AN: Andddddd we're back! It took a bit longer than expected, and I'm damned tired of looking at the screen, but it's finally done. I really hope you guys enjoy this because I poured blood, sweat, and tears into this one. Anyway POV changes coming up in this one and as usual, thank you for your support on this bizarre journey into the unknown heh heh heh...

Oh and prepare yourselves for the next chapter, because, well...I'll just say things get a lil crazy.

AC: Thanks! Glad you enjoy it!

OBSERVER01: Glad you liked it. I have a feeling she'll have a verrrry interesting story to tell ;).

Spacegoodra: Yep! Gotta love Clue.

sailor winx: Haha glad you thought it was funny. Interesting xD. Yeah, when she left DD wasn't released yet.

AriatheAlpha: Thanks. I really hope it turns out to be cool.

Anervousguest: Haha, well he's not Chief Prosecutor yet. How true, I hadn't thought of 1-5 ! Welp, I hope so too.

0: Yep, Edgeworth knows how to handle a situation pretty well.

urs-v: Thanks! Almost forgot that's what it was called haha.

Ravenfeather2002: Thank you! I hope one day to get more frequent...

bwburke94: Who's to say it won't happen ;)?

soren180: Thanks so much! That's a huge compliment for me :)!

"...Somebody, go collect the others," Mr. Edgeworth requested, without ever turning away from the body.

Finn scuttled out of the room, presumably to the dining hall. With a brief moment of hesitation, the demon prosecutor walked into the corner, examining Mr. Breckenridge, lifting each palm, turning them over, even going as far to pull up his sleeves. What he was looking for, I was unsure.

"So, is that old man really...dead?" asked Ackerman quietly.

(Seriously? You don't need a medical examiner to tell you that...)

Edgeworth snorted. "Does he look in any way, shape, or form, alive to you? With a sword skewed through him no less?"

Stephen looked as though he wanted to say something else, but kept silent. He exhaled, body relaxing somewhat, as his hands now hung loosely at his sides. Mr. Edgeworth finished looking at the body and stepped away from it, folding his arms. From outside the room, I heard the stomping of feet and clacking of heels. In a few seconds, the remaining company dashed into the lounge.

"W-what's h-happened- AIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEE!" Ms. Irving shrieked. "Mr. Breckenridge! H-he's..."

"Oh...my goodness," said Mrs. Rothman covering her mouth. Noa paled a bit as she stood by her side, adjusting the straps on her maid outfit.

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhh! H-he's dead! He's deader than an out of shape person at a Zumba class!"

"It's all well," said Hardwick with a forced smile. "Because n-none of this is real. This can't be real..."

Mrs. Rothman placed a hand over chest, clutching it as though she were out of breath. "Who would do something like this?"

That was the question. Who? Which one of us was bold enough to do it?

Nobody spoke as the wind howled from the outside. Whoever had killed him was one of us and as stiff as street lamps, we all stood eyeing each other. With little to illuminate the situation, the room felt dark, as though we were swallowed up into a shadow.

"Well, I didn't do it!" Finn said raising both hands up. "Mr. Ackerson was the one to have an argument with him earlier!"

"Yeah," I agreed. "I saw it too."

"So, what were you fighting about, huuuuuh?" asked Ingrid. "Was it about how much protein you should take daily since you're so tiny?"

"I-it has t-to be you! Y-you killed h-him!" Harriet pointed at Ackerson, eyes watering. "T-that's wh-why y-you were trying to leave!"

"What?" Stephen exploded. "You're... calling me a killer? How dare you! It's his own damn fault for being an arsehole! Something like that was just waiting to happen!"

"S-so y-you admit it!" she said taking a step forward.

Ackerson turned red in the face, as he advanced on her, not backing down. "I didn't kill anyone!" he yelled. "Where do you get off, on pinning this all on me? I bet you did it, with the way you two were hamming it up earlier!"

Somehow, the already tiny woman shrunk. She took a step back and hugged herself tightly. "M-me? I would never do t-that! M-Mr. Breckenridge was my...my..." Harriet paled, her eyes now holding this vacant emptiness to them.

"We aren't going to get anywhere hurling accusations around," Mr. Edgeworth remarked calmly.

Ms. Jamison fidgeted, shoving her hands in and out of her dress pocket. She lost the exuberance she had earlier, now replaced with a listlessness I didn't think possible of the woman. "But pinky, what are we supposed to do? One of us had to do it...right?"

"If we work together and investigate, I'm certain we'll find the culprit-"

"Work together? You're kidding me!" snapped Ackerman. "How can we trust anyone here?"

The debate raged on. Everyone grew more tense, as uncertainty hung overhead. Ackerson had a point. Unless we had known someone prior, we didn't know them. And here we were, trapped together, waiting to be picked off. We didn't even know why Mr. Breckenridge was even killed, other than the letter about punishment. This definitely wasn't good, but it was then I realized I had a more pressing matter to contend with.

I had to fart.

