Quicksand

(Back again with a special dramatic chapter for you guys! LOL Oh, and I'm taking German in college now, so hopefully my writing will become a little more accurate when using the language or referring to the country of Germany. Anyway, enjoy!)

Chapter 12: One Final Plea

"…Do you remember it…?"

They had been lying awake for an immeasurable amount of time. They had both pretty much cried themselves to sleep, and now their bedroom was illuminated by the morning sun. Yet, that sleep was just a brief rest, for both had been far too exhausted and upset to discuss anything the previous night. Now, their morning would begin with this depressing topic, but they both knew it had to be done.

"…That night…? Of… of course I remember it…" Miles whispered, not having opened his eyes yet.

"No, I mean… the end of it?" Franziska corrected herself. She was propped up on her elbow, watching him lie there still. She'd known he was awake or she wouldn't have said anything, not that it was easy to do so, even now.

"Oh…." Miles sighed, and then shook his head a little. "To be honest with you… no. I fainted before that happened, but… Isold was 'kind' enough to show me the next day…"

Franziska bit her lip lightly. She'd almost been able to convince herself that – while it would've taken a hell of a lot of work and there was no reason to do so - the tape could've been doctored. However, if it had been shown to Miles the following day, there simply wouldn't have been enough time. "….So it was real…."

"….Why would they have made something like that up….?"

"I don't know… I'm just…." She trailed off and lowered her head. When you spent your whole life believing or not believing in something with such certainty, it is always so difficult to accept that it was all a mistake, even when the evidence is so clear. And yet, this was just another blow, another eye-opener for the young prosecutor. She'd learned about so much she didn't want to know of these past few days, and here was another to add to the list. Honestly… she couldn't say which was the biggest revelation, which had made the biggest impact, which terrified her the most…

"…It was my father…" Miles whispered after a long bout of silence. "…I just… know it was. The idea of him… knowing… about all of that has always sickened me… made me – if possible – more ashamed, but… to know that he was still there for me… trying to help me in any way he still could… It was… probably why I didn't ever try to kill myself after that night… I wanted to die… but he wanted me to live, and… and I owed him that…"

"Miles…." She could feel tears welling up again. His words had struck a chord in her heart, for she simply couldn't imagine how he could've survived that night. She had no idea what that was like, to feel such attachment to a parent. Her father – while she had followed him – had never loved her, and her attachment to him was not one of affection; it had been a thirst for approval and attention. As for her mother, she couldn't even remember her, had no idea what had happened to her, so how could she feel the least bit attached? Could a love that strong really keep someone alive through something like that… even from beyond the grave…?

They both spent another large space of time in silence, in their own heads. Franziska was the first to speak, and her voice quivered with anticipation. "So… what you've been… trying to tell me all this time is that… there's… a spirit… in this house that is… tormenting you…?"

"…Yes…."

"A-and you… you think that spirit is… m-my father…?"

"….yes….."

"…And… what is he here for…?"

This was a question Miles knew he couldn't answer, not because he didn't want to, but because he didn't know. Still, he tried to think about it, tried to understand what Manfred and Amelinda wanted the end result of all of this to be. He just didn't think like them… so he couldn't even begin to imagine.

"….I don't know… I wish I did..."

Franziska gazed upon her lover, waiting, thinking, as if the answer would suddenly come to the both of them. Naturally, it didn't, but it was as if, in that moment, someone flipped a switch inside her head. She stood up, her expression turning from one of worry and fear to one of determined resolve. "Well, I think it's about time we found out, don't you?"

A bit taken aback, Miles stared up at her, looking bewildered. "...Pardon?"

"I refuse to sit by and let them torment you!" Franziska stated, her hand forming a tight fist before her. "And, I refuse to let you roll over and take it! We're stronger than this, Miles; you're stronger than this!"

Miles supposed he shouldn't have been surprised at the return of her never-say-die attitude, but at the moment, he didn't feel that he could pick himself up that quickly. Furthermore, he had no idea how to figure out what the motives of those two sociopaths could be.

"I'm going to go get ready," Franziska told him. "And then you will do the same, right?"

