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I heard a quiet knocking on my office door. It wasn’t too late at night, about 10:00, but I was certain that none of my fellow prosecutors would be working this late. The only one I could ever imagine being there would be Detective Gumshoe, my loyal friend and homicide detective at the local precinct, coming by with some new evidence. I took a sip of tea, bitter with just a hint of lemon, and called for him to enter.
The person who came by, however, was not the cheerful man who I had so often seen clumsily barging into my office and proudly slamming a piece of evidence down on my desk, which I would later find out Wright would use against me. The person was wearing a black coat, similar to the one I wore, but without a wide collar. This person’s face wasn’t visible in the dim moonlight that seeped through my window, illuminating the room in a lonesome glow. At first, I thought it was my fellow prosecutor Winston Payne, coming by to inform me of another one of his many failed suicide attempts, but then the figure spoke.
“Edgeworth,” murmured the figure, in a voice that sounded so familiar, yet so unknown, “It’s been a long time.”
“Who are you?” I asked quietly, my voice choking in the back of my throat. Fear surged through my heart, as I assumed this was one of the many whom I convicted, here for vengeance.
The figure removed his coat, letting it drop to the ground in a careless pile. I scoffed, thinking about how reckless this person must be. He took a step closer and leaned his arm on one of the cushion-covered velvety chairs that were standing in my office. The mahogany floors creaked under his footsteps.
“Can’t believe you forgot me so soon, especially after our case,” remarked the figure, raising his finger and then gently closing it into a fist. His voice seemed calm, almost dangerously calm. Fear sparked in my heart. Was it truly one of the people who I had convicted, back for revenge?
“Who... are you?” I uttered softly, a tremble in my voice.
The figure stepped into the thin shaft of moonlight, a sharp smile on his face, his eyes glinting with a playful triumph.
“It’s... you?” I murmured in a mixture of shock, surprise, and relief.
His electric blue eyes shined in the desolate moonlight. His spiky, messy hair, as always, stuck backward, the moonlight’s shadows making it look as if it was dancing. The azure blue, almost indigo suit of his was slightly wrinkled, falling gently over his frame, and his velvet red tie slightly loose.
I instinctively reached up to my neck to tighten my cravat, wanting to look professional. I was about to reach for my maroon coat that hung carefully on a coat rack next to my desk, before his hand stopped me.
“No need, Edgeworth. You aren’t going anywhere,” he laughed, a playful glint in his eyes. Once more, I felt some sort of fear. No, not fear, more intimidation, nervous anticipation. Why was he here?
“Remember who I am now?” he chuckled, a smile returning to his face as he leaned his hand on my desk. I was about to object but then decided against it, as this man probably had enough decency as to not wreck my personal belongings.
“Yes...” I muttered, my voice deepening and softening down to a whisper. “Why are you here, Wright?” I asked him, as it was unusual for prosecutor and defense attorney to associate.
“Well, as you know, hopefully, I’m your old friend Phoenix Wright,” he said, a smirk on his face. “I’m also the only person who has ever defeated you in a court case.”
“Ah, you’re here to gloat,” I said, my fear now replaced with resentment. Of course, he’d come to brag about his victory. “Well, get on with it.”
His face fell, his grin vanishing, and the playful glint in his eyes, gone. He seemed... hurt, as if I’d been the one gloating. I scoffed, remembering what kind of soft, foolish boy he had been when we were kids. He hasn’t changed a bit.
“I haven’t come here to gloat, or just to make fun of you, Miles,” he muttered, a pang of hurt edging his voice.
“Miles?” I thought. Why would he call me that? I’ve been called “Edgeworth” for so long, that I’ve almost forgotten my own name. Then, I decided to let the point go, as he clearly wasn’t here for idle small talk.
“Go on, then. What are you here for?” I asked, a mild hatred shining in my eyes, and my heart beating quickly. I just want him to go, to leave me alone.
“I’m here to speak with you about the... reputation you’ve developed, winning every trial,” he murmured. I felt confused, betrayed, even that he even dared mention my reputation in such a dismissive, snarky manner.
“Go on. Please,” I said through gritted teeth, annoyance sparking in my voice. “Why must you act so mystical about everything, Wright? You may bluff your way through court, but you cannot bluff through me. Get on with it now.”
