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The guilt he had carried for fifteen agonizing years has long been put to rest. Justice had prevailed, and the true culprit had been put behind bars. It was an outcome he hadn’t anticipated, and one that brought with it troubling realizations and hours of reflection, but one that had him leaving feeling better.
Recovery was still a long path, and even now, twenty five years after the fact he still had to deal with his fear of earthquakes, an unease of the dark, and the odd nightmare. Miles supposed there was something to be said about leaving a wound to fester for fifteen years, but there was nothing to do about it now.
Stress dreams were not an uncommon occurrence for him. After years of being in his position, Miles had finally begun to rebuild the prosecutor’s office into something respectable, but it was by no means a relaxing job.
In his dreams he went between getting dangerously close to missing flights, to getting calls from his office asking him why he missed the meeting he scheduled, to spilling something on himself and his emergency clothes being missing.
Miles had gotten used to those dreams years ago. He was used to heavy expectations from years of training under von Karma. Stress was something he dealt with better than most.
That’s not to say he hadn’t on the rare occasion admonished Phoenix for letting them both sleep in well past the alarm and be late for their flight, when the alarm had not gone off, because there was no flight to miss.
But even now, that nightmare still seemed to find a way to worm itself back into his rotation of dreams.
The repetition brought with it almost sort of comfort, in its own sick way. A predictability in a pain that played out the same every time. Like an old song or a movie, played on repeat where the familiarity would wrap around you like a blanket.
Familiarity might’ve been a more correct term for what he felt. Just because something felt familiar, didn’t mean it was a good feeling. But this was something he was better equipped for now, and he knew all the points to mentally brace for.
Regrettably, much like an old song, when it happened less frequently, the more potent it seemed.
Bracing himself when his eyes opened to darkness, Miles knew that this was going to be challenging. It didn’t matter if the room was dark. He didn’t need to see to know where he was.
He could feel in his chest the same tightness from that day. A tightness of fear and thinning oxygen. He could remember the coldness of the room, despite the three of them in there. The power went out and the cold from the outside had started to seep into the building. Not so much so that it was anything more than a little uncomfortable. Miles doubted he’d even be able to see his breath.
The start of his dream always seemed to linger on for longer than he wanted. As if it hadn’t decided to force him through it or not, or if his brain wanted him to suffer more as he sat there and agonized over the fact he knew what was going to happen.
In the darkness, he could hear arguing. He couldn’t make out the voices anymore, but he knew who they were, despite knowing that wasn’t what either sounded like.
Then Miles threw the gun. He never had any control over his body. He was stuck watching helplessly as the memory continued on against his wishes.
The room lit up with a bang, and for the briefest of moments he could see his father’s face looking on in horror as Miles heard a terrible scream.
He had to wonder if von Karma was pleased with himself in whatever hell he found himself in now. Because his voice was the one he could hear clear as day, as even his own father’s voice was lost to him.
To Miles’ shock, the dream didn’t end there. Usually he would jolt awake, struggling to catch his breath as his body now recognized the air was how it meant to be.
Miles couldn’t move, but the door opened, and in walked von Karma. Logically speaking, the lights should’ve turned on. Yet logic meant little in dreams, and von Karma stayed ominously backlit by faint light filtering in through the windows behind him.
He didn’t want to see what happened next. Miles knew how this story ended. There was enough light for Miles to see his father being shot by the man who would spend the next nine years shaping him into the monster Miles was for the next five.
Time slowed as von Karma picked up the gun.
Then from the darkness, a brilliant light shone. Brighter than the sun itself, stood Phoenix, wearing his old blue suit and his badge, the source of this blinding light.
“OBJECTION!” he yelled, causing von Karma to recoil in pain, letting out another great and terrible scream.
It was only then that Miles was roused from his slumber, the light from his slightly ajar bathroom door lighting the bedroom. While that was more than enough evidence that he had awoken from that dream, he rolled over for conformation.
Sure enough, next to him lie the man who saved him. The light in the darkness, sprawled out inelegantly across their bed and the blanket askew to reveal his stomach poking from under an old t-shirt from a band Miles never listened to.
With a groan, Phoenix opened an eye, his gaze unfocused on Miles. “What time is it?” he asked in a raspy voice.
Miles leaned down and kissed his forehead. “It’s yet time for the sun to rise, go back to bed.”
“Then what are you doing up? Come cuddle,” he whined, rolling over to grab at him to pull him back to him.
Miles has always been an obstinate man. Given the life he’s led, he’d argue that it has worked out very well for him. Every order to some degree he has questioned, with the exception of one figure whose orders were absolute.
However in this instance, he couldn’t find it in him to argue. It was to his advantage to be gently pulled into his arms and be held securely.
“Alright. Sleep well, Phoenix.”
But Phoenix didn’t answer. He was already drooling on the fine silk pajamas Miles was wearing. Miles didn’t care, but this would be something fun and inconsequential to argue over tomorrow.
For now, the prosecution rests.