Chapter Text
Case files in hand, he shuffled to the courthouse.
The meeting with the client went well enough. He seemed like a good person, and not a single Psyche-Lock appeared during their conversation. After a few details about the case were cleared up, Phoenix, a bit early for possibly his first time, opened the courtroom doors and made his way inside.
It was all too painfully familiar. The sound of the occupants of the gallery idly chattering amongst themselves, the sunlight beating down from the window in the ceiling, the bench at which he’d stood so many times before.
The same place he’d been when she disappeared.
Reluctantly, he approached it, pushing aside the nonsense feeling like simply being in that spot was some sort of an affront to fate; challenging it to take someone else from him. Placing his copies of the contents of the Court Record in front of him, organising it all neatly and tidily, he looked up to face the prosecution’s bench, looking to see who might be his opponent on this day.
…
“…Your Honour?” It felt like he hadn’t used his voice in a millennium, despite the conversation not two minutes prior. Every word was a Herculean effort. “…Where’s the prosecutor?”
The old judge, the same one who somehow managed to be the one Phoenix always ended up with, glanced at his wristwatch. “I’m not sure, and as of now, it seems they’re running late.” He looked down at the defence attorney before him, his expression contorting a bit. “But Mr. Wright, are you sure you’re all right to head up the defence today…?”
Phoenix replied the only way he could; by telling him the lie he’d been telling himself for the last year. “I’m fine, Your Honour.”
The Judge opened his mouth to say something then, but was cut off by the sound of doors opening. Attention diverted, both he and Phoenix looked over towards the prosecution’s side of the courtroom, catching sight of the individual now walking towards the bench-
In an instant, Phoenix felt his blood freeze. Without prompt, his fingers began to tremble against his sides. Ears ringing, his vision strained to focus on the form and face of the person across from him, struggling to identify them.
It was impossible. It was impossible. What he was seeing… couldn’t be happening. Was this some kind of horrible dream, concocted in his brain chemistry as if to mock him?
No. The confusion, the shock, the entire armada of emotions, it all felt too real to be a dream.
Just like before.
“A thousand apologies for my tardiness, Your Honour. I was selected for this case only a half-hour ago, and was caught up at the Prosecutor’s Office.”
Phoenix felt his uncertain feelings grow into a near-panic level of extremity. The voice he was hearing was familiar, but the accent wasn’t. Nor was the choice of words, the diction. Nor, too, was the way her gait carried her up to the bench. Her clothing was different, her hair was different, even her facial expression was unfamiliar.
But she looked just like her. No loving father could look through the window in his daughter’s eyes and not see the soul to which he is so dearly bound. Every detail of her face, carved as they were into his mind like a bas-relief, was unmistakable. The immovable truth paralysed him, locking his lungs in a stranglehold.
It was her.
“Wh-wha…” He stuttered, eyes widening.
The young woman across from him, now at her place behind the bench, stopped and looked at him. She raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.
Seeing her look straight at him only convinced him further, and in turn, made everything worse. Jaw shuddering intensely, his mouth spilled out a few syllables that would eventually become the word:
“… Trucy?”
For the briefest of moments, her expression changed not at all, but then, as if in realisation of something, it relaxed into a bit of a haughty smile. “Ah, I see,” she said then. “You mistake me for someone else, as I have not yet introduced myself.” She placed a hand on her chest. “I am Anje van Malle. Your name, defence?” She asked, extending the same hand forwards, palm up.
When Phoenix only sputtered and wheezed helplessly in reply, the Judge commented: “this man is Phoenix Wright,” he explained, pointing at the defence attorney. It seemed as though he might say something further, his expression full of worry, but the young woman, apparently named van Malle, cut him off:
“Well then, if we are now all acquainted, shall we begin?”
***
The trial carried on like a sick fever dream. Every event, from the testimonies to the cross examinations, was entirely familiar, but having what seemed so much like his own daughter as his opponent threw Phoenix completely off balance. Soaked to the skin in cold sweat, he spent the entire trial trying desperately to put words and sentences together correctly, his objections altogether lacking the bravado and confidence that the courtroom was surely used to by then.
And yet, in spite of all that, Phoenix pressed onwards, and after a few hours of great exertion, the state of affairs began to change.
