Some things exist beyond the grave. That's what phantoms are all about, isn't it?
No. No, it can't be.
If you want the truth, Blackquill, there is a grave you need to check.
It cannot be!
You know whose.
And he knows it, gods be damned, he knows precisely what grave the stranger on the phone had to be referring to. He knew it the instant those words were spoken, as sure as a hawk diving for its prey hiding in tall grass – LaRoche's grave.
Blackquill rests his elbows on top of his desk and leans his head in his hands. His mind is reeling and his stomach churns, and he cannot tell what is causing it – the implications of all this, or the fact LaRoche's grave was the first one he thought of. He trusts him – he trusted him – to face his demise as a man. And he did, he did, and his name wasn't supposed to be the first one to come to his mind.
It simply cannot be, and he shouldn't be even considering it. He saw him die. He spent his last night in this world with him, let him weep on his shoulder, listened to his last words before the trapdoor opened and he fell to his death.
Thank you. For... for giving me a name, for making me someone. Thank you for not giving up on me.
"He's gone," Blackquill snarls to his empty office, fists clenching on locks of hair. This is someone's sick joke, no doubt. LaRoche cannot have done a such thing, he can't have simply faked his death after-
No one said he faked his death.
The thought feels like a sudden icy shower, and yet the next moments his gut is burning with something not too far away from shame. Whoever it was at the phone, prankster or not, simply told him to inspect the grave; at no point did he say anything to indicate the grave would be found empty because LaRoche faked his death. And yet... yet that was the first thing he thought he meant.
It's not how it should be. It's not right. LaRoche kept his promise to die a man, and he deserves better than this – he deserves more respect, as he deserved his trust in the end.
But perhaps he never truly trusted him. The Phantom fooled him for almost a year, but Blackquill learned to trust Robert LaRoche... or he thought he did. One vague phone call that may be coming from any prankster, and he assumed the worst right away.
But would it truly be the worst? May it be it was hope that led you to think he may still live?
"Absurd!" Blackquill snaps to no one before standing abruptly. He reaches to grab the phone's receiver... and then he pauses, his hand in mid-air.
Who may he call now? The Chief of Police? The Chief Prosecutor? Agent Lang? And what for – to tell them that because of a phone call from hell knows who they now should... should do what? Go dig up LaRoche's grave, disturb his eternal rest, disrespect the dead? And over what? Over mere words? Over suspicion he shouldn't allow himself to have?
… Or over hope that could only lead to more despair?
Some things exist beyond the grave. That's what phantoms are all about, isn't it?
Blackquill scowls and pulls his hand away. "It cannot be," he hisses once again to his empty office. He will not believe it, cannot believe it.
B-B-But I thought you believed me…?!
Silence! Ha ha ha ha ha! Oh, how you amuse me so!
Humans can't truly trust each other, which is exactly why the illusion of trust is so enticing.
Promise me that when the moment comes you'll stand there as a man, and die as one. Promise me.
... I promise.
Don't forget me. Please, please, don't forget me.
Never.
Thank you for not giving up on me.
No. No, he cannot do it, not with nothing to go by but a phone call from what could be a prankster or a madman. He won't disrespect him like this. It's disrespectful enough that he allowed the thought to enter his mind. But on the other hand, he cannot ignore the call he just got. It may truly mean something, something other than LaRoche having somehow cheated death. He simply told him to check the grave.
What if whoever called did something to LaRoche's grave? What if his eternal rest was already disturbed? What if the ultimate disrespect was already visited upon him, his grave violated and his body taken?
The thought chills Blackquill to the bone, almost more than the phone call itself did, but this time it doesn't freeze him in place – rather, it prompts him to move. He reaches for his coat and within moments he's out of his office, the door closing behind him with a bang.
The Yatagarasu isn't surprised at all when the doorbell rings.
It's Tuesday evening, and she knows that Harrison Fire would always drop by Mary's apartment on Tuesday evening. It's not something she thinks of as necessary, but the Phantom wouldn't budge: even now that he has a self of his own, he'll keep up the illusion by maintaining even the most insignificant habits of whoever he's posing as. Not that she insisted much for him not to: teasing him is always fun, and it's not like she can do that while they're both posing as someone else.
