Lots of people were already in their seats by the time Maya and her friends entered the auditorium. The crowd was a wide mix of people, from moustached men in suits wearing monocles and fat ladies in furs and jewels, to casually dressed people with hopeful smiles on their faces, some bringing their families along with them for the show. The rich people had private booths from which they could observe the performance from afar, while everybody else was grouped closely together in the stands. Maya could see the glinting of light off of gaudy jewelry from where she currently stood.
Their seats were all the way up the front. It was in the second row, not the first, but they were still pretty good seats all the same. They crept in single file through the row, Edgeworth first, Maya, then Gumshoe, Larry and Amber. Larry was trying to get his girlfriend to switch off her phone for the show. He was pretty unsuccessful so far. A general murmur was in the air, of dozens and dozens of audience members all talking quietly at once. "So what's Hamlet about specifically?" Maya asked her friends around her.
Before anybody could answer the lights began to dim. The show was beginning! The voices in the background quieted down and hushed up, so near silence was all around them. Maya smiled. This was so exciting! From the pit near the stage the orchestra struck up a low, haunting overture, and the rich red curtains parted back to reveal the first scene. It was on top of a castle at night, with thick angry thunderclouds hanging overhead. Maya realised that the composer of this score had tried to make it sound like the coming of thunder, and evil.
Nick didn't seem to be in the opening scene. Two men wearing heavy armor and carrying spears came from either side of the wings, obviously guardsmen defending the castle. The feather plumes on the tops of their helmets and their locks of hair underneath blew gently in an artificial wind. The audience could nearly smell the storm that was about to come.
The sentinels met at the center of the battlements but because of the darkness they didn't appear to see each other clearly. "Who's there?" one cried and the other answered powerfully, strongly; "Nay, answer me. Stand and unfold yourself!"
"Long live the king!"
From that point on the play spiraled down into a morbid, tragic tale of murder and deceit. Maya hadn't expected a cheerful and happy play from the beginning, but she was surprised at how deeply and ferociously the story was set on revenge. People were murdered without repercussion, didn't people have to answer for their crimes in those days? The cast of characters mostly seemed to be filled by villains with smiling faces, but as the play progressed Hamlet seemed to become the most degenerate villain of all.
It didn't take long for Nick to appear on the stage. He was cast into the role of the main character, so he had to turn up sooner or later. But the funny thing was that it didn't really feel like Nick was up there, acting his little heart out. It felt like the man raving and plotting and swearing vengeance only looked like Phoenix Wright, just in appearance, because in everything else he had become Hamlet, prince of the Danes. He spoke his lines perfectly, acted and reacted perfectly, and seemed to give the entire performance life.
It was good acting, but it was also a little creepy, mostly because Maya and the others hadn't known that Nick had that sort of talent in him. Indeed, as Hamlet, Horatio and the sentinels met with the ghost of the dead king and forged a pact of silence and madness Edgeworth folded his arms, displaying a small smirk. "I have seen a few actors better than him in my experience," the prosecutor said haughtily, "but I have seen many, many more that weren't." That was the closest thing to praise that Miles could probably give.
Sitting at Maya's left Gumshoe watched the play with childlike curiosity. He was following the story, just barely, and any parts that he didn't understand he tried to fill in with reasoning instead. This wasn't as entertaining as the little bear with the fez would have been, but it certainly was more interesting. As Hamlet descended into fits of hysterical maddening laughter, confused Rosencrantz and Guildenstern with nonsense and rhetoric, and chased the lady Ophelia about, tearing at her skirts and howling abuse Gumshoe shook his head and sighed. "Boy, if I ever caught somebody like that walking the streets I'd put him in the funny farm faster than you can say 'nutcase'." He said.
The play continued, then turned inside out on itself when Hamlet hired a troupe of actors to put on a performance for him, the king and his courtiers. He urged them to reenact the murder of Gonzago, craftily orchestrating the play to resemble the real death of his father by his uncle, the current king. Hamlet was acting just like a prosecutor, planning to press his accused with the sequence of the murder to see if he would crack. Hamlet voiced the idea well himself, murmuring to the audience; "The play's the thing! Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king!"
