Post Chapter Four - Milo (Patreon)

A dripping ember fell to the front porch, burning bright for a moment before being scuffed out under a boot.  Milo leaned against the chapel  door, watching the smoke rise from the cigarette and feeling the burn in his lungs.  He had needed a moment. Just one to get himself together.  Down in the basement, Malcolm and ‘Lamplight” sat. The two of them huddled together, whispering words of comfort.

Fuck them.

Filling his lungs with smoke, Milo closed his eyes, holding his breath.  He could feel the tears prick behind his eyes as he breathed out through his nose. A dragon's fire curling from his nostrils. It was too much. It was all too much.

The two people down in the basement were his world. Even now. Even when he was not theirs. They were his everything and he didn’t know how to reach out and tell them just that. 

And then Neve. 

Neve.

What was he supposed to do with that?

He remembered very little of his mother.  The smell of apples. Soft, strawberry blonde hair.  The way she would hum to him at night.  But then it had all stopped and it was replaced with the blunt end of his fathers hands. Milo had never known why.

When he came to live in the Night Market, he was small. Just some dirty, freckled faced kid against the world. The first day he was here, Neve fed him. Saw him trying to steal from one of the vendors, walked over, nabbed him by the wrist and dragged him kicking and screaming to her stall. She gave him fried bananas with cinnamon and hot cocoa.  That night he slept beneath her stall.

The years went on and he continued to go back to her. Over and over he would find her. She would feed him. Give him something warm to drink. But most of all, she would listen. He imagined that was what a mother should be. When he asked her once if she had any children she said she did but never expanded on it. He had hoped endlessly that she would ask him one day to be hers.  She never did.

Banging his head against the wall, he sighed.  

Could he really be this stupid? Did he just not see the signs? Were there signs? Maybe this was nothing more than another red herring.  If it wasn’t, there was a moment for Neve where she had to weigh a lie against the love of a child and she chose the lie.  It made Milo sick to think about.

The door opened behind him and Milo moved to make room.  He was expecting Malcolm. Or Night.  All three of them were going to go to the Fates. But the door opened and closed with no one passing through. Just a soft chill.  Milo frowned, looking around for the spirit.  The graveyard was quiet, despite its earlier activity.  But there was a small vibration that buzzed across his hip.

Looking down, he watched as his keys began to shake. The jangle of metal against each other began to sound.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “Not now.” He unclipped the ring from his belt, trying to find the key that was making all the racket.  “Stop. You’re just hurting yourself.”

The market couldn’t open gates on its own now.  They couldn’t just open to other realms and invite everyone in. But apparently, that didn’t stop them from trying and opening up a gate themselves. Milo had a suspicion it was the spirits. Taliesin perhaps using them to do his bidding still.  Or maybe it was the Night Market. Still trying to reach through and save the downtrodden.  Either way, it needed to not happen.

The key was ripped from his keyring and thrown off to the side in a bush of dead hydrangeas.  Milo hopped off the porch, watching as it sunk into the ground, a swirling mass beginning to form as a door began to glimmer before him.

Taking out his pen knife, Milo sliced open his hand, waiting for the exact moment that the door formed.  He felt the pain cut through him, a mere sting, really.  But when the door solidified and he slammed his bloody palm against it, he gritted his teeth together to keep from screaming. He felt it then as his own magic fought the magic that was trying to break through.  It ripped at his skin, taking bits and pieces of him. Flaying him alive. He knew it was nothing more than the top layer. Maybe the second. But it was still being shredded from his bones. The only way to close the door, to fight the essence of whatever was breaking through, was to sacrifice the essence of him.

How anyone wanted to be the Gatekeeper was beyond him.

The door shuddered beneath his grip, slowly beginning to fade away. It cracked loudly in protest, and in a promise to try again. But it reversed. Slowly disappearing from view until it was nothing more than a key on the ground.  Nothing more to it. Just something inanimate.

Quickly, Milo pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket, wrapping his bloody hand. His body ached, head pounding as the fatigue set against him.

The front door of the chapel opened again, this time without him hearing it.  “You ready?”

His eyes snapped up. Night. His Night. There was no way they were the ones doing this.  They wouldn’t hurt him. He had to believe that they wouldn’t hurt him.

Someone in this world had to not hurt him.

“Ready,” he said, straightening and pushing dirt over the key.

Malcolm stepped out behind them, waving goodbye at someone through the window. Milo silently begged him not to look his way.

“You alright?”

Shit. He would tell them. He would have to tell both of them. He couldn’t make the mistake again of not sharing what was going on. The world was already going to shit anyway, what could possibly go wrong with telling them that he had to take strips of flesh to close the doors in order to keep the world from ripping apart?

“Milo?” Night attempted.

He looked up, mouth agape and dry.  “I– Let’s go.”

Neither of them moved. Because they both knew him by now.  He had to give them something more. Why couldn’t he speak and give them something more? What was wrong with him?

“Button.” It was said softly. Sternly.

Milo looked up, not at Malcolm, but the dark eyes he had watched close nearly six moons ago.  He begged them. Silently. Please believe me.

“We better get moving,” Night said, looking down at their feet. “Sooner we figure all this out, the sooner we can have some of the conversations we need to.”

They moved past me. Down the steps and onto the graveyard path.  

Milo reached out to try and take their hand but stopped when he remembered it would go right through.