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“I cannot get you involved in this. You in particular I cannot ask to do this.”
Phoenix looked hurt, a bit sad, and more than a little frustrated. Maya turned to him with a look of resignation, silently telling him to give it up for now. Phoenix bit his lip.
“I’m coming back for you, Edgeworth. You’re innocent, I believe in that. My offer stands, okay? See you tomorrow.” With one last glance back, Phoenix and Maya left the detention center. Miles looked at the ground. The bailiff who had been standing silently in the corner of the room escorted him back to his cell, where he lay down with a sigh.
Why was Wright being so stubborn? Regardless of his previous miraculous victories, he was still a novice, and the deck was thoroughly stacked against him. For the first time, he sort of understood how the people he had prosecuted felt. Perhaps they had been where he was now, misunderstood, dejected, ready to give up on everything.
…Perhaps they too were innocent, and he had sent them to the gallows.
He shook his head, trying to erase all feelings of guilt. Such doubt was weakness - he was a prosecutor, a von Karma; all he had done was his duty, to secure a perfect guilty verdict. As much as he tried to convince himself of this, he felt… insecure.
Clank.
Miles thought he heard the sound of a gavel ringing out, then shook his head. He was in the San Fransokyo county jail, not the district court. Then he heard it again, once, twice. It sounded like a gavel, to be sure, but perhaps it was merely the footsteps of some guard. He tried to calm his beating heart down.
Then he heard something like the clanging of chains, and the scrape of something heavy being dragged across the floor. Once again Miles tried to rationalize - this was a prison, the sound of chains shouldn’t come as too much of a shock. But the sounds were growing louder, closer. There was a glow, like that from a flashlight. And then…
A dripping sound added itself to the cacophony as the source of the light and noise came to stand in front of his cell. Miles’ heart skipped a beat, and it nearly stopped when the translucent figure walked towards him, phasing right through the bars of the cell. It was a figure he recognized, a man he had encountered some years ago. A criminal who had taken his own life before the court’s very eyes. He dragged his chains behind him, shackled by every limb, blood still dripping from his mouth.
Miles was frozen in terror. Before him stood the ghostly apparition of Terry Fawles.
“…Am I dreaming? Who are you?” he asked in a trembling voice.
“I think you know the answer to that, Demon Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth,” the spirit said.
“…I do know you. You’re that murderer and pedophile who committed suicide instead of accepting a guilty verdict.”
“You are right about those things. I was… an awful man. And so are you.”
“At least I wasn’t infatuated with a teenager!”
“That is true. But are you not now in the place where I once stood? Imprisoned falsely and surrendering their own life?”
Miles wanted to retort, but the words got stuck in his throat. Was he really… surrendering his life? There was nothing that could be done, he thought. He knew who would be prosecuting him, and there was no hope of victory against him.
“You will be haunted by three spirits.”
Miles almost guffawed. Now he knew he was dreaming.
“Let me guess, past, present, and future.”
“Yes. It is Christmas day, after all,” the spectre said. “But do not take this warning lightly. You still have a chance for redemption.”
“Go away.” Miles turned over on the cell bed.
“Expect the first ghost tonight when the bell tolls one.”
He closed his eyes.
-
Miles had fallen into a dreamless sleep, which was a blessing to him. He had suffered many a sleepless night, but perhaps this day had been so exhausting that it was easier for his body to find sleep.
Somehow, he heard the chime of a grandfather clock. In the back of his mind, he remembered the apparition, and when a burst of light made the back of his eyelids glow red, he did not feel much surprise. Slowly, he opened his eyes.
Before him was a figure clad in wispy layers of light. Its face was… hazy, shifting, but at some moments it was recognizable as someone or other that he knew, and the next moment seemingly no one at all. It floated in the air, its height and shape phasing as well. Miles stared – if he was dreaming, then his brain was working extraordinarily.
“Are you the ghost of Christmas past?” he asked. It felt foolish; what was he saying?
“I am,” said the spirit. Its voice was high and low and young and old all at once.
