Mia x Diego - Turnabout Courtship - AGWFanworks - 逆転裁判 | Gyakuten Saiban (2024)

Chapter 1: Prologue - Mia

Chapter Text

Date: Saturday, February 16th, 2013

Time: 3:47 pm

Location: Courtroom #4, Los Tokyo District Courthouse, Japanifornia

Well, this is it. After so much nervousness and worry about my first case, it looks like me and Diego have secured the win. I know that, as a defense attorney, you must always defend your client, regardless of whether they are guilty or innocent, but it gives me some relief to know that my client, Terry Fawles, is innocent after all. Well, of murder and kidnapping anyway. We’ll have to await the outcome of his statutory rape trial, though I pray Terry and Dahlia’s cursed relationship never went that far.

Potentially exonerating someone guilty is not something I’ve been prepared to do, even though I’m sure it’s bound to happen at some point. As I was taught in law school, everyone deserves the best possible defense they can receive, and the burden of proof must fall on the prosecution. In theory, that is. Sometimes, in this effed-up legal system of ours, it doesn’t exactly feel that way.

I take a deep breath, preparing to launch into my final attack on that junior prosecutor. He may have had me beat in the first half of this case, that brat, but it’s giving me immense pleasure to see his exasperation as I’ve been pulling out his case from under him.

They say he’s the new “wonder boy” of the prosecutor’s office, but it looks like he won’t be able to secure that perfect win record that he’s coveting. I’m ready for him, claws out, as Diego would say.

Hmph. I am glad he’s here today, if only so I don’t have to listen to Mr. Grossberg go on about his hemorrhoids again. “Gross”-berg indeed. Still though, I wish Diego would stop calling me kitten. He’s only three years older than me for God’s sake, but that nickname just makes me feel like a scared and immature little girl.

It’s a feeling made even worse by the fact that I can feel my cheeks get hot and I can hardly even look him in the face when he says it. I’d chalk it up to embarrassment at my inexperience but, by the way I catch him smirking back at me when I have the nerve to look up, tells me he sees it differently.

He says the nickname comes from the expression “a kitten in a lion’s den.” Me, I guess, for taking on such an impossible case, but I’m skeptical. I don’t remember hearing that expression before, as much as he insists it’s legitimate.

Technically, I am still a little wet behind the ears. Since joining Mr. Grossberg’s firm four months ago, I haven’t been on a single court case until today. I’ve spent the past four months in case review and contracts, piling over thousands of pages of legal documents for various criminal court cases and civil settlements and writing up boilerplate contracts. Wills, mortgages, business agreements, and the like.

Grossberg Law Offices primarily deals in criminal defense cases ranging from petty theft to serial murder, although we do our fair share of civil and contract work to help pay the bills of our enormous office space. Judging by all the mahogany, leather, crystal, and fine art scattered around our two-level office space in the heart of downtown, I’d say that Mr. Grossberg has expensive taste.

I’ve definitely been doing my part in that effort, holing away in the windowless document room for hours past my call time, or filing in and out of meetings all day with clients, finalizing forms and gathering signatures. However, criminal law is why I got into this field, and I had been itching to prove myself in my first case.

When I was hired, Mr. Grossberg and the partners assured me that I would be able to represent my first defendant quickly, but it wasn't quick enough for me. When I’ve asked Mr. Grossberg about it, he has always said the same thing: “You’re not ready yet, but soon.” But soon never seemed to come.

I like to think he didn’t mean anything by it; that it wasn’t a slight at my skills as an attorney. Mr. Grossberg is a nice man, but he is so absent-minded that he probably just forgot about his broken promises. I’m just tired of being stuck in kindergarten with the other junior attorneys on the team.

Meanwhile, Diego has probably presided over 20 cases in that time, a staggering figure only made possible by Japanifornia’s insanely unjust three-day trial maximum. He’s been pretty successful too, batting around 0.400 on his cases, or so I’ve heard.

I’ve been told that his win rate is almost unheard of for a defense lawyer. Unlike most prosecutors and their near 100% conviction rates, it’s a little harder for us defense attorneys to eke out a win for our clients, guilty or innocent.

He’s been at the firm for a little over three years and already there have been talks about making him a partner soon. It doesn’t seem like that will be another broken promise either. His record has been great for the firm.

Despite being in the same office though, we don’t exactly hang out in the same circles. He is typically in his private office on the second level and I’m in the junior bullpen on level one, with my tiny desk and ancient computer, surrounded by the seven desks of my other junior colleagues and law school interns. I guess that’s one area where Mr. Grossberg had spared all expenses.

I met Diego on my first day, when Mr. Grossberg paraded me around the office, introducing me to all my 30 or so colleagues and superiors, me trying and failing to remember all their names. I remembered Diego though. When we stopped by his office, he was sitting in his plush red leather office chair, reviewing some papers, and sipping a coffee.

Mr. Grossberg introduced me as “the new girl: a recent graduate of Ivy University taking on her first law job.”

I waved gingerly, standing cross-legged, supporting my waving arm with my other arm. “Hi, I’m Mia Fey,” I choked out nervously.

Most people had nodded, smiled politely, quickly introduced themselves, and allowed us on our merry way. However, Diego set his coffee and papers down, wheeled himself out of his desk, and greeted me at his doorway. He extended out his arm and shook my hand. His handshake was firm but not oppressive.

“You must be new; I definitely would have remembered meeting you before,” he said jokingly, with a devilish grin.

“Diego,” Mr. Grossberg admonished, giving him a severe look.

“Yeah, I just started today. I’m Mia,” I said hesitantly, laughing timidly at his joke. Stupid. I had already told him my name.

“Yes, Miss Mia Fey, esquire. Name’s Diego Armando.” He noticed my mistake but didn’t seem to give me too hard of a time about it, thank God. Although, with his emphasis on the word “esquire” I wasn’t sure if he was being sarcastic. I had only known him for all of ten seconds, but he seemed like he was rather fond of teasing. “Well, I imagine you’ll be downstairs in the dayca-, er...” He cleared his throat. “...The junior associate commons. Is that correct?”

He looked at me expectantly, but I wasn’t sure where I would be stationed. My coat, lunch, and briefcase were still sitting in one of the boardrooms along with my 500-page welcome binder. Leave it to a law office to have the most extensive contract and employment paperwork package I’ve ever seen. I turned to Mr. Grossberg for an answer.

“Yes, we have a nice desk all set up for her in the commons,” Mr. Grossberg said brightly. “Right by your old crib,” he continued, those last words coming out sternly. I guess he didn’t appreciate that daycare comment.

Diego grinned. “Yes, yes, the commons are a fine place. I remember my time there fondly.” He turned his attention back to me. “Well Mia, I know I’m all the way up here-” He glanced sidelong at Mr. Grossberg before returning his gaze to me. “-But I’m always happy to help, any time you need it. Welcome to the firm.”

“Thank you. I look forward to working with you,” I said. Luckily, those words came out a little more confidently than my previous remarks, although that wasn’t exactly hard.

“Mia, there are a few more associates that I’d like you to meet, and then we can get you settled at your new desk,” Mr. Grossberg said cheerily. He gestured with his left arm, leading me in front of him to the next block of offices down the hall.

I started walking ahead, looking back at Diego briefly before continuing forward. His head was sticking out of the threshold and his arms were outstretched, balancing on the door frame. He gave me a quick, small wave and flashed another cheeky smile before heading back into his office.

After that encounter, I didn’t see Diego much around the office. One floor above doesn't sound like an immense barrier and yet it was like a whole other world up there. The top floor had its own boardrooms, bathrooms, and breakrooms. Other than the occasional meeting with the partners for billable hour reporting, check-ins, weekly team meetings, and performance evaluations, I had little reason to be up there, and he had little reason to be down here.

The only times I saw him were when he needed some files from the doc room. He would strut down the stairway, practically leaping from step to step, before gliding through the door. He worked quickly, grabbing files as if he were simply pulling a clothes hanger off a rack.

I hoped to be that familiar with the documents someday. Careful labeling and alphabetization be damned, it still took me ages to find whatever I needed. No wonder I practically lived in that room. There would be no point in leaving because, by the time I found what I needed, I’d probably need to go back and look again for something else.

Sometimes, he would try to talk to me there, while I was seated in a cheap vinyl office chair at a cheap laminate table, poring over files. I wasn’t much for conversation though. Part of it was determination; if I wasn’t going to be in court, I would be the best damn junior associate with the highest number of billable hours.

The other part of it was wariness. I hadn’t left Kurain Village much until I turned 18 and started college almost six years ago. In that short time though, I became accustomed to getting looks from men, some friendly, some flirty, and some leering. While I don’t like to acknowledge it, I never really needed to in a small village dominated by women, being as well-endowed as I am can attract a lot of attention, much of it unwanted. Diego’s glances seemed to teeter on that line between friendly and flirty, but I was still wary.

I must admit, he is attractive with his tall athletic frame, tailored designer clothes, megawatt smile, and somehow perfectly unkempt hair. However, the last thing I wanted to do was get involved with somebody at work. Especially since I didn’t know how noble his intentions were with me.

He must have gotten the hint that I wasn’t interested because, as time went on, he tried to engage with me less and less. To the point where he would just smile and wave, politely greeting me by name, before exiting the room and bounding back up the stairs.

It’s for that reason that I was surprised when he chose to stand trial with me today. Nobody wanted this case, which is probably how I got it in the first place. While we defense attorneys aren’t used to winning the way the prosecutor’s office does, everyone at least wants to represent cases they think they could win.

This case was considered DOA to everyone in the office. A death row inmate who kidnapped and murdered a 14-year-old girl, and then escaped from prison and killed her police officer sister? That case was practically unwinnable, and nobody was biting.

For me, this was my chance. So what if I didn’t win? I would put forward the best case I possibly could for my client, and Mr. Grossberg would finally let me take on more cases.

Since no one else would do it, and Mr. Grossberg didn’t think I was ready to defend alone, he offered to serve as co-counsel on my first case. Diego had been among the dissenters, but he must have changed his mind about the case because it was him and not Mr. Grossberg there in the defendant lobby this morning. I’m sure Mr. Grossberg was grateful to have someone offer in his stead. It was Saturday after all.

I glanced over at Diego as he stood next to me at the defense stand. He remained steadfast and calm, gripping his coffee cup and sipping regularly. That must be his fifth cup since the trial started and I don’t know how he can remain so relaxed.

I’ve been drinking more coffee since I began working at the firm. Around two to three cups per day so I don’t fall asleep on hundreds of pages of case files or dense law books written in inscrutable legalese. When I drink even that much, I’m prone to sweating, shaking, and heart palpitations.

While I still don’t know him that well, I had heard that he was a well-known coffee aficionado who dabbled in over a hundred different blends of varying origin, roast, and ground size. Coffee was practically a religion to him.

“There’s only one person who can stop it. You, kitten, I think.” Diego seemed just as certain as I was that we could exonerate Terry Fawles.

We just needed him to tell us the truth about Dahlia Hawthorne’s crimes. Despite her young age, being only 14 when she and her 20-year-old tutor Terry Fawles staged a fake kidnapping five years ago, this case has made it apparent that she was the ringleader in all the violence and deceit.

She planned the kidnapping ploy, telling Terry to demand a $2 million diamond from her dad’s luxury jewelry store as ransom so they could run away together and split the proceeds. Instead, she jumped off that rickety Dusky Bridge and into the rushing Eagle River below, surviving the fall and rapids, and fleeing the country.

Her older stepsister Valerie, the murder victim, was in on this kidnapping plot before betraying Terry, shooting him in the arm and testifying that he pushed Dahlia into the river after kidnapping her, never divulging to authorities that the kidnapping was staged. When Terry called Valerie following his prison escape and asked her to meet him at the Dusky Bridge, Valerie’s guilty conscience finally caught up to her. She told Dahlia that she’d confess everything to Terry.

Dahlia, refusing to face justice for her crimes, stabbed Valerie, stuffing her body in the trunk of Terry’s stolen car while he waited for Valerie at that fateful bridge where the “kidnapping” happened all those years ago. Dahlia then disguised herself as Valerie, meeting with him, confessing nothing, and allowing him to escape with his stolen vehicle before he was arrested later that evening.

Dahlia’s schemes were so convoluted, so improbable, that I wouldn’t believe them to be true if they weren’t the only possible explanations. Despite how treacherous her plans were, she wouldn’t even be a suspect if she hadn’t pretended to be someone else. A “witness” to Valerie’s murder, alias Melissa Foster, agreeing to testify at the trial today.

Once her true identity was revealed, it became certain that Terry did not commit the murders. The more she spoke, the more the chinks in her armor were revealed and her level of suspicion increased.

Prosecutor Edgeworth knew it as well. His smugness had washed away, and he had become increasingly agitated as the trial continued.

Terry knew it too, I think. He wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. I'm still not entirely sure how he became Dahlia’s tutor, but even he had to realize that he had been set up by his “teen angel.”

Yet here he is on the stand, being questioned by me, his own lawyer, the person trying to help him out, and he’s giving me nothing. He refuses to implicate her.

“Please, Mr. Fawles! This is your last chance!” I exclaimed, completely exasperated, imploring him to tell the truth about Dahlia. “You’ve already taken the fall once for something you didn’t do!”

He remained silent for a moment, before answering. “That woman... it wasn’t Dahlia.” He looked completely broken as he answered but remained committed to his lies.

“Stop right there! What more needs to be said?” Edgeworth exclaimed. He had pounced, resuming his arrogance at the slightest hint of an opening. If Terry Fawles refused to testify honestly, Edgeworth would get his conviction, and more importantly, his win.

“Hmmm.” This was all that the judge could say in response. Despite his years of experience, he never seemed as confident or as competent as I was expecting.

“I know it’s obvious, but he’s clearly lying,” Diego said. He was incredulous, but also somewhat amused. “He’s been cursed by Dahlia Hawthorne. He’ll probably go to his grave still believing in her.”

“Mr. Fawles...” I pleaded once more.

“Even if you can show he’s lying, the poor guy will still be cursed,” Diego remarked, resigned. He took another swig of his coffee. “You’ll still have to point out the contradiction anyway. That’s the curse of being a defense lawyer, I guess.”

I gulped and nodded in agreement. There must be something I could do to force Terry to admit the truth.

I looked through my dossier of evidence files and came across the photo of Terry and “Valerie” on the bridge. To make doubly sure that she could pin Valerie’s murder on Terry, Dahlia had pretended to be a witness who was only there that day to take photos of wildflowers. In February, the dead of winter. What a load of BS.

In reality, she had set up a tripod with a timer on a nearby cliff ledge to capture herself disguised as Valerie, talking to Terry on the bridge, implicating him further in the murder.

Something was unusual about that photo though. Terry claimed to have arrived before Valerie, but she was further down the bridge. There were large sections missing on the other side of the bridge, and therefore no way she could have entered from that side.

Not only that, but Valerie was stabbed in the back. If Terry had tried to attack her, and she attempted to flee, her stab wounds would be on her front as she could only flee towards him. Even if she had tried fleeing towards the missing bridge section, surely, he would have pushed her off the bridge rather than stuff her in his car. I think I have it.

I presented the evidence to Terry, and he reacted only with pained grunts. “Umm, Mr. Fawles,” I said timidly. I was not prepared for this outburst. “Please don’t get so worked up. We just want the truth.”

He paused and sighed before answering again. “I got there around 4 o'clock. It's true. I... I had somewhere to go. A special place.” Terry remained emotionally shattered, but he actually seemed to be telling the truth this time. So, he did get there earlier after all. But how did they end up in that configuration on the bridge?

“Did you go to this special place before you went to the bridge?” the judge asked.

“Yeah... it's an old temple about 15 minutes from the bridge. Five years ago, me and Dahlia... we promised each other... we swore we wouldn't betray each other... She brought a memento... to represent... our love.” Terry spoke so brokenly, pausing frequently to collect and then finish his thoughts.

“A memento?” I asked.

“Five years ago, I hid it under base of tree there. It's a special memory for me. This is it... this is what I went to get.”

“This little bottle on a necklace is your memento? It's quite charming, but it looks empty.” The judge was too easily distracted by the charm of this bottle necklace.

“Your Honor!” I exclaimed. “You heard what my client said. He arrived at the scene at four o'clock. But he then left his car unattended and walked away! He was gone for approximately 30 minutes!” I heard Edgeworth let out a strange noise. He must be upset because he’s losing again, but I ignored him. “With that much time, Dahlia Hawthorne could have easily hidden the body in the trunk of his car!”

“Nooo!” This further outburst from the prosecution stand seemed visceral, like it couldn’t be stopped. He must really be a sore loser.

“Indeed, there certainly was enough time for it!” the judge said, agreeing with my assessment. I still have a chance to cinch this case.

“Mr. Fawles! There's no mistaking it!” I exclaimed again, confidently. I was winding up for my final arguments when I heard another noise, this time it was the client and not the prosecution. “Huh? Mr. Fawles?”

“Th-That's enough... Please...” Terry seemed panicked, and his voice was gurgling.

“W-Witness?” The judge had become concerned too.

“I-I promised her... five years ago... if it ever happens... that we can't trust each other no more... then... we're supposed to... drink... bottle... Ugh...” Terry was starting to trail off, his voice becoming weaker and his words less coherent.

“N-No! Stop the trial! Your Honor! We need a recess!” Edgeworth yelled out again. This time, I did pay attention to him. Terry had blood sputtering out of his mouth. Edgeworth had noticed before I did. That bottle must have been filled with poison.

“I... I was stupid... couldn't... keep... promise... so I did it... I... drank... this...”

“No!” I cried out. “We are so close! Just a little more... I was going to prove your innocence!”

“No... don't want that... Don't... trust... self... Maybe kill again... Kill sweet Dahlia... again...”

“Mr. Fawles!”

“Mr. Ar... Armando... th-thanks... for the... coffee...” Terry collapsed on the ground. The bailiff rushed over to check him, but he had stopped breathing. The bailiff ran out to call an ambulance.

“Mr. Fawles!” I cried out again, this time on the verge of tears. The coffee. Before his testimony, Terry complained about being thirsty and had asked for something to drink. Diego gave him a cup of coffee. He must have slipped the poison bottle’s contents into that mug without anyone noticing.

We all stood there silently, waiting ten minutes until the paramedics arrived. The judge was in a state of shock. Edgeworth was staring at his shoes, and I could see him shaking all the way from the other side of the courtroom. I was similarly worse for wear, a mixture of anger and sadness taking over me. Diego was the only one who wasn’t completely bewildered, silently sipping his coffee and looking off into space.

The paramedics arrived at the scene, but it was too late. Terry Fawles was pronounced dead right then and there. They carefully placed his body in a cadaver bag. It was so surreal to see him, this oafish muscle-bound man, once alive and now completely lifeless and easily movable.

Following this horrific scene, the judge declared this trial adjourned. Dahlia is scheduled to stand trial at a later date but, with both witnesses dead, it is likely her case will be dismissed before it goes to court.

Slowly, the spectators and the judge filed out of the courtroom. Dahlia left with them, escorted by the bailiff, and I could swear that she smirked at me as she walked out.

Then Edgeworth, still shaking, walked out too. With the courtroom door left ajar, I could see him pacing around the lobby, sitting down, then getting up and pacing again. After a few minutes, he walked out, presumably to go gather himself at his office in the Prosecutor’s Building next door or in his luxury car. That’s what I would do too if I had a car or an office. This left just me and Diego, standing in complete silence in the emptied courtroom.

“Unforgivable, that witch,” Diego said angrily. He was agitated, slamming his coffee cup hard on the desk.

“M-Mr. Armando...” I replied, with surprise. He had been so quiet and unwavering that I assumed he hadn’t felt as upset as I was.

“We were so close to the truth. It was right there in front of us. You were just a little too soft, kitten.”

I sighed. That nickname again. I was really hoping that after the events of today, after the case I presented, he could treat me like a colleague. An equal. I guess I didn’t live up to the expectations that I and everyone else had for me today.

“It's my fault! It's all my fault that Mr. Fawles killed himself!” I said, almost hysterically. I was so ashamed and disappointed that I lost. Saddened that my client suffered the greatest losses he possibly could have imagined today. Dead and his reputation irreparably ruined.

“Don't cry, kitten. You're going to make my coffee all salty,” Diego said genially, although he seemed a little taken aback by my distressed response.

“I-I knew it...! I kn-knew I wasn't cut out for this...!”

“Mia...” he said softly.

My name. It stopped me dead in my tracks. Finally.

“Don't you get it?” He slammed his coffee down hard again, then, thinking better of treating his sacred vessel that way, picked it up again. “You can't cry yet.”

He paused and a wave of intensity came over his face as he gripped the cup harder and harder. Finally, it shattered. All that slamming must have done a number on that mug as he crushed it into shards with only his hand, spilling the remaining liquid and cutting his palm, blood rushing out. “The only time a lawyer can cry is when it's all over,” he continued.

“M-Mr. Armando...”

“You don’t have to call me that. Diego is fine,” he said matter-of-factly. He was still looking off into the distance, seemingly not at all bothered by what had just happened.

“Um, Diego,” I said hesitantly. I had typically called him by that name before, but it suddenly felt inappropriate when he was my co-counsel and supervisor on this case. “Your hand is bleeding. Did you not notice?”

I looked around the room for something to help clean him up. Luckily, the court cleaner had accidentally left behind a roll of paper towels and some disinfectant underneath the defense stand. I brought them to him.

“sh*t! I’m sorry, I’ve made a huge mess. I’ll clean it up.”

He wrapped the paper towel around his palm several times until the bleeding stopped and tied the end into a rough knot. Then he took the cleaning solution and began wiping the blood and coffee off the ground. He was trying his best, but his hand was too much of a liability right now. So, I helped him gather and dispose of the shards and do a more serviceable job of cleaning.

“Guess this case affected you too, huh?” I asked as I put the last of the shards in the trash can. He now seemed quite rattled by the incident, so I tried to keep my tone casual and non-judgmental.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that.” He laughed breathlessly. “Sorry again. That was my favorite mug. I don’t know what came over me. You shouldn’t be cleaning my mess.”

I smiled reassuringly. I wasn’t used to seeing this side of him. Less arrogant and more amenable. “It’s okay, your hand is pretty beaten up. And trust me, I get it. That Dahlia Hawthorne girl drives me crazy. I’m so upset that I feel like shoving her off a bridge myself.”

“That’s not healthy, kid.” Oh, yay, a new nickname. “You really should do something to help cope with your anger.” I could tell that he was only teasing me, but I still felt the need to push back.

“Neither is crushing a coffee mug with your bare hand and slicing your palm open,” I volleyed back.

“Touché.”

“You have to admit, I’ve got you there,” I replied, smirking.

He grinned. “That you do. Spoken like a true defense lawyer.” He sighed. “Well, it sounds like we both need to do something to get this case off our minds.” He paused for a second, like he was generating an idea. “Wanna go for a drink?”

“O-oh. Ummmm.” This question shouldn’t have caught me off-guard. I had long sensed that he was interested in me, and yet I wasn’t prepared for it.

I was torn. On the one hand, a drink sounded great right now. I had calmed down a little bit but was still quite shaken.

On the other hand, I don’t want to risk this turning into something else. I just had my first trial, and it went horribly. I can’t jeopardize my job right now. “Is drinking really considered a healthy coping strategy?” I now had another reason to feel anxious, but I tried my best to sound jovial.

“No. No, not really. But, hey, it’s the only idea I’ve got!” His confident demeanor seems to have returned completely. What mug? What hand? “Hey, if you don’t want to, that’s okay. I just figured that it’s Saturday; it’s not that late. There is a bar a few blocks away that’s pretty decent. We can have one drink, go home, and relax the rest of the weekend. As much as we can relax, anyway.”

“Well...” I know I should say no, but what’s one drink going to hurt? “Well, okay. Honestly, a drink could really take the edge off.”

“Alright then. Let’s grab our stuff and head out.”

“Sure.” I laughed. “Maybe we can find a first-aid kit somewhere so you can bandage that hand.”

He looked down at his makeshift bandage. The blood had seeped through the paper towels and the knot he had tied had become frayed, starting to rip apart. He flashed that megawatt smile. “That sounds like an excellent idea.”

Chapter 2: Chapter 1 - Diego

Chapter Text

Date: Saturday, February 16th, 2013

Time: 6:10 pm

Location: The Bar Association, Los Tokyo

Mia Fey. I always hoped I could take her out some time, to really get to know her, but I didn’t think it would take serving on the most brutal case of my entire career for that to happen. Damn, that was rough. I’ve got to hand it to the kid; she has guts. I sure as hell wouldn’t have taken on this case if she hadn’t volunteered.

She almost had it too. Dahlia Hawthorne’s ticket was nearly punched for a one-way trip to the Los Tokyo Maximum Security Women’s Prison. No one was expecting her rube of an ex to cover for her, even if it meant his own demise. Poor bastard. But you can’t win them all, as they say.

Going into this case, I thought we had a snowball’s chance in hell of landing a not guilty verdict. Mia was convinced from the start that our client was innocent, but I wasn’t so sure. Well, she was right, and like many defense attorneys before her time, she is learning the sad truth that innocent and guilty don’t seem to matter for much. The deck is always stacked towards the prosecution. This case though, this case was something else entirely.

I looked over at Mia, seated across from me at a two-seater high-top table, perusing The Bar Association’s drink menu. This bar is the local watering hole of downtown defenders, prosecutors, and cops but, by the way she is carefully inspecting that menu, I imagine she’s never been before. I pretended to look through my menu too, despite knowing exactly what I’m getting before I walked in, trying to steal glances at her when I can without her noticing.

Unsurprisingly, she still looks uneasy after the trial, and it reminds me of the day we first met, about four months ago. I remember it well, though who forgets meeting the most gorgeous girl you’ve ever seen in your entire life? Her long brown hair, big brown eyes, and that cute little beauty mark on her chin killed me.

Despite her breathtaking appearance, she was nervous and shy, not unlike today. So much so that she introduced herself to me twice in 30 seconds. Embarrassing she probably thought; cute is all I thought. I like to think that she really wanted me to know who she was; that it was important I remember. Wishful thinking, I’m sure.

After she and Grossberg moved on to the next meet and greet session, I went back to my office and looked her up online. Creepy? Maybe. I just needed to know who this angel was descending onto Grossberg Law Offices that fateful Monday morning.

Unfortunately, I found very little. To be expected. This was her first attorney job and it’s not like she was some celebrity moonlighting as an attorney for a lark. All I could find was a graduation announcement for her law school. She graduated top of her class and gave the valedictory address. Beauty and brains? Some people really are God’s favorites. I wanted to know more.

When I saw that Mia and Grossberg had gone downstairs, I casually walked over to Robert Hammond’s office and asked if he wanted to go for a coffee break. Hammond was a veteran attorney at the firm and would have been there at Mia’s interview. Most importantly, he was a bit of a gossip, so he was my best chance at gathering intel. Luckily, he agreed, and we made our way to the breakroom to brew a fresh pot.

Trying not to seem obvious, I started with some inane small talk. “Mondays, huh? After all these years, I still can’t get used to them. Need at least two times as many cups of coffee to get through my day.” My unusual condition made that statement not exactly true but, if any day warranted more coffee, it was Monday.

“Oh, I feel you, buddy. Just wait until you’re my age. It only gets worse.” His tone was dry. “The money and prestige sure make the medicine go down though,” he joked.

I let out a polite chuckle and poured our coffees, black for us both, and handed him his cup. We clinked mugs in toast. “Amen, man. To paying the bills.” We sipped our coffee before a beat of silence. I had been thinking about what I could ask next when he broke the ice.

“Well, some new blood at the firm sure makes the job a little more interesting, doesn’t it? What is this, our first new lawyer in almost a year?”

“Yeah, something like that.” I pressed for more information, keeping my tone light. “She seems nice though. Mia, right?” Like I would forget.

“Yeah, Mia Fey. She seems like she’ll be a great fit here. She’s a little inexperienced to be sure, but she interviewed well and her showing in law school was excellent.”

“What’s her deal anyway? So, she’s a recent grad from Ivy University?

“She is; she is. Top of her class, lots of extra-curriculars, and glowing references from her professors.” He sipped a little more, before dropping a bombshell. “She has somewhat of a pedigree too.”

I had no idea what that could mean and probed for more info. “Really? Why’s that?”

“Well, I knew her name sounded familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it. I was doing some digging and then I remembered.”

“What did you remember?”

“I defended a client against her mother, probably, I don’t know, 10-15 years ago? I won that case by the way,” he added. He didn’t need to say it. He wouldn’t have brought it up if he had lost.

“Her mother was a prosecutor?” I asked, dumbfounded. It’s an unwritten rule in our field that children of defense attorneys become defense attorneys and children of prosecutors become prosecutors. It’s not a hard and fast rule, but exceptions were always notable.

“Oh no, no, no. She was working with the police. She’s a medium. She can communicate with ghosts or spirits or something. I don’t know. The whole thing always reeked of BS to me.”

Maybe it was just my empathy and interest towards my new colleague talking, but the notion seemed intriguing to me rather than eye-roll-inducing. Mia did have this indescribable aura about her. Sincerity wasn’t going to go far with Hammond though. “That seems pretty out there.”

“Not only that, but she was wrong. She claimed to have contacted the murder victim and said that he implicated my client. I got him off though, and you know how much those judges love to side with the prosecutors.”

“No kidding," I agreed. "The favoritism still drives me crazy. So, what happened?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well with Mia’s mom. High-profile trial and a false reading? That couldn’t have been good for the ego.”

“Oh, it was a huge scandal.” Despite the somberness of the situation, Hammond recited the events with such glee. “The police looked foolish for using psychics on their case and her reputation was ruined. She was so ashamed that she went into hiding. No one has seen her since. Allegedly, she’s still skulking around somewhere. The police might know where she is, so I’ve heard, but it could just be rumors. Pretty insane stuff.”

“Crazy. So, Mia hasn’t seen her mom since she was, what? 11 or 12?”

“sh*t, yeah, probably not.” There was another beat of silence as me and Hammond leaned on the counter behind us, silently sipping. “Anyway, all that said, Mia seems to have a good head on her shoulders. I don’t think she’s into that kind of crap.”

I chuckled flatly, politely. “No, you’re probably, right.”

Maybe Hammond was right, but that sure sounds like motivation to me. Mia’s mom goes missing after a big murder trial and Mia becomes a lawyer 10-15 years later? No way those two events aren’t connected. Not sure how Hammond couldn’t see the obvious.

“Anyway, I best be getting back to my office. I have a big case tomorrow. Unlike some people, I actually have to prepare for my cases," Hammond said, jokingly jabbing me in the arm. “I can’t just go up there and wing it like some people I know.”

I hadn’t realized that I had a reputation for slacking off. That’s what having charisma will get you; everyone just assumes it all comes easy. Once again, I played along. Hammond was always trying to start pissing contests with me, but I had no interest in escalating it. Our win records were nearly on par, and he was competitive, but then again, so was I.

As he walked away, I raised my mug. “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it,” I replied.

Hammond remained jovial despite not getting the annoyed reaction he wanted. “You got me there.” Hammond had almost left the room but stopped short at the door frame and turned around to look at me again. “Hey, one more thing, Diego.”

“Yes?”

“I know how you young hotshot lawyers think. I was 20-something once too. I wouldn’t go after her, if you know what I mean?”

“What?” I exclaimed. I was shocked. I thought I had played this little tete-a-tete rather cool. Was I that transparent?

“I’m just saying, the last thing we could use is a lawsuit or HR mess. Best to keep it clean, no?”

I was trying my best to contain my anger. Where does this guy get off? “Why are you telling me this?” I said, seething.

“After that whole thing with Andrea, probably best to keep it platonic. Last thing you need is another scandal.” Hammond seemed delighted again. Well, he got the reaction he wanted, bastard.

I sighed, took another sip of my coffee, and mustered the most cordial response I could. “Best not to get involved.” He looked at me again, gauging my reaction, then tapped on the doorframe twice to signal his exit before walking away. Nice talking to you too.

Andrea Scott was a former criminal defense client of mine. I helped her avoid a charge for grand larceny and she wanted to repay me in... other ways. I was reluctant to get involved with a former client. Technically, after the case ends, everything is considered kosher, but it’s pretty frowned upon in the legal community. After a few weeks of phone calls, impromptu visits, and gifts, I finally relented, and we went on our first date.

We ended up dating for almost three months, but it was not a good relationship. I should have known that someone so pushy would be a train wreck to date. In hindsight, I don’t know why I let it go on that long. Nothing better going on, maybe? Honestly, sometimes I think I just want to feel something, anything, even if that something is unmitigated anguish.

When things went further south and I broke it off, she tried to sue the firm later. Claiming I had acted unethically and taken advantage of her. It was a nightmare and it only got resolved because I had text messages proving my reluctance and her insistence. If not for those messages, it would have meant a big lawsuit for the firm and my head on the block. My win record made getting rid of me unwise, but some mistakes are unforgivable.

After this ten-minute chat, I now know that people think I’m a slacker, a predator, and that my episode with Andrea has ruined my reputation. Well, Hammond thinks that, anyway. Mia Fey, you better be worth the humiliation.

I knew Hammond had a point. That situation was over a year ago and yet it still haunts me to this day. But, I figured, if something happened organically between me and Mia; we didn’t try, but it just happened. Would that be so wrong? We’re colleagues, and colleagues fall in love sometimes. It happens every day.

How I would be in these organic situations with her, I didn’t know. I almost exclusively spent my time on level two, and she was almost always on level one. Other than team meetings, we didn’t have many opportunities to talk.

Mia spent a lot of time in the doc room or the commons since she wasn’t trying cases before today, and that was my only opportunity. I didn’t have much need for the doc room anymore. Once my focus primarily became criminal cases, there were legal secretaries who gathered my files for me. I didn’t have the time anymore. However, it would be plausible that I was down there.

I started going down there semi-regularly, a couple of times per week. I didn’t want to seem too obvious. All my files were already pulled for me, so I would just stroll in there and haphazardly pick a handful of archived files I thought nobody would need. Then, I’d walk over to Mia’s desk to chat.

“Hey, Mia. How are you settling in here?" I asked on my first doc room visit. "Everyone treating you well, I hope?”

Mia looked up from her files and smiled. “It’s been great. Everyone has been so nice and helpful.”

“That’s great. Anything I can help you with?”

“I’m okay, Mr. Armando, but thank you.” She laughed gently. “I don’t think you’d have a lot of fun poring over case files like you used to. It’s a living.”

“We’re all lawyers here; you can call me Diego,” I told her. As a senior associate, I am technically higher up on the Grossberg Law Offices hierarchy, but I’m not her boss. To be spoken to like one would definitely make anything between us a no-go zone. “Honestly, I’m a little nostalgic for my commons days sometimes. Going to trial can be taxing. It’d be nice to just drink my coffee and review some files for a change.”

She laughed impishly. “Oh, I’m too sure. I also get nostalgic about my time in kindergarten,” she said sarcastically. sh*t. I talked so much smack when we first met that she saw right through me. Silence. “Well, I better keep working on these files," she continued. "There’s only 24 hours in a day, and they want me to bill out at least 28 of them.”

She was trying to wave me off, but I laughed at her joke anyway. “I knew there was a reason people don’t trust lawyers! See you around.”

“Bye, Diego!” She had already returned to her files and didn’t look up as she said this.

I had tried a few more times to talk to her, but each time was as unsuccessful as the last. Finally, I got the hint and stopped trying to talk to her. I would still go dutifully to the doc room a couple of times a week and greet her before heading back up. If I couldn’t talk to her, at least I could see her. And now, here she was, sitting across from me, ordering a “lawberry daiquiri” off the bar menu.

“What will it be for you, Diego?” Candace asked.

Candace was a waitress at The Bar Association. She’s a great girl: pretty, friendly, and one heck of a waitress. We went out a few times but didn’t really click like we thought we would. Things were awkward for a few weeks after that, but then she fell head over heels for Paul, one of the bartenders here, and we’ve been friends ever since.

“The usual,” I replied.

She laughed. “I don’t know why I bother asking anymore. I’ll be right back with your drinks.”

Mia looked at me curiously. “Are you a regular here?”

“I’m probably here about once a week.” That might have been an understatement. Two to three times is probably more accurate, but I don’t want her to think I’m a lush. I don’t want to lie to her either though. “Maybe a couple times a week.”

“Gotcha.” She seemed skeptical of my estimate.

Candace had already returned with our drinks. Mia’s drink came in a hurricane glass garnished with a lime wedge, straw, and umbrella. Meanwhile, I had ordered an Irish coffee, with cream liqueur instead of whipped cream.

Mia snorted. Only she could make that cute.

Candace looked startled. “Everything alright with your order?”

Mia’s face stiffened and she cleared her throat before taking on a polite and deferential tone. “Sorry, everything looks great. Thank you so much.”

“Enjoy!” I gave Candace a nod in thanks and she walked away to go serve some other tables. Not even 7 pm and the bar was packed already.

“So, you never take a break, huh?” Mia asked jokingly.

“Sorry?” I replied. I had no idea what she was referring to.

“You drink ten cups of coffee a day and then order an Irish coffee? How are you alive right now?”

I laughed. “Oh, that. Would you believe me if I told you that my body can’t metabolize caffeine?”

“What?” Mia exclaimed. She took a large sip of her daiquiri. “That’s not a thing,” she said skeptically. “Is that a thing?” Her tone became earnest when she realized I wasn’t joking.

“Completely serious, 100%.”

“So, does that mean it does nothing for you? You don’t get any energy from it?”

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far. It definitely does something for me. But I can drink it all day and still sleep like a baby at night. Some say it’s a curse, not being able to have that pick-me-up when you need it, but I see it as a blessing. Any condition that allows me to drink coffee all day, without it being...” I paused, preparing for the vitriolic word about to leave my mouth. “...Decaf, is a win in my book.”

“That’s so crazy. I’ve never heard of that before.”

“You learn something new every day.”

“I guess so.” We each took another sip of our drinks.

“Are you a fan of coffee too?” I asked.

“I dabble. I’m not as devoted as you are, but I don’t think that’s possible.”

“I’ve yet to meet anyone as enthusiastic as I am, but I am in a unique situation. I won’t hold that against you.”

Mia laughed. “Oh, thank God. I was really worried,” she said sarcastically. She took another large sip of her drink. She wasn’t kidding about needing to take the edge off, her drink was nearly gone already. I raised an eyebrow in surprise, a reflex, as I watched her sip more and more until the straw was making sputtering noises. “So can your body metabolize alcohol or are you just here to watch me get drunk?”

“I assure you; alcohol is just as poisonous to me as it is to everyone else. I have a bit of a hollow leg though, so it’ll probably take a lot for you to see me drunk.”

“Well, let’s test that theory.” Mia raised her arm to flag over Candace. “Hi, Candace, is it? Yeah, can I get another one of these and another one of those-” she said, pointing to my mug. “-For this coffee-loving freak over here? Thaaaaanks.”

Candace gave me a concerned look. I mouthed to her to give us 15 minutes. She nodded knowingly and walked away. I wanted to give Mia a bit of time to pace herself. She was obviously a supreme lightweight.

“What was that?” Mia asked. She noticed the mouthed instructions.

“Oh, nothing.” I tried to think of a valid excuse fast. “Just asked her for chicken wings. You hungry?”

“I am soooo hungry.”

“Perfect, you can have some of mine.” Honestly, food is probably a good idea right now. Come to think of it, she didn’t eat anything at the courthouse today. Not that I saw. No wonder it hit her like a brick. I got up so I could put in the order that I hadn’t actually placed.

“Where are you going?” she asked. I was torn between my happiness with Mia being so concerned about my absence and my desire not to have her throw up on the sidewalk later.

“I just thought I’d get some nachos too. Do you like nachos?”

“I love nachos!”

“Fantastic. Nachos it is.” I balanced myself on the back of the chair. “I know we said just one drink. You sure you want to hang around for a bit?” As much as I wanted her to stay, I didn’t want her to think I was forcing her.

“Pssssh. Screw it! I mean, it’s Saturday. We’re young,” she said, motioning her arms frantically between both of us. “I mean, what am I going to do at home? Watch a movie in my pajamas and fall asleep?”

I laughed. “That doesn’t sound like such a bad time. Well, as long as you’re sure.”

I walked to the bar and placed the order. I explained to Candace the situation about Mia not eating or drinking much. She laughed it off and told me it was okay. That she’s seen far worse just today. I gave her a $20 tip and walked back to the table. Who says you can’t be friends with your exes? I sat down and took another sip of my drink.

“So, what’s your deal anyway?” Mia threw this out there like an accusation. One double and all inhibitions were gone.

I nearly did a spit take before swallowing. “Sorry?” I replied. I laughed breathlessly. “What do you mean by that?”

“You know. What made you want to do the lawyer thing, where did you grow up, that kind of thing?”

I inhaled. “That’s a big question. How much time do you have?”

“Lay it on me.”

“Where to even begin.” I stroked my chin. “Well, I wasn’t born here. In Japanifornia, I mean. Me and my mom are from the Dominican Republic originally.” I paused. I didn't expect to be going over my whole life story today.

“That would be so beautiful.” Mia looked at me intently, both of her elbows on the table, her hands resting on her cheeks. “I’ve always wanted to go somewhere tropical. Do you speak Spanish? You don’t have an accent.”

“I do. And it is beautiful. I miss it sometimes. But, yeah, I never picked up the accent. I grew up only speaking Spanish until I was about three and then me and my mom started traveling back and forth between Japanifornia and the Dominican Republic for a while. English has its way of taking over, but I’m still fluent.”

“How long’s a while?”

“About seven years.”

“That’s a long time.” Mia looked around. “Speaking of long times, where’s our drinks?”

I waved her concern off. “Oh, they’re just so busy. Probably waiting to bring them with the food.”

“Ahhhh. That makes sense. So, the Dominican Republic?”

“Right. We couldn’t get citizenship right away. We would move for six months, we’d find sublets and my mom would take short-term jobs, and then we’d pack up and move back for six months and the cycle would repeat.”

“That’d be soooo tough,” Mia said sympathetically. She took another sip of her straw, trying to suck up the dregs of her co*cktail. “With all that moving, how’d you go to school?” She may be buzzed, but she was still asking good questions.

“In the Dominican, I’d go to school like normal, but here I wasn’t a citizen, so my mom homeschooled me. She’d stay home during the day and then usually work nights or evenings and I’d be at the babysitter’s until she got off her shift. Night cleaning at hospitals or offices or working as a cashier. She wanted me to have a normal school and sleep schedule.”

“Sounds like a good mom,” she said wistfully. Her mom. This was probably a sore topic for her. “Why did it take so long? To move here.”

“Were you born here? Like you grew up here?”

“I did.”

“The immigration process is pretty long and taxing if you aren’t a famous actor, doctor, rocket scientist, or something like that. My mom, I call her Mamá,” I clarified. “God love her, she’s a nurse now, but she worked at a resort in the Dominican. It’s honest work, tough work, but it’s just not high on the priority list for new immigrants. So, we were on that list for a long time. Tack on Mamá, who spoke limited English at the time, and the process can be even harder to navigate.”

“Wow, that’s so crazy. I had no idea.” She looked at me empathetically. Just then, Candace came by with our order. “Ooooooh,” Mia exclaimed excitedly, her commiseration replaced with joy.

“Here’s your daiquiri, your coffee, and your food,” Candace said as she set each item down on the table. Mia went right for the daiquiri and took a large sip, emptying 1/3 of the glass in one go. Candace was clearing the old glasses from the table as she asked: “Did you need anything else?”

“Just -” I started to speak, but Mia cut me off.

“These are so delicious. Just keep these coming!” She pointed at her now half-empty glass.

“Just some water for the table would be great," I continued. "Thanks again.”

Candace returned quickly with the water glasses and set one down by each of us along with a full pitcher of ice water. “Enjoy!” I nodded in thanks.

“Please, eat!” I exclaimed, motioning to the food. “I got this for both of us.”

“You sure?” Mia looked at me for reassurance.

“Positive. I’m not going to just eat in front of you.” I grabbed one of the side plates and napkins and placed them in front of her. “You even eat anything today?”

She sighed. “No, nothing. I’m so, so hungry. I was too nervous to eat anything before the case. Thought I might throw up if I did.” I think she might throw up if she doesn’t eat anything soon. She grabbed a large portion of nachos and a few chicken wings and placed them on her plate.

I laughed. “I’m sure you still feel like throwing after that case. That was...” I shook my head. “...Something else.” I went to grab some food but remembered that bandage was still on my right hand. I picked up some chicken wings with my left instead.

Mia slammed both her hands on the table, shaking it. “Please tell me they aren’t all like that? You know how people always tell you not to worry? That nothing will ever be as bad as you think it will be.” She turned her head down. “That was worse than anything I could have imagined.”

“No that was...not typical. I’ve never had a case like that since I started practicing. Now, I can’t guarantee that your cases won’t be like that,” I added, teasing her.

“Don’t even joke about that,” she said panickily.

“Poor kitten. I’m just kidding. They won’t all be this bad.” She scoffed. “What is it?” I asked.

She sighed. “Oh, nothing.” She looked at her plate, pushing a chip through some salsa before popping it in her mouth.

“Just shoot. I can take it.” I think I already knew what she was going to say anyway. I started calling her kitten today as a joke, but I probably went a little overboard with it, nearly using it as punctuation by the trial's end.

“It’s just that nickname. Why do you call me that?” She looked at me severely. I couldn’t tell if the food was sobering her up and she meant to look that serious or if she was still buzzed and didn’t realize how intense she was being.

“Oh, it’s just an expression. ‘Like a kitten in a lion’s den.’ You took on such a challenging case today.”

“Did you call Genji that when you were co-counsel on his first case?” Genji is another attorney at our firm. He started about a year before Mia did.

sh*t. This would be hard to explain without addressing the elephant in the room. “Well, no, but his case wasn’t nearly as challenging as yours.” Technically, that was true, but there was no way she was going to buy that for even a second.

She laughed sardonically. Looks like I was right. “Ah, of course. That’s why. What about Reina on her first case?” Reina is another attorney; she started at a similar time to Genji.

“No!” I burst out. I could see where she was going with this line of questioning. This wasn’t some sordid pattern. “No, no, just you.”

“Why is that?” she asked mischievously. She knew what she was doing.

I took a big swig of my coffee for courage. “Well...” I coughed nervously. “It’s because you’re so...” She looked at me expectantly. Is she really going to make me say it? “You’re cute,” I finally said, mumbling the last two words.

“Sorry, what was that?” she asked, exaggeratedly cupping her hand to her ear. With that gesture alone, I knew that she had heard me.

I cleared my throat. “You’re cute...like a kitten.”

“I see.” She smiled mysteriously. “Why did you take this case today? You offered to cover for Mr. Grossberg, right? You weren’t assigned?”

I was left catching my breath. Somehow, we went from nervous and shy Mia to boisterous and giddy Mia to bold and interrogative Mia over the course of a couple of drinks. What did they put in those things?

“No, I offered,” I answered. There was no point in trying to evade her now. She wouldn’t let me off that easy. “These past four months, I wanted to...get to know you better. There was never really a good opportunity. I thought I could help you on this case but also that we could have a chance to talk.”

She didn’t say anything else and the two of us sat in silence and ate our food. Each swallow felt painful, sticking like a lump in my throat. If she was trying to humiliate me, well, she did one hell of a job. Still. She knew exactly where I stood and didn’t storm out. Maybe that was a good sign?

“So, when you finally got your green card, did you use an immigration lawyer?” she asked plainly, with no hint of emotion about our recent discussion. It took me off guard. What was her game here?

“Yeah, we did. God.” I shook my head. “I wish we had earlier. It made the whole process easier. But lawyers are expensive, and we couldn’t afford one on Mamá’s salary. We were lucky when a defense attorney offered to represent us pro bono. I owe that man so much.”

“Anyone I would know, this lawyer?”

“Yeah, maybe.” She did know him, I think. After my conversation with Hammond a few months ago, I looked up Misty Fey and that case that disgraced her reputation. The man she contacted, the victim, it was him. Gregory Edgeworth. When I grew up, I had always hoped to meet him again and thank him for what he did, but then I saw his name in the newspaper 11 years ago. He was murdered.

I never read the article. Seeing his face next to the word “murder” in 80pt font was all I needed to know. If I had though, I would have heard of the spirit medium enlisted to help determine his killer.

I couldn’t tell her I knew all of that. I’ve already taken enough heat for one day. “It was that kid at court today," I continued. His dad: Gregory Edgeworth.”

“Bratworth?” she exclaimed. I laughed. That was a good one. I’ll have to use that sometime. “His father helped you? I find that hard to believe.”

“It’s true. That kid may be a prick, but his dad was legendary. He was one of the best attorneys in the city and just the nicest guy. He was very proper. Too much maybe. Bit of a stiff. But he’d give you the shirt off his back. He made me want to become a lawyer.”

“That’s...beautiful," she said, without a hint of irony. I still couldn’t get a read on her, but at least she was staying. She laughed. “I still can’t believe that a man like that could produce such a terror of a son.”

“Well, I’ll throw the kid a bone. It’s not entirely his fault. You know that Manfred von Karma took him in after his father died? Gregory was a widower.”

“What?” Mia exclaimed, shaking her head in disbelief. “Okay, he had no chance, poor kid. That actually makes a lot of sense. They both have this kind of weird, like, Count Dracula look going on.” She laughed at her own joke, and I grinned back at her.

Then, her expression changed suddenly, and she looked quite sorrowful. I was still trying to adjust to these constant changes in conversation and tone. The food seemed to be helping her intoxication level, but I still couldn’t keep up. “Gregory Edgeworth. I know that name. I can’t believe I didn’t connect the dots today with his son. I mean, how many Edgeworths can there possibly be? He was murdered.”

“Sadly, yes.”

“I thought so. My mom had worked with him.”

“Your mom, is she a lawyer too?” I already knew the answer, but feigned ignorance.

“No.” She paused. “Promise you won’t make fun of me?”

“Scout’s honor,” I said, raising my bandaged hand and placing my left hand on my heart.

“My family is a little...” She paused, trying to generate the word. “...Unusual. We come from a long line of spirit mediums. The women in our family, most of us can contact the dead. I know it sounds crazy. I wouldn’t believe it either if I couldn’t do it myself.”

“I believe you. I don’t think you’d lie to me.” She smiled shyly. “So, you have this power too?” I asked.

“It’s...” She paused again, sighing. “...complicated.”

“I’m all ears.”

“I haven’t channeled in years. There is a clear hierarchy in the family. Usually, the eldest daughter has the strongest channeling power and technique, and the main bloodline passes through her. The other daughters, sons don’t have these powers, become members of the branch family. Essentially, a bloodline with less clout.”

She poured herself a glass of water and took a large drink before continuing. “Well, that was always the case until my mother’s older sister, my aunt, was set to take over the bloodline. My mom’s power was stronger than hers and the bloodline and technique went to our family instead.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s okay, kitten. It’s complicated. I wouldn’t expect you to understand,” she said teasingly. I smirked. Is she mocking me, or does she think I’m cute too? “When the line changed, that meant I was set to take over and be the next head of the Kurain technique.”

“I must admit, that seems pretty cool to me, being able to channel the dead.” I gestured my glass at her, in question. “Why did you become a lawyer instead?”

"When Morgan, my aunt, lost to my mom. It destroyed our family. She and my mom were never the same. Aunt Morgan’s husband was ashamed of her and left with my cousins when we were all really little. I haven’t seen them since. I wouldn’t even be able to pick them out in a crowd. I have a younger sister, Maya, and I didn’t want that to happen to us. She’s going to take over instead.”

“That’s really noble of you.”

“Yes and no. I also became a lawyer to learn what happened to my mother. After Gregory Edgeworth’s death, her reputation was destroyed, and she left. I hoped that, if I became a lawyer, I could find her. I was told that becoming a prosecutor would give me the best chance of finding her, they have police connections, but I couldn’t do it. I wanted to defend the people who really needed it. But...” She sighed. “...I have my work cut out for me if I want to find her.”

“I’m sorry, Mia. Really. I love my mamá so much, I couldn’t imagine...” I said, my voice trailing off. I didn’t even want to think about that.

“Thanks. I miss her.” Her face hardened. “But I’m also mad at her. I don’t care how embarrassed she was, she shouldn’t have left. I was 12, and Maya was only two. We needed her.” She said that she was angry, but she didn’t seem to have the courage to emote it fully.

“I’ve noticed that neither of us has mentioned fathers," I said. She shrugged and laughed sarcastically. That’s a bad sign. “What did your dad do after your mom left?”

“That’s a good question. One I’d have the answer to if he hadn’t left right after Maya was born. It takes a strong man to marry into the Fey clan. The women hold all the power, and the men are just footnotes.”

I inhaled quickly, viscerally. If we got married, I guess I’d be taking her last name. Getting a little ahead of myself, Diego.

“To be fair, I don’t think it’s right,” she clarified. “I think a more egalitarian society would have been better for the Village. He shouldn’t have left though. I don’t know where he is either. I don’t even know if either of them are still alive.”

“I’m sorry. I have no patience for that crap either. I never met my dad. He was vacationing at the resort Mamá worked at, and they became involved. She doesn’t say much about it, but it sounds like he was smitten with her. They kept in touch with letters and phone calls. He was Japanifornian but spoke Spanish too. A businessman or something. Needed it for his job, maybe? I don’t know the details. Then, she found out she was pregnant, and he dropped off. She never heard from him again.”

Mia looked disgusted. “That’s awful.”

“Tell me about it. She thinks that he has a secret family that he never told her about. I might have half-siblings, but I have no idea. I don’t think I’ll ever know. A big part of the reason we moved here is to find him. She always said it was to get him to cough up child support, but I think she just wanted the truth.” We were both silent for a beat. “Well Mia, I guess we both have daddy issues.”

Mia snorted and started laughing uncontrollably. “You did not just say that," she said finally, gasping for air. "I’ve never had someone refer to it like that to me before.”

I grinned broadly. “I’m a real straight shooter; I just call it like it is. You never have to wonder what I’m thinking.”

She smiled warmly. “I like that about you.” There was no way to misinterpret that. Did she like me too?

Just then, Candace came by again. “Sorry to interrupt, but did you guys need anything?” she asked as she stacked our plates. “We’re doing last call now.”

“Last call? What time is it? Is it really that late?" I asked.

She smiled. “It’s 1:45, and the bar closes in 15. I meant to stop by, but you guys seemed good.” She winked at me. Thanks for helping a guy out. I looked at Mia, who seemed quizzical. She must have noticed the wink.

“Did you want anything else?” I asked Mia. I laughed. “Another daiquiri?”

Mia waved her hands from side to side. “No, I’m good, but thanks. I think I’ve finally sobered up.”

“I’ll be at the bar in a sec to pay,” I said. Candace nodded politely and walked away with our dishes.

“You don’t have to do that,” Mia replied, fiddling through her briefcase, and looking for her wallet. “Why don’t we split? My drinks were more expensive.”

“I insist. Think of it as a first case treat. You only ever get one of those, right? Drinks were my idea anyway.”

After much back and forth, she relented, and I went up to the bar to pay while she went to the washroom. We spent the whole day together and I still can’t get a read on her. She blows so hot and cold. She was very insistent on paying, almost panicked about it. If this was a date for her, I don’t think she’d push back that hard.

I went back to our table and put my jacket on and handed her hers when she returned. She smiled flatly and put it on.

We walked outside and were immediately struck by the cold February air. “Did you want me to walk you home? I live nearby and would grab my car, but a defense attorney with a DUI is not a great look,” I said, chuckling. I’m probably well below the legal limit with two doubles in seven hours, but I never could take that risk.

“I’m okay, but thanks for the offer. Have a good night,” Mia said shortly, before turning around abruptly and walking left.

“Hey, wait a sec,” I called out to her. She stopped and looked back at me. “Are you sure you should be walking home alone right now? It’s getting late. Where do you live anyway?”

“Close,” she said curtly.

“How close?” I asked. She didn’t answer. I sighed. “Mia, how close is close?”

“A half hour.”

“A half hour! Are you crazy? Please, let me walk you home. Can I call you a cab at least?”

“Really, Diego, I’m fine. I walk that far all the time.”

“At 8 am or at 2 am?” She didn’t answer because she knew I was right. “Don’t you live downtown? How are you so far away?” I thought for a moment. “Do you live on the south side?” No answer again, but that was answer enough. “Mia you can’t walk through Skid Row at 2 o’clock in the morning. That’s insane.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she responded curtly again and started walking. I rushed after her and grabbed her arm. She shook it furiously out of my grasp. “I’m fine!” Her curtness had turned to anger.

