Quicksand

Chapter 9: What You Don't Know

The process of leaving the hospital and heading home felt like a blur to the distraught prosecutor, for he was more in his head than anywhere else at the time.

"Miles... Love... Are you sure you're all right...?" As usual, Franziska looked concerned, and while he hated to constantly see that expression on her face, he knew it wasn't going to disappear for a while.

"...I'm fine," he replied, coming out of his reverie long enough to answer and nod. "Just... have a lot to think about..."

She nodded, kissing his cheek and brushing his bangs away from his eyes. "...Well... if you want to talk about any of it... you know I'll listen..."

He just gave her a glance as his response and then turned to stare out the window of their hired car, watching the scenery go by beneath the street lights against the darkening background.

The events after he'd jumped into the river were... just scattered flashes of memory that didn't run together, as if time had skipped several hours at a time. He remembered being carried up the banks of the river by his mentor as an ambulance waited for them at the top of the hill, remembered the bright lights and loud noises as he was wheeled into the emergency room, the barrage of questions that were fired at him by the doctors, none of which did he answer. He remembered the psychiatrist that couldn't get him to talk, the time he'd spent in isolation under suicide watch, the scorn of his mentor hidden beneath the false concern he portrayed for the medics...

...and then when he'd arrived home... Oh, he didn't want to think about that... and fortunately, they were now pulling up to the Von Karma Manor and he could distract himself with heading back inside along with his lover.

They made their way inside and Franziska insisted that Miles go straight up to bed. She accompanied him, of course, obviously worried about what he'd do upon being left alone. Miles didn't complain; nothing bad seemed to happen while someone was around him, and Franziska was certainly his preferred company.

As they lay together in the dark, Franziska kept a tight hold of him, both affectionate and protective. "...I'm afraid to leave you alone..." she whispered after a long bout of silence. "Miles, I... I'm afraid of what will happen... I'm afraid... I'll lose you..."

The male prosecutor didn't say anything, for he had no idea of what to say. He wanted to promise her that she wouldn't lose him, but – contrary to what she believed – he had no control over what was happening. So... how could he make that promise, and how could he make her understand why he couldn't make that promise? It was all so complicated and strange. This was one situation his logic didn't seem to be able to get him out of.

She stared at him expectantly, hoping he'd say something, anything... hoping he'd make the promise he refused to make. When nothing came, tears formed in her eyes and she tried desperately to hold them back. "Miles... Please... Say something..."

"Franziska, what do you want me to say?" he asked, unable to stand the choked sound of her voice that indicated the oncoming tears he could not see in the darkness. "I don't want to leave you... I really don't, but you don't believe me."

Now it was her turn to be silent; she obviously didn't know how to solve this issue either. No, she didn't believe his claims, and he wouldn't change his story for anything. She was beginning to wonder if buying into those ridiculous ghost tales would make things easier, but at the same time, her logic was telling her that nothing would get solved if they attempted to attack a false problem.

In addition... the idea that this house could be haunted – possibly – by the ghost of her father wasn't something she never wanted to consider.

"...Just so you know... I think Amelinda knows what's going on..."

A small gasp escaped Franziska's lips, followed by a surge of anger within her. "...And what would make you say that...?" she inquired, her voice wavering with the effort of holding in that rage.

Miles could tell she wasn't happy about him bringing this up, but he was desperate for any lead whatsoever. "She told me so when she visited me at the hospital," he replied. "She decided to be cryptic about it and tell me nothing, but I'm certain she didn't just... randomly release that tape without a reason or scheme behind it..."

Franziska gazed down at him for a long time, her eyes slightly wide at the insinuation he'd just made. "...Are you telling me we played right into her hands; that she expected us to come here, wanted us to...?"

"I'm convinced it wasn't all her idea..."

"Miles, stop that! My father is dead! Stop acting as if he's behind this!"

A heavy, tense silence suddenly set in, and it was clear that both of them were a little surprised at how Franziska had just snapped, completely lost her cool in an instant. The female prosecutor watched as Miles slowly turned to look away from her, turning onto his side and curling up slightly, and she started to feel a little guilty.

"...Good night, Franziska..."

