Note:
The guy who blackmailed Fyodor Dostoevsky to write "The Gambler" was coincidentally, another guy named Fyodor who is a famous exploiter. What goes around comes around, or so they say.
Anyways, short chapter.
—-
Fyodor Dostoevsky has written a handful of literary masterpieces in his long, albeit harsh life. An author who mastered the exploration of the human mind. A master of existential philosophy who questioned morality, faith, and free will to its deepest, darkest iteration.
As esteemed an author he was, he had a particularly unique hobby that separated him from his peers. A way of transforming his tumultuous experiences in life, his bad habits—into effective lessons for those that read his works. The said lessons, however, do not apply to him.
His work, 'The Gambler', was inspired by his deep-seated gambling addiction that chained him with debt and into a spiral of misery. The money he garnered from publishing the book—he then used to gamble some more.
Another instance of this hobby is back when he was almost sentenced to death for critiquing and conspiring against the Russian Government, the Petrashevsky Circle. A sentence that was then pardoned by the Tsar, not out of kindness, but of psychological warfare to break them down.
One would think he'd lay low for the rest of his life. He'd die a quiet death at the edge of a freezing Russian province. 2 decades later, he published 'Demons' criticizing radical politics. Targeting both his prior occupation with the Petrashevsky Circle and the then Russian autocracy. Brave.
He was a fool, some would say. He was a reformist, many would argue.
But amongst his best works, one stood out the most. The darkest he's ever written, the closest one could get in his complex mind. A book that resonated with humanity's strongest voice—the conscience.
Crime and Punishment tackled the story of Rodion Raskolnikov. An impoverished law student from Saint Petersburg. In his bright, revolutionary mind, Rodion developed a theory. There are two types of people, he argued. The Ordinary and the Extraordinary.
The Ordinary are those that followed and obeyed the common moral laws. The average human. The student hugging their parents goodbye. The shopkeeper aiding his stall. Those with no relevant weight in society's machinations.
Then, the Extraordinary. People who could bend moral laws in their whim if it meant a benefit to humanity. They could kill. They could steal. They could ignore morality as a whole if at the end of it all, a light awaited. Like Napoleon Bonaparte, he said. And like him.
Wednesday scoffed. What Rodion failed to account for, however—is that Napoleon was the emperor of France. He was a student bordering on a beggar. He didn't know though, so he killed. One on purpose, one out of sheer panic because he was seen. A guilty, and an innocent.
He was consumed by guilt, persuaded to confess, finally serving 8 years in prison. He repented, found true love—the end. A Cinderella ending for a dark story, written by an author who also served time in prison. Ironic, really.
Why was she thinking of this? Wednesday knew the answer. She's holding it in her hand. She burst through the Principal's office, the doors closing behind her with a heavy thud. Wednesday walked forward, uncaring of Principal Weems' reaction.
"I knew it." She announced, slamming the thick yearbook on her table, "I did witness Rowan getting murdered that night."
"Excuse me?" Larissa asked with a raised brow.
Wednesday continued, her apathetic face steeled with conviction. "When Rowan appeared the next morning, it was you." She flipped the yearbook to a certain page, her finger pointing at an image.
"When you participated in the talent show, not only did you impersonate Judy Garland," Wednesday looked up, her eyes looking directly at Principal Weems. "You became her. You're a shape-shifter."
Principal Weems scoffed, softly closing her laptop. "That's a fascinating theory."
Wednesday straightened her back. "I'm curious to find out how Sheriff Galpin feels when I tell him."
Medusa's fire seemed to grow stronger as Larissa's eyes bore into her. She stood up, arms leaning against the edge of her wooden table as she faced Wednesday's dark, cynical eyes. "You won't tell a soul, Miss Addams." She whispered, but her voice still reverberated in the room.
"And it wouldn't matter much if you did. Rowan's father already knows what happened, and he fully supports my decision not to involve the authorities."
A confused frown adorned Wednesday's face. "Why would he agree to that?"
Larissa pushed herself up, her tall stature accentuating the factuality of her words. "Because Rowan wasn't in his right mind. His telekinetic ability was driving him mad, and he attempted to murder you twice."
Because of a prophecy. Wednesday added in her mind. Because he believed himself a hero. Her very own Rodion.
Larissa continued. "His tragic death allowed us to rectify the situation without casting the school or Rowan in an unflattering light."
It was… logical, she admitted. But a solution built on a lie is a plastic foundation bound to collapse. Like Garret's true cause of death. "You and Mayor Walker are the same, aren't you? Burying bodies to cover your dirty secrets."
Napoleon Bonaparte, an 'extraordinary' man, an emperor who waged war for supremacy. He killed thousands in the name of glory, he bent morality in a mask of honor. This was a principle hiding the death of a student and the existence of a murdering monster.
"I did what I needed to do to shield this school from controversy and protect its students from harm!" Larissa responded intensely.
"Then what about Adam?! How were you protecting him?!" She replied. Wednesday watched her expression. She sensed a fracture in her facade, but it felt… too calm. As if— "He knew…" she muttered.
