The last judgment

      There was a silence in the night, broken only by my heavy breathing and the rhythmic beating of my heart, while I was in such a hurry and so afraid of not making it. My legs began to tire, but I was afraid to stop. I had to walk up the stairs to the twelfth floor — the elevator wasn’t working. Only when I was exhausted, and it seemed I couldn’t take another step did I slow down. Panting, I stood on trembling legs, and the very door I had stopped at appeared before me in the gathering darkness. On the door was a sign that read in large letters, “Cabinet 1202. Office of the High Prosecutor.” My heart skipped a beat — this was it, my destination. I pushed it open with ease and squeezed my eyes shut as the night wind blew into my face.       The light of the moon, reflected in the glass of the window, showed me a part of the study, in the shadows. It was as usual: a polished desk, a soft leather sofa, high rows of files. Only the open window looked very strange. As I approached, I saw something dark behind the desk that looked like a human silhouette.       Fear gripped my heart — it couldn’t be. As I got closer, the shadow became clearer, more visible, but I didn’t need the light anymore — I just needed to feel it. The dark red jacket, the jabot and the shirt peeking out from under his vest were covered in blood. He sat with his back against the bookshelves, his head on his chest, his hair covering his face. I was horrified, and a lump immediately formed in my throat. Without thinking what I was doing, and forgetting everything else in the world, I walked around the table to avoid bumping into his legs, staggered, stepped forward, and fell beside him. “Miles… Miles!!!”       My fingers encircled his pale face, tucking the soft hair away. His lips were tight, and his eyes remained closed even as I leaned forward. I pressed my cheek against his, only now feeling the hot tears rolling down my face. I wanted to do everything I could to make him come to his senses, to wake up. But he hadn’t regained consciousness, and he never would. I almost screamed in despair and hopelessness. I would no longer see the eyes that looked at me with such love and hatred at the same time, the smile with which he could tease me, his voice, always clear and calm, his melodious laughter…       Suddenly, his hand slipped with the paper he held. Carefully, as if afraid to hurt him, I pulled it out and unfolded it: “Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth chooses death,” it said. With a sob, I threw it on the floor. “Didn’t make it, didn’t make it.” I heard in my head. Tears streaming down my cheeks, I bent his head down and cradled his cold, lifeless body against my chest. I hugged him as if seeking protection, even though being a protector was my calling. A wave of sorrow and regret washed over me — the tortured chains had broken — I had truly loved this man. There was no point in hiding my feelings anymore. “Phoenix!”       I flinched at the shout behind me, turned around, and, lifting my eyelids heavily, saw Mia standing in the doorway. She looked at me anxiously. Then a faint smile appeared on her face. Crouching down beside me, she touched my shoulder and said:       “It’s going to be okay. Phoenix, you’re strong, and you’ll get through this. The most important thing is that you don’t be afraid. No one, you hear me, no one is really to blame. And come on, stop crying. Remember, this is just the beginning of the battle ahead. Win it, by all means.”

