I have one word to say - Hakai.
The small passage quoted in this chapter was by the Alchemist, George Ripley. The Compound of Alchemy, The Eighth Gate.
He hated, despised, loathed when this happens. Most of the detest directed at himself for feeling incapable of helping anymore than he could besides his own part. Tiny quakes left her body in silence. The chilling sweat on her brow dried mostly when it hit the cool lab air. He tucked her close in his arms, her head under his chin. His grimace nearly indented into his face when he craned his neck to see her more paled visage and violet eyes shallow like her painful breaths.
As he made it through the archway towards the inner labs, he saw the Doctor working on his samples. He read through His Lady's notes and adjusted the burner to a lower temperature before returning a set of tubes into a freezer. As the Doc spun on his heels, his dark eyes grew wide in shock. The goggles on his face were pulled violently off before rushing to his partners' aid.
"Is she alright?" His eyes scanned quickly over her, boring in deeply to find any more outer damage. "What happened?"
"Yeah. She just needs rest." Cheshire answered. He strode over to the next rooms towards her chamber.
He placed her on the bed, fixing her pillows to where she could lean her head comfortably.
"I need to work." She asserted blanched and stuck with a cold shiver.
"No, you don't. You're going to rest easy." Cheshire grabbed her ankle. The side zipper trailed down before he removed her boots.
"You need a dose," the Doctor pressed.
"No," she gritted. "This is my pain alone."
Cheshire brought the doctor over to a private area outside the room. "Is there any way you can do the surgery?"
"I'm not qualified for such a task," he conceded in a frown. "It's an extremely delicate procedure. I don't want to paralyze her."
Cheshire grumbled in annoyance. They returned back to her, breathing still shallower than appropriate. The Doctor asked, "do you require sustenance?"
She shook her head, unwilling to face them. Color appeared to be returning to her skin, but much slower than last time. Cheshire hated the silence stretching with very little results.
"Doc, didn't you leave that Bunsen on?" He inquired mischievously.
"...!" The Doctor's anguish crumbled into startle before disappearing into the labs.
A defeated sigh left Cheshire, before examining her on the bed once more. A few strides had him at the edge. He sat at the foot of the bed, watching her eyes. She seemed to be in different planes at once, yet still tangible in his presence. Why did she suddenly become ill? Why?
He softly fastened his digits over her ankle, attempting to jolt her away from at least a few of those otherworldly areas. "My Lady, what happened?"
She remained quiet, transfixed, withholding and containing something deeply buried.
"It wasn't the cake. You know you can't hold anything down." He joked. A thumb skirted across the bone, appreciating the feeling of her over the lightly woven clothing.
"…" She made tiny movements at least now. The fluctuations were calculated, trying to coordinate with each other as if she rebooted.
He was aware she was not angry with him, at least not directly. He would prefer she would bellow out her rage at him, at least it was a response and to know the reason of her episode. This stillness was much more unnerving. She was vocal on such troubling subjects, this was different. It unsettled him to no end. He groveled inwardly that she was not reverting.
She was not injured. She was fine this morning. He knew she overexerts herself all the time. Perhaps it was taking a toll? If she were human, she'd been dead already, but she said there is no threshold of how much they could exert themselves. He climbed slightly higher up her leg, contacting a bit of skin. The Doc instructed him how to determine health on a small scale in case he was not present during emergencies. The hum of energy from her body and translation from her blood could speak so little. She felt physiologically fine despite the pain and is partially famished.
Maybe it was something that small medium said. The air warped oddly in his presence. It held him down in strings despite him wanting to stand up. A physical manifestation of war, pain, imbalance and regret fizzed the atmosphere in such a small table composite to the giddy audience and chuckling children. He was a bit stunned by how the medium did not feel such a thing. He figured, such an excruciating experience can only be shared by his kind. There were solely three instances where a dreadful and violent cloud occurred similarly. It was triggered by the mention of a two which were never to be named. Maybe this third person is to be added to his blacklist? There's a possibility of being rundown by her, but the truth always has some form of pain.
His fingers crawled downward just in case he had to receive blunt trauma, but he doubted it. "The little lady mentioned that professor."
"Stop," she finally spoke. The blacks in her eyes nearly disappeared to the point he could see grey. The last part exiting as a whisper, "leave me be, Chesh."
He did as he was commanded, releasing her limb somberly. He was damn hell not giving in. He met the doctor in the lab, rustling back and forth on notes and her own instructions on the procedures she worked on.
"Doc."
"Yes?" His eyes still darting at the paper and adjusted the dial of the burner. "Is she alright? Do you want me to check on her?"
"She's been better but…" He stepped forward. "She wanted a moment."
Cheshire looked around, fearing she may be nearby. "She didn't get that way until the name of a professor came up."
"Was it Dr. Ranvier?" The Doc's brow raised uncertain.
"Not even him." His head shook.
"Then whom?" The Doc bafflingly accrued.
"A professor named Layton."
The Doctor turned slowly to stare at him. "Where did you hear that name from?"
'This must be good if the Doc is shaken.'
"The little lady who helped us at Hazakura and at Mystic Valley." Cheshire informed softly.
The doctor turned and sighed. His fists crushed before relenting, calming. He reached for the gold band strapped around the ball of his tie in a makeshift bolo. He adjusted it between his thumb and forefinger diligently. "That was the name of the professor that inspired her to become an archaeologist."
His sample finished when he turned off the burner, the blue flames dying immediately with its fuel. "They both met personally with him…"
The hot flask settled away from the hotplate. The liquid was swirled a few times until it was cool enough to pour into a test tube. "...they were so happy…"
"It must've brought back a memory." Cheshire thought aloud.
"I'm surprised she remembers." The first set of equipment was set aside as he began with another set on the opposite side of the worktop. He quickly made it to the metallic fridge, removing another set of cold tubes from a rack. The Doctor settled the set on the bench before swirling the premade liquid for his final dilutions. "She doesn't remember too much beyond the accusations and now."
If his bones and teeth didn't match his strength, Chesh knew they would crack in his fatal grips. He can only imagine what those officers and 'specialists' had done and what 'procedures' they conducted to 'cure' her. If only he could track down and find every single soul that touched her and drag them down to his personal Hell and finish off what she begun. "You don't think those crackpots messed with her head?"
