Chapter Text
December 14, 7:34 AM
Garreg Mach Hospital
I was incapacitated when it happened.
The second I came to, they told me.
It’s not uncommon for me to have nightmares, so I laughed off the news, looked to the sky, and awaited the moment where I would jolt awake, myself and my bedsheets doused in sweat. Where I could heave a sigh, and reach for the glass of water on my bedstand.
But as the nurse’s glassy, concerned stare continued to drive through me, I was forced to look both her and my new reality in the face.
I was already awake.
And my father, along with my best friend, were dead.
The room started to spin, but I tried my best to keep a hold on the present. But then, maybe the present isn’t where I should be at the moment.
The nurse makes a futile attempt to catch me, but I am already long gone, bounding through the hospital corridors, with her periwinkle hair being but a speck in my backward glance.
It is unbeknownst to me in that moment that my wrists are screaming in pain, or that all I’m wearing is a thin hospital smock. That wasn’t the moment I was living in.
My mind was racing toward yesterday.
--
Yesterday
December 13, 5:44 PM
Home of Mayor Blaiddyd
There wasn’t much to remember, since I was knocked out for the later half of the day. Still, there had to be an answer somewhere.
I had just gotten home from the Eisner & Co. Law office, which is where I currently work. I guess this would be a good time for me to introduce myself.
My name is Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, and I am a defense attorney. Well, as of two months ago, that is. I graduated from Garreg Mach Law School and took the bar exam well over a year ago, but as accomplished as that may sound, finding a job was a completely different, mind-bogglingly impossible challenge. I got my lucky break last October when my former professor, Byleth Eisner, noticed my pitiful ‘Aspiring Law Graduate’ headline on Linkedin; they offered me a job at their law office, which they had just inherited from their retired father, the legendary defense attorney Jeralt Eisner.
The last two months I spent the most of my work days filing paperwork, as well as organizing evidence for Professor’s upcoming trials. As much as I desperately wanted to be the one behind the courtroom podium, I understood that it was important for me to first learn the ropes of the job.
Well, that’s what I thought up until today, at least. Let’s get back to my story.
On December 13th, at 5:44 PM, I was gathering the ingredients for a delectable grilled cheese sandwich when I heard the front door lock jiggle open, followed by downtrodden footsteps, and at last, a heavy sigh.
I looked over my shoulder at my father, Mayor Lambert Blaiddyd: a name fit for a king, and a king he was. He shouldered a black overcoat over his navy blue suit, an ensemble that rightfully spoke that he was a man of great importance. Looking up beyond the sharp outfit, you would see sleek blond hair, and an expertly trimmed beard; however, these were just accessories to his eyes, the kindest blue eyes you will ever see.
But today those eyes were clouded with worry, and crow’s feet of age clawed at the corners. My father stared hopelessly at a packet of papers he held in front of him.
“Dad, are you okay?”
It was a few moments until he broke his silence with another sigh. “Actually, son, I’m not.”
Without another word, I dropped the ten slices of cheese I was holding, and made my way to the couch, where my father joined me.
I could see him carefully forming his words as he stared at the wall ahead.
“This morning I received a concerning tip regarding the Faerghus Police Force,” he started. “There is....reason to believe that our Chief of Police has been involved in...unjust practices. Illegal practices, actually.”
Hearing that, it was obvious why he was so uncomfortable.
“The Chief of Police...you don’t mean...Auntie?”
Again with that colossal sigh. “That is exactly who I mean.”
The Chief of Police, known to me as Auntie Cornelia, is one of my father’s closest friends, their bond tracing back to a time I couldn’t remember. Previously known as one of the best forensic scientists in Fodlan, Cornelia was promoted to her current position with high praise from dad. More importantly, there isn’t a single moment I remember with her that wasn’t filled with infectious laughter.
“That’s impossible, she would never do anything of the sort,” I retorted.
Response already expertly prepared, my father coolly spoke, “My source is one whom I trust with my life. I have absolutely no reason to doubt the information I’ve been provided.” He broke his gaze from the wall, and looked to me: eyes brimming with sadness. “Cornelia has also been...acting a bit off, these days, to put it lightly.”
He stood. “I’m sorry, son. Tonight, Vice Mayor Rodrigue and I will be auditing the police station. I received the warrant before leaving my office today.” He weakly brandished a paper from the packet in his hand, offering me to take a look.
I couldn’t make much of the document, and my dad didn’t have any more information on the accusation other than what he had already divulged.
“Can I come with you?”