“T-this… this is impossible,” growled van Malle. Her long, black gloves gripped the prosecution’s bench with a frightening amount of force.
“S-so, in conclusion…” Phoenix breathed, desperate to finish his concluding argument. “…My client could not have possibly… committed this crime.”
“Objection.”
Phoenix shuddered all over, his knees buckling and his stomach rolling as his eyes slammed shut. It wasn’t grandiose or loud or violent or anything that characterised the objections typically thrown about in court; it was calm, quiet, collected, and precise.
But hearing that word in her voice under those circumstances shook him to his core every time he’d heard it. With every cross-examination, with each contradiction pointed out to the court, she bombarded him with blow after blow, calmly and coolly deflecting or rebutting his arguments. Only now, at the trial’s conclusion, was her stone expression beginning to crack.
“You have once again neglected the defendant’s clear motive for the crime,” van Malle pointed out, restrained anger twitching under her eye. “There is no other party who could have possibly had the will to do what Mr. Gens did.”
“That’s the responsibility of the police to find out,” Phoenix replied, not meeting her gaze. “I can’t allow my client to be found guilty for a crime that he could not have possibly committed.”
“Hmmm.” The Judge pondered for a moment, stroking his beard in deep contemplation. “Although it would seem that Mr. Gens is the only individual with sufficient motive for this crime, the defence has thoroughly proven that he was incapable of doing so given the nature of the case.” He opened his eyes. “Therefore, I cannot find him guilty under these circumstances. I implore the prosecution and the police to continue their investigation of the murder, and the true culprit will be brought to trial once they are identified.” He raised his gavel. “But until then, I find Mr. Percy Gens,
NOT GUILTY
The cheering of the gallery and the fluttering of confetti didn’t make the victory feel any less hollow. In much the same way as he’d come in, Phoenix shuffled out of the courtroom. By the time he’d reached the defence’s lobby, received his client’s thanks, and watched him depart, the hailstorm in his stomach forced him to sit down on one of the benches, holding his spinning head in his shuddering hands.
The many and varied emotions that had stricken him upon seeing that prosecutor had now been joined by myriad questions. Was it actually possible that that young woman was Trucy? If so, why didn’t she remember him? Why didn’t she recognise him? Why the different name? The different accent? The different clothing?
Was he losing his mind? It certainly didn’t seem like a far-off possibility, but at least that would have made for a solid explanation for the madness. It was something he could deal with, and have taken care of.
Something he could fix.
“So this is how the great Phoenix Wright acts, even in victory? Disgraceful.”
Slowly, Phoenix’s face rose from his hands to meet the gaze he could suddenly feel on him. Standing as close as she was, just by the entrance to the courtroom, it was plain to see how uncannily she resembled Trucy. It was easy to spot every minute detail that looked alike.
If this really wasn’t her, it was clearly someone impersonating her in some strange way.
But, naturally, this begged a rather significant question:
“… Why?” Came the word, tumbling from his unsteady lips.
Van Malle raised an eyebrow, much as she had in the courtroom a short while ago. “Why what? You mean why am I here?” Glowering, she went on. “I’ve heard of you, Phoenix Wright, but to be clear, I had no intention of seeking you out in court, because I long suspected you of being exactly what I see before me.” She took a few steps forward. “Even your title is absurd. The ‘Turnabout Terror’? Your strategy in court is to employ fear?”
Phoenix could only blink several times. “W-what?”
“Of course, that is simply a nickname, but it betrays a bitter truth.” She leaned forward, her eyes boring into his. “You are a mess of emotions. Your performance in court today was a disgrace to our profession. It’s nothing short of a miracle that you scored that slippery little victory.” She straightened up, but maintained focus. “And just now, I was told by a bailiff that your daughter disappeared.”
Phoenix’s heart stopped cold. However, before he could manage to think of anything to say, van Malle went on:
“And your response was simply to shrink from the courtroom for an entire year?” The prosecutor scoffed. “I would feel pity for you if you weren’t so revolting to look at.” Looking him up and down, she shook her head. “So ruled by your emotions. You haven’t the slightest amount of the control and dignity so needed in the courtroom. It’s pathetic. I suppose I have satiated my curiosity, now. I know who Phoenix Wright is. A piddling little coward of a man, so enslaved to his melodramatic nature that he can’t handle the thorns of life with even an ounce of grace. You’re-”
Suddenly, she stopped. Stiffening up all over, her right eye began to twitch quite noticeably. Then, with a grunt, she bent over a little, throwing her left hand to her other wrist, as if clutching it in pain.
