Chapter 31

Probatio Vincit Praesumtion

Miles stirred awake in over-bright antiseptic light. Slowly the noise and bustle rose to full volume and he opened his eyes reluctantly. He didn't recognize any of these people.

A man leaned forward and shined a light into each of his eyes. That man—a doctor, maybe—and a few of the others standing around him were talking down at him where he lay. But Miles couldn't understand what they were saying. He felt weak and shaky—like he'd just come through some ordeal—he just couldn't remember what.

Everything was clouded and unfocused, like some bad dream. Miles only wanted to wake up. But he closed his eyes again and fell back into comfortable darkness.

When he woke up again he was in a quiet room. The hospital bed was an older model—like something he'd seen in a movie once. There was a partition between him and the next bed; a small thin standing wall formed of a thin metal frame and cloth panels. Like an office cubicle. A small television was mounted on the wall near the ceiling opposite his bed. Miles stared at it. Pictures were flashing on the screen of fire and panic. A news story.

There was a bombing on the underground in London. People were crying on the television. Three people were dead; seventy injured. Miles blinked. The news-casters were speaking English. Where the hell was he?

He was too afraid to move or call out so he lay back and stared at the little television. He was grateful when coverage of the bombing ended and the focus moved on to something about building new bridges that his tired and thoroughly confused mind had trouble following.

He very nearly dozed off again when he was startled by the weather report. It seemed to focus with much too much detail on regions of the British Isles. Miles blinked again. What was going on?

He was still focused intently on the television when a nurse walked near to check on him. She made a quip about him being awake before turning immediately away. Miles frowned after her. Several minutes later a young woman in a wrinkled white coat and thick horned-rimmed glassed, much better suited for a man, arrived to check on him. She picked up his chart and carried it to his bedside with her and she smiled down at him with what Miles was sure she thought was a kindly manner. He gave her a slight frown in reply.

"Hello, there," she said sweetly, "How do you feel?"

Miles looked away from her and stared down at his hands, they were still trembling visibly in his lap. He gave her a sidelong look and said, "Fine."

"Do you know why you're here?" She said.

"No," Miles said.

She frowned a little as she perused his chart, "How about… Do you know what your name is?"

Miles thought it was an odd question, but he answered, "Yes."

She hesitated waiting for him to elaborate. He blinked and then realized she was asking for his name.

"Um," he began haltingly, "I'm Miles Edgeworth."

"Edgeworth?" She repeated, "Edge and worth?"

He nodded.

"How old are you, Miles Edgeworth?"

Miles paused thoughtfully, "What day is it?"

She told him the date. He raised his brows in surprise.

"Oh," he said, "How long have I been here?"

"Almost a full day now. You were admitted yesterday afternoon."

Miles frowned and stared at the wall opposite of him. Admitted? For what?

"What happened?"

"You had an accident," the woman said, "So you were brought into the hospital."

"Oh," Miles said.

"Do you remember what happened?"

"No," Miles said.

"So how old are you, Miles?"

"Mister Von Karma is already telling everyone that I'm fifteen. But my birthday is not for another month yet."

"Oh," she said, "Happy Birthday then."

"Uh, thanks," Miles said.

"Is this Von Karma your father?"

"No," Miles said, "But Mister Von Karma is my legal guardian."

"Oh," she said, "Good. Where do you live?"

"Huh?"

"Do you remember your home address?"

Miles paused and then told her the address to the Von Karma house. She wrote it down on a corner of the chart and frowned at the note.

"What country is this address in?"

Miles stared at her, incredulous, "Germany…"

She stared at him, incredulous, "Do you know you're in Headington?"

Miles blinked but he had nothing to say.

"Do you remember coming to England?"

Miles crossed his arms, "We've been speaking English this whole time…"

He said it out loud—mostly for his own benefit. He'd only just realized they were speaking English. The woman—who might've been a doctor or a nurse was staring at him.

"Em," she said, giving him a strange look. A mixture of sympathy and shock—like she'd just realized she was talking to a crazy person, "You're still a little confused, aren't you?"

"Do you have an address locally?" She said hopefully, "Or a phone number that we can contact?"

Miles shook his head mutely. His gaze fell to his own knees where he had them bent under the blanket. He was just starting to realize the gravity of his situation.

"Perhaps if you had a bit of time to think about it, you might remember…?" the woman said.

