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Daytime was simple. It was bright, sunny, easy as a morning breeze or a gentle rain. Windows always showed such beautiful things on the other side, where people were going about their days or the world was just as lovely as ever. People greeted each other by name if they knew them. Friendliness sowed more friendliness, kindness more kindness, leading to a much better society.
Yes, daytime was easy.
Of course, that also meant that nighttime was horrible. Windows turned to mirrors, reflecting only the face that couldn't be seen. Lights flickered or masked the truth, leaving shadows where anything could hide. The warm sunlight gave way to cold air, the winter finally worming its way in on the Japanifornia public, biting at anything it could find like a rabid raccoon. Against all odds, the chill always found its way in, and it often made its home against the neck of the police officer who was yet again staying late in the fluorescent lights, eyes drifting closed after hours upon hours of exhaustive research. Even with sunglasses on to block some of it, the light still hurt, even after almost an entire year of recovery.
To most anyone who knew Bobby Fulbright, he seemed the same as always, so long as they caught him when he was expecting people. He could shove down worry and fear to put them at ease, and carry on with a smile until he really felt happy to. That was his job-- protecting others. To break down would only hurt them more, so he could keep going, keep pressing on, just like any good detective should.
At least, he could, until the lights suddenly went out, leaving the room impossible to see in. With some rummaging through his things, he found a pocket flashlight, and turned it on. The computer tower refused to turn on, and despite the bulbs being fine, the lights were out too. There was no storm to blame, based on the lack of noise. Maybe there was rain, but to check would take looking out the windows, trying to see anything other than the face looking back at him. No way could he do that.
“...Maybe a fuse blew or something?” He mused. “I should fix that before anyone else comes in… the night shift won't be happy if it's still out when they get back…”
With that, Bobby got up, took his flashlight with him, and began to look for the breaker box. Through the office, around the storage room, near the evidence lockers (though he couldn't enter the room, with the key card scanner down.) He glanced around the small gym, to the lockers nearby (not that he remembered the code for his locker-- it wasn't that important anyway) and finally to the one place he hadn't yet entered.
The maintenance closet was small, even by maintenance closet standards. The door was locked, with a sign saying to ask the front desk for the keys, but he'd already gone through most of the ring trying to find the box. Now, with the last room key in hand, he looked at the door.
“...it's just a closet. Nothing bad is going to happen. Just unlock it and go inside. You can leave right after it's fixed.”
Bobby finally pushed the key into the lock, and he opened it as soon as he had turned the key. Then, he removed the key from the lock, and set the ring on a nearby locker. Finally, he entered the maintenance room, and looked around. A shelf on one wall, a metal box on the other, a single lightbulb on the ceiling with barely any protection. He walked to the box, and moved to the latch, only to find a small padlock keeping it closed.
Simple. He could just go grab the key ring again, and--
…The door had closed behind him. By the time he reached for the handle, it had already locked itself-- or worse, someone else had locked it. The small room felt even more cramped now that there was no longer an open door. He swung the flashlight around, about to search for any tools he could use, when he instead slammed his hand into the metal shelf. Instinctively, he dropped the flashlight to instead cradle his bruised hand, but the moment the cheap thing hit the tile floor, the worst happened: the flashlight fell apart, spring-loaded batteries shooting out one end and scattering across the dusty floor. Without batteries, the light vanished, leaving him with nothing but a dark, dusty, horrible closet.
No no no, this can't be happening, I'm just dreaming, this is a nightmare--
The pain in his still-throbbing hand said otherwise, even when he tried to forget about it.
Maybe-- maybe it's a prank? Maybe it's just a joke someone's pulling. If I ask to be let out so we can fix the lights, they'll understand, right?
There wasn't even a sliver of light under the door. If anyone was out there, it was in complete darkness-- there was no way anyone could see in that.
Unless they have spy gear. They could have night vision goggles. We don't have any here at the station-- what if the phantom has night vision goggles?! What if they had lockpicks, and the power went out so they could escape? I left my things at my desk-- they know I'm here, they have to know I'm here! I'm locked in here and they're going to get out and pretend to be me and then I'll die here because no one will ever find me if they think I'm out there still! It'll all happen again, it'll all happen, I can't get out I can't get out I can't--
Bobby sank to the floor, staring blankly into the darkness. Of course it would happen again. Of course the phantom would have a plan like that. They had powerful allies-- they could get someone to cut the power to lure him out, to lock him in-- they could escape prison just to ruin everything he'd managed to rebuild! They could do worse, too-- he'd made an enemy of the phantom, and so had the others. Ms. Cykes, Prosecutor Blackquill, Mr. Justice, Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth, Mr. Wright--
What if they target someone close to me, for revenge? So many people lost someone they cared about-- what if they targeted the Chief?! I worked so hard to prove I was ready to come back, I wanted to make the Chief proud, what if they stab him in the back and leave me to take the blame?! I-- I could never face anyone again, they'd all hate me--
He barely managed to draw his legs in, and he let out a hollow laugh, too scared to do anything else.
They'd all hate me and it's my fault for being stupid enough to come in here and fall for an obvious trick and it'd be my fault the chief died and I'd never forgive myself and no one would ever believe me and--
He couldn't breathe outside of gasps for air and hollow laughter. No one would hear either way. They never did before, and even now, even in a central location, no one would know to look for him until after he was dead and gone. There was no point in attempting escape if the phantom was out there-- he'd just be signing his own death warrant.
