I loved her, not for the way she danced with my angels...
But for the way the sound of her name could silence my demons.

- Christopher Poindexter

When the blazing sun has turned to mud,

And the moon lies dead in a pool of blood,

And the tom-tom beat of eternity starts,

Whom will I love in my heart of hearts?

Morticia.

- Gomez Addams

Rain pummeled the roof as lightning flashed and thunder roared. The cigar dropped from Gomez's mouth.

He had known the time was coming. He just wasn't prepared for it to be now.

He couldn't breathe. He looked upon his wife's still form, her pale skin and long, white hair a stark contrast against the black bedcovers. The sight of her failed to ignite his ardor for the first time in over sixty years. Bedroom walls that once bore witness to a love so pure it had no match betrayed him now, serving as a prison of grief and instant loneliness.

"Morticia..."

The candles flickered, then darkened forever. Of course. There could be no more light without she who could set flame to wick with just the touch of a fingertip. Was it only moments ago he had been kissing those fingertips one at a time?

"Gomez, darling," she had said, stirring from her slumber. "The time is near. Are the preparations complete?"

Gomez sat beside her on the edge of the bed. "Querida! Of course! I've taken care of everything."

Though tired and weak, an affectionate twinkle shone in Morticia's eyes as a smile tugged at her lips. "You're so contentious, bubbeleh."

Taking her hand, Gomez drew an ecstatic breath before punctuating every sentence with a kiss on each finger. "Tish! That word! Even after sixty years, you know what it does to my Castillian blood!"

"Later, dear. Later," Morticia admonished gently, stroking his chin as he softened his hold on her hand. "Eternal hereafter now. Bubbeleh later."

He nodded, still intoxicated by the scent of her as he gently returned her hand to her side. Rather than let go, he laced his fingers between hers."Of course, Tish. You're right." His smile fell, and he fidgeted a little.

"Gomez, what's wrong?" Concern filled Morticia's voice. "You're not having second thoughts, are you?"

Gomez paced around the room. He pulled another pre-lit cigar from his breast pocket. Morticia's ravens began flapping and squawking in agitation on their perches. They knew their mistress was gone.

Morticia. Gone.

It wasn't supposed to be this way. Since the day they were married, Gomez and Morticia fantasized about what the end would be like. Sometimes they imagined they'd sink to the bottom of the sea during a romantic cruise to the Bermuda Triangle on their thirteenth honeymoon. Other times, they'd be torn asunder by hungry crocodiles as they ran through the jungle, trying to escape a tribe of equally hungry cannibals. They must have come up with hundreds of such scenarios over romantic picnics in the fog by the swamp.

Panic and overwhelming despair nearly took Gomez to his arthritic knees. As the last breath left Morticia's lips, his life was restored to the same meaningless state in which it had been before she entered it. True, he'd miss the children, the grandchildren, the great-grandchildren – just as he told her when they talked moments ago. But it wouldn't be the same. And forget exploding trains and stock prices...moonbathing by the quicksand or the morning paper over breakfast in the conservatory.

None of it meant anything without Morticia to share it with.

Gomez heaved a tortured sigh. It was unfair. They were supposed to go together. There really was no point in going on without her, and this was all the evidence he needed.

Which was, after all, why they made the plan. And Morticia had reminded him of that. She was always the sensible one.

Her last words still rang in his ears: "Don't keep me waiting, darling. I'll miss you."

Gomez tried to calm himself and order his thoughts.

A crack of thunder shook the house. Gomez snapped around as the shutters blew open. He heard a voice carried on the wind, sweet and low: "Au revior, mon cher."

Gomez's eyes widened. "Tish! That's French!" She was calling to him from the afterlife, and he was only moments away from kissing her arm again, if he could hurry. Springing into action, he scrambled toward his side of the bed. "I'm coming, cara mia!" He dug under the mattress until he pulled out an ornate seventeenth century Spanish pistol. With a satisfied nod, he took his place on the bed beside her.

Gomez gathered Morticia's body close to him, putting his arm around her shoulders. As with all things in life, he needed her in death. Without her, he was too much of a coward to kill himself; without her, he was too much of a coward to go on living. Such was the paradox of his existence, for when he'd met Morticia, he discovered he could do anything in her name.

Raising the gun to his temple, it became apparent that Morticia's steadying hand may not reach far enough beyond the hereafter to support his own. The gun was heavy. His hand shook. His fingers ached with arthritis and age. He dropped the weapon several times. Frustrated, he contemplated what to do. Morticia was waiting! Perhaps he should wake Lurch. Perhaps a noose was a better idea. Poison? Perhaps –

There was a tapping from beside the bed. With a squeak, the box beside the nightstand slowly opened and a hand poked through, waving for attention.

"Not now, Thing," Gomez said. "I'm meeting Morticia in the hereafter and I'm late!"

Thing motioned for Gomez to give him the gun.

"Really, Thing? I thought you didn't like loud noises. You stopped us the last time Morticia and I tried this." He had been annoyed with Thing for interfering at first, for it had almost resulted in Gomez being trapped in a marriage to Morticia's insufferable sister, Ophelia. However, Gomez eventually came to realize he owed Thing a debt of gratitude; Ophelia's unpredictable nature had run its natural course, allowing Gomez and Morticia over sixty years of blissful marriage they would have otherwise been denied had they completed their suicide pact.

