Chapter 8

Face Your Fear

"Ah, Mister Gregory Edgeworth," Miles looked up at the man speaking and involuntarily stepped behind his father's leg.

"Prosecutor Von Karma," Dad replied and he nodded curtly. The creepy man looked at Miles and grinned wickedly.

"You've brought your little whelp with you, I see," Von Karma said, "You realize this is a courthouse and not a schoolhouse?"

"Sir," Dad said so polite that it seemed like he was mocking, "It's Christmas, I can't leave the boy by himself."

"What are you called boy?" Von Karma said.

Miles opened his mouth to answer but nothing came out.

"Mister Von Karma," Dad said, "My son doesn't talk to strangers."

Von Karma laughed and Miles squeezed his father's hand with both of his. Dad nodded again and led Miles away. Miles looked back once as they entered the defendant's lobby and the man was still staring at them.

"Dad," Miles whispered.

"You have to be good and stay quiet and out of the way," Dad told him.

"Ah, Edgeworth," said the only other person in the room besides the guards.

"Mr. Tenkai," Dad said, "You remember my son Miles?"

Mr. Tenkai frowned, "I'm sorry you're spending your Christmas here."

"I like it here," Miles said, "When I become a lawyer, I'll be here all the time."

The two men laughed. Then Dad took Mister Tenkai aside and Miles was left standing alone. He looked up at the large doors that led into the courtroom and then at each of the guards standing on either side of the entrance. One guard smiled at him and Miles smiled back nervously and glanced at his father.

This would be his third trial, but this case seemed more serious than the others. Mr. Tenkai was very nice, and Miles was certain he was innocent of the crime. Miles looked at his Dad and Dad looked worried.

"Miles," Dad said, "It's time, come on, I'll take you to your seat."

It was 6:43 in the morning, and Miles jogged down the stairs to the parking garage, still tugging on his coat. He jumped into his car and tore out of the garage and into the still gray morning.

He arrived at the precinct just after seven and marched straight into the Criminal Affairs Department. There were very few detectives in yet. Miles set his briefcase on the nearest desk and took off his coat. He stood there, arms crossed and glaring around the room until someone acknowledged him.

"Morning Mister Edgeworth," she was a female detective whose name Edgeworth never bothered remembering. She smiled at him, "Are you waiting for someone?"

"Is Goodman in?" Miles asked.

"He should be soon," she said, "He didn't get out of court until almost six P.M. last night, and he was here pretty late last night—but he said he was going to try and come in early."

"Do you think you can let me into the conference room—the one the task force—"

"I'm sorry Mister Edgeworth, it isn't your case—or mine," she said.

She walked off to brew some coffee and Miles was left alone to watch every detective that trickled in. He was checking his watch at 7:38 A.M. when a grinning Gumshoe walked in carrying two boxes of doughnuts.

"Detective Gumshoe," Miles said and forced a smile, "Good Morning."

"Morning Sir!" Gumshoe said setting the doughnut boxes down and opening them, "You're here early. Want a doughnut?"

"No," Miles said, "I want a look at the Honeymoon Investigation."

"Sorry Pal—Edgeworth, sir," Gumshoe said picking out a doughnut and frowning, "Goodman's in charge of that case."

"The case that's gone to trial—not the serial murders," Miles corrected, "Didn't you say the precinct had a task force—"

"It's all the same case, isn't it?" Gumshoe chomped down on his doughnut and went to see if there was coffee. Miles crossed his arms impatiently and glared at the wall. Gumshoe returned with a steaming mug of coffee and he was shoving the last bit of doughnut into his mouth. Miles was glaring at him.

"I'm sure no one would mind it if you lent a hand," Gumshoe said looking at Miles nervously from behind his raised coffee cup. Miles nodded at Gumshoe.

Gumshoe led him to a small conference room off of the large Criminal Affairs open floor. Files, photos, and bagged evidence were piled on a center table, laid out as if the people working the case had stepped out only for a moment. Gumshoe eagerly approached a large butcher paper block where note cards had been taped and lines drawn to show relationships between them. Gumshoe grinned at Miles.