Eventually there was a brief intermission. It only lasted fifteen minutes or so but Maya was impatient to see the rest of the story. She shifted her weight from foot to foot, wondering if the king would admit to the murder, or if he'd be totally cool and deny everything. The girl turned to Edgeworth who was talking to one of the richer audience members about the show. It looked like they knew each other or something.
He had seen Hamlet before, lots of times it seemed, but she didn't want the older man to give the story away. During the next intermission she'd get to talk to Nick again. She had at least two dozen questions to ask him, but for now he'd need the break off stage. Knowing Phoenix he'd probably be doing what he usually did during a courtroom recess; drinking a huge glass of water and fretting over what was going to happen next.
Maya overheard a brief snippet of Edgeworth's conversation. "I knew this was going to be a particularly interesting show because I have seen the theatrical farces he puts on in court. That talent had to come from somewhere! In any case it is good to see you still attend periodically, Mr. Begucci." The other man said something, but his accent was weird so she didn't understand him, then there was laughter.
The lobby was totally crowded during the intermission but soon enough they were back in their seats again, and the play within a play was starting to begin. Larry had sneakily managed to creep an arm around his girlfriend and Gumshoe had procured a bag of popcorn from somewhere. This was odd, because the theater didn't sell food. He offered some to Maya with a silly grin and she gladly took a handful, munching them one at a time.
It was a very surreal experience to be sitting in an audience watching a play, while the actors themselves were gathered around and also watching a play. The evidence was being presented, would it work? A puppet king slept on a miniature stage as an evil little mannequin crept up to it silently, murdering the puppet with a vial of poison. As the dead king was placed into the ground the slimy murderer began to court the dead king's widow, taking her as his wife and also the crown of Denmark.
The music reached a crescendo as the murderer-king watching the play stood bolt upright and screamed; "Give me some light!", fleeing from the room. Maya gasped and jumped a little as the king moved so quickly, nearly stumbling over Polonius as he was sitting close by. A guilty action if Maya ever saw one! She grinned, but her grin faded as Hamlet also reacted to the expression of guilt, bursting into a frenzy of accusations and driving everybody, including his mother out of the room.
In the beginning Hamlet had sworn that he was only pretending to be mad, but now Maya was not so sure. If his madness was an act then it was too good, too real. Edgeworth leant over to her slightly. "This next scene is my favorite part of the play. Hamlet has acquired a guilty verdict and all that remains to be done now is the sentencing, judgement. In the chapel Hamlet decides to murder the king, who is praying for absolution from God."
As a prosecutor, that probably would be Edgeworth's favorite part. The sense of revenge that Hamlet held was destroying him and everybody around him, but he was now too insane to notice. Maya thought that if he'd stoop to murder to get his revenge then he was no better than the king. Phoenix really did his best bit of acting all night in that scene, he managed to keep Hamlet in a sense of madness while speaking softly, calmly, reservedly. It was chilling to watch.
But Hamlet did not slay the king. If he committed murder within a church he was certain that his uncle's soul would go to heaven while his own would definitely go to hell. He stole away before detection, and finally, though unknowingly, the last scene of the night began.
It would be a killer, this one.
xxx
It was only a little more than halfway through the play and Nick was already thoroughly exhausted. No matter what anybody said it took a herculean effort to set the acting pace for everybody to follow, remember all of his lines and then perform all the actions and running about to accompany them. It took a lot of work to play the fool, it seemed. He had only a minute or two while the stage was rearranged into the queen's bedroom to take a breather, put his prop sword down and wipe the sweat from his brow. It had been a cold day outside but under the flooding stage lights it had felt like the Sahara desert out there.
Phoenix raised both his hands to rearrange some droopy spikes of hair back into their proper place. He reckoned he was doing an okay job out there, nobody was throwing rotten fruit at him at least, but he hoped that he was living up to the standards that Polonius had set him against. That old man had given him these shoes to fill, had given him a chance when he needed one the most, and for that Nick was grateful. The only thing he could do to repay him was to make this play a success.
