This has been on my mind for more than a year, and I wanted to finish "The Incredible Chase" before I started it. I'm just starting school and am planning to start college next April, so it's going to be an unpredictable uploading.
Like some MvA fanfic writers, I've decided to make the attempt to write about Dr. C's past. Unlike most stories of this type, this story will begin about ten years before his freak accident. But like most, he had a special someone. It will also go beyond his capture and the monsters' release. Not WAY, but quite a while beyond 2009, so it's gonna be a pretty long story. Now, I have three things for you to do: Read, enjoy, and review.
And without further ado, A Lifetime...
September 30, 1951
She eyed the vintage style grandfather clock to her left with a pair of soft brown eyes and read the time. Eight-thirty. Only fifteen more minutes. She poked at the grilled tomatoes from her breakfast plate a couple more times before stopping. She didn't recall one bit of having grilled tomatoes for breakfast during her old life in America. Maybe on an occasion or two when she was little and couldn't remember.
You see, born and raised in the American Pennsylvania town of New Hope, Charlotte Campbell wasn't exactly the stereotypical British adolescent girl she wished she could have been. Her father, Herb, was a retired successful American businessman. Her mother, Jane, moved from England as a teenager with her family shortly after World War One. With her husband's help shortly after the end of World War Two, Jane helped her parents move back to their recovering home country.
About five years later, a month after Charlotte's eighteenth birthday, her grandfather passed away, and Jane wanted to return to England to take care of her widowed mother. So about three weeks later, Charlotte and her parents moved to her Jane's childhood home of Hatfield. Herb had retired from the world of business managing and saved up for quite a while for his daughter's college tuition. But not to worry; not too long after the big move, he found a not so heavy job as a British wedding coordinator's assistant.
For Charlotte and Herb, England was all-together very strange. Talk about culture shock. While the language was the same as back at home, a lot of things were different. She had lived here for three months already but still felt like a stranger. These many differences between her and the people who lived here seemed to isolate her from being normal. Despite this, she grew fond of Hatfield and the surrounding towns in the county of Hertfordshire. She thought the area to be quaint and cozy, yet she missed her life back in New Hope. And perfect timing, too, as she hoped to start college soon.
"Charlotte, love," Her mother called from upstairs, "You don't want to be late for you and your father's little holiday, so do hurry." Even if she lived in the States a good part of her life, her mother never lost her British accent.
"Alright, Mum." Charlotte called back, brushing back a few locks of her sandy blonde wavy hair. She looked at those tomatoes again and lightly poked at one again with her fork. "Disgusting." She mumbled.
Even though it had been six years since World War Two ended, England had still been rationing. It wasn't as bad as during the war but they still had to be careful. She smirked at her plate and eyed the food with great hatred. Seriously, what were two wasted tomato slices going to do to humanity? When she was sure no one would see the crime, she scraped the red fruit into the garbage. For her new diet in England, at least the tea was decent. She sipped the last bit of the liquid and followed her father to the front door.
"So, how's the English way of life for you, Lottie?" Her dad asked later on as he started the somewhat new car and drove through the streets of Hatfield. Charlotte was very thankful her dad was an American so she wouldn't have to be alone.
"It's okay, I guess." She looked down at her feet and then looked up at the road, "Dad, other side." And she was also thankful her mom was British so she and her dad wouldn't have to die of culture shock.
"Oh, you're right." He giggled as he adjusted, "Ready for college Monday?"
"I'm not so sure." Yes, she was all packed for a stay at a college dormitory, but she felt as unready as if she didn't pack a thing.
"Sweetheart, I'm sorry you had such a sudden change of plans for your future."
"It's alright, Dad. It's just kind of hard to believe not from here only a few years ago that cities were bombed by the Germans."
"Oh, the Blitz, huh? And I think we've figured out that close yet far from here is where Joseph died."
"That's true. We'd better not tell Mum that. I think she's already aware of that entirely."
During World War Two, Her twenty-one-year-old brother Joseph quit his job as a waiter in an ice cream parlor and was sent out to fight in the war. In the spring of 1943, he was shot and killed in battle in Italy. Charlotte remembered coming home from school only a couple of weeks before her tenth birthday to find her parents sitting on the family sofa. Her father looked up from holding her weeping mother.
"What's wrong?" A young, confused Charlotte asked him.
The grimacing man shook his head and returned to stroking his wife's blonde hair. "There, there, Jane. I know."
Charlotte picked up the telegram and noticed a gold star now hanging in the window. She gasped and read the telegram's message. At the same moment of reading "killed in action", she dropped the paper and walked off to her room. She sat slowly on her bed and in the process of comprehending her brother's death cried herself to sleep. She wouldn't receive another word from her parents. Not at dinner because they didn't have one. Not at bedtime. Not for the rest of the day.
She sighed before her father could continue. Sometimes, she missed him so much. All three of them did.
"Well, for one thing, Lottie, a lot of people who lived in England at that time lost a lot of their most prized possessions and sadly even loved ones during the bombing. It's just like us Americans when we lost loved ones overseas. Hmm...tell you what, if you ever meet any friends in college, maybe you can help them with the depressions from the war."
"Alrightie, Dad, will do." The father and daughter pulled up in their driveway after about ten minutes. They stepped inside the kitchen and thank goodness those nasty tomatoes were gone.
"Herb!" Her mother called, holding up a napkin with dirty familiar fruit in it, "Did you scrape these lovely tomatoes into the garbage? You couldn't have." Her dad raised an eyebrow and looked down at Charlotte. The eighteen-year-old slightly widened her eyes and remembered that her father almost always ate whatever was set before him.
"Charlotte, remember what we talked about rationing?" Jane began.
She hated rationing.