“You’re here to show me my memories and make me feel guilty? I do that every night already. Whatever this is, you’re wasting your time.”
“It is true that you are tormented by the terrors of your past. But there are many joys and pains that have slipped through the cracks of your memory.” For a moment the spectre’s face came to resemble his own and despite his front of stoicism Miles was spooked.
“…Fine. Lead me through my memories, if that’s what you wish.” Miles stood, and the door of the cell opened on its own. This did not surprise him much. The ghost turned and led him down the hall, which now ended in a wooden doorframe, emanating light from beyond. Without hesitation, he walked through it.
When the blinding light faded to a normal level, Miles was standing in a kitchen. A kitchen he had spent many mornings in.
At a simple wooden table sat his father, Gregory Edgeworth, with a cup of coffee in his hand and a plate of pancakes in front of him. Across from him was… him. Miles. Wearing his pajamas and putting neatly cut bites of pancake into his mouth.
“Merry Christmas, Miles,” his father said with a smile. “How are you enjoying your break from school?”
Miles finished chewing his pancakes and swallowed. “It’s alright. I don’t quite know what to do when I don’t have schoolwork. Phoenix said he had to go to his grandma’s house, and Larry is out of town, so I can’t play with them for a few days.”
Oh. So this was that Christmas. Blissfully ignorant of his fate, Gregory laughed gently and said:
“Well, I have a Christmas present that might cheer you up.”
Miles' stomach plummeted. In the wake of everything that happened, he had completely and utterly forgotten this little detail.
“I have a trial in three days. Would you like to come see me at work, since you don’t have school?”
The nine-year-old Miles’ eyes lit up as the twenty-four-year-old Miles choked back a sound. “Really!? You’ll let me come with you, daddy!?”
“Yes. As a special treat. Although I will warn you… the prosecutor I will be facing is undefeated. I will do all I can, but… I am not guaranteeing success.”
“You can do it, daddy! You’re the best defense attorney in the world!”
Gregory laughed lightly. “Thank you, son. Perhaps you being there with me will be just the thing I need.”
Miles couldn’t take this. They were so hopeful, so full of life, eating fluffy pancakes not knowing that they would only have three more mornings together. The morning sun shone so softly through the window. Miles closed his eyes and held his head in his hands.
“Please don’t keep me here any longer.”
“Even though this is your happiest Christmas memory?” the spirit said, in a voice that sounded oh so much like his fathers’.
“It hurts.”
It was strange, how honest he was being in this space. He tried to quell his heavy breathing. When he went quiet… the sound continued. Confused, he opened his eyes. The scene had completely changed. He was now in another room that he knew far too well, one with austere stone walls and a too-large bed. A boy was sitting near the pillow, hugging his knees, making small sniffling noises. It was him, again. …He looked so small. Pathetic, Miles thought. Crying so pointlessly. When was this? He didn’t look much bigger than he did in the previous scene, but Miles didn’t have a good recollection of his development milestones, so he couldn't glean much from this.
The door slammed open, and both the Miles of the past and present flinched. Standing in the doorway, casting his shadow across the floor was, of course, von Karma, bursting into his adopted son’s room.
“What are you doing, you pathetic little boy?” Miles was slightly disturbed to hear his thoughts reflected in that man’s words.
“…I don’t have any need for Christmas celebrations. That, and… well… it’s been a year now and…” the boy was crying softly. That answered Miles’ question of when this was taking place.
“It is true that Christmas is a waste of time,” von Karma said. “But that is no excuse for idling about and crying like a baby.”
“I-I’m sorry sir. Please, I just need a moment.” He kept averting his eyes. Seeing him like this was… difficult. He really did look so small, especially next to his mentor. A part of him wanted to reach out and comfort himself.
Von Karma marched toward the child and grabbed him by the chin. “You will look at me when you are speaking!”
“…Yes, sir.”