"We did this last night," he said, "Goodman had a lot of new ideas after the trial yesterday."

Miles said nothing but studied the case laid out on the butcher paper display, frowning slightly.

"What's he doing here?" Miles turned to look at the source of the complaint. It was patrolman Marshall.

Miles turned back toward the case layout and crossed his arms, "The real question, people, is why a mere patrolman is involved in a major investigation like this at all?"

Marshall lunged at him but Gumshoe grabbed him. Miles turned and glared at the patrolman struggling half-heartedly in the big detective's arms.

"You know this isn't my first serial murder case!" Marshall said.

"Yes," Miles said.

"Chief asked me to help out," Marshall said.

Miles raised an eyebrow, "Did he?"

"Yes," Marshall said and then he faltered, "I mean sort of…"

Miles crossed his arms as if pondering this new bit of information, "Sort of?"

"W-well," Marshall said, "Goodman requested me. Chief granted the request."

Miles looked at the baleful Gumshoe and shrugged, "Drop him."

"Pompous devil," Marshall muttered as he straightened his uniform and other accoutrements.

Miles smiled at little at that, "Devil, was it? I haven't been called that in a while."

He'd turned his attention back to the chart. Marshall sat in a chair and fumed for a while, until Goodman came in with another detective Miles didn't recognize.

"Good morning," Goodman said stiffly. Miles only spared him a glance.

No one spoke and the air in the small conference room was palpable and uncomfortable. Several of the detectives seated startled when Winston Payne entered.

"Sorry I'm late," Payne began and then he must've noticed Miles' presence, "Oh. Edgeworth, what are you doing here?"

"I'm going to solve your case," Miles said matter-of-factly, "Surely, you'd like to bring this travesty to an end sometime in the coming year?"

Payne made a face, no else spoke. Miles was still looking at the chart. He was leaning against the table with his arms crossed. The group waited for several long minutes glancing now and again at the quiet prosecutor. Slowly they began to discuss things amongst themselves.

"Yesterday—before they got kicked out—he brought this to my attention," Payne was saying.

"We did find a receipt for a boat rental, in the defendant's name," Goodman said, "There were no holes in the argument. But with Rector convicted in this case, we're having a hell of a time tying the other murders—"

"Rector's not your man," Miles said and several of the detectives and the other prosecutor jumped. Miles straightened and turned to the group, he slammed a hand down on the table, "Your focus on Rector is what's holding this whole investigation back."

"His M.O. was the same as—" Goodman started.

Miles' glare was enough to shut him up. Miles took off his jacket and straightened his vest. Then he pushed up the sleeves of his shirt, "Let's get to work."

"I hope it's not too late dad," Miles said. His face was pressed against the car window looking at the now familiar neighborhood glittering with lights and subdued in the solemn cold.

Dad didn't seem too happy after the trial, but he didn't say anything to Miles about it, and Miles was pretty sure he didn't want to ask. Besides, it was Christmas and they were going to have dinner with friends. Ever since Mom died, Christmas had been pretty quiet, and Miles was excited—and Phoenix's mom was a good cook.

There were other cars parked in front of the house when they arrived. Miles waited for Dad to get that bag out of the trunk, tapping his foot impatiently.

"Dad! We're already late!" Miles said and Dad only smiled and touched the brim of his hat.

"What is that anyway?" Miles said, "What is that bag for?"

"It's from Santa," Dad said and took him by the hand to lead him inside.

"Dad," Miles said, "I know Santa's not real. There's no evidence—"

"Miles… I don't want to hear anymore about evidence tonight," Dad said.

Miles frowned, "I'm sorry—"

Dad mussed Miles' hair with a gloved hand and rang the doorbell. Miles could hear music and laughing inside.

"Greg?" Phoenix's mom said, "We didn't think you'd make it."

"I'm sorry if we're intruding—"

"Nonsense! Come in!"

"Merry Christmas," Dad handed the bag to Phoenix's mom.

"You shouldn't have."

