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Spark Brushel does not like hospitals. It isn’t the white tiles and white walls and white coats that are sometimes more red than white. He loves white; white teeth and white paper and white white hearts, end quote.
No, the problem is the atmosphere. There isn’t a buzz of activity teeming with stories to be found and stories to be told. The activity is there, sure, what with the doctors and nurses, running around and spouting things that sail over his head like boats in the sky. But the only things happening then are either miraculous recoveries or slow deaths, and a reporter like him has no place reporting those. He sniffed out the headlines and published them fast. Families don’t need to hear about the fate of their loved ones from the papers, and the public didn’t need to know until the family wanted them to.
Spark writes articles that tell stories of truths and changes, of new beginnings. Hospitals rarely offer more than regrets and lamentations, of a slow end. Let the news of life and death stay within the house of healing, end quote.
So as he walks through the sterile white halls of Hickfield Clinic, he can’t help but sweat. Spark thought he was long past the point of caring about his nervous habits, but then that attorney called him out on it in court. Now he can’t help but notice it, and it’s just another sign that he should turn around and go. There’s precious leads slipping through his hands each second he stays in this stupid clinic. But this is something that he has to see through.
The room he walks into is as morose as the rest of the clinic. Somehow, the occupant had been even more morose when she was awake. Now though, Vera Misham seems the perfect picture of peace as she lies in bed.
Surprisingly, Vera’s not the only one in the room when Spark enters. Slumped in a chair next to her bed is none other than Phoenix Wright himself. The man of the hour, the disgraced legend reborn as spectacularly as his namesake. News of his innocence and the subsequent arrest of Kristoph Gavin is probably spreading like wildfire, and like the fool he is, Spark is knowingly missing out on the action.
Apparently, Spark’s not the only one surprised to see the other, seeing as how Wright blinks dumbly at him with wide eyes. He's still in the same dirty hoodie that Spark last saw him in, but apparently he’s decided to ditch the beanie that covered his now disheveled hair. With his innocence proven in the biggest case since the UR-1 Incident, Spark supposed that there’s no need to hide his distinctive hair anymore. Dark cloud lifts for Ace Attorney - and the hat does too, end quote.
“Mr. Brushel. I… well there were quite a few people I was expecting to walk through that door.” Wright leans back in his chair and does a big stretch, arching a brow at him. “Not going to lie... you weren’t one of them.”
Spark puts on his best smile and says, “Well, you know me Mr. Wright. I’m always on the scent of a good scoop!”
Judging by the way Wright’s face goes from relaxed and vaguely curious to ice cold frigid, Spark’s best smile has does him and his unfortunate choice of words absolutely zero favors.
“Well Vera’s still in recovery and she won’t be ready for visitors for a while. And I hope that I don’t have to tell you how invasive it is for a reporter to try and badger a hospital patient for an interview.” The glare that Wright levels at him is not the worst that Spark’s ever seen, but right now it’s definitely one of the scariest.
Spark quickly waves his hands in front and says in a panicked voice, “Nonononono, you’ve got it all wrong! I just meant that I knew she was here because I was keeping a close eye on the story!”
When he sees that his words have done nothing to assuage Wright’s irritation, he drops his arms to his side and gives a heavy sigh. Being in the hospital was already wearing him out, and Spark’s been stressed this whole case. Here in this hospital room with a girl recovering from atroquinine poisoning and Phoenix Wright himself glaring him down, Spark realizes just how tired he is.
He looks up at the former attorney, who seems taken aback by the sudden drop in energy. “I just wanted to see how she was doing. I’ll be gone before she wakes up, I promise.”
Wright’s glare softens considerably, but he doesn’t break eye contact with Spark. His hand goes to his pocket – the same habit he had when he talked with Spark at Drew Misham’s studio two days ago.
“You’re sure?”
“As sure as sure can be.”
Maybe Wright can see the weariness on Spark’s face, because he nods and turns his eyes back towards Vera. Letting out a breath Spark didn’t know he was holding in (because people talk about Miles Edgeworth and Franziska von Karma and their glares, but nobody ever talks how scary Phoenix Wright can get) and walks over to Vera’s bed.
Her porcelain face is shaped in a peaceful rest, but instead completely devoid of expression. It unnerved him when she was awake, and it unnerves him now – even more so with how little her chest moves as she takes in small, minute breaths. The doll is only beautiful and lifelike when its strings aren’t cut, end quote.
