Those were the first words she said to him. Far more interesting than a ‘hello’, definitely more creative than a pick up line. When he turned away from the rows of candy bars to meet her kohl-lined eyes he felt his heart go a little off rhythm. She was a beautiful, sloppy thing of sunken eyes, ratty clothes and smeared lipstick. Like some pouty cover album Siouxsie Sioux vision come to life.
He never did encourage her, nor did he stop her, even when she reached out to palm a few bars from the different boxes to drop them into her large bulky purse. It was like a black hole in that thing. Miller’s eyes watched them get swallowed up. Then she was turning away, without any sign of guilt or nerves, to amble with a glum sort of grace to the exit.
The witch hesitated, staring in the direction she had gone, right up until the bell had stopped jingling when she left. Then Miller darted out to catch her. She was already tearing open the corner of a Mars bar with her teeth. When he caught up beside her she handed it to him, half bitten. “I’m keeping most of ‘em. Though I guess you can have a few. I don’t usually care much for sweets.”
You are a goddess. How the hell do you even exist? Can I share your air for, like, an hour? All of those thoughts crossed his mind, and each of them was considered fleetingly as possible conversation bits before he thought better of them. What he eventually came up with was far more simple: “Are you doing anything tonight? There’s this venue a few blocks down that I can sneak us in to the back of, if you wanna crash a band’s backstage party? Bet they’ll have a whole spread of food.”
“Yeah?” Her tone was interested without being committed. She switched off from the candy to a thin, brown, hand-rolled cigarette. Miller was pretty certain the lighter she used to light it had been in his pocket five minutes ago. It’s a worthwhile sacrifice but he subtly touches to make sure his wallet is still accounted for. “I guess I can waste some time.”
An awkward, stiff angled hand was held up at him without her missing a step as she continued beside him. “Margot.”
“Miller.” I think I love you. “Your hair’s pretty cool.”
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🏠- A memory about their childhood home/where they used to live
Water dripped from the large yellow sponge into the tub as she worked in silence. It was the only sound in the bathroom aside from Miller’s shallow, painful, tense breaths.
Arlene had emptied the tub once already, soiled as it was with blood and urine in the first washing. Getting Miller cleaner, with the steady comfort of her running the sponge over his back, seemed to be pulling the boy out of his shell-shocked state. He had not spoken a word to her since she’d gotten him pulled out from under the sink and into the tub, only leaving his side to throw his soiled Ninja Turtles underwear away. At the age of seven, most kids had control of their bladders. Most kids also didn’t end up on their bathroom floor, covered in bloody scratches that had caused them to piss themselves with fear.
She’d come home that morning after working her double to discover their apartment ransacked. An initial fear of robbery quickly dissolved when she realized that this was just another Event. One of those Events that happened with a child like Miller, who seemed to attract this trouble far too often. Being attacked by fuckers she couldn’t see, that had no problem torturing her son. Arlene’s blood boiled with frustration and she bit hard on her tongue.
“It’s okay, baby. The scratches aren’t deep. You won’t even have to go to the hospital this time. We’ll get you Band-Aids. Those ones you like -- with Batman on ‘em? And I’ll take you to work with me tonight. You can sleep in the back booth again. Maybe I can talk them into giving you some hot chocolate. You’d like that, right?”
“..Yeah..” Miller said in a small voice, finally blinking the glass out of his eyes to look up at her. “I wanna stay with you. I don’t wanna be here if The Man comes back tonight. Please?”
“No. No, you won’t have to be here if he comes back.” It took strength for her to talk about this without a tremble in her voice. She didn’t know how to handle it. How did mothers with kids who could see ghosts -- could touch them or be touched by them -- deal with this situation? Arlene’s throat threatened to close as she stubbornly fought back tears. Being strong for him was all she knew to do. “Maybe we’ll even get you some pie. It’s the end of the week so they’ll be ready to throw out the old stock. I’m sure I can sweet talk ‘em into sparing you a slice.”
Placing the sponge to the side she gently lifted his right arm to inspect the cuts again. It would take a lot of Band-Aids. It would spare them having to answer questions from another doctor. After all, the last time she’d brought Miller in they’d ended up with Child Service workers knocking on the door a few days later asking questions. Arlene didn’t have answers anyone believed.
I’m not a shitty mom. My kid gets attacked by ghosts. I can’t do jack shit to stop it. And no one will help me. And no one can help him.
She finished bathing him and helped Miller out of the tub to dry him off. Arlene applied those colorful cartoon bandages over the worst of the scratches while the boy stood dutifully still. He knew the drill. They’d done this enough times before. Then she helped him get a t-shirt on over his head, into a fresh pair of underwear, and when he insisted on socks but no pants she complied.