Miles followed them inside and looked around for Phoenix. Phoenix was laughing on the sofa with Jilly Baxter and her little brother. Miles frowned a little at that and took a little longer to remove his coat and his shoes than he usually did. Dad had followed Phoenix's mom to the back of the room where they added the wrapped presents from Dad's bag to the pile under the tree.

"Hey Miles!" Phoenix said, "Hurry up already!"

Miles shut the car and locked it with the remote on his key fob. He started across the parking lot but paused to look up at the sound of another door slam. The police chief Damon Gant had also arrived at the Prosecutor's Building. Miles put his head down and walked faster.

"Worthy! Is that you?" Gant said. Miles pretended not to hear him—the door to the stairwell was so close.

"Edgeworth!" Gant's voice boomed across the parking lot. Miles paused to fix his face into one of mild surprise and then he turned to look at the man.

"Chief," he said, "I didn't see you." Miles forced a smile and waited for the man to catch him up.

"Worthy my boy," Gant said with a wolfish grin, "Just the man I came to see."

"Oh?" Miles said with affected interest.

"I just had a chat with Detective Goodman," Gant put an arm over Miles' shoulder, "I like it! I love the direction you're taking with the investigation."

"Ah," Miles said and shrugged out of the Police Chief's hold. He put a hand on the door to the stairwell.

"You know Worthy, I love how you think," Gant continued, "You're a lot like me, you know?"

"Oh, heh," Miles said and opened the door.

"Aren't you on the twelfth floor with Lana?"

"Yes," Miles said.

"So why are you taking the stairs?"

"Well, the elevator's broken again," Miles said casually. Unfortunately, the elevator dinged and a couple of ladies from the secretary pool came giggling out of it.

"It's fine now," Gant said and dragged Miles by the arm along with him toward the elevator.

"What was I saying? Ah, I want you on this case. You're the only one I can—"

Gant pressed the call button again and Miles pulled away from him.

"I-I really don't—" Miles stammered.

Gant looked at him strangely and then looked at the elevator.

"Edgeworth," Gant said glaring at him directly, "Don't tell me you're frightened of elevators?"

Miles glared back at him, "I'll see you in a few minutes then, I'm going to take the stairs."

"You are, aren't you?"

Miles answered with a look and turned to walk away. Gant laughed and grabbed his arm again.

"I don't have all day, I was hoping to keep this meeting brief," Gant said, "Besides that is such a childish fear to have."

Miles glared at the man, "I can make my floor in less than seven minutes."

"Aren't you the athlete?" Gant laughed again and the dreaded ding sounded and the doors slid open. Gant didn't argue any further, but dragged Miles inside.

"Chief I—"

"Nonsense!" Gant said and looked at Miles square in the face, "You need to face your fears! Be a man, Worthy!"

Miles could feel the breath catch in his throat. Gant pushed the 'twelve' button and the doors closed. Miles swallowed and put his back to the wall and dropped his case to grab the railing with both hands.

"Now," Gant said, moving to stand beside him, "I mean what I said, Worthy, you're the only one that I can trust to bring a conviction in this—Edgeworth?"

Miles watched the numbers count up and wondered why they seemed to go so slowly when they seemed to be going so fast. His legs were shaking. He couldn't feel his knees. He couldn't breathe.

Suddenly Gant had his arms around him again, "My boy… Don't think about it. If you just try not to focus on the fact that you're in an elevator it won't bother you. Look at me!"

Miles turned away from the angry digital four that just flashed to five and looked at the Police Chief. Gant looked very much like a worried old grandpa and he might've chuckled at the older man if he wasn't choking.

"I can't—" Miles panted.

"Yes you can," Gant said, "So stand up and take a breath."

Miles tried to pull away from him, "Let go of me!"

"See," Gant said, "How can you shout if you can't breathe?"

Miles whimpered pitifully, he was dizzy now and he felt his stomach lurch. His vision blurred and the red blob in his sight resolved itself into the number eight before he lost focus again. He continued to fight weakly at Gant's grip—even though the Chief's hold on him was probably the only thing keeping him standing.

Miles tried to pull away and reach for the emergency stop.