It’s all wrong. She shouldn’t be in this state, maybe wouldn’t be in this state if he hadn’t added to her stress by testifying against her in court. Hell, she shouldn’t have even been as emotionless as she had been when they met – she was only nineteen for God’s sake! She should be a happy girl who enjoys her artwork and can go outside ad see magic shows, to be held in the arms of a loving father who didn’t sink deeper into his paranoia and his illicit lifestyle because that forgery had nearly broken him with guilt and painted a target on his daughter’s back again, who was still alive and not grasping his throat and shaking and painfully wheezing for air and coughing up blood and looking at him with fearful eyes, oh god his eyes, the light was fading from his eyes, HIS EYES-
“-shel! BRUSHEL!” There were hands shaking his shoulders, and he whirled towards the source. Phoenix Wright was looking at him with wide eyes and outstretched hands, unsure whether to touch him or not. Spark realizes that he’s shaking, and his heart is pounding faster than a bullet. He breathes deeply, and touches his neck sheepishly.
“S-sorry about that. I don’t know what came over me.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Wright waves off, before leaning against the wall next to him. “Are you going to be alright?”
“Yes.” Spark answers just a little bit too quickly. He swallows and takes another breath to compose himself. “Yeah, I just lost my cool for a sec. Reporter hunts the story, and bags the baggage too, end quote.” He tries to put on a grin and taps his forehead with his toothbrush – a poor joke and poorer attempt at deflection.
“Does that usually happen? I mean, aren’t you an experienced journalist?” Wright’s eyes narrow suspiciously. “Or was all that talk in court just talk?”
Spark sputters in indignation before saying, “Of course not! My journalism is rock solid.” He punctuates each word with a sharp movement of his hands. “Maybe I jump to conclusions a bit, and maybe I’m not always so focused, but I’ve got fourteen hard years of experience!”
Wright raises both his hands placatingly. “Okay, okay, I believe you.” He puts his hands back into his pockets and looks to the side thoughtfully. “I got the impression you were the real thing when we spoke anyways. After all, it takes some real skill to find the answers to secrets like the ones the Gramaryes kept.”
Spark leans back until the back of his head is touching the wall and closes his eyes. “I did get a good luck at their secrets, huh.” He muses.
Wright looks over at him and says, “That’s why this case is getting to you, isn’t it? Things you could normally deal with are a lot worse when it’s personal.”
Huh. Now that Spark thinks about it, that’s a pretty accurate way to describe what he’s feeling. Spark knows that he’s a hothead and an airhead – most people don’t take him very seriously, and he’s fine with that. But he’s a good reporter, and he’s been in this game for a long time. He’s covered all kinds of scandals and corruption, murders and assaults, abuses and suicides. Spark Brushel is a silly man, but he is not blind to the darkness that lurks on the streets. He chooses to be silly because it is an active choice to be good and for others to laugh or tease in a world that seems to consume laughter and happiness. And yet the murder of Drew Misham horrifies him on a personal and visceral level (seeing a dead body after the fact is so much different than seeing somebody die in person, he is finding). Vera Misham’s tragedy and his testimony against her enrages and induces guilt in him far more than any other story he’s covered (he had reasonable grounds to doubt her, and he’s covered drunkards cracked their children’s skulls, so is he feeling this now).
But maybe it’s because this case is different. This case isn’t something he can walk away from before the darkness swallows him. Spark has been on edge ever since this case began four days ago. No, that’s not right. The case started seven long years ago when Zak disappeared. Maybe even further back, when he found himself on the peripherals of the Gramarye family and the dark, dark secrets hidden within. How long has Spark been carrying this burden, he wonders now. How long has his life been entrenched in lies, has this feeling of being watched (and he was being watched, fucking Kristoph Gavin) pervaded his life, has he wondered about that one case and what the hell happened to his friend.
Opening his eyes to look at Wright, Spark says, “I spent seven years wondering why Zak had disappeared and if he actually did it, and then one day he just…showed up. No explanations, no warning, just asked me to act as his notary.” Spark chuckles, a bitter sound that surprises even him. “I agreed. Not just because he was my friend, but because I wanted answers.”
Wright frowns, and Spark can see a spark of familiarity in his eyes. A similar longing for the answers behind this big web of lies that kept getting biggerer. A reporter in over his head with a troupe of charlatans, a disgraced lawyer who lost everything by another’s design, and a magician with a booming laugh and obsession with poker at the center of it all. The both of them had been hungry for answers these past seven years it seems.
“I said I’d be his notary and keep quiet about the wanted man in front of me if he agreed to tell me about everything. He promised to tell me the next day, and I was so close to my answers.”