Miles nodded reluctantly. He wasn't even sure where Headington was—well it must be somewhere in England. Miles looked over at the television again. He didn't want to look at that woman again. He didn't want anymore distressing news or questions he couldn't answer. She touched him on the elbow to get his attention.

"Miles," she said, "Are you hungry?"

He nodded; at least that question he could answer.

Franziska walked in front of him with her head thrown back and chin held up haughtily. She managed an air of victory while they walked up to the prison's gate. Miles had been dreading this moment since Mister Von Karma's undignified confession at the trial last December. Seeing Manfred Von Karma from his perch on the witness stand at the High Court during the sentencing trial had been close enough, as far as Miles was concerned. This seemed like unnecessary pain. Like chopping off the whole limb when there was only one tiny splinter.

Miles thought he'd been very successful with maintaining his own cool indifference. No else had to know how much turmoil this visit was causing him. They can call him names—cold; ingrate; pompous—Miles didn't care about things like that. Well, he thought he did a very good job of not letting it bother him.

Miles locked his eyes on her hair, Franziska bounced up the stairs with an energy that seemed unlikely considering where they were and the purpose of their visit. It was a long drive getting there and neither of them spoke to the other nor were they able to agree on the music. It was a long, tedious drive made longer by the tension that filled the small car.

The guard remembered Franziska and didn't seem too concerned at Miles' presence. The visitors were normally only allowed to enter the chamber one at a time, but the guard seemed unconcerned about the two of them visiting with the old man together. At least it might save him having to keep the prisoner out of his cell for an extended period of time.

Manfred Von Karma was already seated on his side of the heavy plexi-glass partition that split the visitor's chamber into two sections. Small holes—too small for even a pen to pass through—were clustered in a tidy grouping at face level so that they could speak through the glass. Von Karma was wearing a bold-striped prison jumpsuit and his hands were cuffed on the table in front of him. He was considered a violent criminal, after all.

The old man looked so much older than he had at the sentencing trial a few short weeks ago. His eyes were rimmed red and his hair hung over his face in lank strands. He had the scraggly beginnings of a beard. It seemed as if he'd given up on life.

Franziska's cold demeanor melted immediately and she ran up to the partition and fretted over her father's appearance. Miles gave the two of them a sidelong glance as he walked without hesitating to the back of the visitor's chamber and leaned against the wall. His face was a mask of cold, uncaring ennui.

Despite his outward indifference, Miles paid enough attention to the two of them to note that despite Franziska's presence at the partition, Manfred Von Karma seemed to have eyes only for him.

"Miles Edgeworth!" Von Karma said, interrupting Franziska and startling her out of her barely controlled composure. She sat back and let out a sob.

"Come, Franziska," Manfred said, "You've visited often, I want to talk to Miles."

Miles glared at the man from his vantage against the wall. Couldn't he see the girl was in pain? He's actually her father. Miles waited for Franziska to back away from the partition before he came up behind her and gave her shoulder a squeeze. Miles met the old man's eye with a cold silent glare for only a moment before taking the seat in front of the partition. He leaned back in the chair and stared at Manfred Von Karma's forehead.

"You've kept away," Mister Von Karma said, "One might get the impression that you don't like me."

Miles made a small, irritated noise and turned his head.

"You still won't talk to me, Miles Edgeworth?"

Miles only glared at him.

"Don't you think you're being a little childish?"

"I don't really have anything to say to you," Miles said.

"Nothing? No questions, no final words?"

"Final words?"

Mister Von Karma laughed, "It took her almost a month to convince you to come visit. I don't think I can count on you to return on your own."

Miles shrugged. Mister Von Karma sat back in his seat and groaned.

"Franziska," Mister Von Karma called out.

"Yes Papa?" she said suddenly hovering over Miles' shoulder.

"I need you to step out for a moment," he said, "I need to speak to Miles in private."

A wounded look crossed her face, but after a moment's hesitation Franziska complied. Miles turned to watch her leave.

"What could you possibly have to tell me that Franziska doesn't or shouldn't know?"

"Don't get fussy boy," Mister Von Karma said, "I have a favor to ask of yo—"

"No," Miles said glaring at the other man directly.

"Miles Edgeworth! Hear me out," Von Karma said, "Spare me that much at least."