I put my arm down. “I’m sorry,” I said softly. I didn't want to leave things there, but I knew she didn’t want to be pushed further. “You have a good night.”

“You too,” she said, as she resumed walking, not looking back.

I started walking in the opposite direction. What happened? She was all but saying that she liked me 20 minutes ago and suddenly she couldn’t even look at me. I wish I had her number and then I could call or text her later and make sure she made it home okay. I could probably find it in the firm’s directory, but I knew that gesture wouldn’t be well-received.

I kept walking towards my place, a mere five minutes away and, as I did, I passed by a man, medium height, probably about 40, heading in the opposite direction. I nodded politely as we passed. “What are you looking at?” he yelled at me.

f*ck you too, man. Wait. He was heading in Mia’s direction. I looked behind me, Mia’s silhouette was small in the distance. Surely this man hadn’t seen her, but he was walking quickly in her direction. Paranoid. I’m just being paranoid. I kept walking ahead and then stopped. What if he caught up to her? A pretty thing like her, if he yelled at me, what would he do to her?

I thought for a second, exhaled in resignation, and then started walking in her direction, tailing that guy about 30 feet behind. We were closing the gap between us and Mia. Suddenly, he turned left, heading in a completely different direction than her. I let out a sigh of relief. I was just paranoid after all.

I started walking back to my place when I heard a man’s voice in the distance. A different man than before. I stopped and listened carefully to his voice echoing out.

“Hey there!” he yelled out. I looked towards him. He had crossed from the other side of the street to go talk to her.

“H-hi-” It was Mia.

“Do you know how to get to Third Street?” he asked. What a stupid question. Just count the street numbers; you’ll find it. He obviously knew that. He just wanted an excuse to talk to a pretty girl all by herself at night.

Mia was polite, too polite, and was giving directions when he cut her off. “Are you already going that way? Can I just follow you there instead?” he asked.

Even from this far away, she sounded nervous. “Oh, I'm not going that way.”

“Sure, you are. It’s straight ahead, right?” I started walking faster in her direction.

She sounded panicked. “Please leave me alone. I’m not going that way.”

“Alright, you caught me. I’m not really going that way either. I’m going whichever way you’re going.” He put his arms around her in a tight hug, and she struggled to wriggle her way out. She tried grabbing something in her briefcase, but he tightened his grip on her wrists, and she dropped it on the ground.

I started running. “Hey, let her go!” I yelled out, once I was close. He got startled and released his grip.

She pulled away. “Diego?” she exclaimed. She was surprised to see me.

“Who are you, her boyfriend?”

“No, but -” I replied before he cut me off.

“Then mind your own business,” he said coarsely.

Mia was startled. I wish she would just run away, but she was frozen in place instead. He started heading in her direction again, so I pushed him. Hard. He fell to the ground.

“Diego!” she screamed out. It wasn’t in shock or fear. She was admonishing me for pushing him.

He got up and went to push me back, but I dodged it. He pulled his arm back, preparing to clock me in the face. I had readied my hands to block it when Mia grabbed her fallen briefcase and pulled out what she was looking for earlier: pepper spray. She sprayed it at him, and he let out a cry in pain.

“You bitch.” He started slowly waddling off to the other side of the road, rubbing his eyes. She got him all right, but some of it got me too and my eyes were burning.

“Ugh,” I groaned. I wish I had water right now.

“Were you following me?” she asked, aggravated.

“Not exactly. There was this guy...” I explained, my words trailing as I spoke. It was hard to think with my eyes on fire. “...He looked up to no good...he was heading in your direction. I couldn’t risk it.”

“This was another guy? A different guy from that one?”

“Yes.”

“Sure,” she said disbelievingly. Her arms were crossed, and she was shaking her head, fuming.

“I’m sorry,” I said, still rubbing my eyes. Why am I apologizing? She was in dire straits before I got there. “I’ll leave you alone. Have a good night.” I started walking home again when she stopped me.

“Wait!” she cried out. I turned around to face her. “I’m almost home and, well...” She paused. “...Your eyes are filled with pepper spray and your bandages are coming undone.” I looked at my hand; I hadn’t even noticed that. “You can come to my place and rinse your eyes.” She paused again. “Before you head back home,” she clarified.

Did she really think I was going to try something right now? Surprisingly, a battered hand, burning eyes, and a broken heart didn’t leave me feeling all that amorous. I sighed. I was starting to fume myself, but I couldn’t walk home like this. “Yeah, alright. Let’s go.”

We walked silently for the remainder of the five minutes to her apartment. It was a decrepit three-story walk-up. Does she seriously live here? She unlocked the front door and pointed to the stairs. “I’m on the third floor.” We walked up to her apartment, and she unlocked the door.

I walked through the doorway and immediately hit my head. My vision wasn’t the best right now. “Ow!”

“Sorry,” she said, her voice sounding less icy on reflex. “It’s a really old building.”

“Of course,” I said sarcastically. Why don’t I get kicked in the balls next? That might as well happen right now.

Her apartment was surprisingly messy. There were clothes, dishes, garbage, clutter, and stuff, everywhere. Was she like this at work too or was she just a closeted mess?

“The bathroom is that way.” She pointed to her left and then walked right towards her kitchenette.

I splashed my eyes with cold water for about ten minutes and then grabbed a towel and wiped them dry. I saw a first aid kit in the bathroom and cleaned and rebandaged the wound on my hand. Once I was done, I called out to her. “I’m calling a cab; what’s your address?”

“731 Poplar Avenue,” she yelled out.

“Thanks!” I finished my call and then exited the bathroom. When I walked out, her back was to me. “I’m going outside to wait for my cab.”

“Okay,” she said distantly, keeping her back turned.

I laughed sarcastically. “Right. Okay then. See you Monday,” I said brusquely. She didn’t answer. I walked out the door, ducking my head, and slammed it shut.

Chapter 3: Chapter 2 - Mia

Chapter Text

Date: Monday, February 18th, 2013

Time: 7:50 am

Location: Junior Associate Commons, Grossberg Law Offices, Los Tokyo

I let out a deep sigh as I sat down in my uncomfortable office chair and logged onto my ancient computer. These past four months, I’ve realized that I’m not as big on the Monday-Friday schedule as I thought I would be. I’ve worked hard my whole life, but my schedule was never this rigid back when I was in college or living in Kurain Village. Those schedules were intensive but semi-flexible.

In college, I had lots of exams, papers, and studying but I only needed to be in class less than 20 hours a week. If I wanted to, I could have slacked off, although, obviously, I never did. Having the freedom to do so though made it all seem more bearable.

In Kurain Village, chores, schoolwork, and spirit training could be arduous but living there felt more like a way of life than a job. I think it was just hard to wrap my head around the fact that Mondays would be viewed with dread for the rest of my career. I like my job here, I do, but I didn’t expect to get so burnt out already.

Realistically, I should have today off to make up for Saturday. While we have a pretty traditional office schedule at Grossberg Law Offices, any time a crime falls on Friday or Saturday, and our firm is asked to represent the defendant, someone must take the case over the weekend. Friday crimes are the worst because potentially both Saturday and Sunday will be taken up by trials, my one-day trial being unusual for a crime so severe and a web so tangled.

When the three-day trial law came into effect a couple of years ago, the courts couldn’t afford to lose a day or two of trial over the weekend. You’d think they would have accounted for that fact in the law. Maybe a three-business-day clause or something like that? However, I’ve been told that, while the courts move quickly, government officials move at a glacial pace. I expect them to make some sort of amendment in the next year or two, but only time will tell.

Mr. Grossberg is so scattered that it’s basically a coin flip if you’ll have to ask him for a day off in lieu when you work a weekend. I should have asked him about it on Friday, but I was so focused on the case that it slipped my mind. I didn’t want to bother him on the weekend, so I just sucked it up and came in today.

I sipped my coffee as I stared blankly at the loading computer screen. We have a weekly meeting at 8 am on Monday every week, much to everyone’s chagrin. Mondays were bad enough as it is, but they’re made even worse with a mind-numbing two-hour-long meeting first thing in the morning. The worst part about it was the pointlessness of the exercise. I guess you could say it served a purpose with coordinating our civil work and legal paperwork but, from a criminal perspective, we couldn’t predict when a crime was about to happen.

Normally, Mr. Grossberg and the partners would handpick one of the attorneys or a client would specifically request one, Saturday's case being a notable exception. Mr. Grossberg had to frantically gather everyone for an impromptu meeting at 5 pm on Friday to assign that case. Typically, the senior attorneys would rotate being on-call over the weekends, but this crime happened right before the on-call window started. Come to think of it, that might have been the biggest reason I got the case, not just its insane difficulty level.

I kept staring at my computer. Still loading. Guess I won’t have time to review some emails before the meeting. Others stationed in the commons were starting to stroll in one at a time, turning their computers on, dropping off their briefcases, and heading to the largest boardroom on level two. I looked at my watch: 7:55 am. I really should be heading up there too.

The boardroom was large and handsomely furnished, but they never had enough chairs for all of us in the office. Get there one to two minutes before and you’d usually have to drag a chair from the second level reception area to the boardroom. Get there late, and, well, you better enjoy standing for two hours. Typical boomer justice. Why put enough chairs in the boardroom when you could just subtly shame the stragglers by making them stand awkwardly for two hours?

I was too filled with dread to go up there early though, a pit forming in my stomach. After the weekend I just had, I wished that I could just hide away in the doc room and be alone. I wasn’t in the mood for round tables about everyone’s weekend, our workloads, our plans for the week, and our firm’s successes and learnings from last week.

All Sunday, I couldn’t relax, and I could barely sleep when I made it home early that morning. When I finally slept, I kept dreaming about Terry Fawles’ face, his mouth filling with blood, and his body collapsing to the ground. I dreamt about that man assaulting me in the street except, in my nightmares, I don’t grab my pepper spray and Diego doesn’t call him off. I always wake up before anything else happens, but the nightmares were so vivid that they left me scared to sleep again.

I spent most of the day exhausted and shaky. I tried watching my favorite movies or reading my favorite books, but I couldn't pay attention enough to enjoy them. I got takeout from my favorite Japanese restaurant for dinner, but I was too queasy to eat more than a couple of bites. Last night, another bout of anxiety hit me. This time it was dread for today. The sooner I fell asleep, the sooner I’d have to see him. Diego.

No matter how much I thought about him and paced around the apartment, I couldn’t put together what exactly had upset me so much on Saturday. Being tired didn’t help. When we got to the bar, I told myself that I would only stay for one drink and then leave. Without food in my stomach though, the drinks hit me quickly and staying there and talking seemed like a much better idea. By the time I started sobering up, I wanted to stay anyway because I was genuinely enjoying myself.

I was always told how charming he could be, but I never let myself believe it before. I didn’t want to develop feelings. I also felt a connection with him that I hadn’t felt with anyone in a while, maybe ever.

When I told him about my family’s unusual history and powers, he believed me and listened sympathetically, or it seemed like it anyway. I hadn’t talked to anyone about that in years. I had gotten so accustomed to strange looks and snide comments that I learned to keep that stuff to myself.

It felt special that he told me so much about his background too. It seemed like he kept that information close to the chest.

Then, when it was last call, and we had to leave, I panicked. I noticed that waitress, Candace I think her name was, wink at him before he went to pay, and I got suspicious. I had noticed them mouthing things and gesturing to each other earlier in the night, but I couldn’t make it out. Then the wheels in my head got turning and they couldn’t stop.

Was this all a ploy? Is this the bar where he takes all his conquests, plying them with drinks, telling him his sob story, and bringing them home later? His interactions with her seemed so rehearsed or commonplace, like this happened all the time.

I got confirmation of what I had suspected, he did like me, but what exactly he meant by that I wasn’t sure. Did he want to date me, or did he want to tell all his friends that he slept with the chesty new lawyer that he’s been eyeing for months?

When it came time for the bill, I insisted on splitting it even though I knew he had offered. I didn’t want him to think I owed him anything. However, he insisted more, and I finally gave up. When he went to the bar to pay, I went to the bathroom and tried to calm down quickly before returning to the table to grab my things and leave. I also avoided making eye contact as best I could.

I kept thinking about my last ex, back in my final year of undergrad, and how he broke my trust in a way I had never expected. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was about to repeat history.

When we left, he insisted on walking me home or calling me a cab. I really didn’t want to walk alone, but I didn’t want him to do anything more for me, so I walked away. He persisted, but I won this time, if you could call it winning. If he walked me home, what if he tried to kiss me? What if he tried to do more? I didn’t want to find out, and potentially end up a punchline during watercooler talk.

I lived in a bad part of town. It was all I could afford right now with the student loans I have, and with any extra money being saved for my “five-year plan.” However, I had walked or bused a similar route many times before and, while there were always interesting characters around, nothing bad had ever happened before. Besides, I had my pepper spray and some martial arts training from Kurain Village that I could fall back on in a dangerous situation.

When that stranger approached me, I knew he couldn’t be up to anything good, but I chose to give him the benefit of the doubt. Wishful thinking made me do it. It almost felt like if I believed that, it would be true.

If I had taken the threat more seriously, I think I could have handled it myself. I had learned stances in martial arts that make it harder for an opponent to take control of the situation, but I had left myself wide open. He had grabbed my wrists tightly, dropping my briefcase to the ground, and I was trying my best to kick him in the crotch when Diego came over and yelled at him to stop, pushing him to the ground.

I got cross with Diego when he showed up. Was he following me home? Stalking me? I wanted to believe that I had the situation under control all by myself and felt vindicated that I kept my guard up against him. Still, being mad at him like I was didn’t sit right with me all yesterday. It wouldn’t matter anyway, I told myself. He probably remembered to take today off.

“Mia, you heading upstairs?” Reina asked. She’s been at Grossberg Law Offices almost a year longer than I’ve been there, but she still sits in the commons with me. Not every experienced lawyer gets an office right away. Sometimes, you have to wait until one of the other, more senior, lawyers quits, retires, or dies. Apparently, the latter has already happened twice. She must have arrived sometime while I was thinking, but I hadn’t noticed.

I blinked my eyes and shook my head out of my daze. “Yeah, sorry. Lost track of time.” I looked at my watch again: 7:58. “Crap. Let’s go!”

Reina laughed. “Crazy weekend, huh?” she asked. We started walking to the stairs. “You can fill me in later.”

We made it up to the boardroom with one minute to spare and wandering in at the same time was Diego. His eyes were bloodshot, and he looked exhausted too. When the three of us walked in, we surveyed the room and saw that there were only two free chairs left. Without discussion, Reina quickly grabbed one and sat down. “Phew, that was close,” she said, relieved. That left one chair for me or Diego.

“Oh,” I said awkwardly.

“I insist,” he said tersely before motioning me over to the seat. He was still angry with me, but his chivalry persisted.

“Oh, um, thank you.” Before I could sit down, he had already started walking swiftly towards the other side of the boardroom table. He leaned against the wall by the windows, the sun shining brightly through the semi-shuttered Venetian blinds. He held a coffee mug in hand, as usual, taking small sips, trying to conserve it.

“Hey, Diego! You lose musical chairs today?” Mr. Hammond asked teasingly.

Diego’s mouth pursed for a moment before he jokingly replied. “Don’t you read the news Hammond? They say all that sitting’s bad for you.”

The group laughed and Mr. Hammond smirked, looking down at his papers. While his mouth was smiling, his eyes were daggers.

I never liked that guy. I didn’t like him when he used cheat tactics in that case against my mom years ago, and I liked him even less when he made a borderline comment about my outfit a few weeks into working here. I’ve basically avoided him like the plague ever since. From Diego’s pursing, it was clear that he didn’t like him either.

At the front of the table, Mr. Grossberg shook his head in disapproval before clearing his throat and speaking. “Yes, well, I think we’re still missing two or three people, but we’ll get started. As usual, let’s go around the table and everyone can say one interesting thing that happened this weekend.”

I was at the far end of the table and my brain went into overdrive as others talked about their trips to the movies and home renovations. What do I say? I had my first case and my client committed suicide on the stand? Me and Diego went on a date, and then I ran away from him? I almost got assaulted? I was so anxious that I didn’t eat or sleep all Sunday? Lie, just lie. Or maybe I can make that takeout trip seem more significant? I didn’t end up needing to think of anything.

“And Mia? Well, actually, I know what Mia got up to this weekend," Mr. Grossberg said. "Everyone, please give a big round of applause to Mia for defending her first criminal client on Saturday.”

Everyone clapped politely while I looked down at the table, embarrassed at being put on the spot. “Yes sir, I did. But...I don’t know if you heard or...” There was a lump in my throat, and I struggled to get the words out.

Mr. Grossberg looked at me sympathetically. “Yes, I’m sorry. I heard about what happened,” he said gently. Realizing this wasn’t the ideal venue for discussing this matter, he cleared his throat again. “Ahem, yes, Mia, well we can talk about this later. Privately,” he clarified. “I was talking to Diego this morning though and he said that you performed excellently on Saturday," he continued, beaming. "A real natural, he said."

“He did?” I looked over at Diego for confirmation and he glanced at me briefly in acknowledgment before returning his gaze to the view between the slats of the blinds. “It went well, I suppose. Until, you know.” My face was hot with embarrassment. Only five minutes into the meeting and it was already the worst one yet.

“Yes, of course. But I see lots more cases in your future if you want them,” he said brightly, smiling.

More cases. That’s all I had wanted until a man died in front of me. “Sir, I’m not sure if I want to defend another case yet," I answered hesitantly. "I think I’d like to stay in contracts and doc review for a while.”

Mr. Grossberg looked at me, puzzled. “If, you’re sure?” He paused. “Mia, you don’t have to decide now. As I said, we can talk privately later.” He smiled at me again. While he could be clueless, I found it hard to stay mad at Mr. Grossberg. He was always very kind to me, almost fatherly in a way. I didn’t want to disappoint him by losing my resolve.

I had to appease him; to assure him of my dedication to criminal law. “I would like to investigate Dahlia Hawthorne... if I could,” I blurted out suddenly. That name weighed heavily in my thoughts all yesterday. That and the taunting smile she gave me as she exited the courtroom on Saturday. I didn’t know what I was going to say when I opened my mouth just then, but I guess my subconscious had guided me.

Mr. Grossberg was perplexed again. “I don’t know if I understand. You want to defend Dahlia Hawthorne?”

“No!” I exclaimed viscerally. Everyone looked at me in surprise. “No,” I softened. “I-I want to make sure that justice is served. Dahlia has to pay for her crimes. I have to make sure she does. I’d like to investigate her files and build a case against her.”

“Oh, Mia,” Mr. Grossberg said kindheartedly. “From what I understand of the case, I’d like that too. But I’m afraid that we have so much work to do already. We don’t prosecute here either. I’m not sure what we can do with a case even if we build one.”

“Right,” I said quietly. He was right, I knew he was right, but I hoped that I could do it anyway. I looked down at the table again, waiting for us to move on. I could hear a few people whispering to each other, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying.

“Sir, if I may?” a voice said deferentially.

“Yes, Diego,” Mr. Grossberg replied. I looked up.

“I think what Ms. Fey is trying to say-” Diego looked over at me briefly before returning his glance to Mr. Grossberg. “-Is that she’d like to use our resources, and our databases to research Dahlia Hawthorne. After hours, of course. Not on company time.”

Mr. Grossberg thought for a moment. “Yes, I don’t see why there would be a problem with that.” He looked at me. “Mia, I’m happy to let you do that if you’d like.”

I looked at Diego sheepishly and he returned his gaze to the window. He was always trying to save me, this time from embarrassment. I looked again at Mr. Grossberg. “Thank you, sir,” I said graciously.

“Now!” Mr. Grossberg clapped his hands together, as if to finish this conversation. “Moving on to the next person.”

The rest of the meeting went on in a blur to me. I could barely pay attention as everyone spoke, preparing only for my times to speak and then zoning out again, lost in my own thoughts.

When the meeting ended, everyone poured out hurriedly: to the bathroom, to the breakroom for more coffee, or to gossip with their best work friend about the meeting. I felt Reina squeeze my hand, and I looked up at her. “You okay,” she mouthed. I nodded lightly.

We walked out of the room, and as we were heading towards the stairwell, I heard my name. “Mia?” Reina and I turned around to look. It was Diego.

“One second,” I said to Reina. She nodded and held back as I walked towards him. “What is it?” I tried my best to look him in the eyes, but I could only manage it for a moment before looking down at my feet.

“Let me know if you need help with Dahlia’s case. I also have an interest in bringing her down.” He wasn’t really looking at me either. Instead, he was looking off to his side, absentmindedly tossing his empty coffee mug between his hands.

I thought for a moment. I wanted to apologize. To clear the air. I didn’t know how to even start. I might have made a mistake about him, but it was hard to admit that I could be wrong. “I-I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” was all that I could muster.

He laughed bitterly. “Right. Well, I’ll leave you to it, Nancy Drew. I wouldn’t want to cramp your style. See you around.” He stormed off towards his office and I just watched him as he left. Why did I say that?

I returned to Reina, and we walked down the stairs in silence. “Bathroom?” she asked. I nodded in agreement.

While she went to pee, I stood awkwardly by the paper towels, fidgeting. There was one other person in there, Patty, one of the administrative assistants. When Patty walked out of the bathroom, Reina walked over to the door, her hands still wet and soapy, and locked it, before returning to the sink. The lock on there was only meant for lockdown drills.

I looked at her, confused. “Okay, what happened this weekend?” Reina asked.

“What do you mean?” I replied, trying to play dumb.

She scoffed. “Don’t give me that. First, you zone out at your desk and almost miss the meeting, then you have a meltdown during the ice breaker, and then you and Diego talk for a minute, and he storms off.” She sounded intrigued. Reina was around my age, only a few years older, and has been my closest friend here since I started. She and I would often talk or gossip about work, but I just wasn’t used to being the subject.

“I wouldn’t say meltdown,” I clarified.

“Meltdown is being polite,” she joked. “Seriously though?” she asked, looking at me expectantly.

“Well...” my voice trailed off and I looked at the locked door “...I guess if it’s just us.” I inhaled deeply. “It was awful. My client, I was so close to getting him off and he...he committed suicide on the stand.”

“What?” she exclaimed. “Oh Mia, I’m sorry. That’s, well, that’s pretty effed up,” she said with pity.

“Tell me about it. I’ve been replaying the image of him dying in my head all weekend. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. I’m a mess, really.”

“Why are you even here? You worked Saturday. Go home. Well, go home after we’re done talking. We’re not done here,” she clarified, laughing.

“I know, I know. I meant to talk to Mr. Grossberg about it. But you know how he is.”

“Yeah, fair. I can talk to him later. You need to sleep.” There was a beat. “So, what’s going on with you and Diego?" she asked. "You could practically cut the tension with a knife.”

“Oh, that.” I thought for a moment. Where to even begin with that conversation topic? “Let me ask you something: When you and Diego defended your first case, did he try to pick you up?”

“What?” she exclaimed loudly.

“Shh, keep it down. Just between us, right?” I admonished. “So?”

“Right,” she replied quietly. “I don’t think so. God, I hope not anyway. I’ll be kicking myself forever if he hit on me and I missed the signs,” she joked.

“Reina,” I admonished again. “I’m serious.”

“So am I,” she said, laughing. “He’s the hottest guy here; it’s not even close. Not that there’s much competition, but I think he’d hold his own in any office. C’mon Mia, even you can admit that?” I was silent. I agreed, but I didn’t want to acknowledge it out loud. “So, I take it that he tried to pick you up if you’re asking that?” she continued.

“Yeah, we went for drinks after the case was over.”

“Oh. Well, he always treats a new attorney out after their first case, win or lose. Kind of his thing. Our case ended early, so he took me to lunch before we had to go back to the office. He and Genji had beer and played darts. I think he took one of the other guys go-karting.”

“Go-karting?” I exclaimed. I tried to imagine someone as tall as Diego cramming his legs into a go-kart. I'm getting distracted. “No, this was definitely more romantic.”

“How do you know?”

“We stayed at the bar until close, he called me “kitten” 30 times during the trial, and when I asked him about it, he said he called me that because he thought I was cute. Oh, and he walked me home afterward,” I added.

“Okay, that’s definitely a sign.” She paused. “So, what’s the problem? You’re hot, he’s hot. You two would practically be lawyer Ken and Barbie.”

Flattered, but wanting to stay on track, I ignored the last part. “I just worry that he’s a player. It’s hard to explain it. I just get that vibe. I don’t want to be some story he tells his friends later.”

“Right.” She paused thoughtfully. “He hasn’t dated anyone in the office, that I know of anyway. The way word spreads around here, I feel like I would have heard something about that.”

“Oh,” I said, pleasantly surprised.

“Actually...”

“Oh,” I said again, disappointed.

“No, not a coworker," she clarified. “He dated a client of his one time.”

“What?” I exclaimed. “Isn’t that illegal?” I whispered.

“Former client, former client,” she corrected. “Andrea Scott. Super pretty, but also certifiably crazy. She basically threw herself at him for a few weeks after the trial and he just went with it, I guess. They went out for two to three months, I think. Something like that.”

“What happened?” I asked.

“Well, she was crazy, so I imagine he probably just got tired of it. Then she sued him and the firm for abuse of power after he broke up with her. He was in pretty deep sh*t for a couple of weeks, but they had enough text messages to dismiss the case.”

“Oh.” I didn’t know what to make of this news. “So, that’s it?”

“That’s all I know. We don’t exactly talk much, he and I.” I nodded to her words for a few seconds, thinking. “What’s wrong?”

“I think I might have made a mistake,” I said meekly.

“In what way?”

I inhaled deeply. “He didn’t exactly walk me home like I said. He offered to.”

“Okay...?” she replied, confused.

“He offered to walk me home and I said no. I was worried he was going to try something or whatever. So, I walked home alone. But then he ended up following me.”

“He stalked you?” she exclaimed with concern.

“Well...” I was getting winded. It was too hard to explain. “He told me there was this guy he thought was following me, so he followed him.”

“And was he? This guy, I mean, following you?”

“No, but then there was this other guy, and he tried to assault me. And then Diego pushed him away from me and gave me time to grab my briefcase and pepper spray him.”

She looked at me dumbfounded. “You got attacked on the weekend? I ask again: Why are you here right now?”

“Almost. Attempted, I guess. Well, he grabbed me, but he didn’t...you know...” I paused. I couldn’t get the words out. No, I didn’t want to get the words out.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” she comforted. “You don’t need to explain further. “Oh my God. So, you got attacked and Diego saved you? I mean, that’s pretty romantic, other than the icky rapey part.”

I shuddered. Surely, it never would have gone that far? “I guess. I got mad at him for following me, and I accidentally got some pepper spray in his eyes. When he came to my place to wash his eyes-” Reina’s mouth opened in surprise upon hearing he went to my place, but I ignored her and kept talking. “-I avoided him until he called a cab and left.”

“Wow,” she said, stunned.

“Then today, he asked if I needed help on the Dahlia Hawthorne research and I told him I didn’t think we should work on it together.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “Mia, you sweet summer child. You’re lucky you’re pretty.”

That wasn’t a compliment. “What do you mean?”

“You messed that up, like, badly. Like, really, really badly. Are you going to talk to him at all?”

“I don’t know. You’re probably right. I think it’s too late. At least he works all the way upstairs, I won’t have to see him much, right?” I asked optimistically.

“Well, if that’s what you want to do. I think you owe him an explanation.”

“Maybe,” I said non-committedly. As much as I like to jump headfirst into things, like a criminal case with a death row inmate, I was too scared to go talk to him. Scared to get hurt. Scared to be honest.

“First, though, you need to go home. I’ll talk to Grossberg for you.”

I nodded in agreement.

Date: Friday, February 22nd, 2013

Time: 5:05 pm

Location: Document Room, Grossberg Law Offices, Los Tokyo

After a hectic Monday morning, I went home, as Reina ordered, and finally got the sleep that I so desperately needed. I was so tired that even the fear of nightmares couldn’t keep me awake any longer.

The rest of the week was as normal and as mundane as usual. Mr. Grossberg and I finally had our private talk on Tuesday afternoon, and he agreed to keep me out of criminal cases for the time being, but he assured me that I could be put back on when I was ready. I appreciated his flexibility in light of my recent experience.

Diego, meanwhile, I didn’t see all week. I didn’t go talk to him like I knew I should have. I still didn’t know where to begin, or what to say. He was busy with a three-day trial most of the week anyway.

I didn’t see him at all until Friday, that is. I was in the doc room reviewing files, about to pack up and leave for the day, when he walked in with a cardboard filing box overflowing with papers. He sat himself down at another empty table and began sorting through it. I looked at him, perplexed, but when he met my gaze, I averted it quickly.

“What?” he asked.

“What are you doing here? It’s already time to leave for the weekend.” Why was he camped out here too, I wondered. He has a beautiful office upstairs.

“I have the Dahlia Hawthorne files here. I was going to review them in my office, but I thought you might need them too.”

“You’re working on that too? But I thought-” I asked before he cut me off.

“That you wanted to work on it alone? I know. But then I thought, this was my case too, and I can work on it if I want.” He was firm but not angry.

“No, I guess you’re right.” I began packing up my other files and putting them away. Then, I walked over to his table, hovering over the file box. “So... which files are you working on right now?”

He looked up at me and then looked at his papers. “It’s mostly background documents: school records, birth records, passports, places of address, that kind of thing.”

Right. I guess there is no better place to start, logically. “Hmm.” I started flipping through the papers, scanning their contents. “I guess I’ll cover trial and discovery documents from the first trial five years ago.”

“Sounds like a plan,” he said plainly, not looking up from his papers. I was still sorting through the other papers, setting anything aside that I saw as relevant when Reina walked by.

“Mia, what are you still doing here?” she said playfully. “Go home. It’s Friday.” I turned around to look at her and Diego looked up as well.

“Oh.” She smiled mischievously. “Diego, what are you doing down here?”

“Getting started on that Dahlia Hawthorne research. I brought the files down here in case Mia needed them.”

“Right.” She sounded skeptical. “So, you guys are working on this together?”

“No, not exactly,” I corrected. “He’s working on some files and I’m working on...some other files...separately.”

“Got it.” She smiled. “Well, I’m out of here. You kids have fun!” She winked at me non-discretely. I wanted to reprimand her for that brazen act, but it would have only made things worse.

Diego smirked. “Thanks, Reina. You have a good weekend!”

Reina was already partway down the hallway, when she yelled back, her voice echoing. “You too!”

After she left, I finished sorting through the rest of the papers and took my stack over to the other table. I set them down, sat in my chair, and placed both my palms down on the table before exhaling, overwhelmed. There were hundreds of pages in front of me and I didn’t know where to start. It was easy to plan with assigned work, but this was new territory. I haphazardly flipped through the pages, not retaining much of what I read. I wasn’t mentally prepared to work late today.

Suddenly, I stood up. I wasn’t sure why; I just felt the urge. He looked over at me curiously, wondering what the commotion was. “Uhhh.” I cleared my throat and tried to find an excuse. “Coffee?” I asked, gesturing to him.

He smiled. “Mia, I’ll never say no to coffee.”

I laughed shyly. “Right, of course. Black?”

“Blacker than my soul,” he said with faux seriousness.

I let out a short shriek of laughter and then cleared my throat again to hide my reaction. I really hope he wasn’t serious anyway; what a drama queen. “Coming right up,” I said brightly, hooking my arm in a can-do way. What was I doing?

He grinned slightly and then turned his attention back to his papers. “Thanks.”

I went to the breakroom, brewed a fresh pot of coffee, and poured some for each of us. Nothing in his cup, and cream and sugar in mine. I returned to the doc room and set his cup next to his stack of papers. Within mere seconds, he grabbed his cup and took a sip.

I recoiled. “Isn’t that still too hot?" I asked. "There isn’t even cream or milk in it.”

“When you drink coffee as much as I do, you develop a pretty strong tolerance. It’s best when it’s hot anyway.”

“Right.” I carried my cup over to my table, blew on it gently, and brought it close to my lips before setting it down. I don’t care what he says, it was still too hot. I looked over my papers again. Okay, no more distractions. Time to get to work.

I began sorting through the papers, organizing trial pages by witness testimonies, cross-examinations, and expert testimonies and discovery evidence by persons of interest, pieces of physical evidence, timeline, and locations of interest. Then, I began reviewing each stack, one at a time, highlighting anything I thought could be important. We sat in relative silence for what felt like forever, making no sound other than the rustling of papers and the sipping of coffee.

Finally, he spoke. “Mia?”

“Yes,” I said, preoccupied, still highlighting my pages.

“You said that you have an aunt, right? Another spirit medium?”

This caught my attention. I looked to my right, where he was seated. “Sorry?”

“A...” he looked at his papers for confirmation. “...Morgan Fey?”

“Aunt Morgan?” I was perplexed. “Yeah, why do you ask?”

He didn’t explain his line of questioning further. “She has two daughters?”

“Three. The twins and then little Pearl. She’s only four.”

He flipped through his papers. “I don’t see Pearl in here.”

“Different dad than the twins. Another wonderful ‘sperm donor’ in the Fey clan,” I said sarcastically. I paused. “Wait, why are you asking about all of this?”

“Twins Iris and Dahlia?”

Dahlia. Was she really the same one? “Dollie. Dollie Fey?”

He examined his papers again. “Dahlia Hawthorne, née Fey.”

I leaned back in my chair, completely in shock. Dahlia Hawthorne is my cousin Dollie? I got up and stood next to him. “Can I see that?” I asked, gesturing to his papers. He nodded and handed me the relevant pages.

Still looking at the documents, I sat down in the chair next to him. It was her. I couldn’t believe it was her. Her natural dark brown hair had been dyed red but comparing a childhood photo to one of her at 14, and one at 19, I could see the resemblance.

“The other night, you mentioned that you hadn’t seen the twins in years. Is that right?” he asked, looking at me intensely.

“Yeah. They left a few months before my mom did. They were only seven years old at the time. Their dad took them away and they weren’t allowed back. Our village is strict. When you leave, you leave for good. I haven’t seen them since.”

He tilted his head slightly and looked at me sympathetically. “Does that mean you can’t go back either, you or your mom?”

“I’m not allowed back. It’s what made becoming an attorney such a hard decision for me. Maya can come visit me, but I can’t go visit her. Strangers can go there on pilgrimages, but I can’t go visit my sister. Everything I’ve ever owned is now in that crappy little apartment. My mom is an exception though. She never officially abdicated her duties as head of the clan, and no one can channel her, so she’s presumed alive and missing. Not only is she exempt, but she could change the rule if she came back.”

I looked down at the table, my eyes welling with tears, but I kept myself from crying too much. My parents abandoned me, and now I have abandoned my sister.

“Mia,” he said softly, before gently placing his hand on my forearm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

I looked at his hand. For someone who was mad at me, he was being awfully nice. I didn’t want to move it, so I wiped the tears with my other hand. I swallowed. “It’s okay. I-I try not to think about it too much, but I don’t have a choice now.” I laughed, trying to suppress my tears. “I didn’t think that Dollie would turn into such a psycho.”

He moved his hand, balling it, before using it to rest his chin. “What was she like as a kid? Did you have any idea?” he asked, talking so calmly that I felt like I was in therapy.

“No.” I paused. “I mean, she wasn’t as sweet as Iris or as cute as Pearl. But she seemed normal. Just like a normal kid.” I paused again. “She is Aunt Morgan’s daughter though.”

He raised his eyebrow. “Meaning?”

“Well, you know how I said that she and mom had a falling out after my mom took over the clan. Things were never the same after that. She technically raised me and Maya after mom left; I owe her a lot. But she was always so bitter. So competitive. So resentful.”

At this remark, he just nodded his head. Then, my stomach growled loudly, and I could feel my face flushing as it did. “Sorry, I-” I began to apologize, but he cut me off, laughing.

“God, between Saturday and today, I’m starting to wonder: Do they let you eat on the first floor?”

I smiled. “I was running late today, so I skipped breakfast and then had an early lunch.”

He checked his watch. “8:13 pm. I think we’ve done enough. Why don’t we pack up and get something to eat?”

“Oh.” I feel like I’m always saying that now. “Aren’t you mad at me?” I asked hesitantly.

“Does it seem like I’m mad at you?”

“No-o, but, after Saturday and Monday..." I paused. "I wanted to say that I was sorry. I had a good time with you that night. I didn’t mean to run away. I just...” I paused again. I wasn’t used to being this vulnerable. “I just panicked.”

“Why did you panic?” He wasn’t teasing as he asked. He was still using his therapist voice.

“I guess...” I thought for a moment. How honest did I want to be? That I was scared he would just use me and throw me away. I kept it vague. “It’s just been a while since I’ve dated. I’m out of practice.”

“We can take things slow,” he said softly. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just wanted to get to know you better.”

I looked at him and smiled shyly, before turning away, my face flushing again. “Thank you for being understanding.”

“It’s nothing. We have all the time in the world, right? Why rush things?”

“Why rush things,” I repeated. We looked at each other for a moment until a thought came to my head. “What made you decide to try talking to me again? To come down here tonight?”

“Well, some things are just worth trying for, you know?” He paused and then laughed. “And, well, a little birdie may have told me that you’d be willing to give me another chance.”

A little birdie? Reina. I shook my head, laughing. “I could shoot that girl. That was supposed to be a secret.”

“Really? See, all I want to do is buy her a fruit basket or something.” We both laughed. Another beat. “C’mon, let’s get out of here.”

We packed up the box of papers and deposited the empty mugs in the breakroom sink. He ran upstairs to his office with the box of files while I went to my desk to shut down my computer and gather my stuff. He met me at the doorway or the commons. “Ready to go?” he asked.

“Ready!” I shut the door behind me, and we walked towards the elevators.

While we waited for the elevator to arrive at the 21st floor, I looked down at his left hand, my right hand clasping my briefcase and just inches away from his. I transferred my briefcase to my left hand and grabbed his hand with my right.

He looked down at them, then at me before smiling. He gave my hand a squeeze and then looked ahead to the elevator doors as they opened for us. We walked inside, hand in hand.

As we walked the streets outside, we talked and laughed about the week’s events. About how crazy things had been last week and about the case he had this week. He had lost, but he told me that he didn’t mind. He was pretty sure his client was guilty anyway. We were so invested in conversation that we forgot about our primary objective: to get something to eat, probably passing about two dozen restaurants as we walked aimlessly down the street.

We passed by the city’s event grounds and, finally, something caught my eye. “Wow, the circus is in town,” I said. “I had no idea.” There was a large tent that said Berry Big Circus on it.

“I didn’t peg you for a circus girl,” he teased.

“Maya is. I took her, gosh, probably five or six years ago now. Can’t believe it’s been that long. It was surprisingly fun though. The performers were incredible.”

“I’ve never been.” He pointed to the sign on the chain link fence. “It looks like the show ended a half hour ago, but the carnival grounds are open. Want to check it out?” I nodded yes.

We walked through the fairgrounds, completely aglow in neon lights. There were fried food stands, popcorn, cotton candy, carnival games and a few rides: the tilt-a-whirl, Ferris wheel, scrambler, bumper cars, and the like.

“Looks like the food options are mostly fried here. Is that okay?” he asked.

I was in a daze, taking in my surroundings. “Yeah, that’s fine. I haven’t had a churro in forever. One of those sounds really good right now.”

He looked at me seriously. “Are you only suggesting that because I’m Latino?” he asked.

“What?” I exclaimed frantically. “No, not at all. I’m not trying to stereotype you or any-”

He started laughing. “I’m just teasing. You make it too easy sometimes. Who doesn’t like churros?”

I playfully slapped him on the arm. “You jerk.”

“I’ll buy you a churro to make up for it.” We walked to the stand, he bought us each a churro, and we continued walking around the grounds.

We passed by a coconut shy carnival game. Knock down three coconuts and win one of the stuffed animals hanging from the top of the tent. There was a little yellow bear there, and it reminded me of one I had as a kid.

I pointed at it. “Look at that one! I had a bear just like that when I was little before I lost him at the park. Colonel Bear.”

“Oh yeah?” he asked rhetorically. He finished the last bite of his churro and discarded the foil wrapper. “Let’s see if we can win him back.”

He walked up to the man at the booth and handed him a $5 bill. Diego was unsuccessful in his first attempt, making shots number one and three but missing number two. You needed to land all three to win. He produced another bill from his briefcase, handed it to the man, and tried again. He only made one shot this time.

“Diego,” I said, laughing. “It’s okay; I don’t need it. It just reminded me is all.”

He was determined. “Third time’s the charm.” He handed another bill to the man at the booth. He made shots one and two but just missed shot three. “sh*t. I really thought I had it this time. These games are probably rigged anyway.”

I smiled. “Can I try?”

“Sure.” He went to grab another bill, but I waved him away.

“I got it.” I pulled a $5 bill from my briefcase and handed it to the man before stepping up to the plate, dropping the case at my feet. I landed my first shot and Diego congratulated me. When I landed my second, he looked surprised. When I landed the third, he looked astonished.

“Winner!” the man declared. “Pick your prize.” I pointed to the yellow bear, and he pulled it down with a pole before handing it to me. I giddily walked over to Diego, waving it in the air.

“Look what I won for you!” I handed it to him, and he looked at it, smiling halfheartedly. “What’s wrong?" I asked.

“Nothing,” he said shortly.

“You seem...annoyed.”

“It’s stupid.” He paused. “I wanted to win you that bear.” He handed it back to me.

“Aw, don’t worry about it. Me and Maya used to play catch for hours in the village courtyard.” I laughed. “We even knocked down our founder’s sacred vase one time. Maya was so upset; she wouldn’t stop crying. We tried to super glue it back together before my mom noticed.”

“I guess I’m not as practiced as you.” His tone had softened slightly, but he still seemed irritated with himself. I knew he could be competitive, but I didn't think that streak extended to silly carnival games.

“Hey,” I said, stopping to turn and face him. “You’ll get it next time.” Impulsively, I gave him a small peck on the lips. “Does that make you feel any better?” I said teasingly.

He didn’t answer at first, instead dropping his briefcase, and pulling me in for a passionate kiss, his hands grasping my face. Still holding the bear, I wrapped my arms around him.

We stopped kissing and he smiled, still holding my face. “Yeah, I feel a lot better now,” he said. I giggled.

We continued walking through the grounds, me leaning my head on his arm as we walked. I’m in deep now, I thought, but I don’t really care.

Chapter 4: Chapter 3 - Diego

Chapter Text

Date: Friday, March 1st, 2013

Time: 8:47 pm

Location: Diego’s Office, Grossberg Law Offices, Los Tokyo

At the risk of sounding cliché, I think I finally understand what all those love songs and movies were talking about. It's crazy to think, nearly 28 years old and I have still never felt that way before.

Most of my relationship trajectories typically went the same way: meet, go out, gradually lose interest, and eventually break up. I didn’t end my relationships on bad terms, for the most part, anyway. Andrea being a notable exception. However, there was never that level of connection I had hoped for, feeling more like friends or acquaintances by the end of it.

With Mia, things were different though. I’m sure if some older, more “mature” person were to hear this, they’d tell me it was too early in the relationship to know; we were just in the honeymoon phase. And, technically, they’d have a point; it has only been a week after all. But I’ve never felt this level of attachment or codependency before.

I think about her all day, and when I’m not with her, all I think about is when I can see her again. In some ways, it has made preparing for a trial harder. I can’t focus as well when I’m so distracted. In other ways, it makes me a better attorney, so stupidly happy that I can counter any piece of evidence or argument thrown my way with ease.

Despite her initial reluctance to go out with me, I think she feels the same way I do. We’ve seen each other basically every moment of mutual free time this week. I pick her up in the morning, drive us to work, we have lunch together if I’m there, and we research the Hawthorne file in the evenings if I don’t get too caught up with a trial.

Unfortunately, my trial has been most of this week as I was assigned to a murder case and needed most of my evenings for three days to investigate. When the trial ended on Thursday afternoon, a narrow victory hard fought for my sad sack of a defendant who happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time, spending that evening researching with her felt like a welcome reprieve.

Since the three-day rule took effect a couple of years ago, it has essentially made all attorneys honorary detectives. If you don’t take the time to investigate the scene of the crime or interview witnesses, you’ll more or less have nothing and be caught with your pants down at some point during the trial. Prosecutors investigate too, but defense attorneys have the rawest deal with our lack of access to police officers, who can do most of the dirty work for you.

In the past, I never worried myself about the time commitment. Arguing in court all day and then re-investigating for more evidence and counterarguments at night. Depending on the wealth of the client, the money I could make with trials was obscene compared to any other job I’ve ever worked, and long hours were just par for the course. Besides, I had little else going on in my life. Other than Mamá, and the occasional outing with old college friends, there wasn’t much to be missed.

Since I had nothing better to do, I would go to the Bar Association after a trial a few times a week, have a drink, and chat with Candace, one of the bartenders, or any lawyer acquaintances or colleagues there. Now that I have someone that I want to see all the time, it was starting to hit me how unsustainable this pace I’ve maintained for the last two years would be long-term.

Mia, for her part, did offer to help me investigate the case, saying she would tag along with me in the evenings. After the Fawles case, I didn’t want her to do that though. The crime scene was particularly grisly for this case: multiple stab wounds, a gunshot wound to the head, and blood spilled everywhere. Heck, I nearly threw up when I got there; it was so gruesome. Starting again with a crime scene like that would probably make her swear off criminal trials for good.

Seeing the scene, I prayed that my client was the innocent man I thought he was. I don’t think I could live with myself knowing I put an animal like that back on the streets.

When I explained the situation, she agreed, but she still did some research for me, and we talked about the case during our morning drives to work or over text. Her perspective was pretty insightful and made my job easier when it came time to generate arguments later or look for clues. I did hope she’d reconsider her stance on criminal cases sometime soon though. She and I made a great team.

As excited as I was to see her Friday evening, the two of us hunkered down in my office, me at my desk and her at the couch and coffee table set up in there for one-on-one client meetings, we were both dog-tired after a long week.

Luckily, each of us did a good job of keeping the other’s spirits up. One of us would inevitably ask the other a question and from there we would go off on a tangent, getting completely off-track and joking about something unrelated for several minutes. We got a lot less done this way, but it made the night go by a hell of a lot faster.

At about seven o’clock, Mia had the idea to review her case files while lying down on the couch. She said it was too uncomfortable to sit up. I offered her my desk and chair instead, but she insisted that she was fine, and that she reads like this all the time. Yeah, right before you go to sleep, I told her.

About ten minutes later I asked her a question and, receiving no answer, I went over to check on her. She was asleep, her head turned towards the back of the couch, some papers lying on her chest, a few others scattered on the floor, and her open highlighter precariously bobbing up and down as she breathed. I grinned. Looks like I was right.

I carefully removed the papers and the highlighter, recapping the highlighter and then tidying the files into a neat pile on the coffee table. I thought about waking her up, but she looked so peaceful that I couldn’t do it. I didn’t have a blanket in there, so I grabbed the next best thing, my black wool trench coat, and gently laid it over her.

I worked for a bit more after that but, soon growing weary myself, I packed up my stuff too and just paced a bit, looking out at the view from my windows before grabbing another coffee from the breakroom. Of all the days where I wished caffeine had an effect on me, today was a day where that feeling was felt strongest.

When I realized she was going to be longer than an hour, I decided to surf the internet for a bit to pass the time. Having social media as a lawyer always felt a little gauche, so I just browsed the local news and checked some pro sports updates. I thought about streaming something, but I didn’t have any headphones on me.

Finally, around quarter to nine, I heard her stir. “Mia?” I asked.

She inhaled deeply and then sat up. “Did I fall asleep?”

I smiled. “You did. About an hour and a half ago.”

“An hour and a half?” she exclaimed. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“When I see a tired little kitten, I usually let it sleep,” I joked. Despite her pushback to the pet name a couple of weeks ago, she seemed to soften to it now.

“Hmph,” she scoffed, her smile betraying her true feelings. “You’re sweet, but you didn’t have to do that. You must be exhausted yourself.” As she said this, she held my jacket up to inspect what had blanketed her before putting it on. She saw me look at her curiously. “I’m cold,” she explained.

“I figured,” I said, grinning. Mia is the kind of person who could make a potato sack look good. Seeing her in my jacket, her arms drowning in the sleeves, made me incandescently happy for some reason.

“Did you make any breakthroughs while I was slacking off?” she asked.

“Not really,” I said, rubbing my eyes. “Honestly, I was pretty tired too. Only did about a half hour more work than you. Had a cup of coffee and surfed around online before you woke up but, unsurprisingly, that didn’t help.”

“You weren’t joking about that caffeine thing, huh? I guess you’ll need something harder. Have you tried Adderall or cocaine?” She was completely deadpan as she said this.

The juxtaposition of her emotionless expression and the absurd suggestion made me burst into laughter and quickly she joined in too. I was more tired than I thought. My laughter was nearly hysterical.

“Okay, I was joking,” she said, still laughing. “We should get you home, so you don’t fall asleep at the wheel later.”

“Agreed,” I responded, after a few more chuckles. “If you want to get your stuff, I can warm up the car and meet you outside.” She nodded in agreement, and I began to head towards the elevator bank.

“Wait,” she called out. I turned around. She sped-walked over to me and handed me my briefcase. Then, she removed my jacket and laid it over my shoulders. “You can’t do much without these,” she said, smiling.

I slid my arms into each of the sleeves, exchanging the briefcase in each hand as I did. “Thanks,” I said, before kissing her on the forehead. I removed the car keys from my briefcase. “I’ll meet you out front.” She nodded and returned to the office.

Instead of keeping her stuff downstairs in the commons, I told her to bring everything upstairs while we worked. It would save her a lot of running back and forth if she needed anything.

I actually offered her my office while I was at the courthouse this week, but she declined, saying people would gossip. Frankly, I didn’t worry about that. From the first time I drove her to work in the morning, we were probably toast anyway.

The night air was a bit milder today than it had been in past weeks. It was the first day of March today. Maybe this was an indication that spring would be coming soon? Being as tired as I was, I honestly would have welcomed the colder air. It would have shocked me awake for a few minutes at least.

I inspected the windows. There was some very light frost, but I thought the heat would be enough to avoid scraping and hopped into the front seat, throwing my briefcase in the back. I turned the heat on full blast and let the ice melt on the windows before pulling the car up to the front of the building. When I saw Mia walk out the door, I revved the car engine. As she walked closer to the car, I could see her laughing and shaking her head.

“Men and their cars,” she said teasingly, as she entered the passenger seat and shut the door.

“What?” I exclaimed jokingly. “Did you not hear this baby purr?”

“Oh, I hear it alright. I’m still surprised that you have a black car. Was sure you’d have a red car to match,” she said, gently pulling the red collar of my shirt peeking out from underneath my coat.

The car in question was a 1979 black Chrysler LeBaron sedan. Everyone told me how impractical it would be to have a 70s car between the piss poor gas mileage and the maintenance alone. There would be plenty of time to be practical when I was older, I told them.

Besides, when I was a kid, I had seen a car just like this in a movie and always wanted to have one. I never dreamed I’d have the money to buy my own car and, when I saw this one for sale online and in decent shape with a low odometer, I pounced on it without much of a second thought. It’s been a labor of love to keep it in working order and pay the obscene price to park it in the underground lot at my apartment building but worthwhile, in my eyes.

Once she was buckled in, I pulled away from the curb. “That’s the thing,” I explained. “A guy in red coming out of a red car, that looks tacky. A guy in red coming out of a black car, now that looks cool.”

“You’ve thought about this a lot, I gather?” she asked amusedly.

“Of course.” In reality, this was the best deal I could find, and I just liked the color.

“What about a man in black pulling up in a black car? Still cool?” she asked, still grinning.

“Black on black is always cool. You’ve seen The Matrix , right?”

She chuckled. “I won’t argue with you there. It sounds like you have this all figured out.”

The rest of the ten-minute drive home, we bantered much in the same way, until we landed at her place. “I can walk you up,” I said, putting the car in park. As I was about to turn the key in the ignition, she rested her hand on my arm.

“It’s okay,” she said. “You’ve had a long week. You should go home soon and get some sleep.”

“You sure?” I asked.

She kissed me, and I removed my hand from the ignition so I could hold her face. She knew just how to distract me. “Positive.” She unbuckled her seatbelt, grabbed her bag, opened the car door, and got out. “I’ll see you Monday,” she said brightly, readying to close the car door.

“Wait!” I exclaimed. I felt like an idiot. I was so exhausted that I forgot to make plans for the weekend. I had wanted to take her out for a real date last weekend, none of this lawyer stuff, but she had already made plans with her sister. “Are you free tomorrow?”

She leaned her head down and, still holding onto the car door, she asked flirtingly: “What did you have in mind?”

Date: Saturday, March 2nd, 2013

Time: 11:10 am

Location: Diego’s Apartment, Los Tokyo

I had asked Mia if she wanted to go somewhere nice for dinner tomorrow and she agreed. After discussing the nuances of the word “nice,” and what that meant for a dress code, we settled on a 7:15 pm pick-up at her place and I drove home.

I fell asleep shortly after I arrived, flopping backward onto the bed, not even bothering to change clothes, brush my teeth or go underneath the covers. I woke up at 10:00 am, groggy and unkempt. I got up, showered, brushed my teeth, and changed, all things that I should have done yesterday, but my tired brain convinced me could wait. I couldn’t believe I had slept that long, but I must have needed it.

After making some coffee, I decided on a French press brew today, and a late breakfast, I opened my laptop and began researching restaurants. I called up about a dozen restaurants and none of them had availability for 7:30 pm tonight. sh*t. I should have known that getting a reservation at prime time on a Saturday would be tough, but I didn’t want to cancel. She seemed so excited.

After about an hour of searching and calling, I came across a listing for a fancy Italian restaurant, Molto Bene. It looked to be brand new with little written about the opening nor any reviews. I was hesitant to take a risk on a brand-new restaurant for a date but, after looking at pictures of the space and of the food on their website, it seemed nice. Every great restaurant has to start somewhere, right?

I called up the restaurant and requested a table for two and they told me it was no problem. I breathed a metaphorical sigh of relief and texted Mia: “You like Italian?”

“Love it! :)" she replied.

“Perfect, see you tonight.” I texted back.

With that settled, I could relax somewhat, catching some basketball highlights from last night’s game, watching a few episodes of a crime drama I started a few weeks ago, and reading a couple of chapters of this non-fiction book Mamá had recommended. It was about the dictatorship and civil war in the Dominican, events that preceded my time and part of her time. It was a fascinating read, but too heavy to read much of in one sitting. Most Saturday afternoons, I’d go up to the building’s gym on the top floor and do a workout, but I had already showered and didn’t want to be sweaty for the date.

When 6 pm hit, I started to get ready: trimming my goatee, styling my hair, brushing my teeth, flossing, selecting a cologne, and choosing what I was going to wear. I always dressed formally for work but didn’t want to wear the same thing for a special outing. I pulled a teal collared shirt from my closet, one that I never wear, and a black tie, and opted for a blazer instead of a vest.

I drove to Mia’s place, arriving five minutes early. I didn’t want to rush her, so I idled the car for five minutes. At 7:15, I texted that I was here, and she told me she was running late and that she’d buzz me up so I could wait. Strange, I thought, but I turned off the car and went upstairs, announcing my arrival with a knock before opening the door, and ducking my head inside.

When I walked inside, Mia was all dressed, frantically cleaning up some of her stuff and transferring some of the contents of her briefcase into a small handbag. She was wearing a dark purple knee-length satin dress and silver high heels, the neckline of her dress tied into a ribbon that lay onto her exposed back. Her hair was in waves and brushed to one side of her head. I swallowed and tried to keep my jaw from dropping; she looked incredible.

“Can I help you with anything?” I asked, keeping my tone as relaxed as possible.

She turned around. “Hey, so sorry I’m running late,” she answered cheerily. “I’m almost ready though. I guess you didn’t have to come all the way up. I just thought I heard your car a few minutes ago and didn’t want you to wait outside for me too long.”

“No worries,” I said, smiling and looking around her apartment. It was smaller than I remembered. A bachelor probably no more than 400 square feet. It was still filled to the brim with stuff, but it seemed a little neater today. Old takeout containers had been disposed of and the place had the lemony fresh smell of cleaning products.

She put her coat on, grabbed her purse, and walked towards me. “Ready!” she announced.

“You look beautiful,” I said, smiling affectionately. I grabbed her hand and kissed it, before grasping it in mine.

She giggled bashfully, turning her head to the side, avoiding eye contact. “You clean up well yourself.”

She locked the door, and we walked downstairs, reducing the speed of my steps as I led her down by the hand, her heels slowing her speed. I opened the passenger door for her and shut it closed once she was seated. As I moved to my seat and turned the car on, the time flashed on the car clock: 7:25. We were definitely going to be late now, and I hope they don’t give away our table. There was no plan B.