I held it back for far too long. The feelings that lurched in my stomach had now moved to my ass, and the heat was growing, steadily getting warmer. Never a good sign. If I could measure them on a level based on heat, this would qualify as a six on a scale of ten. I knew this was going to be big. I took a step away, to at least try to exit the room, but one step was all it took to get the ball rolling. It was coming out. I tensed, as I desperately clenched my cheeks in an attempt to hold back the imminent doom emerging from down below, but it was too late, there was nothing I could do, but prepare for impact.

FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBLP!

A low whistle hissed out from my cheeks, the way a filled balloon slowly releases air. An eternity passed in a matter of seconds. The relief I felt was only temporary, as everyone stopped bickering and whining, only to painstakingly direct their attention to me. I could only stand there and stare back like a kid who was caught stealing from the cookie jar. I hoped it would be fast and painless, but it seemed that my fart would go on. And that song did not end until it was punctuated with a staccato raspberry sound.

Nobody moved. Nobody said a word. Nobody did anything, but look at me like an animal in a zoo.

I cleared my throat, unable to cope with the awkward silence. "E-Excuse me."

Some had started to snigger, while others either gave me a look, or shook their heads. My face was on fire. I almost wished for the killer to murder me on the spot. And just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, a few moments after, faces scrunched up in disgust, sniffing. I took a whiff of the air and thought I'd been punched in the face. The air which had once been pure, was now left with a scent of a sulfuric, rotten egg variety which permeated through the whole room.

"Jesus!" said Hardwick trying to fan away the smell with his dollar bills.

Ms. Irving gagged. She hastened out of the room into the hall.

Dawson waved his hand in a rapid motion in a feeble attempt to get the stink away from him. "God, it smells like something died in here-! Oh, wait, never mind."

"I-I'll go get an air freshener," Noa said blue in the face as she exited.

People covered their mouths. Even Edgeworth blocked the noxious fumes by holding up his cravat to his face. One by one people fled the lounge. In seconds the entire group had dispersed into hall, leaving me the only one in the room along with the deceased Mr. Breckenridge, who I was half surprised didn't awake from the dead, pull the sword out of his chest, look at me in disgust as he covered his mouth, and exit the room with everyone else.

With little else to do other than stand in the room smelling my own flatulence, I dragged myself out into the hall.

October 17th, 9:19 PM

Main hall, Rothman Estate

Outside of the lounge, the other guests stood as far away from that room as possible. Mr. Dawson, Ms. Jamison, and Mr. Hardwick were talking amongst themselves, while Mr. Ackerman and Ms. Irving seemed to be off in their own worlds standing alone. The only who hadn't moved a great distance was Mrs. Rothman, who stood in the center of the hall. After she exited the foul smelling room, I watched as Lyn apologized to Mrs. Rothman, who pitiably assured her that it was okay. After being pointed in the direction of the bathroom, located next to the study, the younger woman departed immediately.

I walked over to Mrs. Rothman. "My sincerest apologies for...whatever that was."

Honestly, that was appalling. I had never smelt anything like before my whole life. This didn't even compare to when von Karma would pass gas and walk out of a room. This surpassed that by ten fold. I might have accused Lyn of doing this on purpose, considering her penchant for pranks, but the look upon her face was that of sheer mortification, which made the whole event that much more uncomfortable to witness.

"Well, accidents happen," she crinkled her nose. "It's just a shame what happened to William wasn't an accident too."

"Indeed," I said. "But rest assured the culprit will be apprehended. I'll start the investigation, once the air is clear."

(Because God forbid I walk back into that room before it's breathable again.)

With a sigh, she thanked me. "Had I known something like this would occur, then I wouldn't have held this party."

I tapped my finger against my arm. "May I have a look at that letter you read to us?"

Mrs. Rothman reached into her pants pocket and passed the folded up piece of paper to me.

"I only received that in the mail today," she began. "It came in a larger envelope, which said: Share this with your guests after dinner for a fun surprise."

(This is why I don't care for surprises. Especially those deemed as 'fun'.)

"Then the person who sent this knew you were having a dinner party. Did you disclose the information to anyone else besides us?"

Mrs. Rothman shook her head, clasping her hands. "Oh, no. I like to keep things like this private and keep hurt feelings to a minimum. I'm sure you understand."

"Certainly," I nodded.

I unfolded the letter and skimmed its contents. I was surprised to see how sloppily written it was, the scrawl looked no better than chicken scratch, but its message was clear. The sender wanted 'to punish' particular individuals for their crimes, while those deemed 'good' were to watch and treat it as though it were some form of entertainment. While whoever wrote this was clearly perverse, I wondered what was their criteria for selecting the good and bad. I didn't have any doubt that Mr. Breckenridge was killed for some alleged crime he committed. Figuring out what it was could perhaps give insight to who the assailant was.

As I pondered my next move, Noa returned from upstairs with a canister of Febreze and cautiously entered the lounge covering her mouth. After a couple of minutes, she met us in the hall. "I sprayed and cracked the window slightly, so it's now safer to venture inside."

"Thank you, Noa," Mrs. Rothman said. She took a glance over at the opposite side of the hall for a moment and stroked her chin. "Could you assist me with Harriet? I believe she should could use a seat, possibly a drink."