At first, the sharp whip of his head seemed to indicate ‘no’, but his expression was one of thoughtful surprise. I mean, he knows better than to tell me something dubious but vague without expecting pushback. I am an attorney (albeit newly hired), after all, and this was my realm; there is nothing more that I wanted than an answer to this strange situation.
“Yes, you can come. Rodrigue arrives at 6 PM, and we may leave together to the precinct.”
That is where my memory stops: with these last words I recall from my father. I did not find those answers I wanted, and instead stand here present day with nothing but questions.
--
Present Day
December 14, 7:55 AM
My frenzied escape from Garreg Mach Hospital has brought me here: a slate gray building, longer than it was tall, shuttered away behind a screen of barbed wire fencing. It shames me to say, as an attorney, that this was my first time at the Faerghus Detention Center.
I pushed through the entrance doors, possibly a bit too forcefully, as the security guards glared at me with fastidiousness and...bewilderment?
That’s when I realized I was not wearing pants. Well, it’s too late to turn back now.
With as much normalcy and confidence I could muster, I strode to the front desk and brought my eyes up to the clerk.
“I would like to request a visit to a detainee,” I declared.
He didn’t even bother looking up from his book. “We only have one detainee at the moment, so I assume you are asking for Mr. Molinaro.”
Molinaro. So that’s his name, the murderer.
It’s one I’ve never heard, but what does it matter at this point? These days, anyone could kill anybody, regardless of relationship.
“Sir.”
I didn’t realize I was glowering mindlessly at the poor man. He stared at me sleepily, and it was clear that my inner monologue was wasting his precious time.
“Yes. I am here to see him. Is he available?”
The clerk’s hazy blue eyes scanned his computer monitor for a bit, then answered.
“No.”
“No?”
“He is in for questioning at the moment, and is currently unavailable,” Linhardt (finally read his nametag) droned, twirling his shoulder-length locks. I noticed he had begun to take more interest in who I was, as he was looking me up and down with disapproval. “What exactly is your...business here, sir? Are you involved with his case?"
Well, no.
“Yes,” I ran my hands down my sides in search of my pockets, when I realized two things:
One: I did not have any pockets. I was wearing a hospital gown.
Two: Holy fucking shit, what is wrong with my hands?
I jerked my arms up in recoil and grasped my stinging wrist, which only made my opposite wrist ache more. Not only was I severely injured for reasons unknown, but I had left all my belongings at the hospital. This includes my attorney badge, which I had hoped to show Linhardt here so he would let me see Molinaro.
It started to dawn on me that I was a pasty man with disheveled hair, donning nothing but bandages and a flimsy hospital gown, grumbling and flinching at his own hands in a high-security detention center.
“Look, I promise I have business here,” I started, but our friend Linhardt was not having it.
“No, I’m pretty sure you don’t,” was that sass? “If I were you, I would be on my way.” His eyes looked beyond my shoulder, and I turned to see a very displeased, very swole security guard coming my way.
Nothing was going to stop me from confronting Molinaro, if it was the last thing I ever did. I owe it to my dad...I owe it to Glenn. Remembering that this man also killed Glenn, my childhood friend, gave me the spark I needed to further retaliate.
“Please. This case means the world to me, and I need answers. The victims are my family. I have to talk to him,” I blurted, admittedly desperately.
“Yeah, no. You’re crazy, pal. I’m afraid you’re going to have to-”
“I’ll speak with him.”
Linhardt was cut off by a smooth voice, deep like velvet. Both myself and the guards who were manhandling me jerked our heads in its direction.
In the narrow, starkly lit hallway stood a stranger, who loomed so tall and had shoulders so broad that I didn’t notice there were two policemen flanking his sides. His hair was shining platinum, and long strands of it fell loose from a bun and framed his angular, yet calm face. He was dressed smartly: a perfectly pressed dress shirt lay beneath his sherpa-lined jacket, tucked cleanly into a pair of corduroys.
The handcuffs choking his wrists did not compliment his look at all.
“Mr. Hevring,” he spoke once more, “I’ve just finished my questioning, and should have time for a visitor before my next appointment. Would you be as kind as to lead this man to my cell?”
Lindhart raised his eyebrows at the formality of speech, but seemed to have no real opinion on whether I was in or out of his facility. “Sure, go ahead.”
The mystery man nodded, and then shifted his eyes to mine.
These must be the eyes of a murderer.