We drove to the restaurant, and I tried my best to cut down on time, taking shortcuts where possible. Parking was a nightmare, but I found a spot about a five-minute walk away, without heels. As I turned the car off, it was already 7:35. Whatever will be will be. I helped her out of the car, and we walked to the restaurant.

When we arrived, a young waitress greeted us. She was dressed the part of a stereotypical Italian waitress, wearing a white dress shirt, a green and red tie, and a black skirt.

The restaurant looked just as welcoming as the pictures, dimly lit and furnished with dark wood tables and red velvet booths. Operatic music played quietly on the speakers. Just like the pictures, though, there was no one inside.

“How can I help you?” she asked politely.

“I had a reservation for two for Armando at 7:30. Er, sorry for being late.” I felt obligated to apologize for our lateness, but it also seemed wildly unnecessary given the emptiness of the restaurant.

“Right this way,” she said, leading us to a small booth for two. She laid down two leather-bound menus for each of us, pointed to the smaller leather-bound wine menu on the table sitting next to a lit candle, and told us the special was a wild mushroom pappardelle for $35. We thanked her and she walked over to the host stand.

We both perused the menus, mostly in silence. “It’s so nice in here,” Mia said. She glanced around the room in awe, looking utterly precious as she did. She didn’t have any right to be this cute.

“I agree,” I said, looking around as well. It was a ghost town in here, but the place did score a 10/10 for atmosphere.

She lowered her voice to a whisper. “The food is really expensive though. I brought my wallet; I don’t mind helping you pay.”

“Pssh,” I scoffed, waving my hand at her in refusal. “Get whatever you want, on me.” The prices were eye-watering, but I had expected this when I asked her out.

“Okay,” she said softly, returning her gaze to the menu. A few minutes later, the waitress returned to our table.

“Are you both ready to order?” she asked, looking over at each of us individually.

“Do you know what you want, Mia?” I asked.

“I’m indecisive. You order first and I’ll decide.”

“I’ll have the brasato al barola, please,” I said, attempting my best Italian accent as I read out the name of the dish. My Spanish somewhat helped.

“Anything to drink?”

“Just a coffee, black, would be great.” I closed my menu and handed it to her.

“And for you, miss?” she asked, looking at Mia.

“I’ll have the pizza Margherita,” she said, pointing to the listing on the menu.

“Great choices,” the waitress replied, grabbing Mia’s menu. “Anything to drink?”

“Just water with a lemon wedge would be great.”

“Are you sure that’s what you want?” I asked politely. I didn’t want to put her on the spot, but it didn’t seem like a coincidence that she happened to order the cheapest thing on the menu.

“Absolutely!” She beamed, too brightly, at me and the waitress. She was selling it, I’ll give her that. “I love pizza.”

The waitress nodded and smiled. “I’ll be right back,” she said. She returned in a few minutes with water glasses for each of us, an ornate saucer of coffee, a basket of warmed bread with olive oil and balsamic vinegar, and two side plates. “Enjoy!” she said before hurrying back to the host stand.

We each took a sip of our drinks. My coffee was an Americano, okay in strength and roast. However, there was an unusually strong flavor to it. Like too much hazelnut flavoring or something. It wasn’t completely undrinkable, but I would never choose to order it again. I sipped on it slowly, barely drinking much on each sip. Mia’s water seemed okay at least, but that should be a given.

The bread was excellent though. Warm rosemary focaccia with flaky sea salt. “What did you get up to today?” I asked as I dipped a piece of bread into the olive oil and vinegar.

“Oh, not too much,” she said. “Talked to my sister on the phone for a bit, watched some TV, cleaned my apartment.”

I smiled. “Yeah, it seemed cleaner in there. To be fair, I had pepper spray in my eyes last time so that might have altered my perception.”

She frowned sympathetically. “Yeah, I’m still so sorry about that. At least that guy didn’t punch you in the face though, right?”

“True.” I felt like I had that guy handled, but I wasn’t going to rub her nose in it. “You catch the spring-cleaning bug a little early?” I joked.

“Something like that. I’m not used to having people up there. I felt it was time to clean up.”

“Your sister coming up to stay with you soon?”

“Maya?” she asked, laughing. “No, there’s no point cleaning up for her. She’s worse than I am. No, I...” she faltered, not finishing her thought. It’s like she realized that she said too much. Was she cleaning up for me?

Just as I was about to tease her for more information, for confirmation, the waitress returned. That was quick. “I have the Margherita for you,” she said, placing Mia’s dish in front of her.

“Thank you so much,” Mia said gratefully, happy for an interruption.

“...and the brasato for you,” she finished, placing my plate in front of me. I thanked her. “Do either of you need anything else? Some pepper or cheese?” We nodded no. She gathered the bread bowl and the side plates and left the table once more.

“This looks so great. I’m so excited,” Mia said.

“Me too,” I agreed. I debated asking her about the cleaning again but left it. If it was something innocuous, she would have just said it.

The food looked as beautifully presented as the website. I took a forkful, brought it up to my mouth, and an odd smell filled my nostrils, like perfume and beef. I took a bite. It tasted exactly like it smelled. My instinct was to spit it out but, luckily for Mia, I stopped myself. I chewed the same bite 30 times, my body rejecting it, not wanting to ingest it. I looked over at Mia, and she was chewing really slowly too.

“Uh, how is your food?” I asked hesitantly.

“Umm...” She paused. “It’s, uh, it’s interesting,” she said politely. Knowing the prices here, she probably didn’t want to admit that it was the worst thing she had ever eaten.

“Does yours taste like perfume too?” I whispered. She nodded in agreement. sh*t. “Don’t eat that,” I said.

“I don’t want to be rude, but I think I’ll be sick if I finish it. Maybe we can cut it up a bit and make it look like we ate more?” she suggested.

“That’s a good idea,” I concurred. We both got to work, furiously cutting up the food into little pieces and moving it around the plate. She signaled to me with her eyes that the waitress was coming back, and we both stopped what we were doing and took a sip of our drinks. The coffee still tasted bad, but less so comparatively.

“How are you enjoying everything?” the waitress asked.

We both started to speak and then Mia gestured to me, indicating that I should explain. “Great, great. We are actually really full already, so we’ll just take the check. Just one,” I clarified.

The waitress gave us a knowing look and I felt bad for her. She probably goes through this song and dance with every guest. “Oh no,” she said. “I hate when that happens. Do you want any takeout boxes to pack the rest up?”

“That’s okay,” I said politely. “We don’t have a microwave at home, and we aren’t much for cold food.”

“For sure,” she said. “I’ll clear these away and be right back with your bill.” She cleared the table and left, coming back only a minute later. “Sorry to impose, but the chef was wondering if he could stop by the table to chat about the food. We just opened and he’s always looking for feedback.”

We looked at each other and then back at the waitress. “I don’t know,” I said tentatively.

“Just for one minute,” she pleaded.

“Sure!” Mia said enthusiastically. I looked at her again and she shrugged.

“Thank you,” the waitress replied. “He’ll be right out. In the meantime, I’ll get the bill ready.”

“Why did you say yes?” I whispered.

“I just felt really bad,” she whispered back. “She seemed so insistent too. I figure the sooner we talk to him, the sooner we leave.”

I worried that this could turn into a bigger ordeal than she was anticipating, but it was too late now. I just nodded back in agreement.

The chef came out to greet us. He was a short, but large man, wearing what could only be described as a red chef jacket dress. He had a white chef hat and a green tie to match the Italian theme. He had a stereotypical Italian mustache and had slicked his hair back with too much hair gel.

He introduced himself: “Good evening, I’m Giuseppe Armstrong.” His accent was thick but also incredibly fake, and between his red hair and pale skin, he didn’t strike me as Italian. What kind of Italian has the last name Armstrong anyway? “I’d like to ask you about the food,” he continued. “Did you enjoy everything today?”

“The bread was very delicious,” Mia offered. Damn. She took the one good thing I had to say.

“Oh yes, I got that delivered from a local bakery,” he said. Figures. The one good thing in the restaurant, and he didn’t even make it. “How about the meals?”

“They were...overwhelming,” I said, technically not lying.

“In what way?” he asked. My right hand was resting on the table and, suddenly, he placed his hand on top of it and looked at me as he waited for a response. I looked at his hand in disbelief, then up at Mia who was trying not to laugh. All the power to you, buddy, but I’m not interested.

I had thought about offering some honest critique but lying felt like the only option now. “It was delicious, of course,” I said through gritted teeth.

“Magnifico!” he exclaimed, clapping his hands in joy before grabbing my head and kissing me on my crown. I sat there stunned as he walked back into the kitchen. Mia was covering her mouth, trying to pretend like she wasn’t laughing her ass off. I wiped my head and felt a residue. Was he wearing lip gloss?

The waitress came over with the bill. “Thanks for chatting with him. He just loves meeting the guests,” she said.

“I’m sure he does,” I said sarcastically.

I looked at the bill. $87.74 for this trash? The bread provided wasn’t even complimentary, itemized at $10.00 on the receipt. If there was fine print about that on the menu, I didn’t see it. As an attorney, I consider myself good with that kind of thing.

I thought about complaining, but I didn’t have the energy. Besides, it was the only edible thing we ate today.

“Will that be cash or card,” she asked.

“Cash,” I said. I pulled out a $100 bill and a $10 bill and handed it to her. She went to grab change and I told her to keep it. She smiled widely and said thank you before heading back to the host stand to deposit the money.

“You tipped her over $20? Why?” Mia whispered. “The food was terrible.”

“She didn’t make it,” I said. “Besides, she works with him every day. That’s punishment enough.”

She laughed. “Fair point.”

We grabbed our coats and left, the waitress beaming again and wishing us a good night as we exited. Poor girl, she probably doesn’t get tipped much around here. When we were a block away from the restaurant and out of earshot, Mia and I started laughing.

“You should have seen your face when he kissed you,” she teased. “You were shell-shocked.”

“I know. I don’t think I’ll ever recover from that,” I joked. “Well, sorry that place was such a bust. I called a dozen nice restaurants across town, and this was the only one with a free reservation. Guess there’s no mystery as to why.”

“Oh, so that’s how we ended up here,” she said, laughing. “And silly me, thinking you had this all elaborately planned.”

“Yeah, we both got bamboozled here,” I said tersely. I wasn’t mad at her; I was mad at myself for wasting over $100 on inedible food and looking like a total schmuck.

She squeezed my hand. “I’m just teasing. At least we have a funny story now, right?”

I smiled. “Yeah, that’s something at least.” I looked at my watch. “It’s not even 8:30, do you want to get something else? I’m still hungry.”

“Sure! I’m hungry too. Barely ate today in preparation for our ‘fancy dinner.’” She gently elbowed me, jokingly. “Anywhere you have in mind?”

“Why don’t you pick?” I suggested. “Truthfully, I now have little faith in my ability to pick a restaurant.”

“Hm,” she said, thinking. “Well, there is a ramen stand about a block away from where we parked. Maya has been going on and on about it after I took her there one time. They have this cheeseburger ramen bowl that she loves.”

“Sure, why not?” I asked rhetorically. Cheeseburger ramen didn’t sound appealing to me at all, but it couldn’t be worse than perfumed beef. “Where will we eat it?”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“It’s a stand, right? Did you want to eat in the car?” I didn’t particularly want to do that but, after our misunderstanding a couple of weeks ago, I didn’t want to suggest an apartment.

“Oh, right." She paused for a while. "Well, I guess one of our places would be better. What do you think?”

“You pick,” I said swiftly. Ball is in her court.

“Your place is closer, right? Maybe that would be easier.”

“It is." I stopped walking and looked her in the eyes. "You sure? We could always grab our takeout and I can drop you off?”

“No, that’s fine!” she blurted out. “It’s still so early,” she said, her voice lowering. She smiled demurely.

“Cool.” I grinned. “Let’s go then.”

We walked to the rickety noodle stand and ordered our cheeseburger ramen bowls. The owner there was quite eccentric, his hat even shaped like a ramen bowl. Or was he just wearing a ramen bowl on his head? He seemed quite severe, but his face brightened when he saw Mia, greeting her by name.

I offered to pay, but she insisted, saying I had already suffered enough for one day before winking at me.

Our food was ready in about five minutes and then we departed for the car. From the car we drove five minutes to my underground parking garage and up eight floors in the elevator to my apartment. I unlocked the door and turned the lights on, before setting our food down on the kitchen island.

“Wow,” she remarked, looking around the apartment. “Your place is so nice.”

“Thank you,” I replied. “Coat?”

“Thanks.” She handed her coat to me, and I hung it on the rack by the front door.

“So, I don’t have a kitchen table-” I explained. “-But we can eat at the kitchen island or eat on the couch and watch something.”

“I’ll never say no to dinner and a show,” she joked. She grabbed our food and placed it on the glass coffee table in front of the couch.

I went to the fridge and perused the options. “What do you want to drink? I have water, orange juice, milk, beer, and wine.”

“Red wine?” she asked, laughing. “Goes better with beef.”

“Right,” I said, laughing too. I checked the cupboard. “I have a pinot and a cab sauv.”

“Surprise me.” I grabbed the cabernet sauvignon, the corkscrew, and a wine glass and set them down on the coffee table. “Are you not having any?” she asked.

I started opening the bottle, twisting until I heard a pop. “I have to drive you home later.”

“Oh.” She paused for a moment, watching me pour her glass. “I can always take a taxi. It’s no fun drinking alone.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Okay, if you’re sure.” I grabbed a glass for myself and poured. I was about to hand her one of the glasses before I pulled it back. “Make sure you eat before you have too much of this. Okay, kitten?” She smiled and nodded, and I handed her the glass.

We clinked glasses and each took a sip. I grabbed the remote and opened a streaming service to look at movies. We ended up talking about the movies for a half hour and had finished eating before we even selected one.

“What did you think of the ramen?” she asked.

“It was surprisingly good. It reminded me of that cheeseburger macaroni stuff I used to make as a kid while Mamá was at work.”

She laughed. “I don’t think that’s the compliment you think it is.”

“Well, the ramen was better than that stuff. Just made me nostalgic is all. Haven’t had that stuff in probably a decade.” We laughed. There was a beat. “Well kitten, you still want to watch something? At this point, by the time we pick something, it’ll be at least two hours before you’re back home.”

“I do; I do.” She grabbed the remote from the table and started scrolling through again. “There are just so many choices. How to pick?” She scrolled some more before landing on one. “What about this one?”

Grave of the Fireflies ? “Little depressing, don’t you think?” I asked incredulously.

“What do you mean? My mom told me she saw it in theaters when she was pregnant with me. She said it was really good.”

“It is, but did she also tell you she bawled her eyes out when she saw it?”

“Yeah, but, I mean, she was pregnant, right? That probably had something to do with it. You said, ‘it is.’ Does that mean you’ve already seen it?” she asked.

“I have. Growing up, I had a cable package and a library card. I’ve seen basically everything.”

“Did you cry?” she asked playfully.

“No, but I can probably count on two hands the number of times I've cried between turning 13 and today.”

On my 13th birthday, Mamá told me that men don’t cry because they need to stay strong and stoic for their families. I’ve taken that to heart and have only cried under the most necessary of circ*mstances like, for example, getting pepper sprayed in the eyes.

“Two hands? I’ve cried more than that this year,” she joked. She clicked on the movie and then read the description. “It does sound sad, but I don’t know. I always wanted to watch it after she told me that. I kind of want to get it off my bucket list, you know?”

I poured myself another glass of wine, offered her more, and filled her glass. “Alright,” I said, resigned. I grabbed the remote and pressed play.

“Wait!” she exclaimed. I paused the movie. She got up and turned the light off. “We need movie lighting.” She sat back down close to me, our legs just grazing each other. I had already kissed her multiple times and yet it still felt so electric being this close to her. When I resumed the movie, I could hardly focus for the first several minutes before finally getting invested.

We made it about two thirds through the movie and I could hear Mia sniffling. I asked her if she was okay, but she insisted she was fine. By the last ten minutes, she was bawling her eyes out.

“Are you made of stone?” she asked through tears, the credits now rolling. “How are you not crying right now?”

I gave her a hug. “It’s okay. If I cried, I think it would only make you cry more.”

She laughed and sniffled. “Okay, you’re right, of course. I’m glad I saw it finally, but that was brutal.” She shook her head. “I’m really sorry. I feel like such a disaster all the time. We’ve only been hanging out for two weeks and you’ve already seen me cry three times.”

I smiled and reassured her. “Seriously, I don’t mind. That’s one hell of a movie, and we’ve had one hell of a two weeks,” I joked. She laughed again through the tears. I wiped some tears from her face before holding it in my hands. “Do you want me to call you a cab?”

Then she kissed me. She really kissed me, pushing me backward on the couch and straddling on top of me. We made out for over an hour, frequently shifting positions on the couch, lit only by the TV screen.

Finally, she paused for a second, catching her breath. “Do you have something?” she whispered breathlessly in my ear before kissing me again.

Do I have something? Oh. That something. What happened to taking things slow? We’re skipping ahead a few bases here.

I paused this time, grabbing her by the shoulders, scanning her face, trying to read her expression. “Are you really sure?” I asked. She nodded yes. “Really, really sure?” She just kissed me back that time. “Okay,” I whispered seductively between kisses. “How about we step into my office?”

Still kissing her, I picked her up, her legs wrapped tightly around my waist, and carried her to my bedroom.

Chapter 5: Chapter 4 - Mia

Chapter Text

Date: Sunday, March 3rd, 2013

Time: 10:43 am

Location: Diego’s Apartment, Los Tokyo

I woke up in his bed, my face to the window, sun beams peeking behind the drawn curtains. I looked down at the hardwood floor and saw my dress from last night haphazardly tossed on the ground. To say I had no idea last night would happen the way it did would somewhat be a lie.

My vision for the night was that we’d dine out for hours at this fancy restaurant and, when he dropped me off at my place later, I’d invite him upstairs. I had finally cleaned my apartment and everything, though it still was kind of a mess up there. I long debated about putting all my stuff in a storage locker, but the cost was so exorbitant that I might as well get a better apartment, defeating the purpose of living here: saving money.

Besides, the building was so old and run-down anyway that I don’t know how much decluttering would help. You can only put so much lipstick on a pig. If my mom was still around, she’d be shaking her head at me. Cleanliness and order were such virtues in the Village, though they never had to jam all their worldly possessions into a 380-square-foot dingy apartment.

When the dinner turned out horribly though, we had to reconfigure our plans and that threw me for a loop. I guess we could have gone to my place anyway although I had nowhere for us to sit and eat, and I didn’t like the idea of us sitting on my bed, balancing bowls of ramen on our laps, the mattress creaking every time we took a spoonful.

I had hesitated for a moment when the option of his place came up though. I’m not entirely sure why. He had been to my place, if only for short moments, and I had been alone with him in his office, his car. Surely, if he was some crazy murderer psycho, that fact would have already revealed itself and his tendencies wouldn’t be deactivated at my place.

I think I just liked having the control, the home-field advantage, even if his place was a more ideal spot to convene than mine.

Still, as I woke up this morning, I had this inexplicably surreal feeling. I couldn’t believe I was here, in his bed, right now. While I intended for our relationship to move to the next step, when it came time to execute on that, I got nervous.

I accidentally let slip over dinner that I had cleaned my place for him, but I didn’t want to confirm it. He looked at me quizzically after I got embarrassed and tried to change the subject.

Throughout the rest of the night, he gave me plenty of opportunity to leave, but I insisted on staying, though never making a move. He never initiated one either, knowing I wanted to take things slow.

At the end of the night, when it was just about time to leave, and I couldn’t find some other activity to stall, my instincts finally kicked in and I kissed him. Even when the plan was my place, I had only intended to make out with him, with maybe some light petting.

However, as the minutes passed, the urge to do more took hold and notably, surprisingly, I didn’t feel anxious or nervous about it. That never happened. My instincts were often right, so I decided to honor them.

I turned over and saw him, lying on top of the covers, wearing a white t-shirt and blue striped cotton pajama pants. He’s propped up by two pillows and he has one arm crooked behind his head while his other is balancing a large hard-cover book on his hips. The dust jacket was taken off the cover so I can’t make out the title. Based on the size of the book and the large paragraphs of text I can see from my angle, I’m guessing non-fiction.

He heard me stirring and looked over. “Morning, kitten.” He set his open book upside down and kissed me before resuming his previous position. “You sleep well?”

Hmph. That nickname. I hate to say it, but it really has been growing on me. It’s nice to be someone’s something.

I yawned and stretched my arms. “I slept great.” I looked over at the digital alarm clock on the nightstand and read the time. “Too great, I guess. I can’t believe how late it is. I think I’m just not used to sleeping in a comfortable bed. The bed that came with my place has springs sticking out of it.”

“You’re welcome to crash here, any time you’d like,” he offered. He smiled mischievously. “I’m sure the incredible sex last night had nothing to do with it.”

I smiled. “That might have helped too.” I let out an exaggerated sigh. “Well, that’s one way to lose your virginity,” I said casually, trying my hardest not to laugh.

He slammed his book shut, making a large thumping noise as he did. “What?” he asked incredulously.

I laughed. “Wow, and you say that I’m easy to tease.”

He laughed too and set his book down on the nightstand. “I was going to say, you sure had me fooled. If you were, I’d bet anything that there were hundreds of guys lined up hoping to change that.”

I scoffed. “I don’t know about that. No, if our range is between zero and hundreds, the reality is much closer to zero.” I paused. “You’re number three,” I said, deciding to divulge that piece of information without going into specifics.

My first time was at 17 with this guy, Kamal, from the Kingdom of Khura’in. He was a couple of years older than me and visiting our village for six weeks that summer with a 20-person congregation from a temple over there.

Aunt Morgan told me that this visit was supposed to be a big deal. She said that the royal family of Khura’in would potentially choose to stay at our village, if they were in the country, based on the recommendation of this congregation.

However, already knowing my plans for college next year, I didn’t really care. I was just focused on him, the two of us talking and flirting the whole visit. He didn’t have any channeling powers, but he seemed cute and sweet.

The final week of his visit, he and I snuck into the channeling chamber, taking the only key with us. I was a nervous wreck but I wanted to get it out of the way so I wouldn’t be scared anymore. It was not very good, and uncomfortable lying on the bamboo mats of the chamber, but we kept in touch for several months after the fact.

Our communication only stopped once he found out I wasn’t going to take over as Master after my mom. He never explained why that bothered him so much, dropping off completely without a word one day, a few months before I went to college.

I always worried that Aunt Morgan would find out about my little act of rebellion, but I felt nearly certain she hadn’t. She probably would have kicked me out and called me a hussy, if so.

The last time was with my college boyfriend, Parker, and was my longest relationship. I really liked him, and we dated for six months near the end of my undergraduate degree. One day, a friend of his messaged me and said that Parker had shared nude pictures of me with his friends, sending one of them as proof.

I kicked Parker’s ass the next day in front of all of them, forcing them all to delete the photos. However, I never felt entirely confident that there wasn’t still one lurking around online. I tried my best not to think about that.

He could have pressed charges against me, but he was so embarrassed that he didn’t. I wasn’t normally prone to enacting vigilante justice like that, but the police told me that they couldn’t do anything if the photos had been provided willingly, so I felt I had no choice.

I later found out that his friend, the whistleblower, didn’t have the noblest of intentions in mind, only coming clean to me because he thought he could steal me out from under Parker’s nose for being the one good apple in the bunch. Doesn’t work like that, I told him. His “change of heart” came three months after the pictures had been circulated so forgive me if I didn’t believe he had my best interests in mind.

After that, I haven’t dated anyone seriously for almost three years. Unsurprisingly, I have some trust issues about the whole thing.

“Number three. Is that so?” he said, lying down sideways, still on top of the covers, looking at me. “You know what I always say: Third time’s the charm.”

I scanned his face, trying to read his expression. He looked genuine. I hope he meant that. I smiled slightly. “Maybe so,” I said.

We laid there in silence for a moment, as he moved a strand of hair off my face and stroked the rest of my hair. “What about you?” I inquired.

“What about me?” he replied.

“Am I also lucky number three?” I asked, trying my best to sound carefree.

He inhaled deeply through his nose and sat up. “I don’t know if we should talk about this,” he said.

I sat up too, pulling up the sheets and blankets with me and tucking them in between my arms and my sides to cover my chest. I know he had already seen me naked, but I suddenly felt really exposed in the cold light of day. “What?” I exclaimed. “I told you what my number is.”

“I also never asked,” he responded.

Crap. He did have a point. But his evasiveness was answer enough. Unless he was the secret virgin, something I highly doubted, that number was significantly higher than three. “Ten?” I asked. He didn’t answer. “15?”

“Mia...” he said, his voice trailing off in warning.

“20?” I asked.

He sighed and then answered. “Would that be wrong?”

“I’m number 20?” I asked unbelievingly.

“Technically, you’re number 22,” he corrected.

“You counted?” I asked, even more shocked.

“If I didn’t count, you’d say I was insensitive for forgetting someone,” he said plainly.

He was right, but hearing the number was jarring. We sat there quietly, my thoughts moving a mile a minute. I considered myself open-minded and, when I thought about it, I realized that it wasn’t the number itself that bothered me but knowing how different we were in that way.

I was tense, so he wrapped his arm around me and started rubbing my shoulder. I remained just as tense. “Listen,” he said. “This is why I didn’t want to talk about this. But if you do the math, it makes sense, right? First time at 18, turning 28 in May, that’s like two a year.”

When he put it that way, it made more sense, but it still didn’t make me feel better. I knew I was being irrational though so, finally, I answered timidly. “It’s okay. I’m just surprised is all.” I wasn’t selling “okay” well.

“If it makes you feel better, you’re by far the best,” he added.

“You have to say that,” I replied skeptically.

“No, if I didn’t feel that way, I’d just say nothing.”

I smiled halfheartedly. I believed that he was telling the truth, but that comment only took some of the edge off.

He stood up off the bed and moved to the doorway. “It’s almost lunch, how about I make you something to eat?” he asked brightly, trying to change the subject.

“I’m not really that hungry,” I replied flatly.

“Nonsense!” he exclaimed. I’m not sending you home without anything to eat or drink.” Sending me home? I didn’t realize I was leaving. “Cappuccino or caffè mocha?” he asked.

“Cappuccino,” I answered eventually, realizing he wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“Omelet or pancakes?”

“Omelet,” I answered.

He nodded and walked towards the kitchen. I sat motionless for a few minutes, before finally telling myself that I should get up. I looked on the floor at my crumpled dress. I didn’t want to put it back on, but I didn’t have another change of clothes.

“Diego!” I called out.

“Yes, kitten?” he called back.

“Do you mind if I borrow some clothes?” I asked.

“Oh yeah. Grab whatever you like from my closet,” he replied.

I walked over to the closet, the blanket still wrapped around me, and opened the door. He had a walk-in closet that was neatly organized: dress shirts with dress shirts, casual shirts with casual shirts, and pants perfectly folded in rows on the shelves. As if I wasn’t jealous enough of his apartment already.

I grabbed one of his many red dress shirts and buttoned it. All his pants were too big, so I took a pair of his boxers and put those on instead, the elastic waistband keeping them from falling down. When I was dressed, I walked over to the kitchen. He had a stainless-steel milk pitcher in his hand and a coffee cup in the other, finishing my drink.

He looked up and smiled. “I love seeing you in my clothes,” he said.

I looked down at myself, at the baggy clothes, then back up at him. I find that hard to believe. “Why is that?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” he said, thinking. “You really look like you’re mine that way.”

I smiled flatly. He was being sweet, but I couldn’t muster any more enthusiasm than that right now.

He carefully handed me the cup, a heart design on the surface formed out of steamed milk. My eyes widened in surprise. “I didn’t know you knew how to do that,” I said.

“It is me, the coffee guy, we’re talking about?” he asked jokingly, rhetorically, gesturing to himself and laughing. “I did work as a barista for a couple of years during university though. Learned a few things.”

I nodded and held onto the cup with both hands, warming them. Still too hot to drink. “Did you need any help?” I asked, noticing him gathering some eggs and other ingredients from the fridge. He waved me off, so I just walked around the apartment looking around, still gripping the cup.

This place looked even better in the daytime, the sun shining through the gauzy curtains of the three nearly floor-length windows in the living room area. “You have somewhere to be?” I asked, peeking behind one of the curtains and looking out at the city skyline.

“Yeah.” He paused. “I just have this... thing in a couple of hours,” he explained, not offering any specific details. I didn’t press for more information, but the lack of clarity concerned me. What did he not want me to know?

I continued to look around the room. I couldn’t get over how pristine everything was, like it was pulled right out of an interior design magazine. All the furnishings were of the highest quality. The couch was fine leather, the TV was enormous, the appliances were stainless steel, the countertops white marble, and the art on the wall tasteful and well-chosen. He had an assortment of plants in front of the windows and an expensive stereo system on the far wall equipped for CDs, vinyl records, and an auxiliary cable with a collection of well-organized CD and record cases stashed below.

The entire apartment was hardwood, real hardwood, not that laminate you mostly see nowadays, and there was a large and expensive-looking rug anchoring the couch, coffee table, and TV together. The ceilings were 12 feet high, loft-style but, unlike most loft-style places, this apartment was brand new, not renovated. This place must cost a fortune to rent.

I had noticed most of these things last night but, in light of some new information, my enchantment with the apartment had waned.

After a full inspection, I walked back towards the kitchen island. I shook my head. “Wow, it’s like American Psycho in here,” I said. I didn’t mean to sound sarcastic, but that’s how it came out anyway.

He let out a short shock of laughter, surprised by that comment, but chose to take it in stride. “What is that supposed to mean?” he asked, looking up at me from the eggs he was whisking.

What did I mean by that? “It’s immaculate in here,” I said. “Did you hire an interior designer?” I asked.

He smiled. “No, that’s all me.”

I took my first sip of the cappuccino. It was delicious, of course. “I’m impressed. I get it too. This place must really attract a lot of women.”

He had just finished pouring the omelet mixture into the pan but dropped the empty bowl on the counter suddenly at that comment. “Mia...” he said reproachfully, looking at me sternly, leaning his arms on the counter.

“No, I'm serious,” I said. “I love it too. I totally get it.” I tried to sound light, but it was obvious that I was wounded.

He sighed and placed the dirty bowl in the sink, filling it with water. “I’ve only been living here for less than a year, and I have all these things because I like them.” He didn’t look at me as he spoke, scrubbing the dishes and placing them on the drying rack. “When you spend a good deal of your childhood in crappy motel rooms, and the rest of the time in crappy apartments, you develop an appreciation for finer things.”

With his remark, I felt shameful for giving him such a hard time, but I still didn’t pull back like I should have, doubling down instead. “What are you and 23 up to later?” I asked.

He laughed sardonically and shook his head disapprovingly as he dried his hands and checked on the omelet, flipping it. “You know Mia, for a nice person, you can be a real jerk sometimes.”

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“It means that I think I’ve been pretty nice to you, but I don’t think I’m always treated with the same courtesy,” he said, irritated.

I was taken aback. “I think I’m nice,” I pleaded.

“Maybe. Not to me. You were very nice to that guy who assaulted you on the street and to our cradle-robbing client,” he said sarcastically.

“That’s not true,” I protested.

“Then why do I always get the feeling like I’m some kind of criminal? Like I did something to you? Tell me, what did I do?” He looked at me seriously and I shrank. I didn’t have an answer. “That’s what I thought,” he said as he took the omelet off the heat. “This whole history thing...” He paused. “I didn’t want to talk about it. It doesn’t mean anything anyway.”

“Glad to hear that all your exes were disposable. Can’t wait to be added to the ranks,” I said venomously. I didn’t want to start a fight, but it was like something, or someone else, took over for me. Why couldn’t I just keep my mouth shut?

He was seething but trying to calm down. He exhaled loudly through his nose. “You know that’s not what I meant. It has no bearing on our relationship. Respectfully, I don’t care about them that way anymore, so it’s like they don’t exist.”

“So that is what you meant, then? How do I know that it won’t be the same with me?” I asked. I set my cold coffee down on the counter and crossed my arms.

He softened slightly. “It’s different with you because I never cared about any of them like I do you.” He paused. “I don’t know what it was with you. You drove me crazy... in a good way,” he clarified. “I knew that we were co-workers, and I shouldn’t try, but I couldn’t help it. Logically, I should have given up months ago, but I kept hoping you’d change your mind.” He sounded sincere, but I wasn’t done with my line of questioning.

“And these other women, they were just playthings? Something to pass the time?” I asked, not softening at all.

“No!” he exclaimed. “Jesus, Mia.” He shook his head, exhaling in frustration again. “This is what I mean, you always assume the worst of me. If you want to play lawyer, need I remind you who initiated last night?” He looked at me for a response, but I didn’t say anything. “No, I dated them. Some for several months," he continued. "If I’m being honest, they usually pursued me though, not the other way around.”

“So, you were just minding your business and they just fell into your bed?”

He rolled his eyes and shook his head again. “No, I flirted back. I just wasn’t the instigator. I’d just go with it, hoping that I’d feel differently eventually. That I’d just fall in love with them at some point. It never worked that way though.”

We both stood in silence for a moment. Thinking about our interactions over the past few months, I was skeptical that he didn’t initiate anything. But maybe things were different between us.

His answers satisfied my curiosity about that topic, for now, but I still had a burning question on my mind. “Why won’t you tell me where you’re going today?”

“Oh, that.” He paused and sighed. “Okay, I’ll tell you. Every Sunday I take Mamá to mass and then I go to her place for dinner after.”

I squinted at him. “Why didn’t you just say that?” I asked, frustrated.

“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “One of my exes told me I was such a mommy’s boy and gave me a lot of sh*t for it. I just started keeping it to myself until I knew things were serious.”

Of all the things he said today, this is the one that made me the most irrationally angry. “And you think I was just like her? That I would say the same thing? You know how much I’d kill to see my mother again. Why would I ever say something like that?” I argued contemptuously.

“Damn it, Mia!” he yelled out suddenly, slamming his fist on the counter. I was startled. The contents of my coffee sloshed around in the cup from the vibration. I could hear him muttering something quietly to himself in Spanish.

“You’re right, I’m such a damned idiot and a notorious pickup artist. I don’t know why you even deign to associate with me,” he said sarcastically, angrily. “Look, I don’t have time for this. I have to shower.”

He went to leave, but returned, removing the omelet from the pan, tipping it onto a plate, and setting it down hard in front of me. “Your food’s getting cold,” he said shortly before storming off, slamming the bathroom door shut.

I looked at the omelet, lovingly prepared and perfectly folded, but I was so queasy, I couldn’t eat it nor drink the rest of my coffee. Unlike our last misunderstanding, Reina coaching me through that scenario, I knew I was in the wrong this time all on my own.

I felt so ashamed. I knew that I was being unreasonable, but it was like word vomit. Every vitriolic comment that entered my head couldn’t be left. It just had to be spewed out. Years of insecurity and fear had built up over time and started toppling over and spilling out.

Once I calmed down, I started pacing around the hallway, in front of the bathroom, wanting to greet him when he came out. I heard the shower turn off and stopped pacing, waiting right at the door.

A wave of hot air and steam flowed out of the bathroom as he opened the door, and he stepped out wearing a fluffy white bathrobe, the kind you’d get at a fancy hotel, with the initials “D.A.” monogrammed on the left side of his chest. I guess he wasn’t lying when he said this apartment was all for him. I can’t imagine that a fluffy monogrammed bathrobe would be a real hit with the ladies.

“Diego...” I said hesitantly. He walked right past me and across the hall to his bedroom. “Wait.” I walked after him. He stopped, his back turned to me, facing the wall. I sat down on the edge of the bed, grabbed his arm, and gently pulled him to sit next to me. He sat down but, while I was looking at him, he was looking straight ahead.

“I’m sorry for being so cruel to you,” I said softly. “It’s just...” I fumbled to find the words. “I guess, if I messed everything up first, it’d hurt less when you throw me away later.”

He finally looked at me and I had to look away, too embarrassed to make eye contact. I worked so hard the past few years to not be vulnerable in front of anyone and had basically undone years of work over the span of two weeks. “Why would I do that?” he asked.

“I don’t know. That’s what everyone does to me eventually,” I said solemnly.

He paused thoughtfully. “Look at me,” he said. I turned my head. “I’m never going to do that. I promise. But you’re going to have to learn to trust me. Can you do that?” I nodded. “I’m sorry I got so angry,” he apologized. “It just felt like no matter what I said, it was always wrong.” He sighed. “And I’m really sorry that I got around so much. If I could go back in time and take it all back, I would.”

“I don’t know if I believe that,” I said skeptically. “You’d be okay with being a 27-year-old virgin?”

“Of course,” he said. I sneered. “If I had my way though, I would have met you a long time ago.”

I smiled demurely at him and leaned on his shoulder, grabbing him by the waist. He wrapped his arm around me. We sat like this in silence for a few minutes until I said: “That robe is so soft; it’s incredible.”

“I know!” he said excitedly. “Did you want one too? I have a guy.”

I laughed. “Of course you do.” Another beat. “You go to mass? I didn’t realize you were religious?”

“Unh,” he said ambivalently. “Mamá is. It makes her happy when I go, so I take her.”

“What a mommy’s boy,” I said teasingly.

He laughed. “See, I knew there was a reason I didn’t want to tell you.”

“How long until you have to leave?” I asked.

He looked at the alarm clock. “A little less than an hour.”

“Good. That’s enough time.”

“Enough time for what?” he asked.

“For me to properly apologize,” I said, unbuttoning the first two buttons of my shirt.

He smiled. “You think you can just sleep with me, and it’ll make it all better?” he asked flirtingly.

“I’m sorry, my mistake,” I said matter-of-factly, re-doing the buttons on my shirt.

“Wait,” he said, throwing me backward on the bed, before climbing over and kissing me. “You’re on thin ice,” he said, smiling. “But I’ll let it go, just this once.”

I smiled and kissed him again.

Chapter 6: Chapter 5 - Diego

Chapter Text

Date: Wednesday, April 3rd, 2013

Time: 7:10 pm

Location: The Bar Association, Los Tokyo

Well, if I thought I was obsessed before, that feeling got kicked into overdrive after she stayed at my place that night. I must admit though, she did have me worried for an hour there. I knew from the beginning, after that first date, that she seemed uncertain about us, but I thought surely, we got past that stage after she slept over. Boy, was I wrong about that.

At some point over the past five months, she got the impression that I was the love ‘em and leave ‘em type. I’m not entirely certain where she got that idea from. I’m sure rumors about my relationship with Andrea made the rounds in the office at some point but then hearing my number obviously didn’t help. If she knew the truth of it, she would never have worried in the first place, though I really didn’t want to drudge up details of my past relationships with her.

Not to sound vain, but dating always came fairly easy to me. I didn’t really have to try that hard. To say I was some pick-up artist was patently untrue though.

What I was, was someone who spent years moving around, translating for Mamá, and only getting by on the kindness of strangers. It made it very easy for me to talk to people. When I’d talk to women at past jobs, at college, or in bars, flirting was like second nature to me. I didn’t even notice I was doing it half the time.

That said, they were usually the ones who made the first move, approaching me, handing me their numbers, or making some initiation of physical contact. Mia being the exception.

Maybe the thrill of the hunt attracted me to her more. As bad as it is to admit, I can’t definitively say that wasn’t a factor. But whatever it was, I was addicted to her now.

You could argue that, even if I wasn’t the initiator, I should have been more discerning. You would probably have a point. Those relationships ranged from forgettable to mediocre to awkward to horrible.

It wasn’t all bad, of course. I’m not a complete masoch*st and some of the better relationships could have their moments. However, they were generally perfunctory. Both of us going through the motions, not really caring.

I was starting to think that something was wrong with me, being as detached as I was, especially with my exes who were perfectly fine. But, at the time, those arrangements were good enough. It was an ego boost and, up until now, I didn’t know what I was missing out on. I hadn’t felt any of those feelings yet.

If I had known what actual love was like, I would have waited around for it. Mia scoffed when I said stuff like that. She scoffs at a lot of things I say, I’ve noticed. I meant it though.

When I dropped her off that afternoon, on my way to Mamá’s after our fight and reconciliation, she still felt so embarrassed. She insisted on telling me about her exes to better explain why she had so many trust issues.

I told her that wasn’t necessary, frankly preferring that she didn’t tell me. What can I say? I’m a simple man. Her “apology” earlier was enough for me. Besides, I didn’t exactly need the mental imagery. She told me anyway. It did illuminate things somewhat, but nothing that I didn’t already assume from reading between the lines.

The main thought I had leaving that conversation was how I wanted to locate her college boyfriend and smash his head into a brick wall. However, she assured me that she made him pay for it years ago. God forbid we ever bump into that guy because I can’t guarantee that I wouldn’t do that if we were ever face-to-face.

Other than that fight, this past month has been going smoothly. Almost every night since she has slept over at my place, more and more of her stuff coming along with her as the weeks have gone on. For all intents and purposes, we were living together, and her apartment had just become storage; a place to pick up the odd item.

At her insistence, we did spend one weekend at her place though, me begrudgingly indulging her. However, after listening to her neighbors fight for hours through the paper-thin walls, beating a rat over the head with a broom, and her 30-year-old box spring cracking in half, she finally admitted that my place was more ideal.

I had asked her why she lived in such a hole. Even before I got my current place, my apartments weren’t this crappy.

She said it was all part of her five-year plan: to pay off her student loans and start her own law firm. As valedictorian, her tuition was covered through scholarships, but she still had over 15 grand in loans from her college living expenses left to pay off and needed plenty more to save for a law office.

“You could always live with me to save money,” I had joked, but the mere suggestion of that made her uncomfortable. Somehow, already, that idea didn’t bother me at all.

At work, things were going just as well. Half of my married coworkers would complain about their spouses, finding work to be a great escape from home. We were just the opposite. In fact, I thanked my lucky stars that we met at work because I would be miserable if we could only see each other for a couple of hours in the evenings after work.

This showed though; we weren’t exactly being subtle. In addition to the drives and the lunches, we would sit together at meetings, and she would frequently hang out in my office. Like I said before, I didn’t really care if people knew, so long as the grand poohbah himself didn’t find out. Grossberg could be oblivious and was the last to the party when it came to learning about our relationship.

Honestly, he still wouldn’t have found out about it if Hammond hadn’t outed us at one of our Monday meetings two weeks ago. Mia and I were joking around and laughing as we walked into the boardroom and Hammond announced our arrival, stating: “Mr. and Mrs. Armando are here. Looks like we can get started.” We weren’t even late.

Grossberg looked perplexed at first but, seeing us both react awkwardly before we sat down, he started connecting the dots that everyone else had connected two to three weeks earlier. After that meeting, Grossberg asked both of us to meet with him in his office, this discussion being the one thing we were hoping to avoid when our relationship became public.

Mia, as far as I was concerned, got off easy. Grossberg was very gentle and fatherly with her, ensuring that she had not been coerced into this relationship and letting her know about all the human resource support available to her.

With me, however, he read the riot act. He wanted to make sure that I knew there would be consequences if I had another failed relationship at this firm and consequences if I hurt or tarnished the reputation of one of their rising stars at the firm.

After all the theatrics though, he has mostly been okay with the arrangement. Our work continues to be top-notch, my criminal trial win margin has actually increased, and our morale has been great, so he really can’t complain.

And now, here we are again, back at the place where it all began over a month ago, The Bar Association, waiting for Mia’s friend to meet us for a drink. I was up in my office a couple of hours ago, working on some paperwork, when I got a text about this meet-up from Mia.

(4:37 pm) Mia Fey: Hey, did you want to make a new friend? 😊

(4:38 pm) Diego Armando: It’s funny, I thought we worked in the same office. I guess I must have been mistaken.

(4:38 pm) Mia Fey: Lol just so swamped with work down here. This is quicker!!

(4:39 pm) Diego Armando: I see how it is. Too busy to see me.

(4:40 pm) Mia Fey: I’m sorry 🙁 I might be able to come up for a few!

(4:40 pm) Diego Armando: Joking 😉 Although it would be more fun if you were here...

(4:41 pm) Mia Fey: Grrr. That’s so you.

(4:42 pm) Mia Fey: Back on topic, my friend Lana and I haven’t seen each other in a while. She’s free tonight and wanted to go for drinks. You in?

(4:43 pm) Diego Armando: Sure. Details?

(4:43 pm) Mia Fey: TBA at 7ish? I’m probably going to be a bit late tonight.

(4:44 pm) Diego Armando: Same unfortunately. Works for me.

(4:45 pm) Mia Fey: 😊 Will meet you in your office in about 100 minutes!

(4:47 pm) Diego Armando: Very specific. I’m going to time you.

We got here about five minutes ago and were seated at one of the booths waiting for Lana to show up. Mia was texting with her; it sounded like she was stuck late at the station too.

I didn’t know much about this friend yet. Only that they met in law school and that she had become a detective at some point since then. Mia said that she was a pretty big deal on the force, but I couldn’t put a face to the name, trying to think back to all the police officers I’ve interacted with on crime scenes over the past two years.

I didn’t have to try and conjure up an image for much longer, as I saw a brunette woman, about Mia’s height, clad in a police uniform, walking towards us. She seemed somewhat familiar, but I don’t think we’ve met.

“Mia!” she exclaimed excitedly. “God, it’s been forever. How are you?” She gave Mia a hug.

“I know!” Mia agreed giddily. “I hadn’t even started working at the firm last time we saw each other. Things have been good.” They stopped hugging and Mia gestured to me. “Lana, there’s someone I’d like you to meet. This is Diego Armando.”

I stood up and shook her hand. “Nice to meet you, I think?” I said. “I’m always skulking around crime scenes for my defense cases, but I don’t know if I’ve seen you around.”

We all sat down. Lana looked at me strangely. “What? You don’t remember our magical night together?” she asked.

“What?” Mia and I exclaimed in unison. Mia looked at me sternly.

Lana started laughing. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist. The opportunity was right there.” Mia looked relieved. “No, I don’t think we’ve met. Lana Skye.”

“Again, nice to meet you, I think?” I said skeptically. Lana and Mia laughed. Mia already kept me on my toes but, with the two of them, I was outnumbered.

Before anyone could say much of anything else, Candace came by to take Lana’s drink order. In an effort to maintain transparency, I had told Mia before we got here that Candace and I had gone out a few times. She wasn’t part of that number though, I assured her.

She was uneasy about it but, by the time we got here, and while Candace was taking our order, she seemed completely unbothered, being perfectly cheerful and friendly.

“Hey Lana,” Candace said with happy surprise. “It’s been a while. I didn’t know that you knew these two,” she said, gesturing to me and Mia.

“Hey Candy,” Lana said, smiling. Candy? They were close enough that they used nicknames? “I know; I know. Work’s been so insane," she continued. "You know Gant, total hard-ass, but they say he’s the best.” Lana laughed. “And I don’t know both of them, just the cute one.”

Candace laughed. “Sorry Diego. What can I get for you, Lana?”

“Sorry, what was that?” Lana asked rhetorically. “I was distracted by that giant rock on your finger.” She grabbed Candace’s hand and examined her diamond engagement ring. That explains a lot. Mia must have clocked that as soon as we got in, but I hadn’t noticed. I looked at Mia and she smiled at me knowingly. “When did this happen?” Lana asked.

Candace beamed. “A couple of weeks ago. I was completely taken by surprise, but I’m so happy.”

“I can imagine,” Lana said enthusiastically, nodding. She looked around. “Well, I don’t want to keep you; it’s crazy busy in here. But you text me later and tell me all the details, okay?”

“Sure! And I know,” Candace agreed. “Karaoke night is always nuts.” sh*t. I forgot about that. I had always avoided this place on Wednesdays for a reason. “What do you want to drink?”

Lana grabbed the drink menu and looked briefly. “Hm, I’ll have a Lime Mens-reata, please. With a salt rim,” she clarified. I had to commend this bar; they did commit to their law theme even if the puns were reaching sometimes.

“I’ll be right back,” Candace said, walking towards the bar. She returned a few minutes later and dropped off the drink before serving her other tables.

“So, you two know each other?” I asked Lana once Candace was out of earshot.

“I know everyone,” Lana said plainly. “Except you I guess.” She squinted at me. “What were you, a few years ahead of me in school?”

“I’m not sure. I’ll be 28 in about a month, if that helps” I replied.

“A couple years ahead then. Did you do the one-year or three-year program?” she asked.

“Three-year,” I answered.

In addition to the three-day trial rule, about a decade ago, Japanifornia had put an initiative in place that allowed law schools to offer a one-year accelerated law program to pump out lawyers more quickly. I had wanted to go that route, preferring an intensive 12-month program to losing out on two lucrative law income-earning years.

However, I had to work nearly full-time all through college and law school so I didn’t think I could do the accelerated program and work serviceably. Smarties like Mia, who were on full scholarships and didn’t have to work, typically did the one-year course.

“So weird,” Lana said, shaking her head. “I knew most of the upperclassmen, but I don’t remember you at all.”

“Diego didn’t go to Ivy University,” Mia chimed in. “He was an LTU grad.”

“Go Jaguars,” I said, halfheartedly pumping my fist.

There were six universities in the city, but only Ivy University and Los Tokyo University had law programs. Ivy was far more prestigious, but I went to LTU because it was the more affordable state school and had offered me a few bursaries.

“Ah, that makes sense. Yeah, we can’t be friends then,” Lana joked.

“Lana,” Mia admonished through laughter.

“Kidding. I guess I can let it slide since you’re dating my friend.”

“How did you two meet anyway?” I asked. “Mia mentioned that you went to school together, but I don’t know much of the details.”

They both started to answer, but Lana told Mia to go. “It was September during my final year of undergrad and Lana was in her second year of law school. I was auditing one of her law classes just to get prepared for next year.”

“Such a keener,” Lana teased.

“Me?” Mia asked incredulously. “I wasn’t the one raising my hand at every question in class.”

“Okay, so we were both keeners. Mia, of course, wanted to talk to me because I knew all the right answers and we became fast friends.”

“Lana actually got me a spot in her sorority shortly after that, when I needed a place to stay," Mia added. “One of her girls had dropped out and she had become a house mother after her undergrad.”

“Oh God,” Lana shook her head and rubbed her eyes, exhausted. “I still can’t believe I did that for three years. The things I’d do for free room and board for me and Ema.”

“Sorority?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Get your head out of the gutter,” Mia scolded. “Sorry to disappoint you, but we didn’t have underwear pillow fights every night.”

“I didn’t say anything,” I replied defensively, holding my palms up in surrender. I just thought it.

“I know how your mind works,” Mia countered. “I assure you it was all very tame. We all had lots of studying to do.”

Lana laughed. “I wouldn’t say it was all serious. I seem to recall one night, we both got drunk at that Christmas party and were hanging out in your room and we...ow!” Lana exclaimed in pain. Mia had not so subtly kicked Lana in the shins from across the table to get her to stop talking.

Was she saying what I think she was saying? “I didn’t know you had a sexy phase,” I said dazedly. I didn’t mean to say that out loud.

“Diego!” Mia exclaimed.

I might as well lean into it now. I fiddled with my briefcase, pulled out a piece of paper and a pen, and slid them across the table to Lana. “I need dates, times, and details of all these alleged incidents,” I said, pretending to be serious.

Mia sighed. “Okay, if we must talk about this, it was just one time. And we just kissed,” she clarified.

Lana laughed. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.” Mia frowned. “Oh, I’m just teasing. I go both ways, but Mia was just a little curious.” She reached across the table and playfully pinched Mia’s cheek. “She just wanted to try something out with an older woman.”

Mia drew her head away, and Lana pulled her hand back. “Older woman? Lana, you’re only a year and a half older than me.” She sighed again. “Maybe you two shouldn’t have met. I can’t have both of you tag-teaming me.”

“Kitten, if you don’t want us teasing you, I suggest you phrase that differently,” I said mischievously, before sipping my drink.

Lana laughed. She offered her palm up to me and I high-fived it.

Mia frantically shook her head. “Anyway, let’s change the subject.” She was blushing with embarrassment, but I found this whole interaction to be very enlightening. “How’s Ema doing?”

“She’s good,” Lana replied warmly, stifling her laughter. “Going to be a teenager this year, I can’t believe it. She’s getting really into forensics lately. I’ve taken her to the HQ a few times and she really enjoys seeing all the stuff we have.” Lana smiled. “I think she has a crush on one of the prosecutors who stops by sometimes, but she won’t admit it. He’s always so nice to her.”

“Ema’s your sister?” I asked.

“Yes, sorry,” Mia replied. “Lana’s sister is only one year younger than Maya.”

“I can’t believe we haven’t introduced them yet,” Lana added. “I feel like they would be best friends.” Mia nodded in agreement. Lana sighed. “But yeah, it’s just me and Ema,” she explained. “Our parents died in a car accident seven years ago and I’ve been her guardian ever since.”

“I’m really sorry,” I said sympathetically. “God, you know all our lives are effed up when poor immigrant with a deadbeat dad and single mother is lowest on the tragedy totem pole,” I remarked sarcastically. Mia and Lana just nodded wistfully.

Candace came by again and we ordered another round of drinks. When she returned, she warned us that karaoke was going to start in five minutes. I groaned, but Lana looked excited. She walked over to the stage, took one of their track list binders, and brought it back to the table to peruse.

“Look Mia!” she exclaimed, pointing at one of the song listings. “They have that song you and I used to play on repeat. Wanna go up?”

Mia scoffed. “I have to be a lot drunker to do that.”

“Well, what are we waiting for,” Lana said, clinking her glass with Mia’s and beginning to chug. Mia decided to follow her lead.

“Mia...” I warned. We grabbed a quick bite before we got here, but I still didn’t have an exact handle on her tolerance level.

“Pssh,” she waved me off and took another large sip of her drink. “How often do I get to see Lana?”

“Okay,” I said skeptically. “If you’re hungover at work tomorrow, just remember I warned you.”

“So, I take it you don’t do karaoke, Diego?” Lana asked light-heartedly.

“Yeah, no,” I said bluntly. “I have no interest in humiliating myself for you and Mia’s amusem*nt.”

“You’re no fun,” Mia teased, playfully tapping me on the arm.

The first performer had just taken to the stage and started singing and we all looked over in his direction. So far, not so good. About a minute of it was all I could handle, and I decided to start the conversation again. “So, Lana, something still confuses me. You spent all this time in law school; how did you end up being a detective?”

“It’s funny,” she said. “I thought that I wanted to be a prosecutor for years but, about halfway through the program, I realized that I really wanted to be a cop instead. I didn’t want to drop out after spending all that time and money, so I finished law school, but I went immediately to the police academy afterwards. Graduated top of my class but skipped the ceremony.”

“How long did that take?” I asked.

“Police academy?” she replied. I nodded. “Normally it takes six months but, because I had a criminology degree and a law degree, I was able to complete it in three months. I started on the force last August and became a detective in December.” Well, that answered my next question.

“Do you think you’ll ever be a lawyer again?” Mia asked. “You were always such a star student,” she added supportively.

“I don’t know...” Lana said, her voice trailing off. She thought for a moment. “Gant, the Deputy Police Chief,” she clarified. “He’s been trying to convince me to join the prosecutor’s office for some reason. He’s quite insistent. I like where I’m at though. We have such a solid group of detectives at the precinct right now.”

Mia and I just nodded and there was another beat, then applause. We all joined in even though we hadn’t been paying attention to the performer.

“The mic’s free if anyone would like to come up,” Candace said, speaking into the microphone.

“You drunk enough yet?” Lana teased Mia.

“I guess so,” Mia replied, taking one more swig of her drink for courage.

Lana grabbed her hand and dragged her over to the stage. They started singing and... how do I say this charitably? I’ve definitely heard worse but, let’s just say, I guess Mia isn’t perfect after all.

They both sang into the same microphone, sometimes harmonizing well and sometimes not. I tried to recall the song, but I didn't recognize it. It was pop, something recent, but I don’t think I've heard it before.

Mia had informed me a couple of weeks ago, flipping through my record and CD collection, that I was a bit of a music snob. I wasn’t a snob, I told her; I just had good taste. Spoken like a true snob, she told me.

While I wasn’t all that enthusiastic about the performance, the crowd was cheering and whooping. This was understandable. Put two pretty 20-something girls on stage and ask them to sing the alphabet song and guys will cheer anyway.

Despite not being familiar with their song selection nor wowed by their performance, no one clapped harder than me when they finished. They both walked back towards me laughing.

“What did you think?” Mia asked expectantly.

“Well, it was certainly a performance,” I said diplomatically.