Quickly, Phoenix’s empathy came out of the darkness, making him stand up in concern. “Are you okay? Should I call a-”
“I’m fine!” van Malle shouted. “Now do me a favour and refrain from crossing paths with me ever again,” she snarled. With that, she walked out of the lobby and down the hall out of sight, though a little more slowly and awkwardly than how she had come into the courtroom.
Silence filled the air. His energy left him, and he slumped down onto the bench, and then all the way onto the floor, landing on his side.
And for the first time in three hundred and sixty-five days, Phoenix Wright began to cry.
It was not bound to be a pleasant conversation, but she had little choice in the matter. She had completed her first trial in America and was obligated to report the events thereof.
She knocked on the door.
“Come in.”
There he was, as he could be found at any given hour; sitting at that desk, head down in concentration on his work. He didn’t even lift it when he asked “how did it go?”
Despite herself, she hesitated for a moment, clearing her throat. “Phoenix Wright was the defence attorney.”
He looked up at her, his gaze freezing her to the spot. “Anje,” he said lowly. “I told you that you cannot, under any circumstances-”
“I know,” she interrupted, trying to hold back her nerves. “But I was assigned to the case against my will and only a half-hour before it began and I wasn’t told who the defence’s attorney was and…”
He wafted her words away with a dismissive wave of the hand. “Did you at least win the trial?”
Sweat broke out on her forehead. “I-I…” she struggled. “I hadn’t time to prepare, I was unable to speak to the witnesses alone, I didn’t have time to-”
“That’s enough, Anje.” He leaned back in his chair, looking away contemplatively. For a few moments, all was silent. Then, he let out his breath in a sigh. “We will have to adjust. This will not be difficult; I have prepared for this setback.” He looked back at her, his expression ever-constantly neutral. “Proceed as before, and remember what I taught you. You are allowing your emotions to make your mind turbid. Let them clear, remain focused.”
Relief washing over her, Anje gave a deep bow of the head. “Yes, father.”
With that, and the dismissal of his hand, she left the room, walking down the hallway to retire to her bedroom.
Though not before catching an earful of a rather interesting telephone conversation.
Time was not turning out to be the thing that cleared his mind. The sun had already set, but his thoughts had not calmed whatsoever. He hadn’t even left the courthouse yet.
There was only one thing to do in a time like this. Only one person he could depend on.
Rising from his seat on the stone steps, he dug out his phone as he descended to street level. By the time he’d reached the sidewalk, the phone was ringing.
“Hello, Wright,” came his voice through the phone. There was more gentleness in it than he was used to. It had been that way since she disappeared. “How did the trial go?”
Phoenix swallowed, trying to pull words out of his murky mind. “…T-Trucy.”
“…Pardon?”
“Edgeworth, it was Trucy,” he said, a mental rush crashing through him all of a sudden. “T-the prosecutor, I swear it was- it was her!”
Silence for a moment. “… What?” The Chief Prosecutor breathed.
“I’m telling you!” He shouted, rounding a corner. “B-but she… she…”
“‘She’ what, Wright?” Edgeworth prodded, though Phoenix could hear a rattling in his voice coming on.
“She didn’t recognise me! She- she’s got this odd accent, and she goes by a different name, and-”
“Wright, are you all right?”
“No, I’m not, Edgeworth! Just listen to me!” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I just… I just need to know for sure, and I figured that since she’s a prosecutor-”
“I’ll contact you immediately as soon as I have information about her,” Edgeworth replied immediately. “Did you learn her name during the trial?”
“Yeah, she goes by Anje van Malle,” Phoenix explained, the alien words rolling off his tongue.
For a few seconds, Edgeworth was silent, no doubt writing the name down. “…Right. I’ll look into it straight away.”
For the first time in any recent memory, Phoenix felt a tiny smile appear on his face. “Thank you, Edgeworth. It means a lot to me.”
“It’s nothing. Take care, and…”
“…Edgeworth?”
“…I’m sorry, Wright.”