"Relax," Gant said, "You're being silly."

Darkness started to crowd his vision—was the elevator going to break down?

"It's flashing! It's going to—"

"We're almost there, nothing's wrong."

"I can't—" Miles panted.

He was shaking all over now and his hands tingled like they'd fallen asleep. He couldn't move—couldn't control them. The car lurched and Miles gagged and tugged at his cravat. Then the ding sounded. The door slid open and Miles bolted for his office.

He slammed the door and only made it a few steps before crumpling to the floor. He gasped a few times before everything went black.

He came to, in over bright light. Someone was snapping their fingers near his ears. For a moment that was the only sound he heard and it seemed to echo through his buzzing thoughts. Then the world flooded in around him in colors and voices.

"He's conscious," she was a girl—a pretty girl, an angel—no, an EMT.

"Oh, thank heaven," he recognized the voice of his secretary.

"Hello?" the EMT said.

Miles stared up at her. He was still shaky.

"Can you tell me your name?" EMT girl said. Her eyes were so brown.

"M-miles," Miles said, "My name is Miles."

"Good, how do you feel?" she said. Miles closed his eyes again and didn't answer her.

"Miles?" she said, "Stay with me."

"I feel bad," Miles said.

"Go on, open your eyes," EMT said, "Look at me. You had a panic attack, Miles. You passed out."

"Sorry," Miles said. But he opened his eyes and looked at her again. Somebody was grabbing his arm. He tried to sit up.

"Just relax, Miles," EMT said, "We need to take your blood pressure again."

"What's your name?" Miles said and the EMT smiled at him.

"Good, Miles, you're coming around," she said, "Do you feel any pain? We want to make sure you didn't hit your head or anything."

"No," Miles said.

"How is he?" Another woman's voice—Lana—said.

"Um," EMT said, "We should take him to the hospital."

EMT walked away to talk to Lana. Then Miles noticed the other EMT standing on his other side. The man was looking at his watch and pressing his neck. The man nodded at him and took his arm to put a blood pressure cuff on him. Miles noticed that his arm was bare—he'd been stripped down to his t-shirt. There was blood on his hand.

"What?" Miles said.

"You had a nosebleed," the male EMT said, "just relax so I can do this."

Miles lay back while the cuff tightened squeezing his arm. He looked at the ceiling above him. He was in Von Karma's office. Miles started to tremble again.

Snap! Snap!

"Hey," male EMT said, "Stay with me."

"Any change?" female EMT was beside him again.

"It's coming up… Slowly," male EMT said, "Very slowly, he almost fainted again."

"I didn't faint," Miles said.

Male EMT chuckled, "Good job buddy, keep talking."

"I didn't faint," Miles repeated, "I must've passed out."

"Yes," female EMT said, "You passed out. But I don't think you hit your head."

"I'm sorry we had to meet like this," Miles said to her, "My name is Miles."

She giggled and male EMT made a noise at her.

Miles had put on his shirt and vest even though the collar of his shirt was bloodied. The cravat needed to be burned; it looked more like a used bandage than anything now. It was difficult to convince them not to take him to the hospital, but he wasn't eager to spend any more time in the elevator today. Especially if he had to be strapped to a gurney.

The worst part was trying to convince everyone that he was fine and he'd be so much better if they just left him alone. After the EMTs left, it took another twenty minutes or so to get everyone out. Miles closed his eyes and put his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose. What a humiliating day.

He put his black-socked feet up on the arm of the sofa and stretched himself out. He grabbed his jacket and covered his chest and shoulders and stared at the ceiling. This used to be Von Karma's office. The desk was his own. The few articles of decoration were the same ones that Gumshoe had helped him drag over from his old office next door. But still, this used to be Von Karma's office, and no amount of covering up would change that.

Miles dug in his jacket for his phone and searched his contacts. He dialed. After a few rings she answered.

"It's me," Miles said into the receiver, "Miles Edgeworth…"

Franziska didn't hang up on him, nor did she scream.

A/N: Thanks for Reading!

Miles… Back to his old self… for now…

5JUL2015- Minor changes for clarity.