“Please, please take me to another memory,” Miles gasped. He couldn’t remember how this interaction played out, if it came to shouts or blows or worse, but he couldn’t bear to find out. It had already happened, the best thing he could do now was forget.
“If you say so,” the spirit said, in a voice that sounded a bit like his sister.
In a blink, he was standing in the prosecutor’s office. Von Karma sat at his desk, and a young adult Miles stood before him.
“It was only a matter of course, but I offer my sincere congratulations for your achievement in passing the bar,” his mentor said.
“Thank you, sir,” said Miles, who must have been twenty.
“Here, a gift, for the holiday season,” the older man said with a noticeable tint of sarcasm. The present Miles had a pretty good idea of what was inside the gift box.
“Do I have permission to open it?”
“Yes, my boy. Go ahead.” He said it so sweetly, in a way that would be comforting and genuine coming from any other person.
“…Oh, sir!” The past Miles pulled out a gold-trimmed red coat and layered cravat, an embellished outfit that would surely make him look like the student of von Karma.
“You will need suitable dress to appear in court,” he explained.
“Thank you so much for your generosity, sir,” the newly appointed prosecutor said with a deep bow.
“Now go mingle with your co-workers, if you so desire.” Von Karma dismissed him with a wave of his hand, knowing full well that Miles had as much attachment to workplace Christmas parties as he did.
Absentmindedly, the current Miles followed his younger self up the stairs to his office. Not expecting anyone behind him, the past Miles immediately shut the door behind him. The spirit phased through the door, and Miles followed after them. When he did, there was snow falling outside the window, and he saw himself, in the outfit he currently enjoyed wearing, at his desk, working by a single light. He did this often, working long nights, but looking at himself from the outside, the scene seemed a little… lonely. It was quiet, the only sound the scratching of his pen and the faint bustle of cars on the street below. He stared for a while.
“Right. Well, you’ve shown me my past up until now,” Miles said eventually. “Your job is done. Now go.”
“Very well. I shall leave you now,” the spirit said. When he glanced at it, he saw that its face had come to resemble his nine-year-old self. “Rest, and consider what you have seen.”
At this suggestion, Miles felt a bit sleepy. As if in a trance, he walked over to the sofa and rested his head on the pillow. As his eyes closed, the ever-shifting form of the ghost remained burned into his vision.
-
“He-llooooooo? Mr. Edgeworth?”
Miles’ eyes opened for a second time to the sound of a lively voice. He felt like he had heard it before…
“Your cell’s open, come on out!” the girlish voice called out. It was true, the door was open, and there was a golden light emanating from the hallway, inviting him out.
Intrigued, Miles sat up and walked toward the source of the warm atmosphere. Despite himself, he let out a little gasp. All around the next-door cell there were piles and piles of food: burgers, ramen, turkey, fried chicken, vegetables of all varieties, candies in a rainbow of colors, messily decorated sugar cookies in Christmas-themed shapes. Sitting on a bench at the center of it all was a young woman with a big smile, wearing a white kimono with large sleeves and a purple hakama with a big mistletoe patterned bow. Instead of orbs and a magatama, she wore a necklace of bells and holly, and adorned her hair in a similar fashion. Miles stood agape for a good few seconds before finally uttering, “…Miss Fey?”
“Maya? Who’s that?” the spirit said, feigning ignorance. Miles wanted to shout out “Objection!” and point out the contradiction in what she had just said, but he had a feeling that it wouldn’t matter. This was a dream, after all.
“I am the ghost of Christmas present!” she said proudly.
“I… see,” Miles said doubtfully. “I suppose you’re here to convince me to go out and attend parties and the sort?”
“Well, it would be nice if you could let yourself have fun. But it’s not just about that. I mean, I love Christmas, but it’s not like I’m a Christian or anything. There are all kinds of lessons that can be learned this time of year.” She grinned. “Now come on! Let’s begin!”