Well, that wasn't entirely true. If he wanted to he could forgive him for the trouble that had happened four years ago, but that wouldn't be happening any time soon. That wouldn't be happening ever. Even if this job from Polonius was just a silent apology over what had happened Nick wouldn't be able to accept it. That was just the way things were.
But he didn't have time to be thinking about junk like that; the stage was almost ready. He had had a little trouble with ignoring the audience out in front of him, although he knew that he was supposed to pretend that the stage was the entire world and the audience did not exist. Sometimes he found himself stealing a peek at his friends in the front row, desperately wanting to know what they thought of the play, of him. Were they caught up in the action or recoiling with the sheer awfulness of it all? He needed to know.
This scene was the one where Polonius was to be stabbed. He knew it off by heart and had practiced it well, because this was the scene that ignited the rivalry between Hamlet and Laertes, and the insanity in Ophelia. If it wasn't done right those other scenes would lose their value. Nick got up from where he had been leaning against a piece of castle but the actor playing Rosencrantz stopped by and gave him a smile before he could leave. He grabbed Nick heartily by the arm and distributed a rough shake. "You're doing great. Keep it up!" He said proudly.
"Yeah!" Guildenstern chimed from behind him. Phoenix flinched, but that actor had a habit of popping up at strange times. The messy-haired, stubbly man had both his hands behind his back. "Go on out there and kill that pompous chamberlain. As for me, I'd better get in position too." He declared.
"Me too." Rosencrantz agreed and shoved Nick over to the entrance before Guildenstern could move. "Make it look real." He whispered with a hint of mischief, then let him go.
Something seemed wrong in their eagerness to get him back on stage but he was in too much of a hurry to think anything of it. Already the queen was urging Polonius to hide behind the curtains on stage, where he would remain until he was impaled on Hamlet's sword. Nick patted his scabbard lightly to make sure he was armed. He had picked his sword back up just before Rosencrantz had led him to the entrance. It'd mess up the play if Hamlet tried to kill Polonius without a weapon.
When Queen Gertrude looked toward him offstage that was his cue to get back into the limelight. His motivation was that his mother wanted to soothe him and wrest the truth from him, cover it up before Hamlet could do anything drastic to the king. It seemed pretty straightforward, so off he went. "Now mother, what's the matter?" He called irritably as he stepped back onto center stage.
The queen was sitting on her bed, counseled by Polonius on what to say, and willing to sacrifice the welfare of her son for the sake of her new husband. Her enormous dress and jewels seemed to suffocate her. "Hamlet, thou hast thy father much offended."
And the queen has such a nerve to call Hamlet's father's murderer his real father. No wonder the prince was so upset. "Mother, you have my father much offended!" He declared with righteousness and anger. Meanwhile, behind the scenes, other events were beginning to take hold…
Faking tears, the queen looked away. She brushed at her face with a many-ringed hand. On stage crying on command was a precious gift. This actress had learned it well. She really did look like a mother whose child had forsaken her. "Come, come, you answer with an idle tongue."
He matched her accusation with one of his own, playing to the structure of her words. "Go, go, you question with a wicked tongue."
Her soft brown eyes looked up at him demurely. "Why, how now, Hamlet?"
There was a reason why he had been brought to this chamber and he wanted to know it, so he could finish this business and get back to the task at hand, organizing the murder of his uncle. There was much to be done. He loved his mother, though he despised her choices, and knew that she was wasting his time. "What's the matter now?" He asked, exasperated.
His traitorous mother sobbed theatrically. She had lost her first husband to death and her only son to madness. What was she to do? "Have you forgot me?"
Hamlet came forward and knelt by her bed, covered in silks, and took his mother's soft hand. "No, by the rood, not so. You are the queen, your husband's brother's wife, and, would it were not so, you are my mother."
She tried to accept his clarity, even though it was probably a lie. From the curtains came a rustle, then a whisper, and then a tiny laugh. "Nay, then I'll set those to you that can speak."