After giving a quick scratch on the head of Mary Goround's ferret – Mary would lock it in its own room and clean up thoroughly when Harrison came over because he was allergic to fur, but the Phantom is not and thus no need to bother – the Yatagarasu stands up and walks to open the front door with a smirk.
"Hey, Lames Bond, just how far are we going to get into this not-so-secretly-lovers act? Because I'm not really in the mood right now and-" she trails off with a surprised gasp when the Phantom roughly shoves her back and steps inside. She stumbles back, but she manages not to fall. Her smirk falters and for a moment she almost frowns – almost. "What was that about? Can't remember you ever mentioning Mr. Fire liked it rough," she says flippantly as the Phantom shuts the door behind himself. He's still wearing Harrison Fire's face and attire. "Or do you? Hey, if this is the effect seeing Blackquill has on you-"
"Silence," the Phantom cuts her off, staring at her with narrowed eyes. She has to wonder for a moment if he even realizes he sounds all the world like Blackquill, but before she can voice that thought he speaks again. "Why are you not wearing your mask?"
She shrugs. "Hey, I'm in my own home. Well, Mary's. Anyway, no one is coming in to see me-"
"Someone might."
"Like who?"
"Anyone," the Phantom snaps. "Your sloppiness may cost us everything. Now tell me what you said back in Reijam," he adds, causing her to blink. What the hell...?
"In Reijam?"
"After I captured you and left you in the hands of those goons for... how much was that? Five minutes? Ten? And it was still enough time for you to tell them too much!"
The Yatagarasu blinks again. Okay, now she's completely lost. "Wait a minute there! I didn't tell them anything!"
The Phantom raises an eyebrow. Or, rather, Harrison Fire's eyebrow. "Am I supposed to believe you were silent for more than one minute?"
Well, that would be a pretty transparent lie, to be honest. "... Fine, I did say some stuff. But I let nothing important slip. How dumb do you think I am?" she adds, crossing her arms and sniffing somewhat haughtily.
"And yet this spy they hired – this Outis – says you did," he retorts. "He claims he knows who one of us is, and he knows it because you told them!"
That takes her by surprise, she has to admit, but the next moment she's frowning again. She can't have possibly messed up that badly! "Look, he must have been bluffing," she says, holding her hands out. "I mean, seriously – do you think I would be so stupid I'd let something as important as your identity just slip out of my mouth? C'mon! You must know me better than that by now! I only mocked them some, okay? They were all so damn serious. I had a few laughs, and mocked them because I knew they'd never catch-" she suddenly trails off when it occurs to her what she precisely said to mock them.
You're wasting your time, boys. So spare yourself the hassle and have a few laughs. You're trying to catch a-
… Oh. Whoops.
"Oh. Whoops," she says.
You're trying to catch a phantom.
The Phantom stares at her. "I see your failing memory is working again," he says coldly. "What did you tell them?"
She gives him a sheepish grin. "Okay, um... I may have cracked a joke on how they were trying to catch a phantom at some point."
"You did what?"
Controlled as he may be, the Phantom looks all the world like he'd very much like to strangle her. It's not enough to make her step back, but it does her to speak quickly. "Look, it was just- it's just a figure of speech! Who the hell would even take that seriously enough to connect it to you?"
The Phantom draws in a deep breath, and suddenly he looks almost tired. "Someone who already crossed paths with me, that's who," he mutters. "Or at least, that's what Outis said."
The Yatagarasu stares at him. "Wait, are you saying the two of you already met?" she asks. Suddenly, that he may have guessed who she was referring to doesn't seem that out there; especially since he must also know that her accomplice took over a guard's role without anyone noticing. There aren't many spies, even highly trained, who can do as much – and it's, ironically enough, the Phantom's trademark. "But how? When? Who is he?"
The Phantom's jaw clenches. "I wish I knew," he says bitterly. "If what he says is true, I have no clue who he may be and how we may have met. He doesn't seem to know whose role I took and thus he didn't recognize me, but he knows me while I don't know him. Quite a difference from what I'm used to."
