Tourniquet

(Warning: Cliff-hanger alert! Those who have read my other works know that I'm notorious for cliff-hangers, but I've been really nice in this story and haven't left very many. I'm about to start though! Anyway, enjoy!)

Chapter 12

Great! Just great! It was two in the morning and he hadn't even realized it. He was expected to be up and ready in exactly four hours and he had no idea how he was going to manage it.

Seventeen-year-old Miles Edgeworth stood from the oak desk he had been sitting at for the past few hours and stretched with a rather loud groan, not even bothering to gather up the books and papers strewn over the wooden surface. He knew he'd probably be scolded for it later, but he'd much rather take the scolding than to be literally kicked out of his bed for not getting up on time.

Rubbing his eyes to try and clear his vision, Miles began to slowly trudge from the library and up the stairs toward his bedroom. He really could have just fallen asleep while reading and not have even worried about practically dragging himself anywhere, but that would have probably gotten him hurt as well.

He had made it about halfway down the hall when a noise from one of the rooms caught his attention. It sounded like… sobbing. 'Not again,' he thought with an internal sigh. He knew exactly what he'd find behind that closed door, and it broke his heart every single time.

He placed his hand upon the doorknob and took in a deep breath before finally pushing the door open slowly. He glanced around the dimly-lit study for only a moment before spotting her, and his face drained of all color. "F-Franziska?"

The ten-year-old little girl lay curled up in a ball in the center of the empty room, sobbing and shaking uncontrollably. All around her soaking the carpet was a puddle of blood, and Miles could only conclude that it was her blood she lay in. Never before had he seen her hurt this badly. He knew that this could very well be a deadly situation. 'Damn it, Manfred!' he thought angrily, gritting his teeth at the mental image of that old man's sinister smirk.

The teen strode forward and crouched down at the child's side. "Franziska," he said softly, shaking her slightly. "Calm down, Sis; it's okay." In truth, he was terrified as well. He hadn't realized when standing in the doorframe just how much blood had pooled around her. However, he couldn't show his fear to her; she needed to try and calm down before he could help her.

"N-no!" she cried out desperately. "I… I don't wanna' die! Please… s-somebody…" She was so out-of-it that she didn't even know he was there.

"Oh my God…" Now Miles couldn't help but panic externally. He needed to stop the blood flow, but he couldn't find the wound. 'What did he do to her?' he questioned to himself while examining her carefully.

"M-Miles… H-help me…Miles…"

His heart leapt into his throat as he heard how weak her voice had suddenly become. She was fading fast and he still hadn't found the-

Miles gave a sharp gasp as he finally spotted what he had been looking for. On her right arm there was a gash running from the bottom of her palm to halfway between her wrist and elbow joint. Stunned, the young man sat back on his knees, his mouth hanging open and his face almost as pale as her cold skin. How could someone do this, especially to their ten-year-old daughter? He couldn't even fathom the amount of hate one would have to possess to commit such a heinous act.

"M… M-iles……"

"I'm here, Franziska," he said, leaning over her again. "I-I'll be… right back. Just… just hold on." Without wasting another second, the teen leapt up and ran faster than he ever thought he could to the nearest bathroom. From beneath the sink he retrieved a small towel and a box of bandages. There was no first-aid kit anywhere that he knew of, so this would have to do. He sprinted back down the hall and returned to her side.

His heart still racing, he began bandaging the wound as best he could before wrapping the towel around her arm very tightly, applying a great amount of pressure to try and stop the bleeding. All the while he kept whispering to her, trying to keep her calm. "I'm here, Franziska. You're going…to be okay, I promise. Just keep your eyes open. Stay with me, Sis. It's all right… Just, please…"

"What the hell is all the noise about at this time of the night!?"

Miles' breath hitched in his throat at the sound of that harsh German accent from behind him. He slowly turned his head to look over his own shoulder to see Manfred von Karma towering over them both. He looked, as usually, angry and irritated at the sight of them.

"Y-you…" Miles' fear had suddenly turned to fury and he was finding it nearly impossible to contain it. "Y-you… How could you…? She's… she's just a…"

Manfred didn't allow him to continue, kicking him hard in the ribs and sending him to the floor. "What are you babbling about, boy?" he growled, raising his oaken cane threateningly.

Miles gritted his teeth to keep from yelping and sat up again, every muscle in his body tense. "You know exactly what I'm talking about," he snarled, unable to control his rage any longer. "This is attempted murder! How could you?!" He was on his feet now, in a stance that suggested he was ready for a fight.

However, just as he expected the old man to start screaming at him, laughter reached his ears. 'Huh?' he thought, confused and a little worried.

"You want to accuse me of this, boy?" He raised his cane and swung it full force at Miles, sending him flying against the wall. "THEN PROVE IT!"