In his heart of hearts he wanted to forgive her, he wished that he could, but that sort of forgiveness was not in him. His growing madness told him one very simple fact. Only God would be able to forgive her, and the quickest way to send his dear incestuous mother to God was through death. She would not be able to interfere with his revenge if she was dead. Hamlet stood and drew his sword upon her, brandishing it threateningly. "Come, come and sit you down, you shall not budge. You go not until I set you up a glass where you may see the inmost part of you." He intoned.
Nick heard some of the audience, those who hadn't seen this play before gasp at this rash act of madness. He must have really gone mad if he found it reasonable to kill his own mother. The queen gave a little cry and slid back on her bed to get away from the sword, cowering and shielding her face with her hands. She thought that he would do it, that her son was capable of matricide. "What will you do?" She whimpered. "Thou wilt not murder me? Help, ho!"
This was the cue for Polonius to cry out as well. He was slightly late, perhaps by a second, but it didn't register in Nick's mind at the time that the voice coming from behind the curtains was not that of Polonius. "What, ho! Help!" It called, then it was all over.
Maybe Phoenix Wright was getting a little too into the role of Hamlet, because he turned to the curtains eagerly and let the audience see the murderous gleeful expression on his face as he rushed to the drapery, taking up his blade with both of his hands. That expression had been hard-earned, hard to make, and had come about from many sessions of practice in college. He was proud of using it. "How now?" He shouted zealously, raising up his sword to strike. "A rat! Dead for a ducat, dead!"
On the final exclamation of 'dead' he thrust the sword into the curtains with all the strength that he had. It made the stabbing look real but a moment later he realised that he'd probably bruised poor Polonius with the end of the retractable sword. Oh well, no matter. He'd apologise later.
However…
He knew there was something horribly wrong when Polonius didn't scream. You'd think that it'd be the other way around or something, with a scream meaning the worst of things, but it had been written into the play for Polonius to shout in pain and agony. The silence meant that something had gone wrong, the deep, sick way that Phoenix had stabbed meant that something had gone wrong. In his hands he had felt it, the way that the blade of the sword had met a barrier and sunk past it, pushed deeper by the thrust of his stab.
It had not meant to be that way, and there was supposed to be a scream. Polonius would never forget such a simple line. Nick was still hunched over with the grip of the sword in his hands, most of the blade disappearing into the curtains and beyond. Even if the blade had retracted fully it was not meant to go in so deeply. A trickle of perspiration ran down the side of his face and his neck, the stage lights were so hot and bright that they threatened to confuse him. Time seemed to slow down into a crawl. He wasn't supposed to move until Polonius screamed, that was the cue to yank the sword back out again.
A few seconds passed. All the attention of the theater was directed squarely at him. He couldn't hesitate and mess up the flow of the play, he'd have to skip the cue and just follow on with the script. Queen Gertrude was still sprawled out on her bed and looked at him with wide-eyed surprise. It was obviously feigned, it had to be. His friends in the audience watched with baited breath, wanting to see if Nick was on the verge of a spectacular burst of acting or if he was just going to mess up. He swallowed hard to clear the dryness in his throat and stepped back a pace, pulling the sword out with him.
Nick's blood ran cold as he felt something beyond the curtains resist having the sword pulled back. It was like plunging a leg into mud, or into very thick quicksand. The coldness started in his chest and spread out to devour every limb, every pore and every vein, until it felt like he had just taken a dunk in Gourd Lake during wintertime. The crowd began to murmur; they were now sensing that something had gone wrong. Nick pulled for a second time and finally the sword came free. It was almost a relief to discover what had happened, though that relief lasted for only a nanosecond or so.
The tip and along the length of the sword, about a foot long, was soaked in blood. A little bead of the stuff was forming at the very end of the weapon, but when Phoenix raised it slightly to get a better look the blood slid away and dribbled down, towards his trembling hands. It was blood, oh God, it was blood. Not the bright fake kind they had used during their dress rehearsals, but the thick dark gunky stuff that Nick had seen in photos while pouring over case files at work. There was no mistaking it, this was real blood.