***

      “Nick! Nick, come on, wake up, you can sleep later!” someone was shaking my shoulder very insistently. “Nick!”       I struggled to open my eyes, trying for a few seconds to make sense of where I was and what was around me. My heart was racing, probably from the nightmare. Butz was standing next to me, my best friend since high school, but the last person I wanted to see right now. A piece of paper was stuck to my cheek, and I pulled it away from my face in horror, remembering the “message” from the nightmare. It turned out to be an ordinary piece of paper from a case summary. With a relieved exhale, I tossed it into a pile of the same. “So much waste paper, I don’t know where to put it.” Again I fell asleep in my office, my face in a pile of paper.       “Larry, what are you doing here?” I asked, yawning and craning my neck and right arm — I must have slept on it. I moved my head and shook off the remnants of sleep.       “We’re in trouble, Nick! I’m ready to die of fear! This is the end! The end of our lives!” wailed Butz, jumping around my desk and pointing his finger at me.       “So, Larry stole my branded left hand, pointing at my opponent… That’s how people feel when a finger is pointed at them… Hmmm.”       “Could you keep it down a little? I might go deaf, Larry,” I finally stood up, and stepping around a wound-up Butz, I opened the bottom door of the cupboard, pulling out a teapot and cups, “Sorry, I’m out of tea, but I still have coffee… I’ll ask you again: Larry, what the hell are you doing here?”       “Dude, you are fucking deaf! I told you, I need a lawyer! A LAWYER, Nick!”       “God. When something smells, it’s usually the Butz.”       I rolled up my shirt sleeve and glanced at the dial of my watch. Twenty minutes to eight.       “Bureau “Wright & Co” has been open since eight in the morning, Larry. Take a seat on the couch in the waiting room, and in just twenty minutes, Attorney Phoenix Wright will hear you out. And the coffee will be cold by then.”       “At the same time, I need an invigorating shower, chase away the nightmare remnants, cleanse myself,” I thought as I poured the scalding black drink into the cups.       “Uh, whoa, you got it wrong. I came here to you because our Edgie needs help.”       My hand twitched on its own at those words, burning my skin with boiling water, but it didn’t matter. My heart jumped a beat. Everything faded and stopped.       It had been about two weeks since I had last seen Miles, but I couldn’t get him out of my mind. His face was always in front of my eyes, and even the feelings he evoked in me grew deeper and stronger. I did not take a single case during this period, whether out of principle or weariness.       “W-what?! E-Edgeworth needs a lawyer?!”       “Yo, yeah. He’s accused of killing some asshole. He’s being questioned by the police right now.”       “Goddamn it, Larry! I will personally sue you and put you on death row! Why didn’t you say so before?” I frantically tightened the red knot in my tie, but my fingers were shaking, and the only thought in my head was: “Edgeworth is accused of murder”.       “Oh, Nick, you figured it out, but where are you going? The detention center’s open from nine o’clock. Oh, or do you have a special cool lawyer’s pass, huh?”       “Don’t be ridiculous, Larry — I don’t have a pass, I’m going to the police station to talk to Inspector Gumshoe, and then it’s nine o’clock,” I picked up the folded blue jacket from the couch, threw it over my shoulders, and turned to Butz, “I must hurry.”       “What, can’t wait to get back to work? Or are you so anxious to see Edgie?” Butz winked, and, laughing heartily, went out into the hallway.       I could only roll my eyes and follow, determined to get an acquittal at all costs.

