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That night at the pitch dark bus stop felt colder than any night that had come before. The rain came down hard like icy bullets, and Miles was soaked all the way through to the bone, his shirt pressed up against his back, and violent shivers ran through his core and up his spine. He tucked his face further into his coat, the wind stinging his face. He checked his watch. The bus wouldn’t come for another fifteen minutes. He held himself around the waist and repeatedly pressed his fingers into his sides, desperate to get any warmth that he could in this nightmare of a storm. Thunder rumbled up above him. He gritted his teeth.
“Where are you headed?” asked a voice beside him. He looked up. Standing there was a woman - She was older, perhaps in her forties, with soft, new lines on her face and long dark hair wrapped up in an intricate style above her head. She wore a long trenchcoat over a long black dress, with little pearl earrings and subtle evening makeup. She was soaked from the rain too, though she didn’t seem to be shivering. Miles cast her a look.
“Out of town,” he said simply.
“Hm,” she answered, seeming unsurprised by the answer. She rocked on her heels for a moment, and then looked up at the sky. “Interesting weather we’re having. I had thought this would be snow, this time of year. I suppose I’m not used to this part of the world.” Miles didn’t answer her, his eyes straight ahead. She glanced at him, and then kept talking. “You know, there’s a little cafe just across the street from here. I think I may stand in there, buy myself a coffee. Better than standing in the rain. You should be able to see the bus through the window. Of course, even if you can’t… what’s a missed bus in this day and age?” She looked at him again, awaiting some reply. It didn’t come, Miles shoving his hands deeper under his arms. “Would you care to join me? I’ll buy you a coffee.”
“No, thank you,” Miles said pointedly.
“I’m not flirting with you,” she clarified, “And don’t worry, it’s not out of pity, either.” She awaited a question that didn’t come, then stared out at the road, and went on. “Elise Deuxnim,” she introduced, and held out her hand.
Miles neither shook his hand, or gave his name. “Nice to meet you,” he said, with a dryness in his voice.
Unfazed, she withdrew her hand. “Likewise,” she said, and tucked her hand back in her pocket. There were a few moments of quiet between them, before Elise went on, staring up into the rain. “You know, it seems a shame to leave when the weather’s so poor,” she observed, “You certainly won’t be remembering the best of Los Angeles.”
He cast her a look, struggling for what to say in return. “Well, frankly, I don’t feel that my reasons for leaving are any of your business. Despite your friendliness, I might remind you that you are a perfect stranger to me.”
“Oh, never disregard a stranger,” she encouraged him, “Most strangers are very important. Certain strangers even change your life forever.” Then she smiled to herself. “That’s not to say you’ll remember me. But! I can tell you that… well, I’m in a talkative mood today, and there’s fifteen minutes before the bus gets here and… well, my daughters used to tell me I was much more tolerable once everyone around me had gotten a little caffeine in them.”
“Or you could just leave me alone,” Miles said, half under his breath.
She sighed. “Perhaps, most nights, I would,” she admitted, “But… if I might be transparent with you about myself… I am quite knowledgeable about people. I read palms you, know. And it’s not often I find someone who’s so interesting even with their hands tucked under their arms.”
Miles laughed angrily at the cosmic joke, shaking his head. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said to himself. “A palm reader?”
“Yes, that’s right,” she said proudly, “I’m very sought after, you know. Nevertheless, I’d like to offer you a reading for free. You may miss your bus. But, then again, you’re not really going anywhere, are you?”
He looked at her for a moment with awe in his eyes, before a swift anger replaced it. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said intently, “I’m not sure how to make this any clearer, but I’d like to be left alone until the bus comes, if you don’t mind.”
She raised her eyebrows, and shook her head. “Well… I want a cup of coffee,” she said, and patted her hands against her legs, “I must admit, it is a disappointment for me. Or, I should say I’m disappointed for you.” She looked at him, then, with a warmness in her eyes, “Tell me… have you ever driven up North to Canada where the weather’s cold and seen the Northern lights?”
He squinted. “The Northern lights?” he asked cautiously, “Why?”
“Because,” she answered simply, “That’s what I would do if I was planning on killing myself. There’s lots else you could do, of course, but… That would be my… personal recommendation.”
Miles’ eyes went wide, staring at her with terror in his eyes through the pouring rain. She looked up and met his gaze, a power and a softness in her face. She looked sad, deep into her core. “Best of luck, stranger. Don’t miss the bus.”
And then, tucking her hands into her trenchcoat pockets, she turned, facing a warmly lit coffee shop with a long glass window, through which one could see wooden tables and soft, round chairs. There wasn’t a soul inside. Miles, heart racing, cried out to her: “Wait!”