"Of course, madam," the maid brushed her bangs aside before walking over to Ms. Irving.

"We'll be in the study if you require any assistance, Miles," Mrs. Rothman told me before joining Noa.

Ms. Irving was someone I needed to question, but I supposed it would have to wait. Now that the lounge was manageable to enter, I'd begin investigating there first.

October 17th, 9:23 PM

Lounge, Rothman Estate

Upon entrance, I was greeted by the overpowering scent of lavender mixed with the remnants of an embarrassing body odor. I now understood why she had said the room was 'safer' to enter as opposed to safe. But it was far more tolerable than it had been. I turned my attention to the body in the farthest corner of the room. As I approached, I knocked my something on the ground with my foot. It was a pocket watch. This must have been the precious heirloom Mr. Breckenridge was searching for. It was most likely missed in all the commotion earlier. I removed my handkerchief from my jacket pocket, picking up the watch. By my standards, it was an average watch, though polished quite a deal. I flipped it open.

(...That's peculiar.)

The face of the clock read 7:30, off by two hours. For someone so stuck upon time, knowing it down to the very last second, this was highly suspect. I didn't think the possibility likely that Mr. Breckenridge changed the time on his watch himself, meaning someone else did. Though to what purpose it served, I hadn't the faintest. Until I figured it out, I'd hold on to it for safekeeping.

Putting the watch away, I returned to stand in front of the deceased once more. The man's head hung limp, long locks hanging in front. His eyes were still open. I did my best to ignore it, choosing to listen to the pitter patter of rain outside, as I examined the body once more. The whole scene was a bit too clean. Blood was only present near the entry wound of the sword and nowhere else. On his hands and arms there wasn't a single scratch or cut. The area around the body was undisturbed as well.

(I would think you'd resist or engage in some kind of a struggle, especially if you were being threatened with a sword.)

This wasn't adding up. Mr. Breckenridge should have fought back or in the very least defended himself. He was a rather well built man, so whoever did this must possess a degree of strength, at least enough to pin the man to the wall. I frowned, knowing something was clearly missing.

I checked the pants and jacket pockets and found only a pair of keys and a wallet. I flipped open the wallet. Besides some ID and credit cards, there was a photograph of himself with fiery haired young woman smiling gently. The picture had been torn down the middle, brought back together with scotch tape. This woman looked almost identical to Ms. Irving. It did appear that she and Mr. Breckenridge knew each other from before, so I wondered the significance of the photo. I returned the keys and wallet to the dead man's pocket while taking the photograph with me.

"I said I was sorry!" a low-pitched voice yelled from outside the room. "I'm not funky!"

It sounded like Lyn had returned from her bathroom trip. Sure enough, she reentered the room with a scowl.

"Nice of you to return, Ms. Malodorous," I remarked.

She folded her arms. "They've already dubbed me the funky American outside! How many more names do I need?"

"Just what on Earth was that? Why didn't you excuse yourself?"

Lyn sheepishly rubbed the back of her neck. "Hey, I was going to, but with all the letter reading and dead body discovery, I couldn't get there in time, alright? I was kinda queasy earlier so I didn't mean to do that..."

"You weren't queasy when you departed for Essex earlier today, were you?"

She began to sweat. I had a feeling I knew what actually happened. "No, I was fine."

"So, I'm assuming you felt less well after you returned from your Taco Bell trip, correct?" I asked pressing my fingers to my temple. Essex was the only area nearby London that had a Taco Bell. And once Lyn discovered that, that's one of the things she talked about incessantly.

"I-I don't know what you're talking about," she fidgeted, pressing her glasses up by the side. I merely stared back. "Okay, fine! I went! I wanted a chalupa! Don't you ever have a craving for bad food?!"

"I have no desire for a colon cleanser!" I recoiled. "In the future, refrain from putting such toxins in your body on days that involve large groups of people."

She muttered something incoherent to herself, turning away from me momentarily before regaining what little dignity she had left for the evening."Well, anyway! How's the investigation coming along?"

"It could be coming along far better than it is," I said briefly recounting my discoveries.

Lyn cocked her to the side. "Hm, you'd think he'd scream if he was being impaled."

"Indeed." This coupled with the fact that there was no sign of a struggle and he was stabbed directly through the front, to me meant one thing. "He might have been drugged."

"Woah, seriously?"

"It's the only thing that makes sense. This isn't a person I would confront directly, and the fact that there's no indication of a fight makes me believe he was sedated in some way."

"Jeez," she said glancing at the body. "Whoever did this wasted no time getting straight to the point then, huh?"

I cringed. I couldn't stand these jokes. "Is now really the time for this?"

"But Mr. Edgeworth," she began with a straight face. "You really need to take some of the edge off, don't you think?"

"No."

"Guess you're truly putting forth all those Miles to get your Edges worth, then?"

I folded my arms.

"But you're too Edgy for me."

"You know, it'd be nice if you could take something seriously for once."

"Hey, I take things seriously," she frowned. "What's wrong with you? You're normally more receptive to my jokes..."

