Chapter Text
"Hey, Mister Edgeworth!" yelled out the familiar detective from the doorway, who was currently in possession of a garish Santa hat. Without waiting for a welcome, he stepped over near Edgeworth's desk and plopped himself on the couch. "I was wondering if you had a moment to talk! Personal reasons."
"Personal reasons?" Edgeworth frowned, looking up from his paperwork. "If you're asking for advice about Miss Byrde again, I'll remind you that I have no experience with tha-"
"It's not that again, don't worry," said Gumshoe, cringing slightly at the memory. The advice Edgeworth gave that day had... disastrous results. "I was just wondering if you, er, had anyone to spend tomorrow with. You know, for Christmas?"
"Do I ever?" replied Edgeworth, glancing hesitantly to the curious man sprawled on his sofa. He wasn't sure what the good detective had in store for him this time. Edgeworth hoped that Gumshoe knew that any attempts at setting him up on a blind date would end in tragedy, violent and painful death, and a devastating blow to his salary.
"No, I guess not," said the detective, and then he grinned widely. "So that means you have no excuse NOT to go to my party for Christmas tomorrow, right?"
"Urk!" He was right. Edgeworth really had no plans tomorrow except watch television all morning and then work at the office later in the afternoon while most everyone was gone. Justice had to be served, especially on frivolous holidays that he didn't celebrate. It was just a yearly excuse to promote consumerism and Coca-Cola, after all.
"You'll come, right?" said Gumshoe, who stopped relaxing on the sofa and leaned towards him, staring deeply into his soul with those puppy dog eyes. "Everyone's gonna be there! Maggey, Kay, Franziska... hell, I even got that old friend of yours to say he'll come with his new girlfriend. Harry Butz, was it?"
"Oh my god," replied Edgeworth softly. There was not a snowball's chance in Hell that he was going to willingly attend. And yet... those eyes. I... I must win this staredown but... Edgeworth looked away and clutched one of his arms. "I'm sorry but I cannot-"
"You always say that! Please?!"
"I don't celebrate Christmas, it's against my... religion?" Or lack thereof.
"What? No way! You gave me a present last year! You even said 'Merry Christmas' as you did!"
"I... did?"
"Yes, you gave me a raise, sir!"
"Ngh..." I was being sarcastic, but I guess this detective couldn't detect even that. "Have you ever considered that I just don't like Christmas, considering my history? Prosecutor von Karma was wealthy but he didn't exactly give me presents."
"But... it's not about the presents, Mister Edgeworth!" Edgeworth sighed frustratedly. As he expected, this was turning into a "this is about family!" type of conversation. "It's about-"
"Yes, yes, it's about family, I know, Detective, people have told me a million times," he said quickly, setting down his pen and looking at Gumshoe once again with piercing gray eyes. "Which, coincidentally, I don't have. Now, if you'll excuse me..."
Gumshoe didn't move and only stared at him with a raised eyebrow.
"When I say that, I mean, get back to work," said Edgeworth, not noticing that he was gripping one of the forms so hard that it was crumpled permanently. The detective still wasn't moving.
"It's Christmas Eve, I have today off," said Gumshoe, crossing his arms. After several seconds of another glaring competition, Gumshoe broke it to stretch his arms. "Well then," he yawned while standing up, "if you change your mind at some point, the party will be at my house no matter what." Gumshoe dropped a folded piece of notebook paper on the desk, presumably an invitation before leaving the office without a fight.
"What's the perfect thing to say at a time like this?" the disgruntled prosecutor muttered hoarsely to himself. "Oh, yes... 'bah, humbug!' That works. Not that I've read that book..."
Before he could get further with his huge stack of files, a quick knock came from behind his door before a skinny man dressed as Santa and a woman dressed as an elf let themselves in, the former holding a huge, heavy sack. The man looked rather winded while the woman gave a sickening smile to Edgeworth.
"What's this about?" groaned Edgeworth, putting fingers to his temples. "I thought they banned the Prosecutors' Office Christmas grams after Gaspen Payne stole all of the cards sent to Klavier Gavin. I'll have you know I want no part in thi-"
"No, Prosecutor Edgeworth," said the woman, sitting on his desk pointedly. He glared at her. "We're going around for last minute donations to the toy drive!" She shot a disgusting, simpering smile at him and then glanced at the Steel Samurai figurine. "And it seems you've got one."
