Chapter Text
It had been nearly a decade since Edward Prendick has escaped the horrors of Moreau. He still had nightmares.
In the most common one, he is bound to the operating table in Moreau’s lab, missing his clothes. The screams of BeastFolk fill the air. Edward tries to scream with them, but no sound leaves his throat. He looks down at himself in horror and was barely able to comprehend what he saw. His throat was hacked open, not Moreau’s careful cuts but something else. Claws.
Before he can even fully register what was happening more messy, rough wounds began to slash his body, some invisible beast with a grudge. Prendick can feel the beast’s hot breath on his face and neck and smell its foul stench. But mostly he just feels pain. He tries to move, scream, something, but he can do nothing but take it.
Suddenly out of one of the shadowy corners of the lab a figure stepped into view. It held a scalpel and an axe. Though he could not see its face Prendick knows it’s Moreau. His eyes were unmistakable.
The shadow of Moreau stepped closer and closer until it was standing right in front of Prendick’s mangled body. It raised the axe high over its head and-
Prendick always woke up before the axe made contact, panicked and in a cold sweat, heart racing and feeling like he was back on the island. He could never fall back asleep after that dream.
Though Moreau haunted his nights, Prendick was able to mostly keep the demons at bay during the hours of light. His life was relatively normal despite the memories that plagued him. He was happy enough and he got by. Whenever Moreau appeared in his thoughts he reminded himself it was all over and he’d never have to deal with Moreau or the Beast Folk or any of it again.
It was true until the letter arrived.
There was nothing special about that day. When the mail arrived Prendick flipped through the same bills and ads as always, barely paying attention. He would have missed it had it not been for the deep red of the envelope.
Prendick picked up the envelope and studied it. His brow furrowed. No return address.
“To Edward Prendick,” it read. “Urgent,”.
Urgent? Who could possibly be looking to Prendick for something urgent? He had really stepped back from his intense work after the island.
Something in the back of his mind knew that this letter was something different. That if he opened it he would never be able to go back.
He opened it.
The paper was yellowed and stained. The writing was scrawled across the paper, lopsided and barely legible. Prendick had to squint to make out the words.
“Edward,” it read. “I need your help. Things are out of control. I can’t handle it alone anymore. You may be the only hope. Friday, under the Fifth Street bridge, 8:00 pm. I’ll explain more then. Please.” The letter was signed “M”.