...Then why on earth do I feel like I’ve seen these eyes before? Eyes kinder than any eyes I had ever seen…
No. I can’t believe I nearly compared Molinaro’s eyes to those of my father. Eyes that likely watched the life fade from his.
I shook the thought from my head, and followed Molinaro to his cell.
--
December 14, 8:06 AM
Dedue Molinaro’s Cell
“Care to introduce yourself, my friend?”
Behind the plexiglass barrier, Dedue Molinaro leaned his knees on his elbows to lower his gaze to mine. While he seemed so serene, so peaceful, I looked down at my bandaged hands, refusing to look him in the eyes ever again. I noticed then that I was shaking uncontrollably.
I shot up to my feet and faced the back wall.
“My name is Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd,” I responded. I felt his grey eyes boring holes between my shoulderblades.
I couldn’t look at him.
“You killed my best friend...and my father.”
The holes joined and drove a pit into my stomach, my lungs, my throat. I took a quavering breath.
“Why?”
The weeping holes filling my body were plugged with freezing silence, but were drained by a velvet voice.
“Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, I did not murder your best friend. I did not murder your father.”
The tears were boiling hot, but they were flung off when I whipped my face to his.
Liar. Killer. Scum.
I screamed these things, breath condensing in droplets on the glass between us.
Yet, when the fog dissipated, the man whose face I stared into was not the monster I was berating.
I slumped into my chair, and allowed Molinaro the chance to retort. He did not.
“I will take this moment to introduce myself then, if that is alright,” he chided.
I had nothing to say, so he began.
“My name is Dedue Molinaro. I am twenty-five years old,” he started, as if he were dictating a biography. “I am a PhD student at the University of Duscur. I was in Faerghus Park yesterday with some classmates of mine when a riot broke out, and the murder occurred. I have been accused of murdering Glenn Fraldarius and Lambert Blaiddyd, both of whom I had never heard of before my arrest.”
I should’ve cursed him for saying their names in vain, but for some reason, my heart willed against it. Instead, I asked him a question.
“What do you study at UD?”
He didn’t seem the slightest bit surprised at my change in tone, as if he knew it were coming. “Criminal Psychology. A bit ironic, if I say so myself, considering my situation at hand.” The ghost of a smile swept over his lips.
“Why on earth were UD students rioting in a park in Faerghus?”
“I would like to know the answer to that as well,” Dedue clasped his hands behind his head as he took in the bewildered (still teary) look I gave him. “My peers and I did not go to the park to riot. We were holding a peaceful demonstration regarding our school, and Faerghus was the second city we’d travelled to on our quest to spread awareness. We had no intentions of violence; I am not even sure our students are the ones who initiated it.”
“Demonstration? Like a protest? Protesting what?”
“Unfair admission practices.” I had no idea what he meant by that, so I pressed him further.
“As you may know, the University of Duscur is one of the most prestigious colleges in all of Fodlan,” he began, before qualifying his statement, “it isn’t my intention to brag,” but I gestured for him to continue. I knew UD was competitive: I was rejected, after all, back in high school.
“Naturally, considering it is our local college, you’d think Duscur natives would make a large fraction of the UD student body. However, that isn’t the case. Can you guess what percentage we make up?”
So he’s from Duscur, not just a student residing there. I tucked that thought away for later. “I don’t know, 50%? Half?”
“I wish I could say you were close, but Duscur natives make up a mere 1.5% of the UD student population.”
I gaped at him. “1.5%? That’s next to nothing!”
Dedue nodded solemnly.
“Why is it so low?”
I must have touched a nerve, since he took some time to explain.
“The other nations of Fodlan don’t have the… most kind opinions of Duscur, when it comes to discussing anything other than UD.” For the first time, Dedue broke away, and looked off absently to his right.
“For decades, Duscur has been considered a slum, a stain on our nation’s history. My friends, family, and myself have had slurs and threats thrown at us to no end, equating us to brainless thugs. Duscur is ‘the wrong side of the tracks’, ‘the ghetto’, to all who look down on it.”
“Yet, we have no choice but to accept the labels they bind to us; government administration leaves Duscur abandoned, resourceless, with all of their funding fed to the university. We have no option but to keep going, even though the world has turned its back on us.”
“I worked hard, harder than most, to secure admission to UD. I gave up everything I had to make myself competitive, even leaving home to pursue opportunities in Adrestia that Duscur couldn’t dream of offering. This chance, a chance I could barely count on, cost me my adolescence, cost me all of my savings. It cost me my chance to see my parents one last time...before they were killed.”