Edgeworth followed her glance and then scoffed. With just a piercing gaze, the Santa-dressed man didn't dare approach the figurine. "No, that's not...! That's not a toy! Last I checked, solicitors weren't allowed in this office."
"Solicitors?" said the Santa, scandalized. "We're prosecutors! With permission from the Chief herself! Don't you recognize us? I'm Nicholas Toussaint and that's Godiva Alfred! Remember? You mistook me for an intern one time and told me to bring you coffee?"
"Oh, yes, I remember now," said Edgeworth. But I didn't mistake you for an intern. "I apologize for any misunderstandings that may have caused. Good day, Prosecutor Toussaint."
The Santa Toussaint stared at him with an eyebrow raised. "Huh?"
"Yes?" replied Edgeworth slowly.
"Are you interested in donating to the toy drive?" asked Prosecutor Alfred, still gazing at him while fiddling with one of the desk pens that rested in its cup.
"No," he replied firmly, not sure who he wanted to make cower under his glare more.
"Hmph! Odd... everyone else in this office has donated something. Even that whipping lady," said Prosecutor Alfred, smirking at the memory. Her vapid gaze immediately turned vicious. "What's the matter? Not a fan of kids in need?"
"It's not that, it's just... if these children's families are so poor, why not give them food or other necessities? Why toys? I've always heard that Christmas is about the family, not the presents!" I've heard it way too often, in fact.
"That's true, but... c'mon! I think it's a little bit about the presents too, you know? Toys are good for a kid's soul!" said Prosecutor Toussaint, dropping the heavy sack on the couch and laying down after popping his spine. Edgeworth seriously hoped that neither Toussaint nor Gumshoe had anything unsavory on their outfits that could stick to the furniture. "Kids without toys? It's like a singer without a voice... an artist without a medium!"
"If their parents want to support them, can't they just get another job? Or make use of welfare? Our country has quite a system-"
"Why! You presumptuous, ignorant little-!"
"Now now, Saint Nicholas, calm down. It wouldn't be very Santa-like to be naughty towards Prosecutor Edgeworth. I doubt we'll ever be able to reason with such a pitiful Scrooge," said Prosecutor Alfred, removing herself from the desk as if it was a filthy thing and straightening her skirt, looking more murderous by the second.
"Reason with? You mean coerce?" Edgeworth forced out a breathy sigh. "...And another thing! Why choose Christmas specifically as a time to care about children in need? They exist during the 364 other days of the year, you know!"
"Says the man who won't even give to children in need on one day of the year," she muttered while grabbing her comrade's hand and picking up the dark red sack with little effort. "Forget this pretentious demon, we've got thirty more offices to visit." She thrusted the sack into his hand.
"Aw, c'mon 'Diva, that thing is like a hundred pounds!"
"It's only a few flights of stairs, honestly. You've carried it to the 12th floor already, after all," she said, smirking at her friend the entire time they exited the office. If Edgeworth didn't have a headache before, he had a migrane now. Clearly, being the High Prosecutor was just a title and formality. His own subordinates went out of their way to make him feel like crap most of the time.
He proceeded with his stack of paperwork, diligently inspecting every word and taking notes on another sheet of paper. He finally let himself rest at noon and relaxed his strained eyes. He still had much more to do that day, yet he had no idea how he was going to accomplish this, no matter how hard he organized and planned each aspect of his work. I'll probably have to skip that morning of television and just get to work immediately. The thought unsettled him somewhat. Maybe I should work late and spend the night here on the sofa... then I can do more work in the morning and go home early. He liked this idea much better. It would save on commute time too, especially in ridiculous holiday traffic.
First though, he'd get some coffee. He had several more hours to stay awake and work, so the choice was much more logical than tea. Edgeworth considered calling Gumshoe to deliver some to him, but considering the earlier conversation they had, he didn't want to be somehow tricked into obligating himself to go to his party. He wasn't sure if he could handle Larry and Franziska in the same room, let alone the same city.