***

      It took me about half an hour to get to the police station on the other side of town. Larry didn’t want to get in the way of his work, so he decided to meet me at the bureau that evening. The thought made me feel bad, but on the other hand, since he was so concerned about us, we could count on his support. Even after all these years, he was still a friend to Edgeworth and me, loyal and unchanging. Only one thing about this story was unclear to me: how did Butz know about this situation with Edgeworth? He worked as a journalist for a small publishing house, of course, and was terribly proud of it, even though he didn’t understand what journalism was all about, but that didn’t explain anything. His office was one of those little-known left-wing newspapers that came out in the middle of nowhere, usually writing “sensations” — completely idiotic stories. We will discuss this point later this evening.       So the police station was a five-story building with standard panoramic glass doors and a Los-Angeles Police Department sign. There were several police cars in the parking lot and many uniformed patrolmen standing at the entrance to the building. The cops already knew me, so I had no trouble getting through the front desk. Work was in full swing there. Fortunately, on my way to the inspector’s office, I met no one who could interrupt me. As I reached the right floor and entered the long corridor, I bumped shoulders with a man who was walking toward me, as wide as a closet.       “Oh, pal! It’s you! I’ve been waiting for you, here you are,” Gumshoe, with a twinkle in his eyes, handed me a folder of “case files” and familiar papers, “Oh, yes, sign here and here.”       “I had no doubt that you would be the one to handle this case” I took the folder and signed the papers.       “And I knew who the attorney in this case was going to be, pal,” he scratched the back of his head with a goofy grin, “Other attorneys worth their salt would never have taken this case.”       “What do you mean worth their salt? Oh, and did I really, right now, sign…?”       “Yes, Mr. Edgeworth has already given me the motion to appoint you as counsel. All the paperwork is in order, so you can get to work. I also put the authorization for the investigation in the folder. I’m counting on you, pal. Don’t let me down.”       “Edgeworth… Did he really file a motion without being persuaded? I don’t believe it.”       “Thank you very much, Inspector. Can you bring me up to speed?”       “The murder took place in the prosecutor’s office around midnight tonight. Police found the body of attorney Harold Horton in the office of Chief Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth. Death was the result of two stab wounds. There were no signs of a struggle or other investigative activity on the body. The knife with Mr. Edgeworth’s distinct hand prints was at the scene. The deceased was also found in possession of a court file from a case he and Mr. Edgeworth had tried. Four thousand dollars was also missing from the victim’s wallet. The door to the office was locked and no signs of forced entry were found. The key was found in the suspect’s jacket pocket. And that’s about it.”       “But that’s silly!” I blurted out, “Edgeworth is a gifted prosecutor with seven years of outstanding service. Why would he do all this? If he wanted to kill someone, he would have planned the whole thing, not left the body in his office with the murder weapon. And what motive could there be?!”       “I know, pal, but all the evidence pointed to him. And the motive is Mr. Edgeworth miserably lost that case to Attorney Horton. The latter was able to present the court with irrefutable evidence that Mr. Edgeworth was incompetent. This evidence, by the way, was found in the office safe.”       Another complicated murder case to investigate. But I’m used to it. A nightmare dream turned into a nightmare come true, but nothing can be changed now.       I looked at the clock and shivered — it was almost nine o’clock. It was a little over two minutes before the detention center opened. I quickly said goodbye to Gumshoe and went downstairs to the nearby building where the “detention center” was located. It was a short walk as it was on the same side of the street as the department. I reread the contents of the folder a few times, hoping to find something interesting, but everything had already been discussed, and it was only when I got there that the unpleasant feeling in my soul was replaced by hope.       There were two guards at the entrance to the detention center. When they saw me, they greeted me politely, but their faces said “You again!” The lobby was crowded. After waiting for the duty officer to escort me to the visiting room, he and I went inside. Miles, as I had expected, was already seated at a table separated from the visitors by a glass partition. When he heard my footsteps, he raised his head and stood immediately. His face was tired and displeased, but I could see how excited he was. Without his cherry jacket, he looked thinner and more haggard, and the dark circles around his eyes added to the impression. Now he looked like a statue carved with the chisel of despair and sadness.       “Edgeworth…” I whispered, walking over to the table and touching the cold surface with my fingertips.       He only nodded slightly. We stared at each other in silence. It was unbearably hard to see him like that. I wanted to say something very calm and sincere to him, but I knew that my words wouldn’t be comforting anyway because nothing would change.       “Wright, what’s happened to your arm?” Miles broke the long pause.       I glanced down at my hand and noticed a patch of reddened skin, the aftereffects of a burn. Only now did I feel a searing pain that I hadn’t had time to think about before, and I yanked my fingers away.       “It’s okay, it’ll heal before the wedding.”       “Fool,” he muttered, scrutinizing the burn mark, then he looked me in the eye and continued: “The trial’s tomorrow, and your arm’s in this condition. It’s nowhere good. How are you going to object?”       “Oh, Miles, do you want me to show you how to object? I mean, no, I… Please calm down,” the words made me feel awkward in a way I couldn’t hide. And apparently I wasn’t the only one. Even the slight blush that appeared on his cheekbones and cheeks spoke of it.       I put the case file on the desk, sat down heavily in the chair in front of Miles, and closed my eyes, sighing. I realized from the sound of the chair being pushed back that he’d sat down next to me. When I opened my eyes, I looked at him.       “Now, I know you’ve been a client of mine before, but it’s been a long time since then, and you’re not the rookie attorney you saw me as back then. So listen to me very carefully.”       “Upstart,” he interrupted with a smug smile. — Wright, you’re still a rookie attorney, don’t be under any illusions.       “However, it was my name that you put on the motion — a pathetic and inexperienced attorney.”       “Yeah, that’s right. I trust you.”       “Y-yes, just about trust. Edgeworth, you must trust me completely, without holding back anything that might help the case. And I’ll do the same for you. Whatever happens, remember, I’m on your side. It’s time to answer some questions.”       “You’re tormented by these feelings too, aren’t you?” it rang in my head, sending an unpleasant chill down my spine.       “Ahem… Okay. That day, I lost a trial to Attorney Horton, who fabricated evidence supposedly proving the suspect’s innocence. This evidence is a letter. I’m sure it’s a forgery, but forensics disproved it by confirming that the handwriting matched the victim’s. For the rest of the day, I was haunted by the fact that the real killer had been found not guilty. In desperation, I appealed for a retrial and called Horton into my office. He showed up, didn’t deny anything, didn’t object to anything. On the contrary, he agreed with what I suspected. After he left, I hid the tape of my conversation with him in the safe, and at that moment I received a call from Butz: he needed my help urgently… So I decided to leave the work for tomorrow, even though I knew how long and complicated the process would be. But you know how Larry is. So I closed the office, left the key at the front desk, and walked out of the building. The time was ten hours and thirteen minutes, according to the parking receipt. Three hours later, I was charged with Horton’s murder. That’s it.”       “I see… What’s Larry’s problem?” I ran my fingers through my hair, trying to collect my thoughts.       “I’m sorry, but this doesn’t concern you, Wright, and neither does this case.”       “Those keys… there’s something wrong with them. How did they end up in your jacket if you handed them in?” He just shrugged. “Okay, don’t worry, I’ll figure it out.”       “Do you believe all your clients by default? “I’m not a murderer” — is that enough?”       “A defense attorney’s greatest weapon in the courtroom is faith in himself and his client,” I smiled softly, “I will believe and defend you to the end, Edgeworth.”