Author: Magical Shovel PM
A surge of images is the equivalent to a surge of memories. Chaos with fondness and pain... Drabbles that pertain to Charles Bromley. An attempt to dig into the 100 prompt challenge.Rated: Fiction T - English - Angst/Hurt/Comfort - Charles B. - Chapters: 2 - Words: 1,798 - Reviews: 2 - Favs: 2 - Updated: 08-20-11 - Published: 07-22-11 - id: 7208257
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A surge of images is the equivalent to a surge of memories. Chaos with fondness and pain.
Disclaimer: I don't own Bromley, Alison, Dalton, or any other characters from Daybreakers. I make no profit from this fanfic.
A/N: For once, I decided to do something different. I got back in the writing mood. Thus, I decided to pursue the 100 Prompt Challenge (or one of them, at least). It's been a while and I just want to thank you, my readers, for all the favorites and follows!
Golden hues peered at the young soldier. In that moment of silence, Charles Bromley lifted his leg. His charcoal shoe made a light thud on his desk. Bromley clamped his pale hands onto his clothed knee. He pursed his lips, carefully contemplating his words. A thin smirk wavered onto his lips.
"You know, son… Immortality is the miracle and we are blessed."
His fangs peeked out, asserting his opinion.
The crimson fluid swirled in the glistening glass. He held it up towards the fluorescent lights. The liquid traveled back and forth, staining the sides of the glass.
He pressed the chalice to his lips, savoring the decadent taste.
Cerulean eyes peered humorously at his young daughter.
Red smeared her lips and mascara bled down her cheeks.
A grimace curved into a smile, followed by low laughter. The businessman approached his daughter and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Oh, Alison," he said whilst shaking his head.
Confusion flooded her features.
"I wanna be like Mommy."
78. Turning Point
It wasn't his wife's death, but his own that became the turning point.
As soon as the doctor diagnosed his condition, Bromley knew that everything was heading for the worst.
What was he to say to Alison?
His illness was so rare that the doctors had no cure. For now, Bromley would have to hide his condition and put on a palpable ruse. Surely, there was a suitable cure. He would become hell bent on finding it for the sake of his daughter.
Edward begged him for salvation. It was pitiful. Disgust flashed through his animalistic, corrupted eyes. He sneered at the hematologist. The man was a coward in the truest sense. Once departing the realm of immortality, Edward wanted nothing more than to return to it.
Bromley clamped his hands behind his back, circling Dalton and the human female. It was similar to a shark closing in on its prey.
Instead of mercy, Edward would get hell to pay upon returning to vampirism.
Upon his rebirth, he witnessed the disgust and horror in his daughter's eyes. Pain flashed over his face. Bromley had assumed that Alison would be ecstatic that he was still alive and still there for her.
Retuning home from an evening of work, Bromley knew that something was awry.
"Alison," he called out warily.
He carefully treaded across kitchen tile.
"Alison!" Bromley cried.
Again, no response.
In a frantic search, he tore apart the house. A lock of hair fell over his brow in response to the disarray.
If his heart still beat, it would come to a halt.
Was Alison taken?
Bromley dreaded the thought. It wasn't until he saw the crumpled note that told him otherwise.
Charles Bromley cheated death.
It was as simple as that.
One day he was dying and the next he wasn't.
He received an offer that he couldn't refuse: Immortality.
Naturally, it was in the guise of a virus. Bromley didn't care. He anticipated it as a cure.
Lightning crackled and thunder clapped. The rain fell in heavy torrents. It was reminiscent of a hose without an off switch. Water rolled down the thick, glass windows.
The corporate vampire wasn't expecting a meeting for quite some time.
He listened to the music of nature with a dreary sigh. He rose from his throne. The leather chair squeaked in protest. Designer shoes clicked across tile.
Bromley stared out the window, entranced.
The reflection of his suit stared back.
He never gave up.
That was the one thing she needed to know.
No matter how much of a monster her father became.
He was always determined to find her, even if that meant sending out the troops.
Bromley even once risked going out to look for her himself. Calling out her name was to no avail. A ghastly scream sounded off in the nearby distance. A degenerated subsider headed straight for him.
Ducking into his car, he sped off.
He continued his search elsewhere.
"Aren't they beautiful?" She inquired in a hushed tone that was full of awe.
"Quite," Charles replied as he leaned on the railing.
A monarch butterfly landed on a daisy. It's antennae wiggled to and fro as its wings came to a halt.
"I'm glad you took the day off, Charlie," she said. A bright smile remained on her nimble face.
Charles wrapped an arm around his wife in response.
Together, they watched the butterflies.