I looked up, to see kind eyes clouded with sadness once again. I wasn’t the only one who had lost everything.
“My story of ‘success’ is an uncommon one. Children of Duscur rarely make it through middle school these days. When I was younger, I was so angry, thinking they were throwing their lives away. Today, however, I realize that they can’t even imagine such a life to begin with. They are simply just never given the chance. That, Mr. Blaiddyd, is why I protest. It is who I protest for.”
We sat in silence as Dedue’s last words permeated through the glass.
His statement dawned a light on me. I’m not looking for answers anymore, at least I don’t think I am. I’m looking for the same thing Dedue has been fighting for all his life.
Justice.
Our eyes met, and through his I found the words my heart was begging me to say the moment we first met.
“You didn’t kill Glenn. You didn’t kill my father. I’m sorry.”
A smile, one that was knowing, understanding, and grateful. A smile I could return.
“Thank you, Mr. Blaiddyd.”
“Please call me Dimitri,” I reached out to shake his hand, but was met with a fistfull of wall, and a familiar dose of agony.
“Are you alright?” Dedue stood abruptly, before sitting down once again after remembering he was locked in a cell, and not actually in the same room with me. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about your...condition.”
I furrowed my brows at him, then remembered what I looked like, and laughed the first laugh I’d had in what seemed like ages.
“Oh yeah, about that...I suppose I do look pretty insane right now. I probably sounded a bit insane when I was screaming and thrashing against those guards earlier, too...” My words turned into a mumble as I scratched the back of my head. I was met with an easygoing laugh, as smooth as its owner’s matching speaking voice.
I cleared my throat and regained my composure to the best of my ability. “I came here directly from a hospital ICU. Apparently, I was with my father when the crime occurred, but was knocked unconscious, and sustained injuries,” I held my palms up to indicate said injuries, and Dedue nodded in understanding.
“I don’t remember anything of the incident, unfortunately, but I believe you, Dedue. I believe you with all the trust I have-” my voice caught, because an idea struck me.
“What’s wrong Dimitri?”
“I’m… a defense attorney.” I knew exactly what to do. I had never been so sure of anything in my life.
“Dedue Molinaro,” I declared, “If you are willing, and if you do not yet have representation, I would be honored if you would consider me as your defense in the upcoming trial!”
It all made sense, this is why I became a lawyer, why I studied law in the first place: to seek and instill justice, to defend the innocent. It was never about answers or accusation. Not only that, but this was the only opportunity I had to start my investigation into the murder, to avenge my father and Glenn.
It was the perfect first trial.
Oh. This is my first trial. Shit.
Earth to Dimitri, you are an idiot. Why would Dedue want you, a rookie attorney who has not only never stood in court, but a rookie attorney who just called him murderous scum a few minutes ago?
Backtrack time. “I’m so sorry, Dedue, th-that was totally out of place and out of hand. I shouldn’t have-”
“Yes.”
Eyes of kindness. But this time, a glimmer of something new.
Hope.
“...Really?” I mumbled.
He nodded slowly, but surely. “Yes,” he repeated. “I trust you as well, and it is not like I have any defense attorneys running to my feet, as a murderer from Duscur.”
I thanked him profusely and began to blabber my apologies, when he raised his hand to silence me.
“Dimitri, I do have to make it clear to you that the trial is tomorrow morning. You are aware of this, correct?”
Oh shiiiiit.
I sprung from my seat. “Tomorrow? I’m so sorry Dedue, but I definitely need to go investigate, like, right now, so I don’t think I have time to ask you anything else...”
I turned to the door, but returned, “Well, I actually don’t have anything to ask you. Your alibi is solid, and your motive is nonexistent. There is absolutely no reason for you to have committed this crime. Actually, why were you even accused in the first place?”
“Wait, Dimitri, there is one thing you should-” he called out to me, but I was already out the door. I bode goodbye to Linhardt and his guards, then met the cold rush of winter air as I exited the detention center.
It was time to gather some evidence. But first, pants.
--
December 14, 9:30 AM
Faerghus Park Gate
With pants on, hoodie zipped, and ponytail tightened, I wheeled over to the scene of the crime on my bike. Maybe I have a driver’s licence. Maybe I don’t.
The park was a billowing patch of lush greenery, smack dab in the heart of Faerghus. On a normal day, picnic blankets littered the glades of pillowy grass, and children splashed in the ornamental fountains, sculpted after the four Saints of Seiros, with a central one in the likeness of Seiros herself, the legendary savior of Fodlan. Today however, the atmosphere was bleak, and the entire park was cast in deep shadows, save for the highlighter-yellow ‘DO NOT CROSS’ tape snaked around the perimeter fencing. I was nearly through the park gate when a loud AHEM came from behind me.
