in the end, nothing is left, and she first descends into madness and then dies a miserable death. I don't know why she survived for so long, but I have to find her again. I have to,” he insisted, and it was clear how serious he was. His gaze left no room for questions, only for action. Were you on his side, or were you not?

“I'll help you, Isaac,” you assured him after a few seconds of silence, broken only by the soft hum of the lightbulb and the howling of the wind. “I’ve hoped for so long that we would meet. Now I won’t let you down.”

The corners of his mouth twitched upward into a smile, and you could swear the light in his eyes brightened for a moment, as if your support had breathed new life into him.

“Do you have any leads? Anything that might help us find it?” you asked him. Your sister always tried to play investigator and you decided that you could do that too. Perhaps it runs in the family? He nodded and reached into his pocket to show you something.

“A few hours ago, I met a man in the woods who was carrying a photograph. I—” Isaac trailed off, looking down at the fabric of his coat. The movements of his left hand became more frantic, as did his breathing.

“It’s gone! The photograph of Francoise, it’s gone.”

Instinctively, you stood up from your chair and scanned the floor of the cabin, just in case it had fallen out of his pocket. However, only dirt covered the ground beneath your boots, and there was no sign of the photo anywhere.

"Perhaps you lost it on the way? I can go outside and look for it. You stay here. I'll be right back." You were already hurrying toward the door, but he immediately grabbed your arm and jerked you back to him. For someone who had been a frail undead corpse not long ago, he possessed a great deal of strength.

His eyes bored into yours, and his fingers dug through the leather of his glove and the fabric of your jacket, digging into your skin. A small part of you hoped they would leave an imprint, so you could be sure that this wasn't just another dream, but reality. You wanted it to be real.

"You're not going anywhere, Addams." His voice was firm and left no room for argument. "I need your help, and I can't let you be taken from me now, knowing who you are."

Then, more gently: “And besides, it would be a shame if I lost my guardian angel already, wouldn’t it?”

You still wanted to argue with him— even though your knees went weak when he called you that— and tell him it wouldn’t be any trouble for you to go out and find the photo right now. The police were looking for him, not you. They probably wouldn’t even question you. And even if they tried, your father would get you out of that situation and you would quickly be able to return to Isaac. The police didn’t scare you.

But then you suddenly felt the cold leather of his glove against your face as Isaac carefully placed two fingers under your chin and lifted it slightly so you couldn’t look away from his gaze. His eyes were locked on yours, and for a moment you didn’t even dare to breathe, lest you break the newfound intimacy of the moment.

“I need your help,” he repeated softly, his voice no louder than a whisper. “Why would I send you out there when I can make sure you’re safe right here? With me?”

You didn't know if it was his voice, the way he looked at you, or his words to you, but in that moment you realized you'd probably do anything he told you to. Ever since your little brother freed him from his grave, you'd already lost this battle.

He'd placed you under a spell you couldn't escape. Your fate was bound to him, and his to you.

"So where do we begin?" you replied, your gaze drifting down to his mouth for a split second. You couldn't help it.

His fingers lingered on your chin, and his thumb gently stroked back and forth over your pale skin, which was a soothing sensation to you.

"There was a patient number under her photo. I think she was a patient at Willow Hill and was freed the night of our escape. Before that, though, she seems to have been married, since her name is now Galpin, not Night," he told you, his voice still the same gentleness as before.

Your eyes widened in shock, and you put your hand around his wrist to stop him from moving his hand away from your chin, but also because you'd just had an epiphany. You knew something he didn't, because he couldn't possibly know.

"Her last name is Galpin, are you sure?" you asked him immediately.

"I assume you've heard it before," Isaac replied, his gaze never breaking from yours.

A smile spread across your face in response to his question, because you held the solution to all his problems in your hands. Maybe it had been a good thing after all that Wednesday had fallen for Tyler— even if she would never admit it and would burn you alive if you even suggested it— because knowing about him would now serve you well.

"Isaac, I think I know where we can find your sister."

“Tell me,” he demanded, and only then did he pull away from your touch on his wrist and look down you with a hard gaze. Information like this, which you seemed to possess, was of utmost importance to him, and he needed it. He had known that keeping you with him had been the right decision. His little angel, and his assurance that Gomez and Morticia Addams wouldn't come after him. Not as long as their firstborn daughter was with him and trusted him.