The spirit who was definitely not Maya Fey reached out and grabbed his hand with a jingle of several bells, and the next moment they were standing on the street. There was a pleasant dusting of snow coating the ground, and more floating down from the sky. Two pairs of footsteps could be heard down the street. When Miles turned, he saw a young boy and his father bundled in their hats, coats, and mittens. The boy was holding an umbrella above his head as high as his arms could go. His father laughed gently.
“Thank you for trying, but perhaps it would be better if I held the umbrella. As it stands, I’m just getting poked, and you look like you could fall over any moment.”
The boy pouted a little, but handed the umbrella off and hugged close to his father’s side.
“Is the umbrella really necessary? I know I always loved playing in the snow when I was a kid,” the man said jovially. The child thought for a moment and nodded, running ahead and letting the snowflakes fall on his face.
Miles stood in place and watched as the two strangers passed by. As he turned his head to follow them, the sound of heavy breathing drew closer from the direction they came. It was a familiar face - the large man barrelling towards them was Detective Gumshoe.
“Whew! Man, it’s cold!” he said to himself and entered the apartment building. In an instant, they were inside, watching Gumshoe sit down on the floor with a cup of instant ramen. He blew on it to cool it down, then seemed to get an idea and set the container down. He searched under his bed for a moment, and then with a big grin pulled out a santa hat and placed it on his head.
“Merry Christmas to me… and Mr. Edgeworth… and Mr. Wright… and Maggey… and everyone.” He picked up his chopsticks and dug in.
Miles looked on in fascination. Gumshoe’s apartment was small and unnotable, not to mention slightly untidy. Yet seeing him in this setting, not fumbling an investigation but just living out his life at home, stirred something in Miles’ heart. The detective’s incompetence could certainly cause more than a little irritation, but perhaps he had been too harsh on him with the threats of salary cuts. He was poor enough already.
He shook his head to clear the thought.
When he opened his eyes, he was in a generic office space. The snow continued to fall outside the window. A familiar-looking girl was sitting on a coffee table, kicking her sandals and looking worriedly out the window. When Miles saw the couch, and who was sitting on it, his heart skipped a beat. Laying on his side, squishing his cheek with one hand and holding a small piece of paper in his other, was none other than Phoenix Wright. Cheeks flushed, Miles drew closer to him to see what was in his hand.
“It’ll be alright, Nick,” Maya said. “He’ll come around. I’m sure of it.” Despite her words, there was a noticeable uncertainty in her voice. Looking back in her direction, Miles saw the spirit standing next to her lookalike and nodding at him.
“I hope so,” Phoenix sighed. “I’m trying my best to get through to him. I believe in him. …I hope he understands that.”
Miles looked at him. Phoenix’s brows were knit with worry, and the realization that he was responsible for this sent a pang through his heart. He felt… guilty, a feeling he was more than familiar with, but in relation to Phoenix, it felt different.
“We’ll go back tomorrow,” Maya said with determination. As the world brightened with a flash, transporting him to the next scene, he stole one last glance at the paper in Phoenix’s hand. It looked like… a picture from a newspaper…?
Before he could get a proper look, everything went white, and then there were sounds all around. Laughing, talking, glasses clinking. It was all too much. Around him were people, familiar people, wearing suits slightly more fancy than they usually wore. On the walls of the lobby were wreaths and bulbs, and in one corner of the large room was a tall tinsel-adorned Christmas tree. Oh, so this was the prosecutor’s office Christmas party. It was just as insufferable as Miles expected.
“Did you hear about young Edgeworth?” he heard someone say.
“About him murdering someone? Of course I have,” someone else replied.
“Quite the shock, isn’t it?”
“Hm. Well, to be honest, it was only a matter of time. You don’t earn the name Demon Prosecutor at age twenty for nothing.”
“You may have a point there.”
Miles had grown used to the rumors, but to call him a murderer and describe it as inevitable got to him. Everyone was standing around chatting cheerfully, utterly ambivalent to the predicament he had found himself in.
He turned around, and the room shifted to one he had seen previously. It was dark, lit only by the faint glow of streetlights shining in from the back of the room. Sitting at the desk, at work with a slight smile on his face, was his mentor and soon to be condemner, Manfred von Karma.