"He may be wrong. Maybe he thinks he's after some other spy," the Yatagarasu suggests. She's not that certain, but it's still a possibility. "I mean, you're believed to be dead."
"Plenty of spies have been believed to be dead. It means nothing," the Phantom remarks, and she has to admit he has a point. She sighs.
"I see. A well. Pity this had to happen," she says, and reaches in her pocket to pull out a cell phone that's not a cell phone at all. It takes a few quick gestures to turn it into a gun, and she raises it against the Phantom before he can even move.
He doesn't even try to move, truth to be told: he stares at the gun and then back at her with a flat expression before speaking. "Do it, and the mission is over with. I'm still needed," he says.
"You were compromised. You know what my instructions are," the Yatagarasu replies. "Keep your hands down. I'll shoot the moment you try to even touch your watch."
The Phantom doesn't try to do that, either. It's good to see he's not stupid enough to underestimate how fast she can be. "I didn't think I'd ever see you follow the instructions."
"Hey, there's always a first time."
"And yet you're not shooting," he states. They stare each other for a few moments in complete silence... and she is the first one to crack, as always.
"Pffftt...!"
The Phantom stares at her, unblinking, as she starts laughing. And, as always, she cannot quite stop. "Hahahahaha! Pfff- HAHAHA! Look at you! Did you – hahahaha! – did you think I was really going to kill you even for a moment?" she asks, lowering the gun and reaching up to wipe some tears of mirth from her face with her other hand.
The Phantom snorts. "I would have expected as much from anyone else."
"Hah! Not from me, then?"
"Ending me would end the mission for you as well, and deprive you of your dubious fun. I'm rather certain you don't want that. Not with Agent Lang involved," he adds, causing the Yatagarasu to laugh again.
"Alright, fine. You got me," she says with a grin before she clears her throat. "Actually, about that..." she adds, pausing in a way that makes it absolutely clear that he will not like what he's about to hear.
He seems to get the message just fine. "... What else?"
She grins at him. "Well. I guess that since I still have the gun, this is the safest moment to let you know that I may or may not have slipped a message in Lang's pocket."
If the Phantom feels any surprise, it doesn't show on his borrowed face. He stares at her and says nothing.
"... So, you're not angry?"
And stares.
"Did you hear what I said?"
And stares.
"Blink once for yes, twice for no."
And stares.
The Yatagarasu lowers the gun. "You're not about to have a stroke, are you?"
The Phantom draws in a deep breath before he slowly reaches up to take off Harrison Fire's mask. He lets it fall on the floor and exhales before speaking. "... I almost wish I did," he says flatly. Now that he's not wearing a mask she can see just fine how dark the shadows under his eyes are. She'd be surprised to know he slept for more than a couple of hours the previous night. "There is brandy in the house, isn't there?"
"Think so. But I thought Mr. Fire never drank in the eveni-"
"I don't care what Fire did or did not do," the Phantom cuts her off. "I want that brandy. I'm going to get a glass, we're going to sit down and you're going to explain to me what the hell you wrote him and why you though it was such a bright idea. Any objections?"
Tempted as she is to take the chance and yell 'OBJECTION'! to his face, the Yatagarasu decides against it. Amusing as it is to poke fun at him, she has the distinct feeling his reaction wouldn't amuse her at all.
Outis is far from surprised when he sees a cab stopping before the cemetery's entrance and Simon Blackquill stepping out of it – alone. He does strike him as the kind of man who wants to see everything with his own eyes before getting anyone else involved, he knew no one else would be with him... or at least not just yet.
Simon Blackquill is the kind of man who can carry quite the heavy burden without breathing a word about it to anyone, and Outis can respect that. It's almost a pity that Blackquill will need to go once he's played his part in this – but that cannot be helped. He cannot be allowed to live, not after wronging him as he did by ruining his masterpiece. And besides, his end would be just the right way to teach good old—
Johan
—Robb a lesson, his very last lesson.
Perhaps he will no longer try to escape death, then. Perhaps he will beg for it. Truth to be told, Outis rather hopes he will. Not that it will make any difference in the end: it won't be quick, nor easy, nor merciful.
