Chapter Text
Pathetic fallacy.
A literary device that Wednesday had initially taken an interest in due to her struggle to understand it. It attributed human emotions to inanimate objects, nature, and other things. Something that she at times found ridiculous.
Yet now, as she sat in the sidecar, rapidly advancing towards Canada in search of her friend, the rain soaked her plaits and drowned the skies in dreary colours, and finally, she understood it: worry and a deep lurching sadness that felt echoed by the skies above her. Her torment echoed in trees whipping chaotically in the wind, and her anger heard in the crackle of thunder.
Whilst she normally avoided emotions like the plague, Nevermore had led her to realise such preposterous things were not easily denied. Instead, emotions swelled within her, behind her usually impassive features, waging a war with her stomach that she had emptied twice that night when she lost Enid to the forest.
No, emotions were no longer a choice. They were a resident she was unable to evict, harbouring residence even when she willed them away.
Usually, she willed them with ease.
Enid was a cactus spike caught beneath a nail. Impossible to remove, eating away at her resolve. She was pain, but even so, Wednesday longed for that sharp stab of her. Before Enid, Wednesday had felt afloat in life. She felt unseen, even when every eye in the room turned to her obscurity. But that wolf, that furry, grand beast had wriggled beneath the muscle of her heart and took up residence within.
Now, since she fled, Wednesday felt that spot like an open wound. No one was to harm her friend but her.
She did not save her from the death in her vision simply for the spirits to play a joke at her expense and deprive her of Enid in another way. It was cruel, and she would have the last laugh.
Wednesday would find a way to remedy this, even if it took her a lifetime of work.
So now the rain poured, and she watched it splashing skywards as it met the tarmac of the road.
Pathetic fallacy. Yes, Wednesday quite enjoyed that concept.
As they arrived in Canada, Wednesday unrolled the canvas case that held a variety of instruments from tranquillisers to knives and a jar of wolfsbane; its violet flowers appearing so delicate whilst holding the power to wipe out a human or tame a wolf. Her finger stroked along the glass as she observed the cuttings.
“I will find you, Enid. I will heed your call.”
They remained in that hotel room for two days; such was the issue with tracking a wolf. Until she heard word of a sighting, they would remain in the centre of the country.
“Your wolf is in Ottawa,” Fester announced on Friday morning, blasting into the room with the flurry of his excitement. “Someone saw the girl chewing on a deer corpse on the roadside. What a sight that must have been! A humungous predator, feasting upon a deer whilst the humans feared they might be next. Do you think she would eat one? Not much meat on some, but human flesh likely makes a nice snack!”
However, all Wednesday could focus on were his first words. Your wolf. Something curled within her at that, preened in a way she didn’t wish to examine too closely. “We leave in ten minutes. Ready the gear.”
“Sure thing! Oh, I do love a good tracking mission during a storm. Really adds to the atmosphere.”
“Yes, perhaps we will be struck down by lightning,” Wednesday agreed with a small hum of consideration. “I will ready my things. And Thing.” She watched as the hand crept into the pocket of her cardigan. “He misses Enid greatly.”
The journey to Ottawa was as heinous as Wednesday hoped it would be. By the time they made it to the town of the recent sighting, her trousers were soaked through. She pushed into the local café, recoiling at the chipper woman who greeted her.
“This wolf.” She slid towards the staff a sketch that she had drawn, trying to capture Enid’s magnificent essence. Something she could never truly do justice to. “Have you seen her? Heard word of her passage through this area?”
The woman shook her head, utterly useless, but another older woman came out from the kitchen and peered over. “Deer,” she uttered. “People out here named her that because she kept eating the things.”
“That is a heinous title for such a marvellous beast.”
“I don’t know that people around here would be calling it marvellous. Town next to ours had its power knocked out the other night after wires were found all chewed up. Why you asking? You a photographer?”
“I am hunting her.”
The woman’s face morphed into something prideful then, igniting a sharp twist in Wednesday’s stomach. “You’ll have to take a ticket and get in line. There’s a big reward up for whoever kills it first.”
“Kills,” Wednesday echoed, that twist now feeling like a dagger lodged beneath her naval. “Who is offering the funds?”