“Sure, you haven’t changed your mind?” Lana asked teasingly.

“No, I’m good.” I checked my watch. 10:30. “Honestly, we should probably get going soon, it’s getting late. When’s your call time, Lana?”

She frowned. “7:00 am.”

“Oof. That’s rough,” I commiserated. “Why don’t we hit the road?” They both looked at me with disappointment and nodded.

“There’s never enough time,” Mia lamented, putting on her jacket.

“I know,” Lana agreed. “We’ll have to make a point to do this more often than every six months.” Mia nodded in agreement.

We paid for our drinks and exited the bar. “Do you want us to escort you home, Lana?” I offered. “You live close?”

“What a gentleman,” Lana said amusedly, winking at Mia, who smiled back. “I’m only a couple blocks away though, so I think I should be fine. Have a good night you two.” She started walking away, then turned back around to face us. “Take good care of my girl, okay Diego?”

“She’s in good hands, I promise.”

She smiled and waved before walking away.

Chapter 7: Chapter 6 - Mia

Chapter Text

Date: Sunday, May 19th, 2013

Time: 3:41 pm

Location: Maria Armando’s House, Shinjuku Heights

I can’t believe how fast the time has been flying these days. Already, we’ve been together for three months, depending on if you count our ill-fated bar date after the Fawles case. Since there was no clear day one for us, when the conversation of an anniversary came up, we had both decided that it counted.

It’s funny how Dahlia Hawthorne and our disappointment over her release was a large part of what brought us together, and yet, now we hardly ever worked on her case. We did try for a while though. We just kept getting distracted. Then, of course, we also hit a dead end.

We, and hopefully everyone with a legal brain, knew that she was guilty after that case, but finding evidence to definitively pin her down was challenging. We said we’d pick it back up someday, really turning over every stone to find the one break in the case, but we’ve yet to find the time or the motivation.

In fairness to us, we have been preoccupied. He continues to take on one to two criminal cases a week and Mr. Grossberg, being as impressed as he is with Diego’s increasing win record with my assistance, has allowed me to provide legal support for his cases, breaking the monotony of my days. Previously, I had been offering my support unbilled, during what should have been my free time.

It was nice, getting a chance to flex my legal muscles and feel like I was doing something important. Contract work, as vital as it is to the monetary side of business, is not really stimulating. Once you’ve done one mortgage, you’ve done them all.

Really, I should have ended my strike from criminal cases by now, but this arrangement provided some of that criminal trial experience that I had previously craved as a brand-new attorney, without having to step foot in a courtroom again. I knew no other case was likely to be that bad, but my stomach was still in knots when I thought about it or walking onto a gruesome crime scene.

These criminal cases took the majority of our time and the rest? Well, the rest of the time we were just together. Usually at his place, but sometimes on formal dates when we had the time and the energy.

This relationship was still only half as long as my longest relationship, and yet it felt significantly more important. With that last relationship, we saw each other a few times a week. With Diego, we were in each other’s pockets so much that our three months were roughly equivalent to a year and a half of a regular relationship.

Reina often joked that she was the perpetual third wheel at the lunch table now, but she said that she’d rather that than sit with anyone else. We tried our best to not be so couple-y with each other when we weren’t alone but, according to her, it wasn’t enough. We were just in our own little bubble.

I really liked being in that bubble. I felt like I was a teenager again. Like I could be as open and as romantic as I was then before that optimism got destroyed by harsh experiences.

I still kept one pinky toe out the door though, just in case. Old habits die hard, and I couldn’t be 100% uninhibited, as much as I tried. He should still be proud of that achievement, if he knew where I had started. I typically kept one foot out the door or just left the door closed, period.

About two weeks ago, while we were goofing around and cuddling together on his couch, he told me he loved me. He looked embarrassed after he said it, something I didn’t see from him very often. I saw him irritated with himself or perplexed or exasperated but not embarrassed the way I, unfortunately, seemed to get quite frequently.

He apologized, saying that it just “slipped out” and that he wanted me to say it first because he didn’t want to make me uncomfortable. I paused, for too long probably, processing before saying it back to him.

We’ve been saying it to each other ever since: when we text, say goodbye, or go to sleep, but I do feel a little uneasy about it. I know I feel that way; I do. I’ve enjoyed seeing him all the time too; he didn’t twist my arm. I’m just always waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It was silly; I know. If he was just going to turn heel, the time to do so would have been about a month ago, both of us getting food poisoning on our takeout order and spending almost 24 hours in and out of his bathroom. We got a lot closer, a lot quicker than we hoped that weekend, much to our chagrin. I guess there was one other time I saw him embarrassed, now that I think about it.

Luckily, with the two of us in the same boat, we were able to laugh it off, both of us swearing off takeout, saying we’d cook our own food from then on. That pact lasted all of two days, returning to our usual habits the moment we were back at work and were too exhausted at the end of the day to cook.

Another perfect time would have been last week, when Diego, Lana, and I went out dancing at this nightclub. He was hesitant to go in the first place, saying that those kinds of places “weren’t his scene.” He mostly stood around, sipping his drink, a whiskey on the rocks since they didn’t have Irish coffee there, and somewhat swaying while Lana and I danced to the loud and pulsating house music.

When he went to the bar to get us all another round, Lana pointed to him. “You have a good egg there," she said. I had looked over at him too and saw that a woman, a pretty one, had gone up to him and placed her arm around his waist. He had briskly removed it and, wordlessly, without looking at her, walked over a few feet to get away.

I told her that it didn’t count for much. He knew I was here and could watch him. She laughed. “Who hurt you?” she asked teasingly.

Surely, if he was only putting up a front, he also wouldn’t have invited me to his mother’s house today. Every Sunday, I would stay at his place and just watch TV or read for a few hours while he visited with his mom. He told me that I was welcome to join at any point if I wanted to, but I always declined, saying I didn’t want to intrude.

Today was his birthday though and, traditionally, his mom would make him dinner and cake to celebrate. I didn’t want to miss out on his birthday, so I accepted the invitation for the first time. His mom worked until 3 pm at the hospital today so we said we would stop by after her shift.

Before driving over, I was nervous, agonizing over what I was going to wear and how to do my hair and makeup. He told me that his mother knew I wasn’t catholic, and said that we’d skip mass today, so I didn’t have to take that dress code into consideration.

Since the weather was warm and sunny, I opted for a royal blue floral sundress, some wedge sandals, and a light blue jean jacket. I put my hair in a single braid, and kept my jewelry and makeup minimal, not wanting to look overdone.

On the drive over, I was even more nervous, fidgeting with my nails and not responding much to the conversation. Halfway through the drive, he grabbed my hand and held it, driving one-handed the rest of the way to her house.

We walked hand-in-hand up the steps to her place, me dropping his hand instinctively after he knocked on her door.

He chuckled. “Mamá isn’t going to be scandalized seeing us hold hands,” he teased.

I smiled slightly. “Right. I’m not thinking,” I said shakily.

I looked at our surroundings as we waited for her to answer the door. Her house was quaint, a small bungalow, likely built in the 60s or 70s, but it was cute and well-maintained. The house’s siding was a pale pea green, there were whitewashed shutters on all the windows, the small pathway connecting the front door to the driveway was cobblestone, and she had a thoughtful assortment of flowers lining the front of the house, all starting to, or already in, bloom.

After about twenty seconds, she answered the door. She was a small woman, barely five feet tall, if that, and just as slight as she was short. Based on what Diego told me, she was in her early 50s but looked much younger than that, her face being largely wrinkle-free and still relatively taut.

Unlike many women in her age group, she kept her hair long, going several inches past her shoulders and styled half up/half down. She must have been going gray by now, but her hair was nearly the same dark brown shade as Diego’s, so she probably dyed it closely to her natural color.

She was dressed fairly formally, wearing a tea-length periwinkle chiffon skirt with accordion pleats. She had tucked a cream-colored silky button-up blouse into her skirt, had some skinny gold bangles on her wrists, and a gold cross pendant necklace.

“Happy birthday mijo,” she said warmly to Diego, giving him a one-armed hug. She looked me up and down. “Well, she certainly is beautiful, but can she cook?” she asked. Her command of English was good but heavily accented.

Despite being complimentary, her remark felt very dismissive, not exactly greeting me or making a formal introduction. She instead turned her attention to her side, grabbing a pair of shoes.

“Mamá, this is my girlfriend Mia,” Diego said, looking at her curiously.

“Hi, Ms. Armando. It’s so nice to meet you. What are we making?” I asked timidly. I looked at her while she only looked down at her tan patent leather ballet flats, sliding her tiny feet into each one.

“Ms. Armando is so formal. You can call me Maria or Lucia or Maria-Lucia,” she said plainly, looking up briefly from her shoes.

I was confused. Which one was it? This felt like some kind of test. I looked sidelong at Diego for an answer.

“Maria is fine,” he responded. “Maria, in the Dominican, is like Mary or Jane or Sarah over here.” I nodded. “Mamá goes by Maria unless she’s with her Dominican friends and there’s another Maria in the room.”

“Anyway, cooking will come later,” she said sternly. “We better get going, or we’ll be late.”

“Late for what?” he said sharply. Based on his tone, I had a feeling I already knew the answer.

“For the 4 pm service.”

He sighed. “Mamá, I told you over the phone: Mia isn’t catholic.”

“Everyone is welcome at church,” she said. “She can come too.”

He switched to Spanish, and they bickered back and forth for about a minute, while I just stood there awkwardly, not understanding the words but understanding the tone. We were all still standing at the threshold and on the front steps.

“Mia, I’m sorry, you don’t have to go," he finally said, exasperated. "We can drop Mamá off, drive around for a bit, and then pick her up after mass.” He looked at her severely and she looked back at him with the same intensity.

While I now had an out, I felt like I was being tested again. It wouldn’t look good to his mother if I opted out, so I really only had one valid choice. I had never been to mass before, but hoped I was dressed alright for the occasion.

After spending so much time agonizing over an outfit, I now felt self-conscious, dressed more for an outdoor BBQ than a church service if her clothes were any indication. I was in good company at least. Diego was wearing dark wash jeans, a red and white baseball shirt, and sneakers.

“I can go,” I said, my voice faltering a little.

“You sure, Mia?” he asked apprehensively. He could tell that I seemed uncomfortable.

“Absolutely!” I exclaimed brightly, trying to hide my nerves. “New experiences, right?” I asked rhetorically.

“Let’s get going then,” Maria said hurriedly, shutting the front door and locking it before walking towards the car.

Diego scanned my face and I smiled, the emotion not reaching all the way to my eyes. “Alright,” he said, resigned, walking towards the driver's side door.

I let Maria take the passenger seat and I sat behind her as we drove the eight minutes to the church. We all sat in near silence as we drove there, listening only to the quiet hum of the radio and the ambient noises from the car. I didn’t want to say the wrong thing, Diego was still annoyed, and Maria didn’t attempt to make any small talk.

When we arrived at the church and sat in a pew, I was relieved when Diego sat in the middle between us, creating a buffer. I wanted to hold his hand, but it felt even more inappropriate given the setting.

I tried my best to fall in line with the rituals, kneeling when everyone else did, standing when they did and reading along with the prayers or songs, trying to match the phrasing and timing as best I could.

It must have been obvious that I was out of place here to anyone paying attention. Luckily, no one seemed to notice. While Maria was dressed formally, there were some others dressed similarly to me and Diego. We didn’t particularly stick out.

Occasionally, and clandestinely, Diego would whisper to me, apologizing for the service being so boring and giving instructions ahead of time when possible. Maybe it was just my nerves keeping me alert, but I found it intriguing rather than boring. While the sermon wasn’t very stimulating, everything was so different, and it felt like there was a new ritual to learn and observe every few minutes.

I wondered if this is how outsiders felt when they visited Kurain Village and attended our ceremonies. If I was allowed back home, I would invite him to one and see what he thought.

After nearly an hour, he whispered again, this time telling me to stay at the pew while he and Maria waited in line. He said he’d explain more later, but I wasn’t supposed to go up unless I was part of the religion. I nodded and stayed seated, watching as each person approached the priest or a church volunteer, taking some sort of wafer and wine and gesturing their hand into a cross.

When service was over, and we were in the car again driving back, Maria asked me what I thought. I told her it was interesting and asked some questions about it. Luckily, this was a favored topic of hers and she answered happily, filling the silence.

When we returned to her house, she directed us towards the kitchen, asking that we help out with supper. While still in the foyer, I started to remove my shoes, but she told me to leave them on, stating that the floors were too dirty to walk on barefoot. At her insistence, I left them on, but when I looked around the house, the floors seemed pretty clean to me. Guess I have to stand and cook in wedge sandals all evening.

I expected her to change out of her nice clothes before cooking but, instead, she just put her hair up in a bun and tied an apron on. She handed an apron to each of us, and I dutifully put mine on, wrapping the strings behind my back and then tying them in front of me in a bow. Diego set his aside on the counter instead.

Nuh-uh, I thought. If she was making me wear a red gingham apron, he was going to wear one too. I grabbed his apron, in a much more distinguished and masculine navy blue, and handed it to him. He smirked and put it on, and I smirked back at him. I would never tell him this; I don’t think his ego needed it, but I thought he looked cute in his apron.

“What are we making, Ma?” Diego asked, once our hands were washed, and we were all garbed up.

“What do you think we’re making?” she asked him.

“My guess is the same thing we make every year?”

She smiled. “You would be correct.”

“What do you typically make?” I asked. I wasn’t here last year.

“Traditional Dominican food!” Maria exclaimed, not elaborating further.

“Have you had Dominican food before?” Diego asked. I shook my head. “You’ll like it,” he said, smiling. “We eat it a lot, of course, but we usually go more all out during celebrations.” He paused for a second, thinking. “Let’s see, we’ll usually have sweet plantains, yuca fries, coconut rice, beans, garlic shrimp, and stewed beef. Am I missing anything,” he asked, looking at Maria.

“Bizcocho Dominicano,” she replied.

He laughed. “Well, the cake was a given.”

I looked at the oven clock: 5:27 pm. “Are we making all of that right now?” I asked incredulously. I wanted to eat before 11 pm, preferably.

Diego looked in the fridge. “The beef just needs to be reheated, the shrimp is marinated, the beans are soaked, and, oh! The cake is looking good.”

Maria glared at Diego before admonishing him in Spanish. She gently pushed him out of the way and started gathering ingredients from the fridge and a basket on the counter.

He grinned. “You can’t ask me to help cook and then expect me not to see the cake. I’ll pretend to be surprised later.”

Maria handed me the yuca and the plantains and told me that I could do those. I set them down on a free countertop and started looking around for a cutting board and a knife. Diego found them first and set them down in front of me. I stared at the ingredients for a second, thinking.

“Do you know what to do?” he asked amusedly.

I sighed. “Not really,” I said.

I did cook a lot when I lived in the Village and to a lesser extent when I was in college, but I have been almost completely out of practice since I got my apartment and my job. The amount of restaurant food or pre-packaged snacks I ate was shameful. Besides, I’m sure there was some very specific way to do this, so I didn’t feel confident freestyling.

“I definitely know I have to peel them but, after that, I’m not entirely sure,” I added.

He grabbed a large stainless-steel bowl and filled it with water and some salt before placing it behind the cutting board. “I’d do the yuca fries first,” he recommended. “They need to soak for a bit.” You can basically just peel them and cut them into fry shapes. A bit thinner is better; they cook faster.”

He grabbed one of the ripe plantains. “As for these, just slice them about 3/4 of an inch thick, cutting them kind of diagonally.” He grabbed the knife and mimed slicing the plantain at an angle before smirking. “Do you know how big an inch is?” he asked mischievously.

He wasn’t seriously doing this right now? I played along. “About this big, right?” I asked, holding my thumb and index finger about two millimeters away from each other.

He laughed broadly. “Okay, I deserved that,” he said.

“Whatever you two are talking about, I’d like you to stop,” Maria said sternly, gathering spices and herbs from a drawer.

I blushed. “Sorry,” I replied. He started it though.

“Mijo?” Maria asked, before pointing to a large casserole dish on one of the higher shelves.

Diego grabbed it for her but, when she went to take it from him, he held it up even higher, far out of her reach. She stood on her tip toes and tried to reach it but couldn’t. He looked at her, smirking, teasing her by lowering the dish and then raising it just as she was about to grab it. She glared at him again, and he eventually handed it to her before affectionately kissing her on top of her head.

Maria said something tersely to him again in Spanish. He laughed. “Mia. Mamá, who speaks pretty decent English, as you would have noticed-” He glanced at Maria who didn’t look back. “-Has told me that I am a horrible host for not offering you anything to drink for the last ten minutes. Can I get you anything?”

I didn’t want to get involved with this mother-son conflict. “I’m okay, thank you,” I said politely.

He grabbed a glass, anyway, filling it with ice and then tap water before setting it in front of me. “In case you change your mind,” he said, smiling wryly. Maria seemed satisfied by this action and then the three of us silently got to work on our cooking tasks.

Gaining courage from a cooking task well done, the yuca cut and soaking in the water bowl, and wanting desperately to break the silence, I decided to attempt some small talk. I kept the topic of conversation safe. “You have a lovely home here, Maria,” I said cheerfully. “How long have you lived here?” I asked.

She looked up from the sauce she was whisking at the kitchen island and smiled. “A little over two years,” she said. Diego had his back to her, dicing up some peppers on the counter behind her, and she grabbed his sleeve lightly. “He helped me pay for it,” she said proudly.

“You helped pay for this house?” I asked him.

He stopped what he was doing and turned around. “I helped pay for the down payment. We went half-and-half,” he clarified. “If I had the money, I would have paid for the entire thing, but I’m not that rich. Yet,” he added.

“That’s really nice,” I said warmly. Sometimes, I feel like I don’t give him enough credit.

“Were you hoping to have your own house someday?” Maria asked me.

“I don’t know...” I said, my voice trailing. I had thought about buying a house before, but it was lower on my priority list, after paying off my debt and starting my own law office. “Maybe a few years from now, when I have the money,” I added.

“If my boy didn’t spend so much on that car or that $3,500/month apartment, maybe he’d have one too by now.” Maria said this humorously, but it still came across pointedly.

“$3,000/month,” he corrected. “You know what I’ve always said. We didn’t have that much money growing up. I’d like to be impractical for a while.”

“I know; I know,” she said, backing down. “There are always homes for sale around here. Why throw your money away renting, when you can own?”

“I’ll think about it,” he said shortly, effectively ending the conversation.

There was more silence as we all fully resumed our tasks. I thought again about what I could say. I thought for sure that I was safe with my last question, but it somehow turned into a lecture. Luckily, the plantains were easy to cut, so I finished quite quickly and had another excuse to speak.

“I'm all done with my prep!” I announced. “Is it too soon to cook these? I’m sure you want them fresh.”

Maria went over to the oven and checked on the beef and then to the stovetop where she fluffed the rice with a fork. “It’s time,” she said matter-of-factly. "Diego, help Mia with that and watch the rice. I’ll grill the shrimp.”

Diego was in the middle of putting peppers and various other ingredients into a blender. He lidded it and walked towards the stove. “I guess I’ll finish that later,” he said, chuckling. He helped me gather the proper cookware for each item and started filling a pot about an inch high with peanut oil. “Times like this, I really wish we had a deep fryer. The yuca taste so much better deep-fried.”

“You and I don’t need that,” Maria replied, gently patting him on his stomach before she resumed gathering dishware and utensils for the BBQ.

I laughed in shock. “You’re not calling him fat, are you?” I asked disbelievingly. I know I should have kept my mouth shut, but this comment seemed particularly preposterous, especially to someone like me who sees him shirtless on a regular basis.

It reminded me of being back at home, Mom and Aunt Morgan always keeping tabs on what we were eating. Something about discipline, they said, but I think they just didn’t want us to gain weight. Luckily, Maya hasn’t concerned herself about that too much. With Mom gone and me around, Aunt Morgan was easier to ignore. Unfortunately, I’ve been more hyper-aware of that kind of thing than I’d like to be.

“Not yet,” she clarified. “Our family gains weight, especially as we age. Have to be careful.”

“Maybe I take after my dad,” he countered.

Maria bristled at that comment and gathered the rest of her items silently before walking outside.

After confirming she was outside and out of eye view, I hugged Diego from behind, wrapping my arms around his waist. Having to be less affectionate with each other felt particularly hard today for some reason. He stopped what he was doing and put his hands over mine.

Suddenly, we heard the glass door open, and Maria walked in. We pulled away from each other reflexively. “I forgot the BBQ lighter,” she said plainly, walking outside again.

We all finished cooking without much more conflict or conversation and gathered everything on the kitchen table. Seeing everything together, it was clear there was far too much food for only three of us, especially with a whole two-layer birthday cake sitting in the fridge.

After Maria said grace, we each gathered a healthy portion of everything onto our plates and it barely made a dent. However, it was all so incredibly delicious that I felt like I could eat multiple plates of it. Everything was piled together so messily and yet the melding of the flavors together is what made it so good.

Maria didn’t finish all her plate, saying she was too full, but encouraged me and Diego to have more. I helped myself to a second portion, but Diego said he was good, joking that he didn’t want to get fat. She started piling food onto his plate, saying that he could make exceptions on his birthday, and he happily ate more.

As I was eating, Maria smiled at me. “I’m surprised you like spicy food this much,” she said.

“Mia loves spice. Why do you think she’s with me?” Diego joked.

I snorted. God, he can be so corny sometimes. “My family makes lots of spicy dishes. Different kind of food though.”

“Tell me about your family,” she said. “You have brothers or sisters?”

“One sister. Maya. She’s ten years younger than me so still lives at home.”

“What do your parents do?” she asked.

I paused. I could tell her my mom was a medium but, somehow, I didn’t think that information would be well-received. She would probably think that was pagan nonsense or something. I don’t even know if Mom is still actively channeling anymore and who knows what Dad is doing.

"I'm not sure," I finally said.

She looked at me puzzlingly. “What do you mean?”

Diego looked at me sympathetically. “Mia, we don’t have to talk about this,” he said.

“It’s okay,” I replied. “I don’t know where they are. Dad left when I was ten and Mom left when I was 12.”

She shook her head. “A dad leaving, I can see. I can’t believe your mother would leave her children like that.” Despite how biting her remark was, she didn’t say it meanly.

“Mamá, can you try to be nice?” Diego pleaded. He offered his hand to me under the table for comfort, but I didn’t grab it.

“It’s okay,” I said quietly. “She’s right. They shouldn’t have left.”

She softened. “I’m sorry. It’s not your fault. Makes me angry.”

“Me too,” I said timidly. I was still so mad at them but talking about it made me melt into a puddle.

We sat in silence for a moment, me and Diego picking at our food. Maria got up and, after confirming that we didn’t want any more, announced that she would send the rest home with us. We both thanked her, and she started gathering everything and transferring it to plastic containers. I started eating more quickly because I didn’t want her to clean up by herself.

Once I finished, I started clearing the rest of the table and helping her with the dishes. Diego followed shortly after. She thanked us and we made light small talk as we tidied up. Mundane stuff, like the weather, about Maria’s job at the hospital, and if any of us had watched anything interesting lately.

Diego asked if anyone wanted coffee and, after Maria and I told him that we could only do decaf right now, he decided to make two pots, our decaf and then his regular. When he was finished pouring himself a cup, Maria shooed him into the living room so we could prepare his cake.

She pulled it out of the fridge and set it on the counter, and I looked at it with admiration. The cake was white with scalloping details and blue flowers piped around it. “Happy Birthday Diego” was piped in elegant cursive on top.

“You did a wonderful job with it,” I said genuinely.

“Thank you,” she replied, smiling. “Family recipe,” she whispered, as if saying that alone was a secret in itself. She winked at me too as she said it, for good measure.

Instead of buying two candles, a two and an eight, she had a pack of 30 individual candles, and we scattered 28 of them over the surface of the cake. She used the BBQ lighter to light a few of the candles and I got to work using the lit candles to light the rest.

When we were done, she carefully carried the cake to the other room, and we started singing. Her voice was clear and beautiful and mine was the opposite. However, I did have enough sense to lower the key and avoid attempting the high notes at the end.

Diego was grinning from ear to ear when we walked in and did his best at pretending to be surprised, seeing the cake he’s no doubt had every year since he was a kid, and that he had already seen in the fridge hours earlier. After he blew out all the candles, Maria told me to sit down too, and she would serve it for us. I sat down next to him on the couch but didn’t make the mistake of being affectionate again.

She returned moments later with all three plates, balancing them like a waitress. She ran back to the kitchen and grabbed our decaf coffees as well. The cake tasted just as good as it looked. The frosting was light and airy, the yellow cake melted in my mouth, and some sort of sweet fruity filling was inside. I think it was pineapple and mango.

After we were done, she cleared our plates, and returned with a wrapped gift, placing it on his lap. “What can this be?” he asked, unwrapping it. Maria stood with her arms crossed and watched as he opened it. He laughed. “No way, thanks! I love it.”

It was a DVD box set, but I didn’t recognize the title. “ Columbo ?” I asked.

“You've never seen it?” he replied. I shook my head. “You have to watch it!” he exclaimed. “This is mandatory viewing for lawyers.”

“It looks like a detective show to me,” I replied skeptically.

“It is. But it’ll make you really good at catching contradictions,” he said playfully.

“I never liked how much TV you watched, but I know this was one of your favorites,” Maria explained, laughing. I’m not sure why, but she seemed to have softened as the night went on.

“Ma, if we didn’t have cable at all those awful motels, I wouldn’t have such mastery of the English language today,” he replied, saying the last part facetiously.

I’ll admit; he was quite the wordsmith for someone who learned English as a second language. I always assumed that it came from law school.

“I know; I know,” she agreed. “The one luxury I let you have. I always said it would rot your brain, but I guess you did alright.” She bent down and kissed him on top of his head. “Happy birthday mijo.”

I grabbed his car keys, ran outside, and returned with two wrapped boxes in tow. I set them down on the coffee table in front of him. Both boxes contained coffee paraphernalia.

I had done some inventory at his apartment while he was at Maria’s one Sunday and consulted with a knowledgeable sales clerk at a department store to identify some ideas. He didn’t have a Turkish coffee grinder nor an AeroPress. I wasn’t sure if these pieces were essential to his collection, but he seemed very pleased when he opened them.

We chatted pleasantly for a bit longer until Maria told us it was time to get going. She said that she had work at 7 am tomorrow. We agreed, citing our Monday morning meeting at 8 am.

She piled all the leftover containers into a plastic grocery bag, wrapped up the rest of the cake as well, and handed them to us. We were instructed to bring the containers and cake plate back when we were done. She helped carry Diego’s presents into the car and stood by the open driver’s side window as we were about to leave.

“See you both next week, hm?” she asked while rubbing her arms to try and stay warm.

“Oh!” I reacted with surprise. “Sure,” I agreed. Looks like this is part of my weekly routine too.

She smiled and waved, and we waved back before rolling up the window and pulling away.

“What did you think?” he asked.

“That was weird,” I said impulsively. He laughed. “Sorry, that’s not what I meant,” I clarified. “Your mom is hard to read.”

“Reminds me of someone I know,” he teased. I smiled slightly. He might have a point. “Yeah, she can be a tough nut to crack, but she liked you,” he continued.

“How do you know?”

“If she didn’t like you, she wouldn’t have invited you back. Not even to be nice. ‘To be nice’ is not part of her vocabulary.”

“I hope so,” I said quietly.

There was a beat and he sighed. “Can’t believe another birthday is already in the books. Before I know it, I’ll be thirty,” he said wistfully.

“Birthday isn’t over yet,” I corrected. “Still two hours left.”

“Basically over. Getting ready for work when we get home means it might as well be Monday.”

“The other half of your birthday gift is at your place,” I said flirtingly.

He raised one eyebrow and quickly looked at me for confirmation. “Is it now?” he asked rhetorically. He grinned. “Best birthday ever.”

Chapter 8: Chapter 7 - Diego

Chapter Text

Date: Saturday, July 6th, 2013

Time: 11:56 am

Location: Public Beach, Santa Rishiri

Short of officially shacking up or tying the knot, I don’t know how much more committed we could get at this point. After my birthday, Mia was good on her word to Mamá about returning to her house next Sunday, with one caveat: we show up at the house after mass.

A very reasonable request, I told her. As a very casual member of this religious institution, who, frankly, could use a break from sitting in on the same mind-numbing sermons I had been enduring for nearly three decades, I had no intention of converting her.

However, this request nearly caused Mamá to implode. Once I decided to put my foot down, I was Mia’s drive after all and refused to go without her, Mamá eventually agreed to the arrangement, begrudgingly. After a mostly positive reception that first Sunday, this change in plans didn’t exactly endear Mia to Mamá, but she mostly got over it.

Every week since, so long as I didn’t have a trial to attend or prepare for, we’ve been stopping by on Sundays at 5:30 pm. We make supper, a less elaborate one than my birthday, we chat, we play cards, and then we leave by 10:00 pm.

Inevitably, there was always at least some conflict, power struggle, or lecture, the dust would settle, and it was like it never happened, the evening ending pleasantly with our promise to return the following week. It’s like Mamá knew if she said everything that she wanted to say all night, we wouldn’t always come back. She was being careful.

One week, Mia even offered to make traditional Khura’inese food for supper. A cuisine combining Japanese, Bhutanese, and Nepalese elements is how she described it.

This gesture worried me. Mamá didn’t do well with change and, between the sudden adjustment in scheduling and now the removal of control over the dinner meal, I wasn’t sure how she’d handle this idea. She didn’t exclusively cook Dominican food, but it was her house and her kitchen, and she liked driving the bus.

Mia and I went to the grocery store ahead of time to pick up all the ingredients, and Mia instructed me and Mamá every step of the way. In the end, we had a meal of pork and vegetable dumplings with chili sauce; spicy tofu and vegetable soba noodle soup; and brown chicken curry with red and white rice.

For dessert, we made these peach-filled sweet buns that looked a lot like that necklace Mia wears all the time. I had always assumed it was just something she picked up casually at a jewelry store and wore out of habit, but she told me that it was called a “magatama” and it had some special significance in her culture. What significance, exactly, she wouldn’t say.

To my surprise, after some hesitation and a few critical remarks, Mamá said that she liked everything. “It’s spices, meat, grains, and vegetables, what’s not to like?” she retorted. I’m sure pretty much every cuisine could be broken down into those elements so that was only the basest of compliments.

However, Mia was pleased with that outcome, knowing how Mamá can be. I also assured her that the food was delicious from a flavor and conceptual level, not just for containing somewhat similar ingredients.

While the mother-in-law and daughter-in-law relationship can be fraught, one area where those two were well-matched was their level of competitiveness during a game of cards. Good lord, I had never seen more contentious rounds of Rummy, Crazy 8s, and Bullsh*t in my life.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m competitive by nature, but I drew the line at card games between my girlfriend and my mother. They didn’t hold back though, practically taunting each other when one of them had the upper hand or had called the other’s bluff.

I just shook my head. As long as they were having fun, I guess. I was content to see the two most important people in my life in one room and to have them convene together on a regular basis.

This weekend in particular was going to be even busier on the familial front. Mia and I drove two hours along the coast to meet Maya at the beach and for supper. Mia has told me that she wanted me to meet her sister for months now, but she said that Aunt Morgan was being very difficult, not releasing Maya from her studies or her spiritual training.

I asked why she didn’t just say “screw the rules” and drive down to Kurain Village anyway. She said that it wasn’t worth the risk. Aunt Morgan would have no qualms about punishing Maya harshly for any indiscretions Mia made. "What a piece of work," I said, and she told me that I didn’t even know the half of it.

As it was, we couldn’t even pick Maya up from the Village. Mia picked this beach a half hour away because it was accessible to Maya by train, they had gone there together as kids, there were a few restaurants nearby, and it was far enough away that she would be safe from Aunt Morgan’s ire.

Mia was shocked that we were even allowed to arrange this visit. Since the school year was over, and Aunt Morgan had wanted to enjoy some of the summer season with Pearl, she was more forgiving this time. Plus, Mia admitted, her aunt wasn’t all bad all the time, as much as she complained.

It made me happy to know that Mia was cultivating a relationship with my family and me with hers, but I wasn’t perfectly satisfied, as much as I pretended. I had become accustomed to doing this relationship on her terms. Every romantic milestone, every family visit, was on her timeline and at her comfort level.

I normally didn’t have a problem with this. I was the pursuer, and she was the pursued; it was her right to be coy when she wanted. Call me overly traditional, but this cat-and-mouse dynamic was one I preferred over the alternative. However, I made the boneheaded mistake of rushing one thing and not waiting for her cue: telling her I loved her almost three months ago.

She told me that she loved me back, after the most agonizingly long pause, and I was happy for a while. We said it back and forth to each other and I finally felt like I had confirmation that she genuinely felt the same way that I did. Then I noticed something, my detail-oriented legal brain working overtime. I had always said it first, never the other way around.

I needed to see if she would say it without being pushed. Gradually, I started saying it less and less. If I had dropped off all at once she would have noticed. To my dismay, once I slowed and then stopped, she did too.

The whole thing left me not knowing how to feel anymore. She was still very affectionate with me, she stayed at my place, she visited my mother, and we spent every free moment together. And yet, she couldn’t say those three words unprompted.

It was just words, I told myself; her actions are much more important. However, that line of thinking swings both ways. If it was just words, why couldn’t she just say it?

It was confusing. If she could spend all day every day with me without getting tired of me, surely, I was the one. On the other hand, if she still didn’t feel that way after all that, then that is pretty damning.

Thinking about it as much as I did was humiliating. For the first time in my life, I felt like an overly sentimental schoolgirl. It was cringe-inducing. I tried my best to shake it off though. If she was nice enough to lie to me to avoid hurting my feelings, the least I could do was pretend it didn’t bother me.

Besides, on an important day like today, I needed to be 100% on my game to make a great impression. I know how much her sister means to her.

Prior to driving to the beach, we stopped at Mia’s place to grab some stuff. Despite being born in the Caribbean, I wasn’t particularly a beach guy. Swim trunks and a towel were the extent of my coastal merchandise. Mia, however, allegedly had a large collection of beach things that she was still holding onto.

Sure enough, when we got up to her apartment, piled with the remaining items that didn’t make the move to my apartment were beach chairs, a beach umbrella, pool noodles, beach balls, and various items for making sandcastles.

I teased her a little bit for this. She complained about fitting all her “worldly possessions” into one tiny bachelor apartment and yet all this stuff made the cut. She didn’t see my point; we were using it now, weren’t we? I suppose, I told her, but I think we would have survived the trip without it.

While I lugged most of the stuff into the car, she went to check her mailbox. It was mostly junk mail and bills, her electric and water bills being rock bottom these past few months. However, tucked with all that was her Ivy University alumni magazine.

When she showed it to me, I shrugged. To me, that was junk mail too. I got the same kind of magazine from LTU, and I typically just threw it away the moment I got it.

College was a means to an end for me, not a lifelong obligation. The idea of giving money to a place where I had already spent tens of thousands of dollars was wild. Maybe if I had money to burn, I would start a scholarship for underprivileged students or something, but I wasn’t at that life stage yet. I was just getting used to living in an apartment with a dishwasher, soundproofed walls, and a washer/dryer.

We were lucky that she took the time to flip through it though because it represented our first real breakthrough in the Dahlia Hawthorne case in months. On page seven of the magazine was a photo of the school’s Literature Society at their bake sale fundraiser. Standing front row center in the photo, and holding part of the society’s banner, was Dahlia Hawthorne, looking as innocent and unsuspecting as ever.

We were both galled by this reveal. Dahlia had just barely escaped prison and potentially the death penalty, and yet she wasn’t keeping a low profile. She wasn’t in hiding, she wasn’t incognito, and she didn’t flee the country like she had last time. She was going to school, 15 minutes away from our office, and flaunting her role in a minor university organization.

It was insane. She obviously had no concern about getting apprehended eventually, yet she had killed once and had directly manipulated the suicide of another. She had learned nothing and received no consequences, so why wouldn’t she kill again? It was unlikely that she had atoned for her sins and had become a model citizen.

On the drive over, we both pondered over what to do with that information. We now knew Dahlia’s location, but that really didn’t put us any further ahead. What were we going to do? Confront her? She’d just lie like she did on the stand.

We decided that the only course of action was to go poke around the campus someday to see what she had been up to since the trial. Most students were on vacation right now, so it would probably be easier to re-trace her movements without being noticed.

We landed at the beach around 11:30 am and got set up while we waited for Maya. Her train was set to arrive a little before noon.

“What does your sister look like, anyway?” I asked.

“Trust me; you’ll know her when you see her,” Mia replied with amusem*nt.

We heard the train roar into the station and looked over. Once it stopped, a large crowd of people poured out of the train doors, including a girl dressed in traditional-looking purple Japanese robes. She had long black hair that was tied into an unusual hairstyle, flip flops, a backpack, and, most importantly, she had the same magatama necklace as Mia, except hers was on a strand with large beads. They weren’t uncannily alike, but the similarity was there.

I chuckled. “Okay, I see what you mean,” I said. She definitely stood out.

We flagged her over by waving and she beamed when she noticed us, running as fast as her flip-flops would allow her toward us. I inhaled, bracing myself for the next few hours.

I loved kids. Kids were easy to get along with. If a kid is outgoing and talkative, you can say whatever wild or crazy thing pops into your head, and they’ll think it’s amazing. They wear their hearts on their sleeves and have no filter, so you don’t ever have to overthink things. If a kid’s quiet, you just find some activity they like and keep them occupied. This was more or less the approach I developed when I babysat as a pre-teen, when I needed money but couldn’t start working real jobs yet, and it worked pretty well.

Maya was not a kid though; she’s 14. Just finishing middle school and about to enter high school, or she would be if she went to a public school and not the one-room schoolhouse they have in Kurain Village. Not to generalize, but the teenage demographic was my least favorite. Heck, I didn’t even like hanging out with teenagers when I was a teenager. It was going to be a challenge figuring out how to talk to her.

Maya ran towards Mia and gave her a big hug. Maya, somehow, lifted Mia off the ground as she did, despite only being a hair under five feet tall and maybe 100 pounds.

“Mia!” Maya exclaimed excitedly. Her voice was quite high-pitched. “I missed you so much.”

Mia laughed. “I missed you too. I see all that training Aunt Morgan is making you do has paid off.”

Maya groaned. “It’s so exhausting. I’m so glad she finally let me leave today. I don’t want to do anything.”

“I don’t blame you. We’ll just have fun today, okay? Just beach games, swimming, and food.”

“That sounds great!” Maya agreed. She turned her attention to me. “So, who is this?” she asked while giggling.

“Maya, I’ve told you about Diego. Lots of times,” Mia admonished. She didn’t want me to think that I went unremarked upon these past five months.

“I know! I just wanted to be introduced. I’ve never met any of Mia’s boyfriends before.”

Mia blushed. “Well, there haven’t been that many; that’s why.” I grinned. What are little sisters for if not to embarrass you? “This is Diego Armando.”

“Nice to meet you,” Maya said, before hugging me and then attempting to pick me up off the ground too. She was unsuccessful in her attempt.

“Maya!” Mia exclaimed. “You can’t just do that without asking.”

“Sorry,” Maya replied sheepishly, pulling away. “I just wanted to see if I could. Need more training still.”

I cleared my throat. “Uh, nice to meet you too. I wouldn’t feel bad. I’m a lot heavier than your sister.”

“How much do you weigh?” Maya asked innocently.

“Maya!” Mia exclaimed again with even more incredulity.

Mia was a little sensitive about weight discussions. She said that her mom and aunt would weigh her every day when she was still potentially in line to be the Master, and it gave her a bit of a complex.

In one of my not-so-finest moments, I told her that I understood; I would be self-conscious too if I was weighed like a prized pig every day. I meant to be supportive, but the phrasing was ridiculously insensitive in hindsight. I don’t know how she possibly could be insecure though. She looks perfect. However, I didn’t offer my “helpful” comments on that matter again.

I laughed. “It’s okay,” I said. “I’m 190lbs.”

“Wow, 190! That’s really, really big. That’s like almost twice what I weigh,” Maya exclaimed.

I laughed again. “Tell me how you really feel, Maya.”

“Mia, can we get some protein powder before I head back? I need to bulk up so I can get stronger.”

Mia shook her head in disbelief. “I don’t know where we’d find some around here.”

“Diego has a car, right? Maybe we can drive somewhere.”

“Do you even like protein powder?” I asked.

“I think so,” Maya replied. “It tastes like milkshakes, right?”

“Not exactly,” I said. “It’s kind of like powdered milk, except grittier and clumpier and with artificial flavor and sweeteners.”

“Oh,” she said in disgust. “Never mind then. Do milkshakes have protein in them, Diego?”

She was being earnest, so I tried not to laugh. “Uh, some. You like cheeseburgers, right?”

“I looooove cheeseburgers.”

“Just eat those then. Lots of protein in cheeseburgers.”

“Ok! Mia, can we go get some cheeseburgers?”

Mia and I both laughed. I was no longer worried about conversing with a surly teenager. Mia had told me about some of the lengths of Maya’s training and it was pretty mind-blowing. I think most grown adults would have quit long ago if they had to do all the things that she was expected to do in the run of a day. It required a lot of physical and mental endurance.

Yet, Maya still had this childlike quality about her. I imagine growing up in a village in the mountains, away from most pop culture and people her age made her a little sheltered in other ways.

“You’re such a goof,” Mia said affectionately, standing behind Maya, tousling her hair and then wrapping her arms around her. “We’re burning daylight out here. What do you want to do?”

Maya pulled away and looked around. “I don’t know,” she said, her voice trailing off. “There’s so much to do but not a lot of time.” She looked at me for an answer. “What would you do, Diego?” she asked, looking at me expectantly.

Honestly, I was quite exhausted myself so laying on my towel and sleeping or reading that pulpy mystery novel I brought with me seemed most appealing right now. However, I doubted Maya was the type to relax quietly for hours.

“Well, as you can see-” I said, pointing to all the stuff we unpacked. “-Mia has brought the entire summer section of a department store with her, so pretty much anything ‘beach’ is on the table. Beach volleyball, swimming, sandcastles, pool noodle fights, you name it.”

Maya giggled. “Yeah, that’s true.”

“Or we can just dig a big ol’ hole,” I added jokingly.

“Why would we do that?” Maya asked curiously.

“You’ve never tried to dig a hole big enough that you can stand in it?”

“No, but that sounds cool!” she exclaimed.

Oh no. Why did I suggest that? Lord knows it will be my 190-pound ass digging most of that hole. At least she wasn’t that tall.

Once Maya selected the perfect spot, the three of us started digging, the two of them using sand shovels while I just dug with my bare hands. They were digging gingerly, getting distracted as they reminisced and laughed about childhood memories and talked about the goings-on at the Village.

I tried to contribute to the conversation when I could, but I had no idea what they were talking about most of the time. They seemingly had multiple conversations going on at the same time but could keep on top of them all.

After about forty-five minutes, contributing about three-quarters of the work by myself, we had a hole tall enough for Maya to stand in. Maya took her shoes off and stepped into the hole, and Mia and I buried her up to her neck.

Maya thought this was the greatest thing ever and asked us to take lots of photos of her making silly faces and a photo of her with Mia, Mia pretending she was about to kick Maya's head like a soccer ball and Maya pretending to scream. She got Mia to roughly trace out a mermaid’s body on the sand near her head and we took a picture of that too.

Following about five minutes of photo ops, we pulled her out, filled in the hole, and it was on to the next thing. After all that work, she better cherish those photos.

Mia suggested we go swimming while the sun was highest and warmest, and I told them to go on without me. They walked together to the shore, wearing similar one-piece bathing suits, Maya’s in dark purple and Mia’s light purple, while I laid back on my towel and started to read.

It was hard to concentrate because I was so tired, and I kept reading the same page over and over again, not absorbing it. I was starting to zone out, listening to the waves and the chatter of people, but not noticing much else around me.

I was nearly asleep, the book lying face down on my chest, when I got a rude awakening. Mia swiftly pulled the book away before Maya dumped a bucket of water on my head. I think this is what they call Khura’inese water torture. “Wake up, Diego,” Maya said in a sing-song voice while Mia giggled.

I tried my best not to be angry. I needed to make a good impression after all. A little bit slipped out though, and I grumbled as I tried to shake the water off my hair and wring it out of my shirt.

“Sorry,” Mia said, still laughing. “We just couldn’t resist.” That’s not really an apology.

I shook the anger off. “Oh yeah?” I said, raising one eyebrow. I grabbed another bucket and ran towards the water, filling it up.

“Oh no!” Mia exclaimed. She stood primed and ready to dodge me as I emerged from the water. We bobbed and weaved for a bit. When she moved one way, I’d mirror her.

Finally, she made a run for it, and I caught up with her, dumping the full bucket on her head. She shrieked in laughter as the cold water poured over her. I dropped the bucket and grabbed her waist from behind, lifting her off the ground and spinning her around.

“He got you back good Mia!” Maya called out, about 15 feet away, closer to our stuff.

I set Mia down and picked up the bucket. “You’re next!” I called back to Maya, pointing at her menacingly, before heading back to the water. When I reemerged, I saw that Maya was standing under the beach umbrella.

“You can’t dump it on my head with this umbrella here,” she said smugly.

“That’s true,” I said, pretending to be perplexed, before I pulled the bucket back and tossed the contents at her sideways, hitting her in her torso instead of her head.

“Nooo!” Maya cried out.

“Now we’re even,” I said, tossing the bucket on the ground by the other sandcastle supplies. I grabbed my towel, shook out the sand, and started drying my hair and shirt.

Mia laughed. “We’re sorry. We learned our lesson.”

“Yeah,” Maya agreed. “Can we get food now?” she asked. “I’m hungry.”

Mia laughed again. “Maya, it’s not even 3 pm. That’s too soon for dinner.”

“I know,” Maya groaned. “But I’m so hungry already. I didn’t eat much today. All I had was a bowl of oatmeal, a banana, and a glass of milk. And a handful of nuts. And a chocolate bar. Oh, and that beef jerky!”

“Is that all?” I teased. “Maya, you’re practically wasting away.” She grinned back at me. I was actually pretty hungry too. Me and Mia had a decent breakfast before we left but that was hours ago. I looked around at the buildings along the boardwalk. There seemed to be a few restaurants. “We’re all too wet to go in the car, but wanna check out one of the restaurants along the boardwalk?”

They both nodded. We started packing up all the stuff, folding the umbrella and chairs, stacking the buckets, deflating the beach balls, and shaking the sand out of our damp towels before hanging them around our necks. I grabbed the chairs and the pool noodles and was about to head towards the car when Mia slung the umbrella’s strap on my shoulder as well. She smirked at me as she did.

Maya thought this was hilarious, loading me up like a mule, so grabbed all the sandcastle supplies and deflated beach balls and placed them in each of my hands. She then slung her backpack on my shoulder as well, giggling.

I sighed and began slowly trudging the 500 feet to my car. “You Fey girls are going to be the death of me,” I muttered.

Mia laughed. “Sorry, we were just goofing around. What can I take off your hands?”

I shook my head and laughed breathlessly. “It’s okay; I’ll make it.” Now that I was all loaded up, it’d take coordination to hand off one item without dropping the others. Besides, as awkward as it was to carry, I didn’t want them to think I was incapable.

They walked about ten feet in front of me, chatting, although Mia would look behind her periodically to see if I was keeping pace. It looked like she felt guilty, but I made my choice to carry everything.

When we reached the car, they carefully pulled each item from me and loaded them into the trunk and backseat. When I was free of everything, I cracked my neck, shook my limbs out, and flexed my hands open and closed.

Maya started walking ahead of us, but Mia hung back as I grabbed my wallet and locked the car. “Thanks for carrying all that stuff,” she said sweetly before giving me a quick peck on the lips. I grinned back at her. She grabbed my hand, and we started walking.

All worth it for that, I thought. I’m so whipped now that I want to laugh. I wonder if Mia knows how much she had me wrapped around her little finger. At this point, I’d do anything for her.

We all walked along the boardwalk and examined our restaurant options. There were only three options to choose from and all seemed to be tourist traps with similar menu offerings. Mia and I let Maya pick the restaurant and she chose Squid Pro Quo because she thought the name was funny and she liked the bright yellow paint color of the cedar plank building.

The inside was exactly what I expected: round wooden tables with matching captain’s chairs; anchor, buoy, and ship wheel tchotchkes scattered about; paintings of old wooden ships and beach scenes on the walls; and fishnets hanging from the ceiling.

Since we arrived at an off-hour, it was surprisingly dead in there, despite how packed the beach was, and we were seated quickly. We sat down and looked at our menus. Yikes. Looks like they charged tourist prices too.

“Get whatever you want,” I said. “On me.”

“It’s my turn to pay,” Mia countered. “You got the last one.”

I waved her off. “I insist.” I don’t think I had to try that hard to receive Maya’s stamp of approval; she’s pretty easy-going, but I wanted her to know that I wasn’t a cheapskate to her sister.

“Anything?” Maya asked, wide-eyed.

“You don’t know what you just did,” Mia said sarcastically. “If you let her, she will eat you out of house and home.”

I laughed. “It’s alright; Maya’s small. How much could she possibly eat anyway?”

“Trust me,” Mia replied. She turned to Maya. “No more than two things,” she warned. “And only water or fountain drinks.”

“Okay,” Maya said disappointedly.

After a few minutes of perusing our menus, the waitress came by to take our order. Mia got a house salad with chicken, and I ordered the calamari basket, figuring it must be their specialty given the restaurant’s name.

“And for you, miss?” the waitress asked Maya.

“I’ll get the lobster roll platter and the 12oz steak dinner, medium rare. Oh, and a water!” She looked at us proudly, like she really saved me some money with that drink order.

I exhaled, laughing, and rubbed my eyes. The waitress looked at me with confusion. “It’s nothing,” I said. She collected our menus and walked away.

Mia looked mortified. “Maya, really?”

“What?” Maya asked innocently. “You said I could get two things.”

“I meant two reasonable things, like an entrée and a dessert. Not the two most expensive things on the menu.”

“It’s okay, Maya,” I said seriously. “I might not be able to pay rent this month anymore, but Mia and I will figure it out.”

“I’m really sorry,” Maya said remorsefully.

“I’m joking,” I said. “Little pricey, but just make sure you eat it all or take the rest of it home.”

Maya smiled and nodded in agreement. “I like Diego,” she said brightly.

Mia laughed. “Why? Because he’s buying you food?”

“No,” Maya corrected. “Okay, maybe that’s part of it.” We all laughed. “You two are really cute together.”

“Thanks,” I replied and looked at Mia to gauge her reaction. She smiled warmly at me, and I smiled back.

“When are you getting married?” Maya asked casually.

“Maya!” Mia exclaimed, visibly flustered. “I swear, you’re playing a game with yourself today to see how much you can embarrass me. We’ve only been together for less than five months, you can’t just-”

I cut her off. “We’ll get married as soon as I wear your sister down,” I joked. “Knowing her, that might take a while.” Mia looked at me with astonishment. She scanned my face, trying to read me.

I feel pathetic to admit this, especially since I can’t even be certain that she loves me but, back when I thought she did, I bought an engagement ring. It’s in a red velvet box and hidden back at my apartment. I knew it was too soon; she’d think I was crazy if I ever asked her, but I felt compelled to buy one anyway. It’s like I needed to be ready at a moment’s notice to ask, whenever the time came.

I wanted a woman’s opinion to purchase the right one, so I enlisted the help of Lana, the two of us going to a swanky jewelry store one evening after work. Lana sounded completely shocked on the phone because it was so early in the relationship but agreed to help me. I had told Mia that I had an appointment that evening. She seemed skeptical but didn’t press me on it.

After thoroughly browsing the store, we both agreed on the same one: a plain white gold band with a two-carat oval diamond, lab-grown. I would have sprung for a natural one but, based on Mia’s hardline stances on justice and social issues, I assumed her preference even if we hadn’t explicitly discussed it. It was very simple, but we ruled the others out as they all seemed too gaudy or ostentatious for her. This one matched the earrings that she always wore too.

When I bought the ring, Lana started tearing up, and I felt horrible. When I first met her, I got the inkling that her feelings for Mia weren’t entirely platonic. I gently broached the topic with Mia after one of our hangouts with Lana and she told me that I was crazy, so I dropped it. I went ahead with the assumption that I was wrong but, after this interaction, I felt certain that I was right after all. Dragging Lana with me there, she probably thought I was rubbing it in her face.

“It’s okay,” I had said, consoling her. “Mia probably will say no anyway.” She wiped her tears and said she had no idea what I was talking about.

“Oh, can I be the maid of honor?” Maya asked excitedly.

“He’s just joking around,” Mia said.

“No, I’m not,” I clarified.

We looked at each other intensely.

“We can always check and see if he’s telling the truth,” Maya suggested.

“Maya...” Mia replied sternly.

“What do you mean by that?” I asked. Mia just sat there and didn’t say anything.

“Does he not know?” Maya asked panickily.

“Know about what?”

Mia sighed. She grabbed her necklace. “This necklace is not just a necklace. It...” She stopped talking as the waitress returned, delivering our food. After the waitress confirmed that we had everything we needed, she walked away, and Mia and Maya started eating.

Seriously? I know she isn’t stupid, but she must think I am. That or easily distracted. “So, about this necklace?” I asked before I popped a piece of incredibly mediocre fried calamari in my mouth.

Mia put her index finger up, indicating that she needed to finish her bite before speaking. She must have chewed that same bite 30 times. “Right. That necklace. Well...”

“How are the first few bites tasting?” the waitress asked, after returning to our table.

“Perfect, thank you,” I said briskly. She nodded and walked away again. “Well?”

Mia sighed again. “It’s hard to explain. Basically...it lets me see into other people’s souls.”

“You’re going to have to be more specific,” I said.

“When I use it, and ask someone a question, I can determine if they are being truthful. If they are withholding information.”

“So, it’s essentially a lie detector?” I asked.

She thought for a moment. “I guess so. More accurate than a lie detector though. We’ve tested it.”

“How did you test it?”

Maya filled me in on that question. I was so focused on Mia, that I momentarily forgot Maya was even there. “We would instruct someone to secretly write a number down and then ask them what they wrote. We could always tell when they said the right or wrong number.”

“I see,” I said quietly. I was completely dumbfounded. She’s literally had a magical, lie-detecting necklace around her neck ever since I’ve known her, and I’m just hearing about it now? With all this talk about honesty and trust, I feel like this was a pretty egregious oversight. “When were you going to tell me about this?”

“I don’t know,” Mia said contritely. “Sometime. I don’t tell anybody about it. I did when I was younger, and it made people too self-conscious to be around me.”

“I can see why,” I replied flatly.

Maya looked upset. “Sorry I brought this up,” she said frantically. “I just thought it would be a funny joke.”

“It’s okay; I’m not mad. Just surprised.” I spoke as neutrally as possible, bottling up how rattled I was. My problem right now is not with Maya.

We wordlessly ate for a minute or two and then Maya broke the silence. “Mia, did you know that Aunt Morgan and Pearl are going to Samurai Park this summer?”

“Really?” Mia asked. “Isn’t that place expensive?”

“Uh-huh. They’re staying there for a week too. Getting a nice hotel and everything.” Maya spoke cheerfully, but Mia looked irritated.

“I didn’t know Aunt Morgan was such a fan,” Mia said skeptically.

“Not her, silly. Pearl is!” Maya corrected.

“Maya, Pearl is four. She probably likes pretty much any show you put in front of her.”

I started to read between the lines. “Maya, are you a big fan of, uh, samurai stuff?” I asked. I wasn’t familiar with any particular samurai show that she might have watched. I caught a glimpse of Mia in my peripheral vision, and she looked relieved that I was talking again.

“I love it!” Maya exclaimed, beaming. “All of it. It’s hard to pick a favorite show.”

That was confirmation of what I had suspected. This wasn’t a nice mother-daughter outing. This was some sort of taunt to Maya. Look where we’re going without you.

“When is the trip?” Mia asked.

“Let me think...the last week of August. Pearl is nervous about starting school in September, so she wanted her to have something fun to look forward to before then.”

Maybe Aunt Morgan wasn’t completely heartless. This rationale seemed quite reasonable. It was the choice of activity that wasn’t.

Mia was shaking her head in frustration. Damn it. I was still mad at her, but I didn’t like seeing her so upset. “So, they’ll be away from the Village that whole week?” I asked.

“Yeah! It’ll be so great. One week of no training and no school.”

I could visibly see the wheels turning in Mia’s head. She saw the opportunity. “Do you have any vacation days left?” she asked me.

