1 Author's Note: once again . . . thank you to everyone who reviewed my
story! I am glad that everyone so far seems to be enjoying it! This
chapter won't really have much to do with the main plot of the story (which
I will be getting to ~very~ soon), but I just wanted to write it because no
one has ever really touched on Challenger's life back home. We all know
about Veronica's past life with her parents on the plateau, as well as
(some) of Marguerite's dark past. We also know about Roxton, his family,
and his "Lordly" title. As for Malone, we know about his American life, as
well as his experience in the army. But nothing has ever been said much
about Challenger! So, to fix that, I thought I'd add in my little own
ideas about ~his~ life back home as well. It's not much, but it's a start.
So, without further ado . . . may I introduce chapter three!
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4 Chapter Three—Painful Memories of Another World
Challenger groaned as he roughly set down his cup of tea on the kitchen table, causing the hot, boiling tea to rush out of the side, burning his index finger. "Ah!" he suddenly cried in pain, "damn!" He paused and stood up from his chair, turning to glance in the direction of Marguerite's bedroom. "What in the world are those two doing in there?!" he sighed in exasperation.
Veronica stifled a small giggle as she handed Challenger a bottle of ointment used for calming small burns and cuts. "Oh," she said, smiling playfully, "I'm sure you can guess." Challenger only grumbled in reply.
Ned Malone, also sitting at the table, briefly stopped his reading of a novel to stare up at the frustrated visionary. "Ah, come on now, Challenger," he said with a grin, "where's your sense of romance?"
"Of course—romance." Challenger sighed as he applied the greasy ointment onto his injured finger, dabbing it on lightly. He frowned, suddenly remembering his wife, Jesse, waiting for him back in London. God, how he missed her . . . sometimes, she was his only inspiration for staying alive and keeping well during the many small, and not-so-small blunders on the plateau. A part of him wanted to stay on the plateau—there were just so many things out there . . . secrets and mysteries that had yet to be solved by a scientific mind like his. But the other part of him longed to go back home and to get back to his business, back to society . . . back to his wife. Silently dismissing himself from the kitchen, he grabbed his cup of tea and walked out to the balcony, leaving Veronica and Malone to stare at each other in confusion.
A small breeze greeted him as he stepped out in the open air. After carefully taking a small sip of his tea, he held the cup in his hands and closed his eyes, going over the face of Jesse in his mind . . . while millions of miles away, back in London, she was doing the exact same thing.
Back in London. . . .
Jesse Challenger turned to lay on her back and stared up at the high ceiling of her bedroom. It had been a most dreadful night . . . she had dreamed that on a certain morning, she had turned around in bed and found that her husband, George Challenger, was not there. She rose up immediately, pulling off the covers and rushing out of bed. "George! George . . . !" she had called out. No one had answered, only the sound of her lonely echoes, bouncing off the walls of the empty mansion.
George . . . George . . . George. . . .
Jesse wiped a tear that had begun to stream down her face. Of course, it hadn't been a dream . . . it was only true, horrible, reality. Her husband was gone, perhaps forever.
No! she cried in her mind. No! He will come back to me. I know he will. Aloud she added, "Please, George, come back to me soon."
Please come back to me soon.
George Challenger opened his eyes, and stared up at the blue, cloudless sky. "I will, my love," he whispered, a tear coming out of his eye, "I will. I promise."
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4 Chapter Three—Painful Memories of Another World
Challenger groaned as he roughly set down his cup of tea on the kitchen table, causing the hot, boiling tea to rush out of the side, burning his index finger. "Ah!" he suddenly cried in pain, "damn!" He paused and stood up from his chair, turning to glance in the direction of Marguerite's bedroom. "What in the world are those two doing in there?!" he sighed in exasperation.
Veronica stifled a small giggle as she handed Challenger a bottle of ointment used for calming small burns and cuts. "Oh," she said, smiling playfully, "I'm sure you can guess." Challenger only grumbled in reply.
Ned Malone, also sitting at the table, briefly stopped his reading of a novel to stare up at the frustrated visionary. "Ah, come on now, Challenger," he said with a grin, "where's your sense of romance?"
"Of course—romance." Challenger sighed as he applied the greasy ointment onto his injured finger, dabbing it on lightly. He frowned, suddenly remembering his wife, Jesse, waiting for him back in London. God, how he missed her . . . sometimes, she was his only inspiration for staying alive and keeping well during the many small, and not-so-small blunders on the plateau. A part of him wanted to stay on the plateau—there were just so many things out there . . . secrets and mysteries that had yet to be solved by a scientific mind like his. But the other part of him longed to go back home and to get back to his business, back to society . . . back to his wife. Silently dismissing himself from the kitchen, he grabbed his cup of tea and walked out to the balcony, leaving Veronica and Malone to stare at each other in confusion.
A small breeze greeted him as he stepped out in the open air. After carefully taking a small sip of his tea, he held the cup in his hands and closed his eyes, going over the face of Jesse in his mind . . . while millions of miles away, back in London, she was doing the exact same thing.
Back in London. . . .
Jesse Challenger turned to lay on her back and stared up at the high ceiling of her bedroom. It had been a most dreadful night . . . she had dreamed that on a certain morning, she had turned around in bed and found that her husband, George Challenger, was not there. She rose up immediately, pulling off the covers and rushing out of bed. "George! George . . . !" she had called out. No one had answered, only the sound of her lonely echoes, bouncing off the walls of the empty mansion.
George . . . George . . . George. . . .
Jesse wiped a tear that had begun to stream down her face. Of course, it hadn't been a dream . . . it was only true, horrible, reality. Her husband was gone, perhaps forever.
No! she cried in her mind. No! He will come back to me. I know he will. Aloud she added, "Please, George, come back to me soon."
Please come back to me soon.
George Challenger opened his eyes, and stared up at the blue, cloudless sky. "I will, my love," he whispered, a tear coming out of his eye, "I will. I promise."