Quicksand

Chapter 7: Mind Over Matter

"Miles! Miles, wake up! Please, wake up..."

That voice... That fearful, worried voice... He knew it... He loved it... He wanted to do what it was pleading him to, but... it was difficult...

The male prosecutor began to stir, a small gasp for breath and a pained groan the first signs of life he displayed. His gasp was echoed, and Franziska stepped back just a little to give him room to breathe. "Miles..."

Slowly, he opened his eyes, staring down at the foggy image of carpeting a couple of feet below him. He was lying on something hard and uncomfortable...

….wait... No!

He looked up with another gasp, this one out of shock as he stared at the frightened expression of his lover and their surroundings. He was in the study... lying on the desk... and according to the natural sunlight flooding in through the open door from the library, he'd spent the night unconscious in here.

And Franziska was just as horrified, having spent all morning looking for him and finally coming in here to find him passed out face-down on the desk, one arm hanging limp over the side of it... a dog collar around his neck. "Miles... Wh-what were you doing in here...?" she asked. "A-are you all right...?"

He was shaking, staring at the wooden surface beneath him, the events of the previous night streaming back to him, making his stomach turn cartwheels, creating a powerful nausea. "I... I don't know..." he choked, beginning to tremble.

"Come on..." Franziska whispered in an urgent tone. "Get down from there... please..." She reached one arm across his back to grip his sides, hoping to help him down. He accepted her assistance, giving another groan as he realized how soar he was. He managed to slide off of the desk, but he stumbled and had to grip the edge of it to prevent himself from falling to the floor. Extremely worried, Franziska kept tugging at his arm, pulling him over to the couch and sitting him down on it.

He sat there panting heavily, gripping at the fabric of the old gray t-shirt he'd worn to bed along with his light gray sweatpants. He flinched slight when he felt Franziska's hands on his neck, only having realized at that moment what he was wearing around it.

"Why do you have this on?" she asked, her face pale and terror-stricken. She undid the buckle at the back of his neck and drew the collar away.

"I... I didn't put it on..." he protested meekly, trying to defend some semblance of dignity he might have had at the present time.

"Was someone in here with you?" she pressed as she threw the collar carelessly toward the wall. She was beginning to panic, now thinking he'd been attacked or something like that.

"N-no..." he replied, shaking his head. "I... I came d-down here b-because I had a strange... dream that I was... l-looking for something and... and the door slammed... a-and the lights came on... a-and the note and... and..."

"Stop... Miles, stop... Hush..." She'd realized suddenly that he was in a frantic state, and the last thing she needed to do was panic right along with him. She was working to calm herself down so that she could help him relax. She needed a coherent response from him, and that wasn't what she was getting. "Come on... Let's... go upstairs... You don't need to... be in here..."

"Franziska, I'm telling the truth! I-"

"Miles! Come with me..." She closed her hand on his, tugging gently to get him to stand up. He tried to swallow his fear and shakily stood up to go with her, to leave this dreadful room. Franziska flipped the switch to turn the lights off, locked the door, and closed it behind them as they left. She led him along, refusing to stop until they had ascended the stairs and reached their bedroom.

Miles felt an overwhelming sense of relief when he was finally able to lie down on the soft mattress, and he finally felt it was possible to calm down. Franziska stood over him, running her fingers through his hair, silently waiting and watching...

What had happened to him...? She was suddenly terrified for his mental health. She'd known this had all troubled him, that it was difficult for him to deal with, but this... this indicated that he was becoming disturbed on a much deeper level. Why had he gone down to her father's study in the dead of night... dawned that collar... and lain down on the desk...? It made her sick to her stomach to think about what this could mean.

…On a subconscious level... did Miles miss the abuse...?

"Franziska, I... I didn't put that collar on..."

She was snapped out of her thoughts and fears by his voice, a near whisper that pleaded for her to understand and believe him. "But you were wearing it, Miles... How else would it have made its way around your neck if no one knew where you were...? And... why were you there in the first place?"

"...It... was a dream..." he whispered, closing his eyes as he allowed himself to visualize the events of the previous night. "...I had a dream that... I went down there looking for something, but it was... dark and... and I woke up before I discovered what it was... It had all felt so real, so I... I had to go see for myself... I went down to that study and... and the door was unlocked... I didn't turn on the lights as I went in, but... they suddenly... came on by themselves when I was trying to find... w-whatever I'd been looking for in the dream..."

