Chapter Text
A restless mind in a restless body. A phantom wandering the noisy streets of a buzzing city ready to dance the night away. Despite the old-fashioned attire, nobody seemed to notice the ghost swiftly passing by the illuminated vitrines. The only time people seemed to finally care about his presence was when he was accidentally shoving them in the shoulder without glancing back at his victims.
A mind at War against itself and its own urges.
A melody, that where his mind was rushing to. He had heard a melody, like a complaint full of sorrow. He had heard it once in a dream and he was now hearing it in the middle of the hustle bustle of a crowded street. The ghost wanted to run towards it. Who was going to care since he was an invisible man. Nobody cared about the stranger with the odd clothes who was roaming the streets of a modern city.
His feet took him to a short flight stairs leading to a basement which seemed to have been turned into some sort of club. The melody was trying to get out of this hellhole. Like a lamentation it was calling for him and him only, or so he thought. Quickly, he climbed down eager to discover what or rather who was the siren singing their melancholy to him.
As the Phantom crossed the threshold, he was met with warmth and torment. He was an invisible man so nobody took notice of his intrusion. Standing on top of small stairs, the Phantom gazed at the room before him. The club looked like it had stopped in time when the world was still spinning. Everything from top to ceiling, looked used and worn down. Dust could almost be smelled by the Phantom who had frozen in place, his hand gripping hard on the metal rail, his knuckles already pale as a sheet of paper almost looked trans lucid now.
He could now hear clearly what had been calling for him. In the middle of the room, illuminated by a single light on the ceiling, stood an old piano which looked like it was about to crumble completely from the weight of the years. But the Phantom couldn’t care less about the state of the piano, it was the Piano Man at the end of it who was mesmerising him. Hunched over the white and black tiles of the instrument, he looked like life had got rough on him. He looked disheveled and his voice, which used to be joyous and full of life was now murmuring lyrics as his fingers were dancing slowly over the tiles. Paired together, the melody coming to his ears was a painful lament and the few heads scattered around the room were all turned to him and him only.
The phantom watched him play, his throat tight and his breath short. He watched the disheveled man before him and only he could think of what could have happened if the Phantom had not been the coward his mentor had pushed him to become. The story of a past that had never happened was playing before his very eyes. The floor was rocking under his feet. For a moment, he was Odysseus letting the mermaid sing their poison into his ears.
The sound of something dropping on the stone floor took the Phantom out of his tragic hallucination. He looked at his feet, his hand raising to brush his face as he realised that his very own eyes were betraying the apocalypse happening inside his mind. It did not wait for the song to end as he rushed towards the exit, silent sob coming out of his mind. He was an invisible man, nobody would notice his departure anyway, he thought to himself as a purple figure in the front row was now smirking at the door that had just closed behind his Scarlet figure.
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As much as he hated to admit it, especially to himself, Miles Edgeworth had never got used to the recurring nightmares that had been haunting his dreams for the past fifteen years. He could count only one hand, the few dreamless nights he had gotten since that day. And still, dreamless nights did not mean restful sleep, at least, to his knowledge.
He had thought that with Von Karma’s arrest and the truth of that fateful night finally be unveiled, the nightmares would have stopped, at least a little bit, but as always, he had been wrong to be hopeful for such foolishness. Of course they would not leave him, why would they ? It was so fun to feast on his restless mind so why stop now when they could tourment him a bit more ?
The man had just turned 26 years old and he still had to leave a light open every time he was heading to bed. It may have been one of the many reasons he had never let anyone enter his chambers, he did not want anyone to know how much of a fraud he truly was. How pathetic of a man he had grown into…
He had tried sleeping pills before, only one pill per night but it unfortunately did nothing so he started taking two per night… Miles Edgeworth choses death… It certainly looked like it at times…
Every night he was risking his life just to get a few hours of soundless sleep which he never got. It was always the same : as soon as he closed his eyes, sleep felt like hands pulling him deep into his mattress, he was sinking in pillows and bed sheets, swallowing whole. As uncomfortable as it may seem and even though he knew that none of this was real, it was almost comforting to feel pressure over his own body.