Miles stared at him silently for an impossibly long minute or two before he said, "I don't think I owe you anything else." He was sure he didn't have to remind Mister Von Karma that the only reason the man was here and not on death row was because of Miles. He watched Mister Von Karma's face redden in anger and for a moment he looked his old ornery self again.

"You're a fool, Miles Edgeworth," he mumbled before sitting back in his chair to glare at Miles icily, "I've given you more than you've deserved."

Miles' visage softened and turned his gaze toward his lap.

"My proposal is simple," Von Karma continued, "I want you to marry Franziska."

Miles felt his jaw drop and he gaped incredulously at the old man.

"Did you hear me, Edgeworth?"

Miles closed his mouth and shook his head, "I—I heard you."

"And?"

"I don't understand why you would want me to—"

"I need someone to take care of her," Mister Von Karma said, "Because I won't be there for her—"

"I don't want to marry Franziska," Miles said, 'she'll hit me all the time' he thought.

"Miles," Mister Von Karma said and he stared at Miles with desperation. Miles swallowed—this was an entirely new and troubling experience.

"Miles, the Von Karma Estate is almost bankrupt," Miles felt his jaw drop a second time, "The house here is going to be foreclosed on next month if the mortgage isn't paid—I can't pay it. That house in Germany is in danger as well—and that home has been in the family for eight generations. All the travelling and extravagance—are not within the means of a prosecutor—and I've squandered what was left of the family fortune on two divorces and all of the things that—"

"What?" Miles blurted out when he'd finally found his voice. He leaned forward in his chair and glared at the old man, "And Franziska knows nothing about this? Are you mad?"

"I'm—" Mister Von Karma seemed to shrink into himself. He put a hand over his face, "I'm a proud old fool…"

Miles leaned back and stared at his mentor, seeing him in a new light—somehow this was far worse than discovering him to be a murderer. Mister Von Karma was suddenly human—otiose, malicious, and scheming—but human none-the-less. Mister Von Karma was still talking—something about Miles helping the family that helped him and how the old man felt remorseful for all of the cruel actions of his past. Miles wasn't really listening. He knew what the old man wanted—all of the forced sentiment the man could muster would not hide the cajoling in his tone. Miles crossed his arms and stared at his own knees—even while in prison, Mister Von Karma had found a way to put him in a tight spot.

"You're wanting me to solve all of your financial problems with my money?" Miles said incredulously interrupting Mister Von Karma's tirade.

"Edgeworth, you're a billionaire! Why wouldn't you—"

"No, you don't understand," Miles said, "most of that money is tied up in real estate, and whatever else is part of a trust. When I turned twenty-one, I received a full one-tenth vote on the board and a stipend of about eighty-five thousand a year. That money belongs to the estate—not me…"

"But you can convince the board of trus—"

"No," Miles said, "I don't think they're interested in property abroad, and we've already quite a bit of real estate here in—"

"Couldn't you try?"

"No."

"If you're just trying to spite me, I want to point out that the only beneficiaries would be my daughters—it doesn't—"

"Mister Von Karma… I promise you I will do everything in my power to ensure that Franziska is taken care of and that she has the opportunity to continue to pursue her career," Miles turned to glare at the wall, "But I don't want to marry her."

"Why not?" Mister Von Karma said, suddenly defensive—at least he seemed more like his old self.

Miles clenched his jaw still refusing to meet Mister Von Karma's eye.

"You think you're better than her, don't you? You fool! You think that you've risen above the Von Karma name and that you can do whatever you want without us."

Miles closed his eyes and shook his head.

"You're a stupid child Miles Edgeworth! I want you to speak to me don't just sit there like an idiotic lump! Look at me, Edgeworth."

Miles met Von Karma's icy glare with a bland expression of apathy. The old man wasn't changed in the least—Miles was only witnessing the worst of him in the last desperate throes of his life. Franziska was right—Mister Von Karma was not very happy in prison.

"I still don't have anything to say to you," Miles said.

Mister Von Karma kept his glare on Miles and finally Miles turned to the wall again.

"I know you're a sentimental fool Miles Edgeworth—that was your biggest obstacle growing up. You think that you're brave because you refuse to speak. But I know you better than that, Edgeworth, I know that you're still and will always be that scared little boy I pulled out of the orphanage. Don't you walk away from me—!"

Miles already had his hand on the door. He glanced once at Mister Von Karma before opening the door, "Come Franziska," he said, "Time to say good bye."