Outis holds back a smile and watches as Blackquill steps past the gate leading to the cemetery with quick steps, ignoring it's keeper's warning that there is only half a hour left before it closes. He waits for a couple of minutes before following, keeping hidden in the growing shadows of the evening.
He knows exactly where he'll find him, and he knows what the outcome of this is going to be.
After all, he's just made sure himself that it will be obvious at first sight that something is very, very wrong.
Something is wrong.
Blackquill can tell as much the moment he sees LaRoche's grave from afar, and he can feel his heart jumping in his throat, anger and disbelief clouding his mind. He runs the rest of the way, and when he reaches it he's aware of nothing but the hammering of his heart, the blood rushing in his ears and the sight before him.
The grave stone is untouched, but it's the only thing still in place. The earth beneath it has been dug up and thrown all around the grave with a shovel that's been left on the ground right next to the grave. Enough earth has been shoveled away to expose the grave liner beneath – and Blackquill can see with dawning horror that the concrete slab is broken, the crack crossing it wide enough for him to see, if barely, LaRoche's coffin.
The lid seems still in place, but what if they took him?
But who would do a such thing? And why?
Disbelief soon fades into anger, and Blackquill bites into the feather between his teeth hard enough to snap it. Whoever made that phone call must be responsible for this, he thinks, and reaches into his coat's pocket for his cell phone. He has to report what happened, to the police and the Interpol both.
Now that it's clear that LaRoche's resting place was violated, they'll need to pull out his coffin and see if it was opened as well. He needs to make sure that at least he's still there, that they didn't disrespect his body as they disrespected his grave. If they did, whoever they may be, then may the gods help them and him.
In his urgency, he doesn't see the man staring at him from a distance before turning to walk away with a smirk on his lips.
"And it wasn't a voice you recognized, you said?"
"Hmph. I'm rather certain your heard me the first time, Lang-dono. Wolves have sharp hearing, I was told."
Lang can't say he cares much for Blackquill's attitude right now, but he decides to let it slide. He's had his moments as well while under pressure, and if he was in his place – with Shih-na's grave rather than the Phantom's – he certainly wouldn't be the most pleasant person to talk to. Not that he usually is, but still.
"I see. If the caller's ID was hidden as well, I'm afraid there is no way for us to trace the call. I suppose the best we can do now is examining the shovel to see if we can find prints," he adds, but he's rather certain they won't find any. He can't picture anyone getting down to a such work without gloves, and he doubts anyone would be stupid enough to leave prints behind after trying to conceal their identity.
Blackquill nods and is about to say something, but one of Lang's men walks up to them right in that moment.
"We removed the concrete and reached the coffin, sir. The lid has been forced open at least once already and then put back in place. We're... ready to open it again any moment," he adds, this time looking at Blackquill.
While Blackquill's expression stays unreadable, it doesn't escape Lang at all how his hands clench into fists for a moment before he replied. "Very well. I want to see it happen," he says calmly.
He says nothing more as both he and Lang walk up to the grave, where Lang's men have already pulled up the coffin from the grave and leaned it on the ground. There are several powerful flashlights pointed at it and Lang can now see clearly that yes, the coffin was already opened with force, the lid hastily jammed back in place. Opening it again will take little effort: the hinges are clearly broken. May it be that what Blackquill suspects is true? Has someone taken his body out of its grave for... for what? Some sick, morbid joke?
The thought alone is enough to anger him. Regardless of what kind of man this Phantom has been in life, regardless of his crimes, such disrespect towards the dead is simply unforgivable.
"Should we open it now, sir?" one of Lang's men asks, holding on a crowbar under the lid. "Or should-"
"Case your bleating and open it already!" Blackquill snaps, causing the man to recoil and Lang to scowl. He's willing to put up with more than usual because he can understand how trying the situation is, sure enough – but he draws a line to ill treatment of his men.
"Lang Zi says: every pack has its own rules," he says coldly, causing Blackquill to turn back to him. "And this, Prosecutor Blackquill, is my pack. These are my men. They're not yours to order around. If there's frustration to be vented, I am here and will be more than ready to meet your sword with fangs if so you wish."