“Too many to ever use,” I said sarcastically. Getting a day off could be such a hassle, especially during the busier times, so I didn’t ask for a vacation day unless it was very important. Since I’ve been there for over three and a half years now, I probably had almost four times as many days banked as Mia. I don’t remember her taking a day off either.

“Maya, what if we came down to visit you that week?” Mia asked eagerly.

“That would be awesome! Where would you stay though?”

“We’d get a hotel nearby or something. I’ve been saving money since I started my job. I can afford it now,” Mia replied. I wanted to roll my eyes. As if I would let her pay for it all by herself. “We’ll book it off when we get back,” she continued.

Technically, Mia had never asked me if I would do this, but let’s be real with myself. After I got over my irritation with her, I wasn’t ever going to say no.

“Aw, thank you,” Maya said delightedly. “I’ll look forward to this all summer!”

The rest of the meal wasn’t noteworthy, other than when it came time to pay the $115 bill, not including tax and tip. Maya was a slow eater, but she managed to finish about 2/3 of each dish, dutifully packing up the rest for a snack later. She said that she would have eaten everything, but she was saving room for ice cream.

The three of us walked along the boardwalk and explored the shops there. Just like all the restaurants, they were tourist traps, selling overpriced knickknacks, clothing, and souvenirs. We didn’t buy anything, but they had fun trying on hats, sniffing candles, and shaking snow globes.

Our final stop of the day, before Maya had to catch the last train at seven, was at a small café and ice cream shop. Maya insisted on paying, pulling a crumpled $20 bill from her backpack. I wasn’t particularly hungry, but the gesture seemed to mean a lot to her, so I ordered an affogato while Maya got a cone of rocky road and Mia a cup of strawberry.

Maya seemed intrigued, never seeing coffee served with ice cream before. “Can I try some?” she asked. “You can have some of mine too,” she offered.

I looked at the melted ice cream dripping down the side of her cone and laughed. “That’s okay,” I said before handing her my cup.

She took a bite and grimaced. “That would be good if it didn’t have coffee in it.”

“So just vanilla ice cream?”

“Yeah, exactly!” she replied enthusiastically. Mia and I both smirked.

After ice cream, we walked Maya to the platform and waited until the train pulled into the station. They had a bittersweet goodbye but were uplifted thinking about the plans for August. Maya got a seat next to the window and we waved to her until she couldn’t see us anymore. Then, we watched as the train disappeared in the distance.

Mia sighed. “Sometimes, I wonder if I should have left the Village after all. These goodbyes are always so hard.” I understood what she meant, but it wasn’t what I needed to hear right now. If she still lived in the Village, we never would have met. “Do you want to stay and watch the sunset?” she asked. “I think it’ll be in an hour or so.”

“It’s getting late,” I said plainly. “We still have a two-hour drive home.”

I started walking towards the car and she trailed behind me by a few feet. Without a word, we got into the car and drove off. Mia tried to make small talk, but I answered minimally, giving her nothing to work with.

“Are you still mad at me?” she finally asked. I looked at her briefly and nodded. “Why?”

“Really?” I asked incredulously. “You don’t know why I’d be mad that you’ve been carrying this thing around for the past five months and never mentioned it once.”

“I never mentioned it because I knew we’d have this fight.”

“We’re having this fight because it pisses me off that you made such a big deal about your trust issues and how honesty is so important to you when you secretly have this magical tool that overrides all of that.”

She crossed her arms. “It doesn’t matter that I have this. It’s irrelevant.”

“How would it not matter? If I checked your phone to see if you were calling or texting with anyone else, would you call that trust or confirmation?”

She scoffed. “So, that’s why you’re mad. I never used it on you. Not even once.” She shook her head. “Why would that bother you anyway? Is there something I should know?” she asked bitingly.

I rolled my eyes. “This isn’t a confession,” I barbed back. “I’d just like to have a normal relationship where we actually trust each other, and one person isn’t secretly surveilling the other.”

“I already told you that I didn’t use it on you. Do you not trust me?”

I shook my head, buying time. I was still angry, but she had a point. I exhaled. “How can I be sure of that? You have this magical all-knowing device and you’ve never been tempted to use it even once?”

“Being tempted and doing it are two different things,” she argued. “I’ve thought about it, but I’ve never done it. To you, anyway.”

I was quiet. I wanted to believe her, but I still had my doubts. I knew I had been straight with her so, if she had used it, you’d think she’d be more trusting and open. I exhaled again. “Show me.”

“Alright,” she said shortly. She must have been more frustrated than I thought. She didn't try to push back at all on this request.

Her necklace started glowing but nothing else was happening. Then, I felt it. This tightness over my torso, like someone had strapped me into my chair. I was lucky that my arms were unaffected, and I was still able to drive.

“What now?” I asked.

“I’ll ask you questions and see if you answer them honestly.” She paused for a moment, thinking. “Have you slept with 22 women?” she asked.

I laughed sarcastically. “If I was going to lie to you, wouldn’t I have picked a lower number?”

“Just checking that nothing has changed since you answered that question and that...they were all women.”

My eyes opened widely, raising both of my eyebrows in shock. The question was preposterous. I didn’t have a phase in college like she did, or any other time for that matter, and I couldn’t have cheated, even if I had wanted to. We spent every waking moment together.

“Yes,” I eventually replied.

She paused again, generating her next question. “Were you actually in the document room to grab files before we got together?”

I chuckled. She had said things before that indicated she knew, but we had never discussed it. “Okay, you caught me,” I said. “How else was I supposed to see you?”

She shook her head and exhaled sharply, letting out a small laugh. “I knew it. Even months later, I still can’t sort through files that quickly.”

“Guilty,” I said jokingly. “I just grabbed random archival papers every time.” This was still a tense experience, but this silly question had lightened the mood considerably.

She paused the longest before the next question. “Do you love me?” she asked.

I wasn’t expecting that one. Maybe she did care after all. “Of course,” I said, exasperated, briefly taking my eyes off the road to look at her. Whatever she was doing with that necklace, she stopped, and I could feel my body un-tensing. “What’s the verdict?”

“You were telling the truth,” she said quietly.

“What did I tell you?” I asked. She didn’t answer at all, and we sat in silence for a few minutes.

I sighed. “I’m sorry,” I finally said. "I should have believed you when you said you hadn’t done that before. I would have remembered that.”

She smiled slightly. “Thank you. I’m sorry too.”

I thought I had figured out the cause of her silence, but she still seemed upset. “What’s wrong?’’ I asked.

“If you love me, why did you stop saying it?”

So, she had noticed. She didn’t seem bothered in the slightest when we stopped saying it. “You never said it first. I didn’t want to railroad you.”

“Oh,” she replied nervously.

“Why wouldn’t you say it?”

She paused again. “I don’t know,” she said emotionlessly.

She didn’t elaborate more, and I knew better than to ask at this point. Not the answer I was looking for, but I had to leave it there. Unlike her, I didn’t have a way to investigate further.

Chapter 9: Chapter 8 - Mia

Chapter Text

Date: Friday, July 12th, 2013

Time: 8:17 pm

Location: Beckett Memorial Arts Building, Ivy University, Los Tokyo

After that argument on Saturday, things have still been a little tense, even though we’ve technically apologized and made up again since our drive home from the beach. We even skipped the visit with his mom on Sunday, Diego telling her on the phone that we were both so exhausted after a long week at work and a big trip to see Maya the day before. Not inaccurate, but also not really the reason either.

Diego says he’s made his peace about the whole thing, but he keeps being weird about it. On Monday, he told me that I was chewing too loudly on my carrot sticks at lunchtime. Wednesday, when I made the coffee in the morning, he said that it was mediocre because “kitten, you accidentally burnt it a little.” On the drive home from work yesterday, he told me that he hated the song playing on the radio, one I had played on repeat at his apartment a couple of weeks earlier.

I asked him to cut it out. He knew what it felt like to be questioned under the influence of the magatama so he shouldn’t be acting so paranoid.

He said that he was just nipping any problems in the bud before they turned into ammunition. If he was always brutally honest, I’d never have anything to question him about.

I told him that, if he just kept his mouth shut entirely, I wouldn’t have any idea what to ask him about. He didn’t appreciate that remark, but it kept him from criticizing me anymore in the name of honesty.

In the battle of “I love you,” we were both winning or losing, depending on how you choose to look at it. He still wouldn’t say it, knowing I would never say it first and I wouldn’t say it knowing it was so conditional for him.

I don’t care what the magatama indicated, if he really felt that way, he wouldn’t have dropped off because I was uneasy about it. If I really believed him, I would come around to saying it naturally. I think.

While I still basically lived at his place, he’s been noticeably more distant. Most nights this week, he’s been in the living room, I’ve been in the bedroom, and we’ve barely talked at all. I’d paint my nails, read, or surf around on my laptop and he would watch a game, TV, or a movie.

A couple of those times, I’d fallen asleep and woken up in the middle of the night to see he wasn’t on his side of the bed. He had either fallen asleep on the couch or was still up, watching the TV, and unable to sleep at all.

All things considered, working together had been going well for the past five months, up until this week. However, just like we weren’t good at hiding our affection while we were in a state of bliss, we were also unable to hide the tension when we were at odds with one another.

Despite this, we both had the wherewithal to save face for each other. Diego had a case on Wednesday and Thursday this week so, when he was out during lunch, Reina asked me if everything was okay. I told her we were both just tired.

Mr. Hammond, nosey as ever, noticed that I wasn’t up in Diego’s office as much this week. He asked Diego today: “Is there trouble in paradise?” As Diego recounted to me later, on the drive home, he had told Mr. Hammond that if he paid attention to his work as much as he paid attention to us, maybe his win record would be just as good as Diego’s. That jab was enough to make him walk away.

While I’d rather us not be fighting at all, it did make me relieved to know that we weren’t the kind of couple to rant about the other person to anyone who would listen, the moment things got a little tough.

This evening, I just wanted to curl up into a ball and relax after a stressful week, but we told each other last Saturday that we would go to Ivy University tonight to begin investigating Dahlia and neither one of us wanted to break that promise. So, here we are now, meandering around the campus’s language arts building, looking for clues.

We didn’t exactly know what we were looking for. When we talked about it in the car last Saturday, it seemed straightforward. We would search the university and find traces of Dahlia’s movements.

When we arrived at the vast campus and searched through the seven-story language arts building, we realized how foolish of an idea that was. We knew it would be like finding a needle in a haystack and yet, somehow, we had convinced ourselves that she would be so obvious, faltering like she had on the stand. That we would find something with little effort.

After peering into all the classrooms, every single one on all seven floors, most of them blending together with no distinguishable differences, and searching the third-floor student lounge, the location of the Literature Society’s meetings, we came up basically empty-handed.

The only potential lead was an old flyer for a book club potluck event hosted a few months ago when the regular school year was still ongoing. We took a picture of the flyer, and I said I would check social media later to see if I had any luck finding some photos or an event page about it. By the way that flyer was designed, it seemed like a regular event hosted by the society.

Diego checked his watch. “Do you know when the library closes in the summer?” he asked.

“9 pm, I think,” I replied. “That’s when it was last summer.”

It was crazy to think that it was already almost a year since I had graduated. The accelerated program was very intensive, but it still went by in a flash. It doesn’t feel like that long ago when I was in one of the library’s private study rooms, there from basically the time they opened to the time they closed, only getting up to go to the washroom, stretch my legs, or buy a snack from the vending machines. Yet so much has changed since then.

“We should probably go check it out while we’re here,” he said plainly. “Maybe they have yearbooks or something there.”

I nodded and we wordlessly walked out to the hallway, down the stairs, and onto the quad, en route to the library. It was almost dark out and all the old-fashioned streetlamps had turned on. They were radiating with warm orange light.

I always liked walking through here in the evenings after the lights had turned on. It was one nice thing to look forward to after spending all day in the library or in lectures. Strolling down the cobblestone path, enjoying the cool breeze, smelling the lush grass and trees, and admiring the beautiful old ivy-covered buildings bathed in the glow of those lights.

If we had been in better spirits this week, this walk would have been romantic, regardless of the sinister reason we were here in the first place. We would have walked hand-in-hand or arm-in-arm, chatting blithely, and taking in the sights as we spoke.

Knowing him, he would have said something cheesy to me, I would have giggled at it despite myself, and we would have kissed somewhere along the way. Probably in the middle of the quad, at the crossroads, where all the pathways connected.

Instead, we both remained quiet, and he outpaced me slightly, being about a half step ahead of me the whole walk to the library, despite not being familiar with the campus.

When we reached the library, we were disappointed to find that our luck was more of the same. We passed by the stacks and the computer lab and made our way to the magazines and periodicals, reviewing the old copies of the alumni magazine.

I wasn’t an alumnus until last fall, so we wanted to make sure that we hadn’t missed anything from an old issue, when Dahlia was in her first year. We didn’t find anything else in these issues nor the other ones I had back at my apartment.

We looked at the yearbook from this year and last year and there was also nothing. Yearbooks at Ivy weren’t viewed the same way as high school yearbooks, or so I’ve heard. The Kurain Village Schoolhouse was too small to need a yearbook, and I didn’t buy an Ivy University yearbook when I graduated, so I’ve never had one.

Most of the pages in the 2012 and 2013 issues comprised of graduate portraits, a few photos from school events and varsity games during the year, and a bunch of ads from local businesses. Even though we didn’t find anything, it was nice to confirm that I hadn’t missed out by not buying one.

“You didn’t get grad photos taken?” he asked disappointedly.

Since graduates of the accelerated law program were in session from September to September, my photos would have been included in the 2013 yearbook, if they had been taken.

“No point,” I said. “I don’t have parents anymore, so who was I going to give them to?”

“True,” he agreed. “So, you’re telling me that you don’t have a framed grad portrait of yourself in your apartment?” he asked teasingly.

I scoffed. “Do you know me at all?” I replied, laughing.

“That’s too bad. Would have loved to have a baby-faced picture of you to hang up on my wall,” he joked.

I rolled my eyes. “That was only a year ago. I look basically the same now. I don’t remember seeing your portrait back at your apartment,” I teased back.

“It’s at Mamá’s place.”

“Interesting,” I said, elongating the word for effect. “I know what I’m doing on Sunday.”

He smirked. “I regret telling you that.”

I smiled. It wasn’t a long interaction, but it made me happy to quip back and forth like we had before the fight. It felt like an eternity since we had last joked around like this even though it had only been a week.

He sighed and closed the yearbook before returning it to the shelf. “Well, this trip turned out to be a dead end.”

“I know,” I agreed. “No surprises there, I guess. If she is up to something, she’s probably being sneaky about it.”

“Want to head back?” he asked. I nodded.

We started walking out of the library, but I stopped him when we passed by the washroom. “I’m just going to go before we leave,” I said.

He smiled. “We’re not that far from home,” he teased.

“I know, but I need to go now,” I retorted playfully.

“Women and their tiny bladders,” he said, shaking his head.

I squinted and smirked at him before entering the women’s washroom. I must have entered a portal to another dimension while I was in there because, when I came out, he was visibly rattled. “What’s wrong?” I asked with concern.

He shook his head, laughing with bewilderment. “You won’t believe who I just saw.”

My eyes widened. “She was here?”

“Yup. She was here with some guy. He was carrying all her books for her. She called him ‘Dougie,’” he said, mockingly putting emphasis on the name.

“Wow,” I replied in awe. “Did she see you?”

“She looked right at me before they walked out. She seemed confused at first, but then I saw a look of recognition and she glared at me. She remembered me from the trial.”

“What are the chances?” I asked rhetorically.

“I know,” he agreed, before checking his watch. “This may sound crazy, but we have ten minutes before the library closes. I want to look at the yearbooks again and see if we can find this Dougie.”

I nodded in agreement, and we sped-walked back to the shelf with the yearbooks. I looked at the 2012 edition and he looked at the 2013.

Luckily, Doug didn’t seem to be a popular name, so it was easier to flip through. However, we still had to frantically scan through the books as security personnel had started walking the floors to clear out the building. I didn’t even have a face to go on so just read for the name Doug and asked Diego about the handful of Dougs that I came across in my search.

“This is him!” he exclaimed with only three minutes to spare. He pointed to his picture.

I looked at the photo of Doug, running for the school’s cross-country team. He was just a normal-looking guy. Makes sense; I don’t really know what else I was expecting.

Diego laughed. “What is it?” I asked.

“Look at his major,” he instructed.

I found his major listed in the photo’s description: Doug Swallow, 3rd-year pharmacology, with a second-place finish in the men’s 8k . I raised my eyebrows in surprise.

“Now, what would someone like Dahlia be doing with a pharmacology student?” he asked sarcastically.

“I can think of a reason,” I replied.

Date: Tuesday, July 16th, 2013

Time: 8:55 am

Location: Diego’s Office, Grossberg Law Offices, Los Tokyo

When we got back to the apartment later that Friday evening, things had become noticeably more relaxed again between us. It was hard to avoid each other when we were both engaged in the same task. Then too, it was exhilarating to finally discover a potential lead in Dahlia’s case, and we were excited to go over the details and discuss the possibilities.

That weekend, we essentially called a truce, agreeing that it was stupid to give each other the silent treatment even if we never really resolved the conflict at hand and had made no plans to do so any time soon. Once we got a taste of being a normal happy couple again, it was too hard to go back to being withdrawn from one another.

I went on my social media accounts that Saturday morning to look and see if we could find anything about the book club poster or Doug Swallow. Diego jokingly gave me a hard time about having social media at all, and for willingly posting any of my personal information online. I didn’t really use it that much and hadn’t posted anything questionable, so I wasn’t all that worried.

I made fun of him for being such an old man and pointed out that, without it, we would have had a harder time investigating our leads. He begrudgingly agreed.

On the surface, nothing particularly noteworthy came up when I looked up the Literature Society’s book club page. There were photos and posts about past events but nothing of relevance to our case. However, a couple of photos from March’s event provided some interesting insights.

Dahlia was seated on a couch in one of those photos, right next to Doug Swallow. He was laughing and holding the book club book from that month and Dahlia was smiling at him.

It’s possible that he’s been a member for a while and that they’ve been dating for longer than we thought, but we think it’s more likely that they started dating sometime after the trial. We couldn’t find him in any of the previous event photos while Dahlia was in a few.

When I looked Doug up, he unfortunately had too many privacy settings on his page for us to get much information and we both agreed that it wasn’t wise to try to connect with him online. However, in the byline of his profile, even with privacy settings on, it listed him as a pharmacology student, class of ‘14, and a Technician at the Ivy University Pharmacology Lab.

This was huge. We now knew who Dahlia’s boyfriend was and where he was likely to spend most of his time this summer.

We had already checked for Dahlia’s name and her alias in the past, but she either had no social media or was an expert at hiding it. Doug’s profile byline also listed him as “in a relationship,” but there was no specific person attached, either confirming that she had no account or had hidden her account even from him. She wasn’t tagged in any of the photos on the book club event page either.

We looked up the Pharmacology Lab hours of operation and, predictably, they were standard office hours, same as the firm. We’d either have to take a day off or try to rush over during our lunch break and hope Doug wasn’t out for lunch at the same time. Given the amount of difficulty we had booking time off for August, especially with both of us requesting the same days off, we figured the former option would be unlikely.

So, Diego offered to go meet with Doug before one of his trials sometime. He said that with the amount of work he put into the firm, he wasn’t worried about fudging an hour or so. As far as he was concerned, he had the time banked so he was going to use it, even if Mr. Grossberg and the partners refused to fulfill many time-off requests.

After we made our plans for the next steps in the Dahlia Hawthorne case, the rest of the weekend was fairly typical for us. We lounged around the apartment, together this time at least, went out to eat, saw a movie, and visited his mom’s place on Sunday.

Maria tried to subtly probe for information as to why we missed the visit last week, but neither of us fell for it. She switched tactics later, trying to imply that I was the reason for our absence. I bit my tongue to try and keep the peace, but Diego took the fall, saying it was him who didn’t want to go and not me.

I don’t know if she believed that but, thankfully, she backed off the rest of the night. I had asked to see Diego’s grad photos after teasing him about them two days before and Maria happily obliged, doing me one better by showing off his childhood pictures as well. If she was annoyed with me, it didn’t show as she fawned over old photographs and reminisced.

Monday was Monday, with the usual dread of starting another work week and the same boredom of sitting in on another dull team meeting. This morning, however, I had a stark realization, one I felt foolish for not noticing earlier. Suddenly, it was possible that our breakthrough in Dahlia’s case would not be the most notable development of the week.

I had paced around the woman’s bathroom for a few minutes this morning, trying to figure out what to do, before I finally sucked it up and walked upstairs to Diego’s office to talk.

“Sorry, can I help you?” he asked quizzically, pretending like he didn’t know me. Like I was just some random woman crazedly barging into his office.

“I really needed to see you about something,” I said, as I shut the door and closed the blinds on one of the windows in his office. The one that looked out into the second-floor hallway.

He smiled and looked at his watch. “Well, I have to leave for the courthouse in 15 minutes, but I guess we can fit one in.”

I was so frazzled that it took me a second to catch his implication. “What?” I exclaimed. “Don’t be gross. It’s stuff like this that put us in this mess in the first place.”

He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Gross seems like a harsh choice of word, but I was obviously joking.” He gestured to the closed blinds. “What’s with all the secrecy though?”

“Sorry,” I said softly, not looking him in the eyes. “I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just...” I paused, trying to get the courage. “I’m late,” I continued, finally looking up at him nervously.

“Oh,” he replied quietly. He got up from his chair and started pacing, processing. He stopped and leaned back on the edge of his desk, arms crossed, looking at me. “How late?” he asked.

“Almost two weeks,” I replied. “I remember being happy that I didn’t have to worry about it at the beach and it was already slightly late then.” I sighed. “I was so stressed-out last week, that I completely forgot about it.”

“Well, that’s not so bad, right?” he said optimistically. “Two weeks is nothing.”

“Maybe,” I said timidly. “But I’ve never been this late before.”

“Right,” he said, nodding again. He looked down at his shoes and started rubbing his chin, still thinking. “Damn. If I didn’t have a case today, we could go get a test at lunchtime,” he said calmly. He looked up at me, standing awkwardly near his door, and he stopped leaning on the desk so he could come over and give me a hug. “Sorry,” he said. “Will you be okay until after my trial today?”

I didn’t hug him back, just letting my arms hang limp. “I guess I’ll have to be,” I said shortly. “Sorry,” I added softly. “I didn’t mean that in a sh*tty way. I’m just worried.”

“It’s okay,” he said reassuringly. “If I had more time, I would try to get it covered.” He pulled his head away from me and tilted my chin up, trying to get me to look at him. He smiled. “Whatever happens, we’ll figure it out, right?”

My eyes were darting around. I wanted to cry, but I think that would only make things worse. It would only make me feel more anxious. I put a brave face on and nodded. “I don’t know how you’re being so calm about this,” I said.

“I’m a little surprised,” he agreed. “But I can’t say I never thought about this possibility. I mean, less than 90% efficacy, 200 times, sh*t happens.”

I pulled away from him completely and shook my head in disbelief. “Okay, it makes me really uncomfortable that you counted,” I said agitatedly.

He laughed and rubbed his face. “I didn’t count,” he clarified. “If you’ll recall, I’ve been tasked with security detail, and they come in these lovely and colorful numbered boxes.”

“Oh,” I said, before mildly laughing. “We were busier than I thought.”

He grinned. “Tell me about it. My coffee intake has gone up 25% since we got together.”

I smiled slightly back at him before having a realization about something he said. “Less than 90%? I thought it was like 99% or something?” I asked panickily.

“I’m just going with the average listed on the box,” he replied matter-of-factly.

“Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

“I thought you knew. Didn’t you read the box?”

“Nobody reads the box,” I said fervently.

He laughed. “Aren’t you a lawyer?” he asked. I scowled back at him. “Sorry,” he said, still laughing. He made a funny face.

“What?” I asked skeptically.

“No, I’m just flattered.” He grinned. “No due diligence, just going for it. Couldn’t have been that worried about it.”

I felt like an idiot. Why had I just trusted a statistic I only thought I remembered? “Okay, surprisingly, this is not helping me right now,” I said crossly.

“You’re right,” he acquiesced. He looked at his watch. “sh*t, I really need to go.” He started packing up his briefcase and took a quick swig of his coffee. “You can work in here today if you want. More privacy.”

“Right,” I said dazedly.

He came over and gave me a kiss on the forehead. “It might be nothing, right? We don’t know yet.” I just nodded back. He rushed out the door and down the hallway, before stopping about ten feet away. He turned around and called out to me. “I’ll swing by after the trial to get you.”

I smiled half-heartedly at him. He turned back around and resumed speed-walking toward the reception door, and out to the elevator bank.

I closed his office door and let out a deep sigh before pacing around the room, trying to collect my thoughts. I wish I could just snap my fingers and know one way or the other, but I was also terrified that it wouldn’t be the answer I wanted.

I kept thinking about something my mom had told me, a year or two before she left: “Once you have kids, your life isn’t your own anymore.” She explained that every decision you make as a mother, you now have to make it with someone else in mind. When she said this, I’m sure she meant it at the time, but she sure as hell found a loophole, didn’t she?

Unfortunately, I didn’t have the same luxury. Once your parents leave you, and you know what it feels like to have to pick up the pieces, you can’t, in good conscience, do the same thing.

As I walked around the room, I thought about my other options. If a friend came to me with the same dilemma, I would have happily talked her through all of them. I knew myself though, and that I wouldn’t be comfortable with either alternative.

I wasn’t ready to be a mom either though. I wouldn’t be a year into my law career until October. Me and Diego haven’t even been together for half a year yet. I hadn’t figured out the truth about the DL-6 case and how my mother’s name ended up splashed across the news. The police were supposed to keep that information secret but, somehow, her identity had leaked. I hadn’t traveled anywhere yet, I still had loans, and I hadn’t saved enough for a law office. I didn’t even have any hobbies. My whole life thus far was Kurain Village and then it was law school.

My mental state was quickly degrading right now. I knew I should go back downstairs, grab my stuff, and bring it up here to get working, but I don’t think I’d be able to focus if I did. I was too flustered and shaken.

After about an hour of pacing, I finally went down the hall to Mr. Grossberg’s office. Unfortunately, Mr. Hammond was in there with him, and they were talking about their golf swings. When I saw them talking, I started to walk away, but Mr. Grossberg called me back.

“Morning, Mia,” Mr. Grossberg said brightly. “What did you need?” he asked.

“Um...” I looked over at Mr. Hammond, who appeared to be waiting intently for my response. It was hard to explain with both of them here. “Sir, I’m sorry, but I'm really not feeling well today. Is it okay if I take a sick day?”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Mia. What’s wrong?” Mr. Grossberg asked.

This is what I was afraid would happen. I never take days off, so a simple “sure, no problem” would have sufficed. “I just feel very nauseous and queasy. Like I might throw up.”

“You pregnant or something?” Mr. Hammond asked casually. I looked at him, mortified, incredulous that he would just say that, and yet I shouldn’t be.

Mr. Grossberg tutted. “Robert, if you would re-review clause 113.1 of the employment contract, you’d know that saying something like that to a female employee is prohibited.”

“Sorry,” Mr. Hammond replied insincerely. “Classic early symptoms. Went through all of that with my ex-wife and our kids.”

“That’s fine, Mia. Please feel better,” Mr. Grossberg said frenziedly, desperately trying to put an end to this conversation.

“Thank you, sir,” I said courteously, before walking away. As annoyed as I was with Mr. Hammond, his inappropriate responses did make it easier for me to leave.

“Do you need a drive home?” Mr. Grossberg called out.

“I’m okay,” I said back quickly. I appreciated the offer, but I don’t think I could handle making small talk with my boss for 15 minutes right now. “I think the walk will help.”

Mr. Grossberg wished me well again and I was off, locking Diego’s office, and heading back downstairs to gather my stuff. Reina was in a meeting and everyone else in the commons was either out or preoccupied with their work. Luckily, I was able to slip out without anyone else noticing or commenting.

I walked towards Diego’s apartment, completely lost in my own thoughts. I almost got hit by a car when I started to breeze through a stoplight, not noticing that the light was red. The car honked at me as I did, and I noticed it in time, running back onto the sidewalk and off the road.

When I made it inside his apartment, I realized that I was so out of it that I forgot to buy the pregnancy test. I felt stupid, but I couldn’t bear to go outside again.

Instead, I laid down on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, and watched childhood movies that I hadn’t seen since I was really little. I didn’t move at all until I got a call from Diego at quarter to four.

“Hello,” I answered.

“Hey, I got out early. Where are you?” he asked. “I was going to drive you home.”

After lying down for hours, I finally sat up. “I’m so sorry,” I said remorsefully. “I’m at your place. I took a sick day today.”

“Oh.” He paused. “Did you find out yet?” he asked.

I sighed. “No, I’m an idiot. I just walked home, not thinking.”

He laughed. “No worries. I’ll get one on my way home. I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Okay,” I replied. I hung up.

When Diego arrived almost a half hour later, I had resumed my previous position on the couch.

“How you doing?” he asked sympathetically. He took two boxes out of a plastic grocery bag and set them down in front of me on the coffee table. I didn’t say anything, so he sat on one of the arms of the sofa and stroked my hair. “I got two. I wasn’t sure which one to buy.”

“Thanks,” I said flatly. “How was the trial?” I asked.

“Alright,” he said. "Will probably take all three days. I was woefully unprepared today, but the baby prosecutor they had was even worse. The judge adjourned early so he could get himself together.” I nodded. He inhaled. “What do you say? Want to get this out of the way?” he said exuberantly, like some kind of motivational speaker.

I sat up again. “I don’t know. This could change everything.”

“Or it could be nothing,” he said practically.

“What if it isn’t though?” I asked hesitantly.

“Then, we’ll figure it out.”

“I don’t want to figure it out,” I said defiantly. “I’m not ready to give up my career, to get fat, and to be somebody’s mom.”

He smiled reassuringly. “You’re not going to get fat. You would be pregnant.”

“I could be both,” I argued.

“I mean your boobs will get bigger. I didn’t even think that was possible.” I stared daggers at him. “Sorry. Just trying to look on the bright side.” He continued, more earnestly. “Look, I’m not worried about it. Right now, if you get even a little bit stressed, you don’t eat anything.” He shrugged. “If you do though, you do. It’s fine”

“You say that now, but you might feel differently if it actually happens.”

“I say that because I think you’re beautiful and I know I’ll never not think that.”

I paused. I wanted to scoff and push back on that statement, but it meant a lot to hear that. “What about work?” I asked.

“Yeah, I’ll admit, that might be a bit tougher to figure out. Sorry to say, you’d probably have to take at least some time off,” he said frankly. “If we pushed your ‘five-year plan’ up a few years, and started our own office, that would be a lot more flexible though.”

“I’d love that,” I agreed. “But we can’t afford that.”

“Not right now, but eventually. If we have to save a bit, eat less take-out, only one apartment.” He paused. “Maybe I'll have to get a place a lot cheaper than this one. We could get the money together quickly.” He slid off the couch arm and sat right next to me. “Just think: Armando & Fey Law Offices,” he said, gesturing the title in the air with his arm.

“Why not Fey & Armando Law Offices?” I asked.

He smiled. “Well, I was just going alphabetically. If we had a baby and got married eventually, maybe we’d only need one last name on the sign anyway.”

“I agree. Just Fey Law Offices, then,” I said cheekily.

He laughed. “Okay Armando & Fey Law Offices, it is then.”

I smiled warmly at him. “I still don’t know how you’re being so calm about this.”

“Do I look calm?” he asked rhetorically. “Because I’m scared sh*tless.” I laughed. “In all seriousness, it’s a little soon, but...” He paused. “I always wanted a normal life and a normal family. I thought that would happen years down the road but, if it happens now, we’ll handle it.” He looked embarrassed for once. “Maybe that’s oversharing.”

“No, it’s okay,” I replied supportively. “I’ve always felt the same. I just thought I’d have more time.” I looked at the boxes on the table and picked them up. Time to be brave. “We’ll have our answer soon,” I said confidently. He nodded back at me before I walked to the bathroom.

When I came out, he was over by the window, watering his plants. “You have the results yet, kitten?” he asked.

I looked at both tests. “Still loading,” I said.

“All this kid talk made me realize that I’ve been neglecting my plants. Poor Charley was on the brink of death.”

I giggled. “You name your plants?” I asked teasingly.

“Not all of them. Just my favorite one.”

I laughed again. “You’re such a dork.” I looked down at the tests once more. “They’re both negative,” I said abruptly, before setting them down on the coffee table.

He set down the container he was using to water his plants and turned to look at me. “That’s great news, right? All that worrying for nothing.” He walked over to me and gave me a big hug.

I exhaled and gripped his back tightly. “It’s bittersweet,” I said. “It’s really, really not the right time, but it was nice to make plans about something other than channeling and DL-6 for once. That’s been my whole life up until now.”

“Someday,” he said softly, still hugging me.

Years ago, when I first learned about the magatama from my mom, she told me that there were some limitations to it. When we catch someone in a lie, simple lies could be easily revealed through yes or no questioning. More complex lies needed to be revealed by pointing out contradictions or through probing questions. Then, there were the hardest lies. The ones so deep that they were buried in a person’s subconscious. No amount of inquiry could reveal the lie if the person didn’t even know what the truth was themselves.

I always understood the concept, but I never fully understood the feeling until today. Something deep inside me, something painful, had been unlocked and set free, and I could start to see things differently, positively, in a way I couldn’t before.

“Diego?” I said, my voice faltering.

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

He started laughing and he pulled his head away from the hug to look at me. “It’s about damn time,” he said through laughter. I grinned back. We stared at each other for a moment, and I watched his smile fade to sincerity. “I love you too, Mia. And I always will.”

Chapter 10: Chapter 9 - Diego

Chapter Text

Date: Wednesday, August 14th, 2013

Time: 9:36 am

Location: Pharmacology Lab, Ivy University, Los Tokyo

I meant what I said to her. Every word. I had just gotten used to a life of wonderful things: nice clothes, good food, a luxury apartment, and a stupidly impractical car that I had wanted since I was a little kid. But I would have given it all up if we had to. If it was really needed to make things work and for her to live her dream of having a firm someday.

I’d like to pretend it was all noble intentions, but I know that’s not completely true. Don’t get me wrong. I wanted that life; I did. The father and mother, three kids, two-story house, and white picket fence life. Most people called it mundane and basic, but it was new and exciting to me. I had never had that before, and I wanted to experience what I had missed out on as a kid.

However, a big part of me wanted that because it meant she would always be in my life. Even if she broke up with me, or we got married and she later divorced me, we would always have this person, this child, tying us together.

Even when we were still in the thick of the situation, unsure of what would happen next, I knew how selfish that thought process was. Later, once we were out of it, I also realized how stupid it was to even think that way. If she became unhappy and left me, it would only be more painful to have to be in her life and watch her start anew with someone else. No, it needed to be pure. It needed to be real. It needed to be right.

Luckily, I didn’t have to worry about that anymore: wondering if she felt the same. She finally said unprompted what she had parroted back to me months earlier but had never meant. She meant it that time though. I could sense it.

I still don’t know exactly what made her feel differently about us. She told me it was just a sudden realization, like a switch was flipped, but she didn’t provide any specific rationale.

The only argument I could conjure up was that she finally felt secure that I wouldn’t abandon her. If this was the reason though, it was kind of offensive when you think about it. I grew up with a single mother. Did she really think I would pull the same crap my father did?

I didn’t have this conversation with her and tried not to overanalyze it. I’ll take my wins when I can get them, and this was definitely a win. After she said it that first time, she said it all the time now, maybe even more than I did.

Our relationship was always punctuated by joking, laughing, and banter, but there was even more lightness and ease after this development. Like I didn’t have to try and read her mind and determine if she was thinking or feeling something that she refused to say or was actively trying to hide.

It was miraculous; we were just about six months in now and somehow that honeymoon feeling was even stronger than it had been those first few weeks. It made it excruciating to do anything if it wasn’t together though.

I now groaned every time I got up in the morning to go to work. I was never bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, leaping out of bed, and eager to get to work before, but now I hit the snooze as much as I could get away with without getting in trouble at work. Whatever allowed us to lay in bed together for a few minutes longer was worth it.

With this change in dynamic though, she wasn’t being the responsible voice of reason either. She usually got up earlier than I did so she could do her makeup and hair, but she was hitting snooze too, so we could spoon for five more minutes, and then would hit snooze a few more times so we could keep doing it.

Then, we’d try to rush out the door. Me putting my pants on two legs at a time and her rapidly brushing her hair and putting on about half the amount of makeup she normally did. Both of us would grab an energy bar on the way out and make coffee at work rather than taking the extra time to fuss with all the various coffee apparatuses I have in my apartment. It was a frantic way to start the day, but we couldn’t stop doing it if it meant another 15 minutes together.

Unfortunately, we barely get to see each other outside of work nowadays. The summer, and August in particular, was always the busiest time of year at the firm. While time-off requests were not usually well received, most requests did come for the summer, and some did get approved, so we were always working with a smaller crew. At least there was no elbowing for a spot in the boardroom on morning meeting day.

The bulk of approvals were for the most senior staff, the partners and the veteran attorneys, so I was completely blown away when we both got four days off in the last week of August. Grossberg always did have a soft spot for Mia for some reason, although didn’t we all? Then too, he wouldn’t give us the full five days we requested. I doubted that he really needed us in for that Monday though. I think he just needed to haggle us down a bit to not look like a total pushover.

They say that crime spikes in the summer too, though I’m not sure why. Something about the weather making everyone more irritable? More people or tourists around maybe? Between the lower staff complement and the higher demand, I usually served on two criminal trials a week from the end of July to the beginning of September every year.

This was a four-to-seven-day commitment, depending on the case, usually comprising sixteen-hour days. Sometimes I would prep all day before a three-day trial started then prep the evening of the last day of that trial for the next three-day trial. It was exhausting.

The past three summers, I hadn’t minded it all that much. At least I would be in air conditioning most of the summer and it was one of my only opportunities to earn overtime. Despite the 9 am-5 pm hours posted on our office doors, the expectation was always for more. You technically didn’t have to investigate cases in the evening or put in those extra hours of paperwork, but it would reflect poorly on your win rate and billable hours if you didn’t.

Since this time expectation was built into our salaries, the only situation where I was eligible for overtime was the measly on-call pay on the weekend whenever it was my turn in the rotation, more if I had to serve on a trial that weekend, and then if we had a really demanding and wealthy client who necessitated round-the-clock attention. Or, as I said, in the summer when Grossberg and the partners reluctantly agreed that the pace that they required was beyond the scope of even our, admittedly, very high salaries.

This summer though, no amount of money was worth it. Time used to seem limitless. I had too much of it, I was bathing in it. I really didn’t know how to fill my days when I wasn’t working. Now it was a commodity, too precious to waste.

This was Mia’s first summer at the firm and once she quickly got accustomed to the summertime pace, she decided she would dip her toe even deeper back into criminal law. She started helping with my investigations by either accompanying me to crime scenes or exploring one place of interest while I was at another.

Unlike her time reviewing criminal trial paperwork for me during her regular workday, this kind of work was completely unpaid. She was still on her junior salary and I on my senior salary, and there was no chance for her to earn overtime without serving on her own cases.

She told me that she didn’t mind, but I didn’t like her working for free, as happy as I was to see her. She said that I was being silly; the more she helped me, the sooner we could go home.

I asked her why she didn’t just take on some of the cases herself. That way she could make her return to criminal law official and get paid for it. She said that she’d think about it, but she didn’t know if starting up again at the craziest time of year was the best idea.

She joked that she wasn’t too worried about money anyway since she’s been basically living at my place rent-free for nearly six months. A few months ago, once she realized that this arrangement was going to remain typical for us, she had offered to help pay some of my rent, but I had refused. It didn’t feel right when I knew she was still paying $1,250 a month for that hellhole of an apartment she has in Skid Row.

A couple of weeks ago, she announced to me that her lease would be ending at the end of September. She told me that she wouldn’t be renewing it, if that was okay with me.

I laughed and said, “of course.” I had suggested that arrangement months ago and, even if I didn’t want her to move in with me, I would have begged her to at least get a slightly nicer place.

She offered to pay half my rent once she moved in officially and I told her that we’d come to some sort of arrangement. She’s likely at least a year or more out from senior associate status with her lack of trial experience and an even split seemed unfair. Maybe I’m just too old-fashioned, but I really liked to dote on her too. For her to know that she’d never have to worry.

We had become so preoccupied with love declarations, case preparation, and rental negotiations that Dahlia’s case had once again become an afterthought. I had meant to stop by the Pharmacology Lab weeks ago to talk to Doug Swallow, but it was easy to slip the mind with everything else going on.

I couldn’t really leave it any longer though. We’d be away in a couple weeks and, once the university year started again, we’d have no reliable way to find Doug. While he was likely working full-time this summer, we couldn’t be sure what his schedule would be like while he had classes.

I had my second day of a trial today, an aggravated assault case, and since we had nearly finished up yesterday, and the judge had predicted that we wouldn’t need a full second day, I didn’t have to be at the courthouse until 11 am. This was the perfect day to go chat with Dougie for a bit and see if he knew what his girlfriend had been up to.

I walked into the building and greeted the receptionist before asking her if I could talk to Doug.

“Is he expecting you?” she asked politely.

“No, not at all. I was just in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by to chat with him.” I spoke confidently and authoritatively. I’ve noticed that nobody asks too many questions if you just seem like you know what you’re talking about and act like you belong.

She smiled. “No problem. I’ll go see if he’s available. Can I ask what it’s regarding?”

That’s an excellent question and one I should have been prepared to answer before I got here. I thought of an excuse quickly. “I’m a potential client. Looking to get some expertise from one of the technicians here on a new pharmaceutical.”

She nodded. “One moment.”

She walked a short distance down the hallway and through a glass door into one of the lab’s spaces. From where I was standing, I could see her approach a man in a lab coat with his back turned. She tapped him on the shoulder, and he turned around. As she spoke, Doug looked confused but nodded before returning to his work.

The receptionist walked back into the lobby. “He’s just finishing something but should only be a few minutes. I’ll show you to a meeting room where you can wait.”

She led me down another hallway to a small sterile-looking white room furnished only with a round table, four padded office chairs, and a bookcase filled with reference books.

“Thanks,” I said. She nodded and left the room, shutting the door as she exited. I sat in one of the chairs, the one facing the door, and waited.

About five minutes later, I heard the doorknob engaging, and Doug walked in. “Oi,” he said, smiling. He offered his hand out and I stood up to shake it.

“‘Ello,” I said in my best English accent, before shaking his hand. We both sat down, him choosing the chair directly across from me, in front of the closed door.

“You mocking me, mate?” he asked, in a very uneven English accent.

“Sorry, buddy,” I said, laughing chummily. “Just a reflex. You from England?” I asked.

“My parents are from Birmingham. Moved here when I was five.”

“Ah,” I replied, elongating the word. That makes sense. He sounded a bit phony. Obviously, he lost that accent years ago, but he just can’t let it go.

“So, you’re working on a new medication?” he asked, pulling out a small notebook and pen from his lab coat pocket.

“Right. About that.” I paused. How do you tell a guy that his girlfriend is a murderer? “I’m not actually a pharmaceutical rep. I’m a lawyer.”

“Okay?” he asked skeptically.

“You’ve been dating Dahlia Hawthorne, right?” He just nodded. “Since around March?”

“I don’t know if it’s any of your business,” he said sternly.

I smirked. I couldn’t exactly blame the guy for getting annoyed. I never even gave him my name. I switched tactics. “Did she ever mention a murder trial to you? From back in February?”

“A murder trial?”

“I’m going to take that as a no.” I opened my briefcase and pulled out a few articles that I had printed off about both of Terry Fawles’ cases. I slid them across the table. “Me and, er, a colleague of mine were assigned a case back in February. Murder of a police officer. Dahlia’s stepsister Valerie.”

He flipped through the pages, scanning quickly. “You’re not suggesting...”

“That’s exactly what I’m suggesting. Dahlia killed her stepsister.”

He shook his head in disbelief. “That can’t be true,” he said, laughing incredulously. “If she did do that, how is she out walking around? Going to school with me?”

“The charges were dropped due to lack of evidence.”

“So that means she’s innocent?” he replied with relief.

“No, it means the charges were dropped,” I corrected. “The one witness who could have implicated her, he killed himself on the stand during that case. Using poison that she gave him.”

He was quiet for a moment, just shaking his head and looking down at the table. “I don’t believe you,” he finally said.

I scoffed. “Look, you can believe what you want, but it doesn’t change the truth. I suggest you read over those articles and see if it changes your perspective.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“To warn you. That meathead that she manipulated? He was her ex-boyfriend.”

He scoffed this time. “It won’t be like that with us. She loves me.”

“I hate to break it to you, but she’s just using you. You have access to potentially lethal drugs and chemicals that she needs.”

“You’re wrong,” he cried out. “She didn’t even know I was in pharmacology when we met.”

Maybe I was being too harsh. I just thought that Doug needed some tough love to see reason. “How did you two meet?” I asked calmly.

He swallowed. “Outside on the campus. She dropped her umbrella, and I picked it up for her.”

“Outside the Pharmacology Lab?”

“Yes,” he said hesitantly, looking down at the table.

“That’s quite the coincidence,” I said drily. He didn’t say anything in response.

I got up and pulled a business card from my briefcase before latching it shut. “Here’s my card,” I said, placing it on the table right in front of his eyeline. “I’m Diego, by the way. If you notice anything else suspicious, let me know. For now, I’d suggest you do some inventory. You might find that something is missing.”

I started to walk out of the room when he got up. “Wait,” he called out. I turned around. “I’ll do that inventory. Then, I’ll call you when I’m done to tell you that you’re wrong,” he said determinedly.

I smiled. “For your sake, I hope I’m wrong,” I replied. I opened the door and walked out.

Date: Monday, August 26th, 2013

Time: 9:15 am

Location: Diego’s Office, Grossberg Law Offices, Los Tokyo

After talking with Doug, I relayed the details to Mia later that evening on our drive home. We both hoped that Doug would heed the warning and break up with Dahlia, but we were resigned to the fact that it was out of our hands now. He had all the relevant information, and it was up to him to make the right decision.

After that conversation, we really thought that the Dahlia Hawthorne saga was over. That we had finally reached a conclusion to that horrible case from six months ago. I never heard back from Doug, and I probably wasn’t going to. There wasn’t much else we could do but wait. Wait and see if she will act again like we thought she would.

If she did, we had tracked her movements and would be ready to present our information to the police and the prosecutor’s office. For now, we just didn’t have enough to bring forward a case. All that work and we were basically back where we started. A little more knowledgeable, but just as powerless to do something about it as back in February.

Then, a week ago, I got a text message late at night from an unknown number:

(11:47 pm) 555-981-3321: I hope you’re happy Mr. Lawyer!!! Because of you, Dougie is asking questions.

I was completely galled at first. I didn’t know how she got my number and then it clicked: my business card. Either Doug was careless and left it lying around for her to find or he brought it up during their fight and Dahlia had scoped it out later.

Whatever the reason, she had it now, and things had suddenly become more real. Investigating her was fine when she didn’t know about it, but now we were liable to face her wrath.

I showed the message to Mia, and she was just as surprised. We wanted to reply right away, but we discussed it until the wee hours of the morning instead, trying to focus group our response. It was so tempting to just taunt her, but we knew we had to be smart about it. We had to convey that we were on to Dahlia without angering her.

That morning, I replied with the response we had decided on:

(7:55 am) Diego Armando: Sorry to hear that. I guess you’ll have to find a new supplier.

She responded almost right away:

(8:05 am) Dahlia Hawthorne: I don’t know what you’re talking about. My Dougie still loves me. I just want you to mind your own business.

I showed the text to Mia, and she rolled her eyes. We didn’t overthink the next message like we had the previous one:

(8:18 am) Diego Armando: Keep the poison in the lab and we’ll stay out of your hair.

I didn’t hear back from Dahlia at all the rest of the week. It was business as usual for us, with two more criminal cases during the week, and a pretty normal weekend.

Sunday night, on the drive home from Mamá’s, we were both cursing Grossberg’s name for forcing us to come in on Monday instead of giving us the whole week off, as we requested. We had decided that we would still leave on Monday evening for the hotel instead of waiting until Tuesday morning.

Then, I received another text message from Dahlia this morning:

(9:15 am) Dahlia Hawthorne: I think we need to talk. You’re operating under a misunderstanding, and I’d be happy to correct you. Meet me at the courthouse at 10:30 am tomorrow and I’ll explain everything. Bring my dear cousin too. You two are such a cute couple <3

After reading that message, I dropped my phone on my desk like a hot coal. I tried to think back to my interactions with Doug, but I had never mentioned Mia by name or that we were dating.

Maybe Dahlia had figured it out from the court case in February, but we weren’t dating then. While I had shamelessly flirted with Mia a good chunk of that case, Mia hadn’t flirted back, and I don’t think anyone else could have heard us from the defense stand anyway.

I scrolled back and re-read the five messages between me and Dahlia and found the offending phrase: “We’ll stay out of your hair.” After she read that, it wouldn’t have been hard to connect Mia to me. She was the lead defense attorney on the Fawles case after all. Who else would have taken such a keen interest in Dahlia? How did Dahlia know that we were dating though?

The only other time she could have seen Mia, and I together was at the library a month ago, but I don’t think she had. We were in a different section than her and Doug, and Mia was in the bathroom when they were leaving. I don’t recall seeing anyone outside when we left the library that evening either.

Even if she had seen Mia, she and I weren’t as lovey-dovey that day as we normally were. It wouldn’t have been a stretch to assume we were together, but Dahlia couldn’t have confirmed it from our interactions alone.

That only left two possibilities. One, she was bluffing and said that so I would confirm one way or the other. Two, she had watched me and Mia at some point in the past two weeks. If the former, I’ll be sure to respond with only “I” pronouns from now on. If the latter, well that made me shudder.

We know Dahlia saw my card, so she could have easily found where we worked. Would she really wait around the parking lot for us to arrive or leave? Stupid question. If she would murder and coax someone into suicide, she wouldn’t be above stalking.

My initial reaction was to go talk to Mia, but I held back. Why did Dahlia want to see both of us? I felt like I was playing chess with myself. Would Dahlia suggest bringing Mia knowing I would refuse to bring her or that I wouldn’t? There was no way to know.

What I do know is who Dahlia would be angriest with. Dahlia is the daughter of the famed Aunt Morgan, a woman I’ve still never met but whose heinous reputation precedes her. Obviously, they both had mean streaks and they both had the same reason to hate Mia: Misty taking over as the Master. If Morgan had continued the bloodline as normal, Dahlia’s parents wouldn’t have split up and she would still be living at the Village, training to be the next Master after Morgan.

Then, there was the trial. Would Dahlia be most threatened by the lead defense attorney on the case, the one who had Dahlia on the ropes before Terry died, or the attorney who was dicking around most of the trial, more preoccupied with getting Mia to like me than winning that case? I had helped Mia when she needed it, but I generally wasn’t the one conducting cross-examinations or making objections.

This overthinking was getting exhausting, but I didn’t feel I had a choice. I wanted to just tell Dahlia that I’m busy and refuse to meet with her, but Mia and I were now vulnerable. If Dahlia knew where we worked, she could ambush us at any time now. She could follow us home.

Meeting with her at a courthouse, a venue filled with lawyers, judges, and cops would be safer than a surprise attack. I had no option other than to meet with her there and make sure that she knew how stupid she would be to do something. We were watching her and, if she lashed out at us, she would get caught.

I finally texted Dahlia back:

(10:33 am) Diego Armando: I’ll see you at the courthouse cafeteria tomorrow.

When Mia and I left work this evening, I had to break the news to her that I had to be back in the city tomorrow morning and couldn’t stay the night in the hotel. She asked why, and I had to lie to her.

I said that Grossberg needed me to meet with a potential client tomorrow about a class-action lawsuit. This client was shopping around firms and landing him could mean a huge payout if we won. This meeting was actually happening, and Grossberg had wanted me to do it, but he got one of the partners to take the meeting instead because he knew I’d be away.

I felt really crummy about lying to her. We had built this relationship on trust but, if I told her the truth, I knew she wouldn’t let me go on my own. She would insist on coming with me. I couldn’t risk her getting hurt. If Dahlia tried to stab one of us, like she had Valerie, I had the best chance of taking her on. If she could only pick one of us to target, it would be Mia.

Mia was disappointed with the news and said that she would give Grossberg an earful when she got back. I apologized profusely and told her that we would still meet Maya tonight and I would drive back into the city after. We had plans to go to this massive arcade complex that Maya had suggested.

Mia told me that she would come back with me in solidarity and take the train back tomorrow morning. I tried to convince her to stay at the hotel; I didn’t want this stupid meeting with Dahlia to hijack her plans. She insisted though, so I didn’t argue with her. It was too late to get a refund on the hotel for tonight, so we still packed up our stuff and checked in even though we wouldn’t be sleeping there.

I pretended to have a good time all night even though my mind was elsewhere, playing every game that Mia and Maya suggested and drinking soda and eating pizza like I didn’t have a care in the world. On the drive home, I had lots of time to ruminate on the situation though, as Mia had fallen asleep a half hour into the drive.

I just wanted to stay in this moment. The two of us in love, on vacation, her sleeping soundly next to me, and me enjoying the scenic ride home. However, I kept getting this ominous feeling that I unsuccessfully tried to force away.

All night, it was more of the same. Mia was in a deep sleep next to me, but I couldn’t sleep at all. At around 8 am, she woke up and saw me seated at the edge of the bed, just staring blankly ahead of me.

“Morning,” she said brightly. “Did you sleep well?”

I sighed. “Honestly, I didn’t sleep at all.”

She got up and sat down next to me. “You okay? You’ve been really quiet since last night.”

I smiled halfheartedly. “I’m fine.” I paused. “Just this big client. So important that I do well.”

“They must be really important. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this nervous.” She started massaging my shoulders. They were so tensed up that I don’t think even a professional masseuse could unknot them, but it still felt nice.

“Yeah, probably not. Just can’t wait until it’s over and I’m back with you and Maya this evening.”

She stopped rubbing my shoulders and gave me a kiss on the cheek. “Did you need any help with the meeting?” she asked. “Maybe you’d be less nervous if you had backup.”

I shook my head. “No, I’ll be okay. You two have plans. I can suck it up.”

She smiled warmly. “If you’re sure. Make sure you take a nap before you drive over though, okay? You must be exhausted.”

“Will do,” I agreed. “The lack of sleep is starting to hit me.” I slapped myself in the face to try and jolt myself awake. “I think I’ll go have a shower to try and wake up.”

“Did you want company?” she asked innocently.

I chuckled. “You know I’ll never say no to that.”

Date: Tuesday, August 27th, 2013

Time: 10:10 am

Location: Cafeteria, District Courthouse, Los Tokyo

After the shower, we both got ready, me for the courthouse and her for the hotel. She had looked out the window, saw the torrential downpour outside, and had determined that it was unlikely that she and Maya would make the beach today like they planned.

She said they would probably hang out in our hotel room, watch movies, and grab a meal at the hotel restaurant. I would have offered her my car and taken the train instead, so they could drive around and do something else, but Mia still didn’t have her license yet.

When I was almost all dressed, and just about to tie my tie, Mia took over for me. She said that she had never tied one before and was curious how to do it. I obliged, walking her through it step by step.

As I watched her, looking so cute as she concentrated on tying it properly, I had the inexplicable urge to cry. I held it inside though. There was still time to tell her, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

I dropped her off at the train station before heading to the courthouse. She wished me luck, made me promise I would nap for at least a couple of hours before attempting the drive, and told me she loved me. I told her I loved her too and said I would see her soon. We kissed goodbye.

I arrived at the courthouse cafeteria 20 minutes early and sat around, sipping a coffee while I waited for Dahlia to show up. It was very dead in there as everyone typically broke for lunch at noon or 1 pm. Dahlia arrived right at 10:30 am, and I inhaled deeply as I saw her approach me.

“Hi, Mr. Lawyer,” she said in a bubbly tone of voice.

I already felt nauseous at the thought of dealing with this fakey nice girl act for the next hour. “Diego,” I corrected.

“Whatever,” she said dismissively, sitting down across from me. I rolled my eyes and stood up. “Where are you going?” she asked with irritation.

I rubbed my eyes in exhaustion and exasperation. “If I’m going to have to deal with you, I’ll need another coffee to get through it.”

“Can you get me one too?” she asked sweetly.

I scoffed. “Seriously?”

“You’re already up.”