The little lounge on the ninth floor was mercifully empty and almost a little too quiet. More suspiciously, a fresh pot of brew sat on the counter, ripe for the taking. Edgeworth poured himself a large cup and proceeded to drown the bitterness with sugar and cream. The socially accepted view of plain black coffee being superior, pure, and macho was absolutely ridiculous to the prosecutor. Let's just say there's a reason they add sugar and milk to cocoa as there is a reason to add it to coffee.
He attached the lid and made his escape, refreshed by the moment of solitude in the quiet room. He assumed that most everyone except a few other prosecutors and security still remained today. The Chief had been rather generous with vacation time, for some reason that Edgeworth couldn't fathom. "The Chief Prosecutor is a sentimental fool just like you, Miles Edgeworth. I say, you have a lot to live up to," Franziska had mentioned offhandedly about a week ago when he complained about this. He had no idea what to make of that, since he was hardly displaying any Christmas cheer... not to mention with his volatile history involving leaving the country dramatically and unexpectedly, he doubted that he would even be considered for a position as Chief for at least several years.
"Frohe Weihnachten, Herr Edgeworth," sung an unwelcome intruder to his thoughts. "Merry Christmas! Wie geht es Ihnen?"
"Ah... Klavier Gavin..." sighed Edgeworth, tempted to squeeze his cup until it broke. Either speak English or speak German! I can't handle both at the same time. Klavier either didn't notice or pretended not to notice the high prosecutor suddenly becoming as tense as a statue. Instead, the man flashed the same meaningless smiles as always and bowed slightly to him in greeting. Worse, he saw that Gavin was not alone. His ragtag bunch of strangely dressed friends followed him in a peculiar formation. Edgeworth didn't understand why the Chief chose to hire so many... kids. None of them could be older than Wright's former assistant Maya, that was certain.
"As good as usual," replied Edgeworth simply, raising an eyebrow when the other man continued to smile. Is he trying to suck up to me or does he do this to everyone? I can't tell.
"As good as usual, hmm? Is that good?" he glanced at his other friends and they all either nodded or shook their heads, smirking. Klavier glanced back at him, and raised an eyebrow and had an expression of... was that pity? Even so, the suspicious Edgeworth wasn't sure whether Gavin was going to hug him and give him an autograph or try to coerce him out of his lunch money.
Perhaps unfairly, he didn't trust Klavier Gavin much after what lead Wright to lose his badge several months ago and it hardly mattered to him that Wright had been somewhat in the wrong himself. He tried to keep things civil. There was no reason to be resentful for a prosecutor who was dedicated to the truth, no matter how much it hurt.
"So, Herr Edgeworth, what's your favorite Christmas carol? We've been going around and spreading cheer. Looks like you need it," said Klavier, showily swinging his hands onto his hips and shooting the same foolish grin.
"I'm, er, not really a fan of Christmas carols, actually," replied Edgeworth, suddenly blushing from ear to ear. This couldn't be happening. If someone else came in and saw what must have been Klavier's band singing to stuffy old Prosecutor Edgeworth, he'd die on the spot. For the first time, he was hoping Franziska would come along and rescue him from this shameful frivolity.
Not that he didn't like to have fun. Edgeworth was simply not a fan of being publicly mocked later.
"Not a fan, hmm? Yes, traditional carols can be a bit bland," he said, snapping one of his fingers and turning down his smile somewhat. "Are you familiar with Caraia Marie's 'Thou Art All I'm Yearning For Yule'?"
Curses... unfortunately, yes. Damn you, Detective Gumshoe! "I know of it..."
Edgeworth's words were like magic. Everything about Gavin's demeanor began to change immediately and the young prosecutor started clicking a beat with his finger, his crew watching him seriously.
To say Edgeworth was simply embarrassed when Klavier Gavin and his band began singing the horrifically catchy Christmas song a capella was a terrible understatement. For a moment, Edgeworth froze up, eyes wide as the Gavinners began with impeccable grace, but as soon as he noticed other prosecutors exiting their offices to witness the performance, Edgeworth grumbled, "Stop that, immediately!"
After that, Klavier hit a sour note before ceasing while his face pulled into distraught disbelief while the others continued with their vocals. Edgeworth stormed off towards the staircase. Smooth, Miles. Very smooth.