"I don't see how groaning in disapproval qualifies as receptive," I replied. "Now, if you're done being a distraction, I'd like for you to make yourself useful by going to the dining hall and check for clues including anything that could corroborate my theory of drugging. Report back to me in the study when you're finished."

The woman pursed her lips. "...Alright." Holding a gloomy expression, she trudged out of the room into the hall. Now that she was gone, I could give the room one last inspection before headed to the study.

October 17th, 9:25 PM

Dining Hall, Rothman Estate

What was his problem? He was being even meaner than normal. I could be serious. I just didn't have a stick up my butt, like some people did. And just what else was I supposed to do? People being murdered was serious, but it was more serious if I couldn't find a way to cope with that. But whatever. I was still punny. He was just jealous. Yeah, that was it. I sighed, unconvinced with my own reasoning. I could normally get something out of him...even if it was a slight crack in the composed veneer. On a good day he'd even give me a pun back, albeit it would normally look like he was dying on the inside, so those times were rare, but still. I did my best to shrug it off. I'd figure out what was eating him later. For now, I'd focus on the dining hall like I was supposed to.

The room was plain, as plain as one could get for a mansion anyway. The purplish gray color of the walls and the wooden floor felt the most regular to me, in terms of familiarity. The table was just as we left it earlier; a complete mess. Chairs weren't pushed all the way under the table, China plates with scraps of food and glasses of half finished win remained, and napkins and utensils were strewn about some on plates and some on the white table cloth.

I went over to where Mr. Breckenridge had sat. The chair was pushed out a great deal away from the table. I carefully dropped to my knees and crawled underneath the table to observe the spot. Nothing stood out besides a couple of scraps. I climbed from underneath and looked at the plate left behind. The plate was empty, having nothing but a fork and knife set on top of it. I didn't see any powder stuff that looked like a drug. His wine glass was cleared out, the rim having only a slight residue of where his lips touched. It didn't look out of the ordinary. In fact, I didn't find anything to look out of place.

I wanted to find something, though, rather than return empty handed so soon. I examined every seat at the table, looking for anything. I even went as far to count the tableware. It was boring, but I did notice that a spoon was missing. There should be ten, but here only nine were present. I shrugged. That wasn't a big deal. Someone could have dropped it somewhere. And not like you could kill someone with a spoon.

This was a bust. I was about to leave until a white door opened from the back of the room. It was Noa.

Her eyes briefly widened and she stopped dead in her tracks. "Ms. Doom, I hope you are feeling better."

I blushed. "I'm fine. I'm...sorry about that." I was certain that that was something I'd never fully live down. Farting was one thing, but clearing an entire room was in another story.

"It's all well," she said adjusting one of her white straps. "May I inquire what business you have in the dining hall?"

"I'm helping investigate Mr. Breckenridge's murder. Mr. Edgeworth thinks he may have been drugged."

It was a brief moment, but I was certain I saw her eyes narrow. "Drugged? ...Do you understand what you're saying?"

I scratched the side of my face. "What do you mean?"

"If his food was drugged, it would mean that either I or the madam took part in that as we both prepared dinner tonight."

I adjusted my glasses, as I looked for a way out. "Um, not necessarily. Someone could of slipped something in his food or drink when he wasn't looking. I mean, it's just possibilities right now. I didn't mean to put you on the spot."

Noa straightened up, returning to the usual stillness she maintained. "I see. Do not apologize. You are simply assisting the madam. I only worry because I know she would never do such a thing."

"And yourself?"

She wiped the bangs out of her face. "It is a cowardly act. I would never."

"How long have you been working for Mrs. Rothman?"

The maid placed a hand over heart and gave me the faintest of smiles. I almost didn't believe it possible. "It's been five years since I've been employed under the madam. I am nothing but grateful to her. She... has a kind heart."

(...She's actually cute smiling. It really does look like she cares for Mrs. Rothman.)

"So, you like being a maid?"

"It is a simple life. And I have always lived to serve," she said wiping the bang away. "Ms. Doom, if you do not mind, I would like to begin cleaning up. As you can see, this is state of affairs is a mess."

"Ah, I see. I'll let you get to it," I said walking away. I stopped short, and turned around. She was picking up a couple of dishes and silverware in one hand. "Actually, before I go, I was wondering if you knew anything about Mr. Breckenridge or why he might have been killed."

"I'm afraid I know little of the man, other than he was a friend of the madam. Though it is a mystery to me as to why, being of such an ill-bred temperament. Besides a select few, I don't believe he was particularly well liked."

I nodded. That was nothing new. I had just met the man, and thought of punching him. "Thanks for the info."

"Anytime," Noa said directing her attention back to piling up dishes. I guessed this meant it was time to go back and report to Mr. stuck up.

October 17th, 9:29 PM

Study, Rothman Estate

"Don't you dare speak about him i-in that way!"

When I stepped through the doorway, I walked right into a mess. Ms. Irving was standing in front of the desk, red in the face and trembling as she held a now empty glass in her hand. Edgeworth's face was dripping wet with a strong smelling liquid, alcohol of some sort. Mrs. Rothman immediately rushed over to him with her own handkerchief and began wiping his face.