Miles bit his lip and lowered his head momentarily, his bangs casting a shadow over his face. "...Yes..." he murmured, just choosing to agree and comply. He knew she was right not to give up and sit around, so he would let her pull him along until he found the fight he hoped was still within him.

"Good. I'll be back shortly," she said before turning and walking away into their adjoining bathroom. Miles was sure he knew where they were going today, and to say he didn't wish to go with her was much more than a simple understatement.

And so, after they had both cleaned up and eaten breakfast, Franziska found that getting Miles to leave the house with her wasn't as easy as she'd hoped it would be. "Miles, you can't let her know she's getting to you," the German prosecutor argued. "I'm willing to defend you, but I can't fight this all on my own, you know!"

"Franziska... if you think she has any doubts that she's in my head..."

Franziska gritted her teeth, once more becoming frustrated with him, despite constantly reminding herself she needed to be patient and understanding. "Miles, I tried yesterday, and she refused to budge! I'm certain we would be much more successful if you could just show your resilience!"

"Yes, well... I think we both remember what happened the last time I attempted to face her..."

This comment and the memories it provoked seemed to cut Franziska down a little. She stared at him in silence for a long time, the tension weighing on the both of them, before she finally gave a sigh. "...Fine. Stay here if you wish, even though we both know that's a worse idea than coming along..."

So, against her better judgment, Franziska left the house alone, hoping that when she returned, Miles would be all right. She knew that she would worry until that time, and she made certain that her cellphone was within quick reach should it ring at any point.

"Ah, Fräulein, so nice to see you again!"

"Show a little respect, Herr Astor!" Franziska snapped, not at all surprised that they couldn't even start out a conversation properly. "It's Fräu von Karma and I trust you'll remind your secretary of that as well."

Ewald's response was a laugh as he leaned back in his office chair and folded his arms. "Es tut mir Leid, Fräulein, but I'm a bit... 'old school'. And as for Fräu Isold, I'm afraid I can't tell her how to address others. So..." He trailed off for a moment, tilting his head a bit to the side to look her over, something he seemed to enjoy doing a little too much. "... what's got your guns blazing today?"

She hated his gaze, his tone... Everything about this man disgusted Franziska von Karma, but the fact that he was in charge of this office was the inescapable truth. She had a substantial amount of doubt that he would cooperate with her, but it was worth a shot, for getting anything done here without his approval would be very difficult, and it was an avenue she wanted to avoid for Miles' sake. "Your secretary has been involved in some horrible crimes and is holding onto proof of my claims. She must be investigated and arrested for blackmailing and exploiting Miles Edgeworth, along with assisting in past crimes against him and harboring the knowledge and evidence of them."

Ewald began to laugh, causing Franziska's blood to instantly reach the boiling point. "You mean those tapes?" he asked, as if the issue was nothing to be concerned with. "I thought we already talked about this, Fräulein."

"And you refused me the simplest of answers!" Franziska snapped. "Not to mention your extremely inappropriate advances. Need I remind you that solicitation is also illegal!"

"Come now... It was only a suggestion," the Chief Prosecutor said, waving his hand as if to ward off her hostility. "And now you want to pin this on Amelinda? You certainly were making a scene in her office yesterday; is this what it was all about?"

"She handed me a copy of one of the tapes!" Franziska exclaimed, frustrated that she even had to justify accusing the blond-haired woman. "And according to Miles Edgeworth's own accounts, she was the individual who created those tapes! Of course I'm accusing her, and of course I'm furious! This is your office; should you not be working to maintain its integrity?"

"Hah... Integrity..."

Slowly, Ewald rose from his chair and began to walk around his desk. "You haven't changed a bit, have you, Klein Mädchen? Integrity! How laughable! You're still such a naive child."

She bared her teeth, standing her ground with clenched fists. "How dare you?" she hissed, blue eyes blazing with anger.

"Tell me, Fräulein, how do you think it was that your father made it to the top?" Astor asked, now standing on the visitor's side of his desk and leaning back against it. "Do you still believe – after all this time – that your father had integrity, that he was just an honest, hard-working man who followed the rules and always tried to do what was right?"

