Quicksand
Chapter 8: The Price of Freedom
"Frau von Karma, Herr Edgeworth is doing just fine. He won't need to stay the night."
While Franziska was glad to hear this, she had to ensure Miles' future safety; thus, she couldn't accept this. "...Herr Doctor...I don't think sending him home right away... will do him much good..." she said, looking mournful. "He... attempted to drown himself; it was a... a suicide attempt..."
The medic looked a bit surprised, not having been made aware of why exactly the young man had had so much fluid in his lungs. He'd just assumed it was an accident. "Are you sure of that, Meine Frau?" he questioned. "He had a couple of bruises on his head; might he have just fallen and been unconscious or dazed, thus nearly drowning?"
"Nein... I don't think so..." she whispered, hating to have to think this way about her lover. "He has been... a bit disturbed lately. He's been doing strange things... such as this... and claiming that... that some disembodied presence attacked him. I don't think he remembers any of it properly..."
"Disturbed?" The doctor turned to pick up Miles' chart from the counter beside him. "Do you have any idea what this might be caused by? Does he have any history of mental illness?"
"He has... panic attacks," she murmured. "But... I'm fairly certain it's related to some... past trauma that has been dug up recently. I was hoping that... we could get him someone to talk to, someone that could figure out what's... going on with him... maybe help him remember what he's been doing..."
The doctor looked thoughtful, and then made a few notes on the chart. "Very well... I'll see if the psychiatrist is in at the moment so that she can do an analysis. Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Meine Frau."
"Of course, Mein Herr. Thank you..."
ooooooooooooooooooooo
He'd been alone for a while, and if Miles was honest with himself, he preferred it that way... for now. He was sitting up in his hospital bed, having used the small remote now lying on the table beside him to raise the top part of the bed up so that he had something to lean against. The television across from him wasn't on, nor was he reading any of the informational pamphlets or magazines on the aforementioned table. He wasn't doing anything, really; he just sat there, staring at his hands, which were folded in his lap over the thin white blanket that hid half of him from view.
They thought he'd done it... No one had approached him yet, but he was sure that Franziska was telling the doctors he'd tried to drown himself. He felt miserable in every sense of the word, and now he had a voice in the back of his head telling him that this wasn't going to end until he really did end up dead... whether by his own hand or...
"Schatzi... You poor thing..."
Miles gasped and looked up with wide, horrified eyes as that sickly-sweet voice reached his ears. Sure enough, his gaze fell upon Amelinda Isold, her blond curls, and her less-than-modest red dress. In her hands she was holding a cheap vase containing half a dozen white roses, and Miles knew instantly with a feeling of nausea that they were meant for him.
"When I heard you'd been rushed to the hospital I hurried right over," she said, that insincere sympathy dripping from each syllable she spoke. She set the vase on the table beside him and then leaned over to give him an unwanted kiss.
Miles flinched away from her, fixing the woman with a glare. "Get out," he growled, his voice sounding hoarse after having inhaled so much water and then having to cough it all up and everything else the doctors could do to get it out of his lungs. He still had a chance of developing pneumonia, which was why he hadn't been sent home just yet. "And take those flowers with you."
Amelinda clicked her tongue and traced a finger over his jawline, pushing his bangs back a bit and then resting it there, the tip of her blood red nail lightly brushing his ear. "Don't be so hostile..." she cooed, still leaning over him slightly and giving him a full view down the front of her dress, a view from which he averted his gaze. "You weren't like this last time.. You seemed... so grateful for anyone's company."
He felt his heart drop like a brick into the pit of his stomach and visibly jolted as her words reached him. "This.. Th-this is nothing like last time," he stated defensively, trying to keep a stone resolve but failing miserably. "You haven't a clue about what's going on; and you have no such right to one."
She laughed, a low – almost seductive – chuckle and traced her nail back to his lips, forcing it between them slightly and making him turn his head away. "You seem so confident, Schatzi, but did you ever think that – just maybe – I know more about what's going on than you do?"