For a ghost of a second Nick could have sworn that he heard a faint whisper coming from the curtains, but he was far too busy staring at the blood to notice any of that. To him the audience ceased to exist, the stage lost all relevance and it was just him standing there, the curtains containing a secret that was just too frightening to comprehend. In the front rows Maya looked to Edgeworth for answers. "Why's he just standing there? Is this in the play?"
Edgeworth was staring intently at the stage, the fine hairs on the back of his neck standing up like crazy. This was how it was meant to happen in the play, but Hamlet was not meant to look so frightened. Had Wright forgotten his lines? No, probably not. If he had he'd just start ad libbing instead. If this look of fear was real acting then the defense attorney deserved a stack of awards for his efforts. "I don't know. I think he's just-" He began.
Then the body fell out onto the stage and all doubts were erased. The kindly old man who had played Polonius hit the ground all twisted and crumpled-like, with a considerable amount of force. Polonius' eyes were just showing the whites, his mouth was wide open and slack, and his skin was blotchy and discolored. His tongue lolled out of his mouth resembling a fat, sated leech. A faint spattering of fake red blood burst from below him as he hit the stage but the authentic wound was in his chest, where blood was gushing out like a ruptured pressure pump.
Funnily enough, not everybody in the theater had caught onto the notion that a real murder had just taken place right in front of their eyes. They still thought it was all part of the show. Heck, even a few of them applauded the wonderful display of acting skill. Two of these people included Dick Gumshoe and Larry Butz. Amber was too busy sending a text message to notice, but Maya bit the heel of her hand in fright and Miles Edgeworth narrowed his eyes. They had experienced enough murder to recognise it taking hold.
Phoenix Wright went absolutely white with dread. He went beyond that, all the blood draining from his face making him seem an ashen grey. He reached out and wiped his fingers along the bloodied part of his sword, just to see if it was real or not. The blood was sticky and hot, so hot, as it had just been flowing through a living person's heart only seconds earlier. A high-pitched keening sound escaped from Nick's throat, a light quiet wail that he could not conceal. Literally, the blood was on his hands now.
People were talking and muttering to each other, some were gasping, but when the actress playing Queen Gertrude screamed like a woman from a cheesy fifties horror flick and promptly passed out the accompanying screams and shouts began. Cries of; "He's killed him for real!" "I don't believe it!" and, "Somebody call an ambulance!" began to shoot back and forth across the auditorium like tracer fire.
Nick was still standing there like a statue. The growing pool of blood from Polonius' stab wound was creeping towards his feet but he didn't dare move. His legs felt like they had become bolted to the floor. People from the audience were shouting at him but he couldn't see beyond the first three or four rows; the stage lights were too strong. He looked at the body again. It was still there and it was real. "I…" He gasped, finally able to take a shaky step away. He dropped his sword, the murder weapon. It clattered to the ground. "I killed…" He gasped.
Cries for an ambulance were diminishing and cries for the police to be notified were growing instead. Poor Gumshoe was looking about wildly, perplexed. What was going on? Edgeworth stood bolt upright all of a sudden and shouted to the only conscious living actor on the stage. Miles could have a rather loud voice when he wanted to, so he was confident that his words would reach him. "Wright! What have you done?" He demanded.
Phoenix couldn't take his eyes off the body. He just couldn't. He had caused this. He had killed someone. He was a murderer. Edgeworth's voice sounded very close by but felt very distant. "I don't know… I didn't want this to happen…" It seemed like he was becoming disoriented. Actually, his body was locking down into shock. "I killed him. I really killed him. God, I'm sorry…"
"Oh man…" Gumshoe had at last put all of the pieces together now and he had risen from his place too, climbing over a row of seats in front of him to get to the stage. He didn't look away from the scene of the crime, as he was professionally supposed to do, and his hands fumbled around at his belt for something that he'd need. He ascended to the stage through one of the side staircases and Maya was suddenly terrified that he might pull a gun out on Nick.