"I am not such a fool as to deny the evidence that has been put before me!" she spat back. "My father was a horrible demon of a man, the proverbial Anti-Christ! He was not the saint everyone thought him to be, and I've come to realize that his corruption was not the extent of the filth that has stained what should be an honorable and noble office of prosecutors."

"Then when will you give up this little crusade you and that pathetic American boy have started? We all do what we have to in order to reach the top. Your father fabricated evidence, did the dirty work of corporate bigwigs, and even killed a man to secure his place amongst the legends of the legal world. Fräu Isold assisted him and kept his secrets without flaw, and now, she does the same for me, because I too have piled a few skeletons in my closet to get to where I am today."

Though she had known all along that the three people being mentioned were awful and dishonorable, to here it all put this way, to think that anyone important had to destroy their humanity to get there... it was something she didn't want to accept. She and Miles... well... they had attained their status thanks to their association with her father, but thanks to their refusal to break the law in order to appear as if they were upholding it, they would never be viewed the way her father had been, perfect and infallible.

"So... Fräulein... How about you?" Ewald inquired, a sinister tone seeping into his voice. "Are you willing to do whatever it takes to get what you want, or will you continue this pointless pursuit of some imaginary thing you call justice?"

And here it was; the ultimate decision. Never did she want to dirty her hands or sacrifice her honor to right a wrong, but what if it was the only way? She needed to save Miles from further humiliation, but how could she lower herself to the level of these criminals pretending to be protectors of the sanctity of justice and the law? What was it all worth, and was there another way, a way to take down such important and powerful figures that didn't involve scheming and underhanded tricks?

What would Miles have her do...?

"...Forget it, Astor," she growled, looking him directly in the eyes as she spoke. "I would never conspire with swine like you. If I cannot get you to do what is right and bring Isold to justice, then I will take my issue down to the precinct and have your entire office investigated, now that I know Bitburg's prosecutors are nothing but mobsters!" With those biting remarks and her bold declaration of no surrender, Franziska turned on her heel and marched for the door, ready and determined to bring these liars and thieves to their knees. She would not be compromised, would not be silences. She was Franziska von Karma, a woman who demanded respect and would damn well receive it!

Click-click

She froze immediately with her hand on the doorknob, that all-too-familiar sound zapping the determination right out of her. Slowly, she turned, and sure enough, she was staring down the barrel of a revolver.

"...Have a seat, Fräulein..." Ewald said in a calm, would-be-casual tone of voice, a smirk on his lips and his gun aimed steadily for the young woman with her back to the office door. "I'm afraid I can't just let you walk away. After all... we haven't reached an agreement to satisfy the both of us, now have we?"

"Herr Edgeworth, would you like me to put on a pot of tea?"

"Hm?" Miles looked up from the table he'd been intently staring at for a length of time he couldn't measure. "Oh... Yes, thank you..." he replied to the maid standing in the doorway to the kitchen. He wasn't used to having servants, or whatever they were called now days. He'd not lived in this house for seven years, and even then it had felt like some Medieval Lord's Mansion as opposed to a modern estate.

He watched the maid disappear into the kitchen, and then turned his gaze toward the tall windows that composed the wall behind the dining table he was sitting at. The windows allotted him a perfect view of the open field that was the backyard of this estate, and he could almost imagine a few dozen surfs or slaves working beneath the clouded sky above a couple hundred years ago.

But, alas, their had only been one slave in this house that he had ever been aware of; him, and any length of time he'd spent outside had been a rare treat.

He sighed, and turned away from the scene in order to clear his mind. He could remember how unbearably hot it used to get in this room on those bright and sunny days when the light would shine directly through the wall of windows, how he'd felt like an ant under a magnifying glass while eating afternoon meals in here and wondering how his mentor had tolerated it while always wearing those heavy suits. Really, he couldn't recall a single time when Manfred had not been dressed as if he was going to some extremely important event, and never had a drop of sweat glistened on the older man's brow, whether sitting at the head of the table directly beneath the glaring heat, or otherwise.