Phoenix shook his head. “It’s not your fault, Edgeworth. You have nothing to apologise for. We’ve talked about this.”
The Chief Prosecutor’s sigh was audible through the phone line. “I know. I’ll speak to you soon.”
“Goodnight, Edgeworth, and thanks again.”
He hung up.
And there it was; the apartment building. A few flights of stairs and he’d be home. Well, maybe not home , but he’d be in bed; it had been a rather exhausting day.
He wouldn’t be home until she was, too.
Absolutely nothing had changed about the apartment since he’d left that morning, save for the added darkness. This was not a surprise, but ever since that day, it’d become very easy to notice if he’d misplaced or lost something. Even losing his keys had become a wildly terrifying experience.
But there was no need to dwell on that now; Edgeworth was looking into van Malle’s identity, and the best thing for him to do was get some rest, if at all possible. One evening routine later, and he was ready to do just that.
Like a miracle, it almost seemed like he might fall asleep; Phoenix was so used to nights of tossing and turning until the sun came up that it somewhat struck him as odd. The knowledge that he’d at least get some kind of concrete answers to the innumerable questions demanding attention in his brain was probably the anaesthetic at work, all things considered.
So he decided to take advantage of it. Once the window-blinds were closed, he tucked himself in. He took a few deep breaths and relaxed into the pillow. Sleep would come soon.
…
…
…
…
…
Creak.
Phoenix’s eyes shot open. Nobody but himself had lived in this apartment for over a year.
So why could he hear footsteps?
And then the sound of his door opening?
In a flash, Phoenix threw off the covers. “Who’s there?!” He shouted into the darkness, reaching for his bedside lamp.
Certainly, it would have been a relief to see that there was nobody there, that the sounds were just a figment of his paranoid imagination; a fearful hallucination.
But of all the faces he could have seen standing at the end of his bed, of all the people to be standing in the same room as him with a knife in their hand, Phoenix would have preferred any but his.
“…D-d… d- de Killer?!”
“It seems I am not as undetectable as I once was,” the assassin sighed. “Perhaps I am due for retirement.” He reached behind him, locking the bedroom door with his free hand. “But I have a contract to fulfil, a commitment to honour.” He approached the bedside. “Please understand that this is nothing personal, Mr. Wright. Now do us both a favour and relax, please.”
All hell broke loose.
De Killer leapt onto the bed in one spring-like motion, and Phoenix was suddenly in a struggle for his life. His lungs let loose long bellows of terror as he wrestled the assassin’s armed hand away from his body. For eternity on eternity, the two men were locked in their hand-to-hand combat; Phoenix’s advantage, his relative youth and desperation, de Killer’s, his experience. Before long, de Killer gained the upper hand. Pinned as it was under the assassin’s knee, Phoenix’s right hand was useless, and was now fighting two arms with one. Soon, the blade was no more than a foot above Phoenix’s neck, then a few inches, then-
“Wright?”
The struggle stopped instantaneously as the two men strained to hear the voice in the living room of the apartment. Fortunately, Phoenix recognised it before de Killer did.
“Edgeworth! Help me!”
“Wright?!” Came the Chief Prosecutor’s voice in a roar, feet beating against the floor closer and closer. “What is it?! I’m-” The doorknob rattled, but didn’t budge. “The door’s locked!”
Before Phoenix could say or do anything in response, de Killer made another attempt at his life, and suddenly the knife was just about grazing his neck. Unable to hold de Killer’s arms back, Phoenix shook his torso to try and wriggle free of the assassin’s grip. This did succeed in reducing the strength that de Killer exerted as he tried to keep his balance, but it did little to free Phoenix’s other hand; de Killer kept his knee down with great force.
Suddenly, a great crashing force struck the bedroom door. Undeterred, de Killer continued to struggle on, pressing the blade ever closer to home. Then, another booming thud, and the doorframe creaked under the strain of the impact. This seemed to be enough to get de Killer’s attention, finally, who stopped what he was doing to look back at the door. Then, he turned back and looked into Phoenix’s eyes with the most unreadable of expressions. “It seems we have company,” he said. “But I assure you, it is only a matter of time before I meet my obligations. Until then, I bid you farewell.”