Elise smiled.
Miles had to admit, the cafe was better. It was an incredible relief to be out of the rain - he sighed at the warmth of the buzzing heaters, basking in it like a snake on a rock. He rolled back his shoulders, feeling his clothes stick and unstick uncomfortably from his skin, and then took a seat in the corner of the room. Elise ordered them both coffee - she asked him how he took it. To keep it simple, he lied, and said ‘black’. He wasn’t thirsty for it anyway.
Sitting in the corner of the room, Miles gripped at his arm, his teeth clenched. His face was red, and not just because of the cold. Already he was staring out the window, wondering why he had done this - why he had obeyed this mysterious, obnoxious woman. A palm reader. What a load of nonsense.
Elise came back to the table and set both their coffees down. She smiled cordially at him like he were an old friend, and not an embarrassed stranger trying frantically to fix his hair and his suit - anything not to look quite as pathetic as he felt in that moment. She picked up a packet of sugar, shook it, and poured it into her coffee. Then, with a look of excitement on her face, she took a sip, and sighed. “Oh. Much better,” she said.
Miles didn’t drink his, but he did hold his mug with both hands, tapping the rim, feeling the heat gingerly awake the nerves back from the cold. Elise stared at his hands around the mug. “May I?” she asked softly.
He stared her down furiously, but eventually extended his right hand onto the table, his other hand tapping the side of his mug. “I don’t see the point in this,” he admitted nervously, but she already appeared distracted.
Elise gingerly took the sides of his hand and sat up in her chair, her head cocking. She certainly did seem to be reading it - like a book, in fact, with great fascination. “My…” she whispered to herself, “What a fascinating life.”
Miles rolled his eyes, and then, withdrew his hand to pick up his coffee mug and take a sip. It was bitter, but it sent a warmth into his core that he desperately needed. Perhaps on another day he would have been less patient with this scam artist, but the way the shivers in his body were dispelled calmed him enough to listen. Irritably, he placed his hand back down on the table for her to go on ‘reading’. “You can’t possibly learn anything about me just through my hands,” he chided.
“Ah! You’re a cynic, then?”
“I’m realistic,” he rebutted, casting her a look, “Lines on the hands are controlled by genetics, just like all other small, meaningless details. They have no correlation to past experiences. And they certainly have nothing to do with the future.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Well,” she said, “Such wariness would be warranted, even wise, I think, if you had paid me my usual rate. But considering all you have to waste is time inside on a cold, unpleasant night, perhaps you could give me a chance?”
He gave her a long look, and then his shoulders sank. What did he have to lose, he thought. Then, dismissively, he told her, “Knock yourself out.”
With that, she smiled, and with a gentle touch she opened his freezing hand, uncurling his fingers just a bit more to get a better look. She ran her finger diagonally along his palm, and then clicked her tongue, sadness coming over her face. “A difficult past, to say the least,” she observed, “I see in your history amounts of pain and guilt that would be difficult for anyone to go through, let alone a child.”
Miles looked at her, anxiety rising in his face for a moment, before he dismissed it. “That could be true of anyone,” he snapped.
Elise didn’t even look up. “Let me finish,” she commanded gently. “There are two people. Two threads who have been connected to you for all your life, and who will remain in most futures. The first… the subject of your protection. I see a cruel power hanging, looming over you and this person. And I see you standing between this power and this person… An act which took a great toll on you. Thus the depth in this line here - a line for protection of others.” She tapped his hand, “Is this familiar to you at all?”
Miles stared at his own hand, eyebrows creased, and he looked up at her. “Do you know who I am?” he asked suspiciously.
“I only read what’s there,” she said with a smile, “Would you like to hear the rest?”
With nothing else to say, Miles nodded, and went silent.
“I see, in your past, a great loss. I’m not sure what it is… a life, perhaps. A friend, or…” she shook her head, “Perhaps it was many things. I’m having trouble placing it. But when it went… this dark power replaced it… You left behind a friend. You did not think about them for many years… and yet, this is the other thread I find in your life. You committed yourself to acts of protection… and to pleasing and obeying the power placed in front of you. You began to violently re-carve yourself into its shape.”
Miles listened to her intently. Interest was spelled out on his face, and he re-shifted in his seat, staring into his own hand. How could she have seen all this? He waited for more. She didn’t look up at him, instead tilting her head to the side with a sorrowful look on her face.