I rolled my eyes again. ‘Yeah, okay,” I said. I didn’t want to fight her over a $2.00 cup of coffee. I returned with two black coffees and placed one in front of each of us before sitting down.

She stared at her cup. “What’s in this?” she asked.

“It’s black.”

She sneered. “Gross. You could have put sugar in it at least.”

I laughed sarcastically. “I’m sitting down. You can go grab sugar to your heart’s content.”

“Fine,” she said shortly. I don’t think she was used to a guy not bending over backward to accommodate her. She walked over to the coffee station and then returned shortly after.

“So, what did you need to clear the air about?” I asked drily, sipping my coffee.

She resumed her sweet demeanor. “Everything,” she said. “I love Dougie so much. It really hurts that you think I’m only using him.”

“I’m sorry to assume the worst. What do you love about Dougie?” I asked. “His fake British accent, his average looks, or his complete and utter naivety?”

“You’re so cruel,” she said woundedly. “Dougie is the sweetest boy I’ve ever met.”

“You’re right,” I agreed. “I don’t have a problem with Doug. What I have a problem with is him dating you.”

“Are you jealous?” she asked.

I laughed broadly. I needed her to feel the absurdity of that statement. “Good lord, no. No, no, no. I have concerns about the fate of our British pal when he finds out you’ve been stealing chemicals from his lab. What would happen to him if you got caught?”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“Because you haven’t been stealing or because you don’t think you’ll get caught?”

“What kind of person do you think I am? I would never steal,” she replied defensively.

“Right. Murder, manipulation, and stalking are okay, but stealing is a bridge too far,” I said sarcastically.

“What do you mean by stalking?”

I laughed. “So, you agree that murder and manipulation to suicide have happened?”

“No!” she exclaimed. She pursed her lips. “I’ve never done those things. I just know what you’re referring to at least.”

“How did you know about me and Mia?” I asked.

She smiled. “I was walking around downtown one day and just so happened to pass by your parking lot. The PDA between you two is scandalous. I only had to glance over for a second to get the picture.”

If my eyes could roll back into my head, they would. At most, we would have held hands, joked around, or kissed quickly in the car. We weren’t heavy on PDA in the work parking lot. “What are the chances?” I asked rhetorically.

“It really is a small world,” she said cheerily.

“I see you have that bottle necklace on today. Prepared to silence me, if needed?”

She grasped the bottle and unscrewed it from its lid. She tipped it upside down. Nothing came out. “It’s completely empty.”

“Hm,” I said skeptically. “How do I know this isn’t just a decoy? Maybe you have another bottle of poison somewhere.”

She stood up. “I’m wearing a dress,” she said indignantly. “I have nowhere to hide it.” She opened her parasol and closed it, showing that there was no bottle attached, and emptied out the contents of her purse onto the table. “See?”

It seemed crazy to me that she wouldn’t have anything up her sleeve. I looked down at my coffee mug and then at hers. Mine was half-finished, but she hadn’t touched hers at all. “I noticed you haven’t had any of your coffee yet.”

“It’s still too hot,” she said.

“No. No, it’s not,” I replied firmly. “My coffee is getting cold now so yours would be about the same temperature. Mind taking a sip?”

“No,” she replied hesitantly. “Now it’s too cold to drink. I don’t want it anymore.”

“Right, of course.” Well, there was my answer. I was going to ask her about the type of chemicals at Doug’s lab when she opened her parasol, tilting it sideways to block the view to her left. I glanced over and saw a guy looking around the room in confusion, walking towards us.

He looked at Dahlia’s parasol with perplexity and then turned his attention to me. “Excuse me, sir,” he said deferentially. “Do you know how to get to the courthouse library?”

I looked him up and down. He was in his early 20s, wearing jeans and a yellow raincoat, and had his hair gelled so much that it was spiky. He didn’t look like he belonged at the courthouse. “Uh, law student?” I asked.

“Not yet, but hopefully soon!” he said enthusiastically. “I was hoping to bump into an old friend of mine here, but I haven’t seen him. Figured, while I was here, I might as well get an early start on my studies.”

I just nodded. He asked a simple question, so I don’t know why I pressed him for his life story. I tried to get my bearings; it had been a while since I needed to use the court library. I got up to lead him in the right direction before quickly heading back to the table. I had left my coffee unattended in front of Dahlia.

I looked at her cup and then mine. They looked the same as when I left, hers was full and mine was half. I grabbed my mug and took it with me as I gave the poor sap directions. He thanked me and walked away, and I returned to the table.

“Where were we?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” she replied distantly.

“Right, the chemicals. So is there one in particular that caught your attention?”

She paused. “Well Dougie did tell me about one... it was so upsetting. Completely taste-free and lethal at only two teaspoons.”

“Upsetting because you can’t get your hands on more of it?” I asked.

She smirked. “Upsetting because you just drank some of it.”

I looked at my empty mug and her full one. “But the poison was in your cup,” I said fervently.

“You looked away. I topped your cup up with my coffee and then swapped them.”

I was at a loss for words. I only walked away for five seconds. How did she have enough time? How did she even have the wherewithal to do that? I stood up to leave.

“Where are you going?” she asked tauntingly. “Even with a teaspoon or so, you won’t be able to drive home.”

I ignored her and started walking to the bathroom to throw up. When I made it inside the men’s washroom, I clicked off the recording device I was using and slipped it back into my jacket pocket. My insurance policy. I don’t know if Dahlia knows this, but it’s legal for me to record her in all six states of Japanifornia without asking.

I forced myself to vomit, but I don’t know if that will be enough to save me. I needed to make it to the car to hide the recording device.

I started walking towards the courthouse steps. My car was parked on the street a block away. It was so close that I would make it. I kept repeating that to myself so I would believe it. I wanted to think that she was just lying, but I could feel myself getting weaker and my vision getting blurrier. Every step that I took required an unbelievable amount of effort.

“Mr. Lawyer, are you okay?” Dahlia cried out with concern, following me to the door. There were a couple other people around, so she resumed her sweet-as-pie act. I ignored her again and kept walking.

I made it outside. Only two flights of stairs and a street block to go. I walked down the stairs carefully, but I wasn’t careful enough. My vision was even blurrier now, the rain was still pouring, and I misjudged my steps, slipping and falling down.

It wasn’t that bad of a fall. The regular me could have gotten up. Then again, the regular me wouldn’t have fallen in the first place. I tried to stand up, but I didn’t have the energy.

Dahlia had caught up with me outside. Her normally decorative parasol was open and being used as a rain umbrella. She knelt beside me and held the umbrella over me. She started digging through my pockets.

I couldn’t believe she’d be so bold but, with the pouring rain, there was no one else around. The closest person was down on the sidewalk and not paying attention to us. I tried to swat her away multiple times, but she easily pushed my hand away.

She found the receipt for the coffees that I had crumpled into my pocket earlier. She threw it into a puddle. She reached into my wallet, grabbed several bills, and stuffed them into her purse. Then, she found the recording device. She didn’t know how to work it at first, accidentally playing the recording and then frenziedly turning it off multiple times. She was cunning though and figured it out eventually, deleting the recording and returning the device to my pocket.

“Somebody, please help!” she wailed. She ran away from me and back up the courthouse steps. “Can you help this man?” she asked desperately. It sounded like she was crying. “Please watch him. I don’t have a phone. I’m going to go inside to get help.”

“Sure thing, miss,” the man she was speaking to replied confidently. I could hear him running down the steps and then he knelt beside me. I tried to wave my arm to greet him, but it barely moved. “sh*t,” he said panickily. He pulled out his cell phone and called 911.

While he talked to the operator, I tuned him out completely. It was like I was in a fishbowl, and I could only hear the sounds but not the words.

I thought of Mamá and how much this would hurt her. I thought of Mia and Maya, sitting on the bed in the hotel room, watching a movie together and laughing. Mia is going to wonder where I am, but I have no way to tell her.

“The ambulance is on its way! You’re going to be okay!” the man said loudly, reassuring me.

“No. I don’t think I will be,” I said softly. I don’t remember anything else.

Chapter 11: Chapter 10 - Mia

Chapter Text

Date: Saturday, August 31st, 2013

Time: 2:30 pm

Location: Diego’s Hospital Room, ICU, Los Tokyo General Medical Center

That day, I had started to worry around 1:00 pm. He had said that the meeting should only take about an hour, but we’ve all been there: crazy talkative clients who turn that one hour into two.

When over two hours had passed, I sent him a text message, asking him how it went. He said he would text me about it, but I thought maybe he was so tired, he had just fallen asleep at the apartment. Without caffeine to help him, he was more liable than me to walk in and pass out in an instant after those really long days, despite how much he insinuates the opposite.

It wasn’t like him not to text at all though. Unless he fell asleep in his car, he would’ve normally messaged right after the meeting.

Unfortunately, at almost 2:00 pm, I got the phone call that validated all my fears, just not in the way I had expected. It was Mr. Grossberg and he sounded frantic. I thought maybe Diego had left directly from the meeting to surprise us early but got into a car accident. Mr. Grossberg told me that Diego was rushed to the hospital. His mom had been notified and was there with him now. She had wanted to call me, but she didn’t know my number.

She was his emergency contact, of course. Despite how much time we spent together these past six months, we hadn’t had to deal with any legal minutia like this yet. It made sense, but it still stung to have my boss find out about it before I did.

I asked Mr. Grossberg what had happened, and he said that the doctors still didn’t know. They suspected that he was poisoned, but they couldn’t confirm with what yet.

My heart sank when I heard this. It suddenly clicked why he was so nervous about that meeting. Why he was so distant the day before. Why he couldn’t sleep.

I got confirmation about what I had suspected from Mr. Grossberg when I asked him about the client meeting. He was sheepish, even though this situation wasn’t his fault. He told me that one of the partners had taken the meeting that I had described. Until he got the call from Maria, he thought Diego was off with me.

I instructed him to call the hospital and ask the staff to call the Ivy University Pharmacology Lab. I told him that they would need to talk to Doug Swallow. I would have done it myself, I wanted desperately to be useful, but I figured they would be able to respond appropriately once they knew what had poisoned him. Time was of the essence and all the catching up I had to do would just put us further behind.

Mr. Grossberg was confused but agreed. He offered me a drive to the hospital, but I told him that I would take the train. There was one scheduled for a half hour from then and I thought I could catch it in time. Even with stops, it would still be quicker than him driving two hours to get me and then driving two hours back. He offered to at least pick me up from the train station and I gratefully accepted.

I told Maya what had happened and apologized for leaving. I knew how much this week meant to both of us. Because she’s the best, she didn’t ask any questions, or make me feel guilty at all. She just gave me a big hug and said that she’d do a get-well chant for him.

I left all our stuff there, his suitcase and mine, and said that she could order whatever pay-per-view movies and room service she wanted until I got back. I swore that I would be back, but I wasn’t sure when or if that promise was even realistic.

By the time I got off the phone, explained the situation to Maya, and grabbed all my necessary belongings, I had just barely made it to the station in time to catch the train. It was almost completely full, typical for the last week of summer before a new school year. While I was somehow able to grab a prized window seat, the aisle seat next to me was occupied by the time the train rolled out of the station.

It had made me anxious to not be alone with everything that was going on and to be seated mere inches away from someone else as I tried not to cry. Luckily, the man next to me wasn’t the chatty type, keeping his headphones on during the whole ride. Still, I had to find a way to keep myself from melting down in a public place.

I settled on anger. Anger at Diego for not telling me about his meeting with Dahlia and allowing this to happen. The sadness, fear, and worry were multitudes stronger than the anger, but the anger was the only thing that kept me from hyperventilating and causing a scene.

When I got off the train, Mr. Grossberg was standing outside with a rain umbrella, waiting for me. It was the rainiest day I could remember in a long time, falling hard the whole day with no breaks.

Mr. Grossberg could normally be quite talkative, in that annoying have-to-fill-the-silence kind of way. He always seemed uncomfortable if anyone took too long to gather their thoughts or take a breath. He managed to stay mostly silent though, only clearing his throat on occasion as he drove me the 40 minutes, in bumper-to-bumper traffic, from the station to the hospital.

I thanked him profusely as he pulled in by the front doors of the hospital and waved as he drove away before rushing inside. I had to talk to so many hospital personnel before I was led to the right place, finally seeing Maria seated in a blue vinyl armchair in the ICU. She got up and hugged me, something she never did. She wasn’t the hugging type, not with me anyway, but this situation had warranted it.

She told me how grateful she was that they got a hold of me. They weren’t sure what antidote to use on Diego without knowing what he had been poisoned with. After calling Doug, they had a better idea of what to do although the treatment plan wasn’t immediately clear. While the Pharmacology Lab primarily worked on human or pet therapeutics, what Diego ingested was a lethal poison intended for a pest control company.

Metha-X is what they called it in the lab, although the company was still working on the brand name. It was a Frankenstein concoction of pure methanol, antifreeze Maria had explained, and combined with other toxic substances.

Methanol was already dirt cheap to produce and lethal in small doses, but by purifying it and combining it with other concentrated substances, the company could save pennies on the dollar. This was considered worthwhile savings with a product being sold on a mass scale across the world.

She told me that Doug was remorseful on the phone when the hospital called him. He had said that the team in the lab was so proud of themselves when they found a way to mask the harsh smell and taste of the methanol, perfect for tricking pests into ingesting it. However, that made it easier for it to go undetected in Diego’s coffee.

Maria told me that methanol poisoning could be dire but treatable. There was an antidote called fomepizole that they usually administered that could be effective so long as treatment was timely. It was the other substances that made his case challenging.

This product was still only being used in a controlled lab setting so there hadn’t been case studies on its effects on humans yet. His medical team had to balance so many priorities too, trying to counteract the various substances he had ingested while also keeping him stable.

In addition to the fomepizole, they had given him activated charcoal through a feeding tube to try and stop the absorption of some of the poison. However, they thought it was likely too late to be effective by the time he arrived, and they had determined his issue. With Diego unconscious and without witnesses, it wasn’t immediately apparent to the medical team what had happened.

They received a list of the various properties in the Metha-X from Doug and provided what they could. Some compounds had antidotes and others didn’t and then there was the risk that a co*cktail of medications and treatments would destabilize his condition. They had to keep him from having seizures; keep his breathing, blood pressure, and heart rate normal; and provide him with oxygen.

That first day in the hospital was agonizing. Maria and I just sat and sobbed as we waited around for news that was doled sporadically throughout the day. She told me how hard it was for her to just sit and not help. She works in the stroke unit of her hospital now, but she had spent a year working in the ER.

I had called Maya to provide an update, and she said that she was doing okay. She had never stayed in a hotel before, so she enjoyed the novelty and having the freedom to explore the seaside town on her own even if she felt sadness for Diego. She was empathetic, but could always keep a smile on, even in bad times, and it made me feel a little better.

I apologized again and told her to keep charging everything to my credit card. I didn’t give her any limitations on her purchasing, but I knew she wouldn’t take advantage during a time like this. Money was the least of my concerns right now anyway.

That Wednesday was the worst of all though. They had managed to keep him alive for over 24 hours and his vitals had mostly normalized. Nevertheless, later that evening, he started to get worse again, and they identified the problem. Sometime during his slip from consciousness to unconsciousness, he had aspirated on his vomit. He had pneumonia and they needed antibiotics and more advanced respiratory therapy to keep him alive.

Later that night, around midnight, the doctor sat down with us in the waiting area and told us to prepare for the worst-case scenario. He said that they would throw everything at Diego to keep him alive, but the lung infection had severely exacerbated his issues.

We hadn’t been allowed into his room before with all the chaos, and what appeared to be a 15-person team in and out of his room at all hours of the day. They allowed us inside that night though to say goodbye, each of us on one side of his bed, holding both of his hands.

We sobbed even harder that night, something we didn’t think was possible. We really thought that was the end. Maria had even called her priest and he had arrived at around 2 am to give last rites.

Diego was always very agnostic about the church. He told me that once he learned about spirit channeling, he believed in something greater but, what exactly? He said he wasn’t sure. Those we channeled in the Village never gave details about what lay beyond, but we had our own theories.

The ritual meant a lot to Maria though. If he was conscious, he probably wouldn’t have protested anyway, just to make her happy.

She and I both couldn’t sleep that night. We were drained, our eyes blurry from all the tears, and our heads aching from the crying. We just couldn’t risk falling asleep and waking up to find that he was gone.

When the sun broke that Thursday morning, and he was still alive, we got a little hopeful. When it set again, and he was still hanging on, we breathed a sigh of relief. He still wasn’t doing well, but he was winning his fight against the infection.

Maria said it was God and prayer that saved him, and I just nodded silently, even though I didn’t share her sentiments. Khura’inism holds a belief in a Holy Mother, not a God, and our relationship with her is different. Despite our disagreements, I agreed that it felt like a miracle had happened that day. The doctors had said that death was imminent, but he made it through.

Unfortunately, even though we won one battle, a small one, we lost the war. While we were hoping and praying that he would continue to improve, the police and prosecutors were trying to determine if they should bring forward an attempted murder case.

When the doctors had determined that Diego was poisoned, and Maria had insisted that it wouldn’t have been intentional, someone from the hospital had called the police to report a crime. Luckily, the courthouse was always teeming with cops, and they were quickly able to lock down the building and question everyone before Dahlia left.

She was on the courthouse steps, about to leave, when they escorted her back into the building. I don’t even know why she was still there. Someone as conniving as her would have naturally fled, right? Was she really that arrogant?

At first, I thought we had been handed a gift. He was still touch and go, but at least his suffering wouldn’t be in vain. His poisoner would be apprehended and sent to prison where she belonged. Two detectives had even come by on Thursday to talk to me about his case. They asked me what I knew, and I told them about our investigation into Dahlia.

Diego’s phone was at the hospital. It was in his pants pocket when he was taken into the ICU. I unlocked it for them and showed them the texts: the four I knew about and the two I didn’t. I had never gone into his phone before, but he had unlocked it in front of me several times and I knew his pin.

I also gave them the recording device that was in his pocket. It had nothing on it, but I assured them that it did at some point. Dahlia must have deleted the recording once he passed out, I told them. I asked if there were any witnesses who could confirm this, and they only said that they were still investigating.

While I was still frazzled and emotional, it suddenly struck me how odd their visit was, two days after the crime. Normally, they were in such a rush to convict, and the trial should be on its second day by now.

When I asked them about the delay, they simply said that the crime was so complex and that they needed more time than usual. It didn’t make sense; due diligence had never stopped them from pursuing a trial before, but I chose to believe them anyway.

Most of yesterday, I had heard nothing more about the case. Diego was stabilizing again, and we were getting more comfortable in that regard, but what about his justice?

I called Mr. Grossberg that afternoon to ask if any requests came to the firm for Dahlia’s defense and he paused for a long time. He told me that the courts were dropping the case. They had apprehended Dahlia and had searched her, but they couldn’t find the poison. They tore up the whole building and couldn’t find it. The only traces of poison were those left on her cup and Diego’s.

I wanted to scream, but I stopped myself. I knew I shouldn’t shoot the messenger. I asked him about all the other evidence: the text messages, the courthouse meeting, Dahlia’s clear motive, the deleted recording, and the poison being a new product in development at her boyfriend’s lab.

Mr. Grossberg said that he agreed with me, but that it was complicated. Without the poison bottle being found, any witnesses, and with poison in both of their cups, the cops said that there was a chance that the real killer had fled the scene and had unsuccessfully tried to poison Dahlia too. Security wasn’t the best at the Pharmacology Lab and, while no break-ins had been reported, the cops said it wouldn’t have been hard for someone else to access it.

He sighed before saying that human nature and politics had come into play as well. The Chief Prosecutor is set to retire in a year or two, and he isn’t as hungry as he used to be. If any case seemed a little too complicated to get a win, he was less inclined to take it on. With an intricate case like this, whether he took it on or not really depended on his mood that day.

Then, of course, there were his connections. Dahlia’s father, Reginald Hawthorne, was friends with the Chief Prosecutor. They played golf together every two weeks.

The diamond that Dahlia stole from her dad to stage a kidnapping and ransom negotiation and then lost in the Eagle River was insured, so he never really suffered any losses from its theft. Given the “duress” Dahlia has suffered and the extenuating circ*mstances of the ransom, he was able to successfully argue a claim. How he felt about his stepdaughter's murder must have been lukewarm because he was still happy to advocate for his darling daughter’s innocence.

When I got off the phone, I was determined to do something to make them change their minds. I called Lana and asked if she could use her connections as a police officer to help bring forward a case. She said that she had no jurisdiction over Diego’s case, but she would talk to her boss, Deputy Chief Gant. He was very well-connected and would likely be able to pull some strings.

However, she warned me up front that he was unlikely to help her. He had been hounding her for months to join the prosecutor’s office so he could better maintain his connections to both law and order. He would likely just throw it in her face how not listening to him meant she had no way to pursue this case. She texted me later to confirm that what she had expected to happen, had happened.

In my biggest act of desperation, I took a cab to the Prosecutor’s Building to meet with Miles Edgeworth. I got there at 4:30 pm, half an hour before he was about to leave for the day.

I pleaded with him to do something. I acknowledged that he and I weren’t friendly with one another after our case in February, but I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t know anyone else on that side of the law; I had only served on one case. Besides, while he was still only 21, he had already made a name for himself, and he was the legendary Manfred von Karma’s adopted son. I knew they would listen to him.

He didn’t say much at first, just stating that the Chief Prosecutor is well-respected and is unlikely to be mistaken in his decision. I asked him to please think back to the case in February and what was about to happen before the suicide. He and I both knew that I would have won that case, and that Dahlia would be in jail if that hadn’t happened.

This tactic didn’t work, only making him irritable. He had served on numerous cases since then and had won every time. He didn’t like being reminded of a case that would have tarnished his perfect record before it had even started.

He brushed me off after that, saying he was very busy and that he didn’t have time for this. He said that he had other, much more important, cases to conduct.

I shouldn’t have, I knew this, but I insulted him on my way out the door. Over the past six months, Diego had told me about his experiences against dozens of prosecutors. He said it wasn’t uncommon for them to lie, act in bad faith, or even forge evidence to get their conviction. I lobbed these same accusations at Edgeworth and told him that he was just as bad as the rest of them. He scoffed and turned away from me, but he didn’t argue with me as I walked out.

Today, it finally came time for me to go back to the hotel, gather our belongings, and check out. I told Maya that we could go to the beach and eat a meal together before she had to go back to the Village. Aunt Morgan and Pearl would be back soon.

On my way out, I said goodbye to Maria. “I have to go back to our hotel room and grab our things,” I said. “I can’t put it off any longer. I’ll be back tomorrow though.”

“I understand,” she replied plainly. She was seated next to Diego’s bed, looking at him, and stroking his hair. She didn’t look up at me as she answered.

“I wish I didn’t, but Mr. Grossberg needs me back in the office next week. I won’t be able to visit as much as I would like to,” I said contritely.

She finally looked up at me and smiled reassuringly. “Me too. The hospital is so short-staffed, and they told me they’re having trouble filling my shifts.”

“I’m really sorry.”

“It’s okay; that’s life. He would understand.” She smiled again. “I have some good news. While you went to lunch, the doctor came by. He said that if Diego stays stable for the next week and they can get him off the ventilator, he can move out of the ICU.”

“That’s such great news,” I said relievedly. “Looks like he’ll make a full recovery.”

“I hope so,” she replied. “I asked if they could move him to my hospital if he becomes well enough. They said they would consider it.”

I smiled halfheartedly. Her hospital was harder for me to visit; I would have to take two buses instead of one to get there. I was happy that he would have regular company though. “That will be really nice for you.”

“Yes.” She paused. “If you ever need a ride there, maybe a Saturday when I’m not working or after my shift. I can take you.”

My eyes widened. Was this an invitation? Did she want to keep our weekly routine going, even with Diego in the hospital? “Maria, I would love that. Thank you,” I said graciously.

She nodded. “I have your number now, so I’ll call you.”

I smiled and nodded back. “Did you want me to get you anything before I go?” I asked. “A coffee maybe? Neither of us has slept much.”

She tutted. “No, no. Thanks anyway. My boy...I know how much he loves coffee. I can’t drink it in front of him knowing he can’t have any. I’ll get one at the cafeteria later.”

“Right, of course. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Chapter 12: Chapter 11 - Mia

Chapter Text

Date: Sunday, October 27th, 2013

Time: 11:19 am

Location: Diego’s Apartment, Los Tokyo

That first week back at work was tough. There was no getting around it. Everyone was very supportive, with Mr. Grossberg even making a long speech at our morning meeting about how devastated they were at Diego’s poisoning.

He had everyone sign a condolence card and gave it to me at the end of the meeting. Most people had written trite and repetitive notes of sympathy and sorrow, but I appreciated the gesture nonetheless, even if I didn’t like being put on the spot in my fragile state.

All week, people approached me, asking for details about what happened, the state of his condition, and his overall prognosis. Over and over again, I had to explain the same thing to each person who asked, re-living the grief of the previous week each time. Picking at the scab constantly and reopening the wound.

It took every ounce of resolve that I had to not get emotional every time I explained the situation, but I managed it somehow. My eyes getting watery but never crying.

When it got to be too much, I had his office key and could go hide out in there, but I tried to mostly stick to the commons and the doc room as much as I could. Being in his office was just more painful somehow, thinking about all our times in there: our first meeting, the late nights investigating Dahlia’s case, goofing off in there during the workday, and the pregnancy scare.

The next week was somehow even harder than the first week. While I was still broken, disassociating from everyone and everything, thinking about the situation on a constant loop in my head all day, every day, it was business as usual for everyone else. I guess that everyone could only pretend to care for a week and then life moved on.

To be fair to them, I didn’t like the inquiry and attention, but it hurt to know he could just be forgotten so quickly. Reina would still talk to me about it sometimes, but even she ran out of things to say after it became clear that he’d be in a state of limbo for a while.

When a month had passed, and he was still comatose, things got more contentious at work than I had expected. He had one of the prized corner offices on the second floor. Now that it was unlikely that he’d be back to work soon, everyone waiting for an office in the commons or looking for an office upgrade was speculating on what they’d do with his space.

When a month and a half had passed, Mr. Grossberg put an end to the speculation by announcing at the meeting that week that I would take the office. I begged him not to give it to me. I still hadn’t returned to criminal trials, with this incident making me even more hesitant at the idea of doing them. I had been nearly ready to start again before Diego’s poisoning.

Mr. Grossberg put his foot down though. He was irritated at all the infighting and gossiping about it. Since I was the only one in need of an office not actively gunning for it, this was his solution.

When I realized that there was no way to get out of this arrangement, I moved all my stuff into Diego’s office from the commons. Sitting at his desk right after the move, with the door closed and blinds drawn, I cried, feeling horrible about taking over his space. While I could tell that no one else at work believed it, I really thought he’d wake up someday and need it back.

I already felt like a pariah at work for not serving on criminal trials and for being aloof and distracted since his poisoning. That feeling only became worse when I was awarded a prized office in the building without earning it. I knew how people grumbled and whispered about me for undeservedly jumping the queue.

Even Reina, as compassionate as she could be, admitted to me how frustrated she was at the situation. She was nearing two years at the office, but she was still stuck in the commons with the interns and the new hire who replaced Diego. I got an office just shy of my one-year anniversary at the firm.

When she told me that, I offered her use of the office. After some initial reluctance, feeling guilty for being so candid about her disappointment, she agreed to share the space with me.

I gave her the desk and sat on the couch, where I used to sit when Diego and I worked on cases together. Shortly after, I all but moved out, keeping my stuff in there but camping out in the doc room most of the time like I used to.

This arrangement with Reina, somehow, was just as unfavorable as me being there alone, people now being upset that I was the arbiter of that office when it wasn’t my right. I just tried my best to ignore them.

Back at the hospital, the new one, with Maria successfully getting Diego transferred to the Shinjuku Heights Teaching Hospital two weeks after she requested the move, not much changed day-to-day, week-to-week. His doctor told us that he was now completely blind from the poisoning but, since his eyes were always closed, we could pretend that wasn’t the case.

She said that a research team at Ivy University was working on some advanced medical technology that could restore sight to the blind, but it was still going through clinical trials. This gave us a little hope that he'd see again someday.

Once moved, his care plan had simplified when compared to his time in the ICU but was still quite rigorous. He required tube feeding, vital monitoring, a catheter, sponge baths, regular oral care, and frequent turning to avoid bed sores.

I was eternally grateful to the medical team for providing him with such great care, but I kept thinking about how mortified he would be if he was conscious. He wouldn’t want me to see him like this, but there was absolutely no way I wasn’t going to visit him.

Once he was moved, I saw him twice a week. I would take the two buses needed to reach the hospital on Wednesday evenings and would stay until the last buses could take me home. Then, every Saturday, Maria would pick me up, either at 9 am on days she didn’t work or at 4 pm on days she did. We’d sit with him, helping the nurses with his care sometimes, and talking and joking to him even though we knew he couldn’t hear us and wouldn’t answer.

Maria and I would still play cards together and would get bad food from the hospital cafeteria and eat it in his room. Usually a sad egg salad sandwich, under salted soup, or the flavorless hot meal special of the day. The one thing we refused to buy from the cafeteria and bring into his room though was coffee, knowing how much he missed it.

At one point, we had even asked if we could put coffee in his tube feed instead of his water flushes and the nurse looked at us like we were crazy, not sure if we were joking. We were only joking if it was stupid to ask; if she could do it, we were being completely serious.

While Maria had warmed to me a lot since Diego entered the hospital, I still had to be careful with our conversations. I think knowing I was there when things got bad made her more forgiving, but some topics still didn’t go over well with her.

I had tried talking to her about his poisoning to see how she really felt about it. I was still angry months later that he didn’t get justice, but she didn’t engage much when I asked her and never got upset like I did. She would brush me off, simply saying: “There was no sense dwelling on it.”

She said more or less the same thing when I talked about the day of his poisoning and how I thought it could have been stopped if I had been there with him. I don’t know if she was being kind, not wanting me to agonize over the what-ifs, if she was simply resigned to the reality of it, or if she didn’t want to admit that he could have acted differently.

Even before I read the last text messages between him and Dahlia, I knew why he didn’t bring me to meet with her. He could be traditional and was always very protective of me. I mostly liked that though.

He was always doing little gestures for me, whether that be walking on the outside of the sidewalk, giving me his jacket when I got cold at the movie theatre, speaking up for me when colleagues tried to steal my ideas, driving me home even when it wasn’t convenient for him, reminding me to eat when I was stressed, and plying me with chocolate, ibuprofen, and hot water bottles on my period.

It could sometimes irritate me too though. I often had to fight with him to let me pay for anything. I appreciated the gesture, but I liked having money for the first time in my life and it felt like a huge accomplishment to buy things with the income I had earned.

He said that he made more than me, so he was just trying to be fair, but that comment somehow made me feel worse. Like his money had value, but I only earned worthless Monopoly money.

Then there was his monitoring of my alcohol consumption on the handful of occasions where we drank. He said that he just didn’t want me to get sick, but I told him that I would be okay. Other than our first date, when I stupidly drank on an empty stomach, I was able to determine my alcohol tolerance on my own. Having him check in with me constantly just made me feel like I was an alcoholic or something.

Then there was his poisoning, where that chivalry of his actually made me angry. I just felt in my bones that, if he had told me about it, if I had come with him, this never would have happened. He always told me how we made such a great team; what happened to that?

When we investigated crime scenes for his cases, he was better at the interpersonal side, being able to confidently speak with witnesses and police officers to get relevant information. I was always better with observations and details though, noticing small clues that he had overlooked. If I had been there, I would have caught Dahlia poisoning his coffee. I just knew it.

I really didn’t have the heart to be angry with him for long though. He had already suffered so much for his mistake; he didn’t need more punishment. If he finally woke up and made some stupid joke to me about how I looked better now that he was blind, I would be so grateful that all would be forgiven. I wouldn’t lecture him; I’d just hug him again.

As if his suffering physically wasn’t bad enough, today Maria and I had to finish packing up his apartment. All his stuff had to be out by the last day of October, but we didn’t have time to do it that day and didn’t want to leave everything to the last minute. Diego had actually signed on for another year's lease back in June, but the property company had allowed us to break the agreement given the circ*mstances.

Cynically, I don’t think they were just doing it out of the kindness of their hearts. Despite how exorbitant his rent was and how the apartment was not excessively big, only a 700 square foot one-bedroom, brand new luxury apartments in his area of the city with building amenities like a rooftop patio, underground parking, and a gym typically went for more than what he paid.

He had signed on for a year at a discounted rate before the building was finished, paying a large portion of rent upfront, and because of rent control, they could only raise his rent by 5% this year. Once he was out, they would no doubt hike the price for the next tenant.

His disability insurance at work had covered the rent for two months but, once they realized his coma could last months or years, they were somehow able to weasel out of it. That money was for sudden loss of income due to injury, accident, or sudden ailment, but they determined that his place would not need to be covered since he had a place to live for as long as he was in a coma.

Maria and I couldn’t pay for it ourselves, especially with a lease changeover and rent hike, and we didn’t want to drain his savings. So, we had made the hard decision to move his stuff out.

While the loss of this place would be the biggest for him, I knew how much he worked and saved for it, I was going to miss it too. His place had basically been my home for six months. I could have stayed there the past two months too, and I tried to. It just felt so empty and forlorn without him there that I started slowly moving all my stuff back to my place.

I was supposed to tell my landlord that I wouldn’t be renewing my lease, but I changed my plans when this happened. Luckily, since my place was the opposite of in-demand, I was able to negotiate month-to-month instead of another one-year lease.

Going back there after getting used to his place, I realized that I needed to find something better. Saving money was great, but paying a bit more for a nicer place was worth it. I didn’t have the energy to look for apartments right now though.

Even though Maria and I agreed to meet at 10 am, I got to the apartment at 8 am so I could say goodbye to the place by myself. I knew that, once she arrived, there would be no time to sit and think.

The place had already been emptied somewhat. The stools for the kitchen island, the nightstands, the coffee table, the art on the walls, the stereo system, and the couch had all been sold. Maria took his TV, putting her much smaller one away and using his instead, even though she wasn’t much for television.

Since the bed at my place was horrible, we got his moved over to my place a couple of weeks ago instead of selling it too. Maria didn’t have the space to store it or the other stuff we sold. His bed was a king and barely fit where my double mattress used to be, but the movers managed to squeeze it into place. Once it was there, I had taken to sleeping on his side of the bed instead of mine.

Things we couldn’t sell like his dishware and knick-knacks would be donated. His plants would go to Maria’s and sit in her kitchen or would be planted outside. Except for Charley. I didn’t have much sunlight in my place nor a window ledge for the smaller plants, but he seemed tall and hardy enough to survive in my apartment.

The rest of his stuff: his clothes, books, music collection, toiletries, and small appliances, we thought we could pack all of it up today and fit everything in her spare room closet or garage.

The two hours went surprisingly fast waiting for Maria to arrive, but that’s life for me nowadays. Time is a blur when you get lost in your own head as much as I do now. As soon as she arrived, she took over delegating tasks. She would handle the kitchen and living room and I would take on the bathroom and bedroom. We would both tackle the hallway closets.

While she wrapped dishes in kraft paper and carefully placed them in boxes destined for the charity store, I started on the bathroom. I took everything out first and set the stuff in the hallway so I could deep clean the entire room. Once I was done, I began sorting through his stuff to see what would be pitched and what was worth saving.

I took his soap, toothpaste, and floss, figuring I could use them, and they weren’t worth boxing up. I took his colognes too. I didn’t know what I would do with them, but they smelled like him. Half-used deodorants, mouthwash, and old toothbrushes were discarded.

While going through the rest of his toiletries, I noticed a small glass bottle that I didn’t remember seeing before. It must have been tucked away somewhere until I pulled it out for my cleaning. Anti-aging cream. I laughed when I read the label. No wonder he hid this cream. I would have teased him mercilessly for it if I had found it earlier.

Since he called me kitten and would joke about me being younger than him, especially when I hadn’t heard about an old movie, show, or historical figure before, I had taken to throwing it back at him, jokingly calling him old man. Sometimes, if I really wanted to piss him off, I’d call him dad, but only if he was being a little condescending.

Luckily for us, he kept that to a minimum, usually only lecturing me out of worry, like if I walked by myself late at night and he wasn’t available to drive me or if I forgot to lock the front door when I was at his place alone.

When I was done, I moved to his bedroom. There wasn’t too much to do in there now that all the furniture was gone. I swept and cleaned the floors and then made my way to his closet to pack up his clothes.

He was always so neat and organized that this task wasn’t difficult either. His pants were already folded neatly on the shelves so I could just place them into a box, and folding his shirts and separating them from the hangers took little effort.

I took two of his dress shirts, both shades of red, and set them aside to take home with me. I figured I could use them as sleep shirts now.

I piled the contents of his sock and underwear drawers into a box too but, clearing them out, I found another surprise. Something much more shocking than the wrinkle cream. Tucked in the back of one of the drawers was a red velvet box and a receipt.

I knew what this was; he wouldn’t have hidden it if it was something else, but I was still shocked when I opened it. Inside was an engagement ring, a classic one, with a large oval diamond on a white gold band. I had never been the type of girl to picture what her engagement ring would be like; I had never even thought about it before, but this one was perfect.

I looked at the receipt and read the price: $5,454.86. It was more expensive than anything I had ever purchased, but not as much as I was expecting for a ring with a stone that large.

Out of curiosity, I had browsed a jewelry store at the mall years ago, back when I was still in my undergrad, and I remembered that some of the rings were tens of thousands of dollars. That said, I really didn’t understand all the nuances of ring pricing.

When I looked at the ring description on the receipt, it made more sense, listing it as “lb grwn.” I smiled when I read this. I had seen a documentary on conflict diamonds sometime before we dated, but I really don’t think we had talked about it. He must have just known that I’d be the type to get on a soap box about it and, well, I would have.

After watching that movie, I didn’t understand how something made ethically in a lab was worth less than something mined under war-torn or slavery conditions. I don’t know if the documentary was true, but it said that many diamonds listed as conflict-free might not actually be due to loopholes.

Maybe I was reading too much into his selection though. Maybe he didn’t know any of this and just thought it looked nice. I was never supposed to see the receipt.

When I looked again at the slip, I saw the purchase date listed as June 4th, 2013. This reveal was almost as surprising as the ring itself. Not even four months in and he bought a ring. I knew he wasn’t lying that day at the beach when Maya asked us when we’d get married. I knew he wouldn’t just joke about that. However, I didn’t know he was this serious.

It made me feel guilty. He was all in on us from the beginning, but I needed more time to be sure. Now that he was comatose, and I didn’t know if we’d ever get to speak again, it made me wish that I had acted differently. Now that he wasn’t here, and I could feel his absence every day and replayed all our greatest hits in my mind, I realized that I had really loved him all along.

I opened the ring box again and looked at the ring, struggling to decide if I should try it on or not. It felt wrong. He probably had something planned, but the surprise was already ruined. Not only had I seen the ring, but I knew how much it was, where it was sourced, and when he bought it.

While I was pondering this decision, I heard Maria cry out from the kitchen. “Mia, I think I’ll need your help to reach something!”

I heard her voice getting closer and slammed the box shut. I didn’t have time to hide it, so I just stood in front of the closet shelves and held it behind my back. “Sure thing, Maria,” I said unevenly.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“What do you mean?” I replied, laughing nervously.

“You’re being weird. Do you have something behind your back?”

I closed my eyes and sighed before nodding. I showed her the ring box. “I just found this in his sock drawer.”

She grabbed the box from my hand and opened it. Her eyes widened. “Oh my.” She paused. “I didn’t know you were that serious.”

“I had no idea,” I said plainly. “I don’t know what to do. It’s beautiful, and I’d be honored to wear it, but he never got the chance to ask.”

“Right.” She paused and her eyes started welling with tears. “Well, I don’t know if you should wear it, but you have to take it. He wanted you to have it.” She closed the box and handed it back to me.

“Maria...” I said softly, my voice trailing. Thinking about it, seeing her reaction, I don’t know how I wasn’t crying too. It doesn’t take much nowadays. I think the shock had stopped me.

She wiped her tears with her thumb and waved me off. “I’ll be okay. Thinking about the wedding. Grandkids. It’s tough.”

“Someday,” I said, smiling reassuringly.

“Hm,” she said dismissively. Was I the only one who thought he’d wake up?

“I can help you reach what I can,” I said. She nodded in agreement.

There were no more surprises as we cleaned and packed up the rest of the apartment. We had already sold the barstools, so I had to climb on the counter to reach the last few items on the top shelves. The extra half foot in height I had over Maria was not enough.

Otherwise, nothing else eventful happened. We loaded the boxes on a couple of carts in the hallway and left our keys, our spares and his originals, on the kitchen island for the landlord to grab later.

The only thing I had left to do was take pictures. The lawyer in me didn’t trust his landlord to give him back his damage deposit. It was one month’s rent and there is no way they could justify keeping it for cleaning costs, but they would try. This place is pristine and now I have the proof.

Maria had already taken one of the carts down while I took the photos, so I had one more moment to say goodbye, taking a good look at each room before I left it. Then, slowly, I shut the door and wheeled the other cart down to meet her.

We loaded up her car first and then we fit the few remaining boxes into his car. When we were done and had put the carts away, she handed me his car keys. I inhaled deeply as I grabbed them.

I really wasn’t supposed to be driving by myself. I only got my learner’s five months ago, at Diego’s insistence, but hadn’t obtained my full license yet. I was eligible to take the test next month, but it wasn’t at the top of my priority list right now and I didn’t know if I would. Maria assured me that it was unlikely that I’d be pulled over on the drive to her house, so I begrudgingly agreed.

There were a lot of eye rolls and “okay dads” the day he convinced me to take the written test. I didn’t think I needed a driver’s license living downtown, but he said it would be good for me to be able to drive his car, just in case. I did well on the written exam, that wasn’t hard at all, but the driving part scared me.

I was really excited to get my license when I was 16, but I had no one to take me driving. Mom and Dad were gone, and Aunt Morgan wasn’t going to volunteer. Now that I was 24 going on 25, eight years behind in experience compared to people my age, the idea became more nerve-wracking than exciting.

“You know how to get there?” Maria asked.

I nodded. “I’m pretty sure. I’ll try to follow you as much as I can.”

She walked over to her driver’s side door. “I’ll see you there,” she called out. Then she got into her car and started it.

I got into his car, adjusting the seat and mirrors first and taking a deep breath before I turned the car on and followed her out of the parking garage.

The drive was okay at first. I followed her through the city, and she would signal well in advance, so I had time to change lanes. Then we got separated.

The streetlight turned yellow as she went through the intersection, and I didn’t have time to make it before it turned red. The streets were too busy for her to pull off and wait for me. I was on my own the rest of the way.

The city driving wasn't horrible. Even on Sundays, traffic was bad enough that I rarely went over 25mph. When I had to hop on the highway, I took another deep breath. The highway was what made me most nervous about driving. I successfully merged, luckily having a good gap between me and the closest car but driving 70mph next to transport trucks and big SUVs made me uneasy.

I thought back to one of the only times I had driven on the highway, a month or so before Diego was poisoned. We were going to Maria’s, and he told me the drive there would be good practice.

He was calm, as usual, despite how bad I was at driving. He made some dark joke about being okay with dying if it was next to me and, frantically, I told him not to say something like that. He clarified that he was just quoting a morbid song lyric, and he would take over if he was really worried.

Even with his instruction, I was having trouble coordinating everything I needed to do. Shortly into the drive on the highway, a police car had turned its sirens on, and I had to pull over. Diego laughed and told me that he’d visit me in jail, and I scoffed and jokingly told him to shut up.

I had never gotten a ticket before, but I had seen movies and TV shows where people tried to get out of them. When I saw that it was a male officer, I got prepared to put on a show.

“Hi officer, what seems to be the problem?” I trilled flirtingly, batting my eyes.

“Jesus Christ,” Diego said, exhaling in laughter from the passenger seat.

“You weren’t consistently signaling,” the cop replied gently. “And your speed is very inconsistent.”

“Oh, I’m so, so sorry sir,” I replied with a lavish amount of remorse. “I only have my learner’s.”

The cop nodded. “Well...” he said, his voice trailing. “Please be mindful of those things going forward, as you’re learning. I’ll just let you off with a warning.”

“I will sir. Thank you so much,” I said with excessive graciousness.

“Enjoy the rest of your day, miss,” the cop replied before walking away. I rolled up the window.

“Well, that was quite the performance,” Diego said sarcastically. “If you’re going to flirt your way out of a ticket, I think that tactic works better when your boyfriend isn’t in the passenger seat.”

“He didn’t know we were together,” I said teasingly.

He rolled his eyes. “Right, silly me.”

“I’m just joking. Saved us a ticket though, right?”

“You didn’t get a ticket because you don’t have your license yet.”

“Maybe.” I paused. “But if that was really the case, I think he would have actually checked that I had my learner’s. He forgot to ask.” He just nodded. “Are you jealous or something?”

He sighed. “Call me crazy, but I want the kind of relationship where we don’t flirt with other people, even to get out of tickets.”

“I wasn’t actually flirting with him. He knew that. And I just saved us $200 or something.”

“I’d rather pay the $200.”

I was taken aback. “You’re really serious about this.”

“I am. But if you really don’t care, if a female cop pulls us over, I can do the same thing.”

I laughed. “Go right ahead. Women aren’t as easily swayed, so I don’t think it’d be effective.”

“My relationship history disagrees with you,” he replied drily.

That had shut me up. I hated thinking about that, being one of 22, more when you count the women whom he had dated but never slept with. It made what we have seem less special.

Driving the highway today, I guess I would have to just pay the ticket if I was pulled over. I had been determined to do the trip successfully though, and when I exited the highway and into the suburban area where Maria lived, I breathed a huge sigh of relief. Just a few more streets and I’ve made it.

I pulled into Maria’s driveway and saw that she already had the garage door open for me and parked her car closer to the lawn to make room. She said that we’d keep his car in there until he needed it again. We were putting a lot of faith in that new vision technology. She was waiting for me when I arrived, standing on the steps and by the door that led into her house from the garage.

When I drove in, I was reminded of my other main driving issue: parking. She already had a bunch of stuff in there, not including Diego’s stuff, and I misjudged the space I had, side-swiping some of the boxes and her bicycle by mistake.

“Crap,” I said under my breath. I turned the car off and went to inspect the damage. “I’m really sorry.” I looked at her bike first. “Your bike seems fine.”

“It’s okay. How is the car?”

The boxes didn’t seem to have an effect, but the handlebar of her bike had left a small dent and scratched some of the paint. “Ummmmmm.”

She laughed. “That doesn’t sound good.” She walked over to look at it. “Well, we know he loves you now. He’ll forgive you.”

“Maybe,” I said remorsefully.

“Let’s put his stuff away. We’ll have something to eat, and I’ll drive you home.”

I smiled and nodded. “Okay.”

Chapter 13: Chapter 12 - Mia

Chapter Text

Date: Thursday, April 10th, 2014

Time: 3:57 pm

Location: Document Room, Grossberg Law Offices, Los Tokyo

The past six months seemed to just drag on and on and on. At work, the days blended together without any discernible characteristics. I was back to my usual routine before Diego and I got together, working on boring paperwork and client meetings all day.

I still hadn’t returned to criminal cases, and, without Diego, I wasn’t providing criminal case support either. No more crime scene investigations and no reviewing of criminal trial paperwork or court transcripts.

When I first started, I found this type of work to be dry and uninteresting, but my drive and determination to move up at the firm had made it all seem bearable. Now, I didn’t care too much about climbing the corporate ladder, so it was also hard to care about the work I was doing. I still gave my clients 100%, I couldn’t bring myself to do anything less, but my heart wasn’t in it.

Even the visits with Diego and Maria grew indistinguishable over time. Maria and I would have the same meals, play the same card games, and talk about the same things.

Diego was frozen in time. He didn’t get any worse, but he never got any better either. We hoped that if we just kept talking to him, he would eventually answer back or show some sign of life, but he never did.

The only moments that made me feel alive were a handful of distinct events or outings that punctuated the months. Maya remained confined to the Village and was not allowed to come visit me very much. I saw her once in the city for lunch and a movie around the holidays and on my birthday, but that was all that Aunt Morgan had allowed.

We talked on the phone every Sunday though, and it was the highlight of my week. Maya was always so silly and bubbly, talking a mile a minute, that seeing her or talking to her on the phone never failed to cheer me up.

Maria was off on Christmas this year and invited me over for dinner that day; that was also notable. Me and Maya had always enjoyed the holiday, but only in a very commercial sense, loving the lights, decorations, and Santa.

The Village schoolhouse tried to match the public school schedule and gave students the holiday season off, but we never celebrated it in any way. This was my first Christmas dinner ever and there was something very nice about having the traditional family-oriented Christmas experience that everyone talked about.

Maria and I made a chicken dinner with all the accompaniments, and we exchanged gifts. She got me a couple of travel board games, figuring we could play something different for a change during our hospital visits. I got her a Christmas ornament, one custom-made with a picture of her and Diego when they were both much younger.

I had asked to borrow her photo albums one time, saying I just wanted to flip through them again. While I had looked at the pictures, I mainly wanted to find the perfect photo to copy onto this ornament.

She cried when she opened her present and I apologized for making her upset. I didn’t assume she’d have no reaction, but I didn’t intend to make her cry.

Even after all the time we spent together, I still didn’t feel like I had a good understanding of who she was as a person, and her gift to me indicated that the same was true with me. What she loved most was Diego, her faith, her nursing job, cooking, and gardening, in that order. This gift combined two of those things, so I thought it was appropriate.

Even though she said she’d be taking the tree down in a few days she decided to hang it up right away. As I watched her, looking for the perfect place on the tree, I noticed how much thinner she had gotten since I first met her, and she was never very big to begin with.

She had been a lot more tired these past few months too and her normally dyed hair was grey at the roots. Christmas wasn’t the first time I had noticed these things, but it was the day they became too evident to ignore.

I politely asked her about it, and she took the question well, smiling and telling me that she appreciated my concern. She said that all the stress from Diego’s poisoning had just made it hard for her to sleep and had reduced her appetite. I told her I understood. While I wasn’t as visibly tired or undernourished as she was, I was experiencing the grief in much the same way.

She said that she wasn’t dyeing her hair in solidarity with Diego. His doctor wasn’t sure of the exact cause, but his hair had started to turn completely grey after the poisoning. By that Christmas, he was only one haircut away from losing all the dark brown, nearly black hair he used to have.

The old man nickname was especially fitting now, but I don’t think I will call him that anymore when he wakes up. It was fine when he was a healthy 28-year-old but, with his eyes and his hair, now it would just be cruel.

My 25th birthday was in January, my champagne birthday, and I did a lot that day and the day before. It was on a Saturday, one of our visiting days, but I asked Maria if we could reschedule our visit for Friday. I had decided to finally face my fears and go get my full license and Mr. Grossberg had allowed me the day off. It was going to be my birthday gift to myself.

Maria agreed and picked me up so I could borrow Diego’s car for the test. I told her I would come back to get her and drive us both to the hospital as a fully licensed driver. I had passed the driving test by the skin of my teeth, but it was a pass, nonetheless.

When I returned to Maria’s house and rang her doorbell, beaming and prepared to show off my license, I could see when she opened the door that she still had all her Christmas decorations up, including her tree.

I asked if she needed help taking them down. I would have offered before if I had known. She said that they made the house seem less lonely, so she didn’t want to put them away.

That Saturday afternoon, Maya and I went bowling and she gave me a birthday card that Pearl had made. Pearl and I had only seen each other a few times, but she remembered what I looked like, drawing a decent rendition of both of us, Aunt Morgan, and Maya on the card.

Maya had gotten me a souvenir mug from the hotel she stayed in while I was standing vigil at the hospital in August. She had filled it with chocolate candy until it was overflowing. I thanked her and said it would be my new favorite at work.

That Saturday evening, Reina and Lana both wanted to take me out to celebrate so we arranged for the three of us to go together, even though they hadn’t met before. They planned to take me to some club so we could pop a bottle of champagne, but I talked them down to a low-key evening at a restaurant instead. They still got us sparkling wine and we toasted my day, but with much cheaper wine than the champagne you’d pay too much for in a private room at a club.

At the restaurant, I wore the engagement ring. It wasn’t the first time I had, although I would never wear it at work; I knew how people would pity me if I did. However, I had worn it around the apartment and on a few outings or errands.

When Lana saw it, she was surprised. She had seen me without it a few times since Diego’s poisoning so she knew he couldn’t have asked. I told her that he hadn’t, but I assumed he would have by now if he was awake.

She simply nodded before saying that she was glad I liked it. She had helped Diego pick it out and she joked that she talked him out of some hideous ones. I wasn’t sure if she was exaggerating for humor, but I thanked her for her good taste.

During dinner, Reina had gushed about her boyfriend Austin, whom she met at her gym in October and had been dating ever since. She didn’t want to talk about it with me because of my situation but, when she let it slip one day in November, I told her to talk all she wanted. I was happy for her and didn’t want her to act differently around me.

Reina asked Lana if she had been seeing anyone and she was evasive before sighing and saying “maybe.” I teased her about it since she hadn’t dated anyone since I knew her, or not that she told me about anyway.

She said there was this guy at work who seemed interested in her, but she wasn’t entirely convinced. He was a little eccentric, and she didn’t like the idea of dating a coworker. Reina offered me and Diego up as an example where dating a coworker had worked, despite the obvious tragedy that occurred. Lana just nodded again before saying that she’d consider giving him a chance.

The last momentous event of the past six months was our anniversary on February 16th. It was a Sunday, and I made a special trip to the hospital that day, so I could bring him flowers and talk to him alone. I wore the ring and brought up some of our best memories from before he had been poisoned. Come March, we would have more days together with him comatose than awake, but I promised that I would wait for him.

There wasn’t much room, and I wasn’t sure if the staff would like this, but I had sidled up next to him on his hospital bed, ensuring that I didn’t disturb any of the tubing or apparatuses he was hooked up to.

I had accidentally fallen asleep for about an hour until I was awoken by one of the nurses. She was sweet and understanding when she woke me, especially after I explained the significance of the day. She said that I had accidentally moved the vital monitor off his finger in my sleep, but the alarm sounded to notify her and there was no harm done.

This morning started like any other at the firm. I went up to my office, dropped off my things, and chatted with Reina before getting set up in the document room. In the late afternoon though, Mr. Hammond came by; he never did that.

Mr. Hammond had been less of a jerk since Diego was poisoned, but I still didn’t like talking to him because I knew why he had mellowed out. He now stood uncontested for the top win rate at the firm with Diego not here.

“Wow, this place is a lot smaller and darker than I remembered,” he joked.

I didn’t look up from my papers. “What do you want?” I said shortly. I didn’t like swaggering when Diego did it, before we got together and I made him stop, and I liked it even less when Mr. Hammond did it.

“Hey, easy now. You’ll be singing my praises after we’re done talking.”

I sighed and stopped what I was doing to look up at him. “Okay, what is it?”

“Grossberg took on a case last night. Murder of an Ivy University student.”

My eyes widened. “Is Dahlia Hawthorne his client?” I asked incredulously.

“No, it’s some other college kid. Phoenix something. The victim’s name is Doug Swallow. I believe that name is familiar to you?”

I gasped before covering my mouth in shock. Poor Doug. I never met him, but Diego said he was a nice enough guy. Most importantly, he was essential in helping the doctors figure out Diego’s condition. We had tried to warn Doug, but I guess it wasn’t enough. Dahlia had killed him, and this Phoenix person was her fall guy.

“How did you know about all this?” I asked.

“Well, Grossberg and I talk in his office a lot and he mentioned the case during one of our fireside chats this morning. The name Doug Swallow sounded familiar to me, but I couldn’t remember when I had heard it.”

“And... Mr. Grossberg? Did he remember?”

“Grossberg?” he asked, laughing. “Mind of a goldfish, that guy. In one ear and out the other. Nah, I looked it up a half hour ago. Saw he worked at the Pharmacology Lab. Grossberg had mentioned something about that back in August.”

I paused. “Do you think he’ll let me take the case?”

“For you? Probably. You’re like his work daughter.”

“Oh,” I replied with surprise.

“Did you not notice that before?”

“I don’t know.” I thought for a moment. I always saw Mr. Grossberg as fatherly, but I just assumed that he was that way with everyone. “I guess I hadn’t thought about it.”

“Well, you better go talk to him soon. He’s leaving at 4:30 today for an appointment.”

I leaped out of my chair and ran to the door but stopped short of the hallway to turn and face him. “Why are you helping me?” I asked skeptically.

“Do I not have a heart or something?” he asked sarcastically.