So close. I turned around and was met with deep amber aviator sunglasses, perched atop a dazzling smile, and housed beneath a nest of crimson curls.
“Well if it isn’t Mister Dimitri Blaiddyd himself!”
“Sylvain, hi.” Well, if I had to talk to a cop today, I’m glad it was going to be Sylvain. At least that’s what I was thinking before he pulled me into a bone-crushing embrace.
“Dimitri...what are you doing here?” he whispered in a low tone, but he kept his signature smile plastered to his face, as to not draw attention to surrounding personnel. “You shouldn’t be here, pal. You need to go home and rest...now.”
I shouldered out of his death-grip of a hug, but winced when I tried to smooth my wrinkled jacket with my stupid hands.
“Sylvain, I’m the defense attorney. For the case. You could say it’s my obligation to be here.”
I almost laughed at the wide eyed dismay on Sylvain’s face, but my amusement was quickly replaced with dread when an all too familiar drawl came from within the park.
“Is that true, Defense Attorney Blaiddyd?”
Felix. One of me and Sylvain’s closest friends...and Glenn’s brother.
This should’ve crossed my mind much earlier; Felix is a detective, I should’ve expected that I would run into him at some point during this case. I just didn’t think it would be this soon. Too soon.
“Fe! There you are,” Sylvain’s eyes lit up, and he hopped the fence, wrapping his arms around the detective’s waist.
“D-don’t touch me! And do NOT call me nicknames.” Felix hissed, swatting at his assailant, who only clung on harder, digging his chin into his shoulder.
“Ugh! Sylvain, go away. Go find some woman to objectify,” Sylvain began to pout, but turned serious when Felix spoke more quietly. “I need to talk to...him.”
With Sylvain off to objectify women, I was left alone with a red-faced and irritated Felix, the only thing protecting me being the park gate.
Felix was, without a doubt, tiny. Well, compared to Sylvain and I, anyways; it was something we would always tease him about during our childhood, along with his tendency to cry over everything.
But now, as a young man, Felix was everything but small, in regards to his presence. His scowl and pointed words were more than enough to fell a grown man, and his quick wit and knack for evidence analysis has turned countless court disputes on their heads. When paired with his intimidating profile and merciless eyes, the color of raging flames, it is plain to see why Chief Detective Nevrand promoted him to be her right-hand man.
All of these offensive tactics were in play when he bit me with his question once more.
“Well? Is it true?”
There was nothing to say but the truth. “Yes. I have taken Mr. Molinaro’s case.”
Where I thought there would be ceaseless protest, there was instead contemplation. He didn’t yell, he didn’t chastise. After a painful eternity, he spoke up.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Felix growled, staring at the sidewalk at my feet.
“I would say the same to you, Detective Fraldarius.” I could play the no-first-name game, too.
“It’s my job…” he retorted. He lifted his eyes to mine: his irises burned like the embers of a forgotten fire.
He began to laugh, but it wasn’t an honest sound, rough and low with malice. Nothing like the laughs he would belt when we would watch shitty movies together, or the tipsy giggles he slurred after one beer at our parties, his head resting in my lap.
“You’re just like a boar. Reckless, desperate, thoughtless. All this just to find answers that you probably won’t find.” He turned on his heel, and began to strut his way back to the center of the park.
“How does that make me any different from you, Felix?”
Stopped dead in his tracks, he didn’t even bother to turn around, instead choosing to yell at the trees behind him. My breath hitched, as I realize that from behind, Felix looks identical to his father, and, hauntingly, identical to Glenn. It was as if I were staring at the back of Glenn's apparition, refusing to be put to rest.
“You chose this case of your own accord, yet you didn’t have to. I have a job to do, and I’m doing it. Are you so thirsty for answers that you’re willing to worm your way into this through any way possible? Even if it means defending the man who killed your father? The man who killed-”
Felix’s raspy belts were caught in his throat, and it didn’t take long for me to hop the fence and turn his face to mine.
I guess he still is a bit of a crybaby.
But then again, judging from this morning’s events, so am I.
“Dedue Molinaro did not kill either of them, Felix. I know this for sure.”
Coming to his senses, he hastily wiped his face on his blazer, and aggressively shrugged my hands off of his shoulders. I must have grunted in pain, because Felix’s scowling facade broke for just a moment, expressing concern.