Blackquill stares at him for a long moment before turning away. "My apologies. I meant no disrespect."
Lang nods. "None taken," he says. He overstepped once as well, and Blackquill bears him no ill for that. He won't either. He turns back to his man. "Open it," he says.
A little pressure on the crowbar is indeed all that it takes: the hinges already broken, the lid gives in and slides aside right away – revealing the content of the coffin.
And it's not what Lang expected. As everything up to this point seemed to point to body snatching, he expected the coffin to be empty; everyone did, he's sure. But the coffin is not empty, not quite: there are several objects in it that may just change everything – sacks. Small sacks of...
"Sand," Blackquill speaks quietly after crouching down and grabbing one of the sacks, breaking the moment of stillness and silence. He lets the sack fall back in the coffin and stands. "Sacks of sands. Roughly the weight of a grown man, I'd wager," he adds, his voice unnaturally quiet. It's the voice of a man whose fury is barely in check; a man who's scared of what he may do if he lets anger rule him.
The reason why is plain as day: the presence of those sacks may change everything. There is no use they may have possibly served but to weigh down the coffin and make it appear like a man's body was inside – yet, if indeed a body was buried in that coffin and then stolen, whoever stole it had no reason whatsoever to weigh it down. After all, if the phone call Blackquill received is anything to go by, whoever did this must have wanted them to check the grave, to know it was empty.
Suddenly, Lang has to seriously consider the idea the Phantom's body was never buried to begin with. Blackquill must be thinking the same, too – and Lang finds himself trying to think of another explanation.
"The sand may have been placed after the body was taken in order to confuse us," Lang says slowly. "It's not a hypothesis we can entirely discard just yet."
"... I suppose not," Blackquill says, his voice still dreadfully quiet. He says nothing else: he simply turns to leave the cemetery, soon fading into the darkness around them. Lang doesn't try to stop him; in the morning there will be more than enough time for them to talk about this mess and figure out where to go from here.
Let him have some time alone, he thinks. Hell knows if he needed it when word reached him that the woman he knew as Shih-na had escaped. "Get me in contact with the local police and Mr. Pros- Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth," Lang tells one of his men. The police was already contacted when they needed permission to search, and now they must let the know the outcome of their search. As for Edgeworth, Lang is rather sure he may want to know it from him before he has to deal with Blackquill in the morning. With a sigh, Lang turns to glance at the sacks of sand in the coffin where Simon Blackquill's phantom should be.
I'd appreciate it if you didn't bring him up again. It's yourphantom we're after here, isn't it, Lang-dono?
"Not only her, not anymore," he says to no one in particular, and he shuts his eyes, his head starting to hurt just enough for him to know he'll be dealing with one hell of a headache very, very soon.
"Guten Morgen! Wright Anything Agency! This is-"
"Athena." Athena trails off when Simon's voice reaches her from the other side of the line, causing her to frown. On one hand she's always glad to hear from him – they haven't seen each other in court in a bit, come to think of it – but on the other hand, something is off with his voice. Something is bothering him, she can tell. "Simon! How are you?" she asks. Realizing it's not a client, Apollo sighs and keeps watering Charley.
"... Not as good as I'd like. But perhaps I can turn to you to regain my peace of mind," Simon says. He sounds tired, Athena thinks, in a way he hasn't sounded in two years. "I recall you mentioning that Fey-dono will be visiting your office these days."
"Yup! She's already here, really. Well, not here right now – she's at Gatewater Land with Mr. Wright, Trucy and Pearl. They should be back this afternoon, though! What is it about?"
She hears Simon drawing in a long breath before speaking again. "I know I'm asking much," he says. "But I find myself in need of her help once again. I need her to channel a spirit. It is a most urgent matter that simply cannot wait."
The request catches Athena by surprise, but then again she should have seen it coming: what else could he need Maya for, after all? "I'm sure she'll be glad to help, don't worry! Just come over this afternoon – anytime after three should do. So, who does she have to channel? Some murder victim? Are you that stuck?" she asks jokingly, but what Simon says next causes the smile to freeze on her lips.
"LaRoche. I need her to channel LaRoche."
"You idiot!"