Miles hit the wall and fell hard to the floor, crying out involuntarily as the pain surged through him. As he lay there trying to regain his strength, he saw Manfred walk over to his daughter, still laughing. "Pathetic waste of life," he hissed as he pulled the dying child up by her hair. Miles' make-shift tourniquet had not stayed in place and the wound was bleeding freely again. He threw her back down, her body now completely limp.

"Franziska…" The teen couldn't believe what he was seeing. "N-no… You… YOU BASTARD!" With an enormous effort, he pushed himself onto his hands and knees, ready to kill. His blood was boiling now, an unimaginable rage had exploded within him. He dodged a blow from von Karma's cane and leapt to his feet. He had killed her; the only person Miles cared for now had just been murdered by her own father. He would pay!

The young man launched himself at his mentor, trying to get his hands around the old man's neck. However, this time he couldn't avoid that deadly weapon; it cracked over his head and a Roman Candle exploded before his vision, ceasing all thought and movement.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Miles sat bolt upright, cold sweat dripping from his trembling body and breathing as if he had just sprinted a mile. His eyes darted around the unfamiliar room as he tried to remember where he was and what was happening. His thoughts were racing just as fast as his heart, and he couldn't seem to get them straight.

"Mr. Edgeworth?" A man in a long white coat stepped into his view, looking concerned. "Are you all right, sir?"

'Doctor…' Everything was starting to slow down a bit. 'Doctor… Hospital ward… M-medical attention…'

Taking a deep and shaky breath, he tried to calm himself down. Okay, it was all starting to come back. He had been shot and now he was in the medical wing of an FBI building. He was being taken care of there while Wright and Detective Gumshoe helped a couple of agents search for…

He groaned miserably and put his face into his hands. "Franziska…" He was worried sick about her, and that nightmare had made it all the more painful. It had started out as a memory, something he could clearly remember taking place. However, it had taken a turn for the worse, and now he was terrified for her safety. He realized just how badly losing her would hurt, but there was nothing he could do. He was stuck here, unable to run to her rescue, unable to save her as she had saved him.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The sickening snap of the whip hitting her bare flesh resounded throughout the room, followed by another agonized scream. Franziska lay completely exposed at Brad's feet, battered, bleeding, and broken. Dark bruises and deep gashes covered her body, and more were to come, for he wasn't finished yet.

"How does it feel!?" Brad shouted, lashing the whip again and savoring her cries. "It doesn't seem you enjoy being on the receiving end, do you, bitch!?" The cold leather hit her again, leaving a deep red mark across the back of her neck to join the rest of her scars. He then gave her a swift kick, sending her against the wall and causing her to wretch, splattering more blood all over the floor.

"S-stop," she begged, choking on more blood that was still caught in her throat. "Please… stop…"

Her pleads fell on deaf ears as she was dragged away from the wall, and she had to brace herself for another round of humiliation and pain. She couldn't take much more of this; at this point, death seemed a welcome end to it all.

'Miles…' she thought suddenly, the image of the blood erupting from a gunshot wound onto his black tux fresh in her mind. He couldn't be dead; she wouldn't accept it. If only she could look into his eyes just one more time before this man took her life. She couldn't bare the thought of dying alone with no one left that cared. She wanted to feel that warm embrace, to lose herself in his gentle yet protective arms one last time. Just one last kiss: not one intended to hurt or humiliate her, but a true kiss, the type of kiss that he had taught her about those years ago and that he had shared with her numerous times since they had been together. An expression of love, caring, and compassion.

She was certain now that she'd never feel those things again as she saw the sadistic face of Brad Sanders looming just above her. The one person who had ever truly cared for her was gone, and she was about to join him. Still, something within her was compelling her to stay strong, to fight, even though her body had almost reached the point of uselessness. There had to be something, and her eyes darted frantically around that Godforsaken room, searching for anything at all that could help her.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Hey, you're awake." Phoenix Wright had entered the medical wing to find Miles sitting up in bed. The prosecutor's eyes looked a bit glazed over, a side-effect of the pain medicine he had been given, but other than that he seemed fully awake. He also looked very troubled.

"Any news?" he asked, his speech a bit slurred.

Wright shook his head sadly. "No," he answered. "I'm sorry," he added, seeing the look of worry on Edgeworth's face worsen.

"Damn it…" He looked now as if he was holding back tears as he lowered his head in frustration and sadness. "Why? Why can't they find her?"

Phoenix sighed and took a seat on the end of Edgeworth's bed. "Look, Tilea and Ares are working their hardest. It's just that with the time frame we're looking at-"

Phoenix had stopped speaking so suddenly upon seeing Miles jump a little as if surprised by something. Then, a low vibrating sound came to his attention. "What's that?" he asked, looking across at his friend, but he quickly noticed that Edgeworth had his cell phone in his hand. "Who is it?"

Miles was staring at the front display of the phone, his expression unreadable, though it didn't appear the news was very pleasant. Slowly, he flipped the front of it up and brought it to his ear.

As Phoenix watched, he saw Miles' complexion turn deathly pale, as if he had just seen a ghost.