Mister Von Karma said nothing to him that afternoon when he arrived to claim Miles from the hospital. He grumbled about the amount of payment the hospital requested after Miles' not-quite-three-day stay, but he said nothing to Miles directly.

The coach brought them the distance South toward London in a heavy uncomfortable silence. Miles wondered why Mister Von Karma hadn't come for him sooner and he half worried that some expectation the man had of him had been missed. Should he have tried harder to leave the hospital on his own?

Every time Miles shot a nervous glance in the man's direction, he was met by a cold indifference. Mister Von Karma was looking over a book and several notes he had written—he seemed very unconcerned with whatever excuse Miles might have for his disappearance.

It was late when the coach let them off at a hotel near the Gatwick Airport, and only then did Miles realize they were headed back to Germany—he'd wasted the entire visit in the hospital. No wonder Mister Von Karma was angry with him.

Mister Von Karma went up the stairs to the room after they checked-in and Miles was quietly relieved he'd chosen the stairs instead of the elevator. Miles followed a few paces behind him and he nearly bumped into Mister Von Karma when the man stopped on the third floor landing.

"Edgeworth you've caused a lot of grief to a lot of people this week," Mister Von Karma said. Miles answered with a look—he didn't know what to say about it.

"Now, I wasn't expecting to have so large a hospital bill," Mister Von Karma said, "so we'll be sharing a room, tonight."

Miles gave him a slight nod and Mister Von Karma turned to climb the final flight of stairs. Miles followed behind him, silent and morose. He dreaded what was coming; surely Mister Von Karma was angry. When wasn't he angry with Miles?

Their bags were already inside the room when they entered. It was a descent-sized room with two queen beds, a television and a small writing desk near the window. Miles picked up his bag immediately and carried it over to the desk.

"Edgeworth," Mister Von Karma said, "What are you doing? Come back here."

"Sir," Miles said, "I was just—I was going to…"

Mister Von Karma had Miles in his icy glare. Miles dropped his bag on the desk and walked toward him. He had his hands balled into fists to hide their trembling.

"What happened to you?"

"Sir?" Miles said—startled at so direct a question, "Sir, I really don't—I can't remember… They wouldn't let me leave, otherwise I would've tried—"

Mister Von Karma struck him across his mouth, "No blubbering, boy! If you don't know what happened then tell me you don't know."

It surprised him more than it hurt him, but Miles brought a hand up to his mouth reflexively. He met the man's eye directly, "Mister Von Karma, I'm sorry."

Mister Von Karma made a noise and turned to pick up his suitcase and put it on the luggage stand. He kept his back to Miles as he spoke.

"They accused me of mistreating you," he said, "Is that what you told the hospital?"

"No sir," Miles said.

"I have been nothing if not kind to you, Miles Edgeworth! Do you realize the amount of sacrifice I've endured to educate you? Do you think I took you under my roof for my own health?"

Miles stared at him. How do you answer questions like that? After several moments of silence Mister Von Karma turned and looked at him. Miles met his glare. He didn't want to, but he met the old man's glare. Mister Von Karma turned back to his luggage.

"They told me you were brought into the Emergency Department following some kind of panic attack… They said you'd had an acute stress reaction to what happened. You spent nearly two days in a sort of stupor. You don't remember what happened…"

Miles had a sinking feeling in his gut as Mister Von Karma talked about the hospital stay. He was so embarrassed.

"I'm sorry, sir," Miles said.

Mister Von Karma looked at him again, "You still dream about that night?"

Miles startled. He didn't ask for clarification—Miles knew exactly what night Mister Von Karma was referring to.

"I thought you'd put all that childishness behind you," Mister Von Karma said, "If these things were bothering you, you've never said anything to me."

Miles stared at him incredulously; he had nothing to say to that.

"A proud fool—just like your father," Mister Von Karma said, "No one can fix you if you're too stupid to say what needs mending."

"I don't need mending, sir," Miles said.

"It seems that you do, Miles Edgeworth," Mister Von Karma snapped back at him. The man stopped and glared at Miles for several dragging moments. Miles swallowed and Mister Von Karma turned back to his chore—but not before that glare had softened just a bit.

"What am I supposed to do with you, Miles Edgeworth? When you're going to get anxious over nothing? You may as well live in a ward with the other crazies—what a useless person you're turning out to be."

"I'm sorry," Miles said.