He ran up the stairs at the fullest speed his suit would allow, his coffee occasionally sloshing back and forth in his cup, some flying out of the lid's hole and burning his hand. Today was the definition of strife. Why is it that lately all I want to do is cry? When he reached his floor, he sighed, his breath slightly labored.
When he reached his office, he closed and locked the door behind him and then slowly sunk to the floor, leaning against the solid wood while facing the window contemplatively. He supposed Gavin wasn't necessarily doing anything wrong, but Edgeworth still cringed, thinking of his aggressively anti-social reaction. He'd apologize later. Maybe.
He didn't get to sit for long. Already, someone was knocking vehemently, too loud for him to ignore. What the hell is with this office today? Isn't everyone else supposed to be at home on vacation?!
As soon as he unlocked the door, the person behind it turned the knob faster than he could. He didn't recognize the slovenly man at first, who licked his lips nervously and adjusted his unsightly turquoise cap. That man approached him without any regard for personal space.
"Edgeworth, you're gonna hate what I'm about to say," he said as his way of greeting, flailing out his hands and setting them on Edgeworth's shoulders wildly. "Er... I messed up."
"Worse than losing your badge?" blurted Edgeworth. Phoenix Wright glared at him. "What?"
"No, not that bad... I just... can I... borrow some money?" It appeared to pain his former rival to say such a thing.
"Huh...? Why?! I thought you said that you were making a good enough amount as a pianist?" said Edgeworth, although deep down he knew Wright had lied about that.
"I do, but... urgh this is stupid..."
"What?"
"I was shopping to give Trucy her Christmas presents today..."
"And?" Edgeworth did not like where this was going, but at least it wasn't a problem with a loan shark or the mafia... he hoped.
"I may... I may have spent more than was in my checking account."
"Wright..." The man remained silent but with a pleading look. "And exactly how much was that?"
"Fifty dollars..."
"I see."
"But I don't get paid until next week, so I need to pay for groceries too..."
"Ah."
"And I owe some money to Larry..."
"Okay, just... stop Wright, stop right there," said Edgeworth, pinching the bridge of his nose and massaging his pounding head. "I'll give you... two hundred dollars then. Is that enough? Please tell me that's enough."
Wright let out a shivery breath breath and almost smiled. He needs to brush his teeth. Is that... a trace of wine I smell? Urgh...
Edgeworth's face remained stoney serious and he scowled at Wright's grin. "If I hear tell from your daughter that you spend a single penny of it on liquor, I will kidnap her and never let you see her again. Understood?"
"I won't! What kind of person do you think I am?" Wright's smile faltered when Edgeworth's face didn't change.
"I can smell it on you, you know," said Edgeworth.
"Wh- Not fair! One of the guys I was playing against gave me wine as a gift! I didn't-"
"Playing against...?" That was suspicious.
"Forget it, you wouldn't understand," said Wright quickly. Edgeworth raised an eyebrow, but the other man continued speaking too quickly for him to question it. "Trucy's really going to appreciate this. She is. Sorry I didn't call you first, but as soon as I looked at the receipt and noticed how much I spent on some of the toys, I had to come up with something quick before my account could charge overdraft fees."
"I don't mind," said Edgeworth, feeling a sudden resentment rising in his chest.
Wright's face twitched. "Yes, you do."
"Why is it necessary for Trucy to have... toys? I mean, you have groceries to buy and rent to pay and she spends most of her time at school or performing magic tricks anyways, so she hardly has time to play with them."
Wright muttered something strange quietly, "those broke pretty easily." The man shook his head again, laughing slightly, which frustrated Edgeworth even more. "They say Christmas is about family and spirituality and stuff, but it's a little about the presents sometimes, don't you think?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about," huffed Edgeworth, "I was just fine getting no presents as a child."
"And it's fairly obvious that you didn't get any, Mister Scrooge," said Wright with a smirk. That's it. This is too much.
"Shut up, Wright," he snarled and hurried to his desk, forcefully rifling through his desk drawers. He slammed a tiny packet onto the table and wrote something quickly but carefully. Then he loudly ripped a sheet off the little book and shoved it into Wright's hand. "A check for $200. Now get out of my office before I change my mind."