“Such a rough hand for such a young man. Hands like these always speak to a childhood that was ended far too quickly.” Then, she put her finger down at the base of his palm, like pointing to a city on a map. “The guilt started here, early. That you were failing to protect someone… Failing whoever or whatever you lost… And, strangely, that you were failing this darkness too. There is always guilt when someone is forced to remake themselves. There is a long transition in which someone aches to be who they used to be, and aches all the while to be the new person they’re making. The painful metamorphosis - It is one of the few forms of anxiety that is inescapable from every angle.”
Miles reshuffled in his seat. “You can’t know all this…” he muttered to himself.
Elise smiled to herself softly, but there was little pride in her face. She shrugged. “I do this for a living, you know,” she said, “May I ask what it is you lost?”
Without thinking, Miles answered: “My father.”
She nodded sagely. “Mm,” she acknowledged, “A very hard thing to lose.”
He didn’t answer. With a look, she took a sip of her coffee, and then refocused. “Now… to look into the present. Unless, you’d like to stop here?”
Miles looked up at her, alarm apparent in his face, before he quickly suppressed it. “Carry on,” he said in a whisper.
She nodded, and then cocked her head, looking over the lines. She sighed heavily here, the sadness returning to her face. “I see that now is the worst of it all,” she concluded, “These are the most-guilt ridden hands I have ever seen. That’s part of how I knew I had to meet with you.”
Miles creased his eyebrows. “As I recall, my hands were covered at the time,” he argued.
Elise nodded in agreement, looking up at him. “I don’t mean in the lines,” she explained, “You can always tell when someone is guilty about something by watching their hands, even from a distance. You see, most say love lies in the heart, but really, its home is in the hands - that’s what drew me to this practice. When you love someone, you want to do for them. To act out your affections for them, to hold them, or to buy them something, or to do them favors. When you are guilty about something, however, you pull away from the people you feel you’ve hurt, who, most of the time, are the most important people to you. Your hands have been robbed of the people they love. That’s why people who are guilty never stop moving their hands - they want so badly to prove their love to the people you hurt that they simply cannot keep still,” As she rambled on about this, she looked idly over Miles’ hand, and then looked right up at him as she finished the sentiment. “When I saw you, your hands pulled at your sleeves under your arms, tucked into your pockets and played with the edges, scratched at your wrists. Even now.”
Elise nodded to where Miles was drumming his fingers along the edge of his coffee mug, and he stopped in his tracks. “I’m just cold…” he muttered out, though he didn’t appear to believe it. Elise nodded, and did not deny him.
“Either way,” she carried on, “I can see from the lines as well… This rut runs deep. Deeper than any before it - is that right?” Miles didn’t answer, staring down at the floor with bitterness in his face. Elise elaborated; “You have been betrayed. This person you’ve sworn to protect… You have left them behind in favor of yourself. Your old friend, too, has returned to save you and them, too, you have cast aside. Very recently, it seems you have been introduced to the man you’ve turned yourself into for the very first time… A difficult occurrence when you’re not so fond of what you see.” She allowed a silence, and then looked up at him. “You’ve gone awfully quiet,” she told him gently.
Miles, teeth clenched to hold back tears, looked down at the floor. Eventually, he managed out, “You’re very good at what you do.”
She nodded, though she didn’t seem to take it as a compliment so much as a fact. “I know,” she said. Then, she cocked her head. “What’s your name?”
He thought for a moment. She didn’t need to know his full name - she didn’t need to know how far he’d fallen. “Miles,” he answered simply.
“Miles,” she repeated, “I don’t envy you, Miles. I see, all along here,” she ran her finger along the line that ran horizontally along his palm, “Numerous regrets, leading up to now. They weigh heavy on you - They’ve made this line here so very deep, and ridged.” He went quiet again, and she looked up at him. This time, she was waiting for him to speak.
He murmured: “Is… is there a future there, as well?”
She paused, her face unreadable, and then looked back down. “Your future is in a state of flux,” she said, “All people only have potential futures - the hands can’t spell out exactly what will happen, only what they’re waiting for - only what they expect, to some degree, from time and from you. But… you are different. Of your futures, I see two vastly different possibilities - both of which are very possible.” The emotion drained from her voice for a moment, and she went on, “The first is very short. It ends on the edge of a razorblade, just a few days from today. This is a future I don’t have to tell you. It will bring relief, and it will bring an end to what has weighed upon you. All the lines in the world mean nothing on hands that can’t draw blood.”
Miles, listening to that, just looked tired. His shoulders sank, and a sick desire spelled out across his face. He swallowed, and took a sip of his coffee, hoping the bitterness and heat would snap him out of his trance.
Elise looked up at him. “This appeals to you, I take it?” she asked.