Was he crying? Bobby couldn't tell anymore. He felt so numb, like he'd already died and was haunting his own corpse. There was nothing he could do. Nothing but sit and cower and wait, wait, wait like someone would actually go looking. Like anyone cared. Like he was anything more than a stupid, stupid pawn in the game of politics he couldn’t even understand--
Someone. Knocked.
Bobby jolted, skittering away from the door, and buried his head in his arms. Any way he could defend himself, any way he could hide-- he couldn’t be seen, he couldn’t be heard, if the phantom found him stuck in a closet, he’d be dead in an instant! He was going to die in a maintenance closet, terrified, like he was an animal in a cage--
The key ring jingled as they went through the keys, trying one after another. Key after key after key, one after another after another. He couldn’t hide any further back in the closet. He couldn’t run. He pressed himself against the wall, but it was too late-- the door was creaking open. Bobby barely held back a whimper as a bright flashlight cut through the darkness, landing right on him.
“Bobby?” a welcoming voice asked. “You okay--”
“Please just kill me instead,” he begged. “Please, please, please, I can’t-- I can’t lose anyone, I can’t-- I can’t do it again--”
“Hey, hey, it’s me, pal. It’s just me.” They knelt down in front of him, ever so close and yet too far to fight. They had a gun in a belt holster, under that familiar green coat, and their mass blocked the way out entirely. No way out. No way to run.
“Just kill me,” Bobby sobbed, lowering his arms. “I can’t lose them-- I can’t stay in the dark forever-- Just let me die and take someone else, I can’t--”
A hand rested on his arm, and he tried to throw it off, only ramming his arm into the shelf again. Despite that, he finally looked to the face the phantom had chosen-- the chief himself.
Out of everyone, the one person he trusted more than anyone. The one person he’d call family. If he had to die to save him, then fine, he could accept that, he could die if it meant Chief Gumshoe would go on--
“It’s me, Bobby. I’m here. It’s okay.”
“I-- I know it’s you, you monster!” Bobby finally threw off the hand. “I know you cut the power to escape, I-- I’ll yell it as loud as I have to, the cameras will hear me, then the others will know-- you c-can’t get away with this--”
The phantom looked shocked for a moment, before that expression settled into concern.
“I’m not them, pal. I promise.”
“How do I know that, huh? How-- how am I supposed to believe that from anyone?”
“Uh… How about this: The first time you came over to my place. Back when you just started, yeah? You helped my little brother with his science project-- a bug collection. You knew way more about butterflies and moths than I did. Told him all about how to tell them apart, what they eat, everything.” There was a brief pause before a smile. “And then you asked me if you should stay on the couch even though I’d already said we had a free room for you.”
Finally, Bobby looked up, finally meeting Chief Gumshoe’s eyes. The chief reached out a hand.
“Hey, pal. Need a hand?”
Bobby took it, and made his way to his feet on trembling legs. Despite being six feet tall, he still felt smaller than ever. His arms wrapped around his midsection as he tried to swallow back the knot in his throat.
“...You wanna talk about all that?” Gumshoe asked, softening a bit. Bobby shook his head.
“I don’t. I-- I’m sorry, sir. It just… Everything was…” He searched for a proper reason, but nothing came to mind. All of it was excuses. “I was scared,” “I thought the phantom was back,” “I was stuck in a closet with no one there to help me, and all I could think of was how I’d be found dead in a closet, just like I would’ve been if the phantom got away with it all.” No words came out. Not a one.
“It’s alright. You don’t have to talk about it now, pal. C’mon, come with me, there’s a couch in the break room.”
Everyone can look in there. What if the phantom did escape? What if they find us there and kill you or me or--
“Bobby, just breathe. It’s safe. It’s just us. The night shift is still out on patrol, and there are guards downstairs if we need help.
“I need to make sure they’re still in the cell. I-- I need to check and--”
“It’s not your job to watch the phantom.”
“I’m the one who has to take responsibility for everything they did, chief!” He grabbed both of Gumshoe’s shoulders. “I-- I’ve been dealing with them because I’m the only one who wasn’t manipulated or hurt by them, I’m the only person that knows when it was them and when it was me. I’m the person who knows them best, what they’re capable of, what they think and do, and how they really act--”
“Bobby.” Gumshoe shook his head. “...You can’t do it all alone. No one can.”
“B-but they didn’t hurt--”
“They held you hostage for a year. That’s hurting you enough. I’m here, pal. It’s okay to need help.”
Bobby looked at him for a long moment, and finally let the tears fall. With one swift motion, he grabbed Gumshoe in a tight hug, holding him close and pushing his head over his boss’s shoulder. Gumshoe took the hint, wrapping his arms around him as well, enveloping him in the warmth of that trench coat.
God, when was the last time he’d hugged anyone? Years ago, probably. He was probably rusty. Squeezing too hard, or not enough, or putting his arms in the wrong place? But at the same time, Gumshoe didn’t seem to mind. He calmly patted Bobby’s back, offering the first comfort he’d felt in so long, and Bobby melted into his embrace.
“Take as long as you need, pal.”
“I’m sorry,” he managed through sobs. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do it.”
“Hey. No one can do it alone. Just take a break. It’ll be fine.”
“...okay,” Bobby finally relented. “If you say so.”