"Harriet! I know you're upset, but Miles is only trying to help," she chastised.

The red head, straightened up, looking taller and a bit more imposing. "I-I don't care! He doesn't k-know anything about Mr. Breckenridge!"

She turned away from the two of them, with arms folded muttering. "It's all her fault..."

"Uh, so, is this a bad time?" I cut in, deciding to make my presence known.

"You picked the perfect time," Edgeworth remarked sarcastically, as the judge finished up.

Mrs. Rothman stood back, as though examining how well a job she did cleaning. "Are you alright, dear?"

"I'm fine, thank you," he replied, irritation in his voice present. He moved to walk away from the other women and came to me. "Let's discuss matters outside."

Edgeworth without giving a second glance, walked right by me and out of the room. Jeez. I wanted to talk to him less now, but not like I wanted to be in the room where the atmosphere was that of tension and exhaustion. Mentally groaning, I exited the room.

October 17th, 9:31 PM

Main Hall, Rothman Estate

Edgeworth was standing a few feet away from the door to the study, now with his own hanky, trying to salvage his cravat which had been stained with brown liquid. There was no way he'd be able to save it, but I didn't dare say anything about it. He eventually gave up with a heavy sigh, putting his cloth back in his jacket pocket.

"What did you find?"

I swallowed, hoping he would take the news okay. "Nothing really...there wasn't anything to show that he had been drugged."

"I see," the prosecutor said with a souring expression, as he folded his arms.

"Uh, but you know, I did notice that a spoon was missing."

"A spoon? Nothing else?"

"Yeah. There should have been ten of everything, but there were only nine spoons, not ten."

Edgeworth gave a non-committal grunt in response, now tapping his arm with a finger. He didn't say anything else for a bit.

"So, what happened in there?" I asked.

The side of his mouth twitched. "I simply asked questions about her relationship to Mr. Breckenridge."

"Okay, but that normally doesn't result in someone throwing their drink in your face."

"Perhaps...I could have selected a better choice of words," Edgeworth looked off to the side. "Though, I only said the truth about the man being disagreeable. It is of interest to why he was that much more pleasant to her than anyone else."

I shook my head. "You're not really earning sensitivity points here."

"Yes, and you're one to talk, likening my person to an ice box."

"Huh?" I paused. Was that it? Was that why he was irked before? "Is that why you were upset earlier?"

"I don't get upset."

(And I'm the tooth fairy.)

"Hey, I didn't mean it. Sure, you aren't the warmest person, but you're nice ...and stuff," I said rubbing the back of my neck. I mean, warm was how I would describe Phoenix, not so much Edgeworth. He was so reserved and distant that I couldn't really figure him out as much.

The prosecutor rolled his eyes. "Well, now I'm wholly and unequivocally convinced."

"Come on, I didn't-"

"I need to find a way to get her to talk," he said switching topics. Edgeworth started walking toward the group of Jamison, Ackerman, and Dawson, who had congregated in the middle of the hall in front of the stairs. I followed. I definitely struck a nerve even if he didn't want to outright admit it.

"Hey, it's stinky and pinky," laughed Ms. Jamison as she threw her head full of raven hair back.

I groaned. And he complained about my jokes?

"Where's Mr. Hardwick?" asked Mr. Edgeworth.

Finn pressed a finger to the side of his face. "He went to make a call, behind the stairwell, I think."

"He should stay there," Mr. Ackerman said snidely. "And should join him."

The freckled face man frowned. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be such a nuisance..."

Edgeworth turned to face Stephen. "Actually, you and Mr. Breckenridge had a fight earlier, correct?"

"Yeah, we had a few words. Not like it meant anything," he said cracking each finger on his right hand.

"What were you fighting about?"

"It's none of your business."

"It could be vital to figuring out-"

Ackerman placed a hand on his hip and pointed with his other hand. "You know, guys like you are a pain. Wanting to be in charge and butting into others business, like you're some sort of king. Piss off."

It didn't look like we'd get anything out of him. Edgeworth didn't waste his time any further and we went to the stairwell. There Mr. Hardwick was on his cell phone, pacing in circles.

"Yes, if it doesn't pan out well, it's alright. You know what to do," he paused. "Though, I'll be disappointed if I can't see that cute face of yours again."

The man laughed as he turned, now noticing our presence. "My apologies, please forgive me, mistress. I gotta go. You can yell at me later. Bye."

He flipped the phone shut and nonchalantly shoved it in his pants pocket.

"Sorry to intrude-" began Edgeworth.

"Hmph. I can't even get a minute of peace. But I get it. I'm just too hard to resist. I don't mind an invasion of privacy if it's from you," he grinned at Edgeworth.

The demon prosecutor blushed slightly, unsure of how to handle the raging Harddick. I placed my hands on my hips. "Hey, you can't go flirting with him after you've talked to your girlfriend!"

"He shouldn't be doing it all," he grumbled.

Mr. Hardwick smirked as he fanned himself with some money. "Oh, it's fine. I have lots of girlfriends. And a boyfriend here and there..."