Miles clenched his fist upon the dining table, his nails grinding over the expensive, polished wood, leaving not a single mark upon it. Why was he thinking about any of that as if this place was worth reminiscing about? He was trying to forget, not recall details and take himself back in time. He'd done enough of that against his own will lately, and it was all horrible, save for the few fleeting moments of what he'd known to be happiness spent with the young Franziska. Those were all he wanted to hold onto from his past, for even then, the foundation of their relationship was being laid, a process he never wanted to forget.

He was drawn out of his reverie by the loud whistle of a teapot from the kitchen, and a few moments later, the maid appeared carrying a black tray in her hands, baring the steaming kettle with a cup and saucer. She placed it before him on the table, and then gave him a bit of a smile, as if noticing his troubled appearance.

"Danke schoen," he murmured, giving her a nod in response. Nothing more was said as she walked away, back into the kitchen, and Miles reached out to pour himself a cup. Perhaps this would help him relax; it normally worked, after all. He just couldn't shake the feeling that he was in far too deep to be rescued by a small cup of tea.

As he began to sip the hot liquid, Miles listened to the clatter of dishes from the kitchen and tried to focus on the hear and now, his current surroundings. Yet, he couldn't stay out of his head while sitting here alone on a quiet, overcast afternoon in this old house. His gaze slowly turned back to the landscape beside him, out over the field to the tree line at the edge of this huge property. Upon first arriving here, he'd still had that childish sense of adventure, and he'd once gone exploring into those woods and become lost for a couple of hours. It had been Franziska that found him; that tenacious three-year-old girl had led him back out of the trees, scolding him all the way about being so foolish as to wander off and get himself lost.

He laughed softly to himself as this memory returned to him, and as he brought his cup to his lips for another sip of tea, he continued to gaze outside and think about those few precious times he'd actually seen the sun from the opposite side of the glass back then. He'd been such a pale young man, and though he wasn't much darker now, he normally had a much healthier look to him, save for times like this when he was dealing with too much stress.

As he scanned the scene before him, his gaze fell upon something that interrupted the smooth line of grass and trees. Slowly, he lowered his cup from his lips until it touched the table once more, but he was no longer paying it any mind. He knew what he was looking at, and it was something he'd not thought about once since returning here.

Near the very back of the property, protected by a sturdy white wooden fence, sat the Von Karma family burial sight. The thing that had caught his eye was the large monument in the center, an aged marble statue, which he could not clearly see from this distance. He'd been out there before, but not since his first couple of years living here. He had not visited the sight in fifteen or so years... not even though there had been a significant addition to the sight since then...

He had no idea what compelled him to stand up and push his chair back under the dining table, but before he could stop himself, he was walking toward the sliding glass door that led out onto the back patio. He stepped out into the cool air, a light breeze causing his bangs to flutter before his face as he placed his hands upon the wooden railing that enclosed the concrete platform he stood upon. It was a fair day outside, but now – like every other part of this estate – it all felt eerie. Far too often did he feel like he was living in some psychological thriller movie, the kind that could give you goosebumps just with its atmosphere and the occasional appearance of the supernatural just to keep the audience on the edge of their seats. No blood, no gore, no cheap scares where something jumps out of the shadows and gets a few gasps of surprise, maybe a scream or two from those without a steeled nerve.

No... this was true fear, true tension, true suspense, and it was all his reality, not a movie or a Stephan King novel, and now he was staring out at a cemetery. How frightfully cliché...

But cliche exists for a reason, and after a bit more deliberation, Miles found himself stepping down off the porch and beginning his walk across the neatly-cut grass toward that shadowed, fenced-in section just on the edge of the woods. He really didn't want to make this trip, but he almost felt as though he had business there, as if... he'd find answers there, as ridiculous as that sounded, even to him.

The walk took a good five minutes, giving him time to remember how this place had seemed even bigger when he was a child, though back then he'd had the life left within him to sprint the distance, not this slow, dead march he was making now. When he finally reached the white fence, he could see that it needed some maintenance. The wood was splintered and rotting in places, and the white paint was chipping off in several places. It was as if this was the only part of this estate that imperfection could touch, for it was here that the prestigious family was proven to be just like everyone else, mortal and destined to die as are all humans.