Before he could say anything, and before I could lose his attention, I continued, “I need your trust when I say this. Call me whatever you want, but without your faith, we will never achieve justice for our family.”
Somehow, Felix must have found it in him somewhere to trust me, because the embers were extinguished to smoking coals of resignation.
“...I’ll take you to the crime scene. Walk quickly. Don’t snoop around for longer than you have to. Nobody here knows who you are...yet.”
He grabbed my wrist (immediately letting go with an exasperated sigh when I yelped), and led me to the middle of the park, the sunlight slowly fading away as the trees shut us in.
--
December 14, 10:15 AM
Heart of Faerghus Park
If Felix hadn’t been at my side, I’m not sure I would’ve been able to stomach the sight of their blood spattered on the telephone pole, pooling in the mud below. With Byleth, I’d seen much worse, but...you know.
Felix must have been thinking the same, as I heard a sharp inhale on my left. Looking down, I saw that his eyes were closed, his lips pursed.
There was nothing particularly peculiar about the crime scene. Felix laid the details out to me at a nearby bench, and presented me with schematics of how it would have looked with the corpses still present; I assume he chose to show me these, rather than the actual photos, out of consideration for my feelings.
The story stood as a riot caused by a University of Duscur protest gone awry. My dad, Rodrigue and I were cutting through the park as a shortcut to the precinct, when we got tangled in the crowd. I was knocked out, and during that time police forces arrived on the scene, which included Glenn. Allegedly, Dedue tied Glenn and my father to the telephone pole, using a scarf, and stabbed them, unable to defend themselves. He then fled the scene, but was arrested later that night in his apartment in Duscur. No murder weapon was found, and it seems there wasn’t any other telling evidence left either...
“Uh, Felix?” I interjected, interrupting his explanation. “Sorry, but...how does any of this point to Dedue Molinaro being the murderer?”
“Uh, Dimitri?” Felix mocked my tone, “did you even interview your client?”
Ouch! Still, well deserved, because that was something that I, in fact, did not do.
“I didn’t have time, but he told me his alibi and story and everything and it’s completely solid-”
“Shut up,” Felix barked, and he rummaged through his messenger bag, pulling out a miniscule plastic bag that held...nothing? “Look at this.”
“I am looking,” I complained, “but what exactly am I looking at? Air?”
“Look harder, you dolt! Do you see that?” Felix jabbed his slender finger at the plastic, and I did see something glimmer under the agitation. A single strand of long, platinum hair, coiled on itself in a perfect spiral.
...Dedue’s hair?
“What the fuck? Let me see that-” I grabbed for the bag, but it fell to the bench seat between us.
My hand...wouldn’t close?
I looked at my palms, which were once again shaking. I tried to close them once again, but only managed to barely curl my fingertips before being met with the familiar, yet still unbearable jolt of pain.
“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Felix barked. To anyone else, this would seem harsher than sandpaper, but that’s just the way Felix shows his love. I think.
“You need to go back to the hospital, Dimitri. How did you even leave?”
“Never mind that!” I snapped, maybe even a little too angrily for him, judging from his widened eyes, “just tell me what this is.”
Felix leaned back into the bench and picked up the plastic bag, which had fallen between the seat cracks and into the grass below.
“I tested this strand of hair this morning, and it is a perfect match with Dedue Molinaro. I found it on the scarf. It’s his scarf, Dimitri.”
He pulled the photo of the scarf from the pile of files on his lap. The scarf was cerulean, faded from what seemed to be everyday wear. It was striped with a burnt orange motif. This was the same scarf that was tied to the telephone pole a few feet away from me, that tied the two corpses together just last night.
“How are you feeling, wise guy? A little wary of your ‘innocent client’, are you?” Felix’s words were a snarl, but tinged with playfulness. He wouldn’t be here telling me this if he didn’t actually believe in my judgement.
“Yes! I mean, no! Dedue is innocent, without a doubt! I just...ugh, why didn’t he tell me this?”
“Wait, Dimitri, there is one thing you should-” Dedue’s call echoed in my mind.
Goddammit, he did try to tell me, after all. So much for being diligent, and rushing off to the scene as early as possible, since this is a piece of information I probably kinda-sorta need desperately.
“I guess you’re going to have to find that out tomorrow. This is all I can give you at the moment, but if I find anything else, I’ll text you.” Felix gathered the heap of papers into a neat stack, and went to hand it to me, but resolved to sticking it in my backpack instead. Damn these hands.