A sob escaped her, and she lay down to bury her face in her pillow. "...good night..." she whispered, the tears overcoming her. This was all so impossible, and it kept driving a wedge between them. They were trying to fight this battle together, but that couldn't be done when they couldn't agree on the enemy they were supposed to be combating.

ooooooooooooo

She had refused to leave Miles at home by himself, but she refused to give Amelinda the chance to play anymore head games with him as well. So, she'd asked him to wait in the lobby while she made her way upstairs to confront the devious blond herself. Franziska's hand clutched her whip tightly, her blood boiling simply at the thought of that woman. No one dishonored her family and got away with it! Sure, quite a bit of shame had fallen upon the von Karma name in the past few years, but this time, she was sure she could stop it before it went any further, and perhaps exact revenge for her beloved.

She walked resolutely down the hall and stepped right up to the secretary's office door. Her knock was sharp, just like her gaze. No one ever dared to mess with her when she wore this expression. Rule Number One: Do not cross Franziska von Karma.

Though, there were some people who were either unaware of such a rule or – like the woman that answered her knock – just didn't heed it. "Guten Tag, Frau von Karma!" Amelinda greeted her cheerfully. "I, uh... didn't expect to see you back here... You're not still mad about that whole hallway thing... are you? I really didn't know..."

"Spare me the act, Isold," Franziska spat, glaring at the older woman. "That little display you created is actually at the bottom of my exhaustive list of reasons to be furious with you."

Amelinda's eyes widened a little in what appeared to be surprise. "What do you mean?" she asked, biting the tip of her nail nervously.

"You know perfectly well what I mean!" the prosecutor snapped. "Now, unless you'd like the rest of this office to know as well, I suggest you step aside!"

Still maintaining that confused and anxious look, Amelinda allowed the younger woman into the office, and Franziska pushed the door shut with a little unnecessary force. "I'll get straight to the point: Miles has told me everything. So, either hand over the recordings in your possession, or I will force you to hand them over with the help of the police!"

Franziska half-expected the other woman to continue her act of innocence, but to the contrary, she watched as Amelinda closed her eyes and gave an amused, dark little laugh. "Oooo, scary," she said, opening her eyes and tilting her head to look at the prosecutor, a smirk resting on her ruby-red lips. "I guess I see why Miles likes you so much; you're a spicy little firecracker, and you're trying so hard to be the spitting image of your father."

"Don't you DARE mock me!" Franziska snarled, instinctively cracking her whip as she spoke; it really had become an automatic action after so many years. "My father was a liar and a hypocrite, and it is my duty to restore the honor my family once had! You – of all people – will not stand in my way!"

Unshaken, Amelinda reached up to cover her mouth and stifle a dramatic yawn. "You talk too much," she remarked, leaning back against her desk calmly. "Is that how you win all your cases? I mean, you don't have a shred of proof to accuse me of anything, but I guess if you talked enough, a judge might be convinced you actually have something."

"For your information, I have Miles' testimony!" Franziska was baring her teeth by this point, and if looks could kill, she would have already won this little argument. "That is more than enough cause to accuse you and conduct a deeper investigation! You are not fooling me, Isold!"

Amelinda seemed to be enjoying the fact that she was getting under the other woman's skin. Franziska was furious, and the blond wasn't at all intimidated by it. "His testimony? Really…?" She chuckled and shook her head, giving a heavy sigh. "Oh, come on now. He's been coming out with some ridiculous stuff lately, hasn't he? How can anyone believe what he says; he's obviously unstable."

"Well, the tapes will help us decide that, now won't they?" Franziska retorted, refusing to back down. "So, hand them over, or I will solicit the aid of the police to forcibly take them from you!"

"Now, Meine Frau, don't you think that's a bit… rash?" Amelinda straightened up, walking around her desk to fiddle with some papers. "If the police get a hold of those tapes, rest assured that they will end up all over the news stations and the Internet. Would you really do that to the poor man? I mean, he's got enough on his plate already, what with everyone thinking he's mad and all."

Franziska gritted her teeth, glaring furiously. "How could you know anything about that?"

"Let's just say I'm much more perceptive than people give me credit for," Isold replied, smirking. "Come on, I'm sure there's another reason you're here. I'm sure Herr Edgeworth told you about our little conversation."

"I care nothing for the head games you've been playing with him!" Franziska had stepped up to the other woman's desk by this point, and she slammed her fists upon it as she spoke. "I know you're behind all of this, so I have no questions to ask you until you're behind bars for your involvement in the mistreatment and exploitation of Miles Edgeworth!"