He was… smiling. He never smiled. Not for any good reason. This man was about to prosecute his adopted son for murder, and was excited for it. Miles had tried to push down the truth of von Karma’s nature for some fifteen years now. It was so much easier to ignore it than process it.
“So? Feeling the Christmas spirit?” the Maya lookalike asked with a knowing smile.
“If by that you mean making me think about the feelings I’ve tried so hard to not feel for so long, then I suppose you have succeeded,” he replied bitterly.
“That’s good to hear,” she said. In this darkness, Miles could see that she was glowing slightly. Between that and her beautiful traditional clothing, she really did give off a mystical aura.
“My time grows short. As fun as this has been, I have to return to the living. I leave you with the ghost of Christmas yet to come.” The glow surrounding her grew brighter, and her form was enveloped in it.
“Wait, Miss Fey…” He trailed off, not knowing what he wanted to say.
“We can continue this conversation tomorrow. Nick is still awaiting your decision.” Miles didn’t bother thinking about the meaning of this statement.
“And whatever you see from now on… don’t give it all up.” With these serious last words, Maya faded away into light.
As soon as her glow faded, the room darkened significantly. Miles felt a presence at his side, and when he glanced over, he saw it. A figure in a dark hooded cloak, just a little taller than him.
“Oh,” he said involuntarily. The spectre raised its arm and pointed with a single finger. In the dim light, it was hard to tell if the finger was actually grey and withered, or if it just appeared that way. Following the direction of the point, Miles saw two familiar men.
“It really is a shame,” said the man in orange, in a tone that implied he did not find it much of a shame at all.
“Truly a disappointment,” von Karma said, no more genuinely.
“How are you feeling?” Gant asked.
“It had to be done.” Once again, he smiled.
In the moment of silence that followed, Miles noticed that it was no longer snowing outside, but raining. It felt improper to be intruding on a private conversation between these two, not to mention the gut feeling that if von Karma was happy it couldn’t be good. The darkness of the office was starting to get to him, and the spirit beside him seemed to emanate cold.
“Can we… go elsewhere?” he asked quietly. The spirit clasped his shoulder and directed him to turn around. Once again the room phased, and they were standing in the office space he had been to earlier. The last time he was here, it had been somewhat tense, but still comfortable. Now it was just dark. Sitting on the couch were Maya Fey, a girl around eight years of age dressed similar to her, and Phoenix Wright. Under normal circumstances, seeing him in just his button-up shirt would cause Miles to blush, but the atmosphere of the room felt so somber. He almost jumped when he heard a knock.
“…Hey, pal, can I come in?” Gumshoe’s voice rang out from beyond the door.
“Come in, Mister Gumshoe,” the little girl said. He entered the room as delicately as he could, similarly downcast.
“How are you holding up, Mr. Wright?” he asked sensitively. Miles had never seen this side of him before.
Maya sighed. “We’re making do. It’s hitting Nick the hardest out of all of us, but… it’s hard not to feel…” she trailed off, searching for the right words.
“I never met him, but…” The little girl looked like she was about to cry.
“Thanks for checking in, Gumshoe,” Phoenix said eventually, putting on an unconvincing smile. “…I can’t bluff my way out of these feelings. I knew this was coming, but… it hurts. It hurts so bad. …Why? Why did this have to happen? Why him…!?” He was tearing up. The little girl gave him a hug.
“…I wish I had something to give you, pal. In consolation.” Gumshoe scratched the back of his neck.
“No, that’s okay. I don’t need anything. Nothing will bring him back. Not permanently.”
Maya looked down, like she wanted to say something but decided against it out of kindness.
“Is it alright if I give you a hug, pal?” Gumshoe asked.
“…Sure.” The two men hugged.
