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Logically, Miles knew he didn’t need to worry. The area in which he found himself parked was incredibly remote, and his car was half hidden in dense foliage. What’s more, there was a dense fog rolling in from the sea below, and he had at least two more hours of darkness before the sun would dare to show its face. No one prowled about at this hour. No one decent, anyways.
Even so, he scanned the outside area one last time to confirm that he was completely alone; the only car on the cliffside. He double-checked that the doors were locked, the windows rolled up, and finally crouched low in his seat to pull out his cell phone. It was a cheap, hastily-bought model who’s only redeeming feature was its inability to be tracked back to him, but it would do. With shaky fingers, he tapped out a number and called.
The ringtone pierced the quiet of the morning with an irritating blare. Within seconds, the recipient had picked up.
“Detective Gumshoe speaking. What can I do for you?”
“Detective.” Miles spoke in a hushed, urgent whisper. “I need you to listen to me.”
“Sir?” Gumshoe stopped mid-yawn. “Is that you? Why are you calling me from another phone? Did something happen to your old one?”
“I said listen, Detective. Are you listening?”
“O-of course I am! I always am, Sir!”
Miles rolled his eyes. If only that were true. You could have saved yourself quite a few pay cuts, and saved ME a hefty bit of paperwork. Even so, he stopped himself from speaking so aloud. Those were the words a higher-up would say to his subordinate, and he was no one’s superior. Not anymore.
“There’s a note on my desk, Detective.” Miles said, then shuddered. The sharp, acid taste of bile filled his throat. He’d rehearsed his speech countless times on the drive there, but saying those words aloud was a different matter entirely.
“A note, Sir?” What about it? Do you need me to go get it for you?”
“No!” He hissed. “Let it stay there for as long as possible. Let someone else discover it.”
“Discover it? I-I don’t understand.”
He gave a long, deep sigh, then steeled his nerves. It was fine. Fine. He would only have to confess this once. “When that note is discovered, the police will begin a search for me. Knowing you, I imagine you will want to head the effort. This is my final order to you: Don’t.”
The confusion in the detective’s voice began to give way to worry. “What do you mean, Sir? Why would we need to search for you? It’s not like you’re…” His voice died off, and Miles imagined the cogs in Gumshoe’s mind finally beginning to turn. “ Sir, you don't mean—”
Miles cut him off sharply, before either his voice or his resolve could waver. “If you try to find me, you will end up wasting thousands of the force’s limited funds, as well as hundreds of hours of manpower that can be put to far better uses. Don’t waste them, Detective. I do not wish to be found.”
“B-b-but why, Sir? Where are you going?”
“That is none of your concern.”
“Of course it's my concern!” Gumshoe snapped. “Sir, all due respect, but you wake me up first thing in the morning, you're calling from a strange number that can't be tracked and you're telling me to just…to just let you disappear! This just doesn't sound like you at all!”
“I don’t care what you think I should or should not sound like.” Miles snapped. His head was beginning to throb with an all-too-familiar headache. “I just need you to do what you're told.”
A long, heavy sigh came over the phone. “I’d love to, Sir. Really, I would! But…something about this doesn’t feel right to me. What are you planning to do, really?”
His eyes turned to the horizon, to the dark, endless waters that churned hundreds of feet below him. “I’m going to…resign from my post, as it were.”
“ What!? ” The resounding cry was so shrill and indignant that Miles had to pull the phone away from his ear to protect his hearing. “Sir, you can’t be serious! I mean…Prosecuting’s your life!”
“That life is no longer worth living.”
“So what, you’re just going to run away then, is that it? Just…throw away everything you’ve built up over these past five years!?”
“Don’t talk like this is some impulsive decision.” Miles snapped. “After much deliberation, I’ve simply decided that this is the most logical course of action.”
“How can you even think that?! Sir, you’re the best prosecutor we have. You just got the trophy for it like a week ago! The office would fall apart without you!”
His grip on the phone tightened. “This office has already been falling apart with me, Detective. If anything, I have only made it worse.”
“In what way?” Gumshoe demanded.
Miles began sounding off the list that his mind always kept meticulous track of: “I’ve presented forged evidence in a court of law. I’ve failed to adequately keep track of the paperwork entrusted to me as high prosecutor. I’ve been a puppet to both the chief prosecutor and the chief of police for the past two years. I’ve become the unwitting accomplice of a murder plot. Worst of all, I nearly killed the man who would then go on to save my life!”
“But you can’t blame yourself for that, Sir!” Gumshoe began to protest, then stopped. His voice grew small. “Well at least, not for all of it…”
“What does it matter?” Miles asked. “The consequences speak for themselves. No matter what my intentions were, I’ve only ever brought ruin. The judicial system is a cesspit of corruption and hubris, Detective,, and I’m the worst of them all.”
“But you…you can’t really mean that, Sir!”
“And why can’t I?!” His voice was truly in danger of breaking now, but he was too fired up to care. “I’ve spent the past fifteen years trying to atone for my sins. I wanted so desperately to believe that if I just worked hard enough, I could prove to myself and everyone else that I was someone who was worthy of being here. Someone who could bring about real justice. And now…” He stopped short as his breath hitched, a lump worming its way into his throat. “...Now there's nothing left. Everything I worked for, everything I believed, everything I ever dared to take pride in was nothing but a lie!”