Oh, that laugh… Franziska hated the sly, amused little laugh that escaped from the secretary's lips at that moment. "Me? Behind it all…? You are so naïve, Meine Frau."

"I beg your pardon?" Franziska snarled, gloved hands still clenched into tight fists.

"As much as I love to mess with little Schatzi, I will admit that he's not as insane as you might think." Slowly, Amelinda turned and bent down to open one of her desk drawers, producing a plastic container that held a tiny plastic card within it. "Here… I'll give you one of the little films to watch and enjoy."

In this moment, Franziska was both confused and livid, and she snatched the flash memory card from the secretary's hand. "Thank you for the evidence," she said, trying to hide her confusion and appear triumphant. However, Amelinda just laughed.

"You won't be able to incriminate me at all from that tape, not that you would put the film out there in the public anyway. Oh, and don't worry: I have another copy of that. It is my favorite one, after all."

"Sadistic whore," Franziska snapped. "Why are you giving this to me then?"

"Heheh… Just to show you how useless your attempts to stop this are…" Amelinda replied. "Just give it a watch, but make sure you stick with it until the very end, because that's the most important part, where you'll learn that what you believe to be reality is nothing more than a shallow, close-minded misperception."

At that moment, there came a knock on the door, and without an invite inside, Ewald Astor opened and stepped through it. "Ach, Fraulein von Karma, I wasn't aware you would be dropping by again. Am I interrupting anything?"

"Not at all, Mein Herr," Amelinda replied. "Frau von Karma was just leaving."

Franziska glowered at the older woman. "You're not getting out of this so easily! I came here for a reason and I will not be tossed aside!"

"Now, Fraulein, there is no reason to shout…" Ewald nearly cooed. "If Frau Isold wishes for you to remove yourself from her office, it is polite to do so. Auf Wiedersehen."

Franziska didn't think she could've been any angrier without having an aneurism, and without another word, she stormed from the office and slammed the door shut behind her. She had enough mind to tuck the small plastic container into her dress as she went to go rejoin Miles, for she didn't want him questioning her about what it was. She really didn't want to watch another moment of his torment, and the thought of witnessing her father abuse him in such a way made her feel ill.

But was it true…? Did this recording contain something she really needed to see and understand? That thought too disturbed her greatly….

...What to do…? To watch it, or simply hide it away and attempt to get a hold of the original copy so that it could be destroyed and never used against her love again…? She could do both, of course, but… she really didn't want to.

And in the lobby, her lover day-dreamed. He had no idea what the conversation going on above would consist of, and he had a fear that Amelinda would be able to play her little mind games with Franziska as well. That woman got away with everything… She was sociopathic, never feeling fear or remorse, and the perfect liar.

oooooooooooooooo

He had been lying in isolation for an entire day now, having been placed under constant surveillance by the hospital staff. Suicide Watch, they called it. Miles himself hadn't spoken a word, but considering that Manfred and another officer had witnessed him jumping into the Kyll, they had enough reason to put him here.

Miles didn't really care at this point. There was only one person he wished to see right now, and from what he understood, she wasn't going to be told that he was in the hospital. So, until he arrived home, he would not see her…

…Home… Hah! Since when did that word have such a loose definition?

"Herr Edgeworth, your father is here to see you."

Miles said nothing, and it made his stomach turn to hear someone refer to Manfred as his father. He'd stopped correcting people by now, though; he didn't have the energy to constantly explain that he was legally still an orphan, that Manfred was simply his mentor and had not officially adopted him, thus the reason his name was still Edgeworth.

The nurse waited a moment for some sort of acknowledgement from the depressed young adult, but when he said nothing, she simply disappeared from the room's entrance and allowed Manfred to step inside. The door was kept open, and Miles knew nothing could be done to him here thanks to the constant watch of the medical staff. Still, he was trembling. This man's presence always evoked fear; not even a Plexiglas wall between them could make Miles feel safe.

"Well," Manfred began, walking over to stand beside the bed, to loom over his ward and watch him intently. "I'm glad to see that you are finally awake, Miles. I was beginning to think you would just happen to be asleep every time I should come to speak with you."