"I don't know. But they said she was crazy." The hate rolled off the tongue. "Perhaps it's painful to remember…"
if it were not pure daylight, the poor souls of Los Angeles would have no angels, but a demon eating the sinners.
"The last time they met was back in Jolly Ol'. The same day we accidentally sold our souls. He had no play on that part however. He's not to worry about." The Doc cleared his throat uncomfortably. "She did keep contact. One of the few men I've ever met that I can label as genuine."
'No blacklisting this time.'
He gladly shrugged, knowing there was one less poor morsel to decimate. "How's the progress?"
Brushing his hand through black strands, the Doc's bearings were wearily gathered. "Gaining a proper sample is difficult but possible. We're so close."
This ritualistic schedule was the norm. The Doc and his partner would switch their opportunistic times of day and night. Sometimes they would occupy the same space behind latex and goggles. Mechanically, they would switch stations and machinery in a perfect assembly line. The programming extremely in sync to the point where if one had finished a solution, the vial would never get cold, unless it needed to be, in an isolated controlled lab. Today, unfortunately, was the only exception.
The love seat coughed when the man in the five o'clock shadow dropped the load. The weighted goggles from his eyes were detained, allowing some alleviation to rub onto those sockets and at the bridge of his nose.
"How are you faring with our doublet?" The Doc asked.
"Keep them swirling with a spoon, drowning in the same spot." Cheshire twirled his finger.
"Good. Keep them far away as possible." The Doctor side glanced. "When I heard she was taken again…"
"Doc… you have no idea. With such little evidence leftover, yet they somehow managed to scrape up some mud. They sent the most useless thing in the office." The placation offered half a dose of calm.
"I thought that Ice Queen and Death caught up to her." The Doc grumbled.
"She's out, right? You don't have to worry about that."
"That's not the point!" The Doc threw his hands forward, irate. "I'll step in if I have to."
"Stop rustling your jimmies." Cheshire tipped. "Let me handle the law. Stick to your meds and help her out."
"I did once…" The Doc's head finally greeted properly. "You of all people are aware of that. The end results were not pleasant..."
"I'm fathoms below the water in debt. It's why I'm here. To clean the slate from the blackness I brought. I've given you hope, at a cost, but it worked, didn't it?"
"..." The Doc surveyed skeptically.
"I don't have a gift basket, Doc, but I can do you a favour."
"...?" The stern look relented.
"I have a rube that needs to be taken care of." Cheshire brought up with earnest. "I looked up the file again and it turns out the inventory did an error."
"Continue." The Doctor's brow raised.
"The prosecutor for HC-3 on the report is Winston Payne, but he had sick leave because his ankle did a tight turn on the prada at the time. I double checked. There is another Payne in the-"
"Arse." The Doc finished with a smirk.
A sharp laugh left his gullet. "I was going to say office, but you're not wrong. He needs to confess his sins. It's only fair I think you should hear his testimony in the booth."
"I play as jurist once more?" The marbled contours broke, chiseling a cracking grin upon his lips. "I'll wait for the work of Pierrepoint."
"I also have one more little inquiry."
"Speak."
"My hotness…" He grinned evilly. His hand raised high before his fingers began to drift into the atmosphere in smoldering bliss.
The Doc's remained affixed, similar to how His Lady pardoned. "What about it?"
"I would ask the lady but she's indisposed." The tangible smoke reappeared and shaped into his digits once more. "I want to see if it just doesn't work on me if you catch my meaning?"
"You want a test subject," he stated more than questioned, brow upward in curiosity.
"I can tell you don't want to try, but I do need a professional to jot down the results." Cheshire brought up some good etiquette points.
"If you want my opinion, you would require a living, but disposable subject for this matter." He advised before journeying towards a shelf brimming with several filed. His finger slipped over a few before a digit plucked one from the rest. "This is your file that our Madam has observed upon your power. May I?"
"Cut the HIPPA, Doc. Just open it."
"It's the law-"
He was cut off by a huge laugh, "I won't snitch."
"It's also about etiquette and respect, nor do I want to get too deep between your personal affairs." He groaned upon opening the book. His dark inquisitive eyes read through most of the hardly legible, but gained more than enough info. "Ah. I see."
"What's the prognosis?"
"It's very similar to how I purify my extracts, but also part of your awareness. Pure awareness, clear existence..." He hummed poetically. "Like she paraphrased, 'you exist as long as your self aware. You are pure when returning. Clean and beautiful.'"
"Hm…" Cheshire brushed his heel against the floor, flattered. He cleared his throat, "how should your scientific method go across?"
"I have steps one to four in my head," he closed the book. "The rest will be done by your call. Keep it discreet."
"I'll keep you posted Doc. I got a job to do."
"I can only guess who is your lucky chosen one." The Doc spurred, closing the file before neatly tucking it away.
Cheshire quietly walked towards and leaned on the arch of his Lady's chamber. Her eyes appeared closed now, her arms over her bosom in rest like a worthy pharoah curled in a chrysalis. He could feel it welling inside him. The need for results, the desire for retribution. The effervescent darkness clinging, demanding and begging for release as he watched the first peaceful expression on her face in years. Fingers scaled down forlornly on the white wood frame, wishing that they could be on her cheek without breaking her tranquility. He may not be able to get rid of all the pain, but he could get rid of some of the causes of pain. He managed to scrounge the important participants of that fateful case - those responsible for robbing the victims' of life. Most of the players were either dealt with, damaged or dead. There is one ignorantly unaware and currently tainting the court system and the world in general with his unrequited existence. It is only justified that he should receive the same service.
Prosecutor's Office - Foyer
September 6 - 12:00 p.m.
You are aware that Prosecutor Gaspen Payne was fired a year prior.
'I was aware alright, 'Chief.' I just didn't get the chance to do it myself.'
No land masses, no continents, nor oceans would separate him from his prey. As the right hand of Fate, he was a willing embodiment of a weapon and the bringer of her wrath. He could extend towards those in power and with the feeble minded that believed in their false immunity to the law. Their diplomatic immunity was rendered obsolete. An appealing letter that a certain someone who was disposed and exiled to practice in another country had him crawling like a parasite back to nibble a little more on a festering wound. Like a slow slug, he just needed to add salt and watching the frothing slimy gimp agonizingly wriggle and die.
