Wrightworth One-Shots

Ghost

((themes or death and murder, if that makes you uncomfortable then don't read it however do be aware it isn't described it's just said that a character is murdered. with that said, enjoy))

He was gone. And there wasn't much he could do about it now. Head Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth sat up against the wall, Phoenix's cold head lay in his lap.

He looked down. He wasn't really gone. He knew it. It was just an elaborate prank or a bad dream. Yes, that was it. A bad dream.

Sirens sounded in the distance. That'd be Detective Gumshoe. Miles had called him upon finding Phoenix. If he called the police normally, they'd convict him for sure. He stayed sat against the wall, hugging Nick's body close, the blood from his head seeping into the once pristine, white cravat.

The Detectives car pulled up at the end of the alleyway and he climbed out.

"Mr Edgeworth sir... are you...?" He trailed off, slowly walking towards Miles as to not startle him.

Miles wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his jacket and looked at the detective.

"I'm fine, Detective. Just take his body away and begin the investigation. I want the fucker who did this to Phoenix locked away for a very, very long time." Miles gently lifted Phoenix's head off his lap and stood up. Gumshoe backed away slightly, the uncontrolled malice that contorted on the prosecutors face worried him immensely.

"Right. Will do. Get yourself home safely sir. Do you want a ride?" He offered kindly, smiling and pointing at his car.

"No... thank you, detective. Just stay here with Phoenix until the unit arrives. I'll be over at the station bright and early to discuss what you find." The detective nodded nervously.

"Yes, sir. See you then sir." Miles grunted and began to walk down the street. A fresh wave of tears threatened to wash over his face like a tidal wave, drowning him in sorrow. But he held it together. Why? Because he is an Edgeworth. Edgeworth's are brave and courteous. They don't openly flaunt their emotions. Miles was certainly not going to tarnish his family's name, even if it was for the one he loved so dearly and held so close to his heart.

When he eventually arrived back to the apartment, it was empty. He wasn't sure what he'd expected really. He'd expected that all the events of the last hour had been a bad dream, but even in nightmares the agony wasn't real. It didn't cut deep into your soul, tear at your heartstrings and take your breath. It was just a bad dream after all.

He sat down on the sofa, being careful not to disturb the side Phoenix always sat on. Miles wasn't sure how long he could sit on that sofa, all the memories it brought back were too painful and real. All the times they'd fallen asleep on this sofa, tangled in eachothers bodies. The amount of times they'd watched The Steel Samurai and Liar, Liar and The Princess Samurai while eating takeaway.

Finally, the tidal wave of sorrow came crashing down and he sobbed. He broke down. He cried and cried and cried and screamed until his throat was raw and his face was snotty and red. His eyes puffy and bloodshot. He cried until he had no tears left to cry, but he continued anyway, no tears falling on his now red cheeks.

"It's not fair. Why did he have to kill you? Of all the 8 billion people on this planet, why did he chose you? What did you do to deserve it?" He cried, not expecting an answer.

"Honestly, love, I wish I could tell you." A voice spoke from the other side of the room. It sounded like... but it couldn't be... could it?

"Who... who's there?" He said into the empty space, thinking it was just his grief playing tricks on him.

"It's me, Miles. Phoenix." The voice said again.

"You... you can't be. He- He's dead. I held his cold limp body in my arms and-" He choked on his words, biting his knuckle so he didn't break down again.