The morning was stretching brighter by the time she finally carried him off to her bedroom. Arlene didn’t even bother to get her uniform off but instead simply settled onto the mattress with Miller’s small form clinging to her. She kissed his forehead and petted her fingers through his dark nest of hair that was badly in need of trimming. It settled him enough that he soon fell to sleep. She kept him cradled to her chest under the blankets while the exhaustion of long hours eventually dragged her into heavy sleep for the day.
Headcanon meme: people from Miller's childhood who significantly affected him (not his biological parents)
Old Lady Kibben: An elderly woman who lived in the apartment complex that Miller grew up in with his mother. She was a retired piano teacher who still occasionally gave lessons to people, and gave some to him in exchange for helping do things around the house for her when he was a kid. He never learned enough to get very good at it but it did form his love for music. She passed away a couple of years after he’d moved in which ended those lessons.
Billy: A guy who also lived in the complex that ran a computer repair shop. He was the one that gave Miller a job once he had dropped out of high school, doing little things around the shop while Miller was learning more about how to build, repair and operate computers. Billy didn’t mind that the kid was a little weird since most of the time Miller worked in the back away from costumers, and he was good at what he did.
The Man In The Bedroom: This spirit was an immensely negative influence in Miller’s youth. On a few occasions it physically attacked him. The negative entity remained with him for almost a year before it was removed by another unknown entity. The old scratches on his arms faded by the time he was a teenager. His mother was investigated multiple times by concerned authorities and The Man caused considerable torment for him as a kid. Miller’s fear of darkness lingered on even into adulthood because of the incidents that took place with the entity in his youth.
Julien and Stella Mayfair: These deceased yet powerful Mayfairs developed an interest in him shortly after his birth, and would often visit Miller much to the discomfort of his father. The spirits fashioned themselves as guardians of a sort for the boy in an effort to teach him about their bloodline and also to warn him about the dangers of coming into the company of the wrong type of ghosts. It’s not been uncommon for them to drop in on him unannounced, especially given his ability as a capable medium.
The first person I ever had a crush on was a girl named Alice who I was in kindergarten with. She loved chocolate milk and I was impartial to flavor, so I always swapped with her so she’d smile. That pretty much counted as dating with that crowd back in the day.
As far as asking anyone out, the first person I asked out was actually a set of twins named Cassidy and Cassandra. This was in the first grade. Things with Alice didn’t work out (she moved). I asked them out to recess. They didn’t like that I was tall enough to dominate at tether ball so they broke up with me before lunchtime. It was my shortest lived relationship but hey -- it was twins.
Looking back, I guess I was a little Casanova of the playground.
“What? Why?” Miller demanded as he sat up straighter in his chair. He glowered across the desk at Teskhamen in suspicion.
The Ancient raised a hand to him in a plea for calm. “Raymond and I have discussed it at length. Your presence here is causing disruption. Two weeks ago, you got into an argument in the middle of the dinner hall. This week, it was almost a physical altercation with Dietrich.”
“Yeah, well, he’s an asshole.” The young man stated sourly. His mouth curled into a tight frown of distaste as he flopped back into the embrace of the seat.
“Be that as it may, “ Teskhamen spoke over the top of his cursing, “it’s our place to make certain that the Motherhouse operates smoothly. London’s environment is one of calm, of learning. It is very British.” He finished, as if that explained everything.
“You, Miller, are not adapting well to it.”
“I didn’t come here to play well with others. I didn’t sign up for that.” Miller countered through his teeth.
“Rome will be better suited to you as you are. Your brash attitude will mesh better with their more rambunctious spirit. And there are those stationed there whom I trust will guide you despite your stubborn nature.” His mentor explained calmly. The decision already made.
Teskhamen’s fingers linked together on top of his desk. He gazed fondly at the gruff young man huffing and puffing that sat before him. “I have the utmost faith that you will make a great agent for the Talamasca, Miller. From what I’ve glimpsed so far, I see in you the potential to become a major asset to the Order. First, however, we will need to guide you on the path to becoming someone that doesn’t get into fights over trifles.”
He stood up slowly from his chair, white hair glowing with the light of his overhead lamp. “Pack for Rome tonight. You leave in the morning.”
“I’m Seamus.”
The kid in front of him viewed his extended hand when it was offered. Then he tapped off ashes from the end of his cigarette onto the street. “Congratulations. How’s that working out for ya?”
Seamus smiled. He’d read the report on Miller Brown that had been forwarded to him from London. They had warned him of the kid’s brash manner, his sour attitude, and the air of defiance that seemed stamped on the young man’s demeanor. The Irishman’s thick accent rolled off his tongue like whiskey. “Hasn’t killed me yet so I’d say pretty well.”
Unimpressed, Miller dropped his cigarette down and crushed it under foot. He blew a cloud of smoke out at the large-sized ginger. A clear show that Seamus’ physicality didn’t put him on edge. That was good. It would make things easier moving forward.
