The Runaway
Prologue
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TW: mentions of blood, death, war and suicide.
America 1914-1919
Charlotte Rose Moore was both blessed and cursed.
At least that's what she was told at the young age of seven years old by her mother, Roselyn. Her mother taught her a lot but that always stuck out to her.
Her mother was a strong and beautiful woman, kind but assertive. Charlotte admired her greatly. She always told her the truth and never distinguished her ever curious mind about the ways of the world. Roselyn knew that her daughter was special, not in the sense that every child is special just because they are but because Charlotte carried a light, a beacon inside of her that shined even brighter than the sun, the moon, and the stars. She knew it the night she was born when the whole family had cried tears of joy, including her older brother Daniel, though he would never admit it.
Charlotte saw the good in everyone and everything, even if there wasn't much good to see. She never judged others based on their background, where they came from nor the color of their skin, which had always been an issue in America.
Which is exactly how she met her best friend Sarah Jacobs. Sarah was a blessing in Charlotte's life. From the day they met they were inseparable, they were like sisters and they looked out for each other, always.
They met at the age of seven when Charlotte was playing in the local park on a breezy day in late October while her father was in a business meeting a few blocks away. Her mother was feeding the ducks near the pond and Charlotte got approached by a nervous dark skinned girl who introduced herself as Sarah Jacobs and asked if she wanted to play.
Charlotte didn't have many, if any, friends besides her brother who didn't really count so she gladly accepted and they started playing tag together. They were having fun, playing and laughing together till a group of boys and girls took notice of them. They started making making rude comments towards Sarah, asking why Charlotte would want to hang out with someone like her. Charlotte didn't understand and immediately defended Sarah and once they started calling her racist slurs, she started throwing fist. She had an older brother and while they were close they were still brother and sister and had gotten in plenty of fights, which included screaming, punching, biting and kicking. Charlotte soon learned how to handle herself both with words and fist against a man or a woman.
Roselyn, who was nearby feeding the ducks, noticed Charlotte's swinging fist as well as yelling and quickly intervened telling the kids to leave with a warning of telling their families. They ran off startled and bruised and Charlotte's mother was at a loss for words as she looked at Sarah who looked awed. No one had ever stood up for her like that before. Roselyn looked back at her daughter who was glaring fiercely at the other children as they ran off, as if her stare could send them straight to hell for what they had said before bursting into frustrated tears wondering out loud how people could be so cruel to someone for their background or the color of their skin. That's when Roselyn knelt down in front of her daughter and took her fisted hands and opened them facing upwards, reading the lines and indents made from her nails. After looking at her palms her mother looked up into the girls eyes and knew what she was seeing deep in her irises.
A young girl who is blessed to see all the beauty in the world but cursed in a world that loves nothing more than to take that beauty and destroy it.
That's when her mother told her, "my dear, I fear you are both blessed and cursed. Blessed because you see all the beauty in the world, even in the ugly, shining your light upon it all. Cursed because the world will take and take and take! from your beautiful light, always trying to snuff it out. Never let it! That light is what makes you who you are."
Charlotte never forgot this and as she ran from her childhood, ran from her controlling grandmother, ran from her legacy, ran from the pile of bodies tucked away still haunting her, Charlotte thought maybe she was more cursed than she is blessed.
*
Blood. There was blood everywhere. On her hands, on her dress, pressed into her skin. Painted like a canvas, but this wasn't a painting of a beautiful landscape or a portrait to be hung on a wall. No. This was a painting of death, of fear, and not only was she the painter but she was the bloody canvas.
Blood was everywhere but that didn't stop her. It didn't stop her from running till her legs felt as though they would collapse and never move again. Nor did the feeling of her dress sticking to her like a second skin. The blood making her feel as if when she finally took the blood soaked garment off it would make no difference. The blood had seeped into her skin now, forever tainting her, inside and out. None of this mattered though. She knew what she had done and how one decision could ruin your life forever. She kept running, and she knew she would be running for a long time.
Charlotte had already packed her belongings and they were waiting for her at her hotel she booked a week before. A week before everything went to shit. This wasn't meant to be part of the plan. She was never meant to be covered in blood while fleeing her home.
No that's not right. This isn't her home, it hasn't been her home for a long time. Not since she lost her family and all those dear to her. She didn't even get to say goodbye to Sarah.
'Oh Sarah,' she thought, 'this wasn't meant to happen, this is all my fault. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!' She started running her bloody palms into the black coat covering her blood soaked dress. Trying to rub off the residue of guilt and sadness as if it would ease the ache in her chest.