I sighed. This guy was ridiculous. I wanted to doubt that, but I had to admit he wasn't bad looking. It would make the painful flirtatious remarks, slightly more bearable.

"But I take it you didn't come around to hear about my amazing sex life," he said smugly.

...Or maybe not.

"You mentioned something about a rumor involving Mr. Breckenridge. Could you elaborate?"

"Anything for you, sir," he winked. "A few years ago, good ole Breckenridge got wrapped up in a case. It was believed he murdered his wife."

My eyebrows raised. "What? Murder?"

Hardwick took out a coin and flipped it a couple of times. "Well, he was acquitted in court, though it never stopped rumors from circulating here and there. People say they were one of those couples who put on a show in public, but were absolutely miserable behind the scenes. That's as much as I know, but I'm certain his attorney would know best."

I pouted. "Well, that's great. Where are we gonna find them?"

He laughed. "In the study."

Mr. Edgeworth's eyes widened. "You don't mean...Ms. Irving was his attorney?"

"Like I said, she'd know best," he shrugged catching the coin in his hand and putting away. "That's all I have for you. Now, if you'll excuse me, a certain sexy lady is waiting for me..."

With that, he smoothed his brown hair with his hand, adjusted his tie and strode from under the stairwell. I could only shake my head.

"I'm impressed that that was actually useful," Edgeworth said. "This time I'll get what I need."

October 17th, 9:35 PM

Study, Rothman Estate

We returned to the study. Mrs. Rothman was gone, just leaving Harriet, hunched forward seated in a chair in front of the desk looking off into space.

"Ms. Irving."

She lifted her head up with a snarl. "Just w-what do you want?"

"To pick up where we left off," Edgeworth said not backing down. "I'm sure you know quite well, that Mr. Breckenridge was accused of the murder of his wife."

The woman's posture became erect as she pushed back into her seat. "H-how do you know that...?"

"What's more, is that you were his defense attorney."

"So what? W-what's t-this about? H-he never did anything wrong. W-why else would I defend him?"

TAKE THAT!

He presented this torn up photograph to her. "If you were just his attorney, I find it strange that he would keep a picture of you in his wallet."

Ms. Irving covered her mouth slightly. "H-he kept that old thing..." she said in an almost hushed tone.

"F-fine. Y-you already know this much. W-we...had an affair."

"Which would be a good motive for murder," Edgeworth remarked with a glare.

"N-now you w-wait a second! H-he was declared n-not guilty!" she snapped.

"Ms. Irving. You are aware of our situation. A killer seeks to 'punish' some of us for whatever crimes we've committed. If he was truly innocent, why was he killed?"

Harriet grit her teeth. "He. Was. Innocent!"

Mr. Edgeworth said nothing, just tapped his arm.

"T-that...old bitch had it coming! S-she only w-wanted his money. T-they weren't even living i-in the same house. William tried to d-divorce s-she wouldn't let him! The p-picture you have...she ripped it up when she found out about us. B-but it was o-of no matter. No matter..."

The redhead giggled. It seemed as though she were no longer looking at Edgeworth, but looking at a distant place in time. The prosecutor remained as he was, just waiting.

"Y-you're wrong about William. T-that woman s-sucked him dry. When we were t-togther...he was nothing but sweet. G-gentle even," she smiled softly. "S-so when I d-defended him. I-it was true. He did nothing wrong. The only one that did anything wrong...was me."

I felt a chill run through me. I shuddered. "You don't mean..."

The expression plastered upon her face lost its placidity and had been replaced with a twisted, crazed smile.

"T-that's right. I-it had been an a-accident. S-she had come h-home when I w-was there, w-waiting for William. W-we got into a fight. And I guess I pushed her a little t-too hard," she smirked. "She d-didn't move and I-I realized she was dead. N-not like I cared, b-but it would be t-trouble for me. W-when William found out...he decided to t-take the blame o-on my b-behalf."

Edgeworth looked disgusted. I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

"I-It worked too. B-but afterwards w-we went our s-separate ways, b-being too d-dangerous to be seen t-together."

So, it was all for nothing. "That's...really sad," I remarked.

"Hmph. D-don't pity me...I d-don't regret what I-I did. I o-only wish I could have had more t-time with him," she said. "B-but maybe t-there's a hell for the t-two of us."

Harriet said nothing else. She returned to her position she had been in when we entered. It felt as though we didn't exist, as the room suddenly felt empty and hollow. With no more needed to be said, we left her alone.

October 17th, 9:39 PM

Lounge, Rothman Estate

Edgeworth wanted to check the lounge again, as the body was still troubling him with lack of evidence of drugging. He was examining Mr. Breckenridge's corpse, as I stood nearby not wanting to get too close. Nothing was creepier than seeing a person who had just been breathing and talking to you, dead.

"You know, I feel sorry for her."

"How could you feel sorry for someone who doesn't show an ounce of remorse for what they've done?"

"I'm not agreeing with the killing or cover up," I said wiping my glasses on my skirt. "...but now she's alone. Even with the person keeping them apart gone, she didn't get what she hoped for."