Once again, before Phoenix could react in any way, de Killer sprang off the bed and through the closed window, blinds fluttering with the force. Then, just as the little amount of shattered glass that remained within the apartment fell to the floor, the bedroom door came flying off the hinges as Edgeworth burst into the room, his shoulder facing ahead as he rammed his way in. “Are you all right?!” He shouted, quickly scanning the room.
Phoenix, however, was in no position to be paying attention. “Wh-where did he…” he mumbled, scrambling over to the windowpane. His fear of heights temporarily overshadowed by a very different kind of the same, he looked over the edge. As expected, nothing could be seen from wall to ground. “Where did he go…?”
“Where did who go, Wright?” The Chief Prosecutor asked, rubbing his shoulder as he approached the blown-open window.
“De Killer!” He turned to face the man beside him. “Shelly de Killer!”
Edgeworth’s eyes went wide. “What?!” He looked out the window for a moment, searching for the answers to questions that were visible behind his eyes, before looking back at Phoenix. “W-what happened?!”
“I was in bed, then when I was about to get some sleep, he came into my room…” Phoenix explained, gesturing to the doorless frame. “…And jumped on top of me and tried to stab me.”
“And it seems that, to some degree, he succeeded,” Edgeworth added. “You’ve got a small cut on your neck.”
Feeling around, the sensation of something warm and wet confirmed Edgeworth’s statement.
“We need to get you out of here. It’s clearly not safe,” the Chief Prosecutor went on. “For now, you’ll need to stay the night someplace else while I organise an investigation.”
“Well, that’s a great idea in theory,” Phoenix commented, dabbing his neck with a piece of the blinds. It seemed like the adrenaline was starting to subside; the literal pain in the neck was becoming more and more obvious. “But where exactly should I go? No hotel anywhere would be safe from that guy, and the police precinct doesn’t exactly take reservations.”
For a few moments, Edgeworth simply stared out at the night sky, that familiar contemplative look on his face. “You will stay at my apartment,” he said then with an air of finality.
“What?!” Phoenix blustered. “Edgeworth, that’s very kind of you, but do you have any idea what that would do?! I’d be inviting mortal danger into your own home!”
“I am well aware of that, Wright,” he responded, voice tinted with something between compassion and frustration. “But it is the only place where you can actually get some sleep that is suitably well-protected. As Chief Prosecutor, it is only natural that my residence has exceptionally strong security.”
Phoenix opened his mouth to protest, but let out his built-up breath in a sigh. As much as he disliked the idea of unwillingly leading an assassin into the home of his dearest friend, he wasn’t in any position to argue, and truthfully, Edgeworth was right. “…All right, even though I probably won’t be able to get any sleep now with a hitman on my back,” he said with a hollow chuckle. “Thanks, Edgeworth. I owe you my life.” Funny how his old friend had a way of unintentionally coaxing smiles out of him when things were at their worst. For all his eccentricities, Miles Edgeworth was a good man in the places where it really counted.
“Hmph. I was merely in the right place at the right time.” He looked off into the unseeable distance. “Though, perhaps I should have anticipated this from the start. You are a very well respected attorney, perhaps you should be as strongly guarded as I am.”
“Now’s not the time to be thinking about ‘what ifs’ and ‘maybes’, Edgeworth. It helps nothing,” Phoenix advised, placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “C’mon, we should get moving before de Killer regroups and makes another attempt.”
Edgeworth seemed hesitant for a moment, continuing to stare off with lines in his face, but they soon smoothened out as his attention was drawn back to Phoenix. “You’re right. Let’s go.”
“What can I say? I’m always-”
“That wasn’t funny the first time, and it still isn’t funny several orders of magnitude later. Honestly, you’ve said it enough times as it is.”
“Orders of… huh?”
“Never mind.”
***
“I guess I never found out why you came to my apartment in the first place, huh?” Phoenix asked once the two men were firmly ensconced in the car and making their way towards Edgeworth’s place.
“That’s true,” the Chief Prosecutor concurred. “I’d come to tell you that I’d found some information on Anje van Malle. I figured it would be best to tell you in person.”
“Well, now that we’ve got the chance to talk about it, what did you find out?”
“It’s a rather… unusual situation,” Edgeworth began. “Van Malle is from Belgium, supposedly born in Liège and raised in Ghent. However, the earliest records I can find of her name pertain to her enrollment at Ghent University, which was eleven months ago.”