“Okay, okay!” he responded, raising his hands in the air. “Do you know why I became a defense attorney in the first place?” he asked simply. I shook my head, not knowing where this was going to lead.
“I became an attorney to save you, Miles,” he spoke after a while. “I became an attorney to see you, and ask you... what... happened,” he murmured, his voice shaky and indecisive.
“Save?” I whispered under my breath. “What would you want to save me... from?”
“Well, it all started around five years ago. I was reading the newspaper and came across something that stood out to me. The headline read something like ‘Dark Suspicions of a Demon Attorney-Miles Edgeworth.’ I remembered you, the bold and charismatic boy who had saved me in that class trial, so many years ago, and so I read the article. I learned all about your underhand tricks that were the bane of countless attorneys and the causes for convictions of countless innocents,” he said, a persistent passion in his voice. “I was the only one who knew the real Edgeworth. The only person who remembered the real you, and not the demon you had become. I knew that you wouldn’t want to see me, so I decided to do the last thing I could possibly do. I became an attorney because I knew that you would have to meet me whether you wanted to or not. In court.”
“Wright. What is there to save me from?” I asked, a tremble in my voice, my eyes tearing up. He did all that for me?
“You can’t tell? I wanted to bring back the Edgeworth that wanted to defend, the Edgeworth that wanted to be there for people who had nobody on their side. I wanted to ask... what happened.”
“Nothing happened. Nothing,” I said, shivering at the thought of my father’s bloodcurdling scream, the lack of air making my head spin, and waking up in a puddle of my father’s blood.
“Don’t be the.. the cause for more suffering.. Edgeworth. You, of all people, should know this, you of all people should know that the truth will come out with more truth, not with lies and ruthless deeds!” he cried, grabbing my shoulder, desperation shining in his eyes.
“Is that what you think I am?” I uttered, rage and hatred flowing through my voice. “You don’t know my pain, my story! All you know is the old me! All you know is your side of the story. All you know is that I’m a demon and a murderer and you think I can just go back to the immature, naive child I once was!” I screamed, pain searing through my limbs in a numbing wave.
“I know you’re still in there, Miles!” he yelled back stepping towards me. “I know you are!”
“Wright. You utterly foolish man,” I murmured, turning away from him.
“You’re angry, Edgeworth. Stop and lis-”
“No. I will not listen to any more of your wild conjectures,” I said in a pained voice, walking away and looking out the window. The moonlight shone at me, a desolate pale blue glow that killed me. “There is one thing that you don’t understand, Wright. You and I, we are not the same. Now, go. I never want to see you again.”
“Edgeworth...” he whispered, pain glistening in his eyes as he reached out and put his hand on my shoulder.
I whirled around, looking him dead in the eyes. The desperate, rebellious glint of pitiful kindness shone in his eyes, as he cowered away from me, shaking.
“Don’t be so short-sighted, Edgeworth. Believe me,” he cried, tears streaking down his face as I shoved him back onto the floor. Reaching into my inner jacket pocket, I pulled out my gun.
His face turned as pale as ashes as he scrambled away from me in a futile attempt to escape. I looked out of the window one last time, and as if in approval, a large cloud covered the moon, making the room nearly pitch dark.
“D-don’t do t-this,” he whispered, choking back every word before speaking. “This isn’t like you.”
“You may think of me as a villain,” I said, looking him dead in the eyes and smiling triumphantly, “well, now I am.”
A single gunshot rang out through the room, a loud “bang” that signaled the near immediate death of my old friend. His chilling, bloodcurdling wail of terror and agony sounded through my room in a horrid echo that seemingly never stopped. Finally, after nearly ten seconds of agonized wailing, he stopped. Lay limp on the floor, his head falling with a loud thump, and he was dead. The moonlight shone through the window once more, a thin, lonely streak of light perfectly illuminating his bloody body, and I was alone once more, now with nobody on my side.
As I gather my things and prepare to leave, I don’t bother to get rid of the body. I’ll let one of the cleaners find it tomorrow morning, and this will become the second unresolved pool of blood that’s seeped through this wooden floor.