"Hmph. Poor circumstances or not, she still killed someone," he said checking the sword. "We don't know if she gave the whole truth. Perhaps she was trying to garner sympathy."

Of course it was a possibility, but I hadn't felt she had been lying. "It's still sad to me. Right or wrong."

"Nothing about that was right."

I shrugged. "Then what do you think of our killer? Are they right?"

"Don't be ridiculous. People should only face punishment under the law. Anything else is unorthodox. Though, there are limitations to what the law can do," he paused. "That must be it."

"Hm?"

"Mr. Breckenridge, technically speaking, did nothing wrong. He didn't actually commit murder. But he did help cover it up. Perhaps our killer is after people who weren't adequately punished under the law."

So vigilante justice was in play...and not the type you could turn a blind eye to."So where does that leave us?"

"It would mean that the most likely suspects amongst us are those who are 'good', or claim to be."

I groaned. "Fantastic. That's almost everyone here."

"Don't fret. We'll just continue investigating until we reach a proper conclusion."

I certainly hoped so.

"What...is this?" I heard him mutter.

I saw that Edegworth had moved Breckenridge's hair out of the way. He was examining the neck with great care.

"Did you find something?"

"There's bruising on his neck. Very faint, but still present," he closed his eyes for a moment. "...Maybe he wasn't drugged, but strangled."

Ugh. What a terrible way to go. "Then whoever did it must have been really strong..."

He shook his head. "I wouldn't say they had to be incredibly strong. With a wire or rope of some kind at the proper leverage, it's doable with an average amount."

"Then what about the sword?"

"There's a possibility he was already dead when that was plunged into him. It would explain why there is so little blood."

Just as I was about speak, there was a large rumble of thunder, followed by lightning. The next thing, I knew the lights in the room were flickering off and on, until the only thing that could be seen was darkness.

Of all the times for the power to go out. I swallowed as my hand reached for my throat. Pitch darkness. Not an dram of light. It was just like being in that closet. In the dark and cramped and hot- No. I stopped clutching my shirt collar. This wasn't the closet, it was a big room. It wasn't cramped nor hot. The rain, yes the rain was there. There was a bit of a breeze coming through with it. It was okay. As okay as it could get for being locked in a house with a killer running about...

"Ah!" I felt something lightly brush against my arm. I jumped back, and hit something behind me, with a clanking sound. Must of been that suit of armor. My heart was racing like a pizza delivery man under a thirty minute delivery or free clause.

"W-what are you yelling for?" Edgeworth asked.

"S-Something touched me!"

"That was me, you twit!"

I pressed a hand against my chest. "W-well why would you go and do something like that?!"

"Because you didn't respond to anything after the lights went out!" he said taking a breath.

"So what? That a crime? You gonna sue me for it? I can be quiet. I don't have to talk all the time. I was always the quiet kid in school. So if I want to shut up, I will."

"...Are you alright?"

I rolled my eyes, though it bothered that it couldn't be seen. "Oh, you know, we're in a room with a dead body, locked in a mansion with a killer, and now the lights are out. Mm, yeah, I'm definitely alright!"

"I'm sure the lights will come back on soon enough, there's no need to panic."

"No need to panic? Yeah, okay," I paused. "Let me hit this button on my arm, called the panic switch. Now, every inch of panic residing within my being has now turned off, just like that."

He sighed. "A switch for that would be nice."

"Oh, yeah. You'd love that. You'd love a switch turn off those feelings that make you a bit less rational, a bit less human," I sneered.

"I'd also love a switch to turn off excessive emotionality that clouds one's judgement," he shot back.

"Truer words have never been spoken from a robot."

"Hrnn..."

He sounded annoyed, but didn't bother replying. I was glad he shut up. A silence stood present as a barrier between us. I wiped the sweat dripping from my forehead. When were those fucking lights coming back on? I needed out. I had to get out of this place. Get to anywhere that had some kind of light.

"Give me the keys," I demanded.

"What?"

"You heard me. The keys to car. Now."

"Do you think you're driving out of here in that storm?"

"Hand them over-"

"No," he said flatly.

I felt my face scrunch up. "Listen, you can stay here and solve this stupid mystery if you want, but I'm getting out of here."

"With that rain, you wouldn't get far. It's dangerous," he said matter of fact. "Especially when you aren't thinking straight."

Tch. Of course, he always had to get his way. Well, I'd show him. I moved forward, slowly taking one step at a time, groping around. I stopped once I felt something in front of me, some soft cotton and small circular object, most likely a vest button. Yes, it was him, but not the right spot. He didn't keep the keys in his vest.

"What are you doing?"

I moved my hand down to one of his sides in search of the pants pocket. As I started to reach in, a hand swatted me away. "Stop that."

It didn't deter me. I went right for the pocket again. He grabbed one of my wrists in a firm grasp. Damn having small wrists. I couldn't break free and tried to sneak in with my other hand. He caught me with his free hand, and clasped that wrist.

"You are not getting those keys," he growled. I tried twisting my arm to get out, and it worked, but only for a moment. He took my recent escaped wrist and kept it prisoner in the same hand as the other captive. Dammit. There was no way I could fight him. He'd overpower me in a second.