Phoenix sat up straight in his seat, looking over at his driver with incredulity. “Eleven months ago?” He asked. “How is she already a prosecutor if she started studying law less than a year ago?”
“From what I understand, she challenged all her courses, and within approximately a month and a half was a fully-licensed prosecutor. After some experience in Belgian criminal law, she obtained the necessary qualifications to begin practising in America.”
“But how did she manage to do all that so quickly?”
“I’m not certain. I have more digging to do yet, but I do have some vague leads.”
Well, at least that was something. “Do you think she cheated on her exams?”
“I doubt it. She seems knowledgeable enough as a prosecutor that she actually made the effort to take the exams and pass them genuinely. Perhaps identity can be hidden, but incompetence cannot.”
Phoenix couldn’t help chuckling a tiny bit. “I guess not everything can be bluffed through.” He turned back to look at his friend. “So what do you think we should do?”
“Simple. Tell me, do you have any items of Trucy’s that would likely still have her fingerprints on them?”
“Oh, sure. I think there’s still a few pairs of her gloves in her room-” then, he realised. “Wait, so you mean-”
“We need only compare Trucy’s prints to those of Anje and we would have a definitive match. A DNA test could also possibly be arranged, but this would be simpler and easier.”
“Well, what are we waiting for, then?! Let’s go back to the apartment and get some of her stuff!”
“Patience, Wright. I don’t have Anje’s prints in the records of the Prosecutor’s Office yet. She only began practising here very recently; the trial today was her first in the States, and she’s been putting off getting her mugshot and fingerprints done.”
“She must be deliberately trying to avoid it,” Phoenix surmised. “I wonder what she stands to gain from all this…”
“The ‘whys’ can wait, Wright. For now, we need to focus solely on getting Trucy out of his hands.”
As difficult as it was to keep his mind from spiralling down the staircase of questions that plagued him, it was something he’d have to do. “You’re right,” Phoenix agreed.
Phoenix’s attention was drawn back to the road ahead of them. It seemed that they were now entering an underground parking lot, and a few minutes after that, the two men were out of the car and making their way to Edgeworth’s place.
“I’m not sure why I didn’t think to ask before, but did you find out anything that would explain how she doesn’t recognise me?” Phoenix inquired as they climbed the staircase up the apartment building.
“Nothing at all. I suspected, as you no doubt have, that it’s some form of amnesia, but no credible medical information I’ve found seems to corroborate that. Unless I’m missing something, it seems her case is one-of-a-kind.”
“Great, so it’ll be even harder to get her back,” Phoenix grumbled. “Maybe even imposs-”
Suddenly, Edgeworth’s hand was on his shoulder and his eyes were boring into his. “Whatever you do,” his friend said, voice low and sombre, “do not go down that path.” His grip tightened, though in solidarity, not anger. “It will serve only to dampen your spirit and impede your efforts. I know from experience quite well.”
“…Yeah, you’re right.” He chuckled. “You always are.”
The Chief Prosecutor simply ‘hmph’ed and the two closed the distance to Edgeworth’s apartment. After unlocking the door with his key, a fingerprint scanner appeared out of a panel in the wall which he used. Only then did the door yield to be opened.
“I’ll brief you on security,” Edgeworth began. “There’s a regular police patrol around the building at street level, and there’s a security guard on every floor, you just can’t recognise them since they wear street clothes.”
“Wait, so was the guy we passed in the hallway-”
“-the guard for this floor? Yes,” Edgeworth answered preemptively. “You saw the scanner on the door itself, which needs no explanation. However, the most significant security measure of my apartment is completely invisible; the motion field.”
“Motion field?”
“Indeed. Every spot in this apartment, including the window-panes, is monitored by motion sensors hidden around the apartment. If ever anything moves inside the apartment or breaks the window while the system is armed, an alarm goes off which alerts all guards in the building as well as the police. The latter will arrive in minutes, the former, in seconds.”
Phoenix offered his friend a grateful grin. “Thanks for trying to put me at ease.”
“It isn’t that; you need to know that you can’t be moving around once we’re settled in for the night.” He withdrew an electronic device from his pocket. “I have two of these remote controllers which can be used to monitor and arm or disarm the system, as well as a panel by the front door,” he went on, pointing to the same. “I’ll give you the code for the alarm system so you can arm it when you’re ready to retire for the evening.”