Miles felt like he shouldn’t be here, but he couldn’t look away. Phoenix had lost someone important to him, that much was clear. Maybe one of his parents or grandparents had died? Whoever it was, it had struck him with deep grief. He doubted he could be of much comfort to him, but he wanted to try. There was a certain joy to seeing him floundering in court, but there was no such joy to be found here. Phoenix was trying so hard not to cry at whatever loss he had experienced, but he couldn’t hold back his feelings. …It was painful to watch.
Miles turned to the window, and there was snow again. When he blinked, the window had changed. Now it was set in a stone wall, the glass rattling slightly. By the light of the midday blizzard, a girl with light blue hair sat atop a too-big bed and frowned at her cell phone.
“…That fool.”
Franziska threw down her phone and lay on her side. She looked pained. Miles wanted to pick up the phone and see what she had been looking at, but could not bring himself to invade his sister’s privacy. He heard her let out a deep sigh. It was strange to see her like this. This was a quiet moment for her, alone in the von Karma mansion.
After the previous scene he had visited, it almost seemed like she was mourning, in her own way.
…Mourning who?
Miles stopped his brain from thinking any further. He turned to the door and exited the room, but instead of the too-familiar hallway, he was standing in a cluttered office full of file cabinets. A person in a white coat sat at a desk, writing away by the light of a single lamp. For the first time, he had no idea where he was standing. With nothing better to do, Miles drew close to the desk and looked over the person’s shoulder. They were writing a report of some kind. An autopsy report, the top of the paper said. Death by hanging. Cervical vertebrae snapped immediately. …Walked willingly to his execution. There was a photograph among the papers, of a hanged man with a cloth bag over his head. Below it was another photograph which he couldn’t see. Miles processed this information, trying to put the pieces together. Was this scene somehow related to the ones he had seen before? If it was, then… who was the hanged man in that photograph, who had relations with all those people and brought them such misery by being executed?
…
Miles had closed his eyes at some point, and when he opened them, he was standing in a dismal graveyard. He glanced at the spirit, and only barely noticed that instead of a hood, its head was now covered with a cloth bag.
“I think I understand now, spirit. …Really, I should have figured it out from the beginning. Who is the man whose death has pained these people so?”
The spirit pointed. Miles went cold as he directed his gaze to a gravestone. The wind was howling, but the snow remained on some sides of the stone slabs.
“…This is a Christmas yet to come, I understand. And it’s… a potential future, correct? It can be changed if different actions are taken?”
The spirit just pointed, of course. With a deep sigh, Miles stepped toward the indicated gravestone. As if in a trance, he kneeled down to the frozen ground and wiped the crusted snow from the stone.
DEATH ROW INMATE #1228
MILES EDGEWORTH
1992-2017
Miles sunk to the ground. This… was anticipated, of course it was, but it was impossible not to be shaken at the sight of his own name on a grave. Not only that, but in a prison graveyard, identified with a number. …He had thought about his own demise before, but never how he wanted to be buried. But at the very least, he wanted to be buried beside his father, not here. The report had said that he went to the gallows willingly.
…Von Karma was smiling. And Phoenix’s heart was broken. Had he tried and failed to defend Miles? Or had Miles pushed him away and accepted his fate at the hands of his mentor?
…Was it really his fate?
…Was there really no hope?
Miles faced the spectre and felt the urge to vomit at the sight of blood seeping through the fabric where its mouth would be.
“…I understand,” he said in a low voice. Looking at the ground, the spirit was floating a couple of inches in the air. He didn’t know if it had been doing so the entire time or only started just now.
“You’re telling me to not give up. To not… kill myself. To trust Phoenix Wright. …Granted, it’s still bleak, but… I suppose if there’s any hope to be found, it would be in that man.”
The spectre placed its undead hand on Miles’ shoulder as if in encouragement, and when his eyes closed, they both melted away.
-
Miles opened his eyes. It took a moment for him to perceive his surroundings, but when he did, he saw the same depressing walls of the detention center. The dawn light shone in faintly through the small window. Everything felt more solid. So this was reality. …Finally.
Was it too early for visiting hours? He had to talk to Phoenix right away.