Yes, he had been pretending to be asleep every time Manfred had appeared, but this time he'd been caught off guard, and he supposed he'd have to face him sooner or later.

"Now, perhaps you could explain to me what was going through your head when you acted a fool and threw yourself into the Kyll?"

Miles closed his eyes, sniffing a bit as he felt the dreaded burning in his throat and behind his eyes that told him he was about to start crying again, about to show that forbidden weakness. He couldn't lie to this man, and this time – for some reason – he had no urge to. He didn't feel safe, but he felt safer than usual, and somehow… he just let the fear and pain show without restraint.

"I was terrified…" He whispered, refusing to open his eyes. He didn't want to see whatever expressions crossed Manfred's face. "I'm…. tired of being hurt… D-Death…. sounded better than… g-going home…."

He expected to be slapped, or to be scolded, to be told what a weak and worthless child he was. He expected it to be the same as always, for he doubted Manfred would even dignify his actions and words with some sort of special or more severe scolding.

So, when he felt that large, familiar hand gently cup his chin, he was certain his heart stopped. Slowly, his head was coaxed back and slightly to the side so that when he received the order to look at his mentor, all he had to do was open his eyes and he was staring right up into an expression of… anger? …amusement?

…Thoughtfulness. Manfred appeared to be studying him, considering the situation and his young pet. Miles just stared up in fear and anticipation, waiting for the worst, but… now a little confused.

"I suppose my suspicions were correct after all," the German prosecutor finally said. "I have miscalculated… Misjudged you." He removed his hand from beneath Miles' chin and traced his index finger over the boy's jaw line, causing him to shiver, and certainly not out of pleasure. "You are even weaker than I thought."

Miles felt the slight displacement of air as Manfred stepped away from his side. He could hear the sound of the man's footsteps on the tile floor as he paced around a bit, but the teen had by this time closed his eyes again.

"You have not reacted in the way I expected you would. Even with the knowledge that punishment awaits after failure, you cannot bring yourself to avoid disappointing me. Instead of working harder to succeed and avoid punishment… you would rather die, run away, throw away every opportunity I have given you to be something great…"

Something great… How laughable! What was so great and reputable about being this man's sex slave? The expectations he had to live up to were impossible to reach, and purposefully so, Miles was certain. He often told himself that Manfred wanted to watch him fail just so he could exact punishment and make Miles feel as if it was entirely his fault and that he deserved it.

It was working, of course. Even knowing this Miles didn't feel any less responsible for everything, less deserving of the way he was treated. However, it was enough to put him into a denial about Manfred's 'good' intentions for him.

"Perhaps I have been going about this the wrong way."

Manfred's voice snapped Miles out of his reverie, and now he couldn't help but open his eyes and stare up at the older man. He still looked thoughtful, but Miles was sure he detected a smirk beneath it all.

"Perhaps my chosen method of guidance has left you with too much room to fail. Perhaps I have over-estimated your ability to fully understand what is expected of you and the proper means to achieve the goals I have set forth for you. Perhaps my strong emphasis on the consequences of failure has left you… confused and misguided."

Despite the horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach, Miles suddenly felt hopeful. Did this mean what he wanted it to mean? Was Manfred considering easing up on his violence and abuse in favor of becoming more of a true mentor? That bubble within him began to swell, and in his state of mind, Miles couldn't bring himself to burst it, to tell himself that nothing good could possibly come from his attempt on his own life.

If that rising hope could be seen in his features, Manfred either didn't notice or pretended not to notice. The older man simply stood there and continued to watch him with an increasingly unreadable expression, and then without a word, turned to walk briskly from the room.

Miles felt his muscles relax a little. He was still quite bewildered and had no idea what to expect, but he only had a few moments to wonder before another visitor appeared. He could only have one at a time in this particular room, and the quick sound of high heels coming toward him signaled that his next visitor was eager to take her turn.

"Schatzi!" He was startled as Amelinda came jogging into the room, looking all frazzled and quite upset. She came right up to him and threw her arms around him, revealing to him in that instant that she was crying. "Oh Mein Gott! I was so worried about you! Thank goodness you were saved! Oh, Schatzi, don't ever do that again!"