"You certainly are," Mister Von Karma muttered under his breath, "They seem to think that you're depressed too. Tell me what do you have to be depressed about?"

"I didn't say anything about—"

"I don't want your excuses, Miles Edgeworth!" Mister Von Karma turned and threw a shoe at Miles. Miles ducked and backed away from the man.

"You have the best of everything. Your fate was a state-run home in California. Foster parents. Substandard schools. You've avoided all of that. What could you possibly be depressed about?"

"I'm not—" Miles said. He didn't think he was depressed.

They stared at each other for several painful moments. Then Mister Von Karma walked up to him and put a hand on his shoulder and glared hard at him. Miles wanted to pull away and hide. But he forced himself to stay put and keep calm.

"Miles Edgeworth," Mister Von Karma said, "I understand that things are difficult for you. You're not a Von Karma. But I can't carry you on my own; you need to take some responsibility for yourself. You want to be perfect, don't you?"

Miles swallowed—there's no such thing as perfect. Mister Von Karma took his hesitation as another sign of Miles' weakness.

"I can't make you perfect," Mister Von Karma continued, "I can only show you the way. You're going to have to try on your own as well."

Mister Von Karma squeezed his shoulder, "You have the potential for greatness, Miles Edgeworth, but you won't get there by standing by quietly and being anxious and depressed."

Miles blinked. Mister Von Karma had already returned to his unpacking. Miles stared at the man's back and swallowed back the rising lump of emotion in his throat. In the more than six years he'd lived with Mister Von Karma, he'd never been shown so much affection. Could it be that Mister Von Karma cared about him after all?

Miles blinked and forced himself into quiet composure. He glanced once more at Mister Von Karma before walking toward the desk to unpack what he needed for the night.

Miles took his place at the back of the visitor's room, turning over all that'd been said. He thought about his father suddenly—that was probably the most painful thought that plagued him over the last fifteen years—what if Dad had lived? How would life have been different? Would he still be the person he was today?

The murmured conversation between Franziska and her father was like a song in the background as Miles tried to remember why he'd always looked up to the old man. Why he'd chosen to become a prosecutor. Why it still felt wrong that Phoenix Wright had disclosed the truth that had led to this. Miles should've been the one in prison, right?

He frowned at his shoes—Franziska and her father were speaking in German, Miles was only half-listening and too upset to translate in his head. Mister Von Karma had sacrificed a lot for his sake. It was pigheaded to pretend otherwise. Miles had never gone hungry, nor was he left to fend for himself—Mister Von Karma had been kind enough in that regard. Was it really reasonable for him to ask for more? Miles let his brow furrow and his frown deepened. Miles Edgeworth had no ground to stand on; no right to wish ill of the man that had cared for him for most of his life.

With renewed resolve, he looked up at father and daughter. Am I jealous? No, I have no right to be. He waited while they spoke and then Miles cleared his throat and approached Franziska and her father in what seemed t be a pause in the conversation.

"I do have something to tell you, sir," Miles said. He was standing behind Franziska with his hands behind his back, shoulders squared, chin raised.

Both of them only glared at his interruption. Miles was always bad at these things.

"I wanted to tell you thank you," Miles said earnestly, "For bringing me up when I'd been orphaned. Thank you for taking the time and energy to train and educate me and for leading me to this path and teaching me the way to build a case and put away criminals. You are the greatest prosecutor I have ever known."

Franziska was staring up at him with her eyes wide and her eyebrows raised. Mister Von Karma only put his head down and closed his eyes—like he was too angry to speak and was thinking hard to come up with some rebuttal. But Miles wasn't finished.

"I've looked up to you my whole life. I really did try my best, sir—but I will never be like you—I'll never be perfect," Miles was starting to lose his tenuous grip on his composure and he started to blink in order to block the tears that were already stinging his eyes.

"I'm lucky if I turn out to be half the prosecutor you are," Miles said, "I'll keep trying, though I may never be as smart as you… nor as talented… I feel like I've disappointed you in so many ways—I can't blame you for doing what you did. I deserved every bit of it. I only—"

"Miles!" Franziska said and she grabbed his arm as she stood, "Stop it!"

"I only ever wanted to make you—" Miles said and he started to break down. Franziska was still holding his arm as he started to tremble with the building sobs he was trying to hide, "I only ever wanted you to be proud of me," he said, "I only wanted to make you happy."