The Foyer had a few sociable prosecutors and officials mundanely speaking about their cases and other politics. How His Lady managed to have the patience for such a malignant fuss was beyond him. His Lady and him would join dinners with these politics and representatives once in a while. He'd rather run his belly through hot coals and broken glass. Then again, it was those politics with such influence that shapes the world and pass laws. A few instances the Doc would trade places or also join in their endeavors to at least pass the torture torch onto another martyr. Yet, an opposing force that tried to divert any of Fate's declarations and advisory were gladly deposed. The knives would cease slicing into the flesh of their meat at the instance of hostility before maliciously introduced by him and the Doctor with just their glares. Very few times either one of them would require their verbal interruption. She would bask their utensil wielding hand with her own calming ones, regaining the partisanship whereas the loss of their moxie achieved as she tamed the beasts.
He moved fluidly in these stagnant waters. The receptionist caught this dark man lingering ever closer. She sat properly straight in her chair. The was mic readjusted once more to a proper angle. He could sense her tiny hesitation before speaking. The whirling memories inside that mind of his must've accidentally given her a watered down version of a detestful serving. Like a magic trick, his hat wavered low and rose up with a more charming grin.
"Do me a solid," he leaned dominantly at the desk.
"Yes, sir." She responded more comfortably.
He paused, allowing her heart rate to pacify just a tad more. "Have you seen Payne?"
Her nose scrunched. "What did he do this time?"
"Can't exactly go and tell everyone, can I?" He gestured in conciliation. "Got to fix a problem."
"He was here a little earlier," she spoke agitated. Her lips in a line. "Security had to rip him off the headset."
She searched the computer quickly on attendance. "If he's still in the building, you can probably catch him at his office."
"Got to go catch a rat… my lucky day!" He released the desk of his weight. He stopped on a dime and turned, "if you see him, call me and bring in that Payne. Don't worry, I'll catch up."
En route towards his office, he figured a way to cut off that prosecutor from either directions wouldn't be too bothersome. The tiled flooring barely resonated his steps amidst hunting on the main floor of prosecutors' offices. He happily found the sheep. Gaspen Payne fumbled with his keys. Sweat slid them through each of his fingers as they bounced in the air, jingling ferociously. Cheshire loomed over what was in his other hand. A case file and a thin manilla folder he recognized as a request for vacation.
'Someone wants time off.'
"Leaving, huh?" Cheshire breathed.
"Ack!"
Gaspen jumped along with the tuft of fake hair on top of that shiny head. The keys, folder and manilla floated momentarily before crashing to the ground. The file spilled across the recently cleaned linoleum floors. Pieces of documents, pictures of evidence and victim splayed in full display. One great look had Cheshire trailing over the title page and participating parties. 'Presiding Defense: Phoenix Wright. Presiding Prosecutor:' The one currently on the floor on all fours like a dog. Title Page: 'State v.s Ms. Spectre.'
'You're making this too easy…'
Payne got on his hands and knees, huffing raggedly, trying to collect the papers and his bearings. In his scuffle, papers were ruffled and dented, crumpled and thrown haphazardly into the folder. Cheshire could only see the man grovel at his feet pathetically. Literal rock bottom. He can go lower. Cheshire knew this depraved man would and could. He would force him.
"Are you running from your fate or past? I want to know."
Payne stopped momentarily, receiving a full unempathetic expression as he looked up. His dotted eyes snuck at the corners of the golden framed shades on the bridge of his nose. They cringed when he felt the precise stigmatizing look he was condemned by the other occupants of the office upon being pink slipped by the Chief.
"No. No," he gave in on properly shuffling the papers. Payne relented on scrounging the documents in one bundled mess against his grey suit before disorderly lifting himself off the ground. "I was just about to go out for lunch!"
Cheshire didn't feel like racking up all the lies this prosecutor was about to spew like a petty thief with robbing until he pinned enough to his head to be considered a felony. Cheshire plucked the case file from Payne, edging his fingers around it enough for none of the disarray of papers would slip out.
"No, you're not. It's time for your performance review." Cheshire affirmed. He spun on his heel and led the way to his quarters. Payne quivered in his place ready to protest.
"Can we do this another day?" He dwindled behind like a scolded puppy. "I must finish this case before archiving it to the records."
"Skating on thin ice…" Cheshire stopped, nearly causing Payne to collide into his broad back, " ...and you're already dancing. Your probationary period isn't over yet. Your word is null."
He continued walking when the prosecutor did not retort. Another flight of stairs and the double frosted glass doors of Human Resources became visible. They entered the waiting room area. Stacks of papers inside plastic bins hung on the wall for the numerous favours HR could offer the employees of the building. Currently the space was vacant with a door at the end of the room. Cheshire affixed his key and opened the main office door. It was literal night and day. The waiting room was a haven for the light in comparison to the depths of Cheshire's office.
"Get in," he ordered, waiting for Payne to enter beyond the dark threshold.
Payne swallowed before acting a coughing fit, "I don't feel well. I seem to be coming down with something! I wouldn't want you to catch it."
"Now that isn't the spirit. You don't want to be caught on the wrong side of this door again." He flashed his toothy grin, "would you?"
"No…" The words fluttered weakly in a dubious slump. Payne tiptoed slowly, hoping that HR would change his mind. His act in vain when he craned his neck to see him blocking the light coming from the waiting area. He silently cried when heading towards the seat opposite to the black desk that had let numerous people be denied and removed from the building, himself included. Finally, light cascaded in lines from the covered window, landing on the desk where his judgement may be served and on the seat he placed himself.
There was definitely something out to get him. He was fired once. He luckily came back with the skin of his teeth on what he believed was forgiveness and due to the low number of prosecutors present in the office during the Great Purge. He shuddered when he reminisced. This so called house cleaning as the past employed prosecutors called it. Weedling out the unworthy or the corrupted was handed down by Chief Edgeworth and directed by none other than the man who dragged him in the office. They were merciless. Only a fraction of the office remained intact after the first wave defenestrated the suspected law officers at the end of 2028. His name unfortunately, was one of the first to be dismissed. Rolling over to the next year, more were abdicated or stripped if they found evidence of tampering and forgery. He, for one, believed he was falsely accused. He would never do such a thing! So openly at least.