Even the chain lock was rusted to uselessness, allowing Miles to simply pull the gate open and step inside, the hinges creaking slightly as it swung shut behind him. The grass was longer within the boundaries of the fence than throughout the rest of the property, and it was obvious that this cemetery just wasn't cared for as well as everything else. Miles looked around at all the headstones, some fairly recent, some hundreds of years old with faded engravings and small patches of moss covering portions of them. Here lay the history of the Von Karma dynasty, and in the center of it all stood the largest and probably one of the oldest headstones here.

Miles approached the monument, peering up into the helmeted face of a knight. This statue was ten feet tall, its base standing at four feet and the knight at about six. The marble was shaped into a grand-looking armored man, holding a two-handed broadsword against his shoulder and bearing the family crest upon his breastplate. Upon the base was written a faded epitaph, but Latin was not a language Miles had ever studied, so he had no hope of reading it. This proved that the Von Karma manor had been around since the Medieval era, and Miles supposed that this family had once been noble, at the top of the social pyramid, second only to royalty. They were descended from Lords and knights, and it made perfect sense why they had become prosecutors. Knights were protectors of justice and fearless warriors, and while the battlefield had become the courtroom, Miles viewed prosecutors as modern knights, battling those who would do others harm and upholding the law of the land.

...So what had happened...? What had begun the down-spiral of corruption? Was it possible that this family had always been that way, that they had all put up a front for the world while dealing in evil to stay on top? Or, had someone turned away from that nobility and chosen that path of evil? Had someone abandoned the old codes of chivalry and honor to gain notability through deception?

Slowly, the young man turned to finally glimpse the addition to this garden of gravestones, what had not been here fifteen years before. He hesitated, and then began to walk toward it, feeling his heart pound against his ribcage. In about ten shaky paces, he reached the tall stone and peered down upon it, far more tense than he probably should have been.

"Manfred von Karma – A life devoted to the purification of our world shall never be forgotten."

Had Miles less tact, he could have spat upon the grave at his feet. How laughable! Manfred von Karma had devoted his life to nothing but his own gratification, getting his name in lights. He had cared nothing about removing evil from the world; in fact, he'd contributed generously to that evil!

But no one understood that... Only a hand-full of people knew the truth about him, and their voices would not be heard. Even after he had been convicted of murder, his name was still honored and praised, as if what he'd done was an act of necessity, something righteous that was just so unfortunate to have removed him from his throne.

"...You were vile from the start, weren't you...?" Miles asked the headstone in a soft, quivering voice, his hand hovering just above its surface as if wanting to touch it but knowing it would burn. "You cared for no one beyond yourself... We were all just pawns to you, expendable pieces you used to get ahead in the game. But what are you now...? Just a rotting pile of ditritous, buried six feet below the earth and serving no purpose other than a feast for the worms. And yet..."

Miles drew his hand back to grasp his own shirt, wearing his usual suit excluding the jacket and cravat. He gripped his shirt color tightly, almost able to feel the non-existent leather dog collar beneath.

"And yet here I am... speaking to you as if you stood before me, as if you would hear me and be reasoned with... You still have an unbreakable hold over me, and... and you know it, don't you? Still, even after your death you will not let me go free. Have I not paid whatever debt you believe my father owed to you? You took his life for what he said, and then you took his son! For nine years I suffered! With blood, sweat, and tears I paid that debt, with my dignity, my soul, and my freedom! With countless nights void of sleep or tormented by nightmares, all the while ravaged by overwhelming guilt, a belief that I was the one with a debt to pay!"

His voice had gone from a quiet, bitter tone to a shout that echoed throughout this solitary place. He spoke to the clouded sky above as tears now began to slide down the sides of his face, his desperation and anguish spilling out once more in his most passionate attempt to reach the man that lay only a short distance below the ground he stood upon. When he spoke again, he was no longer shouting; the volume had dropped to almost the level it had started at.

