August 30, 1888 — Veronica's Dressing Room
Theodore Gallivan

I am not bound for India, but for “the grave”, that you and the children might live a better, fuller life without the spectre of the full moon hanging over your heads.

The air must have been sucked from the room completely. It was the only explanation for how she could have slipped off of the seat in her dressing room and collapsed on the ground only to stare at the letter in her hand. Her husband was not one for cruel jokes, so that left little for her to grasp at as she read and re-read his message. There was a pressure on her chest that mounted as she did so, and Veronica had to tell herself to keep breathing. Soon stars had clouded her vision and she leaned forward onto her forearms as a wail of despair threatened to burst from her lips.

The sharp sting of the edge of parchment scraping against her palms drew her attention, and she looked up only to see the room had gone blurry.

Swiping the tears from her cheeks, she grasped the letter once more, smoothing the paper out on the floor to re-read it again. She lost track of how may times she read his words over and over, trying to parse any other meaning from them than her husband had left them. I must thank you most ardently for the companionship you have given me over these years, and for the two beautiful, bright, darling children that you have given me.

No such message came to her no matter how many times she oriented the paper or tried to decipher some other code from the letters.

When a noise sounded through the hallway outside, Veronica had shot up before she even realized what she’d done. Darting to the door, she wrenched it open. “Nathaniel?!” She shouted, bursting into the hallway, letter in hand as she searched for him. “Nath - oh.” Instead of her husband, she found his son - her son - there instead.

The following 1 user Likes Veronica Gallivan's post:1 user Likes Veronica Gallivan's post
   Theodore Gallivan

---

He’d come home from his day as usual, knowing that his father had left for India this morning, but only glad for a little freedom for it – a chance to keep an eye on the Cannons in the meantime. That was until finding the letter in his room, nestled under the keys.

His pulse pounding in his head was all he could hear as he read and reread it, each time affording him no more comprehension than the last, even as a tide of anger swelled. It was rushing like a current in his chest as he heard a cry from another room in the house, as he kept the letter clenched in his fist and turned on his heel.

He stormed blindly into the hallway and Veronica met him there: a mirrored expression on her face, perhaps a mirrored letter in her hand. That made it more real than it had been – Theo’s face hardened. “He’s gone,” he said, the words scraping against his throat. “He’s gone.”

(He waited desperately for her to contradict him on this.)

---

  

---

Standing there, gripping the wainscoting in the hallway with one hand and Nathaniel’s letter in the other, Veronica was barely aware that she was shaking her head. Even as Theo said those words, those godforsaken two words, her eyes darted about as if that would help distract her from what he was saying. And then finally she said, “No.” softly at first, then again with more vigor.

“No he’s not, we had - we had plans.” Plans for the future; for the weekend; for the rest of their lives.

Did you? a voice in her head countered, and that was all it took for Vera to break into a sob once more. She tore her hand away from the wall to grip the letter with both hands; it was crumpled now, tearstained and shaking as she brought it in front of her to read it again as if she hadn’t spent the last quarter of an hour doing the exact same thing.

  

---

He looked over at her, eyes widening in the briefest bout of hope. That what she meant was I know better, it’s not how it sounds, everything’s alright – but no. She was distraught.

He scoffed a hollow laugh at her plans. God. He had forgiven his father years ago for keeping secrets, for being a werewolf – Theo had kept it for him too, at first, even from Veronica, even from Cecily – but he must have forgotten that his father was a liar.

And once a liar... here he had gone again, crafting some story about scouting in India that they’d all just swallowed – here he had been, pulling the strings and arranging things behind his back, behind all their backs.

Veronica was sobbing, and he wanted to sob too, or to yell, or to hit something. Instead, through a set jaw and some wild determination to somehow drag him back to their front door before he ran away, Theo said abruptly – “What did he write to you?”

He could tell her what was in the one for him, too. Maybe they could glean something from the differences in the details, if there were any.

---

  

---

The air had become thick, or perhaps it was just that her chest had tightened to a painful degree until she felt she couldn’t draw breath. Theo looked as if he’d just been struck over the head; she could easily read the mingled disbelief, fury and devastation on his face. Right. She wasn’t the only one who he’d left behind. Theo, Cecily — she stopped herself there. If she thought anymore about their children, she would have to decide what to tell them, and she couldn’t do that until she accepted that he was gone, and he wasn’t. gone.

“ ‘I am not bound for India, but for ‘the grave’, that you and the children might live a better, fuller life without the spectre of the full moon hanging over your heads.’ ” She read, refusing to let herself process what the words actually meant. It was entirely possible Theo’s letter had something different. Something that said this was some elaborate ruse. She didn’t look at Theo as she read. His expression would tell her if his said something similar. And when she got to that part — that horrid part where he said alerting authorities would only cause them more trouble, it felt as if she had dragged her voice across a bed of glass shards. The world became blurry again, the air even more suffocating.