His breath hitched in his throat upon hearing this and his gaze was instantly back on her face. "...What are you saying?"
"Oh, now you want to talk to me!" She laughed, straightening up and flipping her hair behind her shoulder. "Ich bin Leid, Schatzi, but you're obviously in a really bad mood. Maybe I'll tell you when you can be a little nicer." She gave him a cheerful smile as she began to move toward the door. "I'll see you around!"
Miles gritted his teeth in frustration as she disappeared from the room. "...Bitch," he snarled to himself while listening to the sound of her heels fading down the hallway. He then sighed and slumped against the bed, closing his eyes and just trying to will it all away.
...Did she know what was going on... or was she just trying to mess with his head...? Either seemed likely, but pursuing the answer to such a question would probably get him hurt, even more so than he was already.
At that moment, he heard a new set of high-heels coming down the hall, but these weren't quite as loud or quick. Soon, a woman wearing a professional-looking gray dress with long, dark brown hair appeared and knocked on the door frame. "Guten Tag, Herr Edgeworth," she greeted him with a kind smile as she walked into the room, clipboard in hand. "My name is Doctor Wiedeburg. Your doctor has asked me to come and speak with you."
"...You're the psychiatrist, I presume..." Miles muttered, not meeting the woman's gaze as he spoke to her and instead staring at his hands once more.
"I am a psychiatrist, yes," she replied calmly, stepping up to his bedside and taking a seat in the chair set there for visitors. "Frau von Karma told us that your accident was a suicide attempt. Is this true?"
"...No..." He was so angry with Franziska, even though he knew he shouldn't be. Why couldn't she just trust him on this, no matter how ridiculous it all sounded?
His lack of cooperation didn't seem to phase Wiedeburg; she was obviously used to this sort of thing. "Mein Herr, please tell me the truth. We can help you, but we cannot do anything unless you tell me the truth about why you're here."
"No, you can't help me," Miles stated irritably. "I didn't do this to myself and I don't need a doctor. I need an..."
She paused, waiting for him to finish. "...Yes?"
An exorcist... "Nothing... I don't need anything..." He looked to the side, away from her, and lowered his head.
Wiedeburg watched him for a few moments, and then sighed, looking down at the papers on her clipboard. "Herr Edgeworth, I hate to bring up what are probably bad memories for you, but... given your past record, I'm inclined to believe you're not being truthful with me."
"...Something that happened nearly ten years ago doesn't prove anything," the prosecutor responded, as if he was defending himself on trial. "I was pushed and held beneath the water by someone I couldn't see... "
The psychiatrist tapped her pen lightly against her lips, looking thoughtful. "You're saying you were attacked? And you couldn't see them...? Well... then who was in the house at the time?"
"It wasn't Franziska or any of the staff," Miles stated quickly, not wishing to pin this on any innocent people, especially his lover, who was just trying to help him even if she was causing more stress. "I couldn't see them because... because... my attacker was... incorporeal..."
A tense silence filled the room for what felt like forever to Miles, but the woman broke it by clearing her throat and looking down at her clipboard. "...Mein Herr... are you trying to tell me that a 'ghost' attempted to kill you?"
"Indeed," he replied, bitterness now beginning to seep into his tone. "But of course that's ridiculous and impossible, and I was just imagining it to protect my own mind from my self-destruction, or however those in your profession would phrase it. Perhaps I should just lie and tell everyone I attempted to drown myself... I'd be safer in the psychiatric ward anyway..."
Another prolonged silence, and then Dr. Wiedeburg sighed and stood up. "I... apologize for disturbing you, Mein Herr," she stated. "...I'm afraid this isn't really my area of expertise..." No, she didn't believe him, but if he wouldn't confess to a suicide attempt and they could not prove it, there was nothing that the hospital could do. It was a legal issue.