His reasons for keeping you with him were, of course, purely scientific and logical and had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that being away from you was physically painful for him.

“My little sister Wednesday dated a boy named Tyler Galpin some time ago. His father was a cop, and his mother was presumed dead and buried. Tyler is also a Hyde and is now free again, without a master or a father. What if Francoise was looking for her son and is with him now? At the Galpins’ house?”

A breathless chuckle escaped him, and he shook his head as he took a step back from you, allowing you to catch your breath. His closeness drove you to the brink of madness, something you had only ever dreamed of before.

“You Addams are certainly full of surprises,” Night replied, amused. Gomez had always had a knack for surprising him or driving him absolutely mad, and apparently, he had passed that trait on to his children. But while Pugsley was a pesky little creature with no respect, you were absolutely perfect. The way you looked at him, with those big, bright eyes, spoke volumes about how much faith you had in him, and that's exactly what he could exploit. You were useful to him, a means to an end. Nothing more, nothing less— at least, that's what Isaac tried to tell himself.

Feelings were for the weak, and he wasn't weak. He couldn't afford to be weak, because now he finally had the chance to save his sister's life. He could make amends for his mistake and perhaps even give her a long life after all. He would slay the monster that fed on her, draining her strength. And if he succeeded, and Francoise was saved, then perhaps he would consider whether he wanted to allow himself to feel these strangely persistent feelings for you.

"Is that a compliment?" you asked him, and the smile that had formed on your face stirred something odd in his chest. His clockwork heart had never let him down, but now it had skipped a beat.

"More of an observation, but think what you will." He turned and went back to the table, bracing himself with his left hand while holding his right arm in front of him. He didn't need to look at you to know that you were there and that your gaze followed his every move.

"I know where the Galpins' house is. I could show you?" you suggested, thrilled with your own idea.

"Tomorrow morning," he replied not a second later. While he desperately wanted to rush to his sister's rescue, he also knew he had something else to do first.

"I have to visit an old acquaintance. My old professor Stonehearst's daughter. Would you come with me?"

"Anytime." You didn't hesitate for a second, because you would probably do anything to stay with him for just one more second. All your life you had only dreamed of him, but now he was actually here, and the feeling was better than you could ever have imagined.

If you could, you would stay with him forever.

Dawn painted the sky in soft shades of orange, red, and pink as Isaac Night and the eldest daughter of the Addams Family walked down the streets of Jericho. Not many people were awake yet, and most were so tired still that they paid them no attention. You weren't the one who would attract attention though; that honor went to the boy beside you, still stuck in a state between zombie and human.

Ahead of you was a house covered in graffiti, its door locked because the police had recently been investigating the death of Donovan Galpin.

"Here it is," you said to Isaac as you approached the door. The yellow police tape was already cut at the edge, and you knew why. Not long ago, your father had had to pick up Wednesday from the police station because she and Thing had been found in this very house after Galpin was killed. Of course, she hadn't done it, but the police had taken her anyway. You had no idea who killed Galpin.

"It looks deserted," he commented calmly as you opened the door and, with a playfully elegant gesture, ushered him inside.

"But is it really? Your sister could be here," you said, closing the door behind you both. The rooms were dark and quiet. Almost too quiet. The wind whistled through the house, through the broken windowpanes, which had been boarded up with thick wooden beams.

"She's here. I know her," he replied, his attentive eyes scanning the living room. He seemed to be carefully examining and weighing every detail. You wouldn't admit it yet, but you liked it when he did that.

"Shall we split up?" you suggested, heading towards the stairs so you could look for Francoise upstairs while he looked downstairs. There was also the garden, the garage, and the area around the house.

Night nodded, and you disappeared upstairs, the steps groaning beneath your boots. You didn't know his sister well, but in the dreams where you'd seen her together with her brother, she'd always seemed like a kind soul. She was clearly important to him, and you really wanted to help him find her.