“No, sorry. I didn’t mean it that way,” I said remorsefully. “You and Diego... you were always so competitive.”

He chuckled. “It hasn’t been the same without that guy here. Being number one means nothing when there’s no one to compete with.”

I smiled and nodded. Someone else did care, in his own way. “Thank you. Really.”

He shooed me away. “Go.”

I bolted up the stairs and down the hall to Mr. Grossberg’s office. He was on the phone. Normally I would have walked away and come back, but I had to stay there in case he left early. I anxiously paced around outside his door until he hung up.

“Mia, do you need to use the washroom or something?” Mr. Grossberg asked with perplexity. “They’re just down the hall.”

“No, sir!” I blurted out. “I just needed to talk to you before you left.”

“What is it?” He gestured to one of the empty chairs at his desk and I sat down.

“You have a case tomorrow, right?” I asked.

“Yes, tomorrow at 10 am. Why?”

“Sir, can I please take this case?” I asked politely.

“Well, Mia, I don’t know if you should do a murder trial for your first case.”

I was irritated. How could he have possibly forgotten about my first case? The woman at the center of it was the reason Diego was poisoned.

I needed him to work with me, so I didn’t correct him. “I think I’m ready. I’ve been putting off trials for too long. It’s time.”

“I don’t know. It’s getting late. I don’t think you’ll have time to prepare.”

“I’ll stay up all night to prepare. I can do it,” I said determinedly.

“Why don’t we wait until next week?” he asked brightly. “If a larceny or DUI case comes up, you can do that instead.” He began to pack his briefcase to leave.

I went into panic mode. I must take this case and win it. I slammed both my hands on the desk. “Let me handle this case!” I exclaimed forcefully.

Mr. Grossberg stopped what he was doing and stared at me, aghast. “Mia,” he said sternly.

“I’m sorry, sir,” I said apologetically. “This case is really important to me.”

“I should say. I’ve never seen you this peppery.” He latched his briefcase shut and then opened the top drawer of his desk and pulled out three thick accordion folders filled with papers. He set them down in front of me. “I have to go to my appointment, but these are the relevant papers. I don’t think you’re ready to go alone so I will serve as your co-counsel tomorrow.”

“Thank you, sir,” I said appreciatively, picking up the folders. “I won’t let you down.”

He started walking out the door and led me out with him. “You have to be on your best behavior tomorrow though, young lady,” he lectured. “If you talk to the judge like you did me, he’ll hold you in contempt.”

Young lady? Okay, that was particularly “dad” of him. Was he really not like that with everyone else? “Of course. I didn’t mean to, sir. I’ll be on my best, I promise.”

He nodded. “See you tomorrow in court, Mia.”

Date: Friday, April 11th, 2014

Time: 9:43 am

Location: Defendant Lobby No. 3, Los Tokyo District Courthouse

That evening, I was prepared to stay up all night if I had to in order to review the files for the case. I cleared up my other work in the doc room to make way for the three large folders of case files I had to understand by the next morning. I had brewed a fresh pot of coffee and had used the mug Maya gave me for my birthday, ready to refill it as many times as needed to stay awake.

When I started to review the files though, I was disappointed, to say the least. Phoenix was my client, so it was no surprise that the files weren’t all about Dahlia, but she barely factored in the files at all.

Dahlia was listed as the connection between the two men: Phoenix’s current girlfriend, and Doug’s ex-girlfriend, but that piece of information was the only thing about her that the police and prosecutors found relevant. All the other files focused on Doug and Phoenix entirely.

It made me angry. It was her. I didn’t have any evidence in these files, but I knew it was her. I didn’t know this Phoenix guy yet, but what were the chances that he was a psycho too?

All these other papers were irrelevant. Just meaningless fluff. I tried to review them all and retain the information, but I kept getting distracted and not absorbing it. It was all so wrong, and the wrongness was all I could focus on. If it wasn’t so late, I would go to the crime scene myself to investigate, but the police were probably already gone, and it was quite dark out.

Then, I did something worse than fail to retain the information: I fell asleep. I meant to print off files about Diego’s poisoning and have them ready with me; I thought they may become relevant during the trial. I woke up at 7:30 am instead, face-planted on the case files. I had only meant to rest my eyes for a second.

I ran home to shower and change, returned back to the office to grab the files, and then sped-walked to the courthouse. While home, I took the newspaper clipping that reported Diego’s case and took it with me. I had saved it from the day after his poisoning. It wasn’t as in-depth as the case files, but I at least had something that could demonstrate a connection between the two cases.

I made it to the courthouse with 23 minutes to spare and, luckily, Mr. Grossberg wasn’t there yet when I arrived. I had about three minutes to try and calm myself down before he showed up, clearing his throat to announce his arrival. Mr. Grossberg’s strict presence was not what I needed right now, pointing out how flustered I was when what I needed was a confidence boost.

I remembered being annoyed with Diego during my first trial, and how he seemed more focused on teasing me than helping. He had helped though. He was always so calm, and it made me feel calmer too. He also complimented me on my skill and determination before the trial. At the time, I thought maybe he was just buttering me up, but I knew him well enough now to know when he was being genuine.

After lecturing me, Mr. Grossberg directed me to my client. He was a spiky-haired guy in his early 20s and wore a pink sweater, a red scarf, and a white surgical face mask. The sweater looked homemade and had a red heart with a “P” on it.

“Good morning there everybody!” Phoenix said enthusiastically before loudly sneezing and coughing.

“Good morning,” I said hesitantly. He was the one on trial for murder and yet I was more nervous than he was.

“I, er, I just want to say... I'll give it all I've got! Yup, it'll be fine! No prob!” He hacked and sneezed again. I realized that he was nervous too, but he was just hiding it with enthusiasm.

“Oh, what's wrong? Do you have a cold or something, Mr. Wry?” I asked.

“Actually, it's Wright, like the flying brothers. People screw it up all the time. And yes, I have a cold. That's what this mask is for. My doc says this way, I won't give it to anyone else. Be kind to others, he says.” Despite my stupid mistake, obviously focusing too much on Dahlia and not my own client last night, Phoenix was rather cheery and positive as he corrected me.

“Right, Mr. Wright! You have nothing to fear in court today! If you are truly innocent, I promise I will save you!” I said, matching his enthusiasm. I was going to ask him about Dahlia and how they met, but we were ushered into the courtroom, and I didn’t have a chance to ask him.

The case started off a little rough, with the judge questioning whether I was fit to lead the defense on this trial. Winston Payne, another arrogant prosecutor who called himself the “Rookie Killer,” also taunted me. I had made a few slip-ups at the beginning but soon settled into the groove of court proceedings, remembering some of the beats from my last trial.

Then, my client lied to me. Phoenix first pretended that he didn’t know Doug and had never spoken to him before. I was conducting a cross-examination of him and pointed out his contradictions. It was bad for my case to have a lying client, but I know Diego told me in my first case that it was our job as defense attorneys to always point out the contradictions anyway.

Phoenix felt so horrible for lying that he started crying. “P-P-P-Please forgive me!” he wailed.

“Mia! You've made our client cry!” Mr. Grossberg admonished.

I was not sympathetic. “Let him! That ‘P’ on his chest doesn't stand for Phoenix anyway! I can't believe I trusted him! Mr. Wright was all wrong!” I said loudly. I’m not sure if Phoenix heard me from the defense stand, but I wasn’t exactly being discreet.

The judge and Payne both stated that they didn’t think Phoenix’s testimony was reliable, even after he corrected himself, finally stating that he and Doug had talked outside the Pharmacology Lab for 15 minutes that day. I didn’t blame them.

When he finally started talking about “Dollie” in his testimony, calling her sweetheart and raving about her excellent cooking, I hated him. I reflexively slapped Mr. Grossberg on the hand when Phoenix first mentioned her and, while Mr. Grossberg complained about being hurt, he didn’t discipline me like I deserved.

I couldn’t find any contradictions in Phoenix’s new testimony though, so we moved on, with the judge asking how Doug had been killed. I had determined the cause: a live high-voltage electrical cable that was previously hooked up to the Pharmacology Lab to run their specialized equipment. It was the correct assessment, but it looked like Payne was prepared for that, getting smug when I pointed out the wire in the photo.

“Don’t toy with me, old man!” I exclaimed irritably as I waited for him to make his point. I had little patience for prosecutor bravado today. I didn’t have any patience for it during my first case either, but I at least kept the snark in my head.

Payne stated that Phoenix’s fingerprints were on Doug’s leather jacket, indicating that it was likely that Doug had been pushed into the wire by Phoenix. Phoenix hadn’t lied, per se, in his last testimony, but it was a lie by omission.

The judge was ready to declare a verdict right then and there and Mr. Grossberg had given up. “My hemorrhoids never lie. The show is over, Mia. I knew that boy was guilty the first time I saw him,” Mr. Grossberg said firmly.

“N-No! You're wrong! Mr. Wright is innocent,” I protested. The fingerprints on Doug’s jacket were damning, but I knew it had to be her.

I pleaded with Phoenix to testify more. “You still haven't told us the truth, the whole truth. If you don't say something now, the judge is going to hand down his verdict!”

Phoenix looked worried. He must have done something really bad. “B-But I... I can't! I-I just can't say it! If I told you what really happened, then I'd b-be...” He didn’t finish his thought.

I was nervous about what he might say, but I had to be brave for both of us. “It's okay, Mr. Wright. I'm your attorney. You can trust me,” I said confidently. He started to object, but I cut him off. “No matter what it is you have to say, I believe in you, and I'll represent you to the very end.”

Phoenix didn’t say anything in response, so Payne resumed his badgering of the judge, trying to persuade him to render a verdict. Finally, Phoenix blurted out that he had pushed Doug, and it was all his fault that Doug had died.

Uh-oh. I knew what he was going to say was bad, but I didn’t think it would be this bad.

The judge was shocked at such an admission from a defendant, but he let Phoenix continue his testimony.

“P-Please! Please give me one more chance to explain! This time I swear, I swear I'll tell the whole truth!” Phoenix declared. “It'll be okay, won't it, Miss Fey? I-I believe in you!”

“Oh! Um, th-thank you,” I responded uncertainly. Maybe I was too confident earlier, but I had to keep pretending like he’d be okay.

Phoenix’s testimony was concerning, explaining how angry he was at Doug for talking badly about Dahlia. It was the perfect motive. Finally, he gave me something to work with, explaining how Doug fell on his “cheap umbrella” and broke it after Phoenix had pushed him. Phoenix was still being petty even though his romantic rival was dead.

That petty line was the testimony I needed though. The umbrella was several feet away from Doug in the crime scene photo and not underneath him. He had to have gotten up after Phoenix shoved him. I pointed out the discrepancy.

Payne was on his back foot for only a moment, before revealing that he had an ace up his sleeve. One more secret witness to testify: Dahlia Hawthorne. He was smug again, but he became concerned when I was smug back.

I had been waiting for him to do this. I wanted to put her on the stand, but I didn’t have a valid reason before. The judge called a recess and said we’d resume the trial with Dahlia’s testimony after the break.

The bombshell reveal I was looking for, but didn’t see in the case files last night, happened while Mr. Grossberg and I chatted in the defendant lobby with Phoenix. He told us where he and Dahlia met: the courthouse library, eight months ago. She gave him a bottle necklace as a token of their love, and he refused to return it to her when she asked. She needed him to hide it for her that day, but then she wanted it back to destroy it.

I guessed their anniversary date and Phoenix was shocked. I produced the newspaper clipping of Diego’s poisoning and showed it to Phoenix and Mr. Grossberg. The papers had misreported it as a murder, but I didn’t tell Phoenix that. I needed him to hate Dahlia as much as I do.

Finally, after seeing the clipping, Mr. Grossberg understood why I took the case. I had corrected him this morning when he called today my first case again, but he still hadn’t clued in.

After reading the article, he jumped to my aid. He hadn’t been very helpful today, so far, but he offered to go down to the courthouse library to see if he could find Diego’s case files for me.

Seeing the article gave Phoenix pause, but I didn’t have enough time during our recess to talk to him about it and determine if he had second thoughts about his “Dollie.”

Two guys whose feelings on Dahlia were crystal clear though were the judge and Payne, eating out of the palm of her hand from the moment she stepped onto the stand. Meanwhile, their sweet Dahlia called me “madame” and “hag” and they didn’t even bat an eye.

They didn’t press her on anything, no matter how preposterous. Dahlia didn’t hear the electrical cable snapping, a loud noise everyone in the area had heard, because she had headphones on. She was scared of thunder and lightning and needed to block out the sound.

Fair enough, but when I pointed out that maybe a lightning bolt killed Doug instead of the cable, Payne revealed that there was no thunder and lightning reported in the area that day. We somehow moved on from her lie without a second thought.

I had Payne in knots though when I pointed out that Phoenix’s shove may have severed the electrical cable, but it couldn’t have killed Doug as the live wire and the location where Phoenix shoved him were several feet away. Another person would have to have shoved Doug into the wire, or at the very least, Phoenix would have needed to return to the scene to shove him again.

Dahlia, seeing the prosecution struggling, stepped in with the latter theory, throwing her dear “Feenie” under the bus by claiming that he had pushed Doug, broke the wire, and then pushed Doug again to kill him. She claimed to have seen both pushes but had previously testified that she had seen neither. Once again, I pointed out her lies and the judge allowed the perjury to go unpunished.

Finally, I accused her outright. We had proven with the affidavit from the Pharmacology Lab students and Doug’s wristwatch, which had stopped when he was electrocuted, that there was a ten-minute period between Phoenix’s first shove and the final killing blow. Dahlia was allegedly just sitting there, with her headphones on, watching her boyfriend kill her ex-boyfriend. Her alibi was so absurd that I felt confident enough to conclude that her entire narrative was a fabrication and that she committed her crime during that ten-minute window.

After my accusation, I found out how Phoenix felt about everything. He had remained silent even while his girlfriend sold him down the river. “Please, please strike everything the defense said just now from the record!” he yelled out.

“What the...? Are you daft?” I replied with amazement. If we allow her sequence of events to rest, he’ll go to jail and potentially death row.

“You're totally wrong, Miss Fey! Dollie, she...she couldn't do something like that!”

The bailiff escorted Phoenix out of the courtroom for his outburst just as Mr. Grossberg was returning from the courthouse library. He had the police record for Diego’s case with him.

“Thank you so much! This is exactly what I was hoping for!” I exclaimed graciously.

“You'd better take a good look at it. It, er, details how you came to lose your boyfriend,” Mr. Grossberg said solemnly.

The word boyfriend sounded so unnatural coming out of his mouth. He never liked the idea of people dating at the firm and his tone supported that. However, he had to know now that this wasn’t just a stupid or meaningless fling.

I looked through the files briefly. Dahlia bristled at the idea of killing Doug and pinning it on Phoenix, claiming she had no motive. I had a feeling that Diego’s case would illuminate her motive clearly. “Your Honor. The defense requests further testimony from Ms. Dahlia Hawthorne!” I stated.

“F-Further testimony? What about?” the judge replied quizzically.

“About the events of the day when she first met the defendant, Mr. Phoenix Wright.”

Payne objected, of course, saying that this had no relevance to the case, but I pushed back hard. The judge agreed with me and allowed this line of questioning. The bailiff had permitted Phoenix to return to the courtroom, but he was liable to get kicked out again as he kept making stupid comments from the peanut gallery during Dahlia’s testimony.

While the judge had allowed me the grace to talk about August 27th, I still had an uphill battle. I was successful in getting Dahlia to admit that she wasn’t at the courthouse that day due to “fate” or to write a research paper. Whenever I tried to press her for more details though, Payne objected, and the judge sustained all of his objections.

When I asked her about the poison, and she claimed to have no way of accessing it, she gave me an opening to counter. I brought up Doug’s lab and how she had more access to poison than most people. She volleyed back that they found nothing on her, but that argument meant nothing now. After talking to Phoenix and seeing his bottle necklace, it was clear what had happened.

“The day that the witness met and fell for Mr. Phoenix Wright was eight months ago, August 27th. The very same day as the poisoning incident. Under the pretense of love, the witness gave my client a present. All for the purpose of hiding the one piece of evidence that would give her away!” I explained.

“What? Are you saying there's a deadly poison in here?” the judge responded disbelievingly.

“No, there's no longer any poison in that bottle. However, I'm certain if the crime lab were to analyze it, they would find a trace amount!”

Dahlia blubbered and her knight in shining armor, Phoenix, came in to protect her, objecting and claiming that it was all a lie. I tried to get him to see reason, but he wouldn’t listen. He started wailing too and ran out of the courtroom, bumping into me on his way out.

I got a little dizzy but, when I came to, I noticed that the necklace, which he had lent me earlier during recess, was gone. He took it back on his way out, as the bailiff was chasing him.

“Foolish boy! That's the only thing that could have saved him. What in blazes are we supposed to do now?” Mr. Grossberg remarked futilely.

Once the bailiff wrangled Phoenix back in here, I demanded that he give the necklace back.

Phoenix was sheepish. “I ate it,” he finally said.

“You what?” I asked. What an effing idiot. This was his ticket to freedom. Not only that, but there could be traces of poison on there.

I shook my head angrily. I don’t know why he was with Dahlia anyway. After swallowing that glass bottle, it was clear that his talents were being wasted on women.

Payne had the same thought. He concluded that Dahlia was innocent after all, at least of Diego’s poisoning, because Phoenix had swallowed the bottle and had suffered no ill effects. I argued that it was possible that there wasn’t enough residue, or that the poison had lost its potency.

The judge was about to move on when Phoenix had a change of heart, asking the judge to “hold it.”

“Mr. Wright, what are you trying to say?” I asked.

“Um, there's something I forgot to tell you,” Phoenix said tentatively. He explained that Doug had told him about another poison theft at the lab, the day before Doug had been killed. He shoved Doug out of anger, but feeling worried, he went back to check on him ten minutes later, only to find Dahlia crouched over Doug’s body.

This reveal just made the whole crime even more sinister. Not only had Dahlia killed Valerie, coaxed Terry into suicide, poisoned Diego, and electrocuted Doug, but her original plan was to kill Phoenix rather than frame him for murder. I told the court that Dahlia had stolen the poison to kill Phoenix because he refused to give her the bottle necklace back.

Phoenix, although he just helped me, couldn’t accept this reality. Luckily, Dahlia’s mask finally slipped, and she gave him a rude awakening. “Feenie, what a joke you are,” she said venomously. “Honestly, how can any woman ever count on you for anything? I even told you time and time again to keep your trap shut about me and that necklace. You disgust me!”

“Ms. Hawthorne,” the judge said, appalled.

“It appears that this trial will be coming to an end soon,” I said victoriously.

“Fine. I can tell you plan on making me into a criminal no matter what I say!” Dahlia pouted.

“You are a criminal, Ms. Hawthorne!” I corrected.

“We'll see about that. But first, where's your evidence? It seems your sniveling little crybaby of a client has eaten the bottle as a snack.”

She had a point. Once again, it was apparent that she was guilty, but we didn’t have the proof.

I couldn’t go through this again. I couldn't have another Terry Fawles. Another Diego. I had nothing though. While Dahlia was sassing the judge, him completely alarmed by her 180° turn, I tried to think of something I could use to convict her, but I couldn’t. I objected anyway.

When the judge asked me what I was objecting to, I had nothing. The judge wasn’t on Dahlia’s side anymore, but I wasn’t allowed to badger her either. I needed evidence.

“Stop, Mia! If you keep on pushing without any evidence, you could pay the ultimate price as a lawyer.” Mr. Grossberg warned.

“Ultimate price?” I asked.

“You'd be forced to take off your attorney's badge forever, I'm afraid,” the judge explained.

Lose my badge? I had wanted this since I was a kid and had worked tirelessly to earn it. I couldn’t throw it all away. Then again, I couldn’t allow her to get away with murder. I was here today to avenge Diego, and to make her pay. I would have to try. If I gave up now, I might as well just throw away my badge. Hopefully, I can come up with something.

I pressed on. “Your Honor! The defense would like to present proof!” I stated confidently.

The judge didn’t want me to waste the court’s time by presenting piece of evidence after piece of evidence until I landed on something. He would only allow one.

I paused and thought hard as I made my selection. I thought about what Diego used to say: “Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains must be the truth.” I tried to view the evidence through that lens and only one piece seemed plausible.

“Here it is, your Honor! The evidence that will prove her guilt once and for all.” I presented Phoenix’s bottle of Coldkiller X, the cold medicine he lost at lunchtime that day and was found in Doug’s hand after he died.

Payne thought I was crazy when I claimed that Dahlia had poisoned Phoenix’s pills, but once I presented it and thought over everything, I knew I was right. I explained it to him. “She heard and saw everything that happened at the scene of the crime. Including what the defendant and victim were arguing about, and the cut electrical cable. That's when she realized, I can't allow Doug Swallow to live. She used the severed electrical cable to silence him forever.”

“Unfortunately for her, this is when the problem occurred,” I continued. “Mr. Wright, who she thought had left the scene, came back to check on the victim. And on top of that, because of the power outage, some students showed up as well. It's hardly any wonder that she was, as she put it, in a state of panic. Recall that she was carrying that bottle of poisoned cold medicine. She must have thought: What if they search me like they did eight months ago?"

Dahlia was angry that her plans had been laid bare. “Oh come on now, everyone. Surely you aren't fooled, are you? This stupid woman! She's nothing but a filthy, stinking liar! Right, Mr. Prosecutor?”

Payne, trying to retain his Rookie Killer reputation agreed. “Huh? Y-Yes, th-that's exactly right. It's just pure desperation!”

I offered Dahlia some Cold Killer X pills, stating that, if I was wrong, there would be no harm in taking them. She finally admitted defeat, sort of.

“Mia Fey! Mia. Fey! Do. You. Think. You've. Won? Well? Do you, Mia Fey?” she screamed. I was too shocked to answer. She laughed maniacally. “That's. Just. Fine! For the time being...for the time being, victory is yours.”

“For the time being?” I asked fearfully.

“Well, I have a very long memory, you know. You and I will meet again. I'm certain of it.”

Dahlia was escorted out of the courtroom by the bailiff with plans for her to stand trial on another day for poisoning Diego, the murder of Doug, the attempted murder of Phoenix, and Phoenix’s framing. While the verdict wasn’t decided yet, I finally felt confident that she would face justice.

Her case was going to be a death row case too, making her claims of meeting me again dubious. I was normally very opposed to capital punishment, especially in this unjust legal system of ours, but I made an exception for her.

After the case, Mr. Grossberg commended me for my performance and for my faith in my client. He said that, as a veteran attorney, he felt he had lost sight of what it meant to be a lawyer and that he didn’t trust in his clients like he should.

Phoenix was miserable though. Even after Dahlia showed her true colors, tried to frame him, and mocked him, he couldn’t believe that she would do something like that. He insisted that she was just a fake and that the Dollie he loved would never treat him this way.

“You need to forget about her, Mr. Wright. For your own sake,” I advised. He begrudgingly agreed. “Also, you need to relax a bit more. Try to grow up a little,” I added.

“B-But, out of all my friends, everyone says I'm the most grown up!” he countered. Note to self: remind me to never meet any of his friends.

Phoenix told me that he was training to be a lawyer himself and I was confused. He told me he was a fine arts student. He mentioned before the trial that he joined the arts program because of a friend. Now he was saying that he was going to try to get into law school because of another friend. He seemed very easily swayed.

He wished me well and said he would see me again, hopefully as a lawyer. I wished him the same, although I was skeptical if that would happen. I don’t know if he had the temperament for law school. Besides, I’m sure he felt passionate about law school today but, once the dust had settled, he’d likely forget about it and move on.

After the trial, Mr. Grossberg told me I could go home for the day rather than go back to the office for a couple of hours. I was invigorated the whole walk home. I finally felt the passion for law that I used to have eight months ago, before I shrank away from it. This result wouldn’t un-poison Diego or bring back Valerie, Terry, or Doug, but at least no one else would suffer at the hands of Dahlia Hawthorne.

When I got home, I was still brimming with energy. I wanted to tell someone, but I wasn’t sure who would be as excited as I was. I was going to see Maria tomorrow, but I just had to tell her now. I knew she was always dismissive when I talked about it, but it was probably because she thought justice was unlikely. I gave her a call.

The phone rang three times before she answered. “Hi, Mia,” she said cautiously. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes!” I said excitedly. “I’m calling with good news.”

“Thank goodness. We don’t normally talk like this. About Diego? The hospital never called me.”

“Yes, about Diego. But not the hospital,” I clarified. “I had my first court case since the one he and I worked on together. Diego’s poisoner, she’s in custody. She’s going to be on trial next week for his poisoning, and for the murder and attempted murder of two others.”

“Oh, wow,” she said happily.

I continued. “She hasn’t been convicted yet, but I think there’s too much evidence for her to walk. It’s a death row case too,” I added.

“Good,” Maria said bluntly. “I hope she rots in hell.”

I laughed. “Now there’s the reaction I was looking for.”

She laughed back. “Yes, I tried not to get angry about it because there was nothing we could do. I always hoped she would get caught someday.” She paused. “Thank you for bringing him justice. You’re a bright girl.”

“That means a lot to me, thank you,” I said genuinely. “I trained with the best,” I added.

I could hear her smile through the phone. “Of course.”

“Well, I won’t keep you, but I’ll see you tomorrow morning, as usual,” I said. Maria didn’t respond. “Maria, are you still there?”

“Yes,” she answered. She paused again. “Mia, there is something I’ve been meaning to tell you, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Maybe it’s best we do it now, over the phone.”

My heart was racing. This time, I paused. “What is it?” I asked nervously.

I heard her swallow. “I have cancer. Pancreatic.”

Chapter 14: Chapter 13 - Mia

Chapter Text

Date: Friday, April 18th, 2014

Time: 4:45 pm

Location: Mr. Grossberg’s Office, Grossberg Law Offices, Los Tokyo

My quick phone call to Maria, intended just to spread the good news, turned into a tearful three-hour discussion about her condition: when she found out about it, what stage she was at, and what was the prognosis.

She told me it was metastatic, in her case meaning it had spread from her pancreas to other organs and her lymph nodes. This revelation knocked the wind out of me. I had yet to know someone personally who died of cancer, but I knew enough that this diagnosis wasn’t good.

I tried to keep us positive, but she said that it was best to be realistic instead. I asked her not to be so negative, but when I looked up the prognosis statistics on my laptop, while still on the phone with her, it sank in that she was right. The survival rate was only 3%; after five years, 97% of people with her exact diagnosis ended up dying.

I started crying. I apologized because I knew that extra emotion was not what she needed right now. She said it was okay. She had been putting off telling me because she knew how I’d react, but it had to be done and she regretted not telling me sooner.

Maria and I had not always seen eye-to-eye on everything, but hearing this news struck me hard in two ways. One, I knew how devastated Diego would be, both if he woke up in time and had to watch his mother go through this, and if he didn’t wake up in time and never got to say goodbye.

Two, in some ways, she had been a second mother to me these past few months. I haven’t had a mother for almost half my life now, with mom leaving three weeks before my thirteenth birthday. While no one could replace Mom, and Mom and Maria’s personalities were quite different, it was nice to have a motherly presence in my life again.

I asked her how long she knew about it, and she paused once more. She said that she started suspecting something was wrong in September but had ignored it. Diego had just ended up in the hospital, so she thought it was unlikely that something so horrible would happen after such a tragedy. He would not allow this, she said, referring to the big Him. She assumed that the grief had been the main cause of her tiredness and weight loss.

In November, she couldn’t put it off any longer, going to see her doctor when she noticed her urine was darker and her skin was yellowing. They inserted a stent to stop her jaundice, saying there was a blockage in her bile ducts. When they went to investigate further, they determined her diagnosis. I tried to think back to that time, not remembering her skin yellowing, but she said it was always harder to tell on darker skin tones, even taking her a while to notice.

I had asked if there was anything we could have done, some way we could have stopped this. In typical Maria fashion, she said there was no sense dwelling on it since we couldn’t go back in time. Unfortunately, she was just dealt an unlucky hand, with this type of cancer being notoriously difficult to treat. Most people didn’t have symptoms until it had already spread.

She told me that she was too tired to work as much, had given up her full-time position at the hospital, and had switched to casual. Her boss knew and now she mostly picked up “princess shifts,” four-hour shifts intended to fill gaps and shortages.

She liked being able to still work, but she couldn’t believe how fast she had declined. She used to do 12-hour shifts in the ER and eight-hour shifts in the stroke unit, and, previously, it wasn’t uncommon for her to do overtime.

The next day, we had our typical Saturday visit with Diego, and retread much of the same ground as we had over the phone. We hugged at the end of the visit, and she made a request of me as she dropped me off at home: wanting help to update and finalize her will.

I agreed, saying I had become quite good at drafting wills over the past year. I offered to do it pro bono, independently from the firm. She refused the offer of free work, but I told her that I was more stubborn than she was, and she backed down.

The whole week, thinking about her and Diego, made me re-examine a lot of things. I was always aware of the precariousness of life. Being from a family of mediums meant I had witnessed all kinds of tragic situations and had interacted with many tortured spirits. However, this news was acutely sobering and brought that awareness to the forefront of my mind.

I had been so invigorated by my victory on Friday, but the air was sucked out of me when I returned to work on Monday. Now that I had ended my strike from criminal trials, I could have asked Mr. Grossberg to keep assigning me to cases, but I didn’t. Hearing about Dahlia’s conviction that week gave me a small moment of joy but, otherwise, I resumed my humdrum routine.

I realized that I needed to finally make a leap and do something drastic. I had been a zombie these past eight months. While a job change wouldn’t solve that completely, I thought it would help. Nothing in life was guaranteed and I needed to prioritize the things I cared about.

Later, this Friday afternoon, 15 minutes before Mr. Grossberg was set to leave for the day, I stopped by his office, a typed resignation letter in hand. I knocked on his open door to announce my arrival.

“Hi Mia,” he said. “Are you getting ready to head out for the day?”

“Uh, yes, almost done. I just needed to talk to you,” I said nervously.

“What is it?”

“Um. Well. Maybe it’s best if you just read this.” I handed him my resignation letter.

As I watched him review it, I saw his eyes widen once he realized. “It saddens me to read this,” he said disappointedly. “I wish you the best though,” he continued, smiling halfheartedly.

“Thank you, sir. It-it was a hard decision, but I think it’s the best for me right now.”

“I understand.” He paused. “Do you mind shutting the door?” he asked. “There is something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

I obliged, although I was nervous about what he was going to say. I’ve had enough bombshells for a lifetime this past year. “What did you need to tell me?”

He sighed. “I really hoped that by hiring you and helping your career, I could make it up to you. I’m sorry that you didn’t have the experience you needed here.”

“What do you mean?”

He cleared his throat. “I want to assure you that I would have hired you anyway because I thought you were brilliant. However, I was also hoping to make amends.”

I tilted my head and tried to process what he was saying. “Sir, I don’t understand.”

“Back in December 2001, there was a murder case at the firm that Robert took on. The murder of defense attorney Gregory Edgeworth. The prosecution and police had relied on a spirit medium to determine the killer. The medium’s name ended up leaking to the press.”

I covered my mouth and shook my head. “Sir, you didn’t?” I asked, horrified.

He cleared his throat again before continuing. “In exchange for money, a man had asked me to provide the identity of the medium.” He swallowed. “I should have known better. If he was offering money, it wasn’t innocuous. I didn’t see the harm at the time. I thought it was easy money for, at worst, a day of gossip in the tabloids.” His voice faltered. “I didn’t realize how much pain I would cause.”

I wasn’t sure if I wanted to cry or yell. Probably both. All this time, the person who leaked my mom’s name to the press and caused her to leave was just down the hall. I needed his full confession, so I kept my emotions inside. “Who was this man?” I asked calmly.

“His name is Redd White. He owns a consulting company, although what he deals in mostly is bribery and blackmail. His business is more of a money laundering scheme.”

A consulting company? There was one that came to the firm every year and made annual recommendations for improvement. Reina told me that they cost a pretty penny to contract, but they never seemed all that useful. “Bluecorp?” I asked.

He nodded. “I won’t pretend that I lost as much as you but taking that bribe has haunted me for the last 12 years. The police were trying to identify who had leaked your mom’s name and Redd White blackmailed me, stating he would reveal my identity if I didn’t cooperate. He would crater my reputation and the firm would crumble. I’ve paid for his consulting services every year since, costing me way more than the initial bribe was worth.”

I was silent for an uncomfortable amount of time, but I just couldn’t generate any words. I was completely speechless.

“I’m so sorry, Mia. If there is anything I can do, please tell me,” he pleaded.

Everything started to make sense. No wonder I was his work daughter. He had felt so bad that he wanted to make it up to me with special treatment. “I don’t know,” I said plainly. I really didn’t. Nothing he could do would bring Mom home or give me back the last 12 years with her.

“You’re starting your own firm, right?” he asked. “That’s why you’re leaving?”

“Yes, that was my hope.”

“Are you buying an office space?”

“Well, no. I just paid off my student loans two months ago and I don’t have enough saved. I was going to rent a small one-room office until I had enough money.”

He didn’t say anything and just pulled something out of one of his desk’s drawers: his checkbook. He filled in a check, ripped it out of his book, and handed it to me. “Buy a place, a good one. This will cover your down payment.”

I looked down at the check: $35,000. My eyes widened and I got overwhelmed. “Sir, I can’t accept this. This is just too much,” I said frantically. I tried to hand it back to him.

“Please,” he said insistently, refusing to take it back. “This is how much the bribe was, plus interest. I gave away your mother’s identity for $25,000. I want to make this right.”

It was crazy to hear the amount. I don’t know what a reasonable bribe would be, but $25,000 didn’t seem like enough for a man of Mr. Grossberg’s position. The way he wrote that check without a second thought confirmed that.

Still, $35,000 was a lot of money to me. I called starting my own law firm my 5-year plan because I knew how expensive it would be. I wanted to have $100,000 saved, just in case. I only had $10,000 right now and was being rash to leave like I was. I just couldn’t stay any longer. This money wouldn’t allow me to reach that savings goal, but it would make the venture less risky.

Finally, I answered him. “I don’t know, sir,” I said hesitantly. “It’s really important for me to be independent. To prove that I could do this on my own,” I continued, with more determination.

“Mia, nothing about this situation is independent,” he said, without skipping a beat. “If I hadn’t done what I did, you wouldn’t even be in this office right now. You’d be back home. I’m just closing the loop.”

I was taken aback. He was right; I often thought of that myself. If Mom hadn’t left, I would have followed in her footsteps. I wouldn’t have gone to law school. I never would have worked here. Never would have met Diego. I just wasn’t used to Mr. Grossberg being, well, competent.

I often wondered how he created his empire, having a successful firm that employed 34 people. He was ready to throw Phoenix to the wolves at the slightest inconvenience during our trial. He was so forgetful with even the most basic things. He also didn’t have the drive of everyone here. While most of the attorneys would stay late, he rarely left after 5 pm.

The argument he just made was well-reasoned and convincing though. I wasn’t sure if he had thought about this situation a lot over the years and had that argument pre-prepared or if I was just seeing a glimpse of the lawyer he used to be, at the beginning of his career, before he started phoning it in. Once again, I didn’t say anything.

“Mia,” he persisted. “If you take this money, you’ll be more independent than you’ve ever been. You don’t have to search for the truth anymore. You can practice law the way you want.”

He was right. I knew what had happened now; this lifelong mystery was just solved in an instant. Why did I not feel relief though? Probably because she was still gone, and I hadn’t found her yet.

“Okay, I’ll accept it” I eventually replied. “Thank you, sir,” I said graciously.

“Don’t thank me,” he ordered. “This is reparation.” I nodded back. “I know you must hate me now, but is it okay if I offer you some advice for your firm?”

I should hate him, but I couldn’t. He messed up horribly, but he tried so hard to fix it. Bad as this is to say, that was more than mom did. She just ran away and never looked back. “Of course,” I agreed.

He cleared his throat once more in preparation. “Running a firm is a tough business. I know you want to help people but, when you charge for your services, take whatever you think it will cost and tack on 30%. Everything costs more than you think it will.”

I nodded. “Maybe I should write this down,” I said, but I didn’t bring a pen or a pad with me.

“You’ll remember,” he said, before continuing. “Track everything. Every hour and every expense. If you miss anything, you’ll be surprised at how quickly things can fall apart.” He paused. “You can’t spare any expense with your clients though. Your office can be as cheap as you want, but the customer-facing areas must be nice. Clients say they don’t care about those things, but they absolutely do.”

“This is good advice, thank you.”

“One more thing: Add “& Co.” to your firm name.”

“& Co.?”

“You were going to call it Fey Law Offices, right?” he asked. I nodded. “Fey & Co. Law Offices sounds more established. Like you have a whole team.”

“Sir, won’t they know when they walk in that I’m the only one there?”

“Getting clients in the door is the hard part. Once they’re there, they’ll stay.”

“Right, that makes sense,” I agreed. “I hadn’t thought about that. I’ll probably have to advertise or else no one will know that I’m there.”

“You’ll have to win,” he said.

Date: Thursday, November 13th, 2014

Time: 10:19 am

Location: Maria’s Room, Oncology Unit, Shinjuku Heights Teaching Hospital

After many more rounds of “and another thing,” my head filled with advice for my new firm, Mr. Grossberg left for the day. I gave him the customary two weeks' notice in my resignation letter, but he told me that I was free to finish today if I completed all my ongoing work and was able to clean out my desk. He said that he could tell for a while that I was going to quit and had prepared for it. Before he left, he asked me to reach out to him if I needed anything and I promised that I would.

I stayed four hours late, finishing up the last of the paperwork I had worked on that day, and packing up anything of mine or Diego’s still left in the building. I had taken most of his stuff home months ago, but I still had his favorite pen, his favorite mug, and a small, framed photograph of the two of us together that he used to keep on his desk.

On one of our less tired Saturdays, about two or three months into dating, we went on a big hike to a mountain near the city. Unfortunately, we didn’t have many photos together, but that framed one was so nice it almost made up for it. We were both smiling with the beautiful vista from the top of the peak in the background.

Diego always said that school was just a means to an end for him, but his choice of favorite mug proved that wasn’t true. His class of 2010 mug from LTU was crushed the day of my first case and, when we cleaned up the shards, he had debated saving them so he could try and piece it back together. He was tickled when I stopped by the campus bookstore one day and managed to get a dusty replacement that they had tucked away in storage.

Reina, who smartly never really cared about corporate ladder-climbing, had gone home for the weekend by the time I finished the meeting, but I had texted her the news so she wouldn’t find out Monday morning with everyone else. She playfully reprimanded me for leaving, jokingly asking that I take her with me.

We had coffee the next week to talk about my departure and I asked her how everyone had reacted. She said that they were initially quite shocked, but everyone moved on quickly. She told me that stuff like this is why she never got too devoted to a job. They treat you as irreplaceable and then forget about you immediately after you leave.

The second I made it home that Friday night, my entire focus became finding an office space. I had looked on countless real estate websites to find the perfect one. I had fun looking at places but reading the list prices made the experience less pleasant. Office spaces, even small ones, could easily cost over one million dollars.

Even with the money that Mr. Grossberg gave me, the most I could buy was $700,000 and even that would mean a hefty mortgage payment, utilities, and property taxes. The more expensive the place, the more money I’d have to make each month.

That Monday, I went to the bank, got approved for a mortgage and found a real estate agent. He showed me half a dozen places in my price range, but all of them were dingy, small, in a bad part of town, or all three.

He mentioned one more place, but he had hesitated to show it to me. When we finally looked at it, I didn’t understand why. It was very plain but clean, with freshly painted walls and new carpets. It was only 1000 square feet, but it had a lobby area, a small personal office, and a private bathroom. It was exactly what I needed.

I asked him what the catch was. It was a perfectly serviceable place in a good part of town, and right across from the luxurious Gatewater Hotel. I guessed that it was out of my price range, but he said no, saying it was $50,000 under budget.

When I asked if someone was murdered here, he said no, but he admitted that someone probably had been outside. On the surface, the location was perfect, but there were two rival mob families that both lived a block away from here in opposite directions.

Naturally, I didn’t like the idea of being caught in the middle of a gang war, but I didn’t have the money to get a place this nice in a safer location. My agent recommended that I don’t walk alone at night and buy a gun and I’d probably be fine. I wasn’t keen on getting a weapon, but I still placed an offer that day and finalized the sale that week.

Starting a firm was more work than I thought, having to furnish the entire place, set up the price structure for all my services, and develop templates from scratch for all my paperwork. Not only that but, as Mr. Grossberg had mentioned, I had an uphill battle obtaining clients as a lawyer who only served on two criminal defense cases.

The first month I made no money, basically only opening for business by the final days of the month. The second month was terrifying. I was able to attract some clients for law services, but not as many as I needed to cover my expenses and I still had no criminal cases. I didn’t have a lot of money left after spending it on furniture and the down payment, so I had to get rid of my apartment and live at the firm.

After living in an overstuffed bachelor apartment, I finally had to declutter the place and declutter my life. Even though the office was almost three times the size of my apartment, I didn’t have the space to store all that stuff while keeping the business aesthetically pleasing to clients.

I got rid of nearly everything, keeping only my clothes, my law books, and some mementos from back home and from my relationship. I kept all my toiletries in a caddy in my desk drawer that I would bring into the bathroom in the morning and at night. I slept on the couch in my office.

At first, getting rid of all my stuff was painful. However, once it was gone for good and out of sight, I was surprised at how I was able to get by without it. I had all the important stuff I needed with me.

By the third month of operation, business started to pick up and the sacrifices I made had been worth it. As with every summer, crime spikes and the extra demand brought my first criminal defense client to the firm that July.

Thinking about what Mr. Grossberg said, I knew that winning was important to build my reputation as a defense attorney and bring in more business. However, I didn’t want to win if it meant helping acquit guilty people. It felt wrong, but I used the magatama to determine a client’s innocence before I took them on.

Once I had confirmation that they were innocent, I figured that there had to be some evidence that would exonerate them even if I had to dig and dig to find it. I took on three defense clients that month and won all three trials. I still only had four wins under my belt, but that was enough to build me up and keep the business stable. I wasn’t flush, but I was surviving.

Even though I was now living in my office, and arguably working even more than I did at my old job, it brought a level of accomplishment that the other firm couldn’t. I was doing the same work and yet it felt completely different. Having control over everything in my business was freeing. Seeing my last name on the sign out front filled me with pride.

Starting this new firm was still bittersweet in some ways though, seeing “& Co.” where there should have been another last name. He should have been here with me, picking out furniture and developing the business plan. Between the two of us, I probably wouldn’t have to live in the office either. When he woke up though, I decided that his new nickname would be “& Co.” and I would tease him about maybe adding his name to the door, but only if he had earned it.

The flexibility was also important as Maria died of her cancer. I was able to keep her company during some of her medical appointments and got to see her today; the day we knew she had no time left. It was Thursday, but as my own boss, I closed the firm down and took the day off.

Maria was the youngest of four girls. Diego had told me that his grandfather had died when he was 16 and his grandmother had died when he was 22, but his three aunts were all back home in the Dominican. None of his aunts had a lot of money though, so he hadn’t seen them since the two funerals. They weren’t able to fly to Japanifornia very often and sometimes Maria had to send them money to help.

When they heard about Diego, they couldn’t make arrangements to see him in time, the week he entered the hospital. Once he had stabilized, they said they would visit when they could. When they found out about Maria’s cancer, they finally made a trip up about a month ago, staying at her place the whole time. Maria entered the hospital around the same time, so they were able to visit both of them.

There were a lot of people around today, between her three sisters, the medical staff, me, and Maria’s nursing colleagues and friends, all making visits to say goodbye. The unit had a visiting room with couches where family and friends could sit, and Maria sent everyone there this morning as she wanted to meet one-on-one with everyone while she was still able to speak.

When my turn was up, her third oldest sister returning to the visiting room and directing me to Maria’s room, I nervously walked in and sat down in the chair beside her.

“Thank you for being here today,” she said warmly. “I know how busy you’ve been with the new firm.”

“Of course,” I said. “No matter what, I would have found a way to be here.”

She smiled. “I don’t know how many more hours I have. I’ve seen this before with my patients. I’ll get right to the point.” She grabbed an envelope on her bedside table and handed it to me. “This is for you. Well, it’s for Diego,” she clarified. “I want you to hold onto it for him.”

“What is it?”

“It’s about his father.”

“Oh. Should I open it?” I asked. She nodded.

The envelope wasn’t sealed, and I opened it and removed its contents. Inside was a four-page letter, handwritten in Spanish with perfect cursive. I couldn’t understand it, of course, so I set it aside, but there was also a faded newspaper clipping and several photographs inside.

Some of the photos were childhood ones, depicting a mother and a boy, all in black and white. The more intriguing ones were of Maria, a 20-something version of her, standing next to a man much taller than her. They were both radiating with happiness as they stood and smiled in front of various tropical locales. Diego looked like both of them, but he mostly looked like his father, having the same height and build, many of the same features, and the same cheeky grin.

Then, I looked at the newspaper clipping; an obituary featuring the same man. Jackson Myers: March 11th, 1955 – February 5th, 1985. It said that he died in a car accident.

“His dad died?”

She nodded again. “Yes. Before he was even born.”

“You knew this whole time?” I asked disappointedly. Diego said that he hated his dad, but he still wanted to find him and confront him someday. I didn’t want to believe that she’d keep this secret from him.

She shook her head. “I only found out less than a year ago, after Diego ended up in the hospital. When his poisoning was reported in the news, his grandmother, his dad’s mom, saw it. She looked at his picture and knew it had to be her grandson.”

“She knew about you two? Why didn’t she reach out.”

She laughed bitterly. “She was angry at me. Jack had taken a second job to make extra money for me and Diego. We were supposed to move here and live with him.”

“Why would that upset her?”

“We think he had the same rare and unusual condition as Diego. Can’t process caffeine. He overworked himself and fell asleep at the wheel.” She sighed. “His mom thought I got pregnant on purpose so I could use him for a green card.”

“That’s awful,” I said sympathetically. I guess my fears of Diego falling asleep at the wheel weren’t unfounded. He managed his exhaustion levels well for someone who worked so much but, some days, he really had trouble keeping his eyes open.

“Yes, but we’ve put it behind us,” she said matter-of-factly. “I’ve met with her a couple of times and she’s apologized. She’s visited him and said that she’d like to get to know him when he wakes up.”

“You’re a bigger person than me. I’d have a hard time forgiving that.”

“Well, you know mothers-in-law. They aren’t supposed to like their son’s partners,” she said jokingly, giving me a wink.

I grinned. Maria scared me when I first got to know her, but I consider us to have a good relationship now. “How did you and his dad meet, if you don’t mind me asking? Diego didn’t know all the details.”

Her face lit up. “I was working at a resort back home. He was a guest there. He was handsome, but he wasn’t who I thought was my type. He was...” She paused to think. “What do the Mexicans say? A gringo?”

I laughed. “You would know more than me, but I think that’s right.”

“Maybe that’s rude to say. I don’t mean it that way.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I reassured her. “I’m half gringo and I’m not offended.”

“Your dad too?”

I nodded. “He was Irish-American. From Boston originally.”

“I didn’t know.”

“Well, he’s been gone 15 years. Gave us the Irish goodbye too,” I said sarcastically. “Anyway,” I said, waving it off. “You were saying?”

I didn’t want to go into detail with Maria, but sometimes I wondered if I was unfair to Dad, for not thinking about him the way I did Mom. When I was younger, the two years between him leaving and Mom leaving felt so significant. The older I got, the less significant it seemed.

He had been a good dad too, before he left. He played catch with me and taught me how to ride a bike. He used to read me stories and do all the funny voices. He took me to see movies and out to eat. He was less strict than Mom too.

He was a lost soul though. Back when California seceded from the US in the late 70s, he had decided to move here. He was 18 and wanted to make a big change and live far away from his big and dysfunctional family. Then he got trapped.

The US had originally stated that it would grant flexible citizenship to Californians, but it took the promise back a few months before the secession became permanent. The US wanted to punish the state for leaving.

People panicked as they had to decide which country they would choose. Dad chose California, but quickly regretted it, until nine years later when he met Mom. He was 27 and she was 18, but she was wise beyond her years, beautiful, and mysterious.

He had no idea what he was in for when he married into her family and moved to the Village, but he took the leap. He was looking for someone to save him and she was looking for a man who knew absolutely nothing about her rigid, matriarchal society. They had me shortly after.

He played the role well for a few years, but the novelty wore off and being effectively useless started to get to him. Mom told me, and I wish she hadn’t because I could never unhear it, that they had Maya in a last-ditch effort to save the marriage. It didn’t work.

In the mid-90s, the US loosened its restrictions on citizenship. By that time, California had been unified with Japan and had suffered a horrible and long-lasting recession. The US didn’t feel the need to punish us anymore. Two months after Maya was born, Dad left, presumably to go back to Boston.

I didn’t know where he went for sure until six months ago; when I finally had the nerve to look him up on social media. He was remarried, the breadwinner, and had two boys. My half-brothers. He was living the exact opposite life he had with us and Mom.

Mom’s reason for leaving was flimsy, but I accepted it more than his reason. When she was disgraced, everyone in the Village was angry with her. Our two sources of income were channeling and the selling of our wares and no one had faith in our channeling abilities after that case. It took years for our reputation to recover.

Her shame became even worse when other villagers pointed out how Aunt Morgan was originally supposed to be the Master. Mom got the title right after my grandmother died and failed to live up to it almost immediately.

Dad’s reason? He just wanted to feel like a man. He somehow didn’t realize that leaving and never coming back, never even trying to connect the two halves of his life, made him less of one.

When Mom left, she wrote a heartfelt note and gave me my birthday gift early. When Dad left, he did nothing, leaving without a word.

“I was sitting in the resort’s bar, having dinner after my shift, and he was there too,” Maria continued. “He greeted me in nearly perfect Spanish. I wasn’t expecting it. He was wearing a nice suit and said he needed the language for work.” She smiled. “We got along very well and saw each other all the time the rest of his trip. He even stayed an extra week just to see me.”

I smiled back. “I don’t mean to pry, but if he was a businessman staying at a fancy resort, why did he need the second job?”

“He wasn’t wealthy and didn’t make much. He actually learned the language growing up in a low-income area with many Spanish speakers. He worked for a fruit distribution company. He would negotiate prices and shipments and sometimes they would send him to tropical countries to meet with suppliers. His company had given him money to pay for cheap hotels during his business trip, but he used all his savings to pay for a nicer resort and to cover an extra week.”

I shook my head in disbelief. “I can’t believe that he was dead this whole time, and you both had no idea.”

“I know,” she agreed. “It makes sense now. I thought we were in love. He and I talked on the phone every day until we didn’t. It was before computers though. I didn’t know he died, and the obituary didn’t get posted online. I had looked before.” She smiled again. “I’m sad that he’s dead, but I’m happy to know he was a good man after all.”

“It sounds like he cared a lot about both of you,” I said.

“He did. I wish he had told me about his money issues though,” she said sternly. “We didn’t need much. I didn’t care about that.”

“I know how you feel,” I said, my voice faltering.

She looked at me solemnly. “That reminds me. There is one more thing I wanted to talk to you about.”

“What is it?”

She laughed. “Diego has always been so precious to me. I never thought any woman would be good enough for him. He only brought a couple girls over before you and I hated them both. I wasn’t afraid to tell them that too. When he told me about you and I listened to him gush on and on, I was ready to hate you too. But I always liked you.”

“Why was that?” I asked skeptically. I was flattered but didn’t remember doing anything exceptional on that first visit.

“I could see myself and Jack in both of you. The laughter and affection. It was real and he was right.”

“He was,” I said, trying to hold back tears. “I wish I wasn’t so stupid and had realized earlier.”

“No one would doubt your commitment,” she reassured me. “You stepped up after the poisoning and with my condition.”

“I couldn’t do anything less,” I said.

“Yes, you could have.” She paused and took a deep breath. “It’s really hard for me to say this. I don’t want you to end up bitter like I was. I spent my whole life hating Diego’s father and swore off men. I was wrong the whole time.”

“What are you saying?” I asked alarmingly. I think I already knew, but I couldn’t believe it.

“You’re beautiful, smart, and successful. You have your whole life ahead of you. Diego may never wake up and I don’t want you to waste your whole life waiting.”

I shook my head furiously. “Maria, I could never...”

She cut me off. “This isn’t a test. I mean it. There was one time, I could have been happy again. This lawyer who helped us emigrate, we were both widowed and I didn’t know it then. I thought he was interested in me, but he was so proper. He wouldn’t ask unless I showed enough interest. I was still so angry; I wouldn’t entertain the idea. He was younger than me too, and I was traditional and didn’t like that. Then he died and I regretted it.”

Another bombshell. Miles Edgeworth and Diego could have been stepbrothers. I wonder how that would have changed everything.

“Maria,” I said softly. “I’m sorry things turned out this way, but Diego isn’t dead.” I held up my left hand and showed her the engagement ring. “If he was awake, we would have gotten married.”

“Yes, but...”

I cut her off. “I know. We didn’t. If we had, we would have made vows. In sickness and in health. Until death. I haven’t given up on him,” I said determinedly.

She wiped some tears from her eyes. “Wow.” She shook her head. “You’re a beautiful person. Inside and out.”

"Thank you." I teared up too. "Do you really not think he’ll wake up?” I asked tentatively. It had been over a year now, and I was losing hope, but I wanted to believe it.

“I don’t know,” she said shortly. “If there was a God, he would have woken Diego up by now. He would have let me say goodbye to him.” Her voice was shaky, and she started crying harder.

Seeing her so broken made me cry. Her crisis of faith shocked me too. It wasn’t what I believed, but it was always so important to her. She can’t give up on it right before she dies.

I didn’t know if she’d believe me, but I had to reassure her. “Maria. I never mentioned this because I didn’t want to upset you, but I come from a family of mediums.”

“I know,” she replied.

“You know?”

“That lawyer who died; your mom was involved?”

“She was. So, do you think it’s nonsensical?" I asked.

She paused. “I used to. Now I don’t know. I trust you, so it makes me wonder.”

“Maybe this will be hard to believe, but we have channeled spirits before. I’ve done it and I’ve seen it. There is something after death,” I insisted.

“What is it?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know. The spirits we’ve channeled, they haven’t rested. They are in a... a purgatory, I guess. Once they rest, they go somewhere else to be at peace.”

She nodded silently.

“Diego, his soul hasn’t left his body yet. He’s still here. I tried to channel him, just in case, but I couldn’t. When you die though, you’ll get to see him again. Some day. In the Twilight Realm, as we call it. It’s goodbye for now, not forever,” I said, smiling reassuringly.

She nodded tearfully. “I pray to God that you are right.”

Chapter 15: Chapter 14 - Mia

Chapter Text

Date: Saturday, July 18th, 2015

Time: 11:10 pm

Location: The Palace Nightclub, Los Tokyo

I was in the room when she died. Just me and her three sisters. It was hard to watch her final moments. She couldn’t speak, she just laid there, her breathing labored and gasping. As mad as I was at my parents, I hoped they both died years, no decades from now, in their sleep, and not like this.

After hours of waiting and watching, trying to chat with her sisters who spoke limited English, she passed at around eight o’clock that night. We closed her eyes shut, kissed her forehead, and then talked to the unit staff about her funeral arrangements and burial.

As promised, I finalized her will before she died and was the executor of her estate. She had initially planned to give most of her money to her sisters, figuring Diego could stand on his own, but his condition made her reconsider. She changed her plans so that she could pay to store his belongings and his car.

Her sisters were entitled to the possessions in the house; they could decide amongst themselves whether they’d ship anything back home or sell it. Whatever they sold, they’d have to split the proceeds. Diego would get the profits from the sale of her house and her car, and all her savings, whatever was left, after he woke up.

Maria had agonized over this decision, wanting to set her sisters up with a better life back home. They were understanding. As a successful nurse in Japanifornia, Maria felt responsible for taking care of her family. As the youngest and the baby sister, they didn’t expect that from her at all, assuming she would give everything to her only son, the same as they would do for their kids.

About a year after Maria and I cleaned Diego’s apartment, I helped her sisters clean out her house. Learning how to drive had come in handy, as I shuttled Diego’s stuff to a storage locker and made various car runs to the dump, the thrift store, the post office, and the homes of online ad respondents buying Maria’s furniture.

After about a week of packing, with me stopping by to help as soon as I could after my workdays, they went back home, hugging me and thanking me for my help before they left. They told me happily that they would be back for the wedding, whenever it was, and I told them I’d let them know as soon as I knew.