“That sounds good,” said Phoenix. “But before I do, I need to make a couple phone calls.”
Edgeworth raised an eyebrow. “To whom?”
Phoenix paused for a moment, thinking. “It wouldn’t even really help anything, but once I was really convinced that Anje is actually Trucy, I figured the thing to do was try and get her to, well, remember, y’know?”
“That would make sense, yes,” Edgeworth concurred.
He blew out his breath in a sigh, already realising how pointless his intentions likely were. “Well, they’re all busy with their lives in one way or another, but…”
“I’m certain that once you tell them the nature of the circumstances, they’ll do whatever they can to help Trucy get her memories back, especially Apollo. He seemed to get along particularly well with her,” Edgeworth cut in. “Speaking of which, have you told him yet?”
Phoenix sucked in a tight breath through his teeth, then heaved it out. “No.”
“The opportunity will come to tell them both, Wright.” The Chief Prosecutor paused, letting Phoenix absorb his words for a moment. “Call him and the others. They’ll want to help.”
The defence attorney nodded a little, then took out his phone and placed the first call. Surprisingly, it didn’t take long at all.
“Hey, Mr. Wright, it’s good to hear from you. But it’s the early afternoon over here; it must be really late at night in the States right now,” came a voice from across the sea. “What’s up?”
Phoenix suppressed a little smile; ever the observant young lad. “Well, you see…” He gave himself a moment. Saying it in plain English, recognising it, seemed to make the whole situation much more real and unnerving. “…I think Trucy has come back, but… she doesn’t remember who she even is. She thinks she’s someone else.”
“… What?!” Apollo shouted through the phone, inducing Phoenix to pull it away from his ear; even through the phone, those Chords of Steel were just as potent. “H-how?! How do you- when did this happen?! What-”
“Slow down, Apollo, let me explain: I took a case today and I’m dead sure that the prosecutor was, well, Trucy,” Phoenix interjected. “We’re not 100% sure yet, but Edgeworth and I are working on trying to prove that they’re the same person. In the meantime, we want to try and somehow get her to remember who she really is, and… we’re not really sure how we’re going to do that yet, but-”
“I’ll be on the next plane to the States,” Apollo stated firmly. “I’ll call Nahyuta right now. I don’t care if he’s got to dredge someone out of the sea to replace me for the time being, I’ll be in America by tomorrow.”
The former protegé’s glowing determination inspired a little of the same in the veteran attorney’s heart. “Thank you, Apollo. It means more than you know.”
“No need to thank me, Mr. Wright, and don’t worry; we’ll figure things out. What do I always tell you; we’re fine!”
The stirrings of a tiny chuckle rumbled in Phoenix’s chest. “You’re right, and I look forward to seeing you again. Let me know when you expect to land here as soon as you can and we’ll come pick you up.”
“I’ll keep you posted. Talk to you soon.”
One phone call down, two to go. The second string of rings took a little longer to be acknowledged.
“Mr. Wright? Is everything okay…? You never call this early in the morning.” Her yawn was audible through the phone.
“Athena, I think Trucy has come back, but she doesn’t remember who she is. In fact, she thinks she’s someone else entirely.”
“…Wh- wh- Huh?!” The sounds of the phone being jostled were audible. “W-what do you mean ‘she thinks she’s someone else entirely?!”
“I mean just that; she has a new identity and acts completely different now. She’s even a prosecutor.”
“A prosecutor?!… Oh, Trucy… what happened to you…?”
“I don’t know for sure, but we intend to find out. I just got off the phone with Apollo and he’s coming back to the States so he can help us try and jog her memory and get the old Trucy back. Will you help us?”
“Will I help you?! Of course I’m going to help you!” Athena Cykes was clearly now wide-awake. “Where are you?! I’m on my way right now!”
“Whoa, relax,” Phoenix soothed. “He won’t be here until tomorrow at least. When Edgeworth and I go get him from the airport, we’ll pick you up too. For now, go back to bed.”
“All right, I will- wait, Mr. Edgeworth is there too? Hi, Mr. Edgeworth!”