On the first floor of the house were a bathroom, a bedroom, and a children's room, all of which had been abandoned for a long time. Dust had settled on the surfaces, and a few small cards with numbers from the police investigation remained. Some photos caught your eye. They showed Donovan, Francoise, and a very young Tyler together. In these photos, they seemed like a happy family. It was almost a shame how things had ended for them. Did Tyler even know about his uncle's existence?

Neither in the bedroom nor in the children's room did you find any evidence that anyone had been there recently who might have found sentimental value in this home. You hoped Isaac would have better luck downstairs. The bathroom was the last place on the first floor you checked, but a glance in the mirror made you stop short.

"Isaac!" you called out, loud enough for him to hear, but not so loud that it could be heard outside the house.

Not a minute later, you heard footsteps on the stairs, and his familiar face poked through the door. "What is it?"

One of your hands was on your hip, and the other gestured toward your throat. "You could have told me there was still blood on my neck."

An almost amused smile crept onto the zombie's expression as he looked at you, his gaze falling on your throat, still stained with the blood of Judi Stonehearst, who you had visited just a few hours earlier.

"It suits you," he replied in a calm tone that you knew so well from him. "And besides, I wasn't the one who killed her."

You tried not to let his compliment go to your head, but instead decided to retort: ​​"Fine, I knocked her out when she tried to run away, and you ate her brain. We're both guilty."

The corner of his mouth twitched slightly upward, which was a small victory for you. "Did you find anything?"

"No, there's nothing up here," you answered him honestly. "And you? Is there anything downstairs?"

"No, but I'd like to go and check out in the garden. I have a feeling," he replied, taking a step back.

"I'll be right down. But I'm going to wash this mess off of me first, okay? I don't want to look like a murderer, if we find her." You grabbed the edge of the door and closed it slowly, but still Night made another comment, eager to always have the last word.

"But you are."

The door clicked shut, and you heard his footsteps recede as you looked at your reflection in the partially broken mirror. The girl staring back at you was someone who was both familiar and new to you. You had always been proud that you weren't as cruel and cold as your sister, but rather calm. Your grandmother liked to compare you to your mother, while Morticia sometimes spoke of Aunt Ophelia, whom you apparently reminded her of. However, she said that to Wednesday occasionally, too. She probably just said that as a warning to keep you all in line.

But then tonight… Judi had jumped up and run to the door, and before Isaac could even say a word, you had grabbed the nearest vase and smashed it over her head in her own home, which you had broken into. You hadn't even thought about it; it had been an instinct to help Isaac by stopping the woman. Afterward, you had watched as he had devoured the insides of her skull without restraint.

You began wiping the blood from your skin with your hand, but your thoughts had already moved on. If you already committed a murder for him without hesitation, just how far were you willing to go for him?

A few minutes later, you found him down in the garden, kneeling beside an empty doghouse. The food bowl hadn't been filled in a long time, and you assumed that the inhabitant of this sweet little doghouse had been gone for ages. Isaac, on the other hand, knew better. There had never been a dog. This doghouse was a trick; he could see some kind of opening mechanism inside and it didn’t smell of animal.

With his left hand, he reached inside, but before he pulled the lever, hidden in the shadows and never noticeable from the outside, he glanced over at you. Up until now, you had been a great help to him. You trusted him implicitly, you had run away with him, and you hadn't hesitated to knock Judi unconscious with a vase when you visited her apartment and she tried to run away as Isaac's questions about Stonehearst and his experiments at Willow Hill became too intrusive.

You now stood near the tree, the morning sun filtering down on you through the leaves, and you smiled as you reached out and a single brown autumn leaf floated into your open palm.

And there it was again— that treacherous feeling, spreading through his stomach and chest like wildfire. His clockwork heart leaped in his chest, and only then did he look away from you. It was probably the warmth of the sun, which he hadn't felt on his skin in thirty years, that made him feel so warm. That had to be it.

His left hand pulled the lever a little too hard, and the doghouse lurched backward, revealing a hole in the ground and a staircase leading down. The sound alerted you, and you quickly went over to him, surprised, having not considered a secret underground chamber.

"If Francoise is hiding anywhere, she's down there," he told you confidently as he straightened up. Your hand twitched, unsure for a moment whether to help him stand or not, as he hasn’t yet recovered all his strength.