He is back now! This is amnesty for their wrongdoing and in need to pick up the slack, they brought him back of course. He had plenty of experience and even had a proud name for himself, 'The Rookie Killer.' Not many prosecuting lawyers get entitled names as such. He frantically reasoned that he was placed in this office simply for a review, nothing more. He milled into himself that it had to be at the worst possible time at the worst possible place that his performance review to keep him in check with his return was happening now. Right after he messed up several days ago on a simple assault case! She was a notable VIP. No one would dare touch this case. He thought he could scrounge up enough muck on her to not only establish a probable cause of attacking the victim, but anchor a foundation of not only being a killer of rookies, but a politician! They would make a pedestal with his name in a plaque of gold and a possible list of his titles. That dream ceased to be if this review landed on his new yet untrustworthy tablet.
He jumped as the door slammed violently, locked. The room felt cut off from the world, despite being able to see shimmers of the city between the window blinds. These walls were in a dimension of their own. Payne could feel the striding presence of his abductor encircle his seat, scrutinizing as he headed towards his desk.
"Is this about that little thing at court the other day?" He fixed his lenses, wishing to abort them from his face. Those dark glasses made it even harder to see where his interviewer was located. "I had an emergency!"
'Is that what you call it? Your sorry self running out of there like a dodo?'
"This little case?" Cheshire cracked, fanning the rather thin file between his fingers. Payne flinched backward from the first visible thing to spawn from the dark before it slapped onto the desk. "You got me all wrong."
"Oh! Of course!" Payne attempted to contain is tremulus breathing.
"Do you know why I brought you in?" He inquired darkly, returning into the shadows.
"You make it sound like I did something wrong." He detached his shades from his face. He puffed a few wafts and rubbed the fog that had managed to condense onto the lenses.
"That's you're assumption." He chuckled nefariously, vibrating the air. "It certainly makes an ass out of you, not me."
"It's just…," He felt like he swallowed hard on a cue ball. "Last time I was brought in here I was kicked out of the office."
"No. Adding onto that review, this is a man to man chat." His voice remained strong upon looking away. He removed his tailored jacket, hanging the neck on the rack. "So, tell me one of your most successful cases. One that really handed it to the whole court."
Payne shimmied excitedly in his cushioned seat. The weight of the world mostly slid off his shoulders and a broken dam of relief flooded in. Things were definitely beginning to look up. "A man of taste. Human Resources is resourceful! Though, I'd figure you would be more if you knew my most successful case."
"I guess I have to apologize for that one. I had to review and get rid of so many wasted and infectious prosecutors." He riddled, last to be relieved was his hat, carefully patted, primped and worn on the pedestal.
"I…" Head down in shame, "...landed on there."
"That was a conjugated list." Cheshire broke Gaspen's view to his legs when the tall onyx chair opposing the desk rolled away and sat a presence in gratifying umbra. "The Chief just didn't see such a way you fiddle the court."
The prosecutor perked once more gleefully aware that someone was finally on his side again. "Someone finally recognizes some talent in this office!"
"All senses need to be used to truly understand the surroundings." He remarked on his request. "A fresh kill would be appreciated. A more recent case you've handled."
"You really want to hear this case, don't you?" Gaspen angled pleasantly in his seat, preparing his bavardage.
The shadow sat at his throne. "I'm all ears.."
"Sit back then, my fellow good man." He stammered before correcting, "well you're already sitting. But… I'm not in trouble, am I?"
Cheshire's knuckles settled onto the wooden surface. "If you give me a good one, I can put you in an even better place… remember, no names."
"Of course, only under official business. There's no time to waste, then." Gaspen fixed his ties ready to divulge. "It was a case back a few years ago. I faced a quite formidable foe. One of the best on this side of the country. You may have known him."
"I probably do." Oh, he knew whom it was. "You sure don't back down."
"With an opportunity like this. Who can? Unless you've got no guts for glory." He patted the frock of hair, congratulating himself on his introduction. "The defendant was charged with murdering her own patient. Some say that they were close friends. A conspirator killing their own friend. Heheh. It even took place near the ides of March. Her friend was near death's row."
"So Cesar had it coming?"
"No doubt, she was going to die anyway. Too sick. I think that may be the reason why she took the angel of Death route. But murder is still murder, merciful or not!"
"I know that one. Seen it. Felt it." Cheshire commended, "you can finish the rest."
"There was no doubt of her guilt. It's why her own lawyer tried his best to help his lady friend into a medical malpractice suit. It's a pitiful way to shorten and sweeten the deal instead of hanging." Payne pouted with disgust.
"You said it was your most successful? Yet it sounds so easy."
"Oh, it was hard, my good man. It was." Payne held his chest boastfully. "Despite incrimination, the defense put up a good attempt at fighting. It's just years of experience has made it barely a conundrum to worry. It's why I thought it was quite insane for Chief Edgeworth to fire me previously." He lowly amended. "Don't tell him I told you that."
"This is HR," Cheshire reminded. "Our conversation and EVERYTHING done in here is confidential. Unless it deals with a termination."
"You're speaking most of my language."
"This case you're talking about. It's getting good. You got me on my toes here." He livened. "Why'd you stop?"
'Go ahead. Keep going. Dig your grave. Deeper and deeper into the rabbit hole. Just more dirt to pile on top.'
"Pardon me," Payne fixed his posture. "Something tells me that she and her attorney were pretty close. She had nerves of even standing aside him as..." He snickered as if the almighty mother of punch lines was about ready to be conceived. "Co counsel!"
He hysterically kicked like a kangaroo in his spot. He wheezed, bereft of air before he broke into a cough to restart. "Here's the best part. The judge felt pity and allowed it! Heh!"
"She stood up for herself, huh?" Cheshire questioned.
"The bench, defense or not, is no place for a witness or defendant especially." He patted the tuft of hair proudly. "The double team did not bother me though. I did not argue with the judge's request."
"It's not exactly unethical, I've seen stranger things."
"I've seen about eleven, but this one takes the cake. She made her attorney drop the plea deal!" Payne yelped within his own shock. He recomposed himself, "she must be a gambler. I wouldn't bet my life with being charged with murder."
"...that's quite the ante," he smirked upon hearing the ipse dixit.
"It was conclusive from the very beginning she was guilty. Staff, colleagues and teacher agreed." Payne's pompous announcement made vocal, "for that I had to put her in her place - back on the witness stand. The defense attorney? I made him sit back and watch as I sentenced his client."
