Debbie Brecanthot

The Misfortunate Chronicles of Havisham Hollow; Chapter 4

October 25th, 1882

Dearest Deborah,

It was so nice to receive your letter. Everyone in town was heartbroken to hear of your leaving Havisham, but of course, it was completely understandable given your circumstances at the time. How strangely time passes here. It certainly does not feel like eleven years have passed since we last spoke. I’m so pleased that you have finally found some blessed normalcy in your life. Congratulations again on your re-marriage to Henry, and the little one on the way.

Just as I promised you on the day you left for the train station, I have kept my word and looked after Victor. As you know, he began showing symptoms of anterograde amnesia in the weeks preceding your attempted suicide. After you left, I’m afraid his delusions grew worse. One of our nurses reported strange behaviors: dancing by himself—though with his arms held in position as if he were still holding someone. He often spoke to himself; your name was mentioned often. “Always, my Debbie” he would say. It was almost beautiful to watch—a heart still so deeply in love. I daresay it was romantic, were his hallucinations not so severe. In all my years practicing medicine, I have rarely seen such a fascinating case of psychosis as Victor’s.

I suppose his passing came as a sort of relief. It should bring you some amount of comfort as well. No man with his condition should be forced to suffer on this earth for very long. One can only hope he has found some amount of peace now. We were sorry to have missed you at the funeral. It seems for some; the shadows of the past are simply too daunting. In any case, you’ll be pleased to hear it was a lovely memorial—quiet, still. The air was crisp without biting, the auburn orange of the leaves the tiniest bit. Even the spiders dressed the branches in their best webs, bejeweled by the morning dew. It was as if the very grounds of Havisham Hallow wished to express its sympathies. In the five years since Victor’s death, I’ve yet to witness anything more tragically bittersweet.

Should you ever decide to come pay your respects, Havisham will be waiting to welcome you. We all will. Until then, do continue to take care of yourself. I look forward to our next correspondence.

Cordially,

Dr. Charles Cromley, M.D., Psy.D.