The Chief Prosecutor seemed to tense up with mild discomfort, no doubt having heard his name called through the phone. “Hello, Ms. Cykes,” he mumbled.
“Glad to be able to talk to you again! See you both tomorrow!”
Click
“Did she really hear me all the way over here through the phone?”
“Don’t underestimate her hearing, man,” Phoenix half-joked as he dialled the next number. Soon enough, it was ringing too. Ringing… ringing… ringing… though he knew better than to hang up; this phone had no answering machine. Finally, they picked up.
“Phoenix Percival Wright!”
Phoenix cringed; he never should have told her his middle name.
“It’s oh-three-hundred in the blessed AM! Even the roosters are comatose!” She whisper-shouted. “Now, you’d better have an awfully good excuse for dragging the Master of the Kurain School of Channelling up before the sun or I swear to friggin’ Buddha I’ll go to your apartment and set your spiky head on fire.”
“Well,” the defence attorney began. “I think Trucy has come back, but she believes she’s a completely different person. Is that a good enough reason?”
“Whoa, what? You’re kidding, right?” Talk about a tone shift. Tone of voice, that is.
“No, and I definitely wish I was kidding about the whole ‘different person’ thing,” he answered. “I’m trying to get everyone together to come up with some kind of plan to get her to remember who she really is. Meanwhile, Edgeworth and I will work on trying to prove that she really is Trucy and just living under a different name. I know you’re busy, but this is really important to me. Do you think you can come up to the big city tomorrow?”
“Yeah, of course. What time do you want me there? Where do you want me to meet you?”
“We’ll pick you up at the train station. As for the time, I’m not sure yet. It depends on when Apollo arrives at the airport, and I don’t know when that is yet.”
“Apollo’s coming too? Man, you’ve gotta hand it to that kid; he’s certainly dedicated to his friends.”
“No kidding,” Phoenix agreed, but bit down the urge to make a comment about their unknown familial bond; only he and Edgeworth (who he’d told later on) knew thus far, and he wanted the first people to know to be Apollo and Trucy themselves. “Anyway, I’ll call you back when I have more information.”
“All right. I’ll get Pearl to keep an eye on things here while I’m gone. See you later.”
Phoenix sighed as he tucked his phone into his PJ pants’ pocket. It was only three people, but he felt like he was mustering a grand army together, and it seemed to require just as much energy. For now, the thing to do was to get some uninterrupted sleep, knowing that he was properly safe now. “I think I’m going to go to bed now. Where can I sleep?”
“The sofa in the living room is a futon, and the tops of those seats are removable. The bedding and pillows are inside,” Edgeworth explained, pointing to the relevant parts of the room adjacent to them.
“Wow, Edgeworth. I never expected you to be the type to have something like a futon. Do you ever actually have guests stay over here?” Phoenix teased, preparing to make his new bed.
“No,” the Chief Prosecutor replied as austerely as ever, though with an added dash of additional grumpiness. “The previous tenant left it to me.”
“Gotcha.” He stood up, his work done. “All right, I think I’ll pack it in now. Can I have one of the security remotes?”
“Yes, of course.” He handed over the device. “The code is 1966.”
“Is there anything significant to that number for you? Is it your dad’s birth year or something?”
“No, it was randomly generated,” Edgeworth explained, turning to walk down a nearby hallway. “The washroom is here on your left if you’d like to wash up. Goodnight, Wright.”
“Goodnight.”
After the passing of the dull thuds of a few of his host’s footsteps, Phoenix was left alone in the living room. Deciding not to use the bathroom, he slipped under the blanket and nestled himself into a comfortable position; it was a surprisingly nice bed for a humble futon. Once settled in, he took up the remote and looked down the hallway to see Edgeworth walk into one of the rooms down it, closing the door behind him. Finding that he could set the alarm for specific parts of the apartment with the remote, he armed the living room, placed the remote on the ground, and rested his head.
Reflecting briefly as he let himself drift off, Phoenix couldn’t help but have a strange realisation: despite the rather unpleasant nature of the day’s events, he couldn’t deny that he’d felt more alive than he had in a very long time. Even though it’d been quite painful, just knowing that his daughter was alive and well (in a sense, anyway), and that he had a plan to get her back with the support of his friends, gave him hope and courage.
As well as enough solace to allow him to sleep soundly.