[chapter 10]

MAYA:

I channel Mystic Mildred. She was a sweet old lady, but a bit crazy. I'm not sure what she'll do when she wakes up on police detention, but I guess we'll find out – sort of.

And when I come to, I find I'm definitely somewhere else. There's a nauseating smell wafting from somewhere labelled 'Dining Hall'. There's some really old people sitting around in wheelchairs and cane chairs. There's a few younger people with obvious tragic and disturbing disabilities. A few are chained or discreetly handcuffed, but many seem free to roam - though I notice the windows are barred.

However they'd chained Mystic Mildred to her wheelchair can't have fit my different body dimensions very well, because I'm free. I climb out of the wheelchair as fast as possible.

"I've finished visiting Auntie. Can you show me out please?" I request to some kind of worker in the next room with my best smile. 'Trainee' is stuck on a badge on her collar.

"Oh! Um… why are you wearing that?" She's suddenly suspicious. Am I one of THEM?

"Auntie likes to remember her time as a child in the olden days village," I explain. "She gets confused otherwise. I think she only remembers the past."

"Oh, how sweet. Okay, I'm opening now. Go out when the buzzer sounds - quickly, it'll lock again after a second."

I walk out, and down the path, trying to appear nonchalant. Even when I hear a commotion behind me.

"Where is Ms M. Fey?"

"Is she a g..girl about 20? Because…"

"No! She's about 70! Blackish hair, weird outfit, the one who assaulted Frank with a walking frame…"

I continue to walk relaxedly until I've finally exited the complex. By then they've already contacted police, put out an alert – but the description of the escapee is going to be a very old lady, so I've surely bought at least some time - Nick's retrial is tomorrow morning, anyway.

The description included 'weird outfit', so I roam a few carparks, searching for a clothing bin. Sure enough, I eventually find one, with superfluous 'donations' dumped around in garbage bags.

Just ditching my outfit seems dangerous – what if the police find it as a clue? And I have no way of burning it to get rid of it. Besides, it will be awkward to explain, if I'm recaptured or called to testify. And everything in here is ill-fitted and makes me look like a dirty hobo, which would also attract suspicion.

So I just salvage a long coat and a hat. The coat might have appeared respectable before it got those holes in it, and I think it will fit Mia a bit better than it does me.

###

None of Mr Gant's 'reforms' have been rolled back. They're still very strict about the '3 day rule'. Nick's retrial is really considered part of the same case, and those things are supposed to last a maximum of a day, except in extreme cases. Since he's confessed, and pled guilty to murder, this is a formality. It's a waste of department resources to make it drag longer.

Another trial has been scheduled in the same courtroom that afternoon – they figure this won't take more than the morning.

I've been channelling Mia since the previous evening, but I'm jerked back into myself, finding myself in a toilet cubicle for privacy, with Mia's status update in my hand. Mia has managed to contact Nick's state attorney, Hannah Fright, who was assigned last night. It's her first ever trial, so thankfully, she was open to Mia maybe showing up to give her some 'advice'. Apparently, she got really excited even at the suggestion Mia could help her get 15 years for Nick instead of execution, so things are pretty grim – or they would have been, if Nick didn't have Mia on his defense team.

I droop, zoned out, for several minutes. Channelling is actually very tiring and draining, even if my soul is absent, it's not exactly like a nice sleep – much the opposite. I'm not sure stretching my wounds was beneficial to their healing either; regardless, they're sure hurting and I don't get the scheduled medicine or painkillers since my jail break. I wish I had a better place to recuperate than a toilet, but a courthouse is sure to be swarming with security cameras and police – they probably have them even in the main washbasin areas of the restrooms.

Did I really k..kill my mother? It's practically unbearable, and the only obvious answer. But somewhere, I realise, I'm clinging to a hope I somehow didn't, almost what's keeping me sane. Mr Godot promised I didn't, but I don't believe him. I don't trust him.

Then it gradually hits me. I guess it's... Nick. He seems to think I didn't do it. Somehow, I want to trust him, even now. Nothing makes sense.

But my strongest instinct remaining in this confusional mess - way stronger than any vague hope I might somehow be innocent - is that Nick didn't really do it.

Nick's not even allowed to be properly present at his own trial – von Karma doesn't want to risk him meddling in proceedings, I guess. He gets to watch from some remote box, behind security glass, guess they upgrade security after you've pled guilty to murder. Mia didn't get to talk to him.

Mia's still mad at Nick, but I'm sure she doesn't want an innocent person to die. I told her I'd never forgive myself, ever, if he died in mine or Mr Godot's place. Problem is, Mia probably would still choose to sacrifice him in place of myself or even Mr Godot. I told her I think maybe Mr Godot was near the crime scene and the other possibilities. I can only hope she'll uncover some new evidence or contradiction proving Nick's innocent. I don't know what else to do.

I know I have to re-amass the strength to channel Mia for the entire uninterrupted duration of the trial – losing connection, even temporarily, would be disastrous in the current circumstances. I will myself into one of those hardcore meditative trances we use when we've frozen under a waterfall for 12 hours and are about to collapse unconscious, and the pain slips away. Damn it, I then notice I'm hungry too – guess Mia forgot to eat, being a ghost and all – but there's certainly nothing to rectify that in here, so I focus deeper, and the hunger leaves too.