“Some business owners came together to put up the bounty. Govt isn’t getting involved, say it’s small-town business and the local police are on the people’s side. Can’t have a wolf damaging the town and posing a risk to its people.”
Wednesday thought it laughable that they were worried about their own people, before any of them had been harmed, and instead sought to take a life of their own as if the creature's was somehow worth less. “This town, can you tell me which way it is?”
This time, as they headed to the town, Wednesday took note. Cases slung across the backs of men in hunting gear, likely containing something they thought would take a beast out.
Idiots. Enid would hopefully devour them in place of her deer.
Regardless, worry stirred. It was an emotion that Wednesday was slowly growing used to the presence of, unable to dissolve its grip. So, she made peace with it and used that feeling to drive her towards the nearest woodland.
She asked around first and found a worker in an atrocious hi-vis vest who pointed her towards where the damage to the wires had occurred. By the time she arrived, there were several others standing around, none of whom she wanted following them.
“Looks like your wolf knows how to amass a crowd,” Fester chuckled.
Heading towards them, Wednesday played the part she hoped she would never have to.
“You a tracker too?” a man asked, seemingly intrigued by her bags and Fester.
“No,” she replied, voice monotone. “I am here for a school project. I enjoy photography.” She tugged the camera over her shoulder to let it drape around her neck. She did plan on photographing, but only for scientific and tracking purposes. That and Wednesday longed for a picture of Enid in such a spectacular form.
“Well, you ougtta be careful around this way. Wolf could eat anyone if they’re not careful. Don’t wanna get caught by the hunters either and be mistaken for it.”
“Ooh,” Uncle Fester said, his eyes lighting up just as they did when freshly cooked roadkill was pulled from the oven. “Do you think they would shoot me? It’s been a while since I’ve felt the delightful caress of hot metal in an organ.”
The man stared on in abject horror. “Better you than her, I guess,” he stated. “That your father?”
“Uncle. He enjoys photographing the forest to track tree growth.”
“I do love trees,” Fester declared happily, and then, lower, in Wednesday’s ear, “They hide all sorts of bodies and secrets.”
“We must be going. Thank you for your warning. I will ensure I am cautious.” Her eyes caught on the tracks then, and she began following the prints in the mud. The paw prints led them out east but grew shallower eventually as they neared the point where the trees began.
“Looks like we’re heading in there,” Fester observed. “Ugh, the welcoming smell of forest rot in the morning.”
Here, the marks became harder to distinguish given the number of branches, twigs, and crumbling leaves on the forest floor. However, Wednesday was no amateur when it came to the hunt. She thrived on the smallest of clues, and Enid would not cover her tracks well.
As the floor became less giving in its clues, she moved to the trees. Claw marks, deep and jagged, resided there, and she ran her fingers through them, feeling her friend’s presence. Her head shot back then, and soon Wednesday found herself staring at Weems. “Here I thought you had deserted me.”
“I had. And I stand by the fact that you no longer need a guide, which leads me to believe you simply longed for some moral support.”
“Morals are a ridiculous game played by children,” Wednesday countered, following Weems to the sight. It was an open field, and Wednesday’s heart lurched as she saw a group of hunters standing over the unmoving wolf, blood leeching from Enid’s fur-covered stomach.
“This is not her truth… Yet,” Weems stated.
“And it shall never be,” Wednesday replied, taking note of everything from the sweetness to the air and the electrical tower. There was a chance that she was following the lines, perhaps drawn in by them for some reason.
“Once you find her, it might be wise to consider why your powers seem to have latched onto her.”
Shaking off the thought, Wednesday spun to face her. “Finding Enid is my only consideration at this point. Anything else is a waste of my energy.” Her foot moved, and Wednesday peered down at a flyer. It was a lost poster for a small, fluffy dog that looked like it hadn’t evolved far from a rat. The paper flapped in her hand, catching on the wind.
With that, she was pulled from the vision with a loud gasp.
“Any ideas of where we’re heading?”
“We follow the power lines.”
Following the power lines and the small hints of Enid’s presence in the forest took longer than either of them had predicted. They ended up tracking the wolf through the night, torches poised on the looming trees as Wednesday let herself hope.
Hope was a dangerous thing, but when it came to Enid, it was hard to know what she would do without it. Although it was a ridiculous concept, it kept her going.