“And then Shadi Smith was murdered.” Fucking Kristoph Gavin.
A silence falls over them. The murderer was locked away that day, but the devil remained hiding in wait and the man with answers was forever out of reach, end quote.
“I was so close! If only I made him tell me everything then and there. Maybe I could have pieced something together.” Spark grits his teeth and the toothbrush in his hands snaps from tightly he holds them. “Maybe I could have saved Zak.”
“Hey, none of that now. I was actively investigating this case for seven years and I didn’t figure out it was Kristoph for sure until after Zak died.” Wright smiles at him, slightly bitter, but a kind one nonetheless. “You did everything you could Spark.”
Spark is genuinely touched, and he won’t deny that hearing that does make him feel better. “Well for what it’s worth, I think you did your best too. The Phoenix rises from the ashes, brighter than ever, end quote.”
The two of them stand in a comfortable silence, watching the small rise and fall of Vera’s chest. After some time has passed, Spark says, “After Zak died, I decided to dig as deep as I could into his case. I smelled something fishy about you forging evidence, so I sniffed around. Managed to get my foot through the door, and then my elbow, and eventually my everything to interview Drew Misham. Almost got those answers again…and then I watched a man die in front of my eyes.”
Phoenix looks surprised and a little touched when Spark mentions his suspicions about his “forgery.” When he gets to Misham’s death, something seems to dawn on Phoenix. “That’s why you’re here. You don’t want someone else to die on this search for answers.”
“…Yeah.”
And there we have it. Kristoph Gavin had been exposed. All the mysteries solved and answers found. Spark had been on the frontlines for this final struggle, and he should have been on the frontlines of the battle for the headlines. But instead, he let his junior writer handle the job even when he knew that she didn’t have nearly as much knowledge about the case as he did. Because he refused to accept that any more deaths, any deaths at all had been necessary to find his answers, and knew that he’d be different, broken, if she died. Because Vera was the final loose thread in this big, big spider web and he felt responsible for seeing where it leads.
So Spark stands vigil with Phoenix for minutes that turn into hours. He briefly steps out to call his team and tell them to take the day off because he won’t be coming back, but otherwise he doesn’t leave his spot. He and Phoenix trade stories, and Spark is telling him about the first of Phoenix’s cases that he covered when a small noise comes from the bed.
The two men hurry over to her bedside, where Vera stirs and slowly, slowly opens her eyes. Phoenix quickly presses a button to call for the nurse and smiles at the girl, voice soft and soothing as he says, “Hey there. You’re finally awake. I’m really glad you’re alright Vera.”
She groans, not even trying to move or get up. Her voice is raspy when she speaks. “You’re…….the trial….what….happened?”
“Hey, don’t strain yourself right now.” Phoenix never raises his voice past that low, almost rhythmic voice as he talks. “Apollo won the trial. We found the truth. You’re gonna be okay.” Vera’s breath hitches, and somehow, Phoenix must to read her mind with the magic lawyer power that Spark is convinced he had because he says, “Of course I’ll tell you everything that happened. Just try and relax while the nurses come to check on you.”
Phoenix starts to grumble under his breath about how long it’s taking, and Spark takes that as his cue to leave. Before he can step out the door though, Phoenix calls out to him from behind. “Hey, where do you think you’re going?”
Spark turns and is thoroughly confused. He gives an unsure grin, “Well I figured you’d want some privacy, and I did promise that I’d be gone by the time she woke up, so…”
Phoenix shakes his head and points to the spot next to him. “Get back over here.” He scoffs. “You’re just as involved in this as we are.” He glances back at Vera before saying in a softer tone, “You deserve the chance to see this through. And I’ll need some help filling in the gaps for her.”
Spark’s first reaction is to politely decline and leave, because he’s already caused Vera enough stress and he’s just a reporter and it’s not professional. But he crossed the line of professionalism way back when he ignored Thalassa’s disappearance. And if he’s honest, he really wants to stay. To talk to this young girl who is proof that the answers they went looking for weren’t in vain, and that somebody was saved by the truth.
So Spark walks back to the bed and rivets the girl with stories and helps Phoenix fill in the gaps of what happened while Vera was unconscious. And the first time one of his quirky mannerisms brings an unexpected (beautiful) smile to Vera’s face, it feels like a weight is lifted from Spark’s shoulders. Finally, the dark web of fate that connects the pieces of this horrible mystery have been unraveled, and the bugs trapped in the spider’s fangs can be free.
End quote.