She knew that Gumshoe walked around armed in case any funny stuff went on, but she had never imagined the large, decidedly bumbling detective would ever have to use it. A horrible thought ripped into her mind. What if Gumshoe was going to shoot him? They had just seen a murder take place and the murderer was standing there like a dazed idiot. Shooting him would be like shooting fish in a barrel. Were detectives allowed to shoot murderers on sight? Maya didn't know. "Dick!" She cried, waving her arms around and nearly swatting Edgeworth across the face. "Please don't!"
But Gumshoe couldn't listen to her. He was the only cop on the scene; he had to do his job. Fortunately what Dick took from his belt wasn't a gun, it was a set of handcuffs. When he got up onto the stage the lights hit him strongly. It was a totally different environment up there. Phoenix wasn't very far away from him near the left hand side of the stage, but Gumshoe had to take a roundabout way in reaching him so as not to disturb the crime scene. There was blood on the wooden floors, almost like a small lake. Other places included the dropped murder weapon and Nick's hands, which were shaking.
Nick did a very stupid thing now and tried to wipe the blood on his hands off onto his shirt. All he succeeded in doing was to smear the evidence around and implicate him further. He barely registered it when Gumshoe leapt up behind him and seized both of his arms, forcing them with phenomenal strength behind his back. If Gumshoe ever quit the force he'd always have the option to become a professional wrestler, Phoenix thought deliriously and hysterically as a pair of cold, vice-like metal clamps cinched down about his wrists.
The rest was just formality. Gumshoe felt awful saying it. "Phoenix Wright, I am arresting you for the crime of murder on the fifteenth of Janurary, two thousand and seventeen. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney one will be made available to you through order of the state…" As he was saying this Gumshoe was also reaching for his radio. He quit his little speech for the moment to call in for some uniformed help.
Meanwhile ushers were running about crazily trying to herd people out of the theater. Nick's legs became wobbly, he sagged against Gumshoe's broad front. Thankfully his friend didn't let him fall over, he held onto Phoenix by the shoulder as he talked into his radio. The defense attorney thought that Dick had responded really well to an emergency. It was surprising considering how much of a goof he was.
Of course, Nick was only trying to think of this to keep his mind off the dead person on the floor. He looked toward his friends still in the front row. Larry and Amber seemed deeply shocked, Maya was in tears and Edgeworth had his hand over his mouth to mask whatever kind of expression was forming under there. They had seen it all.
It was too much to cope with. He began to black out.
"I'm sorry." He said one last time, before he fainted.
xxx
Two hours later, after the performance had been cancelled and Nick was taken away Maya, Edgeworth and Larry were standing outside of the theater building, hiding under the jutting roof to avoid the rain. It had been cloudy and dreary all day long but in the night the rain had come. It was about ten thirty by Edgeworth's watch. Gumshoe had left along with the other uniformed police to get Phoenix escorted to the station. He had revived from his faint later on and he was anything but violent, yet it was mandatory for a murderer to have a fully armed escort all the same.
His three friends had observed him getting into the cop car morosely, watched Gumshoe gently remind him to mind his head as they bundled him into the vehicle. Nick looked back at them tearfully before he disappeared behind the tinted glass. Not long after that Larry's girlfriend Amber had left, saying something about having work early tomorrow morning. She didn't even kiss him goodnight, getting into her luxury car and driving away. For once Larry didn't go on and on about it, and that was one tiny consolation for the night.
Maya wrapped her raincoat tightly about her body. She felt very cold. "I don't know what I'm gonna do now. Nick's the only one with keys to the apartment." She said quietly to herself. She couldn't go home if she couldn't get inside the apartment, and it was already too late to find a hotel. There wasn't enough money in her pockets to pay for a room, anyway.
Edgeworth hadn't spoken to Maya when Phoenix wasn't around. He had never had a reason to before. Now that the spiky-haired man was gone nobody had stopped to think about what was going to happen to this girl. As far as Miles knew Nick had been a stand-in guardian for her ever since her older sister had died. It was the only way the penniless defense attorney would be able to afford anything as extravagant as an assistant. Maya was still trembling two hours later from the cold and the emotion, her cheeks wet with tears.