"...Wasn't it enough...? Why won't you unchain me...? Why must my pain be dragged up and put on display for the entire world to see? Why must you torment me with nightmares... and haunt me...? Can you not rest with the knowledge that Gregory Edgeworth's son belonged to you for so many years, that you left so many scars upon my body and mind that will never truly heal? Do I really have to die as well...? Can I not have what's left of me, to pick up the broken, scattered pieces and live out the rest of my life with some semblance of normalcy?"

It was at this point, shaking and lightly sobbing, Miles descended to his knees before the gravestone. "...Just this once... won't you listen to me...? Please... release me... I beg of you, let me live in peace... I have nothing more to give you that I have not already given countless times... So please... let me go... Let me go..."

That breeze returned, cold against his tear stained face, and suddenly the wind began to pick up. His bangs blew back away from his face, his shirt collar fluttered, and a crescendoing hiss sounded from the treetops. Miles slowly lifted his chin to gaze back toward the sky, noting that the clouds had darkened, blotting out the sun almost completely. It appeared as though it was about to storm, but the signs had come out of nowhere.

The sound of something heavy hitting the ground a few feet behind him caused the young man to gasp and turn slightly to look back. His gaze fell upon a large stone that he didn't remember seeing there before. He would have noticed it, for it was not a headstone. It was haphazardly shaped and lying at no particular angle, as if it had been randomly dropped there. He was sure it had not been there before, however...

His breathing quickened as he slowly stood up and turned to walk toward the rock, all the while looking around to try and find anyone that might be lurking in the shadows, but there was no sign of life out here save for himself. Perhaps the object had just been lodged somewhere and was knocked loose by the gusting wind... Perhaps it had been there all along and he'd just been too preoccupied with his thoughts to notice? But in that case, what had made that sound he'd just heard? This seemed the only thing out of place...

With trembling hands, Miles picked up the misplaced stone, looking upon it with curiosity and even a little fear. Where had this come from? Why had it just appeared from nowhere and hit the ground to draw his attention to it?

As he examined the seemingly irrelevant object, he noticed a series of markings on one face of it. Looking more closely, he realized those markings formed words, letters that appeared to have been scratched sloppily into the stone's surface by something much less sharp than a professional carving tool.

"Franziska von Karma"

Miles' blood ran cold, freezing his breath deep in his chest.

He had given up everything. He had nothing left... accept Franziska... and here was her name, carved upon the face of a stone in her family's burial ground.

"No..." he choked, staring at the words and trying to convince himself he was imagining this, but no matter how many times he blinked, the name of his lover did not vanish. As a boom of thunder sounded overhead, panic overcame the young prosecutor. The heavy stone dropped from his hands to the earth below and he turned to run, flinging the gate open and sprinting as fast as his legs would carry him toward the manor in the distance. The sky had nearly turned black, and he felt the beginnings of rainfall as he ran, hurriedly pulling his cellphone from his chest pocket and hitting the appropriate speed-dial number to call Franziska.

With each ring, his fear grew, and when that ringing stopped, so did his heart.

"Guten Tag, Herr Edgeworth..."

Miles came to a complete halt, forgetting all about the incoming storm and the rain beginning to soak him. "...Herr Astor... Why are you answering Franziska's phone...?" he asked, a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"Just doing her a small favor," the older man replied. "I'm afraid she is... incapable of answering it herself at the moment, you see."

"What have you done!" Miles shouted into the phone, his panic and terror unable to be concealed. "Where the hell is she! I swear, if you lay a hand on her, I'll ~"

"Ah, ah, ah," Ewald cut him off. "You're in no position to make threats right now, Herr Edgeworth, and for her sake... it's probably not a wise choice to do so either. Oh, and don't worry. There's no need to tell you where we are; you'll be catching a ride here shortly."

Miles didn't even have time to react to this. Suddenly, he felt his air supply completely shut off, as if someone had come up behind him and wrapped their hands firmly around his neck. However, when he dropped his phone and brought his own hands up to pry them away, he felt only his throat. Panic, terror, shock, and the depletion of his oxygen were enough to render him unconscious in mere moments.

And as he felt the darkness swallow him whole, one last sound reached his ears. It was not thunder. It was not the rain, nor the wind, nor his own heartbeat.

It was laughter: hellish, cold, and hauntingly familiar.