The nightmares always came soon after settling in his sleep, they came rushing, hitting him violently, like a wave crashing into a calm beach. They were always the same : either he was trapped in a small enclosure filling slowly with sand, running away from something which he never got a chance to take a look at, or he was just reliving his father’s murder over and over again. However,ever since that bridge incident, new nightmares had been added to the collection,much to the delight of Miles. Sometimes, he would dreamed that he was not running from something but for something, or rather for someone. Someone that he never managed to save since he would always arrived after it was too late…
Every time he would find himself trapped in the middle of a desert, aimlessly wandering this empty space under a starless sky, loneliness as his sole companion and where he could only hear the tick tack of a distant clock.
Tick… Tack… Tick… Tack…
But like every single moment of peace in his daily life, this utter quietness would always get ruined by a scream piercing the veils of the moonless night. Each time, it sounded like a symphony of voices, voices all desperately calling for him.
He had never been able to identify to whom that Voice belonged to, but every time it started calling his name, he would automatically start running toward it. He would run like his own life was depending on it. All he knew was that he had to “save” whoever was calling for him, he had to be there for them and so he would run helplessly until he could feel his lungs collapsed. He would run as far as his legs could take him and they would always take him to the verge of a cliff. Yet, no matter how hard he had run to arrive there in time, it was always too late… That voice… it would always end up piercing through, not only this soundless night, but also through his sleep, waking him up instantly in a daze. He’d pant like he had also just finished a marathon. Was he the one who screamed ? He would ask himself, embarrassed by the state he was in. I grow tired of the foolish foolery created by my foolish imagination. Never he tried to go back to sleep after having a nightmare as he knew that it was useless to even try to do so… And so he would start his day, even though most of the times, it was only four in the morning and he was the only fool in this town who was awake and ready to seize the day.
Miles Edgeworth was a fool who lived in the constant delusion that maybe the next night was going to be a soundless night. The prosecutor just wanted one normal night, and nights in Paris were not as quiet as movies and books tend to pictured them, so it was not tonight that he was going to finally get that restful sleep he had been daydreaming of.
He had been asked to come to Paris a month ago by French prosecutor Jean Aimar, when he was still in Berlin where he had been staying to help another colleague of his. During this phone call he had been made aware that he was to come help unfold a gruesome affair of vandalised paintings that had been terrorising Parisians art gallery. Come to think of it, it should have been the Paris’ prosecutor office that should have been vandalised, since it was probably the most horrendous building he had had the disgrace to lay eyes upon during his stay in the capital of “love”. And it was a lot coming from a man who had lived most of his life in a city deprived from a cultural and historical heritage in comparison to the centuries of History skimming in any European landscape.
For the past six months, he had been traveling around the world, helping his fellow colleagues here and there while trying to enjoy his life away from Japanifornia. He was roaming on Earth, never settling in, never growing roots anywhere. What was the point of living in big apartments, empty of any unnecessary furniture, when you constantly lived constricted in your own mind ?
He also had had very few contact with anyone from his home country, apart from the weekly call from Detective Gumshoe which strangely had been less frequent this month… it was not like he cared about the amount the attention the detective gave to him but it still feel unsettling for Miles to not have received a single notification from the policeman… He had probably finally found a new prosecutor to obnoxiously follow everywhere they go. Perhaps it was prosecutor Debeste since, from what Miles had gathered during their last call a few days before his departure to Paris, had been overwhelmed with work and trials. Across the ocean, life was nicely following its flow. Japanifornia did not miss him and he certainly did not miss it either.
Standing at the window peering at the buzzing avenue of a Paris preparing for the holiday season, he was staring at the phone contact he had never dared to call nor text, despite the strange and unfamiliar feeling growing inside of him every time he thought about doing it, every time he thought about him. This thing inside of him was craving to reach out but every time he shut it up before he would do anything stupid.
Japanifornia does not want to hear from you Miles, quit pinning for this unnecessary feeling. He told himself as he closed his phone, ready to head to bed for another night of pure nightmares. Carefully, he folded his pants and hanged his signature crimson suit inside the massive closet provided by his hotel room. There, he had put away his black waistcoat and the four spare crimson suits he had brought with him. He then headed to the vast bathroom where he had conscientiously sorted his skincare products based on his grooming routine. Everything needed to be done in the right order for Miles to properly fonction and so he did every step of his routine as he had always done. It was engraved in his brain so much that if he wanted to, he could certainly do it perfectly his eyes closed.