The last part of the letter couldn't be said aloud, so she thrust the letter to Theo as a tiny, pathetic whimper escaped from her.

  

---

So he was anywhere but India, Theo thought to himself, as if that narrowed anything down. Not only had he planned his secret voyage out, he’d planned his own death with the lawyer, sorted his affairs as though this were a kind of suicide. He had done this for them, he seemed to be saying, but – but this wasn’t fair.

He had taken the letter from her, and read the last few lines in his head. He managed to pull his gaze up to her face for a moment – she looked like she might pass out – but wordlessly he passed his letter from his father to her in return, almost glad to be rid of it. He didn’t want Veronica to read the plea to consider her family, but what did it matter now? The rest was just as important to hear. Maybe she would see something he had not in it.

“He can’t just – he can’t do this,” Theo declared, eyes wild, pulse racing. He started moving down the hallway, lurched for the door of his father’s study. He had only had a day’s headstart, if that. Wherever he had gone, there must be some trace of it. Theo would – interrogate the lawyer, ransack his desk, find some proof of his real plans amongst his things. His hands were shaking as he tried to open the drawers.

---

  

---

Vera scanned the entirety of the letter once. Then twice. Then her vision blurred and she could read no longer. Still, the image on one specific part was seared in her brain:

‘It is simply not safe for me to remain with the family I have long sought to protect from my affliction. When I left the house this morning, it was with no intention of returning home.’

“No intention of returning home…” Her voice was barely a whisper, cracking on the last word. So he wasn’t coming back. He’d left them for good. Somehow even though her letter had stated the same, she thought that it wasn’t real. But if he’d told Theo the same, then there wasn’t a hope in the world. When she looked up from the letter to give it back to Theo, he had walked away and disappeared into the study. Nathaniel’s study.

“Theo wait!” Vera cried, dashing after him. “You can’t just —!” But hadn’t she just had that maddening urge to do the very same thing? Still, she felt pulled by some sort of marital duty (that she clearly didn’t have anymore, Nathaniel had seen to that) to at least try and stop Theo. She hurried to his side, moving to place her hands on his shoulders. “We shouldn’t do this yet, we need to contact the lawyer.” And yet she only put a little pressure on his shoulders to try and coax him back. He might find something that would render all of this grief completely void.

  

---

“But I can find him!” he protested. Veronica had been with him a moment ago, but she didn’t seem to understand the urgency of this. He’d had a headstart, he’d be gone without a trace if they didn’t find a way to track him soon, now, and there would be no one to help them with it – just them. If they wanted to bring him back, they...

Theo had been ready to tear up the desk in service of finding some shred of evidence to point his father’s journey in one direction or another, but Veronica stopped him, bodily, with her hands on his shoulders. It was gentle; he could still feel his shoulders rising and falling with his chest in breathless anger.

He paused again, to look at her. They wanted him back, didn’t they? Cee and he were his children, and he couldn’t help that, he wanted to protect them – but he had made the choice to marry Veronica. He had been a werewolf when he married her. I hope you continue to consider her family, his father had written to him, before leaving her in the worst position of all.

So much for loving any of them, then. Maybe this was who he really was.

“He’ll miss us, he said,” he choked out, still not comprehending it. “But he’d rather leave us than be here.”

---

  

---

Vera couldn’t help the half-sob that escaped her as she tightened her grip on Theo’s shoulders; only her grip, because the longer she held on the more likely it was that her knees were going to give out on her and she couldn’t pass out right now. Through her grip she could feel him quaking, and it rattled her. There had always been a cloud hovering around him, she knew, and she knew that at least part of the time it was directed at her and she had resigned herself to live with that. But now, at the first sign that his anger might not be directed at her, Vera didn’t quite know what to do.

She felt unprepared and at a loss; all she wanted to do was collapse into a puddle and cry but she couldn’t do that because they were counting on her. They needed her right now. Veronica just had resigned herself to the fact that Theo might not ever need her, but here he was looking at her desperately and she felt a part of her begin to cave in. Whether it was in relief that it had finally happened, or devastation at why, she didn’t have time to parse through.

“He - he…” She couldn’t say he’s gone, but wasn’t that exactly what had happened? “He’s trying to protect us.” She finally came up with, and felt her resolve harden as she said it. That still didn't stop her eyes from stinging, her vision from blurring.

  

---

He ought to be strong for Veronica – ought to be comforting her, if he was the man of his house left in his father’s place – and she might be prepared to be strong and stoic and suffer through this, but Theo wasn’t.

“He doesn’t want the responsibility of us!” Theo yelled, loud enough for to be heard halfway across the house, never mind that he and Veronica were face to face. “We can’t do what he says.”

Contact the lawyer? Report his absence? Burn the letters and just go on with their lives, pretending he was dead? “Why don’t you let me look for him?! Help me find something to find him before he’s...” Theo trailed off, winded by the thought of it. Really gone. She needed to let him go, so he could ransack his father’s study until he found something.

---

  

---