Cheshire unfolded his legs, planting them firmly onto the ground just in case.
"She was a silent and cold killer," the accusation fit the judgement. "A sadist, no doubt."
"Hmm…" The hum died, but something became alive.
"Afterwards, I heard she was escorted by the good men to the happy hotel!" Payne's faux pas of a story ended with an abashed sigh. "Some people just can't stand the battlefield."
The cat was out of the bag. Now was just to conclude with a confirmation with more curiosity.
"Right after White Day?" Cheshire added behind his knuckles.
"That's the one!" Payne pointed eagerly. "How ironic. Give someone death instead of chocolates. Not exactly a sweet dessert as a last meal."
'Out of chocolates…'
"Funny, how if it were not for my incompetent older brother spraining his ankle, he would have taken this case." He mentioned haughtily. "Though a decent Payne, he doesn't give the court justice like I do. Age doesn't always guarantee wisdom."
"Ah… I was right," Cheshire extolled. "So that's where they messed up here. I just needed a confirmation from you personally."
He lifted himself from the chair, sizzling from the heat that had raging on hearing Payne yap like a cockatoo on opiods. The side drawer flung open and threw down the first page of the manuscript, pointing towards the error. "Someone did a booboo."
His elder brother's name was scrawled onto the line of participating prosecutor of that day instead of his own. Winston Payne.
"…!" Gaspen blanched, eyes darting unbelievably over and over the name that should have been his. He did that case! That media breaking case! "That can't be right! It was me who took that case!"
"Taking the responsibility?" Cheshire scoffed. "You sound like a masquerade thief."
"You'll have this fixed won't you?" Payne's lower lip quivered.
"I got to make a phone call," His hand stretched over the office phone. The hum droned along during the dial up. Before the phone made it towards his face, Cheshire wanted to make sure of one more thing.
"Winston is your brother." He stated.
"Y-yes!" He squealed as HR dialed over several numbers. There really was at least one sole occupant of this whole building that was truly on his side. He revered highly, "I see why you brought me in! Thank you! This is definitely a foolish mistake on part the editing secretary."
The phone hummed several times before the man of the office answered. "Mr. Payne."
"Yes." Gaspen responded.
"Not you." His glare erupted, full of tempered heat on his occupant. Gaspen leaned back into his seat, defeated but optimistic.
Cheshire readjusted. "Still on your vacation?"
A few muttered words crossed into jumbles over the tiny speaker that Gaspen could barely decipher.
"Nothing to worry from HR." He rumbled. "Enjoy it while it lasts…"
The phone landed in its slot. An uncomfortable stillness lingered over the room with Cheshire's finger trailing over the phone contemplating. The sudden sense of doom had Payne's heart thud in his ears.
"You got me thinking. Creatively." The blessed and cursed silence broken. He strode over towards the blinds. His figure much more prominent from the outlines of bastion rays of sunlight. They could only transcribe so little with shadows blurring the lines of clarity.
"… h-how?" The cracked word somehow escaped in a breath.
"There's this woman I have my eyes on." He spoke to the blocked transparent barrier.
He asked credulously, thanking inwardly that he was not targeted again. "A special lady friend?"
"Very."
"Well, I can help you with that since you've helped me." His tone keen.
"You've helped yourself enough, Casanova." He exploited laughably, "married thrice, ended in misery."
"…" Payne gritted, culpable in his spot. Human Resources was knowledgeable even on his personal life.
"She told me, one way in order to save the world in small steps at a time, you should dispose of waste carefully. Garbage is in one place, but tends to get blended with useful material. She's environmentally friendly." He rolled his wrist in emphasis.
"That's what recycling is. Cardboard on Wednesday's, plastic on the following Thursday on my block." The statement pushed displeased.
"Here's the catch," He paused. "Rotten, moldy, disgusting putrid waste can't be so easily processed… like dried blood or rotting flesh."
"...you can't exactly reuse that." Payne kecked briefly.
"How can you tell something has gone bad?"
"Such a silly question. If it smells bad or something growing on it. Or that nasty black part of the banana. Yuk!"
"You forgot something, my friend." Cheshire figured he'd have to break down the inquiry further. "Here's a hint - What day is White Day?"
"The 14th of March." He shrugged nonchalantly.
"Glad you remember. And the day after that?"
"The 15th." Payne answered confused with the questions. "Where is this going?"
Cheshire charged forward. The desk moved a few inches out of place with a screech. A violent breeze caused Payne's false roadkill hair to be thrown out of place. He threw himself back, hugging his chair for protection. A growing portentous ear to ear grin fastened across Chesh's face. "It's your interview. I'm evaluating if your worth keeping."
"… you said this was just a man to man chat." Payne attempted to correct.
"Man to man?" A single derided laugh rushed from his gullet, his head tipped in a taunt. "Very far from it. What makes you think you're that special?"
Cheshire arose from his pounce. He enunciated each word. "Now describe the 15th of March."
"Normally you would ask what would you see me doing in the next ten years." Payne feebly claimed to rescue any left over self-worth.
"I don't think you have to worry about your life for that long. Now describe what the 15th of March is." HR grew impatient.
"How should I know?" Payne gave in with an annoyed huff.
"For someone with this amount of 'experience', you sure have dulled down. I should look at that scrap paper called a resume again." He lambasted enjoyably.
Don't patronize me! The 15th of March…" Payne rubbed his hair, seeking what estranged answer this man who held onto his job like a ball and string. He threw answers pitfully, anticipating to satiate this man with some form of resolve. "A day? The middle of the month. A date?"
"There it is." Human Resources finally spoke as he perched into his chair. "Here's the catch - That was your expiration date. Just as the name goes with resources - you're not."
Payne could not see it, but Cheshire filtered and delved deeply on scanning this excuse of a human in front of him one more time. "I don't think she'll like it if I spit you on her lap for later, but you could make a fine test."
"I was terminated December! Not exactly a good New Year Resolution..." Gaspen informed unkempt. Looks like his only supporter turned out to be his subjugator. It was too good to be true. "So…. I'm fired?"
"No, my friend. Even better." The desk phone huddled once more within his clutch, skimming several numbers before the hum reverberated into Resources's ear.
"A promotion?!" Payne gulped with borderline delusion.
"Hey, Doc." The pleasing placation left his lips.
