Work Text:
An excerpt taken from the journal of Christopher Miracle:
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I am no stranger to receiving mysterious packages at my doorstep, truly. I've gotten all kinds of parcels and/or gifts over the years: fabrics, food, wine, books. Most of which are unlabeled and without return address, though this one came with a messenger and a letter, how unbelievably convenient.
“Package for Mister Miracle,” the boy announced, “From a Mister Percy Flarge, sir.”
I thanked the lad and gave him a generous tip, in return, he presented a letter to me, which I accepted. I say ‘parcel’, but the package seemed to be contained in a suitcase, a painfully familiar one at that. But more on this in a moment, the letter was quite entertaining. All handwritten in a very high-quality stationery, fine penmanship, and with the most spider-scrawl signature I have ever had the pleasure to lay my eyes upon.
‘To Mr. Christopher Miracle,
I do hope this package and letter find their way to you in good time, as it is the property of your friend, Lucifer Box. He left it in New York as he was in a rush to get to London, please see that he receives this, I believe it may have some valuables and keepsakes.
‐P. Flarge’
Well, this Mister Flarge fellow must have had some dealings with Lucifer then, the old bastard. He’s always making a mess and causing trouble everywhere he goes. I remember those few years where the man wouldn’t so much as leave London without good reason, even No.9 some days. Though… something in his last correspondence to me was almost reflective of…. Never mind me, reminiscing and all that. The past is the past, and we can only hope for a decent future, if any.
Of course, I didn’t want to poke around in Lucifer’s belongings, so the suitcase remained in my landing. I wonder what drama he got tangled in this time, it must have been quite serious for him to leave in such a rush. The last time this happened, he was being chased by deranged ballet dancers and I was given a rather large burlap sack of his clothes (shipped all the way from Beijing). Lucifer has an interesting life, no doubt about that; he's a part of this "secret service" where he prances about the world and takes down rather interesting criminals.
His adventure in Italy, where he found himself a fetching young man by the name of Charlie Jackpot, was one he recounted to me many a time to me. We, Jackpot and I, became good friends over the years, accompanying the old man, Lucifer, on a few of his epic adventures. Though "Vesuvius Club" has to be his most interesting tale to date. He allowed me a few glances at his drafted memoir (unedited and entirely racy, much like the man himself), and I must say, his skill with language is much greater than my own.
That boy… I miss him dearly.
I took my town car to No. 9, as I found myself doing more and more frequently as of late, with the suitcase safely tucked away in the boot. I hoped Lucifer didn’t mind me dropping by without a telegram or call. He needed a bit of surprise now and then in his old age, it keeps him alert.
Cars are very nifty machines, I appreciated the control I had over my traversal through the dreary London streets. I lended Box a rather lovely Cadillac for his stay in America, but it surely wouldn't be returned in the same shape as I gave it in. It is what it is, I assume. I would rather my best friend be alive than have some pricey car in drivable condition.
I knocked on the door of No. 9 with the base of my cane, suitcase in the opposite hand.
The door opened and I was met with the suspiciously happy face of my dear old Lucifer, "Chris!" Either some scheme was afoot or the man had just gotten laid.
"You're chipper for a Wednesday. What's gotten into you man?" I handed the case over, much to his confusion, "Your friend Mister Flarge had this delivered to my house."
"Ah yes, Flarge ," he replied with no little disdain, "Come in, I have something to show you."
I began to theorise on what Lucifer had to show me, perhaps a new portrait he was oh so proud of? Maybe his new lover? He could have procured some ancient relic for all I knew.
We passed the door to his studio, so not a painting. The relic was beginning to be the most viable option of my ideas-
Then he stopped at the entrance to the sitting room, his hand clapping upon my shoulder, "I want you to take a very deep breath, Miracle."
"Are you trying to drug me with some kind of gas?" I gibed in reference to his tale, which I recalled previously in this entry.
He took the joke with a hearty chuckle and the shake of his head, "No no old friend… nothing sinister, just… here." Lucifer gestured to the door, "Go on in."
I tentatively twisted the handle, sceptical of what was inside. At first I expected some ridiculous surprise party, but Lucifer wasn't the type to pull stunts-
My breath caught in my throat as I laid my eyes upon the room, "Charlie-"
There he was, larger than life. His gaze drew up to me, that same piercing blue and that blasted smile, "Hullo." Something was off about the boy, "Mr. Box said one of 'is friends was goin' to come around."