"Merry Christmas, Edgeworth," muttered Wright, before getting pushed out of the office by the prosecutor. "¡Feliz Navidad!" The door slammed in Wright's face and Edgeworth thought he heard a faint "Joyeux Noël!"
Not until Wright was gone did he notice that he was so angry that his heart was beating loud enough for him to hear distinctly. He took a sip of the coffee and tracked his breathing, counting slowly to calm himself down. There would be no way that he'd get more distractions within just a couple hours... right? He removed his suit jacket, vest, and shoes. I'm sure a quick nap will be helpful to my work, and once the caffeine comes into effect, it'll be simple to complete.
He gulped down all the coffee as fast as he could without spilling it on himself and then set the empty cup on his desk. Then, after inspecting the sofa for unwanted grime, he let himself sink into its cushioned depths. It was no wonder so many people didn't want to leave his office when they experienced such a fine piece of furniture. Edgeworth allowed himself to drift quietly, listening to the steady rumbling of the heater and the drone of voices in the next room. The curtains obscured the afternoon's effects and for all he could tell, it was like evening.
He felt himself drifting in and out of sleep and with half-open eyes, he unknowingly stared at his debut trial's suit jacket. Its fine gold thread decor was a heavy reminder of the one who helped him commission it. His eye lead upwards from the jacket's intricate design and a rather disagreeable image of an old man's impatient face loomed in the semi-darkness. A chill ran down his spine. For a moment, he thought he had saw his old mentor's face, but he quickly dismissed the image as a product of a dream that he had almost fell into before waking up again. The coffee must have begun its work as he gradually became more alert.
In fact, the whirring of the heater wasn't the only thing he could hear. It began quietly, but he was presently more and more aware of the sound of chains rattling nearby. Don't tell me someone's traveling through the air vents again...
He sat up slowly, crossing his arms to conserve warmth. From what he could tell, the chains were from somewhere inside his office. They clattered deeply like they were rather large, but he could see nothing.
Not being able to locate it from his vantage point, he groaned and crawled off the couch, rubbing his eyes furiously. If there were mice in his office, he was blaming the Detective. He should have never given him a big enough salary to spend on those giant cartons of french fries, which were destined to be spilled all over his floor and furniture. The smell lasted for weeks, even though everyone else swore there was nothing off about the scent of the room.
It was almost completely dark except the light of the city outside the window. How long was I out? It didn't feel like I slept, but I must have. He approached the window, gently brushing the curtains aside. To his disbelief, it had to be after 6pm, since there was no trace of the sun. Edgeworth fished his cell phone out of his pocket and clicked the screen on. The light overwhelmed him and he dropped the phone lightly on the table that sat against the window. He blinked quickly and before he could grope for his phone again, he heard a voice.
"Weak, as always, Miles Edgeworth."
Now, there were two things that were absolutely certain to Edgeworth at that moment. The first being, that Manfred von Karma, the legendary prosecutor who was convicted of murdering Gregory Edgeworth, was deceased without a doubt. Edgeworth appeared at the memorial home long after the funeral finished to see for himself, and sure enough, the veteran prosecutor dedicated to perfection was perfectly still in his perfectly stuffy coffin.
Manfred von Karma was as dead as a door-nail. Not that I know what's particularly dead about a door-nail. A coffin-nail was probably a more fitting term for the simile, but tradition persists: von Karma was as dead as a door-nail.
The second thing Edgeworth was sure of, though, was that the voice that shot at him from the darkness belonged to none other than that prosecutor he had grown to resent over the last couple years. Edgeworth spun around, sputtering, and faced the darkness. Almost imperceptibly, he saw the face of Manfred von Karma, which was nearly invisible. Edgeworth froze for a moment and then flailed his hands forward to search for his desk light. It turned on without his assistance though, and when the temporary blindness from the sudden brightness subsided, Edgeworth could clearly see the transparent former prosecutor, the same as the last time he saw him, except many times more animate.
Von Karma glared at him with eyes to rival his own and still held the perceptible air of being very busy, even in death. Instead of prison clothes though, he wore his favorite dark blue suit with gold trim like he wore in his coffin. He was still handcuffed though, and chains encircled every one of his limbs. Every chain that crossed over another was marked with a padlock. There was even a chain wrapped around the top of his head and around his jaw.