"Unfamiliar phone lines make me uncomfortable…" The Doctor grumbled lowly.
"You're going to want to hear this," Cheshire skindered. "Is she with you?"
"No. She's working in the other labs now."
"Already?" He stammered unsurprised. Not too long ago, he remembered carrying her away, hooking her tenderly as he headed to her chambers. He gladly obliged with the task despite her reluctance and displeasure in her eyes. He really couldn't help but take advantage of her predicament, as the Doc cleared a path for him to bring his Lady to her suite. Yet, he knew better. Nothing would stop her.
"We shouldn't disturb her then." He pronounced eagerly, eyes trekking over the individual nervously fiddling with his fingers, "but I wanted an audience."
"What's it this time?" The Doc was willing to spare a few moments of time.
"Remember that good ol' prosecutor from that case back in HC-3?" He lingered over the last syllable.
That gut originating cursed growl traveled, "yes…"
Cheshire figured he'd answer quickly to the Doc's frothing fury. "I'm looking at him now. The right one. I know I owe you. So what should I deal with him in your experiment?"
"Hehaha…." The cackle rumbled. "A taste of his own medicine. And don't you dare hang up!"
"Not for the world. I'll put you on speaker. Want to talk to him?" The ardence prevalent.
The Doctor was chuffed he'd previously placed his petris away for incubation and cleaned off his tabletop. His full and undivided attention could focus on an entirely different experiment that could serve a more entertaining end. He zipped into a quiet study room, devoid and soundproof of the outside world. He paused, momentarily pondering if he should indeed withdraw His Mistress from this unusual gathering. He always placed her word and input on such matters, heeding to any instruction and advisory in instrumental action. However, she was conducting an integral piece of her research. The notion of pestering her with such a loathsome prosecutor that had previously impeded her a few times was ill thought. He was not worth her time; unworthy of her presence and undeserving to be served a syllable. No. He would not burden her with this disgusting human. He would settle this on his terms, pseudo proxy and co council to his other partner. He sat in the dark recliner and settled for judgement. "Give me the floor…"
Cheshire tethered the phone in his grip as his finger pressed the speaker. Payne refocused the distress onto the phone on whomever was on the other line. "We're going to use one of your final lifelines. You better make good use of it because this might lead to the answer of the million dollar question."
"Mr. Payne…" The desk phone emanated a welcoming intone that gave off the impression of another interview.
"To whom am I speaking to...?" Payne fettled his persona. If this person was going to determine his job status, it was perhaps someone higher up on the occupational ladder. He was ready to bring about his best.
"That's the right one, alright," the Doctor dawned spitefully, his finger tapping on the arm of the chair. "He has that unmistakable condescending voice."
"I would call it uppity!" Payne rectified This wasn't the first that he was criticized on his demeanor. He considered that the full package of a prosecutor.
"You ever had the important people in your life removed in less than 72 hours?" The rhetorical question labored but smooth, contrary to the chair suffering indentations of clawless fingers. "You hastened the sentence… A snollygoster in a kakistocracy."
"I don't understand…" the bewildered elder prosecutor mumbled.
"Don't bother wasting your breath, Doc." Cheshire shook his head. "Some people can't change. Like I said - garbage."
"Speaking of such, I must make up for my lost testimony." The scratchy phone hummed. "A great friend and master once taught me in medicine, a way to isolate a purity from crude, especially volatile, was by sublimation. It's quite an interesting process. With the correct pressure and heat, the purity vaporizes immediately and will end at a cold point while the rest of the impurities will remain."
"What is this?" Payne reproached puzzled. He was about to plunge himself from all this wordplay with no pertinence to him.
"There is another piece I'm willing to share from a liked passage of mine." The Doctor arose, aware of the book he aimed for. Between the encyclopedia of medical expertise led to one of alchemical nature. He skimmed to a bookmarked spot, perfect for his cause and a good reference in need for such an experiment. He returned to his seat, willing to share his tale.
"And Sublimations we make for three causes,
The first cause is to make the body spiritual.
The second is that the spirit may be corporeal,
And become fixed with it and consubstantial.
The third cause is that from its filthy original.
It may be cleansed, and its saltiness sulphurious
May be diminished in it, which is infectious."
The book clapped in an airy bulky between in his hands upon completion. "With such a claim to be tested, if it came down to you, with utmost certainty, Mr. Payne… there would be nothing worth harvesting."
"…Who are YOU?!" The wail conceded how obfuscated he became, drowning in this obscure interview.
"You still haven't figured it out...? With age comes wisdom, but you've worn down like a diner knife. I know in your old age, your experience shouldn't be catching up to you this slowly." Cheshire scorned, regaling on how ignorant of the sorry excuse he currently had sitting in his office.
"I don't have any sort of dementia! I have lots of people to meet on a daily basis. I can't remember one person by their voice!" Nettled, Payne pouted indignantly like a punished child.
"You want to put that hypothesis to the test, Doc?" HR leaned over the desk intrigued, curious, and above all, enraptured by the means.
"As our guest once said…" The Doctor composed the bitter words that had permanently branded itself in their tempered minds and that day of the court.
"…The truth is a hard pill to swallow..."
'Who knew someone could age so fast.' Cheshire could see the wondrous show unravel before him.
Payne's frail spine indented it's print like a fossil onto the death chair. Tense like the grip on the arms, the prosecutor at last discovered whom his lifeline was placed.
"You were one of the witnesses!" He trembled like the indigenous mountains upon the earth's violent quakes. "Wh-why would you have a grudge against me?"
His voice quavered, striving to retain some form of proper blame. "You should actually be thanking me! I brought the truth on that day! Putting her in jail was only right. It was justice for you, too!"
The Doctor was disheartened he could not bear witness to view the full spectacular of what was soon to come. "That's what it seemed to be in court. Yet, you're wrong."
"B-but… she killed her." He stuttered, knowing very well that she was placed behind bars on the charge of murder.
"I've seen things in a better light; the real truth. And it is quite dark." He cued lightheartedly.
"You're just a pawn to a bigger game," Cheshire joined. "You're just too stupid to see that."
"I was just doing my job! The case was solved and verdict was done. You can't change that!" He stumbled back.
"On the contrary…" the correction made from Human Resources, he clasped pleased. "We can and we will. In our own way."
"There's just bits and bobbles leftover that are of no use anymore." The Doctor discarded to the premeditated discarded.