“Thanks, Felix.”
We stood, and a brief moment of quiet walked between us as we prepared our goodbyes.
Felix and his father, Rodrigue, had never gotten along very well. As a result, my father was as much of a father to Felix as he was to me; there were too many nights to count where he and Sylvain (who also had his own share of family issues) stayed the night at my childhood home, rambling to my dad about relationship issues (Sylvain) and injuries from playground fights (Felix). Dad always responded with hearty chuckles, and words of advice. Words of love.
But neither of the two combined spent as much time with me as Glenn did.
Glenn was my foil, my partner in crime, my brother. Inseparable by birth...and now, as it seems, inseparable by death.
I will stop at nothing to avenge him, to bring his soul peace. He would have done the same for me. I know Felix feels the same, and that we both share this same determination to uncover the mystery behind my father’s death as well.
As if he were reading my thoughts, Felix gives me a wistful smile.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Dimitri.”
“You too. Goodbye, Felix.”
--
December 14, 2:40 PM
Faerghus Park Gate
The head physician had to be around here somewhere.
Felix had provided me with more than I deserved regarding evidence, but I was still missing one crucial piece of information: the autopsy report.
I tried to ignore the anxiety bubbling in my stomach, rising higher as the prospect of reading about the deaths in detail loomed closer. But this was a step I needed to take if I was going to give my best performance in the upcoming trial.
When I reached the exit to the park, I spotted a figure shrouded in a white coat, which was embellished with the Garreg Mach Hospital crest.
“Dr. Rhea Nabatea, correct?”
When the physician turned to face me, I was met with a billowing cascade of seafoam green hair, which landed impossibly delicately on her shoulder. She seemed to exude light, from her faultless porcelain skin to her equally bright green eyes.
I must have looked a bit too awestruck, because she tittered politely, a laugh like a wind chime. I think I’ve spent too much time reading Sylvain’s over-the-top fanfics, I promise I don’t typically follow this sort of thought process.
“Yes, that would be me. You must be Dimitri Blaiddyd. I am blessed to have the chance to meet you,” she dulcetly responded, gracefully extending her hand.
“Oh I’m sorry, I would shake your hand, ma’am, but I uh…” I chuckled awkwardly and routinely waved my bandaged hands at her. “A-and yes, that is me. I’m him. Dimitri.”
Dr. Nabatea’s expression cracked with concern. “You are unwell? How peculiar for you to be assigned to a case in your condition…” I elected not to tell her about the rash decisions that actually brought me here, “nonetheless, I will have an order made at the hospital for you. Traumatic nerve injury is, unfortunately, something I have seen in patients many times, and there are aids I can provide you with.”
Thank goddess for this ethereal woman!
“T-thank you so much. That would mean the world to me,” I stuttered, “actually, on another note, I would actually like to ask you for one more favor.”
“I’m sure you mean the autopsy report,” she beamed knowingly. Out of what seemed to be thin air, she produced a manila folder. Like Felix, she gestured to my backpack, so I turned to allow her to slide it inside.
“Within that folder you will find all you need to know about the circumstances of the two deaths. The medical team assigned to this autopsy is one I trust dearly, and I am confident that the information provided will be as accurate as can be.
“In summary, the victims were subject to similar injuries. Abrasions were found on their chest and upper arms, indicating the victims were tightly bound by a taut rope, or similar object. Lambert Blaiddyd was found with three stab wounds: two piercing his upper left back with no exit wound, and one through his center, exiting to the right of his navel. Glenn Fraldarius had one wound, a cut through his lower back that also exited near his navel. Although we are able to confirm that each wound was created with the same weapon, we are unable to determine the exact type of weapon used. It is estimated that the time between the injuries and death was ten minutes.”
I thanked the heavenly doctor profusely, and before I could say anything stupid, set out for my office. There was a lot to unpack.
--
December 14, 8:48 PM
Eisner & Co. Law Office
“Dimitri? What in the world are you doing here?”
The answer to that was ‘sitting at my desk for hours, trying to make sense of this evidence’, but that wasn’t something I could say to my boss, who I totally absolutely 110% remembered to tell I was taking this case.
“Professor! Hey!” I spun my chair around with my arms open in greeting, hoping I didn’t seem panicked in the slightest, “I have something to tell you, actually.”
Byleth walked over slowly, placing their hands on my desk. I desperately avoided their gaze, turning my head away; those eyes seem like they could literally pierce the veil of space and time, and I really didn’t have the emotional resilience to deal with that today.