Robb blinks, entirely taken aback by Seymour's outburst, and doesn't even have the time to hold up his hands before the other boy pushes him, hard, causing him to stumble back again the wall.
"Hey! What's wrong with you?" he protests, his self-satisfied grin finally fading entirely to turn into a scowl. He takes a step towards Seymour, and yelps in surprise when Seymour pushes him back again. He's angrier than he's ever seen him, Robb realizes, even more than when they were little kids and he killed a blackbird by mistake – and he has no idea why.
"What's wrong with you!" Seymour snaps. "What were you thinking? Bet you weren't! You never think!"
Robb frowns. Really, what is wrong with him? It's not like he did anything wrong. Some cop had seen him stealing from the market and had tried to chase him, so Robb had ran up a building's fire escape and lost him by leaping from one roof to the other. It was fun, really, and he did get away, so what was his problem?
"Hey, I had to get away, and the guy couldn't leap like I can and-"
"You could have died!" Seymour shrieks, cutting him off. Robb is both surprised and alarmed to see that there are tears welling up in his eyes. Seymour doesn't seem to acknowledge them. "You almost fell! I thought you would- you're an idiot!"
The accusing tone causes Robb to bite his lower lip. He doesn't like it when Seymour is upset, least of all when it's because of him, but it's not like he did anything wrong! He had to lose that cop, and going up the roofs was the quickest way to do it, and it worked. He's good, and even when he couldn't quite make the leap he was perfectly capable to grab the ledge and pull himself up.
"But I didn't fall!" he protests. "I never fall!"
Seymour seems about to scream again, but then he reaches up to rub his eyes and sniffles. "But you almost did," he chokes out. "I thought you would. I thought you'd die and I could only stand there and watch!"
Robb opens his mouth to speak, but no sound comes out for a few moments. He bites his lower lip again, feet shuffling on the floor. He was prepared to snap back, but he was not prepared to watch Seymour crying.
Suddenly, his usual excuse – I never fall! – seems incredibly dumb. It's true that he didn't and he doesn't really think he ever will, but he knows he'd be scared to death if he had to watch Seymour pulling a stunt like that and almost missing the roof. He would have died if he couldn't catch the ledge, and Seymour... Seymour would have been left all alone, again. Robb hadn't even thought about it until now.
You never think!
"... Hey, birdbrain...?" Robb finally calls out. He awkwardly reaches out for Seymour's shaking shoulder, but his hand stops in mid-air. "I, uh... sorry," he says weakly.
Seymour tears his hands off his face and opens his mouth to speak, glaring at him with reddened eyes, but the next moment the glare fades, leaving behind utter surprise as Robb's words sink in. "... What?"
Robb crosses his arms and looks away. "I'm sorry," he mumbles again. "Didn't mean to scare you."
"Are you feeling okay?" Seymour asks, and reaches to put a hand on his forehead. "You're warm," he says.
Robb snorts and slaps his hand away. "Hey! I'm serious!"
"That's a first," Seymour grins weakly before sniffling again and reaching up to dry his cheeks with a sleeve. When he speaks again, he sounds at least slightly angry again. "Don't give me a scare like that ever again."
Robb grins back. "No, mom," he says.
Seymour snorts and gives a halfhearted swipe Robb easily ducks under before reaching out to pull Seymour into a crushing bear hug. He expects the other boy to try struggling out of his grip, as he always does before they start wrestling a bit – and thus he's entirely taken aback when Seymour reaches to hold him back just as tight, burrowing his face against the side of his neck.
"Huh..." Robb mutters before clearing his throat. "... You sure you don't have fever, birdbrain?"
Seymour mumbles something against his neck that sounds a lot like 'idiot' before he pulls back and busies himself rolling his shirt's sleeve up, his face oddly reddened.
"If you die and leave me alone, I'll find a way to bring you back so that I can kick you ten ways to Sunday," he says without looking at him, and he turns to walk away before Robb can say anything.
But maybe it's better this way, because for the first time since when he can remember he's left speechless.
That and his face feels really, really warm.
"Mr. Fire! How are you this fine morning?"
"Ow!"