"To the law, to the court, and to this very office." The tarnished background embarked of every location the interviewee had been suspected of questionable practice Cheshire had acquired in his search. "I don't believe you're even wanted in another country."
"That has nothing to do with what's going on here!" The interviewee jolted in his spot when the interviewer arose from the opposite side.
"Since we're on the subject, let me tell you something. Just between us three." Cheshire remarked heedily, "I recommend keeping that trap of yours shut for the time being."
Payne began manually breathing. His control of commenting kicking into overdrive by swallowing his lips. The foreboding presence promenaded, the unholy glow in his eyes gave little for tolerance to hear a single syllable lest he be gutted like a fish, which would be all too appeasing to witness, hear and execute.
"A while ago, I managed to gain a pretty nifty trick. Up to this day, I still don't know what it is. For the time being, we'll call it Phasing. My Lady tried to narrow it down to several terms, but two of them she chose. One is Sublimation. To keep it simple, just think of ice. It's solid, it melts, it becomes water, and then a little further down the line; it becomes vapor. Skip the water part and we jump right into vapor. At first, I was petrified. I started to think I was disappearing from the earth again, but she caught me just in time. You weren't there, Doc, but it was a scary experience."
The encounter shuddered his core the first instance. The lab was empty just for him, preparing to delve deeper into the physiology of his progressive evolution. She had abscond briefly to retrieve an ever thriving file with his change. He dozed off, stripped of his favourite guilty pleasure for a few hours and culminated in yearning. A yearning that would never come and disappear every moment he desired to drown and lose himself. It kept stealing the dream away and dangle it on a line like a fish. As he would reach to eat, it would rip it away. He could not stand it. He detested this torturous cat and mouse game with this being or perhaps it was his own psyche bringing about the horrid truth.
"Chesh-" a broken voice stabbed through the whirring plague.
"Cheshire!" The black world crumbled as she yanked him backward from his chase. Something was awry. A weightlessness that engulfed random limbs. As he recollected and his vision prickled, her visage stuck fretfully and fingers fastened around his arm. Her gaze bobbled all around him, deftly analyzing. Searching for whatever may be causing her duress on his person had him gasp in horror. Fragments of his body were missing. Legs were eaten away up to his lower extremities yet he remained poised from the floor. Figments of his shoulder tethered by the strange mist devouring him whole. Panic wrought his being, unable to feel his breaking form.
"M-m-my Lady," he stumbled, shaking in whatever was left intact could manage to resemble a tremble. His other arm wrenched forward to grab her and ground himself. It solvated into the ether before it could ever touch her. It brushed past her in a visible breeze. One last look towards her tense form made him regret everything he could not do with her, above it, lament that he was leaving again. He did not want to. This was not what he coveted. Just one more time to reach out. Just one more before his physical remnants would vanquish. "Ri-"
Arms wrapped tightly, bounding him to this realm. They were relentless, unwilling to sever his very being to drift into nothing. He stiffened, this cannot be. He was chasing this. This was at the end of that line, that cord that beckoned him to clutch and wrench it. This may be the mind playing tricks, exacerbating the torment of never getting her back. If only he obtained those lost limbs could he discern. Yet, it felt real. It looked real. He wanted to believe it was real and he could perceive it. But does that prove this exists? He was aware she was there. That would mean he was aware of himself, balmy retained. Therefore, he was there. Therefore, he exists.
Those wafting drafts rewound themselves. Splinters of himself were sewn into flesh. The misty strings wove and reunited his limbs. His legs returned at last along with the rest that had fled. The jumbled enigma registered in his brain that he was whole and functional once more. He recognized his body sculpting quite nicely against hers. On his chest, no longer bored with holes, her hands had relinquished him and settled at his pecs. He treasured the strangled appearance, warring on wagering allay and amazement. His reintegrated arms bounded to grasp her. They were cut short when she seceded away.
"Are you okay?" Her voice mostly collected.
"Y-yes." Her warmth that lingered disappeared.
She did not hesitate to break down whatever caused this uniqueness only available to him. She made sure he tamed, controlled and dominated such a power that was once feared, now embraced and made it his own. He would embark on such a task.
"You vaporized? What sort of nonsense is this?!" Payne ranted, returning Chesh's attention. "We wouldn't be speaking right now. Unless you are speaking metaphorically."
Cheshire's fist slammed onto the desk, sending violent ripples across the desk. The phone, files, and numerous utensils hopped simultaneously before greeting the surface with harsh thuds. Some arrangements were not lucky enough to spill or fall over in a tumble.
"...! I'm listening!" Payne nearly swallowed his wrinkly lips.
"You're going to wish I did…" he continued. "There's a second part, she calls it Deposition. I love doing it to the unworthy representatives of this office. But in my case, I come right back to ice, if you get my drift. I've managed to perfect it with myself without thinking. I started doing it with simple things laying around. Sometimes it works, sometimes they never come back. Trapped in a sort of pocket dimension or gone forever? That is the unanswered question." Cheshire loomed over Payne with amplified intent. "I was just wondering, what if I had a live subject to work on?"
"You're joking? Is this a magic trick." If it were other times, the audacity from this prosecutor would have been considered admirable. Then again, it is poorly advised to wager what one could consider precious to themselves. Appraising the wagered value on his life, on the other hand, Payne's efficacy was an astounding definition of a market failure.
The silent walk led to the interrogator to give one last glance at the window. "Those loose lips of yours are sinking your ship into a trench…"
"We can come down to an understanding, right gentlemen?" Payne squeezed miserably. "Can you not destroy my record when I leave? Please?"
"You still think this about your job?" A cacophony caroused the darkened office, echoing with a sick demonic chant. Cheshire stomped and released a quelling howl, staunched to gather his bearings. A much needed kindling they had no idea was required. Sardonic, The Doctor, too, cleared his throat, composing once more cooly.
"For a second there, I almost might have regretted doing this." Cheshire pronounced unabashedly. "No. I'm talking about this miserable life of yours."
A fraction of time squeezed into the dead space. Cheshire's ears perked when he heard that amazing thump rapidly beat against a rib cage, gushing adrenaline and sterling trepidation. It's a wondrous substitute to a psychedelic and fuel to his insatiable inanition.
"No comment? Oh, there's a shocker!" The Doctor motioned.