It's hard to get a precise appreciation, but I eventually get the sense some time has passed. I don't know the time, but I can't afford to delay any longer.

While scanning for Mia's spirit, I focus the rest of my brain on picturing her image in my mind.

It's essential to perform the visual transformation correctly, today especially. Sometimes spirits get called without executing the physical transformation properly or at all, and you'd never know, since you've already absented, or it can misfire, causing a grotesque half-transformation which will freak the general public out. These kind of accidents happen all the time to our mediums-in-training – of course, they're not deemed ready for prime-time. You have to set the transformation in motion at the simultaneous instant to drawing the ghost soul into your body and throwing your own out, along with a psyche-swap – it's a pretty complex task.

###

MIA:

Mia had little interest in bailing Phoenix out yet again. Let that idiot fend for himself!

But she still felt she owed Maya after the previous Diego misunderstanding.

And she at least owed Maya a better closure on the crime. Some things were still unsolved, even if Phoenix HAD done it. Maya didn't seem to believe in her innocence either, not regarding Phoenix's confession as any kind of believable proof. Mia didn't want to even begin to think what it would be like for Maya to suffer a lifetime suspecting maybe she'd accidentally killed their mother.

As well as Hannah Fright, Mia had rung Diego regarding the case, grasping for answers, information and another perspective.

She had to admire his dedication. Maya had caused a lot of problems for Diego – she'd made a guilt confession to the Judge, even after the innocent ruling, and with the case still officially unresolved, that was more than enough ammunition to overturn the verdict and retrial her as suspected murderer. Von Karma had pounced and put this in motion immediately.

Thankfully, Maya had then had some kind of panic attack, conveniently for the Judge and most of the court to view. It was then fairly easy for Diego to enact the fact she was psychologically unstable, and medically unfit to make statements not screened by her defense attorney, for her own protection. The protection should last 3 days, by then the retrial of Wright would have found HIM guilty, the case would be closed, and Von Karma's impending charges on Maya would not longer be relevant and her original 'innocent' verdict would stand.

Mia was slightly grateful she hadn't had the opportunity to face Phoenix in person; so far as she could discern, he'd somewhat regressed away from the productive ideals of his defense attorney career, back into a far more cynical and jaded version of the non-law defensive values she'd met at the original State vs Phoenix Wright 2013.

Although, as then, she could appreciate his good intentions of lying and obscuring the truth to protect Maya, in practice, it was as stupid then as it was now, even though protecting Maya was a cause she could fully support. Mia didn't quite have the ability to grasp Phoenix's [unknown to her] personal hell of no longer trusting the ability of utilizing truth or contradictions he himself or others sensed to achieve justice; it was a little alien to her so she really didn't respect what she could see of it.

###

PHOENIX:

"Oh! G-good morning, Mr. Wright!" I attempt to disentangle a hand to meet hers' outstretched, but the chains don't permit it. Her fake smile slips. Awkward.

It takes all of a microsecond to discern my attorney's fresh off the bar. *Perhaps I was lucky to 'only' suffer The Butz… no. Not going to think of that*. I notice myself hanging my head, averting my gaze from the imminent jarring of injurious recollection. But it doesn't stab with the same anticipated fatality as usual.

I was so stupid, so naive and idealistic, so wrong all along. But it's all over now. I can't rectify the mistakes of my past, but I did, belatedly but maybe not quite too late, learn something from them. I can only hope – no, maybe 'hope' is the wrong word – that this works out.

Ms Fright eyes me tremulously. Oh yeah. I'm an admitted murderer, no wonder. Believing in my innocence would be silly, and I don't want it anyway. Still, I wish I could manage to make her feel more at ease. It's not like she's hit a very rewarding assignment.

Actually, she seems just as nervous of the police guards here crushing me. Those guys never leave. No confidentiality whatsoever.

Then again, perhaps I shouldn't make her feel too at ease. I don't want it to be overly disheartening when I'm found guilty. I guess she'll work on reducing my sentence. Life imprisonment, execution… it's all one to me, really. Admittedly, I didn't think too hard on the next step, but somehow living out my years in max security sounds worse than just ending it all. And what if Maya comes to visit me in jail? I'm more scared of that, really…

"Mr Wright, can I please ask…. Did you kill the victim? Or the, um, ghost?"

I inhale deeply. "It really doesn't matter any more."

A renegade part of me screams forth and tries to throw itself at her feet, still wanting to claim to her I didn't do it, beg her to find the 'real' 'truth'. But I can't thrust that kind of ridiculous implied responsibility on her, something I was way too incompetent to manage myself, even when I was supposedly 'experienced'. It was a .. bizarre act of randomness.. I managed to hit Mia in that trial long ago, and even Mia met with disaster in the sole case her client had pled guilty.

And how else can she get me free than pinning it on Maya again? *I* was the coward who ran away. I notice myself attempting to wipe off my sweat-soaked palms, to limited success.