Thing turned his palm up in a gesture of ambivalence.

Gomez smiled, passing over the gun. "Thank you, Thing. You always were a true friend." He paused before drawing Morticia even closer. "Oh, and Thing? Try not to get too much blood on the wall. Lurch really hates that."

Thing waved the gun – Hurry up!

Gomez nodded. He pressed a kiss into Morticia's hair – a final farewell to the world and to her corporeal being. Shutting his eyes tight, he braced himself. "Ready, Thing! On the count of three. One! Two! Th –"

Light. Painful, blinding light.

Gomez shielded his eyes, but it didn't help. It came through his lids, his hands, his bones.

He had a splitting headache. Whoever owned this place had a terrible decorator.

The light abruptly shrunk down to nothing, a pin prick in the distance. Gomez was surrounded by nothing but black. Much better. Some standing water on the floor and some mildew on the walls and they'd really have something here.

What was happening?

A voice called to him from the direction of the light. "Gomez, darling, this way."

Shrugging, Gomez pulled a cigar from his breast pocket and began to walk toward the light. This place wasn't quite what he was expecting the afterlife to be, but he was glad his cigars were still already lit here. He wasn't sure if he had any matches, and he forgot to pack a blowtorch.

He wasn't sure how far he walked or for how long. A check of his pocket watch revealed the arms to be spinning nonstop. He supposed he should have had that fixed before he left, but he could only think of being with Morticia. Putting it away, he kept walking. And walking. And walking.

Gomez was so tired. He wished he knew what time it was. He wished the light was getting closer. He dropped to his knees. Where was Morticia?

"Gomez..."

He stretched out on the ground. A nap sure would help. Then he could keep going.

"Gomez, what are you doing?"

"I'm sorry, cara. Just a little rest..."

"Gomez, get up."

"I've failed you, Tish. Forgive me."

"Gomez, open your eyes!"

What?

Gomez opened his eyes. Everything was a blur.

"Gomez, are you alright?" Morticia's voice was clear and strong, not the distant echo it had been in the dark place, and not the weak whisper it had been when...

He struggled to focus. Morticia was standing over him, but not the Morticia he had left just moments ago. Her hair was again dark, her skin flawlessly smooth and pale. Her blue eyes shone with youthful exuberance, and she carried long-stemmed thorns. Was this their wedding day?

Gomez sat up slowly, noting their surroundings. This wasn't their living room, but their bedroom – not their wedding day, but their wedding night! "Querida!" Gomez beamed hungrily.

Morticia motioned for him to stand and turn around and look. Pushing himself from the bed, Gomez took Morticia's proffered hand as he turned and gasped. Aged versions of themselves lay dead on the bed, a pool of blood soaking into the pillow beneath Gomez's head.

"Lurch will never get that stain out," Morticia observed distantly.

Gomez drew her over to the mirror on her dressing table. Through the crack spider-webbing through the glass, he could see that he, too, had been restored to a more youthful version of himself. His bones no longer hurt, and he once again had a full head of dark hair. He also noticed his pinstriped suit had been replaced with a tuxedo and top hat.

"Tish! We're dressed as we were on our wedding day! But why?"

"A new beginning, I suppose," Morticia answered thoughtfully. Smiling, she caressed his cheek. "It was so perceptive of you, back then, asking the minister to remove 'til death do us part' from our vows."

Gomez picked up a handful of Morticia's hair, drinking in its scent before kissing it. "Even then, we knew we couldn't let a little detail like death keep us apart."

Lightning flashed, causing the room to strobe.

Gomez sighed wistfully. "Another reminder of our wedding night." He turned, drew Morticia into his arms. "Bubbeleh now?"

Morticia stroked her hair somewhat coyly. There was a mischievous shimmer in her eyes. "Bubbeleh now."

Gomez purred playfully as he extended Morticia's arm and took his time kissing every bit of space between her knuckles and her shoulder. They had all of eternity now. He could kiss all of her, uninterrupted.

"Uuuuuuuuugh."

Lurch stood in the doorway of the Addams's bedchamber, shaking his head in grief and groaning in dismay. When Mr. Addams didn't come downstairs to get breakfast for Mrs. Addams, Lurch knew something was amiss.

He was sorry to see them go. They had been good employers, good friends, and a good family to him. He supposed he would finally retire now, unless Miss Wednesday or Dr. Addams chose to take up residence – he still thought of them as "the children," though they had children and grandchildren of their own now – but it would not be the same without Mr. and Mrs. Addams.

Lurch tucked the feather duster under his arm to retrieve a handkerchief from his pocket. Family would have to be called and arrangements would have to be made. He dabbed at his tears before giving his nose a house-shaking blow. The ravens flapped their wings and shrieked their objections.

As Lurch turned to go, he thought he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. For a fraction of a second, it reminded him of two shadowy figures dancing a tango. Even more strange, there seemed to be the faint sounds of harpsichord music on the breeze coming in through the open window.

"Uuuuuuugh..." Lurch shook his head. Wishful thinking wasn't going to bring Mr. and Mrs. Addams back. He had work to do.

The music swelled to a climax as Lurch closed the door behind him. Gomez dipped Morticia so deeply that in life, he would have risked dropping her. "Olé!" he shouted gleefully before stealing a kiss from her neck.

END

(snap-snap)