Noticing Stitch's fidgeting, Aleksander gave a subtle gesture for him to stay quiet. Stitch fell silent, though his eyes still darted around, taking everything in. Wednesday, meanwhile, was absorbed in the report, barely acknowledging either of them.
Lisbon waited until everything settled, then addressed the group. "This case was a political mess back then," she began, her tone even but weary. "From the start, there was a strong suspicion the killer was an Outcast. At the time, prejudices against Outcasts were at an all-time high. Agents started targeting anyone with abilities related to telepathy, illusions, or shape-shifting. It got ugly fast, because they couldn't produce any real proof—just fear and speculation."
Jane gave a wry smile, sarcasm dripping from his voice. "Yeah, going around capturing Outcasts without any real proof—what could possibly go wrong?"
Lisbon offered a rueful nod. "Our seniors really did mess this one up," she admitted.
Grace chimed in quietly, nodding in agreement. "They made a lot of bad calls. People are still talking about it." She scrolled through her notes, then clarified, "For a while, they suspected illusion creators—but those were ruled out later. There was actual physical evidence that the late victims seen by witnesses were physically present at the scenes."
Jane tapped his fingers thoughtfully. "So, we're dealing with someone—or something—that could actually move around as the victims, not just make people see what isn't there."
Lisbon's expression tightened. "Which means shape-shifting is looking more likely than simple mind tricks."
A brief silence settled as everyone absorbed the hope of a new lead. Grace hesitated, then added, "There's something else. The killer ended up with a nickname—the Moonlight Killer. Most of the late victims were seen by witnesses, alive, during a full moon."
Jane raised his eyebrows, interest piqued. "Moonlight Killer, huh? Sounds poetic…."
Lisbon frowned, the new detail clicking another piece into place. "So there's at least some kind of timing pattern, even if everything else is chaos."
Aleksander exchanged a look with Wednesday, his mind already turning over possible implications.
Wednesday, still stoic, gave a small nod. "Either superstition… or deliberate theatrics," she said quietly.
Aleksander let out a sigh and looked up, addressing Lisbon. "So, do you have anything the killer actually left behind? Something physical, so Wednesday or my uncle could try to get a read? Or are we heading straight to a crime scene?"
Lisbon ran a hand through her hair, frustration clear. "It's not that simple."
Grace shook her head. "Most of the murder scenes have either been demolished or completely renovated by now. The killer was… meticulous. Not a single clue left behind. Nothing survived."
Grace paused mid-scroll, her fingers tapping thoughtfully on the laptop keyboard. Suddenly, her eyes brightened."Wait," she said, leaning forward and turning the screen toward the group. "Actually, there are two locations that are still intact—haven't been torn down or renovated."
She gestured to the images on the laptop, the faint glow casting shadows across their faces.Lisbon's eyes narrowed. "That could be our cases starting point."
Meanwhile, Aleksander quietly pulled out a small, transparent pill—a potion he'd found in the Grimoire. It was a cognitive enhancer, designed to unlock the brain's full potential: granting access to a vast reservoir of knowledge, accelerated learning, heightened creativity, and razor-sharp focus. The catch was that the pill's power came with a price—it could only be taken once, and after that, the user needed a month of rest before the next dose.
No one noticed as Aleksander slipped the pill into his mouth, swallowing it with practiced calm.His eyes turned back to the reports sprawled before him. Details caught his attention: the first two victims showed patchy rigor mortis—some muscle groups stiffening sooner than others. Micro-abrasions on their scalps hinted at something deliberate.
He kept these thoughts to himself, letting the information settle quietly in his mind as the others discussed the case. He needed more information to confirm his ideas.
As the group traveled to the location, Grace pulled up a photo on her phone and held it out for everyone to see. "This is Emily Santos—twenty-five, barista and aspiring musician in Los Angeles. She was pronounced dead at 6:40 PM, but one of her coworkers claims he saw her walking around the coffee shop at eight."Aleksander narrowed his eyes, studying the picture. "The witness is absolutely certain it was her?"
Lisbon answered, "Yes. The coworker was rushing out, but he was sure. He noticed Emily's hair—black with pink-red highlights. It stood out."
Grace, her tone growing more serious, added, "Here's something the original agents barely looked at. The witness said Emily's movements seemed… off."
Aleksander pressed, "Off in what way?"
Grace replied, "He described it as stiff. Almost unnatural. Like she wasn't moving the way she usually did."
The group fell into thoughtful silence, the strange detail hanging in the air as they approached the crime scene.
Aleksander, Wednesday, Jane, Lisbon, and Grace arrived at the old coffee shop. The windows were dark; a faded "For Lease" sign clung to the door, grime muting the streetlights outside. Inside, the air hung heavy with dust and leftover memories.
Aleksander stepped inside, his eyes adjusting to the gloom. "Do you think you could get any visions here?" he asked quietly.
Wednesday moved to the center of the room, her expression impassive, posture guarded. She let her fingers trail lightly across an abandoned table—almost reverential, but wholly detached.She didn't look at Aleksander as she replied, her voice flat but focused, "I can try. But psychic residue is like coffee—best when fresh. Here, it's just cold grounds and ghosts."
Jane watched her with curiosity, while Lisbon and Grace hung back, giving her space. Wednesday closed her eyes, tuning out the others, her whole presence radiating stillness—a raven in the dead of night, waiting for a sign.
Lisbon watched Wednesday quietly, arms folded, then turned to Jane. "Do you really think she'll be able to get any visions in a place like this?"
Jane gave a slight, skeptical shrug. "Honestly? The odds are low. It's been ten years. Getting a clear vision from that far back—especially on a specific night—is almost impossible."
Aleksander, thoughtful, murmured, "Unless spirits are involved."
That drew immediate attention. Jane, Lisbon, and Grace all turned to look at him.
Grace blinked. "You mean… ghosts?"
Aleksander nodded, his tone steady. "Sometimes ghosts help. They linger where their stories aren't finished. And here… I can feel something. There's a presence—and it definitely wants to communicate. I'd bet it's Emily Santos."
The old coffee shop felt even quieter, the weight of unseen eyes pressing in, as everyone waited for what might come next.
Aleksander understood that, he could use his magic to reach out and contact Emily's spirit directly. But ghosts like Enily who were brutally murdered probably consumed by resentment and that too for ten years, barely conscious fragments of memory— they are now shadows of there former selves rather than full presences.That's why Wednesday's abilities mattered.
Since psychics powers are based largely on their disposition and personality, as the fundamentals of who they are influence the types of visions they receive. The types of people are broken into two categories, a 'Dove' and a 'Raven'. A Dove, like Morticia, is typically a positive person with a kind disposition, so they see positive outcomes in their visions.
A 'Raven', like Wednesday Addams, is more jaded in their personality and sees the world through darkness, leading their visions to be more potent and powerful. They see glimpses of people being attacked, murdered, or killing. Without the proper training, Ravens can go mad from their visions.
So Wednesday here could tap into this weak link—this thread of lingering energy—as a bridge to catch fleeting visions, fragments of what had transpired.