…Okay, I admit it. I *am* petrified of dying.

But I think of Maya. That letter she wrote me in that irreconcilable case. The tears in her eyes when she realised her mother was dead. The way her body shook when they were going to hand down that farcical 'Guilty' verdict. I can't - won't - betray her a second time. The least I can do is be strong for her the way she was so unreciprocatedly strong for me!

"Oh. Uh… Are you conducting religious meditations, Mr Wright?"

I jolt.

"N..No, no, no, I'm…." I can't tell her about Maya!

"What's that you're holding? It seems.. important to you." Ms Fright leans closer, then squeaks in consternation. Oh yeah, I guess that green glow is mildly confronting.

"I need your clarification, Mr Wright. Did you really date this," she flicks her eyes to her notes, "Dahlia Hawthorne?"

"Yes." Avoid unnecessary lies, keep detailed info to a minimum, I figure.

"And you thought Dahlia Hawthorne was present and stabbed Maya Fey?"

"Yes."

"Even thought Dahlia Hawthorne is confirmed deceased."

"Yes."

"So you do know Dahlia Hawthorne is deceased – and knew it that night?"

"So I was told."

"Um, how do you explain her appearance then, Mr Wright?"

"Elise Deauxnim was channelling her ghost."

"Oh."

Now I know how it must feel when Maya tells the mundane world she's a spirit medium.

"So you were in a trance and saw a, um, religious vision of a ghost?"

"Not exactly."

Hannah's confused.

Yeah, she can't portray me as the poor, gentle monk when I've continually admitted murder, so she'll probably have to take the angle I'm crazy and murdered at the mercy of my 'religious vision'.

She's trying to be tactful, but I know what her incredulous eyes are thinking.

Well, I admit I was still scared witless at what I had to emotionally relive and confront every time I saw the image of [?] Dahlia Hawthorne – and it extended well beyond that formerly-suppressed torture back in college. People probably *do* think I'm crazy, and I've ceased to care. From what they said in court, it seems like that Iris person might have indeed just been Dahlia's relative or something, but I can't find it in myself to care much about this revelation; other concerns are taking priority in my brain to point of its frequent obliteration.

*I would have died for you*. I flinch.

What will she ask next? It's hard to anticipate. I carefully re-rehearse in my head. It's essential to keep my recollection of events from becoming accidentally contradictory in a manner which could cast suspicion back on Maya.

*Maya didn't think I really did it.*

A part of me flails out, grasping onto the fleeting glimpse of the solidarity we used to share. Her faith was misdirected. I know how that feels; I should have known better.

"Tell me more about your relationship to Dahlia Hawthorne."

I heave a shuddered sigh. "5 years ago, she pretended to fall in love with me, and gave me some evidence from a crime as a gift. When she murdered somebody I was arrested instead. I had no idea about her past or present criminal behaviour until they told me in the trial. I was delusional and stupid. I never saw her again after that."

"What makes you think Maya Fey isn't the same?"

Oh *NO*. I was caught off-guard, Ms Fright is more insightful than she looks.
The familiar agony surges - and recombines with a searing urge to protect Maya at all costs. I diffuse reality into my best crazed monk expression, then set my eyes.

"Maya Fey did not frame me for murder."

I've gotten good at disguising the actual objects of my distress in mystery. I never told them anything about what tortured me at Hazakurain, of course. But the same tactics might backfire here; practically every secret I ever held was torn open for the courts the other day.

I'd tried to disassociate from that time. I really did forget the whole thing… until that Dahlia double appeared at Hazakurain. I was such a gullible idiot back then. Still am – look how Engarde played me for a fool!

Before I ruined everything, I'd almost forgotten about Dahlia; I think the new focuses in my life were more than enough compensation for the imaginary 'relationship' and even the trauma. But I threw all them away, and every time I saw that… 'Iris', it was like a dual trigger. I was thrust back through the abyss of time to my distraught and helpless younger self, my absolute loyalty unrequited and so utterly betrayed, exploited, USED. But it's worse than the original torture, because it reminds me of who I effectively treated in the same way. And just in case I'd forgotten any vestige of the distress I felt, the courts had to play the videos of it ad infinitum the other day.

"So…. This 'Dahlia Hawthorne' betrayed you?"

"Y…yes." I only just catch myself to avoid cringing, hideous memories still rise to the fore.

"Why wouldn't Maya Fey be the same?"

Maya's eyes float jarringly into my mind, all those times they conceded that dogged trust and misguided loyalty, so unadmittedly reminiscent of my delusional younger self and the still remaining vestiges of buried longing.

Even the *suggestion* Maya is like Dahlia Hawthorne! There's a pounding in my head and I notice every part of me has tensed; I want to leap out of my seat and scream in the way I can't with the security arrangements. Oh great, I think I'm going to go crazy… Actually, maybe that's not a bad thing.

"No. I betrayed Maya Fey… by killing her mother," I finish.

"I thought you said it was Dahlia Hawthorne?"

"It was. Dahlia Hawthorne's ghost was being channelled in Elise Deauxnim's body."

"Oh. I…see."

###