Together, you descended the stairs into the darkness, where you came to a large, thick iron door that was closed. You remembered that his sister was a Hyde, and that obviously entailed a danger. The bunker must have been built to ensure the family's safety should she transform. Or perhaps the reason was simply the Americans and their crazy doomsday theories.

Isaac went ahead and opened the iron door, but the moment he stepped into the room beyond, he stretched out his arm to keep you in the shadows behind him. He didn't want anyone to see you just yet. While you found it almost charming, you also wanted to see what lay behind it. What was happening there?

"Francoise," he breathed, wonder resonating in his voice, as he finally saw his beloved sister with his own eyes again after thirty long years.

Francoise stood opposite him in the rather comfortably furnished room, which even included a kitchen and a bed. She had grown older, become an adult, but despite everything, she was still his little sister. The only thing that was different was the fact that she was holding a pistol and had pointed it at him. But he saw the trembling in her hands. She wouldn't shoot.

"Isaac?" his sister asked incredulously, shaking her head slightly. "No, that can't be. I was holding you in my arms when you... You died."

"Is that a way to greet your brother? Put the gun down," he asked her calmly, taking a step closer to her. You remained in the shadows of the small passageway outside the door by the stairs. He couldn't know how she would react to you. She didn't know you.

Francoise shook her head, but the gun in her hands trembled, and he knew she would not shoot him. He just needed to calm her down a little and let her realize that he was indeed here, risen from the dead. There was no reason to shoot, even though he suspected the bullet wouldn't kill him. He didn't yet fully understand the science behind his current condition.

"Do you remember the Fourth of July?" he began, evoking a memory from their shared childhood. "You were with that normie boy, Dylan. Dad hit you so hard it was louder than the fireworks."

Her grip on the gun tightened briefly, but for a moment her eyes seemed to be filled with fresh tears.

"Put the gun down," he repeated, standing close to her, the barrel of the pistol almost pressing into his chest.

With a gasp, Francoise buckled, wrapping her arms around him and embracing her brother tightly again after all these years, even though she had believed him to be dead. No, he had indeed been dead. But now he was back, and she was sure that everything would end well now.

Isaac closed his eyes for a moment, the tension leaving his shoulders as he simply savored the feeling of being with his little sister again. He could hardly believe it. When he could think clearly again, after his brain had recovered, the first thing he thought of was her. He had been certain she was dead until he saw this photograph. And you had helped him find her.

Out of the corner of his eye, you quietly entered through the door, the sound of your feet on the floor betraying your presence. Francoise quickly turned and reached for the gun again, but Night quickly stopped her from pointing it at you.

"Isaac, who is this?" she asked him worriedly, but he continued to hold her. He didn't want her to hurt you.

Seeing the gun in the hand of the older, but otherwise kind looking woman, you quickly raised your hands in a defensive stance. As much as death sometimes fascinated you, you didn't want to encounter it just yet.

"Don't shoot, Francoise. It's all right. She is my guardian angel. Remember? The presence that has always surrounded me. I've finally found her," he explained quickly in a gentle tone. Her eyes widened, and she looked up at you before a bright smile spread across her face.

“Oh, she’s perfect,” she said, then looked at Isaac as if she wanted to share a piece of happiness with him. “How did you two meet? You have so much to tell me!”

A cough from the other side of the room drew everyone’s attention, and there stood Tyler Galpin. His gaze shifted between the three of you, and he seemed quite bewildered by this sudden reunion.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, man, but she’s no angel. She’s an Addams. She’s Wednesday’s weird older sister,” the blonde-haired boy said.

Your expression darkened for a moment, and you wanted to rush over and show him who he was calling weird here, but then Isaac spoke up again: “And who might you be?”

Francoise put her arms around her older brother again and gently led him toward the boy: “Isaac, this is Tyler. Tyler, this is your uncle Isaac.”

Tyler was visibly uncomfortable, Isaac looked him up and down with fascination on his expression, Francoise beamed from ear to ear, and you stood a little further behind them wondering where the hell you’ve stumbled into.

Apparently, the Addams Family wasn't the only weird family in town anymore.

The dividers were made by @uzmacchiato !

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