"That doesn't make sense..." Franziska murmured, shaking her head. "That's impossible... Are you sure there wasn't... someone in there messing with you...?"

"I looked..." he assured her, opening his eyes to stare up at his lover. "I'm certain... I was... alone... And I found a note... It was... i-in your father's handwriting, and... a-as soon as I read it... e-everything started spinning... I felt... s-something push me against the desk and... and then onto it... a-and then I... I f-fainted..."

The German woman stood there for a long time, just staring down at him with wide, worried eyes. She then sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed. "...Miles... You were... probably dreaming... sleep walking... That doesn't make any sense and you know it..."

"I swear I wasn't," he insisted, sitting up despite the dizziness it caused him. "Please... you have to believe me... I felt... a presence... but no one was there... I'm not crazy... I... I can't be..."

She looked at him with tears forming in her eyes, and she was trying to hold them back. "...I'm... I'm going to get you help..." she whispered, leaning over and kissing him, a gesture of love and reassurance. "...Stay here... Don't leave that spot... I'll be back soon... I promise you..." With that, she stood up and left the room at a rushed pace, closing the door behind her and leaving him alone.

Miles stared at his shaking hands, clasped atop the comforter over his lap. No... He... he couldn't be losing his mind over this... He was so sure of what had happened last night, yet couldn't explain any of it...

"...Leave me be... I'm not yours anymore..."

oooooooooooooooo

Miles dabbed lightly at his swollen red eyes with another tissue, trying to stop the tears from flowing, trying to regulate his breathing and contain the sobs, but he just couldn't do it.

He was sitting on the edge of his bed, his red, long-sleeve collared shirt and beige pants wrinkled and out of order, as if he'd just thrown on something that had been lying crumpled up in a corner without taking any care to make it look presentable. His hair was damp and uncombed, the slight bit of steam coming from his adjoining bathroom indicating that he'd just finished up a shower. It was only about six-thirty in the morning, so his bedroom was dimly lit, but his bed was made, not having been used the previous night.

The seventeen-year-old had spent the night on the couch in his mentor's office, alone and closed up in the dark room after being too injured to get up and make his way upstairs when he was told to. He was still in a lot of pain, but when Manfred had entered his study that morning, he had demanded that Miles drag himself to his own room or suffer further harm. So, he'd managed it, and now here he sat, crying with hurt and depression over his situation, something he did quite often in the privacy of his bedroom.

But this morning was one of those that he wouldn't have to spend completely alone. There came a soft knock at his bedroom door, one he knew well, and all he had to do was wait before the door was slowly pushed open and the face of his ten-year-old sister peeked in at him.

"Bruderlein?" Her soft voice filtered through the early-morning silence, filled with curiosity and concern. He didn't ever mind that form of address she used with him, even though he was the elder one, because he really felt as if he was the weaker of the two, the one that deserved to be looked down upon.

He tried again uselessly to wipe his tears away, his voice sounding hoarse and hollow when he spoke to her. "...Yes... Franziska...?"

He heard a slight creak as she pushed the door open enough to step in, and then turned to close it softly behind her. The little girl approached him, placing a hand on his knee. "...Did you have nightmares again?" she asked, looking up at him with those innocent blue eyes. She had quite the fiery temper and could be quite cold for a child her age, but in quiet moments like this between the two of them, Franziska was kind and caring, when there was no danger of her father noticing and scolding her for such emotional displays.

"Yes... I did..." he replied, shaking his head. This was mostly a lie, for he hadn't slept a wink, but then again, last night - and many before it - could be considered a waking nightmare. "I'm... okay, though..."

"No you're not," Franziska stated pointedly, giving him a scornful look for lying to her. She then climbed up onto his bed and moved to sit in his lap, pushing a few strands of his damp bangs away from his eyes. "You look really rough, Bruderlein. Papa will be upset if you go anywhere looking like that."

"I know..." he muttered, averting his gaze from the child and staring down at his plain white bedspread. "That's why I'm just... going to skip breakfast this morning... I need time to... straighten myself out..."

"What foolish nonsense!" Franziska exclaimed, reminding Miles that she was trying to sound just like her father. "You can't skip breakfast, Miles Edgeworth! It's the most important meal of the day!"

