Like that, they were brought into the Jericho sheriff's office and locked into holding.
Two cells. Side by side. Separated by thick metal bars.
Gomez was already inside one of them.
Wednesday, Morticia, and Ethan were pushed into the neighboring cell, the door slamming shut with a sharp clang. For a brief second, everyone froze—then Gomez noticed who had been placed beside him.
"My querida!" he exclaimed, rushing to the bars.
Morticia stepped forward at once. Their fingers threaded through the gaps, hands clasping desperately, faces close despite the iron between them. Affection spilled out immediately—whispered endearments, relieved laughter, unrestrained devotion.
Wednesday turned away on instinct. "This is intolerable," she said flatly.
Gomez beamed. "Bars cannot restrain love, querida!"
"They are restraining my patience," Wednesday muttered.
"Guess they missed each other," Ethan said, deliberately keeping his eyes anywhere but that scene. Even for him, it was a lot.
"Yes," Wednesday replied dryly. "Unfortunately, they've decided to make it everyone's problem."
"So…" Ethan started.
Wednesday turned to him slowly, her stare sharp enough to cauterize. "If you're about to exploit the emotional excess occurring two feet from us to flirt, reconsider."
He stopped.
"The sensation you're mistaking for opportunity is nausea," she went on evenly. "I'm not experiencing tenderness, vulnerability, or romantic inclination. I'm experiencing the psychological equivalent of motion sickness."
Ethan held up his hands. "Message received."
There was a brief pause before Wednesday spoke again, her voice quieter—but no less precise.
"Hmph. Still… thank you," she said. "For preventing my father from remaining guilty."
Ethan looked at her, mildly surprised. He hadn't expected gratitude—especially not from her.
"I'm sure you would've uncovered the truth without my involvement," he replied. "Eventually."
Wednesday tilted her head slightly. "Possibly. But you accelerated the process."
A moment later, an unmistakably affectionate sound drifted into her ears.
Wednesday stiffened.
She pinched the bridge of her nose, eyes narrowing. "You two," she said flatly, not bothering to turn around, "exercise some restraint."
Gomez laughed, utterly unrepentant. Morticia murmured something soothing that did absolutely nothing to help.
Wednesday exhaled through her teeth. "I retract my earlier statement," she added. "I would rather be surrounded by hardened criminals than this "
***
Early the next morning, the sheriff's office was jolted awake by hurried footsteps.
The mayor burst through the doors, coat half-buttoned, breath uneven. His eyes immediately found the holding cells—Wednesday standing rigid, Morticia composed, Gomez unrepentantly cheerful, and Ethan… visibly strained.
Ethan looked up as the mayor approached. Dark circles framed his eyes.
"Mayor," he said flatly, "I am not in a stable mental condition right now. If you have any influence left, I strongly suggest you use it to get me out of here. Immediately."
He rubbed his temples. "I've reached my limit."
The mayor blinked, clearly unsure how to respond.
He now fully understands why Wednesday finds her parents' affection intolerable. Prolonged exposure should be regulated. He can't take it anymore
Wednesday didn't comment. Her silence was agreement.
At that moment, Sheriff Galpin emerged from his office, expression tight.
"Get them out of the cells," he ordered. "All four of them. Meeting room. Now."
Galpin opened the cell and the four got out
Gomez straightened, delighted. "Ah! A change of scenery."
Morticia took his arm calmly. Wednesday stepped forward without hesitation. Ethan followed, grateful for any environment that did not echo.
In the Sheriff's office meeting room,
The mayor stood at the head of the table, hands braced against the wood. "Sheriff," he said firmly, "this case needs to be closed. Permanently. And Gomez Addams will be released"
Galpin didn't sit. He paced. "I have a confession. I have a weapon. I have a motive that held up for twenty years," he snapped. "This goes to court."
The mayor's patience thinned. "Galpin, listen to me. Garrett Gates wasn't killed by Gomez Addams. He died of nightshade poisoning."
That made Galpin stop.
"Do you know why Garrett went to Nevermore that night?" the mayor continued. "Do you know why he was carrying nightshade at all?"
Silence.
"He was planning to poison the entire school," the mayor said. "Every outcast at Nevermore. There is proof. Physical proof. Even if Gomez hadn't touched him, Garrett Gates would have been dead by morning."
"I'm asking you to acknowledge the truth," the mayor replied. "And the consequences of ignoring it."
He turned slightly, gesturing toward Ethan, who was leaning back in his chair, cracking open an energy drink. His expression was calm, but his posture said he was barely holding together.
"There's also this," the mayor added. "One of Jericho's largest private financiers."
Ethan took a long sip, unimpressed.
"If this case continues," the mayor said carefully, "that funding disappears. Schools. Infrastructure. Public services. This town does not function the way it does now without it."
Galpin wasn't a fool. He understood exactly what the mayor was saying. If Garrett Gates had been carrying nightshade with the intent to poison Nevermore, then Gomez Addams hadn't murdered anyone. If anything, he had stopped a massacre. Galpin didn't like it. He didn't want to like it. Twenty years of suspicion didn't dissolve easily.
But facts had weight. And this time, they outweighed his resentment.
His shoulders sagged a fraction.
"Fine," Galpin said at last.
The word tasted bitter.
He straightened, professionalism snapping back into place. "The Gates case is closed. Cause of death will be amended. Gomez Addams will be released."
Gomez smiled instantly, radiant. Morticia closed her eyes briefly, relief passing over her features like a shadow lifting.
Ethan took another sip of his drink, visibly less tense. "Wise decision," he said. "For everyone."
*****
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