"Who are you?" asked Edgeworth, unable to help himself. It was obvious who it was but... he had to be wrong.
"Better yet, ask me who I was," replied the old man gruffly, crossing his arms and squeezing it with frustration.
"Who were you then?" said Edgeworth, his voice much stronger now. "You're rather picky for a phantom."
"In life, I was your mentor, Manfred von Karma."
"S-sir?" He blurted, his doubts growing. "Can you... can you sit down?"
"I can."
"Do it, then."
Von Karma grumbled under his breath and the request and sat down in the chair across from the desk and then watched his former student, assessing him from head to toe. Edgeworth wondered whether ghosts could use tangible objects in such a way, thinking von Karma would sink through. But no, von Karma sat in the chair like it was completely natural.
"You don't believe in me," von Karma observed.
"I don't," said Edgeworth.
"You never did like the supernatural after that blasted case, I know. But what evidence would you have of my reality beyond that of your own senses?"
"I don't know."
"Why do you doubt your own senses?"
"Because a little thing affects them," said Edgeworth, snorting humorlessly. "You're a figment of my imagination caused by food poisoning, perhaps. You're an illusion caused by an undigested bit of oatmeal or a crumb of cheese, or more than likely that coffee I drank earlier. There's more of brew than of brood about you, whatever you are!"
Edgeworth did not make a habit of making jokes nor did he feel especially clever for making this one. If anything, it was his way of trying to keep himself together rather than faint from his terror, for von Karma's presence shook his very bones.
He sat under von Karma's familiarly brutal glare, staring back at the glazed over eyes with equal ferocity. It was unfair, Edgeworth thought, that von Karma could evoke such a threatening atmosphere while Edgeworth sat there powerless. That damned glare...
"Er... do you see this pen?" said Edgeworth, picking up the pen he had written the check with and holding it out away from his face, hoping it would divert his former mentor's glare for just a moment.
"I do," said Manfred, his gaze not wavering in the slightest.
"You're not even looking at it!"
"But I see it, you fool," he replied, "notwithstanding."
"Hmph! Perhaps if I swallow this pen, I'll choke and and be for the rest of my days surrounded in my own world of pixies, goblins, and fairies," scoffed Edgeworth. "All of this is complete crock!"
At this, von Karma shot out of his chair and screamed, rattling his chains violently. Edgeworth doubled backwards and against the window, almost certain he was going to suffer cardiac arrest. That horrible scream that had haunted his nightmares for years... resounded once more, all too real. To his horror, the chain wrapped around von Karma's head split apart and the ghost's very jaw ripped off his face and upon his chest.
"Stop that! Please, I'm begging you!" cried Edgeworth, clutching at his chest breathlessly. "Why are you here?! Have you come to haunt me?"
Manfred von Karma picked up his jaw and strapped it with another chain around his head. "Fool! I have enough to do as it is than have time to spend on you for such a ridiculous reason!" the ghost grumbled. "Do you believe in me or not?"
"I do, I suppose I have to," he squeaked. "But why are you here, if not to haunt me?"
"Every soul on this Earth is meant to travel far and wide and help mankind. Those who do not in life are doomed to walk the Earth in death, unable to make a change in the world they are forced to witness. I wasted my entire life dedicated to my career... my perfection. In the end it was all soiled, and even now I face the consequences."
"You're... regretful?"
"I suppose that's difficult for you to believe," replied von Karma's ghost, who sat back down, no longer glaring at him. "I was executed last year on this very day, if you remember. And in that year, I've seen suffering that I had ignored outright in life. I've never shown mercy nor forgiven the weaknesses of anyone in my life, and now in death, I find myself doing quite the opposite..."
"I don't understand."
"Of course you don't," the ghost huffed, but his expression remained the same. "Miles Edgeworth, when is the last time you've taken a vacation?"
"Er... since I left the country a couple years ago," replied Edgeworth.
"Ah, the suicide attempt," he replied thoughtfully. "I was fairly disappointed when I found out it was just an attempt, but-" Edgeworth sputtered. "I digress. Why do you never take vacations?"
"Why didn't you?"
"I didn't ask for another question, Edgeworth, I want you to answer me."
"Because it's a waste of time," he said, staring at his own hands intently, "and I have much work to complete, since the prosecutors' office is such a mess."