“Well. Best not to waste time, aye? Let’s get you settled in and get started.”
In less than twenty minutes that cockiness had been broken. It was amazing what an affect locking someone in an old cell could do on a person’s confidence. Seamus watched on with an enigmatic smile as the kid bellowed and beat on the bars. “Relax. You’ll hurt yourself if you keep that up. S’not my intention here.”
“Let me out, you fuck! You can’t hold me here. This is illegal.” Miller’s Jersey accent was full of rage as he slammed his palms against the bars. His eyes burned out through them at the Irishman.
Seamus sighed. He dragged over a small wooden chair from nearby to position it in front of the bars, straddling it so he could continue to face the young man. Calmly, he withdrew out the pack of smokes that he’d confiscated from Miller, using the kid’s own lighter to get it aflame.
“Kid. We’re a top secret organization that exists off the radar of most governments. A ghost in the System. Not only could you disappear down here without anyone ever finding you but they wouldn’t find me either.” He took a long draw on the cigarette. Cheap brand. American. Blegh.
“I’m not even on the Talamasca’s roster. You wouldn’t find my name on any file here no matter how deep you looked. I’m not an official member. More of an..” His hand fluttered. “..off the books type of specialist. I haven’t technically existed for half a decade.”
He pointed the tip of the cigarette at Miller. “Apparently the Big Bosses in London have pegged you as having potential to be someone high in their ranks in time. I don’t see it, myself. All I see is a nasty little punk with a bad attitude and sense of entitlement. A coarse, uneducated brat with a chip on his shoulder who can’t bite his tongue to save his life.”
Seamus tilted his head slowly in the opposite direction as he assessed the other man. “I also see spirit. You got spunk in you. The way you’re looking at me right now? Like you want to break this door open and break my face? I think there might be something in that I can work with. Maybe it’s strength. Maybe it’s just anger issues. We’ll find that out together, you and me.”
“So you have two choices here, Mister Miller. One: You can shut up, do what I tell you to, and learn the skills you’re gonna need to be useful in all of this. Or, two: You can quit right now and go back to whatever cheap back alley you crawled out of.”
The Irishman smiled broadly, eyebrows rising with polite curiosity.
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“This is gross. Why did you have me make it?” Miller wrinkled his nose up above the plate on the table. He poked at it with his fork, tongue sticking out as the dark-haired boy pushed aside most of the green beans in the dish. His eyes landed upon the figure of the man seated beside him at the kitchen table, betrayed.
“It’s not gross. This is a French delicacy of the highest caliber.” Julien, who often came and went on these visits, informed him with obvious offense at the child’s lack of delight. He ran fingers through his white hair with a sigh. “You just haven’t got my palette or my taste for the finer things in life, mon petit. I blame it on the air here. Or perhaps the water.” Twisting in his chair as he said this, Julien’s mouth turned down in suspicious distaste at the kitchen sink.
Small hands shoved his plate away. Miller stubbornly shook his head. “Well, I’m not gonna eat it. You can have it if you want. I’m gonna have Mac’n’Cheese instead!” The boy announced as he slid out of his chair to go ambling back to work in the kitchen.
Their visits usually went like this. Julien only ever came when his mother was working late. Miller did enjoy the company but he wasn’t sure what to make of such a fussy old man with his fine clothes and his weird accent and his ability to pop in and out of existence on a moment’s notice. The few times he had mentioned Julien to his mother she responded as if it were no big deal. ‘He’s so imaginative.’, she had said one day to the neighbor.
“Ah, non – come right back here for just a moment.” Julien instructed him with a beckoning finger. The boy obeyed and Miller was gathered into an embrace. These hugs didn’t feel the same as the hugs other people gave him. Not that Miller often got any since they’d moved and Dad had left. It made his heart feel good. He didn’t even fuss over the kisses in his hair or the fingers that pinched at his cheeks. “I haven’t much longer here with you tonight and I would spend it with you here instead of watching you shovel that mush into your mouth.”
They spent the rest of the hour together on the couch while Julien spoke to him about legends, spells, legacies and family. His tone took on a warning towards the end when he was sure he had Miller completely enraptured by his words. “You may forget these nights of ours together, mon petit. That often happens as a witch gets older, for a young mind is generally more open than an elder one. So these memories may drop into the abyss of forget within you eventually. But do not forget the words of caution I give you when I go: If you one day find yourself faced by the Devil who waits beyond the Veil, do not put your trust in him. Do not repeat our mistakes. Be wise and be kind, and above all be good in your heart. If you can do these things then you can win against him.”
“I promise.” Miller’s sworn words were distorted by a wide yawn. He was fit to drowse, lulled by the gentle French of Julien’s voice and the fingers that petted through his dark hair. “I won’t let him win. I’ll be.. like Batman.” The boy mumbled as he let his eyes close, feeling the press of lips on his forehead as he drifted to sleep.