It had now become an automatic routine and so he let his mind wander as he meticulously applied his night cream. What had happened to Gumshoe for him to finally shut his mouth ? And why had yet he to receive a message from Miss Faraday even though she had promised him to reach out daily ? Prosecutor Debeste had also seemed a lot more troubled when he had him over the phone… Something was not adding up… And Miles did not like the lump forming in his stomach but chose to dismiss it. He was still in Paris for an important affair, it was definitely not the time to worry for futile things.
Three minutes sharp for his teeth to be perfectly brushed, set it aside, make sure it is perfectly sanitised, put aside, take out the sleeping pills, one… two… He thought about it… He had to be up at seven and it was quarter to ten… he could definitely take a third one tonight, just to try to see if it could ease his mind. He filled up the glass with tab water, stared at the three white pills in hand. Just to ease your mind… He told himself as he swallowed them all at once.
He then made his way back to the bedroom where he finally lay down to sleep. One normal night… He reassured himself before completely losing himself to the drowsiness of the sleeping pills.
Down… everything was going down… he opened his eyes to see that he was no longer in the comfort of his bed but standing inside an elevator going down rather rapidly. For the first time, he was not floored from being in the cramped enclosure that was an elevator. He did not know where this was leading him, he only had a slight idea… Maybe the sleeping pills did more than give him a few hours of sleep and he was now heading to Hell ? At least if Hell existed.
The elevator suddenly came to halt. Miles could hear a song coming from wherever the cabin had taken him. The sliding doors opened and classical music filled the space. It was dramatic and beautiful, full of pipes and organs. Miles knew that song. It was so familiar but to his great demise, he could not put a title nor a composer on it. He walked out of the elevator only to be somewhat teleported to what seemed like a completely destroyed courtroom where only his plaintiff’s table was still miraculously standing. Naturally, Miles’ eyes trailed to the defendant where blue was supposed to meet red but across from him was nothing but void. The defendant’s table seemed to have fallen alongside the entirety of the courthouse leaving only an empty cliff.
“That’s far enough ! You cannot run forever…”
Miles’ face snapped to his right where the judge was towering him, eyes glowing red, he was no longer the foolish and senile old man he used to know. He was tall, had he always be this tall ? Miles wondered
“Phoenix Wright !”
Miles’ eyes went wide. He gazed back to the defendant’ table where nothing had changed, Wright was not there, yet out of the corner of his left eye, he caught a glimpse of something blue. He turned to his left where his eyes met the defence attorney with the porcupine hair. The man was standing on the verge of the cliff where the witness stand should have been. He looked absolutely hopeless and did not seem to notice Miles standing on his right.
“Wha…!? What have I done wrong !?”
Miles had only seen Wright look this miserable during Engarde’s trial, when Maya had been kidnapped and Shelly de Killer was toying with Wright’s gentleness… He had made a pact with the devil itself just to save someone else… He had set aside his convictions for the sake of justice… He did not care that his winning streak was going to be ruined if it meant that he would get to unveil the truth and save his friend’s life… That implacable selfless fool was everything Miles was not…
"I cannot allow you to go on like this !”
“But I’m just a defence attorney !”
Miles could almost see the Psycho-loche tightening around Wright’s limbs. Oh Wright if only you knew…
“Silence !”
The judge’s voice roared like a thousand thunderbolts, sending shivers all the way down the prosecutor’s spine. He could almost feel his organs trembled from how loud that voice was. Miles slowly turned to the judge who had now raised his hammer, ready to strike phoenix and reduce him to dust.
“You are no longer worthy of your title !”
It all happened too quickly and Miles did not have the time to jump off the plaintiff table to come for the defence attorney’s rescue.
“Wright !”
Miles shouted as he suddenly jolt up, completely shaken up by what he had just witnessed. It all had felt so real… He was panting, his entire body shivering despite the fact that his bedsheets were damped by his sweat. That was definitely the last time he was taking three sleeping pills at once. As he slowly recollected himself, he realised that his face weirdly wet ? His right hand swiftly reached out to his cheek. Was he… crying ? Tears were flooding his face for the first time in several years and Miles Edgeworth did not know how to stop them.
He stared at the hand that had collected a small portion of years of repressed feelings. Unnecessary feelings. It was three in the morning in Paris and Miles Edgeworth suddenly missed home.