She never wanted this. All she wanted was to live her dream of being a writer or to be on the stage, performing like a songbird with her family and friends there to support her. But Charolette knew that those dreams died long ago, before, during, and after the war.
*
A year before the war started her mother, Roselyn Claire Moore, became terribly ill. There was nothing the doctors could do. Not even the more experimental methods or her father's relatives he wrote in Small Heath could help. The last time Charlotte talked to her mother she knew she was saying goodbye, knowing her time was coming. Her mother laid in bed, Charlotte held her hand when her mother pulled out the locket her father gave her after their first date.
It was the perfect size to hold a photo of a lover or family inside. It was a gold, oval shaped, victorian locket with a rose design. The back had an engraving that said 'You hold my heart, always.' Charlotte had always admired it as a child. It was very special to her mother as it held a picture of her father, James Moore, on one side with Charlotte and her brother Daniel on the other. Her mother told her despite how terrible the world can seem at times, she must always carry on. There was a light inside her, a beauty that needed to be shared with the world and she shouldn't hide from it. She told her to let love drive her because when the time comes and she finds a love like the one her and her father shared, then everything, all the good and the bad in her life and in the world, would be worth it.
Charlotte never took the locket off, always remembering her mother's words.
A few days later her mother passed on and took a bit of her family with her. Her father was absolutely heartbroken over losing the love of his life. Her brother was distraught and her grandmother was no better, constantly blaming her father for poisoning and ruining their family so Charlotte did the only thing she could do, she stepped up. Charlotte took charge and helped her family get back on their feet. She carried on despite the constant ache in her chest over losing her mother. She never forgot her mother's words and would live by them, because family- because love was worth it.
While her brother and her were able to carry on their father had a harder time. It seemed that without their mother he started to fall apart. The war started getting worse and even though her father had wanted to go fight he knew he was not in the right state, physically or mentally. Daniel wanted to make their father proud and signed up to fight on the front lines in France. Charlotte was terrified for her brother but knew there was nothing she could do to stop him. By 1915 her brother had been gone and it was just Charolette, her depressed father and her controlling grandmother.
Things only seemed to get worse as time went on, her brother had been gone for months and her father was bed ridden. He was dying and there was nothing Charlotte could do to stop it. She had written her brother since he left for the war but he only responded half the time, mail was unreliable. She had also started writing her fathers sister and niece personally, her aunt Celeste and cousin Scarlett and little cousin James Patrick, or JP as he preferred, about his condition through the next few months. They were terribly worried and were always sending letters asking about his condition and sending all the remedies they and their friends knew of. Charlotte was grateful.
Charlotte read the letters to her father while he was in bed and in those moments she would see a ghost of a smile on his face. The letters along with Sarah, her best friend and savior at this time, made her feel less alone with her father slowly fading away while waiting to hear news about her brother.
It wasn't until once morning when Charlotte had gone to check the mail and walked into her fathers room holding the newest letter from Celeste, Scarlett and JP that she noticed he was looking to the right side of the bed. Where her mother used to sleep. He stretched his hand out, smiled and said, "Rosie."
He then closed his eyes and went completely still.
Charlotte was alone and despite her grandmothers constant insisting that she moved in with her, she couldn't stay there after losing both of her parents and not having her brother. So she registered to be a nurse and started training with the Red Cross.
It didn't take long after her training for them to send her out. Things were just getting worse and they could use all the help they could get. She wrote to her brother, aunt and cousins about her fathers death and her plans to become a nurse. Her aunt and cousin were worried and told her to come stay with them instead but Charlotte knew she couldn't do that. She needed to get away, to do something, even if that meant diving right into the front lines of war to help heal soldiers.
So she left, left Sarah and her grandmother and went straight to France, into all the death blood and gore. Into the empty shells of men who had lost so much more than just some blood or limbs. They lost a piece of themselves. Charlotte knew because she had too.
The war went on and on, Charlotte wrote to her brother, Sarah, and aunt and cousins to pass the time when she wasn't hearing men screaming, wishing for death, or bombs going off in the distance. She would even occasionally write to her grandmother if she really felt up to it, which was almost never.
But it wasn't always so bad. There were soldiers who recovered, some she helped save and it made her feel good to be fighting to make a difference. The soldiers really enjoyed when she would sing to them. They would tell her, "your voice is as soft as an angels but weeps like the devil."
Charlotte would sing to them and some of them would weep. Of home, of a lost love, of just a single night of silence. A night without all the noise. Her voice helped ease their pain, both mentally and emotionally.
Time went on and it seemed like it would never end. The war went on and on till finally it was all over. The war finally ended and everyone was going back home.