“Sir…” Gumshoe's voice was thick with emotion. The sound made him wince.
“Don't.” He warned. “Don't try to tell me otherwise. I've already spent more than half my life trying to find some proof that I deserve to live. I couldn’t…I can't find anything.” His final words were nothing but a whisper. “And I don't see a reason why I should keep going.”
He waited for the screech of disbelief, the fervent denial, but it never came. A long, heavy silence stretched out over the phone, to the point that Miles genuinely began to wonder if the connection had been lost.
“...Detective?”
Gumshoe’s voice came through instantly. “I’m right here, Sir. Don’t worry. I’m just…I’m trying to think of the right thing to say.”
“Well, this is a refreshing change of pace.” Miles quipped. “You usually blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.”
“You’re right, Sir. ” Gumshoe said. “It's just that…Well, I don't want to upset you. At least, n-not any more than you already…” His voice trailed off awkwardly.
Miles scoffed. “I'm not some fragile little kitten you need to protect, Detective. Whatever you have to say, spit it out.”
“Fine.” Gumshoe took a deep breath, and cleared his throat. Miles listened in half annoyance, half intrigue. Just what would make such a babbler so reluctant to speak up?
“Sir…I think you're wrong.”
A beat of silence paused the conversation.
Miles lifted an eyebrow. “Is that all?”
“Oh, cut me a break, Sir!” Gumshoe cried. “You have no idea how hard it is to say that kind of stuff to you!”
The confession left him feeling surprisingly uncomfortable. Was he truly so imposing? So unapproachable? He’d never cared one way or the other. …At least, not until this moment.
“If it can reassure you in any way, this won't affect your salary.” Miles said. “Now, tell me what's on your mind, Detective.”
Gumshoe took a deep breath. “It's just… you said that you only bring ruin, Sir. That what you did only ever made things worse. But, the thing is…I don't think that's true at all. I-I mean if it were, I wouldn't be here.”
“What do you mean?”
“Don't you remember that investigation?” Gumshoe asked. “From right before your first official trial?”
“Of course I do.”
How could I forget?
That day remained one of the largest stains on his legacy as a prosecutor. The only reason he’d managed to escape it tainting his court record was the fact that the case had never gone on to an official trial. It was the only time he’d ever let a culprit escape the jaws of justice, and even after five years of searching no one had spotted hide nor hair of her. It haunted him. Whenever his dreams failed to drag him back to the dark, choking elevator where his father’s corpse awaited, he found himself staring down the muzzle of the Yatagarasu’s gun, every muscle screaming at him to move, yet standing completely stupefied. How could he have been so useless? So weak? So—
“--You saved my life back then, Sir.” Gumshoe continued, oblivious to his reveries. ”The moment they slapped those cuffs on me, I thought my life was over. By the time they were done with the interrogation, I half-believed I did it myself! And if…if it wasn't for you, Sir, I don't know what would've ended up happening to me. Doesn’t that count for something?”
“ No .”
The answer tore itself from his lips before he could think about the question at hand, or consider the best manner in which to appropriately respond. The force of its delivery even made him flinch, reeling in the surprise that he was capable of making such a harsh growl. From the other end of the line, he could hear Gumshoe audibly gulp.
“W-why not, Sir?”
In that moment, something swept over him, though he lacked the words to describe it. It was a tingling in his fingertips, a tightness in his chest, a raw, cold, creeping dread of insurmountable wrongness that threatened to swallow him whole.
Unease, he had called it once. Uncertainty.
Oh, what a fool he was.
“Sir? Sir!”
With a start, Miles realized that his mind had drifted without providing Gumshoe with an answer to his frustratingly rational question. Why couldn’t he feel the slightest bit of success in having saved a man from an unjust punishment? Because it went against everything he stood for as a prosecutor? No…that was silly. Defending someone truly innocent wasn’t a crime, no matter what position they held. Had he relied on emotions over logic for his decision making? Not that either, he’d had perfectly logical reasons to doubt the claims put against the detective, and he’d proven his case against Yew with legal, conclusive evidence. He had wanted a perfect case, after all, and a perfect case would not have to rely on paltry tricks or shady dealings.
A perfect case…
It was as if the words themselves sent a sharp pain stabbing through his gut. There it was. The source of all his agony.
“Sir? Are…you still there?”
His grip on the phone tightened. “It was a flawed victory.”
“Huh?”
“You asked why your…situation didn’t count.” Miles said stiffly. “There’s your answer. I could not take pride in such incomplete results. Whatever I did or did not manage to achieve on that day was not enough.”
“Maybe not enough for you, Sir.” Gumshoe replied. “But it was for me, I can tell you that. That’s why I stuck by you all these years. I believed you can do some real good, Sir, and I still do. I just…I wish you could believe it yourself, too.”
Miles scoffed. “Well, it never did take much to impress you, Detective.”