"Let me out," I begged.

"You are going to stay exactly where you are and get yourself situated."

"I'm situated," I said in the most calm voice I could muster. "I'm all good. Now, let me out."

He didn't respond.

"Come on, Mr. Edgeworth...be a bro. Just give me those keys. We could get out of here... we could drive away and act like none of this is happening!"

"No."

"Please?"

"Lyn, stop. No amount of badgering will make me hand over the keys."

It was pointless. Absolutely pointless. Nothing would break his resolve once he made up his mind. This was it. This was how I'd die. Trapped in the dark. Just like before...

As I was resigning myself to my fate, the lights decided to come back on. I released a huge breath. Thank God. I don't think I could have been more relieved to be able to see something. Edgeworth released the hold. "Don't do that again."

I rubbed my wrists. I wouldn't make any promises. He wasted no time leaving the room, saying how he wanted to check on the others. I took a second to collect myself before exiting.

October 17th, 9:46 PM

Main hall, Rothman Estate

In the middle of the hall, there stood Ackerman, Dawson, Hardwick, and Jamison.

Ingrid took Stephen up in her arms and spun him around. "We're alive! We gotta celebrate!"

"What are you doing?" snapped the blond. "Put me down!"

"Oh, I'm a bit jealous..." observed Hardwick. "You can pick me up next."

Finn gave a small laugh awkwardly as he slumped his shoulders with a sigh. "Thank heavens the lights are back."

"That's the understatement of the year," huffed Stephen as Ms. Jamison finally set him on the ground.

As we walked over, Mrs. Rothman and Noa emerged from what I thought was the kitchen. "Is everyone alright?" our hostess asked.

(Define alright...)

There was a collective murmur of agreement.

Mrs. Rothman crinkled her nose as she adjusted her suit jacket. "I suppose the lightning knocked out the power. Luckily, it decided to return as we weren't anywhere near the breakers."

"In case the power goes out again, we have a few flashlights," Noa said. "I'll go retrieve them."

The maid promptly left and headed up the stairs leaving the rest of us. Thank God. Any light, even if it were a glow stick would be better than nothing. As I mentally rejoiced, the judge spoke.

Her eyes were darting left and right. She started to sweat. "...Did anyone notice where, Harriet was?"

Slowly, heads turned around. Everyone, minus Noa who had just left and Ms. Irving were present. The redhead wasn't anywhere in the hall. My mouth went dry. There was that feeling again. That dreadful, sickening feeling that you get when you know something is wrong. It's not something that you should have to feel twice in the same day. Everyone stood there, not wanting to even consider the possibility that it had happened again, that another person was...

"...We last saw her in the study," said Edgeworth.

Maybe she just didn't move from her seat. Maybe she was just too tired to leave. Maybe she okay. Maybe...

Mrs. Rothman darted to the study. We all dashed right behind her.

October 17th, 9:48 PM

Study, Rothman Estate

"AHHH!"

Our hostess had stopped in the doorway. And what had made her stop was obvious. Ms. Irving was on her side lying down on the floor, a short distance away from the chair she had been sitting in earlier. In front of her laid a hammer. But there was no blood... So maybe...

"M-maybe she's just unconscious," Hardwick said scooting by Mrs. Rothman and hesitantly squatting down by the body. He checked for a pulse. After a bit, he stood up and frowned. "...There's nothing. She's dead."

Nobody spoke.

His words were cement that dragged us down under water. This must be what it was like to sink. And I could only wonder how much lower could we go.

Evidence:

Prosecutor's badge: With this, I can prove I'm a prosecutor. Dunno why we don't wear them on our lapels like defense attorneys though.

Magatama: Magical sacred charm that should allow me to communicate with Mia.

Letter: Mysterious note sent to Mrs. Rothman the day of the dinner.

Pocket watch: Mr. Breckenridge's missing pocket watch which is set two hours behind schedule.

Photo: A picture of Mr. Breckenridge with Ms. Irving.

Profiles:

Maya Fey: Age 19. Probably my best friend at this point.

Miles Edgeworth: Age 26. My mentor. When he's not giving me a hard time, he's kind of nice.

Detective Gumshoe: Age 33. The guy who's saved my hide more times than I can count.

Larry Butz: Age 25. My favorite wannabe casanova.

Judge: Age ?. Old timer judge. No one know his real name.

Mia Fey: Deceased. My spirit guide who pops by occasionally to give advice.

Phoenix Wright: Age 26. The man I'm supposed to be saving. Pretty awesome dude.

Deidra Rothman: Age 45. A patient and kindhearted judge.

Noa Carter: Age 32. Mrs. Rothman's maid. Seems practically robotic.

Finn Dawson: Age 35. A self deprecating prosecutor.

Stephen Ackerman: Age 26. An irritable defense attorney.

William Breckenridge: Age 56. A high and mighty time obsessed judge.

Ingrid Jamison: Age 28. An energetic prosecutor who likes dancing.

Harriet Irving: Age 33. A shrinking violet defense attorney.

Andrew Hardwick: Age 30. A lecherous prosecutor.