Home. It seemed strange. After all this time, after all this death and destruction, was anyone really going home the same? Charlotte knew no soldier was going back home the same man they were before they left. Neither was she. It felt strange to go home after everything she had seen but she did it, and she tried to leave behind all the death and blood and screams but she left a piece of herself in France and came back with a little less light in her life than before.
Charlotte arrived home before her brother which left her thinking the worst but she still hoped for the best, for him to come home intact. Oh how wrong she was. Sarah picked her up at the train station and with one look she knew Charlotte wasn't coming home as the same girl who left but she still felt that love inside of her, still felt that light that the war almost snuffed out. She knew Charlotte was strong and would overcome this.
The same could not be said for Daniel. Charlotte was quiet when she arrived home, losing a sense of herself after witnessing first hand how ruthless war could be. It was hard but she went on with her life the best she could till Daniel came home a week after her. He had been listed among the shell shocked.
He was silent, a dead silent that he never got to experience on the battle field. He was jumpy and startled by everything. They met him at the train station and Charlotte knew once her brother stepped off he was not the same man he once was. She thought she was prepared for what was to come but she wasn't.
It took less than a month being home for Daniel James Moore to take his own life. And as Charlotte watched his casket get lowered into the ground next to her mother and father's graves, she knew she was blessed and cursed just like her mother had said. In that moment Charlotte knew that she was blessed with the greatest curse of all.
Blessed to see all the beauty life has to offer while also being cursed by death itself.
*
That was months ago and so much had happened since then. Charlotte chose to stay in America despite her better judgement, for what should have been love. Only she realized now that it was anything but love. So here she was running for her life, running from everything she knew, running from her ghost to try to forget it all. All the death and all the tattered memories.
She had made it to her hotel and managed to sneak in through the back door up to her room without anyone noticing her blood soaked body. As she made it to her room she knew she didn't have much time left so she quickly drew a bath and lit a fire and started tearing her clothes that were now stained red. Standing completely nude with her clothes bundled up in her hands she threw them in the fire and didn't step into the bath till she knew they were all burnt down. Burning away all the pain and heartache with them.
She scrubbed and scrubbed all the blood off her body till her skin was a light pink color. No matter how clean she was she still felt dirty, still felt the blood seeping into her skin, branding her as a murderer.
She quickly got dressed, packed the rest of her things and left in the dead of night with her plan to leave still intact, just now with an added murder that was not planned. God what had she done? This isn't the life she wanted for herself, she didn't want to flee from her home. But it hadn't been her home for a long time and she knew she should have left long ago. Maybe if she would have left years ago this would have never happened. None of this would have happened.
Charlotte got in contact with her fathers old business associates, who owed her family a few favors to get out of America and on the next ship to Liverpool. They didn't ask questions, more than happy to help knowing the girl had been through more than most, they were surprised she hadn't left already.
By the next morning Charlotte was on the next ship out of America towards Liverpool where she would then make her way to Birmingham to where her aunt Celeste and cousins Scarlett and JP were. Hopefully they wouldn't turn her away after not writing since her brother Daniels death. She had written her grandmother a letter about pursuing her dreams to 'be a writer or on stage performing' the week before, before all the blood and death that had happened in the past twenty-four hours. She knew she wouldn't be happy the girl was pursuing a 'useless career' as she always stated, but that was better than the truth.
Better than the fact that she was a murderer on the run from the ghosts of her life. So as Charlotte left her old life behind at the young age of twenty-five, much like her father in his youth minus all the blood and death, to cross the sea and live a new life in Small Heath, Birmingham, she couldn't help but wonder what else life could throw at her.
After all, Charlotte Rose Moore had been touched by death her whole life, and nothing good ever comes from a life that is both so blessed and so cursed.
It wasn't till she was a day sailed out at sea that Charlotte realized her mother's locket wasn't around her neck. She panicked not remembering where she last had it on.
Then it hit her. The last place she remembered wearing it was where blood stained her hands and death followed.
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I'm not going to specify where Charlotte and her family are from in America, I might choose to do so later on but as of right now I just want the story to be based in Birmingham since it'll take place there most of the time. Charlotte is also leaving her life behind in America so it'll remain unknown as it is no longer a place she considers home.
Chapter 1 will start with Charlotte arriving in Small Heath and possibly meeting the Peaky Blinders? Hmm..
Please vote or comment and let me know what you think! This is one of my first stories & I want to improve my writing as well as historical facts so if you notice something please let me know!!
!!ALSO!!
*The storyline will start about a month before season 1 begins. I want to build on Charlotte's background and personal relationship with everyone before we head right into season one which will probably start around chapter 11-13!! Till then please,