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Neil's life on the run

I'm wondering if you have any stories about Neil's life on the run with his mom? Jean mentions three of his past names (alex, stefan, chris) but I was wondering if there are back stories to go with them?

Okay, let's try this again, because I wrote up the original response a couple hours ago and Tumblr did that psycho thing where it turned my Keep Reading into a defunct link. Thanks Tumblr

Years and years ago I mapped out the path Mary & Nathaniel took, from Stuart's house through Arizona. I tried figuring out the easiest path they could take that couldn't be traced but a) still stayed close to Mary's contacts and b) allowed some of the languages to overlap (e.g. the France to Canada move). I was all the way to where I was figuring out the timing of it all, and then the file just.. vanished. Not the first time notes have disappeared off my computer, and won't be the last, but for once I decided not to try and recreate them.

I don't have any stories of those years, no, because I didn't think a short story or scene would properly convey what I wanted it to: the monotony, the desperation, the day-in day-out loneliness. What I settled for and collected were images: snapshot memories that Nathaniel would retain over the years no matter how mundane they might have seemed at the time. Moments that were a kaleidoscopic view of a farce of a childhood.

Hunched into a coat waiting for the ferry to arrive, trying to blend into the bumper-car traffic of a busy airport, learning to drive in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night with Mary's impatient voice at his ear. Mary cleaning her gun at their table while Neil sat on the bed, blood on brick when Mary did a favor for someone in return for some fresh IDs–when blood was easier to come by than money. Learning new languages, focusing on verbs and tone and conjugations, ignorant to the fact that how was your day is also a topic of conversation. Eating leftovers for as many days as they could stretch to minimize trips to the supermarket but trying to be seen enough in public that no neighbors would think them queer and reclusive enough to pay attention to.

Seeing someone who looked familiar. Seeing someone who was familiar. Seeing Mary kill a man as slowly as she could until he'd given up everything on how he'd tracked them this time.

Seeing Nathan.

Blood and fire and sand.

Alone.