"Hmph, I had much work to complete as well, but look where I ended up. You'll end up just like me, at this rate."
"I am nothing like you," growled Edgeworth, his hands curling into fists.
"You don't take vacations, you can't forgive other peoples' mistakes, you take yourself much too seriously... I'd say you're still much like I was in life, even if your petty court philosophy's changed," he said, not even smirking with these words like he normally would have. "These chains I wear, I made all on my own, link by link through my life. If only you could see the length of the chains you bear... from what I can see, it's quite heavy to carry."
Edgeworth looked at his own body momentarily, expecting to see his own chains in a tangible form, but found nothing. "What are you talking about? Are you saying that I'll end up like you in death?"
"In life, I hardly ever traveled outside of the confines of the courtroom. As a spirit, I cannot rest, or linger anywhere, I am doomed to travel on, forever, in misery."
"You've traveled this entire year?"
"I have."
"How fast can you travel?"
"At the blink of an eye."
"Then you must have covered a lot of ground," replied Edgeworth, but the ghost of von Karma seemed even more frustrated by this comment.
"And yet as I travel, I see mortal beings wasting their lives and making mistakes that could have easily been prevented. Every time I see such things, it reminds me how much of my life was completely wasted. All that time I fought for a perfect record, not caring whether those defendants were actually guilty. It hardly affected me who went to jail or not. But as a spirit... I see the greater consequences of those actions. I'm forced to! Now I see the men and women I've ruined through false convictions and I am unable to do anything about it. I see the chains I bear wrapping around my fellow living prosecutors, gradually but surely..."
"But... this is what I've been fighting for ever since I returned to this country!" said Edgeworth.
"Silence! It's not all about the courts, Edgeworth," said von Karma. "In my attempts to exact my foolish revenge on you, I alienated myself from my own family. I... really did appreciate my children... other than you, obviously."
"I still don't see what this has to do with me," said Edgeworth.
"I said 'silence'!" he barked. "Perhaps you don't have any blood family left, but I'd argue that you have pretty strong connections already. That idiot detective and his fiancee, that foolishly disgraced lawyer and his daughter, even Franziska, I hate to say it. If she considers you a brother, who am I to allow her 'brother' to lead a ruinous existence?"
I'm just going to ignore that last part. "You mean Detective Gumshoe...? And... Maggey Byrde? But they're not engag-"
"You forget that I can see everything that goes on in this world," said von Karma icily. "As of tomorrow night, they will be." Von Karma uncrossed his arms and the chains rattled momentarily. Edgeworth was drawn to his glare again. "I don't have much more time," he said. "I've come to tell you that there is a way to save your eternal soul from the same damnation that I have suffered... that you will be haunted by three spirits."
"Three spirits? That will save my soul?"
"It will."
"I'd rather not."
"Without their guidance, you will never truly shun the path I now tread," replied his former mentor coolly. "Expect the first when the clock strikes one in the morning."
"Can't they just come all at once? I can take it."
"The second," said von Karma, choosing to go deaf to those words, "will appear the the next night at the same time, and the third at midnight when the bells of the church down the street cease to vibrate. My time has passed. Farewell, Miles Edgeworth. Expect to never see me again."
Von Karma stood up once more and phased through the desk, passing by Edgeworth and facing the window. As he did so, the window slid open by itself, and Edgeworth suddenly heard a chorus of crying and wailing from outside. Once again, von Karma emitted the dreadful scream, and to Edgeworth's shock, leapt out of the window. Part of Edgeworth jumped to grab him, but by the time he looked out the window, the ghost had disappeared. Instead, he witnessed a legion of ghosts flying through the sky, all bound together by chains and locks. Some were even prosecutors he had met before. He could have sworn he saw that bizarre coffee-lover among the crowd. He died?! The man was crooning mournfully to all the people passing him by on the street below.
Slowly, the street below was shrouded by mist, and he saw the spirits no more. He slowly closed the window, aware that his hands were trembling and cold. He wandered to the middle of the room and looked towards his office door.
Double locked. What's the word for this that fits this particular situation? Ah yes...
"Humbug," he muttered, smirking without feeling any smarter for it before collapsing on the sofa into an instant, deep sleep.