Before Wednesday could get her answer, the loud clamoring of students outside caught their attention. Principal Weems turned around, opening the door to her balcony trailed by Wednesday.
The lawn was burning. But it wasn't fire that rang the alarm, it's what written with it—
'FIRE WILL RAIN.'
—-
A rapid series of knocking rattled Adam from his book. He stood up quickly, but couldn't get the chance as Wednesday barged herself in. She stared at him with a frown, emotions flickering within the void of her eyes— anger, frustration, betrayal.
Neither of them spoke for a while. But Adam undoubtedly felt the weight of her gaze before he even met it. The silence stretched, but not warm, no. It was the suffocating kind. The choking battle of words that can't seem to get out.
Finally, senses touched Wednesday first as she stepped forward once, her hands clenched so tight her knuckles looked even paler than usual. "You made a fool out of me," she said finally, her voice low and sharp. "You knew about it. About Weems' conspiracy. About Rowan."
Adam's throat clogged, like he inhaled barbed wires that tightened as he spoke. Alas, it caught up. "I did." He replied.
Her expression shifted slightly, her lips trembled for a fraction of a second. "All this time, I was playing the mule… while you held a carrot on a stick." Wednesday Addams is not one that holds her emotions in her sleeves, yet her emotions could not help but leak between her words. "Why?"
He felt each word pierced through his chest, clawing deeper than even Tyler has ever gotten. Adam could feel the gap between them widen, despite the room shrinking, darkening. "Because I knew… you would never understand."
Wednesday's eyes narrowed, her tone frigid. "Understand what? That this school's reputation is priority over his life? Or that the truth weighs less than how many more bodies are buried under this ground?"
Adam's chest rose and fell, his breath ragged as he tried to find the words. "That it was hid for the greater good."
"Hah," Wednesday sarcastically said, "Is that what you tell your conscience?"
Adam leaped to her front, his eyes shining fiercely like fiery orbs of fire in the dark room. "It's what I force it to swallow." His voice came out strained, rough— as if the words cut through his tongue like a dull blade.
They stood face-to-face, silence was their word for a moment. Locked in a battle of ideologies that neither would relent. Adam spoke again. "Had I been given options, I would never have chosen this. Shall you choose to reveal it, you'd expose Nevermore to a greater danger than prison. You would sentence every student in this institution to be condemned."
Wednesday did not dodge his gaze. Standing her ground as he towered over her, Babylon threatening to fall. She clicked her tongue, seething with anger. "You salvage yourself by believing that."
Adam turned around, snatching his mask on his nightstand. The locks clicked, he turned to Wednesday again. "When you look at this school, I'm sure that loathing is the only thing you feel. But you do not represent the totality of all that resides here."
"The corners of this place do not just serve as an institution. It's a sanctuary," Adam pulled his window's curtain to the side, "For some, mercy. Would you be responsible for the consequences you would incur had the truth come out?"
She stood quietly, listening to his… reason, as if pinned to the ground where her feet stand. His gloved finger pointed at the students outside. "Put your feet in the shoes of your oppressor, Wednesday. Would you let something like this slide? Or would you rally a pilgrimage in an instant? Rowan's death and Tyler's existence is the antithesis of Nevermore's existence."
Wednesday clenched her jaw, the cold reality seeping through her once angry head. She could see it all, the domino in line. How a single misstep could derail everything in this loathsome school. How fire will rain if things got out.
She took a measured breath. The heavy air in Adam's room pressed down on Wednesday's shoulders as if the walls themselves bore witness to their argument. Her fingers twitched by her sides, gripping onto the last threads of her defiance.
"I'm not asking you to accept the lie, Wednesday." He said, his eyes softening, his voice asking for plea. "I'm begging you to live with it."
The thread broke, and her pride's last gear has given way to the weight of his beseech. Wednesday bit the edge of her lips, she hung her head, her braids falling to side of her shoulder. How? She asked herself. You betrayed me! She argued.
Wednesday clenched her fist tighter, feeling her bones curling within itself, her nails digging into her skin wasn't as painful as this surrender. Her shoulders rose and fell in a rhythm that betrayed her carefully hidden turmoil. She finally raised her head, her eyes meeting Adam's without flinching. The void had returned, swallowing whatever tremor had rippled through her moments ago.
"I accept your proposal." she said flatly, her voice dulled not by mercy, but by resignation. Adam's jaw tightened, though there was relief in his eyes.
Wednesday walked towards the window, the once panicking crowd she saw now dispersed. It was simply Nevermore. No more fire. She gave it one last look before turning around.
She walked towards the door with her back straight, stopping only when she grasped the knob. Adam eyed her silent figure by the doorway. "I do not forgive you," she said without turning back, "I will let this one slide. Groveling like an idiot will not work next time." With that, Wednesday vanished into the dim corridor as Adam watched his door closed.
He succeeded at convincing her, yet he felt as though he lost. Adam clenched his rapidly beating chest. It felt tight, suffocating. This day just… wouldn't end.