While that of recoiling was only an act – the Phantom is not so easily startled by a door opening and a sudden greeting, but Harrison Fire would be – the yelp of pain that leaves him is not. But Harrison Fire was the kind of man to pour hot coffee over his hands if startled, and the Phantom does just the same. Of course, he's careful to only pour coffee on his left hand; he doesn't want to ruin the patch of fake skin hiding the scar that crosses the back of his right one.
"Oh, my apologies. I didn't mean to startle you," Outis says, approaching him at the coffee machine and pulling a tissue out of his breast pocket to hand it to him. "I'm glad you didn't catch your shirt, too. It looks really expensive. Let me get you another cup," he adds, reaching for his pocket to pull out some coins.
Harrison smiles, wiping the coffee from his hand with the tissue Outis handed to him. "Only if you allow me to get you one in return," he says.
Who are you? How do you know of me?
The other man gives a pleasant laugh and he inserts some coins into the coffee machine. "It sounds like we have a deal. Later – I already had coffee so I could stay awake through my conversation with Mr. Drawers."
Harrison nods. Chester Drawers is the company's chief systems designer, and one of the men Dr. Dote insisted for Outis to meet. He's one of the few, aside from the CEO, who knows precisely what YggdraCorp is working on. A shame that they had no way to know who knew what beforehand, but they will have to work with what they have. That the CEO would know was obvious, but taking on her role was not an option: she's significantly shorter than both himself and the Yatagarasu, which makes it impossible for either of them to pass off as her. "So you have met with Chester already," he says.
Outis nods. "I have, yes. If I can be blunt, he's one of the most boring fellows I've ever met in my life."
Harrison chuckles. "You're far from the first one to say as much. Not precisely a load of fun, I agree."
The other man sighs. "Definitely not. Ah well. At least he could give me some details about Erysichthon."
Harrison blinks in confusion – confusion the Phantom doesn't have to fake. "Erysichthon?" he repeats. The name is familiar, but only because of memories of before, of the tales Seymour used to read and share with him when they were children. Erysichthon of Thessaly, he recalls – cursed by a goddess to suffer never-ending hunger that grew and grew the more he ate, until he devoured his own body.
Outis nods and hands him the cup of coffee just out of the coffee machine. "Oh, right. I forgot you weren't filled in with the details. The CEO intends to do so soon anyway, and therefore I have permission to discuss it with you. Erysichthon is how they call the toxin they're just now done testing."
A toxin, the Phantom thinks. He's not really surprised – that they wouldn't be using people to illegally test a cure for common cold didn't take much guesswork – but it's good to know what they're dealing with. He wonders if it has any connection to the peculiar state Stan Doff's body and that of the politician back in Reijam were found. "That's... a peculiar name," the Phantom says.
"It is. But a rather fitting one, I have to admit," is the reply. The Phantom waits for more, but he receives no further details: Outis turns his attention to the other vending machine instead and lets out a hum. "Say, would you mind if I took advantage of your offer to get a snack rather than coffee? I'm rather hungry myself."
Harrison nods and reaches in his pocket for some change. "Of course not. Here, take whatever you wish."
"Thank you! No matter how good your day is – it's never really good until you've eaten something."
He starved his kingdom, and yet he still hungered, Seymour's voice says somewhere in the back of his mind, but the Phantom forces himself to ignore it. He focuses on Outis whistling as he picks a snack instead.
"I wish I could be in such a good mood early in the morning," he says.
As a response, Outis laughs. "I have always been quite the early bird. But I have to admit I have an especially good reason to be glad today. You see, some deception was cleared up last night. A little trip to the cemetery was all it took to do so. We no longer are the only ones looking for a certain spy," he adds, picking up a chocolate swirl. "We'll see more of Prosecutor Blackquill, I wager. He now has a personal interest in the case he lacked before. He might just do most of the work for us, actually."
A icy hand seems to grip the Phantom's heart and squeeze as Harrison raises an eyebrow in polite confusion. "I'm afraid I'm not following," he says.
This is another hallucination. It must be. Please, let it not be real.