"Y-y-you're b-bluffing!" Payne jumped from his chair, his eyes apprehensively locked onto the back of Human Resources. "Th-this is a joke!"
Aiming for the chair as a barrier, he gripped it tightly, tacking a feeble defense between himself and the desk. "We're smack in the center of the prosecutor's office! Everyone would know! They'd book you and cook you the moment you walk out of here."
"No one would know you're missing. You're not important." The twine of the blinds dwindled in his fingers playfully. "There are wages to your act. Now it's time to pay up. I'm simply doing this world a grand favor."
His grip clipped the thin thread, the bane he mercifully exposed to extend the descent of what little sands in Payne's hourglass persisted.
"Depending on how naughty or nice you've been. You could go up…" Cheshire shrugged. "Or you can go straight to Hell."
The light began to die with shades now horizontally dwindling in place. The executioner lost in darkness.
"I'm a good person! What are you-…!" The brittle bones that held him in place partly shriveled when the heat of the room was sucked dry. Mid L.A. weather turned to brisk Arctic winds. He was alone, staring into the heart of a cave along with the beast that called it home. The grumbly aggravated disembodied voice seemed to bounce from every direction.
"It must've felt good. Didn't it? To beat a 'high and mighty' attorney and sentence the defendant."
Payne frantically twisted his neck left and right. He searched for the source of the voice, scrambling away like a terrified rat. Sweat percolated onto his clothes, as the shadows resembled a tangible thickness of murky fog.
"Such an easy one." The phone informing the second murderous tone. "That case… was handed to you…"
The old man leapt away from the voice, greeting the floor harshly. He lost track of the door. No escape presented to him. His feet pedaled backwards until he slammed callous against the wall. He prayed, begged to find a knob on the surface, grimly unanswered and barren just like his aspiration. He panted through gritted teeth trapped in tormented rigor mortis, unlike his knees that buckled by his own weight. The wheezing and wet whimpers barely kept up with the demand his heart palpated. He'd be providential cardiac arrest would put an end to this living nightmare.
"Let me out!" He shrieked, fists hitting the floor in an ineffectual bid. He incessantly exhorted cries for help but to no avail. His trap was clamped shut it, words accumulating in his mouth, was cuffed by a unseeable force. Blood ran cold when he could feel himself gravitating from the floor. His back scraped alongside the wall, guaranteeing to trail a mark of perspiration upon it. The panic entered sheer terror when his feet no longer touched the ground. He kicked and writhed, pursuing aimlessly to discover it once more. The fight converted to preservation, now lifting himself on his executioner's wrist to alleviate the pressure. The mass of black gave way to multiple glowing eyes with an inhuman grin floating in the bog. The blazing hot stares ready to bring about the unlimited worth of unforgiving penance and all of the nether's fury.
"This might be... payneful…" The voice on the line muttered clearly and polished as if rehearsed time and time again.
"Consider this a permanent termination." The darkness sprang to life, juggling and gliding along the teeth to personify lips. It was incredible, but unsurprising how his digits could curl over the back of the pitiful excuse of a prosecutor's wrinkly jaw. Those skin blankets almost kept him warm and the nasal cries despite how much this man shriveled in place from his cold lather. The senior prosecutor dangled helplessly within the bear trap. Payne writhed and fought, pulling on this man's sleeve to relinquish his suppressed upper jaw. His glasses flung from his ears in the wrestle, colliding with the earth Payne was no longer attached. This was barbarically outmatched to witness. What could not be unsurpassed however, was the hopelessness he could devote into those beady pebble eyes he hid shamefully behind tinted lenses.
...He hurt the nymph…
"If only I could truly show you how much pain you've caused." The spittle coated the inside of his palm from struggled whimpers as he brought the seized closer. "If only you could truly see the beast."
He made sure that prosecutor could gape the doublet fangs he was mercifully spared. He hung Payne back to get a good look of results one last time.
"But since it wasn't entirely your fault. I'll make this quick." As an artform, it should be appreciated to watch and study, but his schedule was partly strict. He had chores after all.
The grin stretched ear to ear. "Doc, can I get another Amen?"
The Doctor rose respectfully for this moment. A moment of silence to linger for the unhonored. The lifeline on the cord articulated.
"...Guilty…"
...Punish him…
A deadly crimson ruptured from the dark man's eyes as the sentence was handed. The sensation rippled throughout the hung prosecutor. Ripping the fabric of his reality, the binds shattered; rendering Payne a cloud of insurmountable particles. His being torn into the fibers that kept him together, rippling to the very ends of his body, yet he still lived. The edges of his latest victim began to dissolve and vaporize. Mist and smoke curled around as if a fire erupted within the man's very core. Despite being withered away in smoke, it was cold. A fate like death. Progressively, his limbs were the first to go, vanishing as the intangible devoured its way back to the heart. Screams were lost as it too had disappeared from the face of the earth. When the death grip collapsed within itself like a dying star, Payne was no more.
The patted whirl of streaking mist tethered when cleaning the leftovers from his hand. He flexed his shoulders and gave a shudder of rapture. It was rude and unhygienic to touch anything before washing his hands, but he had to make sure someone remained in tune.
"You still there, Doc?"
"Just getting a moment of fresh air." He whispered satisfied, sinking into the chair. An exaltation casted and left him in tingles. "If only I were there."
"Something tells me it was good for you as it was for me." A sneer was born on his face.
"You've made my day." Chesh heard one of the happiest murmurs from this man so far.
"You were right. There is nothing left." He spoke towards the emptiness of his office, absent of the living. "Too bad I couldn't do the same to that pretty faced Attorney."
"That one was gladly on me," the Doctor chided pridefully. "I must write down these results. I'll give you a piping serving when you get back. Job well done."
"Can't wait." He hung up the phone.
The only remaining evidence to linger within his den was those lenses that ricocheted off that Payne's face.
'It's your fault. It took me over a year to convince her to trust… I can't afford another one…'
Shards of black glass flew from his might in an explosive pop. The irreparable gold skeleton was discarded into the waste bin like the rest of the unwanted without repentance. An indulgence catered with satisfaction as if he had just eaten a full course meal.
"If you want to get a job done right...," he examined the recent file in hand, woven by the fabrication of a failed prosecutor gladly no longer part of the world. The notion itself made him question the very ethics of the bar exam. "You've got to do it yourself."