He attempted and failed to speak for a moment, opening his mouth in silence. After that, he whispered, “Perhaps...” He looked away. “These… running threads you mentioned. They are both…” He went silent, sorrow in his face, “Simply put, I wouldn’t be terribly missed. It seems like the… easiest option for everyone involved.”
“Are you certain of that?” she asked.
He looked up at her, inquisitively.
She half-smiled. “There is another future,” she began, “If you choose to go on, and you choose to preserve your old life… I see these people. This vulnerable child and this trustworthy friend. The first will need you again. I see them struggling in a way that you are familiar with - I see you going back. And I see this person… beginning to understand. The two of you… here.” She pointed along the creases in his fingers, “Here, your hand waits to hold them by the shoulder. I sense that this person will improve because of you - That you will learn to save someone as you have been saved.
“As for the second, this friend…” She smiled here, pausing and looking him over slowly. Miles could resist no longer.
“Will he forgive me?” he pleaded.
She looked up. “You know who it is, then?”
He looked down uncomfortably, and then nodded. “I have few friends,” he confessed, “Really, there’s only one person it could be.”
Elise nodded thoughtfully, and then returned to her work. “Well… It will be hard for him to forgive you. You will have to show him that you made a mistake - to be open with him. There are certainly some futures where he can never trust you again. But, those futures are few… If you are kind, and humble, I see that he will return to you. Miles… you are a lucky man.”
He creased his eyebrows. “Lucky?” he asked, “Doesn’t that go against all that you already said about me?”
“Well, you certainly have had your bouts of sorrow,” she admitted, “But you have something exceptionally rare. An ongoing thread of devotion - A person in your life whose love spans from your past, to your present, to every future, without fail.” She shook her head. “Lucky indeed. I see such consistent lines very rarely, and usually they’re from parents to children, or siblings, on occasion. But between friends, especially after such long separations… remarkable.”
“Wait - Phoenix?!” Miles asked intently, “I-I mean… this… friend? He lo…” He stopped, unable to even say the word.
“Goodness, yes,” she said, “I see that this person… this Phoenix… He has loved you when you were children, and he loves you now. If you go back to him now, even if you fail him, he will go on loving you for the rest of your life - Even if he cannot show you, it will stay with him. Even in the shortest futures, Miles - know that. If you die tomorrow, this person will go on loving you for the rest of his life.”
Miles’ jaw had dropped at this point. He ran a hand through his hair, looking down in thought. He shook his head in awe, “But why would he…” he whispered, “After all I’ve done…”
Elise grinned, and shrugged. “Not even I know the mysteries of love. I only see that this hand has been waiting to hold someone else’s for a very long time - and that it is a hand that fits well.” She looked down, smile still on her face. “I’d imagine this complicates matters, then,” she said, “As it turns out, someone really would miss you.”
There was a long silence, Miles watching over her with a profound awe in his eyes. The guilt faded back in slowly, and he tapped the edge of the table. Already, he’d broken his heart. If he went now, he’d break his heart again. He looked around for a moment, before asking, slowly: “What…” He sighed, “Are there any futures where…” He trailed off.
“Where what?”
Miles cleared his throat, uncomfortably, “Where... he and I…”
He didn’t need to finish - Elise was already grinning, a twinkle in her eye. “I was hoping you’d ask,” she admitted, “I see futures here - my favorite futures - where you return to this person. You save the person you meant to protect - and then, when given the chance to trust this man, you do. You trust him with your whole heart, and quickly, he remembers why he traveled so far to see you, and he forgives you. In these futures, I see the guilt begin to fade - I see you seeing yourself through someone else’s eyes, and I see the loathing begin to ebb as well. I see a man who is in love, and loved, and who knows that he deserves every ounce of the love that he gets. It is lasting, and powerful. In some it is between busy friends, and, well… in some…”
Wonder filling his eyes, Miles asked impatiently, “What?!”
Elise tapped her hand against the base of his ring finger. “In some, I see a ring, just here. On your other hand, of course.”
For the first time since the start of their conversation, Miles’ hand pulled right up off the table, and in a second he was gently rubbing the place a ring would be. His eyes were wide. “Wh… you can’t be serious!” he insisted.
“I am!” she answered, “I know a finger that’s waiting for a ring. Marriage is one of the easiest things to predict when it comes to palmistry.”
“But I-! But he-!” Miles shook his head, scolding himself for letting his heart race, “He doesn’t see me like that!” he insisted, “And… even supposing he ever did… There’s no way he feels that way now. This future is… an impossibility, I assure you.”
She sighed, and then shrugged, finishing off her coffee. “Maybe!” she said, and this surprised Miles. He looked right up as she went on, a chipper tone in her voice, “Maybe I’m off the mark on that one. I guess you never know until it happens. Either way, I really should apologize.”