"Christopher Miracle," I approached him with my hand out, which he took, "I-I'm sorry but I-" without a moment's more hesitation, I pulled him into a tight hug, dropping my cane, "It's been so long."
I was afraid he would push away in repulsion of my show of friendliness, but as he moved, he wrapped his arms around me, holding me in earnest. "Chris…" his voice barely above a whisper, drowned in a quiet sob. Charlie tucked his face into the crook of my neck, wet with tears, "I-I don't remember ya', sir… but I remember this…"
His memories were lost to that violent war. I placed a kiss on his temple, "It's alright Charlie. You're alright." He still had that familiar honey-scent about him… he was all the same as before, oh how I missed the boy- I simply couldn’t let him go, not yet.
"Oi! He's mine!" Lucifer protested with a light laugh.
He was well aware of my lack of lust for the equal sex, well aware. "You can share for a bit, old man.” Charlie let out a small, sad snicker at our banter, only holding me tighter. I could tell the poor lad was conflicted, I must’ve been a stranger to him… and yet he knew we were friends, once. I used one of my hands to reach up and caress the back of his neck, hopefully calming his mind a bit, and it seemed to work when he relaxed in my hold, “let’s all sit and chat, ya? I’m sure you have questions.”
“Uh, yes, I have questions Chris,” Lucifer came up closer, “Since when do you swing both ways? Hm?”
“ Lucifer ,” I scolded him for being so selfish as to not share ‘his dear boy’, Lucifer’s words, not mine, “Calm yourself man. I don’t but it is good to see him again.”
I perched on the armchair, after picking my neglected walking aid from the ground, Lucifer and Charlie on the couch. Lucifer wrapped a protective and wandering hand, nothing surprising there, around his boy, Charlie melting into the touch and placing a soft, chaste kiss on his cheek. Just like old times. Though if it were exactly the “old times”, well… let’s just say the words upon this page would be unfit for even the most experienced scoundrels. It was good to see them as a set once more, for a while, it was strange to see Lucifer alone… his better half lost to the winds of war.
“How come you remember Chris and not me, dear boy?” Box prodded with that same genuine smile, “Are you not telling me something?”
“Oh so many things, sir,” the sarcasm positively dripped from Charlie’s voice. It was quite refreshing to hear someone who’s sass was on par with Lucifer’s, I couldn’t always keep up with the old man nowadays.
After a quick ruffle of dark, curled locks and the flash of a dimpled smile, Lucifer directed his attention to me, “So… I confess that I may have set this up-”
“I knew something was off!” I exclaimed, Lucifer putting his hands up in a show of mock surrender, “sneaky bastard, you.”
“Well, I didn’t think a telegram stating ‘come immediately to No. 9, Charlie is alive’ would have gone over well. And I certainly didn’t want to give you a heart attack Chris." He scooted up in his seat to look me in the eyes, "It's nice, to see you smile again."
We spent the evening chatting about our exploits, Charlie and I read a particularly explicit volume of Lucifer's writing (one originating from our decade of friendship), and while quite tipsy, we sang a very pitchy rendition of "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen". Antics as per usual, nothing notable to be honest.
I will take this moment to elaborate on Charlie in his present state. A colleague of mine studies the human mind, how the brain functions in all states, and I questioned him on the topic of 'amnesia'. In short, it can be caused by physical trauma (a head injury for example) and has a wide range of effects. Some lose moments, others lose years, many lose function entirely. In Charlie's case, which I outlined to my friend using pseudonyms, he can recall places (London and Number Nine) and actions (a hug) but had no memory of people.
His explanation: Charlie may have been thinking about his close friends or family in the moments before the cause of his amnesia (the mortar), therefore disrupting his ability to recollect those people. The poor lad, his last thoughts were about the people he considered family… he remembered the least about Lucifer.
We needed to sit and have a proper conversation about the impact this is having on him. Charlie seemed to be taking his re-introduction to London with stride, but Lucifer… the sad looks when Charlie was looking away. He was missing something, and knowing the stubborn bastard, he wouldn't talk about it unless I practically tied him to a chair and waterboarded him.
I'm glad to have Charlie back. I'm even moreso happy to have Lucifer back, after years of being half a person... he's whole again.
-C.M.