"Please, Miles," Franziska said still gripping his arm. She was tugging feebly at him as if pulling him away from the partition would suddenly make his uncomfortable tirade end..

"But I never could," Miles said and he shook his head violently in his emotion, "Could I? I could never win big enough—and then I started to lose… I tried so hard…"

"Papa!" he heard Franziska say and they slid into German and Miles was too tired and angry with himself to follow along. He kept his eyes closed and he put a hand over his mouth to keep it closed too. He had to get back in control. This was embarrassing—he'd never hear the end of it from Franziska—and Mister Von Karma would be angrier all the more. Miles pulled his arm away from Franziska and wrapped it around his stomach; he was starting to hiccough.

"Miles," Franziska said. Her voice was never very soothing but he could feel her hands on him rubbing the back of his neck and his shoulders.

"Franziska," he heard Mister Von Karma say while he backed against the wall trying to regain his composure, "Tell your brother he is a sentimental fool and that it is his biggest obstacle. Because he won't hear it from me."

Franziska didn't say anything, but her hands never left Miles as he awkwardly pushed his back against the wall. He was relieved—if not a little abashed at his own outburst—and he looked at Mister Von Karma directly.

"That is all," Miles said.

Mister Von Karma, "Is it? No more crying and whimpering from you?"

"No sir," Miles said and his somber tone was broken up by a sporadic hiccough—Miles smiled and clamped a hand over his mouth, "Sorry," he said.

"You were always too lazy and too emotional to really focus on what you needed to," Mister Von Karma said.

Miles nodded in agreement, "I'm sorry."

"You're useless Edgeworth," Mister Von Karma said, "Perhaps you'll do the world a favor and drive your stupid little car off of a cliff."

Miles chuckled and then shrugged, "If that's what it takes."

Franziska made a noise and shoved Miles toward the door.

"I'll see you in a couple days Papa, before I leave for home," she said and then gave Miles a sharp jab in the ribs.

"Ow," Miles said.

"Edgeworth, don't forget what I told you," Mister Von Karma said, "Franziska… Be a good girl."

"I'm always good," Franziska said, "Good bye Papa, until next time!"

They were both morose in the corridor as they followed the guard back toward the administrative building. Franziska still had an iron grip on his arm.

"I don't believe you little brother," she said condescendingly, "Men aren't supposed to cry like that."

"I'm sorry," Miles said and he felt the heat rush over his face, "I wasn't really thinking."

"That's nothing new," Franziska said. Miles smiled at her.

"What?" she said, "Why are you smiling?"

Miles only smiled more broadly. Franziska rolled her eyes at him, "You foolish little fool."

Neither of them spoke until they reached the parking area. Miles had his hands in his pockets and Franziska was hugging herself. As they crossed the sparse lot to where Miles had parked sideways in the very back, Franziska made a noise. Miles looked back at her, only then realizing that he'd gone far ahead of her. He glanced longingly at the little car before turning back to retrieve Franziska.

"What's the matter, Franziska?" He said.

"Nothing," she said and he realized she had been crying, "I don't need your sympathy."

Miles scratched his head, "Okay… ?"

He took her arm and steered her on a more direct path toward the car. Suddenly she stopped walking and Miles looked at her directly.

"It's just that I'm going home at the end of the week," she said and she slid her arms around his waist and sobbed into his chest, "Who will check on Papa?"

"Well," Miles said, "There are guards—"

She pulled away from him and then smacked both fists into his chest, "You idiot! I hate you! I—"

Miles took both her wrists before she hit him a third time and looked down at her.

"He'll be fine Franziska," Miles said.

"Papa is so very unhappy. Someone needs to keep an eye on—"

"Again, that's what the guards—"

"Miles Edgeworth!" she shouted and she pulled out of his grip and smacked him on the chest again and again… and again.

Miles pulled her into a rough embrace and held her until she stopped fighting against him. Neither of them had anything to say as they walked the remaining distance to the car.

A/N: Thanks for Reading! Latin title means "Proof Overcomes Presumption", meaning evidence will always carry more weight than conjecture…

Obviously both flashbacks are tied together—Miles is 14 (almost Fifteen).

…otiose… a word I learned from playing Boggle with really smart people…

UPDATED 10JUL2015 – This was one of the most emotional chapters I've ever written (yeah, drama is not my strong suit) Minor edits for clarity.