Miles creased his eyebrows. “Apologize?” he asked.
“You missed your bus,” she explained, “Then again. What’s a missed bus in this day and age?”
Miles paused for a good long time. He looked down at his own hands - how unremarkable they looked to him. He pictured a ring around his finger. It was something he had never worked into his own plans - That was something other people had. Love, friends, happiness. Those were for other people. Slowly, his mind began to dust off the plans for his life that spanned out past a week from now. He shut his hands, and put them in his lap, thought on his face.
Elise looked out the window, tapping her fingers against her cup. “Well,” she said, and patted her thighs, “I ought to catch a cab then. Or maybe I’ll just waste a little more time. It’s a wonderful city to waste time in. Maybe there’s something good to do…” She reached into an inside pocket, and pulled out a rolled up newspaper, still in the plastic sheet it came in in the mail. She pulled it out, and looked it over. Then, she smiled shyly at Miles. “You can go if you like, Miles, but I need to make my plans in here, lest my options get rained on. But, thank you for the company!” She grinned cordially, and then looked over her newspaper. Miles said nothing - he had nothing to say.
He sat in thought for a few more moments on the opposite side of the booth, hearing Elise mutter to herself (“Ooh, a new bar. That could be worth looking into…”). Then, he looked over. He glanced over the back of the newspaper - there, on the back of the paper, was a small story, unimportant enough that it didn’t even have a picture. In tiny text, the headline read:
Famed defense attorney trumps undefeated German prosecutor.
Miles repositioned himself in his seat. Someone who’d need him again, he thought. Excitement flickered through his chest, and something else too - Hope. It was almost unfamiliar by now. “Excuse me, sorry, but… Do you think I could see that? Just the back page.”
“Hm?” asked Elise, “Oh! Sure!” She separated the back sheet from the front, and handed it to him, where he pushed himself into the back of the booth and began to read, with an intense focus. As he did so, Elise stood up, folding up her paper and tucking it back into her coat. “Well, Miles. I guess I’ll head out. Lovely talking to you.”
Miles looked up from the article in the paper, and a sternness returned to his eyes. “Yes, of course…” he muttered. Then, with more sincerity he said, “Erm… Thank you.”
She grinned. “Hey, maybe sometime you’ll come back for a paid reading,” she said, with a wave of her finger, “That would be a real ‘thanks’!” With that, she grinned, and headed back out the door.
Miles stared after her only for a moment, before looking back down at the newspaper. He read:
After prosecuting in Germany since the young age of 13, Franziska von Karma, prodigy to the famous Manfred von Karma, faces her first defeat in the courtroom. It occurred after she failed to secure a guilty verdict for one Maya Fey, who was accused of murdering the surgeon Turner Grey in a visit to a small village known for its spiritual channeling. Defending attorney and friend of the defendant Phoenix Wright was able to secure a not guilty verdict by revealing the true culprit, a young nurse who was blamed for the surgeon’s malpractice in an incident several years ago.
Miles paused. Someone who needed him, he thought. And someone he could trust.
He took in a long breath, and then, slowly, let it out again, shutting his eyes. He sat with the simple, heavy fact that was coming to him in waves - the fact that he was sure, now, that he wouldn’t do it. That he would be alive by the end of tomorrow. He sat with that, all the goods and the bads. Back into it, Miles, he thought, It’s not over yet. He folded up the newspaper and tucked it into his breast pocket. Then, he took out his phone. Before he knew what he was doing, he found himself calling Gumshoe.
The phone was answered almost immediately. The gruff voice came in an excited panic: “ M-Mr. Edgeworth, is it really you?! Are you alright, w-where on Earth have you been?! ”
“It’s a long story, Detective,” Edgeworth said.
At the sound of his voice, a heavy sigh came from the other end of the phone, a sigh of relief. “ Thank goodness you’re alright, I thought you were- I-I mean, everyone thought- That note you left, Mr. Edgeworth, we looked everywhere for you to make sure you didn’t-! I mean, that is- ”
“I understand,” Edgeworth said, and there was a rare gentleness to his voice. “My… apologies for worrying you and your team. But I’m afraid I will have to ask you to ask you to keep my presence to yourself a bit longer.”
“ Why?!”
Miles looked down, in a long pause. Because Phoenix couldn’t hear from you that I was alive. Because I have to face him, and Franziska, myself. I have to trust him - my heart in his hands. It’s the only hope I have left. Nevertheless, Miles said none of this, instead answering in a way that was more simple. He pulled the newspaper article out of his pocket again, and read the names of his sister, and his best friend, one after the other. Then, he simply told him: “We have work to do.”