He said nothing to her as she walked out of the room, and then just reached over to lower the bed back down with the remote so that he could curl up and try to sleep the rest of his time here away.
Franziska and Miles' doctor were standing a short ways down the hall, waiting for the psychiatrist to emerge. "I'm sorry," she said, shaking her head. "He refuses to admit to a suicide attempt, and despite his past record, we have no proof..."
This seemed to shock Franziska, and it wasn't the news that he was still claiming to have been attacked by a ghost. "His... past record?" she asked, looking at the older woman with wide eyes.
"...I can't elaborate," was the response. "He would have to give you that information himself; we're not allowed to release it."
Franziska bit her lip, fully aware of such legalities. "...Of course..."
"I'm very sorry," Wiedeburg repeated, giving Franziska a sincere look of sympathy. "I can see that he is troubled, but if he refuses to speak to me honestly, there is nothing I can do to help him..."
"...I know..." The prosecutor lowered her head momentarily with a sigh, and then raised it again. She cleared her throat in an attempt to regain her calm and professional appearance. "...Well... thank you for your efforts in any case, Frau Doctor Wiedeburg."
The other woman simply gave her a nod and then walked away, leaving Franziska and the medical doctor alone.
"...We would like to monitor him for a few more hours..." the man said. "However, if all looks well and we don't detect any remaining fluid or any signs of the mental trauma you mentioned, we'll be discharging him this evening."
Franziska just nodded, murmured another 'thank you', and then walked down the hall to enter Miles' room.
Instantly, she noticed the vase of flowers at his bedside and frowned. "...Miles, who left those...?"
The male prosecutor was silent for a bit, and it seemed as if he was asleep until he finally mumbled his response. "...Amelinda decided to pay me a visit... I'm too tired to get up and throw them out..."
Franziska walked resolutely to his bedside, picked up the vase of flowers, and deposited it in the trash can near the door. She then returned to him and sat down. "The doctor said that you will be discharged in a few hours if... everything looks normal..."
He didn't respond to her this time. On one hand, he hated being in the hospital, lying in this bed wearing only the paper-thin gown provided to all patients that were ill enough to need a bed for any length of time. However, on the other hand... he wouldn't feel safe at home... He was certain now that there was a lingering presence dwelling within it, a presence that was out to do him harm and to constantly remind him of old pain.
And he knew whom it was... Trying to drown him... How cruel... As if the punishment he'd received back then hadn't been enough...
"...Did you do this back then as well...?"
It had been quiet for so long that her voice startled him a little, and then her question registered, and he was certain that someone had mentioned his past account within earshot of her. Still... he knew that – once again – it wouldn't be right to hide this from her now that she had a hint.
"...I... tried to drown myself when I was eighteen... That's what they were talking about..."
Franziska sat there silently, letting the weight of this knowledge sink in. No... When she thought about it, it really wasn't a huge shock, thinking about what he'd had to endure back then on what was apparently a constant basis. So, she wouldn't ask him why he'd done it, because that answer was obvious. However, there was something she was wondering about. "...Why... is this the first time I've heard about that...? How could I not have been aware that you were in the hospital...?"
"...Because your father didn't tell you..." Miles replied, turning over onto his back to more easily speak with her. "You'll remember that... I was taking some classes at the university throughout the three years before I left... Do you recall the time I had some special testing to do and had decided to stay on campus for a few nights to avoid commuting back and forth constantly and to have a steady place to study...?"
"Yes... I do..." So that was it, then. That had been a cover-story, a lie that her father had told her to sate her curiosity. It had sounded a little odd back then, but now she realized just how naive she had once been, for she could poke a million holes in that story now without even trying. "But... what... exactly happened...?" she asked hesitantly, once again afraid to upset him but needing an answer. "...You... obviously weren't home; I would have noticed a commotion like that."
Miles shook his head. "No... I was out observing an investigation your father was working on... It was on the banks of the Kyll... and for a moment I... I thought... I could escape..."