Miles grimaced slightly at being scolded by the little girl, but then forced a small laugh. "...I'll be okay, Franziska... Missing one meal isn't going to kill me... I'm sure it'll bother me a lot less than if I show up to the breakfast table looking so disheveled. He'll... cane me for it." And then some...

Franziska bit her lip lightly, looking a little put off because she knew he was right. She seemed disheartened for a second or two, and then she perked up. "Well then, I'll bring you something to eat! I refuse to let my little brother go hungry! You're already too skinny, you know."

It was the truth, really. He was underweight and still losing, and he was also rather pale. He wasn't a healthy young man, the constant stress and abuse leaving him in a permanent state of illness. It irked him to find out that she'd noticed this, but he shrugged it off, hoping to put her worries to rest. "...Don't worry about me so much, Franziska. I just have... a fast metabolism, I guess. It doesn't mean there's anything wrong, and waiting until lunch to eat really won't hurt me..."

She sighed, pouting a little. "You're so foolishly stubborn, Miles Edgeworth."

"Look who's talking."

She glared at him, and then folded her arms, looking away. "Hmph! I'm not stubborn; I simply have the standard of perfection to live up to and can settle for nothing less."

He gave a wry grin and shook his head, finding that her presence had succeeded in drying his tears. She was his only friend and a real comfort, far too innocent to fathom what was happening to him or to judge him for it. Of course, he'd never tell her about it, even when she got old enough to understand. He'd never tell anyone, and she especially didn't need that weight, didn't need to know what sort of things her own father did to him.

"Bruderlein...?"

"Hm?"

"...You... would tell me if you weren't okay, right?" This question was so important to her; he could just tell by looking into her eyes. He instantly felt guilty, because he would have to lie to her. He wasn't all right at all, but she couldn't know that he would keep such secrets from her, or she would probably try and conduct her own little investigation. She was a sharp girl; if she decided to snoop around, he was afraid of what she'd find.

"...Of course I would..." he told her, faking a smile. "You're my best friend; why wouldn't I tell you?"

"Just making sure," she stated, leaning in to hug him, her arms barely able to reach around his larger frame. The small girl then got down from his lap, smoothing out her pristine white dress until it was perfect again. "I have to go join Papa for breakfast. I'll tell him you won't be eating this morning."

Miles just gave her a nod, but said nothing more. He watched her leave his room and shut the door behind her, and then lay down with a miserable groan. He was so exhausted and in pain, but he knew that he wouldn't really be allowed to rest. Maybe he could get away with a quick half-hour nap while the others were eating... but then he would have to be up and ready to get on with the day... whatever that involved...

oooooooooooooooo

The sound of the bedroom door opening awoke Miles from a light sleep, and he looked up to see Franziska entering the room. She gave him a calming smile as she walked over and sat down on the edge of the bed, reaching up to comb her fingers through his hair.

"Miles... I went to look downstairs in the study," she told him, her voice soft and soothing, but her words having the opposite effect. "I didn't find a note anywhere written by my father... at least anything other than some of the old case notes that were still kept in there. I didn't find anything strange at all... and nothing out of the ordinary happened. Miles... you were dreaming..."

"No, I wasn't..." he insisted, unwilling to give up on trying to convince her. He couldn't have been dreaming; he even had a large bruise on his chest to prove it!

"...So... you're trying to tell me that this house is haunted and that you were attacked by a disembodied presence last night?" she asked him, quirking an eyebrow. Neither of them had ever believed in such things, and she found it ridiculous that he was suggesting this.

"Franziska, I'm not crazy..." he whispered, shaking his head. "It all... felt so familiar... and I swear I found a note... If it wasn't there then... s-someone moved it..."

"But you said no one was there!" She sighed, shaking her head. "I'm sorry..." she murmured, apologizing for shouting at him. "Miles... I think we need to find you someone to talk to... You're not in a healthy state of mind... and you've been keeping this all bottled up for so long that-"

"I'm not talking to anyone about this," he growled in defiance, turning over so that he now had his back to her. Forget that! He wasn't going to a shrink! It had been hard enough to tell her what little bit he had; to tell a complete stranger all of the details of his torment, to have someone digging into his psyche... No, he wouldn't do it.

"Miles!" She looked shocked at his sudden anger. "I'm just... trying to help you... There are no such things as ghosts... and what happened last night wasn't normal behavior... You need to get proper help this time around..."