“Dimitri, you are supposed to be in the hospital. Recovering. Not poring over...what even are these…?” As they reached down to shuffle through Felix’s evidence files, I had no choice but to come clean.
“I took the case. It was in the spur of the moment, I didn’t think to consult you first. I’m sorry Byleth, but this is something I need to do.”
Shock tore across their face, and time seemed to stand still.
“Dimitri, you don’t mean… the case?”
I said nothing, since they without a doubt knew my answer. Byleth sprung up from my desk, placing their palms on each side of their head, and began to pace the length of the room.
“I--Dimitri, you...this is bad. Quite bad. Dimitri, this is your first case. It’s in less than twenty-four hours. Not only that, but you’re supposed to be in the ICU right now. Maybe that’s why Marianne called from the hospital earlier today, I should’ve picked up-”
“Professor. Please listen to me.”
“No, Dimitri. You listen to me. You are in absolutely no shape to be taking this case, let alone taking this case without my permission. A murder trial is not to be taken lightly, especially when you have personal connection to those involved,” Byleth stood in place for a moment, and breathed a long sigh, regaining composure, “Please send in a call to the detention center and rescind your defense offer. Now.”
Courage flared inside me, and I found the strength to look straight into those piercing jade eyes.
“No, Professor, I’m afraid I can’t do that,” I stated, without a quaver in tone to be found. “Dedue Molinaro is innocent, and I firmly believe his testimony.”
A sigh of exasperation. “Dimitri, this case, its…” Byleth’s voice trailed into a whisper, “Dimitri...your father.”
“I know.”
I stood, and walked over to the window behind me, which overlooked the city. In the distance, I caught a glimpse of the places I used to go with my dad: the park, the diner downtown, the theater. The playground where Glenn and I would play cops and robbers, and chase squirrels until we collapsed into a giggling heap in a blanket of autumn leaves. The bar where we would meet every Friday with our friends, laughing our stresses away, steins of beer clinking brightly as we toasted.
Just a block away from that bar was the sprawling gray shadow of the detention center. I raised my eyes to the skyline, which highlighted the train tracks that separated Faerghus and Duscur.
“My dad is dead, Glenn is dead, and Dedue Molinaro will be put on trial tomorrow. These are three things that are factual, things that I can’t change, or turn my back on.
“However, I’ve been presented with the chance to turn the tides on one of these circumstances. I know Dedue did not kill them, or have anything to do with the riot at all; I knew this from the moment I looked him in the eye.
“I can’t bring them back to life, and I know that. Turning my back on Dedue, blindly pointing a finger at someone to blame...that won’t bring them back either. I have a chance to make things right, Byleth, to re-route the tracks of this case and save someone who was also wronged by this crime. If I turn away, Dedue may never see the light of day. He would be worse than dead: a student, in the wrong place at the wrong time, sentenced to a life behind bars for a crime he did not commit. Would I let that happen? Would you?”
I turn my head to look at Byleth, but they aren’t in the place they were before I spoke. Instead they stood beside me, also gazing forlornly out the window, surveying the town below, like a deity beholding its creation. It felt like hours before they spoke.
“I used to live in Duscur...for a short time, yes, but long enough to make fond memories.”
Byleth looked my way, and from their look, I knew I was understood.
“I will be your counsel tomorrow on the day of the trial. Please leave the evidence for me to look over; I feel you’ve locked yourself in here for long enough.”
Byleth walked to the front of the office and opened the door for me. I gathered my belongings, and made toward the exit, when they spoke up for the last time.
“You know...we joke a lot about how I hired you out of pity, but I hope you know that that couldn’t be further from the truth,” they started, “you have something special, Dimitri, a sense of justice that I had never seen from my students before teaching you. I’m honored to have you as part of my practice.”
Despite the day’s trials and tribulations, I felt my stress melt with the warmth of their words. I turned around to say thank you, and to return the praise, but was met with a “goodnight, Dimitri,” and a door slammed in my face.
Typical Byleth. I could almost see their mischievous smirk through the door between us. Nonetheless, I descended the stairs out into the chilling Faerghus night sky; the stars were glimmering, endless.
This morning, I would not have had the heart to walk into my home, knowing dad wouldn’t be there, snoring away in the bedroom adjacent to mine. But tonight, the thought only made me pedal faster.
I have a reason. I have faith. This trial will be mine.
Yet, something still stirred in the recesses of my mind.
While I slept soundly in my bed that night, something else was rousing itself to consciousness.