Today had greatly upset Franziska, but the reason she wasn't still bawling her eyes out was because she firmly believed that he wasn't doing these things consciously, that he was disturbed enough to think that he was being attacked. Now, hearing that he had knowingly tried to take his own life back then... that she could have lost him and not have ever understood why he'd left her all alone... Well, it almost hurt as badly as the time he'd left that note, the time she'd thought – for the brief period before she'd discovered the obvious signs of his running away and not a suicide – he had taken his own life.
But she had to stop thinking about that prospect... He was alive, having somehow been saved from the freezing waters of the Kyll. The female prosecutor sat there wondering how many more eye-openers she'd receive through the course of this, how many more shocking stories she would hear, how many more of her lover's demons she would see rise to the surface to haunt the both of them.
It was here that their conversation seemed to dwindle down to nothing after a few minutes, and when Franziska really began to see his exhaustion showing through, she gave him a loving kiss and urged him to get some sleep. She was so worried about him, and she was afraid of what would happen when they returned home, if this frightening behavior would continue.
But all that Miles could think – and soon dream – about was that day... the day today had provided him with a sharp and cruel reminder of, the day those horrors had nearly destroyed him for good.
oooooooooooooooo
"You are certain this is the scene of the crime?"
"Yes, Herr von Karma. There's enough evidence to suggest so, and we have no reason to believe it would have happened anywhere else."
The dark, amused laughter of the veteran prosecutor made the young officer flinch slightly. "Hmph... Pathetic. Even a child could see the obvious flaw in such a shallow-minded conclusion. In fact... Miles Edgeworth?"
"..."
"Miles!"
The eighteen-year-old gasped a little in surprise, quickly straightening himself up to stand at attention. "Y-yes, Mein Herr...?" Being snapped at always filled him with such terror, and today he didn't think his heart had stopped pounding. He had probably only slept a combined total of four or five hours in the past three days, and since his morning had started, he'd been making little mistakes all day due to lack of focus and alertness.
"Look at what you see before us and tell me if you believe this is the scene of the murder," Manfred ordered, looking coldly at his student, and underneath that... was a warning.
Miles swallowed hard to compose himself, doing all he could to stay focused and clear his head of the fog of exhaustion in order to answer this question correctly. His gaze traveled over the scene before him: the grass and mud stained black with blood, a dead body lying on the riverbank with a gunshot wound in his head, a lawn chair with a towel and drink cooler set upon it...
"Nein, Mein Herr... I don't believe this is the crime scene..."
Manfred nodded, a smirk now resting on his lips as he glanced back at the puzzled detective. "And why do you say that?" he quizzed, folding his arms across his chest and fixing Miles with that challenging look once again.
He was shaking... He always did when that gaze was directly on him... fixed so sternly... He always felt as if Manfred was staring right through him, and he knew that this man only ever saw him in one way: an object of his control and in his possession.
"Well, Mein Herr, if I were... going to commit such a crime on the banks of a river... naturally I would push the body into it to attempt to destroy evidence against myself... It seems completely unnatural to just... leave the body lying there right beside a means of quick and effortless disposal..."
Manfred turned to now look at the officer, who appeared to have been taken by storm. Such a simple and obvious flaw, and no one had considered it! "Such incompetence..." the prosecutor scoffed. "Obviously, this case is not as clean-cut as the force believes it to be. So... perhaps you should go back to chasing bank robbers and muggers; homicide doesn't seem to be within your grasp just yet." He then turned back to his student. "Come, Miles. I'll be taking a closer look while the detectives learn how to do their jobs."
Miles obeyed silently, following his mentor closer to the dead body. He had not yet become desensitized to such things... Standing here just feet from a bloody corpse... it was unnerving to say the least. Miles tried not to look at the gruesome sight, but before long, it became obvious that he was supposed to be watching.