Miles hadn't the slightest idea of what to do or say in this moment. He just lay there stunned with his vision obscured by blond curls and large, barely-concealed breasts. He almost thought she'd suffocate him before she finally pulled away, trying uselessly to wipe away the tears spilling from her bright blue eyes. "Es tut mir Leid," she murmured, sniffling a little. "I didn't mean to startle you, but when Herr von Karma told me what you'd done, I just… lost it. You terrified me, Schatzi."

Miles averted his gaze from her, still having not a clue what to say to this woman…. He hated her for being involved in his torment and for treating him the way she did, but here she was… crying over him as if he was a loved one… Did she… honestly believe he liked to be abused, that being collared, bound, and tortured was something he'd consented to and enjoyed? Did she actually care about him somehow…? That sounded so stupid, but… this didn't look fake… This didn't look as if she was just mocking him as things like this normally did with her.

"Why did you do that?" she asked earnestly, gripping one of his hands with both of hers, her eyes now begging for some kind of answer. He stared in disbelief at this display, but now felt obligated to answer.

He looked away once more before speaking. "…Do you really have to ask me that…?" he responded with his own question. "…C-can't you see I'm miserable…? I'm nothing but a worthless toy… Nobody cares about me, and I'd… rather die than… spend the rest of my life this way…"

When Miles looked up, it was to see a look of shock and horror on Amelinda's face. "Oh… Schatzi…." Pity, remorse, and sorrow now appeared and she leaned over to embrace him once more. "No, no, no…. That's not it at all… I had no idea you felt that way… I'm so sorry…."

Miles bit down on his bottom lip and lowered his head to stare at the white blanket that covered him. "How could you have possibly missed it?" he asked bitterly. "And how could I feel any differently? He tortures me… and… and you've filmed it…"

"Oh, you poor thing…." She drew back a little and began to gently comb her fingers through his hair, as if to sooth him. "Of course I care about you… According to Herr von Karma, the way you two are… is what you want."

He flinched, then looked up at her with wide eyes. "Wh-what? You honestly… believe that?"

She gave him a confused and concerned look. "Why wouldn't I?" she inquired. "It's not that strange, you know. I hope you're not ashamed of how you are; there are plenty of people who enjoy such things in a relationship."

Oh, he could've been sick right then and there, but he held it in. A sob – however – did escape him and he looked away, clutching tightly at his blanket. So… she thought he wanted this…. She thought it was all consensual and his constant pleas for mercy and a reprieve were all just part of the 'fantasy'. It made him so queasy, and indeed he was ashamed.

"Schatzi, I really do care about you…. I promise…." He felt the mattress shift a little as she sat down beside him on the edge of the bed, still stroking his hair. "I'm sorry you thought otherwise. I'll be sure to make an effort to let you know more often, and… I'll bring it up to Herr von Karma too. I know it's not easy to tell him things like that…."

Almost every part of his mind was urging him to stop her, to tell her not to say a word… accept for one part. It was that last remaining bit of the innocent child left within him, that part that still allowed him to hope for the impossible, to believe in the good in the vilest of people, the part that wanted to be held, to be comforted, to be loved…

So, he said nothing.

"Poor thing…" Amelinda cooed again, as if she just couldn't get over how horrible of a state he was in. She leaned down to place a little kiss on his forehead, and then reached into the large purse at her side. "Here… I thought you might be bored here all alone, so I brought you a book to read."

Miles half-expected her to hand him some sort of stupid children's/teen's book that he would have no interest in. However, what he received was an old, expensive-looking leather-bound law book. He looked at it with a bit of surprise, and then looked back up at Amelinda as she spoke.

"You can keep it until you're finished with it," she said, smiling brightly at him. "I'll need it back, though. If it's gone for too long, Herr Astor might notice it's missing."

Now, he had two choices here. He could either be cold and resentful toward her like usual, or… he could show some gratitude. After this entire encounter, the bitterness just… wasn't strong enough to win his favor. "…Danke, Meine Frau…"

She giggled, kissed his forehead again, and ruffled his hair a little. "Bitteschoen," she replied cheerfully. "Now, rest up! Everyone hates seeing you like this, you know? Auf Wiedersehen." She waved, and then exited the room, leaving him alone again… and rather baffled.

…Had his choice to end it all finally made them understand what they had done to him…? Had they really been – up until this point – so clueless…? Were things really going to improve for him, if not just a little…?

…..Or was it all just another game…?