But even as he spoke, his words lacked their usual bite. As much as he was loath to admit it, Gumshoe’s words had struck a chord within him.
I believe you can do some real good, Sir.
I just wish you could believe it too.
In all his years of work within the legal field, he'd never striven for “doing good” as an end goal within itself. It was too vague; too poorly defined. He had always assumed that if he could attain perfection, then goodness would surely follow.
But was that really true?
Perfection had led him to win the SL-9 case with half the expected evidence a prosecutor expected to have at his disposal. He’d been so proud of his wit, his resolve, his ability to swipe victory from the jaws of defeat even when he found himself severely handicapped. So proud, in fact, that he’d completely ignored any suspicious activity on the part of his coworkers, all because he did not want to entertain the possibility that he could be in the wrong. Perfection had led him to try and convict the murderer of the well-respected defense attorney whom he had shared his first case with, only to end up defending her killer through the means of blatant falsehoods. Perfection had led him here, on the brink of throwing his life away because he had failed again and again to live up to its impossible standards. In the end, perfection had only ever blinded him to what should have been most obvious.
But if I’m not striving for perfection…then what do I have left?
After all, it had been his guiding light for the majority of his life. The goals it provided were simple, easy to understand: keep a spotless record, and don’t let anyone tear it down. His mentor,Manfred von Karma, had been very clear on that last point. You are the only one you can trust to keep justice, he would often say, with a haunted look in his eye that Miles never quite understood. Keep your guard up. Even your superiors can and will stab you in the back should it convenience them.
That was all well and good, but what happened when he couldn’t even trust himself? The last few months had taught him that at his core, he was just as much a sniveling, cowardly, irrational, overemotional fool as everyone he made a habit of looking down on, if not more so. He looked down at his trembling hands. How could he ever be sure he was making the right choice again, now that his moral compass had proved so faulty?
He couldn't. That much was obvious. But if he couldn't… his eyes drifted to the vast expanse that awaited him; the ocean waves that crashed against the rocks.
If he couldn't… how could he even be sure that what he was about to do was the right thing?
“...You will have to forgive me, Detective.”
“Sir?”
“No doubt you were hoping to convince me to go back on my decision.” Miles said. “To return to my post, and to let things go on as they always have.”
The resulting silence only confirmed his suspicions.
“I can’t do that.” He continued. “Too much has happened. I don’t know what kind of prosecutor—let alone what kind of man—I should even strive to be. If I truly want to “do some real good”, as you put it, then I have to find those answers for myself.”
“I understand, Sir.” Gumshoe started, then paused. “...Well, actually, no I don’t, but if you think this is the right thing to do, Sir, I’m not going to stand in your way.”
“Then my orders stand.” Miles said. “Leave my case be. Let them rule it a suicide if they must. In the meantime, do what you can to help those who need it more. Can you do that for me, Detective?”
Another long silence. Miles found himself waiting with bated breath. He was asking a lot from Gumshoe, he knew that. But for all the detective’s good intentions, Miles couldn’t return to that office. Not yet.
“If I keep my mouth shut.” Gumshoe’s voice crackled over the phone. “Can you promise me one thing?”
“What?”
“I want you to call me.” The rest of his words came tumbling out one after the other. “At least once a week. Just so I know you’re OK, and that you haven’t done anything…permanent. If I don’t hear back from you, then I rat you out to the cops. OK?”
Miles grit his teeth. “I don’t need a babysitter, Detective.”
“No.” Gumshoe agreed. “But I think you need a friend, Sir. Someone to make sure you’re not gonna hurt yourself, even if you don’t want to.”
Damn it. The detective had a point. Why did his brain decide to work now, of all days?
“Every month.” Miles acquiesced. “If thirty days go by without a word from me, then you are free to call the hounds.”
“I’ll take your word on it, Sir.” Gumshoe said. “And…if you ever do choose to come back, then I’ll keep your office nice and ready for you, Sir. So, you take care, all right?”
He was about to hang up right then and there, but something nagged at him. Had he forgotten to say something? The teasing smile of Wright's overly enthusiastic assistant flashed in his mind's eye. Ah. Right.
“Detective. One more thing.”
“Yes, Sir?”
“...Thank you.” Miles said. “You’ve…you’ve done a lot for me this morning.”
The smile in Gumshoe’s voice was evident. “W-well of course, Sir! Anytime!”
“You take care too, Detective.” Miles said, and with a click , the call was over.
Miles gave a long sigh and slumped back in his seat. He was exhausted, which was rather surprising when all he’d done the past few hours was sit and talk. And yet…his heart felt lighter. He’d entered that call with a rock-solid plan of what he was going to do next, and he had left it without the slightest idea of where his life would lead him. The sudden freedom left him reeling. What would he do now?
As he turned his back to the sea and began his way down the mountain, a new sight awaited him. The sun was rising now, crowning the sky with streaks of orange and gold. Miles was never one to appreciate nature, but even he felt the need to drink it in, basking in its glory at the expense of a few minutes. After all, what did he have to lose by it?
Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
He rolled down his windows, let the morning breeze brush against his cheeks, and drove onwards.