She turned to the gangly man with the goatee. He looked like her only way into getting a bed for the night, not that she'd be able to sleep or anything. Maya hadn't felt this awful since the night of her sister's murder. "Larry, can I crash at your place tonight? I won't be a problem, I promise." She asked, clasping her hands together.
Larry sweatdropped. Ordinarily he'd be happy to help out a friend in need, because that was what friends were for, but he had a problem that made everything rather difficult. "Oh geez, sorry. I'm sorry kid. I'm kind of between homes right now. I haven't found a place I can afford yet. Plus my old girl has half of my stuff at her place still. I'm camped out behind my hotdog stand on the lake. You came come camp out with me if you'd like."
But Larry would only have enough camping equipment for one person, himself. The lake was cold, especially during the winter season. Maya's spirits fell further. "Thanks, but no thanks. Maybe I can go down to the police station and they can arrange something for me." She said with a sigh. It was a good long walk from the theater to the station, Maya would be lucky if she got there before midnight. The girl wished that she had thought of the idea earlier, then she could have asked for a lift from the policemen who had taken Nick away.
Maya tied her coat about her waist and began to walk away, but as she passed Edgeworth by he reached out and took her by the elbow. It was late, too late for a young girl to be walking the streets alone. Anything could happen, one crime had already been committed and they didn't need any more. Edgeworth wasn't necessarily a caring person but courtesy was better than nothing. "Wait. You don't have to walk. I'll give you a lift." He offered.
The girl looked up at him and sniffed, wiping her eyes with the back of a hand. She was upset not just because Nick had been taken away, but because such a nice man, Polonius, had died needlessly tonight. She hadn't even found out his real name. Now Edgeworth was being kind to her. In one evening the world had gone topsy-turvy. Maya thought for a bit and then nodded once. "Okay." She said with another sniff.
After saying goodbye and goodnight to Larry Maya followed Edgeworth to his car, parked in the VIP car park area. The girl had her head down, letting the young prosecutor lead her by the hand. Most of the shock from earlier had faded away but she still couldn't really function properly, not on her own. It was nice of Edgeworth to do this for her, he didn't have any obligation to be kind.
Edgeworth's bright red sports car was easy to spot even in the darkness of the night. It just screamed 'money to burn'. They walked under the dim street lights and Miles opened up the back door for her, letting Maya crawl inside. The car still smelled new and the seats were leather and comfortable, almost like sitting on a cloud. Nobody said anything. There was no need.
Miles got into the driver's seat and Maya strapped herself in, looking listlessly out the window as the car came to life with a smooth purr and backed out of the car park. Looking out of the rearview mirror Edgeworth saw one of the actors from the play leaning against a street light, enjoying a cigarette. Guildenstern looked quite different dressed in casual clothes. He was grinning.
The drive to the station was long and very quiet. The traffic was minimal and it took half an hour to get there. Edgeworth knew that Wright's office was a short walk away and his apartment only a stone's throw, but if the girl didn't have the key to get in there wasn't any point in heading over there. It was a shame. She'd probably end up sleeping on a bench in the station's lobby, no better than a criminal.
He parked and got out of the car to open the door for Maya. The thick heavy rain had lightened into a fine drizzle. Eventually, in the early morning it would turn into fog. Edgeworth turned up the collar of the coat anyway to block out the rain. It had been a long night. He never would have expected anything like this happening the day before. It just went to show how surprising and cynical life really was.
When he opened the door to get Maya out he noticed that she was already asleep. It was an exhaustive, aftershocked sleep, something that he couldn't wake her from even as he gently shook her shoulder. Maya's face remained serene and calm. Edgeworth entertained the idea of maybe carrying her into the station, but doing that and dumping her on a bench somewhere didn't seem right. With a sigh he closed the door again.
He lived in a very big house, there were several unused guest rooms waiting to be filled. Having a guest for once might not be such a bad thing, provided she remained asleep. It would be better than here, the station.
Sometimes he was just too nice for his own good. Edgeworth berated himself for it sharply. He'd probably regret it later. "Damn it…" He said roughly to himself as he took the wheel again, taking himself and his unexpected guest back home.