He assumed that Manfred had been saying something, but he wasn't aware of it until the older man successfully captured his attention. This was done by sweeping his legs out from under him with the use of his cane, and Miles fell forward to land right near the dead body. He gasped in shock and fear, feeling his insides twist into knots at the horrifying sight and idea that he had yet again angered Manfred.
"Get up and get your head on straight, boy!" he heard the prosecutor snap from above him. He was certain no one was watching... Manfred was never rough with him when someone might notice his less-than-perfectly-calm temperament.
Miles began to slowly push himself onto his hands and knees to inch backward away from the murder victim, his body betraying him to let a small sound of sickness to escape him. The fear was obvious in his expression, and – never missing that particular emotion when it came to his little toy – this was the final straw for Manfred. He seized him by the hair and dragged him up to his feet before throwing him hard against a nearby tree, whose many long branches hung several yards above the river.
"He's DEAD, boy!" Manfred snarled, his hand at the young man's throat with his fingers curled beneath the unseen leather collar, gripping it and pinning Miles to the thick tree trunk. "It is a corpse, unable to do a thing to you and yet you back away whimpering like a pathetic mutt!"
Miles gave a strangled cry as his head was pulled forward slightly and then pushed hard back against the tree. Now, as Manfred continued to speak, his voice had dropped considerably in volume, but to the young adult, this made him sound ten times more frightening and dangerous.
"I warned you before we left this morning that you'd best get your act together, and yet it has been one careless mistake after another. You will pay for causing me such embarrassment... I don't suggest you make any definite plans for the next few days."
With that, Manfred released his grip and walked away, letting Miles collapse to the ground once more, shaking in terror. Manfred never made empty threats... and if he said a few days... Oh god...
Tears were forming behind his eyes as the young man looked around, trying to spot any of the police officers that had been present only moments before, but no one was around. They must have gone off to search for evidence of the body being moved... and that was how Manfred had just gotten away with that display of violence. Miles could feel a desperation within him, and the knowledge that there were police nearby had made him want to cry out for help... to tell someone that his mentor was going to hurt him... badly...
But everyone had left the scene... and he somehow felt abandoned. A small sob shook the poor teen and he uselessly tried to wipe away the moisture that was forcing its way out of the corners of his eyes. He was so tired... and so afraid... He couldn't help that sleep was almost impossible to get anymore... He couldn't help that he was always in pain... always anxious about when the next strike would come... the next degrading word or stinging insult... the next humiliating encounter he would have to submit to...
...When was the last time he'd felt happy...? When was the last time he'd felt human...? When would he ever feel alive again...?
…Never...
He was trapped for the rest of his life... and considering his poor health, constant stress, and overall mistreatment, he was sure that was only a few more years. However, even another day of this seemed too much to bear, and now faced with the prospect of what was going to happen to him when they arrived home...
He felt the splintered wood beneath his fingers, saw the rushing waters ten feet below him... and wondered when he'd climbed up here...
He honestly didn't remember, but somewhere during his panic, he'd stood up, headed toward the boardwalk, and taken a set of stairs up to the raised wooden walkway. He was now standing in from of the railing, peering down into the freezing waters of the Kyll... longingly...
There really hadn't been much thought to this. He could hear faintly the furious shout of his mentor demanding that he return to observe the investigation. Far from drawing him away, that terrifying voice drove him toward the river, and he hoisted himself up, putting one knee onto the poorly-secured railing, and then the other. He heard the order to get down, to stop being such a pathetic, spiteful child, and then he heard the footsteps. Manfred was coming up the stairs, ready to remove him from the railing by force and drag him back to where he was supposed to be.
But he wouldn't let that happen. The 'now or never' thought was the last that went through his mind before he moved into a crouched position and then launched himself off of the railing. He only saw the river for a moment longer before he plunged into a freezing blackness, and soon he couldn't even feel the cold.
I'm free... I'm finally free...