"...Forget it..." He wasn't giving in. She could drag him to the psychiatrist if she wanted to, but she couldn't make him talk.

Franziska gave a frustrated sigh and stood up. "...Fine... I'm not in the mood to deal with this anyway!" She strode from the room and slammed the door behind her, just so stressed out with all that had been going on and now his unwillingness to even accept help. What was she supposed to do? She wasn't a miracle worker! They weren't making any progress and it now seemed as if he didn't even want to try.

Meanwhile, Miles gripped the bedsheets in his fist, gritting his teeth in just as much frustration. Why wouldn't she believe him! He knew it sounded absurd... but he knew what had happened... It couldn't have been a dream... could it...?

Silence prevailed for a length of time he didn't care to measure, but soon, the prosecutor became faintly aware of the sound of running water. Slowly, he raised his head and looked over at the adjoining bathroom, the door to which was closed. Perhaps it was just water traveling through the pipes to some other part of the house... No... No, it was a little too loud and consistent to be that...

Shakily, Miles stood up and crossed to the bathroom door, pulling it open to reveal the good-sized bathroom, complete with sparkling clean tile and marble counter tops. A shower stood in one corner, its fogged glass door partially open from its use the previous night when he'd arrived home after his situation at the office. Against the far wall was a large garden tub, surrounded by a marble ledge that matched the counters...

...and for some reason, the faucet to the bathtub was running. Confused, Miles approached the tub, staring down into the rising water. The drain was locked... What was this all about...?

Miles leaned down to turn off the water, but suddenly he felt a powerful push against his back. He gasped, losing his balance and falling forward. He fell over the edge of it and down into the freezing water. He gave a cry of pain and gripped his head, which had hit the faucet as he'd fallen, and now he was soaked, cold water spraying his face from the still-running tap.

Who had just pushed him...? Why had they pushed him? Panting and trying to get his bearings, Miles looked up to see who was there...

...no one...

The instant he realized this was the moment when he felt a heavy weight on the back of his head, pushing it down toward the water. Startled, he couldn't fight it and his head was forced under. He struggled, unable to breathe, panic overtaking him once again.

No! No, this couldn't be happening! Where was Franziska? He needed help!

He was pulled upward, gasping for air, coughing and spluttering. He continued to struggle, trying to push himself up and get out of the tub, but he couldn't. He was being held in place.

"Let me go!" he choked, shouting to the empty room. "N-no! Get away from-"

His head was pushed down again, cutting short his plea and his air supply. He fought desperately, but to no avail, and soon he began to feel that painful burning in his lungs and the weakening of his muscles. The sound of the running water above him began to fade out, and it was then he knew...

...He's killing me... Oh God... I'm going to...

A sharp, horrified scream cut through the thickening haze, and suddenly there were tangible hands on him, wrenching him upward so that his head came right up out of the water, hitting the faucet again and giving him a bit of whiplash. He gasped for air once again, choking, the fluid spraying from his mouth as his coughing fit expelled it from his lungs.

"Miles! Oh Mein Gott!" Franziska was in full panic mode, not even bothering to turn off the tap or considering the fact that he was drenched as she tried to pull him from the tub with all of her might. The adrenaline rush created by the sight of her lover drowning was enough to give her the strength she needed, and before Miles knew what was going on, he hit the tile floor of the bathroom. The room was spinning and it still hurt to breathe. His head was pounding, having just hit it for the third time.

Franziska fell to her knees beside him, sobbing uncontrollably and wrapping her arms around his shaking form. "Oh nein... Miles... W-why...? I love you... Why...?"

He wanted to tell her so badly that he hadn't done this... that he'd been pushed... held under the water... but not only was speaking an impossibility right now, she also wouldn't believe him. He knew what it had looked like... and somehow... he felt that this had been the intent all along...

A small gasp alerted them to the presence of a maid standing in the doorway to the bathroom, staring with wide eyes at the two of them. Franziska looked over at her, barely able to see the other woman through her tears. "C-call an ambulance!" she shouted, gripping Miles tightly to her as if she was afraid she'd lose him should she release him.

The maid quickly ran off, vanishing from their view to go call for help. Franziska returned her attention to her lover, burying her face against his back, bawling.

"I'm so sorry... I'm s-so sorry, Miles... I'll get you help... Y-you'll be okay... Please... d-don't leave me... I love you... Ich liebe dich... D-don't leave me this way..."