But it's no hallucination, because the next moment Outis gives him a pat on the shoulder that feels dreadfully real. "I'll explain you everything in the CEO's office this afternoon. See you then, and thanks for the snack," he adds before giving his chocolate roll a bite and walking past him, humming a tune to himself.
The Phantom stands still for several more moments, his mind still struggling to catch up with what he was just told, not quite knowing whether he feels like screaming or laughing himself into hysteria.
"Empty? What does it mean, empty?"
Even as the words leave her mouth, Athena can tell it's a very stupid question: empty means empty, of course. Still, she can't help herself: what Simon just told her was so unexpected it feels like being punched. How can it be? How could it happen?
Simon looks away, his mouth a grim line. "Precisely what it means. No body was found inside. We suspect body snatching, as the grave was damaged upon my arrival," he says. But the emotions raging in his heart – anger, hurt and even some measure of fear and hope – make it clear to her that there may be more to it than what he's letting by.
"Body snatching, or... what else?" she asks, her voice shaking slightly. The way Simon avoids her gaze is enough to tell her what the other possibility may be.
But it cannot be, she thinks numbly. It cannot be. They saw him die – saw him on the gallows, saw him fall. He's gone, he must be. He can't have- he wouldn't have-!
"... That's what we're here to find out," he says, and finally looks up to Maya, who's sitting in silence on the office's couch. She's the only one in the room with them: Mr. Wright took everyone else to get bowl of Eldoon's noodles as soon as Simon briefly explained they needed Maya for a channeling and that it would be best if no one but himself and Athena was present.
"My apologies for asking you such a favor this abruptly, Fey-dono," he adds. "I wouldn't have if this wasn't... truly important."
Maya smiles. "Hey, no problem. I mean, I wouldn't be much of a spirit medium if a channeling was that much of a deal, right? Years under icy waterfalls had to pay off at some point. That, and Nick is getting me burgers for later," she adds before looking down at the picture in her hands – the Phantom's picture from the police's archives – and sobering up.
She stares down at the picture for several long moments before she closes her eyes and her head drops forward, hair hiding it from view.
Athena holds her breath and reaches to put her hand on Simon's, wondering what she's even going to say when Maya looks back at them and it's not Maya anymore. They may face LaRoche again in mere moments and she's not even sure what they'd tell each other, how they would even explain the channeling, and... and what would LaRoche think? Would he be glad to see them? Would he-
And then Maya straightens herself, and it's still her – the focused expression now having changed into an utterly confused one. She blinks before looking back at them, then she sighs and slowly shakes her head before putting the Phantom's picture down.
Athena can hear Simon's heart skipping a beat, but he's still letting nothing show. As for her... no, is all she can think. It can't be. It cannot be!
She's snapped out of her denial by Maya's next words. "I... I'm sorry. I'm unable to channel him," she says, folding her hands on her lap and looking back at Simon – whose expression is still unreadable. And yet Athena can sense his disbelief turning to fury and pain and... and something else, something that isn't happiness but is still somewhere along the same spectrum.
You never wanted him dead, Athena thinks. Neither of us did.
He fooled us. He fooled both of us.
No. It can't be.
Thank you. For... for giving me a name, for making me someone. Thank you for not giving up on ... I'm sorry. For what it's worth, and I know it's worth less than nothing, I'm sorry.
Was it fake, all of it? Yet another act?
No. No, it can't be. His emotions were real, I know they were!
"... I see," is all Blackquill says. Athena bites her lower lip.
"Maybe... maybe this isn't the right place, or you're too tired, or...?" she says weakly, but Maya slowly shakes her head.
"No. I'm afraid... it could have been like that a few years ago, but now that I've mastered the technique I never fail, no matter the circumstances," Maya says, and turns back to Simon with an almost apologetic look. "The only possible reason why I may have failed to channel his spirit is that he's... well, he's not dead."
Her statement is followed by several moments of silence, then Simon stands up. His expression is stony, his hands balled into tight fists, the storm in his heart still raging.
"He will be when the time comes for him to cross swords with me again," he says, his voice quivering with anger, then he turns and leaves the room without another words to either of them.
Athena wants to call back for him, but she can't make her voice work: she just sits there in silence, her head spinning and her chest aching, not even knowing what she's feeling right now.