A bright flame
When he remembers her it is like a bright flame of clear in the middle of the miserable excuse for a life he is living. His mother. A memory of a mother that should fall in line like the men, his men, once did under his command years ago in Philly. His mother belonging to a life and world now buried with her.
He drinks to keep all this shit out. To drown it all in whiskey and let the memories burn to ashes with the burn of his whiskey. To let them fade. To detach himself from them, because those memories belong to a guy he cannot be anymore. To a guy that is now dead although his stubborn as hell niece pulls him back to that life and place and memories in an agonizing way without her even knowing.
But those memories, they always find a way back to him. In the light of day when Bass gives him a look that is too much and too much of what they used to be. In the dark of the night when his memories can play their cruel games. This time they find him in a dark storm cellar of their current safe house. With Charlie asleep a couple of feet away and Bass asleep close to her with his hand wrapped around his gun. And in the middle of the night, she is there. His mother.
When he remembers her he is home again.
His room upstairs in their home two streets away from the small city centre is a mess. His desk filled with home work he really does not want to do and is pretty pointless to him. His dad downstairs. That glass of whiskey Miles likes to feel in his damn hand himself when he gets older, in his father's hand when he sits quietly in his chair in the corner of the living room. His silence pressing heavy on their home and into the room. He does not talk that much. Miles never asks too much questions.
He sits, does his home work. And then he hears the familiar steps up the stairs. And he knows it's her. The glue to keep all the shit in this house together. And then, she is there, in the middle of the doorway. Leaning against the wood with her arms crossed before her chest.
Her face so clear and with a smile on it. Asking him about his day. Telling him Bass called earlier for him. And he will sigh for her interfering in him not doing shit about his homework. And he know she knows that. But she still smiles her soft support and love. And still asks how his day was. And from his place at his hated desk he will roll her eyes at her. But the truth is, it is one of those more silent moments at home he actually does not hate. He likes her walking up those stairs and reserve some time for him. The both of them at the end of an afternoon. Together.
His dad is gone. His old home not there. But she is there. A bright flame clear image of her face so close with him there in that doorway. The night is still young. And he remembers her smile. But then he also remembers her last moments, the moments where he had to let her go.
He is in the room with her. His memory tells him there should be a hospital around that room too, but he only remembers her hand in his and her eyes. How sick she was. He knows Bass is sitting in the waiting room not far from him with Angela and Cynthia and his parents. For him, all there for him. He knows his dad is sitting on the other side of the bed his mother is asleep in. He knows it all, but the memory shows him her. So sick. Something about a heart attack. But he had stopped listening after that. Rushing to his mom in that small bed in that room after he had pushed Bass away from him. Wanting to be alone with that new. He holds her hand. He will realize later he will never watch her stand in the doorway of his old room. But now. He just holds her hand. And then, his own name, the last time he will hear it, as the last thing that will pass her lips. His name a soft loving whisper from his mom in that room. Miles. And then, she smiles. A last soft smile around her lips.
Miles tells himself to breathe as she pushes the memory out. Not being able to feel or remember more. His hand trembling for a drink. He takes a breathe. And then another one. His eyes flying through the dark storm cellar. Wishing he could get some damn sleep. His eyes find Charlie. Asleep and close. Gene in a corner.
And then, she comes into focus. Rachel. She is sitting next to him. She has pushed herself up and she was asleep. But she is not now anymore. The light of the moon finding its way through a small high and elongated window in the far corner is reaching her eyes. Just enough to pull him out of the darkest dark.
His hands are still trembling but now, at least in one of those hands, is her hand. Rachel looks at him and lets her hand slide into his. Hers warm. His sweaty and cold. He cannot talk and he is grateful as hell she does not make him this time. She just sits there with him. In the dark. Her hand entangled with his. She squeezes, he stares into the dark. But still does not let go. Time passes.
'Get some sleep, Rach.' His voice is low and hushed, not to wake up Charlie. Or that is what he tells himself. His voice is too raw to say anything else. His face is close to hers, his nose close to her hair. Comfort so close. But he can't.
Miles breathes out in relief when for once she does what he asks for. Rachel nods as she curls up next to him. Her forehead head against his arm. Miles pulls his hand away from her, but he does feel the warmth of her body next to his. It is all he can take now.
Tomorrow he will be what he became again. Who they need him to be. Rachel. Charlie. Bass. Tomorrow he will avoid Rachel's questions. Tomorrow he will nod to Charlie when she walks alongside him for a couple of feet on her way to hunt down breakfast. He will lead them again. With Bass.
Tomorrow the memories will have to fade again.
But tonight, in the dark, here, with Rachel next to him and Charlie's breathing close and Bass asleep close to her, he allows himself to remember her. Through the pain. Through the missing and longing for her. He allows the salty sting of tears in his eyes as he remembers her, his mother.
Author's Note I always like to think more about possible back story, about the past and memories and people that are part of these characters. In this prompt I wanted to explore a bit more from Miles' memories and his family. This story is written for the Armada and for prompt #180 'His name would be last one to pass her lips.' Thank you for reading, Love from Love