The moment they left and the last of Maria’s belongings were gone, it felt like a chapter in my life had closed for good. The only other person as devoted to him as I am, was gone.

It wasn’t just that though. The other people around me changed too. Lana had grown more distant over the year, and I saw her less and less as time went on. She said she was just stressed at work, but that stress seemed to become an insurmountable barrier to our friendship.

In February, she took on a new job in the prosecutor’s office. Not only was she a lawyer instead of a detective now, but she had become the Chief Prosecutor, taking over the position after the former Chief finally retired.

Lana and her boss had successfully arrested and charged a wanted serial killer, and the world became their oyster after that case. Gant moved up from deputy to Chief of Police and Lana was given the prosecutorial equivalent, despite her lack of criminal trial experience.

I texted to congratulate her after hearing the news, joking that she should only assign easy opponents for my cases from now on. She thanked me, but she didn’t say much more than that. We still texted sometimes, but I haven’t seen her since her promotion.

Reina got engaged on New Year’s Eve and she asked me to be a bridesmaid at her wedding. We saw each other a lot for a few months, as she planned her wedding and I assisted, attending dress fittings and cake tastings, and helping her to pick out flowers and decor.

She and Austin got married that May and moved into a house in the suburbs together. Shortly after, she got a new job closer to her house. We kept in touch, but it wasn’t the same. We couldn’t just meet for dinner or drinks in the city like we used to.

Maya, as usual, was trapped in the Village, only being allowed out on limited occasions. On one of our phone calls, I asked Maya to put Aunt Morgan on the line so I could give her an earful and Maya reluctantly agreed.

Aunt Morgan put her foot down, refusing to be flexible, but I told her she’d have to relinquish her control soon. Maya had just turned 16 and, before long, she would be an adult and free to do whatever she wanted. Aunt Morgan seemed unmoved by my argument, but I knew by the way she paused on the phone that she realized she’d be powerless the day Maya turned 18.

Feeling isolated like I did, I decided to put everything into my work. I ate, slept, and breathed law. It was the only thing I had left. My dedication paid off, and my reputation kept building with each defense case I took.

By April, I had served on 20 cases and had achieved a perfect record, not counting my devastating draw on the Terry Fawles case. No defense attorney in the city had ever done that before. No other defense attorney had access to the tools I have either, but it was still hard work, even with the aid of the magatama.

Mr. Grossberg was right. The more I won, the more in demand I became. I started getting calls all the time for my services, but I was only one person and only had so many hours in the day. Besides, some of the people who contacted me were guilty, and I didn’t want any part in winning cases for them.

My reputation brought me some level of local celebrity too. The Los Tokyo Times did a feature on me after my 20th win, and photographed me outside the doors of my office, arms crossed, smiling widely. After that feature, I got even more calls from people looking for me to represent them. I also got calls of a different nature too.

As a successful and now noted lawyer, I received invitations to attend various galas, charity auctions, award ceremonies, and dinners, events I’d attend in the presence of some of Los Tokyo’s most rich and powerful people.

When I first got one of these invitations, I happily accepted. I couldn’t believe that at 26, a practicing lawyer for less than three years, I would be hobnobbing with celebrities, politicians, millionaires, and billionaires. I had really made something of myself.

Before the first event, I went out to a fancy department store and bought an expensive dress. I was more financially stable now with my success, but it was still way out of my budget. I hadn’t even felt secure enough in my business to rent an apartment again, still living out of my office.

It was beautiful though. A form-fitting red silk dress with a square neckline and elegant draping across the chest and at my hips. I don’t want to even say how much it cost because it was too much. I figured it would be a once-in-a-lifetime experience and I thought I could splurge just this one time. I got so used to living in the office that I could do it for another month.

When I attended that first function, a charity gala for the Los Tokyo General Medical Center, the evening seemed pleasant enough at first. It was a little dry with many boring speeches and presentations, but I thought the cause was worthy, the atmosphere stunning, and the food delicious.

During breaks, some people would come up to me at my table and introduce themselves. I would explain time and time again who I was, and some claimed that they had a recollection of my article, and others had no clue. I didn’t have such a big head now that I thought they should recognize me. It’s just, if they didn’t know who I was at all, then why was I even there?

Then, I got invited to the afterparty and the whole affair seemed less grand and Cinderella-like than I originally thought. At first, I was confused by the invitation. Why would there be an afterparty for a charity gala? Once I arrived at the party, I realized that these functions can more accurately be described as PR stunts and warm-ups for the main event.

That gala did raise millions for the hospital, but it was primarily a way to make everyone in the room look good. After they suffered through the ceremony, paid their money, and did their photo ops, they could get as drunk, high, and depraved as they wanted behind closed doors.

I found the whole thing appalling. These glamorous celebrities, politicians, and high-powered businessmen all seemed awe-inspiring when you only saw them on TV, in movies, and on the news. In person, they were stumbling around, talking over each other, flirting sloppily, and getting into petty arguments. It was like a trainwreck; I wanted to leave, but I couldn’t look away. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

I had a few men approach me over the night and that almost pushed me out of there. Almost. They tried to grab me by my waist, my arm, or my hand and lead me to some dark corner of the room or to a private room, but I always pulled away. They were surprised at my resistance but, alternatively, I was surprised by their boldness. I didn’t recall asking them to touch me.

Eventually, one of them asked me if I was an escort and, instantly, I got pale and clammy. When I didn’t answer, he assured me that he meant a high-class one. I wanted to scoff but remained frozen instead. That’s not what I took issue with, asshole.

I’m a defense lawyer; why did they even invite me here? Did they think I would just fall into that role the second I stepped through the door and saw a few famous people?

The woman on the phone, the one who sent me the invitation, said that everyone was impressed with my dedication to the law and my pursuit of justice. Here, no one gave a damn about that. They reduced me to my looks and didn’t care about my job.

If they knew who I was then they would probably be more self-conscious because I was cataloguing a lot of illegal activity in this room. Then again, maybe not. There were some corrupt police officers, lawyers, and politicians here who had turned a blind eye.

I went to leave but, before I could, the man pulled on my arm. “You aren’t one of those cupcakes who works for Redd White, are you?” he asked.

My mouth was agape. “What did you just say?”

“Listen, tell him I’ll pay him what he wants, and this never happened. I can’t risk the scandal and my wife will kill me.”

I asked him for his name, and he gave it without hesitation, telling me he was a senator. I assured him that I didn’t work for Redd White and offered to chat with him at one of the booths of the club. Even though I kept my distance while we were seated, he must have thought I was interested and spilled every detail about how Redd White had blackmailed him.

Once I had all the information, I told him I was getting tired and had to leave. He thought that was an invitation, but I instructed him to sit back down. I winked and smiled, telling him I’d see him at the next event. He was too drunk to realize that he had been swindled and smiled back, letting me leave without protest.

I had no intention of seeing him again. As soon as I made it to the office that night, I wrote down everything he told me and put it into a new case folder. I looked him up and recorded any background information that I could find online or in court records.

I looked up Redd White too but found very little. Despite his omnipresence, nothing about him leaked unless he wanted it that way; he kept a tight control on his image.

Then, I stashed that file folder in one of my desk drawers. I wasn’t sure what I’d do with it until I got another invite, three weeks later. This time to a black-tie chamber of commerce awards ceremony. Something inside me told me that I shouldn’t go, but I ignored it. I wanted to see if I could gather more information about Redd White and his victims.

Sure enough, there was another crazy afterparty and I was invited to attend again. This time, people seemed to know who I was, having seen me at the last event or my name listed underneath some of that event’s photos.

Despite knowing that, they treated me in much the same way. The only difference this time was that some of them wanted legal help, and I had to find ways to delicately decline. I didn’t need the magatama to know they were guilty of whatever it was they were accused of.

That same senator from the last event wasn’t there, but there were other men eager to talk with me. I had to maintain a fine balance, trying to seem vacant and naive enough that they felt comfortable talking to me and guarded enough that I could find a moment to get away unscathed, without scorn or accusations of being a tease.

It was a tough tightrope act to walk. Part of me wanted to go full airhead and just giggle and play stupid so they would underestimate me completely. They probably would have fallen for it too. Somehow, they were able to hold two contradictory ideas in their head: That I was this brilliant lawyer who could defend them out of their legal issues, but also just a dumb girl who waited on bated breath every time they spoke.

I couldn’t do it though. It would be exhausting to keep that act up, and I thought my cover would be blown if I ever ran into someone that I knew who could tell I was acting inauthentic. Luckily, it didn’t take as much manipulation as I expected for them to reveal their secrets. Unlike the senator from the first event, they had enough sense to cover for themselves but were happy to divulge the secrets of those they knew who were tricked by Redd White.

While the men were easy, with women it was a little harder to get them to reveal that information. There were some women at the party who were interested in people of the female persuasion, and, for them, the tactic was similar. Otherwise, I had to work harder to befriend them and earn their trust until they gossiped about something worth writing down.

After two events where I spent the whole night trying to extract information from the other guests, I was certain that I’d end up on a blacklist and not be invited back. That didn’t end up being the case. The event organizers had decided that a younger woman like me was a good fit for photo ops and they liked having me front row center in many of the pictures.

Somehow, people trusted me too. I thought they wouldn’t since it seemed obvious what I was doing. However, the familiar faces I saw at these events always seemed happy to see me every time I showed up.

I guess, even if they didn’t know it, I was technically on their side. I didn’t care if their corruption or adultery was revealed to the public, but I did care about stopping Redd White.

Then too, despite all the shocking secrets they revealed to me, none of them ever leaked to the press. I kept that information to myself, with my only use for it being ammunition. Once I had a big enough list of victims, and a thorough case file, I could bring forward a case to the police, the non-corrupt ones, and bring him down.

I felt like a movie spy: dressing in fancy outfits, playing a part, and gathering intel. My “missions” could feel rather demeaning though. While I kept my guard up and was prepared to deflect any physical contact, there were inevitably moments when my vigilance slipped for a second and someone would touch or grope me.

Since I had to look the part too, people were constantly leering at me. With all this attention, I should have felt beautiful, but all I felt was objectified. Like some piece of meat.

I often would need to go to the bathroom and take some deep breaths to calm myself down. Tonight, at one of these parties, I was standing in front of the mirror, doing just that, when Emilia, another frequent attendee, walked in and stood in front of the mirror next to me, touching up her make-up.

Emilia was so glamorous that I thought for sure she was a model or actress at first. At a previous event, I asked if I had seen her in something before and she laughed and told me that she wasn’t an actress, but her job did involve a lot of “faking it”.

“You okay?” she asked sympathetically before she reapplied her red lipstick.

“Yeah, I'm fine, thank you,” I said shakily. “These events always make me so anxious.”

She smiled mysteriously. “Well, no one at these parties is working as hard as you.”

I looked at her curiously. “What do you mean?” I asked.

“I’ve noticed what you’ve been up to. I don’t know why you’re doing it, but I’ve been paying attention.” She turned to me and mimed zipping her lips before smiling again. “Our little secret though.”

I smiled back at her. “Thank you. I’d explain, but it’d take too long.”

“I’m sure you have a good reason.” There was a beat. “Is your fiancé okay with what you’ve been up to?”

“My fiancé?” I asked incredulously. I had never worn the ring to one of these events, even the first gala. I didn’t want anyone to ask me about it the first time, and then I couldn’t wear it any other time because it would hamper my ability to gather information.

“I saw your LT Times article a few months ago. You were wearing an engagement ring in the pictures.”

I exhaled, laughing. “I think you’re the only person here who knows how to read. They say they know who I am, but no one ever mentions that picture or that article to me.”

“Honestly, I don’t think they’d care anyway. Half the people here are cheating on their partners. You and your fiancé have an arrangement?” she asked.

“We broke off our engagement,” I lied. The truth, once again, was too hard to explain.

“I’m sorry to hear that, but I’m not surprised. I had a fiancé before too. As much as men say they’re okay with it, and as much as you insist that it’s all just a job, they don’t understand.” She sighed. “I don’t blame them, really. I’m almost 30 and I think I need to get the hell out of this business. It’s soul-crushing.”

I didn’t know how to respond. Her and my work were quite different and there were many lines I would not cross. In my head, I jokingly referred to myself as a honey pot without the honey. A dark joke, but I found it amusing somehow. I didn’t want to insult her by pointing out that difference. She was one of the few people I liked at these events.

She did have a point too. If Diego was awake, I don’t think he’d be pleased with me degrading myself in this way. He’d just have to understand. This wasn’t just some silly speeding ticket; it was the man who destroyed my mom’s life. Besides, interacting with these people only made me more in love with him. They completely disgusted me.

“I know how you feel,” I finally replied. “It’s never too late to go back to school,” I encouraged her.

She smiled feebly. “Thanks. I don’t think I’m cut out to be a lawyer like you, but there’s probably something else I’d be good at.” She latched her clutch shut. “See you in the lion’s den,” she said sarcastically before exiting.

Date: Thursday, September 24th, 2015

Time: 3:55 pm

Location: Bella’s Bridal Boutique, Los Tokyo

I was about four months into my double life now and had started to accumulate a lot of information about Redd White’s victims, but very little about the man himself. From news articles and interviews with him I could piece together that he was in his late-30s, had started his company Bluecorp about fifteen years ago, and that he was an extravagant person, dressing flamboyantly in bright-colored suits with ostentatious jewelry.

Occasionally, a little kernel of information would slip out about him though. I found out from one partygoer that his name wasn’t actually Redd, it was Rhett, like Rhett Butler from Gone with the Wind . She said that he was originally from the Southern US too, but he had worked tirelessly to hide his accent and take on that yuppie affect he has now. I had watched a few interviews with him online and I could catch some subtle moments where he slipped, but I had to watch carefully for it.

He had changed his name to Redd and named his company Bluecorp because he liked the red, white, and blue color association with US patriotism. When the US loosened their immigration restrictions to Japanifornia in the ‘90s, he moved here as a young man to try and make a name for himself.

At the time, the country was still experiencing a painful recession, one that didn’t cease until the early 2000s. California had struggled to stand on its own after the secession, with many businesses and important people packing up and leaving for the US before they got trapped. Even Hollywood, one of California’s staple industries, had splintered in half. Half the major studios stayed, and the rest moved to New York or Las Vegas.

The USA, by contrast, was doing better than ever. To squash any temptation from other states to leave, they imposed harsh economic sanctions on California. To incentivize loyalty, they shored up their relationships with their territories, granting official statehood to Guam, American Samoa, Puerto Rico, and the US Virgin Islands.

Japan, who was in the midst of an economic bubble in the ‘80s and viewed money as no object, saw dollar signs in their eyes when they purchased a collapsing California. They were interested in their long Pacific coastline, their natural resources, their agricultural sector, and their proximity to the rest of North America for trade.

When Japan unified with California, the transition was as ham-fisted as you could possibly imagine. They arbitrarily divided California into three sections and Japan into three sections, forming a union of six states. They smashed the two countries' names together rather than coming up with an elegant alternative. They made English and Japanese the official languages and required both English and Japanese on all signage. However, almost no one in the continental region of the new nation could speak Japanese and residents of the Japanese archipelago primarily spoke Japanese.

They started renaming cities and famous landmarks in California, a decision that greatly angered many of the locals, particularly the Spanish-speaking and Indigenous citizens whose languages were used to name many of California’s most famous places. Los Angeles became Los Tokyo and so on and so forth. The names sounded stupid, and it was a financial and administrative nightmare to force everyone to take on new mailing addresses.

When they started doing the same thing to smaller cities and towns, the locals protested enough that the renaming stopped, keeping the remaining names intact. The continental region now had a patchwork of the two naming conventions.

This naming process never made its way over to Japan either. They were happy to change our cities to increase cultural unity but didn’t care to do that for their cities. We now had a Tokyo and a Los Tokyo in the same country. There had been petitions to change the name back to Los Angeles, but residents who remembered the headache of last time couldn’t be bothered.

A consistent lawbook was a hard thing to develop too, as California’s legal system was based on the US system which was in turn inspired largely by English common law. Japan’s legal system was nothing like that at all. It was hard to connect the two systems together or for politicians to reach an agreement. Japanese politicians had their own beliefs and Californians did as well, and neither wanted to compromise their ideals.

Then, the bubble burst in 1990 and all that cultural strife, the legal complexities, and the irresponsible spending came to roost. Not only were we a country of clashing cultures, but we became even more economically devastated than we had been immediately following the secession. As a result, desperate times called for desperate measures and crime started to spike, eventually leading to the harsh justice system we have today.

The economy has mostly recovered, especially after the US ended its sanctions and allowed more free-flowing immigration. Americans started to move some of their operations back to our country, started trading freely with us, and began living here again or buying vacation homes.

The housing market, once an investment black hole, had swung back with a vengeance. Unfortunately, only the wealthiest in Japanifornia and wealthy Americans seemed to profit, with the market becoming increasingly hostile and unaffordable to low- and middle-income locals.

With all that background in mind, Redd White had developed Bluecorp’s brand image to appeal to Japanifornians who still had strong US pride and loyalty. The decision to secede had barely passed on the vote back in 1977, and those old enough to remember before the split in 1980 were still bitter over the direction that the country had taken.

Even though crime has improved slowly, and cultural harmony has increased, the three-day trial law was implemented in 2011 to help stem the ongoing crime problem even further. With Japanifornia still being far from perfect, these comparisons to the US were still on everyone’s minds.

Despite his successful branding and generally positive public image, it was unclear how his business had anything to do with US patriotism and restoring the glory of California in days of yore. However, many people bought into it anyway.

Counterintuitively, despite being a smarmy millionaire, the wealthiest were the only ones who seemed to have an issue with him and his business, knowing what went on behind the scenes. He made sure to donate to charities and be present at volunteer events to keep his image favorable with the lower-income residents.

I’m sure some of those residents knew or had heard rumors about his corruption but high wealth inequality and “eat the rich” sentiments meant they didn’t care about rich people getting blackmailed.

All that background information was intriguing but, unfortunately, not helpful for building a case. While I had a list of names of those who had been hurt by him, no one would go on the record for fear of retaliation. I had yet to prove his involvement indisputably, with all that information being hearsay. I needed at least one solid case that I could present. Once everyone else felt safe to come forward, his house of cards would start tumbling over.

Despite his extravagant appearance, he didn’t lead the debaucherous life of the rich and powerful. He was a teetotaler, he didn’t gamble, and he didn’t have affairs, despite the gaggle of attractive young women he hired at his company. He had other well-paid people who did his dirty work for him, and he was never at these parties. I could never catch him doing his work.

So, for now, I just kept attending every one of these events I was invited to, as much as I didn’t want to, hoping that someday I would get the break in the case I needed. All these functions inevitably brought me here, to a bridal store. Today, I was looking for an evening dress to wear for an event on Saturday.

That beautiful red dress I bought for my first event, the one I thought I’d cherish forever and would be a once-in-a-lifetime purchase, was no longer in my possession. Although I could only get back half the money I had spent on it, I needed to sell it to buy another dress for another event. I made the mistake of wearing that same one to two events and people mocked me for it.

I couldn’t afford to buy a designer dress every time though. It would be years, if ever, before I’d have that kind of money. I tried thrift stores and prom dress shops before eventually settling on this bridal boutique that Reina took me to for her wedding. The bridesmaid dresses were not as pretty as that first one, but I could sometimes get one on clearance for $100 and dress it up with good makeup and styling to make it look more expensive.

I normally would go dress shopping on the weekend, but I had a case tomorrow, it could carry over into Saturday, and I wouldn’t have time. I closed the firm down early so I could pick one out and then will go back to the office tonight to prepare for my case.

The clerks at this shop had gotten used to me and would normally greet me by name before leaving me to my own devices. Not today though. There was a different woman attending to me.

“Hi, can I help you with anything?” she asked. “Is there a certain style or color you’re looking for?” she added.

“Thanks, but not really,” I said friendlily. “I just need something nice that fits me and that I can take home today.”

“So, this isn’t for a wedding?”

“Last-minute event,” I clarified.

She nodded. “Gotcha. Well, if you need a different size, let me know. We keep some out back.”

“Thank you,” I said politely, continuing my search of the racks.

“Do you have your wedding dress yet?” she asked.

“Sorry?”

“I just noticed your beautiful ring. We do carry wedding dresses here too.”

Maybe I shouldn’t have worn it here today. I had just gotten used to the boutique staff leaving me alone. There also weren’t many places where I could wear it anymore. I couldn’t wear it at work in case that information made its way back to the wrong people, but all I did was work.

I laughed. “You must work on commission here,” I joked.

She smiled. “Not exactly. I’m the shop’s owner.”

“Oh.” I paused. “I didn’t mean that in a rude way. So, you’re Bella?”

She laughed. “Don’t worry. I’m just very enthusiastic, hence the shop.” She lowered her voice. “I’ll let you in on a little secret; my name is not really Bella. The name just sounded better.”

“Right.” We stood and looked at each other awkwardly for a moment. “Well, guess I better keep looking for a dress for my event.”

“Is there a style of wedding dress you like?”

“I don’t know,” I said hesitantly. I was hoping I could be in and out of here in 30 minutes. “I don’t have a date set for the wedding.”

“The earlier you look, the better. Gives us time to order it in and for a seamstress to tailor it.”

“Right, of course. It’s just...my fiancé is a bit indisposed at the moment. We can’t pick a date until he’s back.”

“Is he in the military?”

“Yes, he’s deployed,” I lied. “Um, indefinitely.”

“I thank him for his service,” she said sincerely.

“Uh, thank you. He says it's an honor to serve.” I laughed nervously.

“Let me know when you need a fitting room,” she said brightly. “The shop is slow today, so I’ll pick some styles I think you may like, and you can try those on too.” She started walking away to peruse the wedding dress section. “No pressure to buy,” she called out.

“O-okay,” I reluctantly agreed.

Sometimes I didn’t even bother to try on the dresses I bought. A lot of them came from the same manufacturer so I knew what size I took, or I was pretty good at judging by looking at them.

However, since she had a fitting room set up for me, I tried them on. No surprise, all three that I selected fit, and I decided to purchase them all. It would make for an expensive day, but it would save me another trip here and another potential ordeal with the owner.

After that, she brought over six different wedding dresses that she had picked out, all six in widely different styles ranging from a poufy ballgown with off-the-shoulder sleeves to a slinky slip dress made of cream-colored satin.

“I’m supposed to try all of these on?” I asked, wide-eyed.

“I know! I got a little excited picking them out,” she replied enthusiastically. “You have such a lovely figure; I think they all would look so nice.”

I smirked. “I’m sure you say that to all the girls.”

She smirked back. “Looking at them all laid out, is there any dress you don’t like?”

“Hmm...” At a glance, none of them were offensive, but I wanted to rule out at least a few of them so I could leave quicker.

“You don’t have a vision in mind?” she asked.

“Not at all.”

“We’ll try them all then!”

She carefully undid the buttons on the ballgown first and laid it on the floor of the changing area. “Once you have the dress on, get me to help you with the back,” she instructed. I nodded. When it was on and buttoned, she got me to stand on a pedestal in front of a full-length three-panel mirror. “What do you think?” she asked.

It was beautiful but too overwhelming for me. I couldn’t imagine walking around in it for more than a half hour and the off-the-shoulder sleeves were bugging me. “I don’t think so,” I said nicely.

“I don’t either,” she agreed. “I didn’t take you for a ballgown girl. Sometimes, I like to show customers styles they don’t think they’ll like, just so we can definitively rule on it.”

She got me to try on three of the others. They were all nice, but I didn’t feel anything. I assumed I was supposed to feel strongly about the dress, but I just didn’t.

“I really think you’ll like this one,” she said optimistically. Maybe, but I could have sworn that she said that about the last three.

This time she was right though. It was a halter dress with a v-neckline, fitted until about the knee, and then gently flaring out at the bottom. It was made of a soft and shiny jersey material, overlaid with large lace scallop shells that ran the whole length of the dress. At the bottom edge of each lace scallop shell was a thin line of tiny crystal accents that made the dress look shimmery at certain angles.

I didn’t say anything, and she didn’t ask me how I felt. She just went to a drawer in the room and grabbed a few hair accessories. She pinned my hair to one side with bobby pins and then strategically placed a comb with crystal accents near my ear.

“With loose curls and some jewelry, you would look perfect. What do you think?”

I nodded and smiled. “I agree.”

She jokingly raised her fists in triumph. “I knew it!” She grabbed something else from her drawer: an instant camera. “Do you want a picture? You’re not ready to buy today, right?”

I shook my head. “I wish, but no.” She looked at me expectantly, waiting for an answer. “A picture is fine though,” I confirmed.

After the picture, I took the dress and accessories off and went to the register to pay for my three bridesmaid dresses. After the transaction, she handed me the developed picture which now had a string of numbers and letters written on the white space with permanent marker.

“I wrote the dress’s code underneath the photo,” she explained. “Once you pick a date, you can come back here with your entourage and this photo, and I can find the same dress easily.”

I swallowed. Even under better circ*mstances, Diego finally awake, there would be no tearful movie moment. I’d be lucky if I could get Maya here with me and Mom probably won’t be coming back any time soon.

“Thank you,” I said weakly, holding up the photo. “This really means a lot.”

She beamed. “Anytime! These moments are what I live for.”

Chapter 16: Chapter 15 - Mia

Chapter Text

Date: Tuesday, June 7th, 2016

Time: 3:05 pm

Location: Fey & Co. Law Offices, Los Tokyo

All my work and everything I had been doing for the Redd White case over the past year was starting to wear me down. It was nice to have my firm to myself and complete control over my workload and cases, but I had no one to help me out when things got overwhelmingly busy.

One happy development was that Maya turned 17 in March and Aunt Morgan finally relaxed her grip. After years of holding Maya hostage at Kurain Village and begging her to let me see Maya a few times a year, she gave Maya the freedom to come up more frequently, so long as she kept up with her studies and training.

It had all been so hard for so long, but this rule change happened so easily all of a sudden. Aunt Morgan simply said that she agreed with me; Maya was going to be an adult soon. That argument hadn’t swayed her the last time we spoke on the phone. Whatever her real reason, I didn’t question it, thanking Aunt Morgan profusely for her change of heart.

From that point on, I would call Maya and ask her to visit me whenever I wasn’t too busy with events and casework. I even got an apartment again so that she would have a place to stay whenever she was in the city. It was only a small bachelor, but it was way nicer than my last place, and it suited her well when she was here. She said it was so cozy that she felt like she was staying in a hotel again.

She could only ever stay for a day or two at a time anyway, so the size didn’t matter. Besides, I didn’t move in there completely like I thought I would while she was away, still sleeping on my office couch most nights. There was no sense in wasting the money on something extravagant.

Maya only visited on weekends mostly, but she would still come by the office those days, helping with some of my administrative duties. She would sort, highlight, and file papers for me and even help me catch up on emails, so long as I told her exactly what to say and double-checked her work before she hit send.

I was so grateful to see her and for all her help, with Maya agreeing to all this boring work so long as I paid her in hamburgers and ramen. However, her assistance wasn’t enough for me to keep on top of it all. I needed a staff member to help me on a full-time basis, not just some hours here and there, a few weekends a month.

I posted a job listing for a legal secretary at the end of May and, after leaving the post up for a week, I reviewed the candidates. After discarding the unqualified applications, I had a dozen candidates left, eleven of whom were experienced legal secretaries with years of experience.

The twelfth person was both an anomaly and a familiar face: Phoenix Wright, my former client from my second trial, now a licensed attorney. He did it, just like he said he would; he proved me completely wrong.

I reviewed his application and saw that Phoenix had graduated from Ivy University’s Fine Arts program one month after his criminal trial and then graduated from Ivy’s Accelerated Law program this past September, before passing the bar exam that October. After that, he had nothing else listed on his resume. Just a big gap from November to May.

Comparing his application to the others, I knew that he wasn’t the right choice on paper. However, maybe he was the “Wright” choice? Something told me that I shouldn’t discount his application completely. I was also just curious to see what that sneezy, knitted sweatshirt-wearing, lovesick kid was like as a lawyer.

I interviewed the other candidates yesterday and this morning. All were qualified, but I had narrowed the list to two others beside Phoenix. Those two had the right disposition I was looking for, being positive and friendly, and detailing their organizational skills in-depth. Phoenix was the last person scheduled and, after that interview, I could select my first hire.

Phoenix was supposed to interview at 3:30 pm, but he showed up 25 minutes early, out-of-breath and red-faced, carrying a bike helmet. He was wearing an ill-fitting blue suit, probably one he found on a clearance rack, and his hair looked extra spiky. He must have gelled it more today so that his helmet wouldn't smush it.

I could see through the glass pane of the reception door that he was pacing in the hallway, obviously not wanting to enter the firm too early. My last interview had ended at 2:45 pm, so I put him out of his misery, greeting him outside.

“Hi, Phoenix! I’m ready now if you’d like to come in early?” I asked.

“Hi, Ms. Fey!” he exclaimed. “Sorry I’m so sweaty. I biked here from my parents’ house. Sorry I’m so early too. I guess I was faster than I thought.” He laughed anxiously and rubbed the back of his head.

I smiled amusedly. It was clear that he was trying to hide his nervousness with enthusiasm, just like his trial. “That’s okay,” I reassured him. “You’re my last interview of the day. The sooner I finish, the sooner I can get back to work.” As I spoke, I led him through the reception area and to my office.

“You saved the best for last, right?” he asked jokingly, before laughing a little too loudly at his very mild joke.

I laughed faintly. “Uh...maybe?” I replied. I hadn’t discounted him completely but, so far, I wasn’t exactly convinced.

Once we were seated, I started the interview in earnest. “To start, I just want to say congratulations on becoming a lawyer. How did you find law school?”

“Brutal,” Phoenix said, elongating the word and gesturing with his arm. “I barely made it through; it was so hard.” He seemed to notice my surprised expression. I was perplexed at how he could be so candid in a job interview. “But I finished! Passed the bar too!” he blurted out.

“Right,” I said, nodding. “Well, I was looking at your resume and there wasn’t anything listed after law school. What have you been up to?”

“Well...” He paused. “I, uh, was just waiting for the right job to come along!”

I stifled my laughter. That was code for not being able to find a job. Pretty impressive given the ongoing crime issue and the high demand for lawyers. “This job is for a legal secretary,” I clarified. “You knew that when you applied, right?”

He nodded. “I did.” He paused again. “Maybe this is weird to say but, as soon as I saw your name, I applied. I didn’t care what the job was.”

I was taken aback. “Really?” I asked. “Didn’t you want to be a lawyer to help a friend of yours?”

“Yes, well, that’s true,” he admitted. “He works in the prosecutor’s office. I just couldn’t be a prosecutor though. I want to help people, not put them in jail.”

I smiled. He and I were both on the same page that way. Being a prosecutor made the most sense for me too, but I couldn’t do it either. “Won’t it be harder to help him?” I asked.

“Probably,” he agreed. “I’ll find a way though,” he said resolutely.

“Who is this friend of yours, anyway? Maybe I know him.”

“Miles Edgeworth,” he said, beaming.

“Miles Edgeworth...he’s a friend of yours?” I asked incredulously. I had a hard time believing that Edgeworth had any friends.

“Uh, sort of,” he said sheepishly. “Me, him, and my friend Larry were best friends in grade four. Then Miles moved away. I haven’t seen him since, but I refused to accept all the bad things they’ve said about him in the news. He was a great friend.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Phoenix was even nuttier than I remembered. “You became a lawyer to help a friend you had when you were...nine? Ten?”

“When you put it like that, it sounds kind of crazy.” He laughed nervously. “I’m a very loyal person though!” he added enthusiastically. “Would be a very loyal employee too!”

I couldn’t help but smile again. He was saying all the wrong things, but he was so genuine. “Do you have any experience with administrative tasks?” I asked. “Did you complete any internships or work in an office before?”

“No,” he finally said, knowing that wasn’t a good answer. “My mom is a medical secretary though. I’d say the skill is genetic...probably. She could help me too!”

“Right,” I said, nodding once more. “Well, I think that’s all the questions I have for you. Do you have any questions for me?”

“Not a question, but a comment, if I could?” he asked deferentially. I nodded in agreement. “You really inspired me during my case,” he said sincerely. “The belief you had in me when no one else had any...I wanted to be that person for my clients someday. If you give me the chance, I’ll work harder than anyone until I become that person.”

After bumbling his way through the interview, his final speech impressed me. Technically, he was just flattering me, but, well, he was pretty good at it. I remembered that day well and knew that my belief in his innocence wasn’t as strong as my belief in Dahlia’s guilt, but, either way, I had granted him his freedom.

Beyond that, I was just impressed with his loyalty and passion for the law. He could gain more experience as time went on, but you can’t train someone to have those qualities. He’s an authentic person and I feel like I can trust him.

I grinned. “Well, I know this isn’t the proper way to do this but, when can you start?”

“Right now?” he offered.

I laughed. “How does tomorrow morning sound?”

Date: Wednesday, August 3rd, 2016

Time: 2:35 pm

Location: Defendant Lobby No. 2, Los Tokyo District Courthouse

It had been an interesting two months with Phoenix around. Those first couple weeks, I almost changed my mind completely and called one of my alternate applicants. His lack of experience was evident, and I had to hold his hand through almost every task; nothing came easily to him.

The secretary gene was obviously not passed down from mother to son as he was very messy and disorganized. While I had lived in a chaotic apartment before, I was completely meticulous in my organization of the firm. I had to stress the importance of good penmanship, diligent documentation, detailed expense tracking, and careful filing to him.

He was very friendly with the clients, but it took him too long to figure out the phones, dropping a few of my calls that he meant to put on hold or transfer. His emails were rambling and incoherent and needed extensive revisions before they could be sent.

His handle on the law also wasn’t as robust as I was expecting. I knew he was still young and inexperienced, but I didn’t remember being that clueless when I started. Maybe I had just forgotten what it was like? Or, maybe, he just didn’t pay attention in school as much as I had.

That said, he rose to the occasion, staying as late as needed and repeating the work over and over until he got it right. He never complained and he always stayed positive, greeting every request and critique with a sunny “yes, chief.”

I told him he could call me Mia, finding Ms. Fey too formal, especially with him being only a few years younger than me. He didn’t seem comfortable with that so called me chief instead.

By the end of the first month, he was competent, doing all the work with minimal guidance from me. While he likely wasn’t as skilled as the secretaries I interviewed, he had one benefit over the others: being a licensed attorney. When I was swamped with legal paperwork, I could get him to cover some of the burden or even take over some of the client meetings, something I couldn’t have done with the other applicants.

Having Phoenix around made my workload more manageable and finally allowed me the chance to take a break sometimes. I could go for a walk, see a movie, sleep more than six hours a night, and spend time with Maya completely outside of the office. Working all by myself had not afforded me that luxury. In the past, any time I spent on myself, I paid for later in some way.

It was also nice to have another person around to talk to. Other than Maya, my clients, and those deplorable events I still attended on occasion, I had gotten so accustomed to being alone. Now I had someone to chat with during lunch, to commiserate with after a difficult client, and to collaborate with on casework. Already, I felt like I had a friend, a kindred spirit. Maybe that’s not how bosses should feel about their employees, but this wasn’t a typical workplace either.

That said, I kept him at arm’s length about some things. When I introduced him to Charley the palm lily, the firm’s unofficial mascot, I didn’t explain his origins as Diego’s favorite house plant.

Back when I first opened and was furnishing the office, I had found a Grave of the Fireflies poster at a used furniture store. It felt like fate; that movie wasn’t as popular nor as well-remembered as it should be.

When Phoenix asked about the poster, I told him the truth, that it was the first movie that made me cry. When he asked me what the title was so he could check it out some time, I lied and told him that I couldn’t remember. The movie title on the poster was in its original Japanese and he didn’t know the language. I didn’t want him to know either; it was a connection I had with Mom and Diego, but not him.

I also didn’t explain to him where I went most Wednesday evenings. So long as I wasn’t too overwhelmed with work, I still made weekly trips to Diego’s hospital room to visit him, borrowing his car from the parking garage where Maria’s estate paid to store it.

It had been nearly three years since his poisoning, and it was becoming harder and harder to believe he would wake up. I refused to give up on him though. Unlike my parents, I don’t abandon people when it's convenient.

When I had an event one Friday and had changed into an evening dress in the firm’s bathroom, Phoenix asked if I was going on a date. I didn’t elaborate, teasing him instead. I asked him if his girlfriends typically wore floor-length evening dresses on the dates he went on.

He got embarrassed, saying he didn’t know what was normal. His only girlfriend was Dahlia Hawthorne, and I knew how that went. After that discussion, he didn’t ask what I was up to again.

Lastly, I hadn’t told him about the magatama, and how I used it to help with my criminal cases. He told me how much my belief in my clients had meant to him and, knowing I had this tool at my disposal, it made me feel like a fraud.

His idealism made me want to stop using it, but I didn’t have the nerve to approach cases blind yet. I wanted to eventually though. I had believed in his and Terry Fawles’ innocence without it. Maybe I didn’t need it as much as I thought. Maybe my gut instincts were enough.

Despite some secrecy, we had a good working arrangement sorted out. However, very quickly, he wanted to change that, walking into my office yesterday and requesting to serve on his first criminal trial: a murder case.

I was hesitant at first; I didn’t hire him to be a lawyer, and he didn’t seem quite ready yet. He was adamant about it though. The defendant was his childhood friend and he insisted that he had to be the one to defend him.

I remembered those feelings: the eagerness to serve on my first trial, and the disappointment when Mr. Grossberg wouldn’t let me. Phoenix seemed so young still; he would only be 24 in October, but I relented with very little pushing. I wouldn’t hold him back like I was, and I told him that I’d be his co-counsel on his first trial.

During the trial, Phoenix’s friend Harry was a total basket case, but I guess that’s to be expected when you’re accused of murdering your ex-girlfriend. He wasn’t the most cooperative defendant either, reminding me a lot of Phoenix during his trial. He frequently spoke out of turn and always said the most incriminating things. Phoenix was incredibly nervous, but he seemed mature in comparison to his friend.

Remembering how I felt on my first two trials, I tried to be calm and steadfast in my approach instead of stern and lecturing. Sometimes, I couldn’t resist the urge to lecture or chide, particularly when Phoenix asked me some Law 101-level questions. I mostly stayed positive though, offering gentle guidance without giving him the whole answer.

Phoenix was worried about Winston Payne, the prosecutor on the case, and his “Rookie Killer” reputation. I told him not to worry. After I clobbered him on my second case, he had been unable to live up to his previous reputation. Once his seven-year win streak was broken, he lost many cases, including several more to me.

Phoenix had stumbled at first, but he eventually figured out the key clue to the case almost all on his own: the murder weapon. The replica statue of The Thinker that the victim was struck and killed with was actually a clock that read out the time when pressed, or when it hit someone. Harry had made it himself and had given it to the victim as a gift.

The victim had taken it with her to Paris and hadn’t reset the clock to Los Tokyo time before she was killed. The actual killer claimed to have witnessed Harry murder her, but he said that the crime had occurred three hours earlier than the autopsy report stated.

Phoenix determined that the clock was responsible for the killer’s incongruent testimony with the autopsy report. The killer used the time the clock announced when making his witness testimony, a time he would have only heard if he struck the victim himself.

Just like that, Phoenix wrapped up his first case in only four and a half hours, finding the true culprit, and clearing his friend’s name. After the trial’s end, Phoenix thanked me for my assistance, but I assured him that he did the bulk of the work himself.

Harry was beside himself with grief at first, claiming that his ex was the love of his life. He seemed to forget that she was a sugar baby who had dumped him in favor of rich men who could support her decadent lifestyle.

He quickly got over the loss though, asking me out to dinner and then offering me The Thinker statue as a gift. I told him that I didn’t want to keep the murder weapon, but he assured me that it was another exact replica that he had made for himself.

I accepted it, figuring this kid was flat broke and wouldn’t be paying us; at least I could get some sort of payment from him. It might make for a cool conversation piece at the office. I declined the offer of dinner though. That sounded like torture rather than payment.

I did offer to treat Phoenix though. “Say, how about dinner, on me?” I asked. “We'll drink a toast to innocent Butz!”

“Yeah!” Phoenix agreed.

Impulsively, I took the offer one step further. “Oh, speaking of Harry, you were saying part of why you became a lawyer was because of him.”

“Er, yeah. Part, at least.”

“You'll have to tell me more about it sometime! Maybe... over drinks?” I suggested.

“O-oh. Ummmm,” Phoenix answered hesitantly.

Crap. I knew that reaction. I reacted similarly when Diego asked me out for drinks after my first case. I needed to do damage control quickly. “Oh. Sorry, no, I didn’t mean it that way,” I clarified.

“Oh, okay,” he said relievedly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to say it like that. I mean, you’re, well, you know, it’s just...you’re my boss,” he explained.

“It’s okay,” I said frantically. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. That’s just what my mentor had done for me after my first case. A first trial treat, he said.”

“That makes sense.” He smiled. “Who was your mentor? Would I know him?”

“No,” I said quickly. “He moved to Europe years ago,” I lied.

“That’s cool," he said cheerily. “Europe is where a lot of lawyers go. I think Prosecutor von Karma sent Miles there to train.”

“Yes, I believe so,” I agreed. There was an awkward pause.

Finally, Phoenix spoke again. “Um, chief?”

“Yes?”

“Not that it matters now; he’s already gone home, but my friend’s name is Larry.”

“What have I been saying?” I asked.

“Harry...Butz.”

I grinned. “Oh. Well, it’d be a lot funnier my way,” I quipped. We both laughed.

We ordered delivery to the office, and I paid for it, as promised. I had a bottle of champagne that was given to me by a former client, and we toasted Phoenix’s victory.

We chatted for a few hours, and Phoenix seemed to forget the whole awkward interaction, talking pleasantly as we ate and drank. However, the moment weighed heavily on me.

I told myself that the invitation meant nothing, but I still felt incredibly guilty. The feeling was made even worse knowing it was Wednesday evening and I had skipped my usual hospital visit to celebrate with Phoenix instead.

Was there some part of me that wanted to move on? Almost everyone who knew the situation told me I was being too stubborn, and that he’d never wake up. It seemed like they were right.

When I had served on Phoenix’s defense case, he seemed so immature to me, but he had grown up a lot in the past 2.5 years. He was a lot more distinguished and, dare I say, cute now. He still had those ill-fitting blue suits, that Jersey Shore haircut, and so much left to learn about the law, but he had grown into a respectable man. He really impressed me with his performance today.

That said, I still think about that day in July all the time: when I told Diego I loved him and, for the first time, I knew I meant it. That change and that feeling...it was spiritual in some way. Something that I couldn’t easily replicate.

I’ve been so lonely these past three years, but I wasn’t just lonely for anyone. I was lonely for him. I don’t think I could just replace him with anyone else.

Thinking it through, I realized that Phoenix was more like a brother to me, and that’s fine. I could use a friend right now and I always wanted a little brother.

Chapter 17: Chapter 16 - Mia

Chapter Text

Date: Saturday, September 3rd, 2016

Time: 10:37 pm

Location: The Palace Nightclub, Los Tokyo

In 16 months, I had attended 23 parties, looking for information on Redd White, and for the one piece of evidence that would unravel his case. I even held a seance with some of his victims, those who were alleged to have committed suicide because of his actions.

It required so much channeling power to contact all these victims simultaneously and I was out of practice. They could only provide small details before they were sent back to their realm. However, what they provided me with was enough to confirm the rumors. His actions had led to their deaths, and he went unpunished.

Once again, this information was all so damning, but it wouldn’t hold up in court. His list of crimes was a mile long, but nothing would stick without proof. I wasn’t sure if I would ever find the evidence I needed, until that 24th party, when everything finally broke apart.

A man had shown up to that afterparty; a man I had never seen before. Everyone kept their distance from him, and he was sitting alone at a booth by himself. He looked unassuming; he was a middle-aged man of average height, with glasses, and he wore a nice, but not expensive, gray suit. Everyone seemed to fear him though, and I couldn’t figure out why. I decided that I’d have to approach him to find out.

“Hi, I thought you might like some company,” I trilled flirtingly, as I approached his table.

He held up his left hand. “I’m married, thank you,” he explained plainly. “I’m not looking for that kind of fun.”

I dropped the act. “God, I wish I heard that line more often around here. I’m not looking for that kind of fun either. Everyone here is avoiding you and I wanted to see why.”

He seemed taken aback. “Are you the one?” he asked.

“The one?”

He looked around him before whispering. “Are you the person investigating Bluecorp?”

“Who’s asking?” I inquired skeptically.

“Redd White sent me here,” he replied.

I snorted. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said sarcastically.

He chuckled. “Yeah, fair enough. Will you let me explain?” he asked. I nodded. “I’m Redd White’s accountant,” he stated. “He had heard rumors that there was someone investigating his operations at these events. He sent some of his girls to look into it, but they always came back empty-handed. Tonight, he sent me instead.”

“He wanted you to seduce the information out of the guests?” I asked disbelievingly.

He laughed sardonically. “Yeah, because that would work so well; just look at me. No, he already tried that angle, but it didn’t work.”

“So, he wanted you to talk to people?” I pressed. “Everyone here seems scared of you.”

“He wanted me to observe. To look for the person here who seemed suspicious.”

I swallowed. “That person is me?” I asked hesitantly.

“You’re the only one brave enough to talk to me,” he said matter-of-factly.

I shook my head. “I’m just friendly, that’s all.”

“What do you do for a living?” he asked. “Are you a lawyer?” I didn’t answer. He pulled out a paper from his briefcase, a list of party attendees, and reviewed it until he found my name. “Is this you?”

I panicked. I thought I might get caught one day, but not like this. I debated lying to him, but he would figure out the truth eventually. I simply nodded instead.

“Okay, Ms. Fey. What if I told you that I wanted to take him down too?” he asked.

“I would need proof,” I replied.

Date: Monday, September 5th, 2016

Time: 8:53 pm

Location: Fey & Co. Law Offices, Los Tokyo

Redd White’s accountant, Mr. Blakely, had been working for him for the last 14 years. When he started, Bluecorp was still a relatively new company and its reputation as a blackmail and bribery front had not been well known yet. He said that it paid very handsomely compared to other jobs in his profession, but he regretted working there within months of being hired.

He tried to quit, but Redd White wouldn’t let him. Unbeknownst to Mr. Blakely, he had already helped file the financial records of various victims and he wasn’t allowed to leave with that information.

He couldn’t be blackmailed though. He had a clean record and no scandals to his name. To keep him in line, Redd White had threatened violence instead, saying he would hire goons to hurt him and his wife if he didn’t cooperate. Miserably, he’s been stuck working there ever since.

I asked him why he didn’t go to the police. He had access to all the records of Redd White’s crimes. That would have been plenty of ammunition to bring forth a case. He told me that, in all actuality, he was in the dark about most of the information.

Redd White started obscuring the names of those he blackmailed, assigning aliases to their payments. While Mr. Blakely kept the books in order, making Bluecorp look like a legitimate company, he had no idea who the victims were and why they had been making those payments.

While he wasn’t interested in attending events like this, he had unsuccessfully tried before to gather information about the victims at previous parties. Unlike the ever-rotating string of model secretaries Redd White kept in his employ to circulate at these events, the Bluecorp employees whom guests were happy to chat with, Mr. Blakely had been employed too long and was known to everyone. No one would talk to him.

Then, he heard about me. Redd White was getting frustrated, hearing about some “secret agent” who was gathering information about him. When his girls failed to identify me, he sent Mr. Blakely, figuring he had his trust. The consequences of Mr. Blakely not cooperating were too great. Redd White was wrong though. Mr. Blakely wanted to join forces and bring this nightmare to an end.

While his information sounded credible, I was uncertain if I could trust him. Maybe this was all an elaborate story to get me to divulge my knowledge and undo my months of work.

He hatched a plan. Each of us would make two copies of our records: my list of victims, complete with their stories and blackmail dates, and his accounting records. The extra copy would be our insurance policy. If one of us faltered on the plan, destroying the documents, we would have the extra as a backup.

If we both cooperated, we would cross-reference the documents together and bring Redd White down. Mr. Blakely would come forward as the first victim, the whistleblower, and everyone else would follow once they knew Redd White was in custody, and they were safe from retaliation.

I agreed, and we both left early that night, heading back to our respective offices to finalize our documents. We would mail the documents to each other and then keep the other copies in a safe place. Once we each had a complete set, we would go to the police together and stay there in safety until he was apprehended.

I dutifully mailed him the list that Sunday morning. He was to call me that day to confirm that he had mailed me his records too. I had just returned to the firm and was on my office phone when he called. When he confirmed that I had left the firm unattended that day to photocopy and mail my files and purchase a new lamp for my office, he asked me to switch to my cell phone instead.

“Mia, we have a problem,” he said seriously.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Redd White knows.”

“You told him? I should have known,” I said crossly.

“No. I had to report to him after the event. If I didn’t, he’d know immediately that something was up. I told him I didn’t see anything suspicious, but he obviously didn’t believe me. He checked the security tapes from last night, saw the two of us talking, and ID’d you.”

“So, he knows about our plan?” I asked nervously.

“I assume. There were some thugs outside my house this morning. My wife and I had returned from an errand and saw them. We drove past our house and peeled away, managing to lose them. I hope.”

“That’s terrifying,” I said sympathetically.

“It was.” He sighed. “I’m at the airport now,” he continued. “I had my extra copy of the files with me in the car, just in case. We’re going to flee the country for safety and I’m taking the files with me. I suggest that you do the same.”

“Why didn’t you just go to the police?”

“Trust me, he would have assumed that was our next move. I’m certain that he has the nearest stations staked out.”

“What about the copies we mailed?” I asked. “When I get the copy of your records, I can go to the police. They can’t stake out all the stations forever.”

He sighed again. “They’ll probably get intercepted,” he said. “He has friends in the post office too. Protect the copy you have and get it somewhere safe.”

I exhaled too, in resignation. “How long are you leaving for?”

“I’m not sure. Probably a month.”

“I can’t leave for a month!” I exclaimed. “I have a business, an employee, and a sister.”

“I know,” he said contritely. “Mia, I’m sorry things went south so quickly. Maybe I should have lied and given him a fake suspect. It would have thrown him off the scent. I didn’t want to put someone else in danger.”

“It’s not your fault,” I commiserated. “I’m just not sure what to do.”

“Don’t use your office phone,” he warned. “It’s probably been tapped. Only use your cell from now on. Try not to be alone.”

“I’ll try my best,” I told him.

“I have a plane to catch,” he said apologetically. “I’m calling you from a pay phone, but I’ll find some way to get in touch. We’ll corner him when I get back.”

“Have a safe flight.”

I was unbelievably terrified after that call. I didn’t have anyone to keep me company at the firm. It was one of Phoenix’s days off and I didn’t want to call him in just for that. He wouldn’t be able to stay all night anyway. I didn’t want to put Maya in danger either. Leaving would be safer than staying, so I took the White file and the list of names with me and left the firm.

First, I went to a diner and drafted up my will, just in case something went wrong. It was disturbing to think I could need it, but I wanted to be prepared for the worst. Along with the White files, I had gathered Diego’s car keys, the engagement ring, and some mementos. Once I had finalized the will, I would put those items in my safe deposit box, and Diego would be entitled to all its contents.

Then, there was the firm; I agonized over what to do with it. I would have willed it to Diego too but, if he didn’t wake up soon, I would need someone to keep it afloat in my absence. If I was just being paranoid, and he did wake up, we would partner the firm together anyway.

I willed the firm to Phoenix instead, so he could keep it running and the legacy alive if I wasn’t. I willed him the lease to the apartment I rented for Maya too. He was still living at home and had needed a place closer by. He might have trouble covering both the firm’s mortgage and the apartment’s rent but, if I could make it work, so could he. All my savings, the little I had, would go towards pre-paying a few months of that lease to help him out.

Maya wouldn’t be able to take over the lease, even with some months pre-paid, but she’d still need a place to stay in the city. She was going to come work with me after she finished school, shuttling back and forth between home and the Village to continue with her training. Even if I was gone, and she didn’t want to work for the firm anymore, she would need the respite from home and Aunt Morgan regardless.

I planned to introduce them tomorrow evening so that she and Phoenix could become friends and they’d feel comfortable staying at the same place. I put in the conditions of the will that Phoenix was only entitled to the lease takeover and rent payments if he housed Maya, a condition I’m sure he would accept without issue.

Once I accounted for everything, I signed the will and listed Mr. Grossberg as the executor. I deposited the will and the mementos in my safe deposit box, before moving on to my next task.

After that, I bussed to Diego’s hospital room, figuring there was no safer place for me to sleep that night than a hospital. I reviewed the contents of the files I had, trying to commit them to memory. I needed to know that list backward and forward for my plan to work.

My plan was simple: I would return to the office tomorrow morning and call Maya on my office phone, telling her to hide the list for me. I would store the list in The Thinker clock that Larry gave me. Redd White’s team was tapping my phone and would hear of the plan, preparing to intercept the list.

Next, I would make plans for myself, Maya, and Phoenix to meet for dinner that evening. The whole day, I would never be alone, being with Phoenix or clients most of the day. Someone from Bluecorp would only be able to come by in the half-hour window I was alone at the office before dinner. They’d take the list and hopefully leave me alone.

Once Redd White assumed he had won, and I felt safe, I would rewrite the list and have it ready for when Mr. Blakely returned to the country. I thought about just making several more copies of the list, but it was too risky. If he felt like I planned for his interception, he would continue to spy and harass me until he felt certain that all copies of the list were destroyed. I needed him to think he got the upper hand.

I stayed up at the hospital until 2 am, testing myself on the information like I was studying for a law school exam. Once I could recite the information several times without looking at the list, I fell asleep in the chair and woke up a little after dawn. I kissed Diego’s forehead and gave his hand a squeeze on my way out to the firm, planning to arrive at the same time as Phoenix.

When I arrived at the firm and opened my private office, I noticed that some items had been moved ever so slightly out of place. His goons had searched the place again while I was out, but they hadn’t found what they were looking for.

I called Maya to put the plan into motion and placed the list in the statue, removing the clock’s contents to fit them. I told her and Phoenix that dinner would be at 9 pm, my treat. Then I went about my day, as normal. I had client meetings and a pretrial conference call until 8:30 pm that evening and had sent Phoenix home at 5 pm.

When the conference call was finished, I sat at my desk, buzzing with nervous energy as I waited until one of Redd White’s representatives showed up. Just then, I heard the door to the firm open and someone walk in.

I looked up, surprised to see that it was the man himself, Redd White, and not one of his lackeys. It made me more at ease; he always sent his associates to do his dirty work for him.

“Hello, Miss Fey,” he greeted me.

“Hello,” I said cheerily, pushing down my nerves. “I don’t believe we’ve met. Are you in need of law services?” I asked.

He laughed disingenuously. “Don’t give me that,” he replied. “I know what you’ve been up to. All your little spy missions. Did you really think I wouldn’t find out?”

I played dumb. “I don’t know what you mean,” I said.

“I’ll explucidate it to you clearly, so you can understand. I know about you and my rat accountant; about your plans,” he explained. “He fled with my records, but he can’t do anything without your list. Give it to me and neither of you will be hurt,” he warned.

“He has the list,” I lied. “I mailed it to him.”

“No, he doesn’t,” he replied smugly. “I shredded that list along with the copies of the financial records that he sent you. If he had copies, so did you. I’m not stupid, you see. Now, Miss Fey, I'll take what's mine, the papers.”

“I'm sorry, but I can't give you what I don't have,” I said distractedly, pretending to be invested in my work.

“Miss Fey, you are a poor liar. Why, I see it right over there.” He pointed to the statue. “That must be The Thinker that swallowed those papers.”

“How could you know?” I asked with faux surprise.

“Ho ho. You are not cogniferous of my background? Gathering information is my business, you see,” he said proudly.

I shook my head in disbelief. “I... I should have been more careful,” I said disappointedly.

He grabbed the statue and twisted it open, removing the list, and tucking it into his jacket pocket. “Ho ho, my dear Miss Fey, I am so very sorry, but I am afraid I must ask you for one more thing.”

Still holding the statue, he glanced up at me menacingly, a crazed look in his eyes. My heart skipped a beat. “Your eternal silence,” he continued. “Farewell, Miss Fey.”

I got up to my feet, ready to run. While I had prepared for the worst, I truly didn’t think it would go like this. I knew he wasn’t above hurting people, but he always had staff that did that for him. He had the list he needed now; why did he need to kill me too? He wasn't being logical either; if he killed me, it would only make him more likely to get caught.

I tried to rationalize what was happening, but my brain turned off and panic took over. No, something worse than panic. Terror like I’ve never felt in my entire life. I switched to autopilot, repeating the same thing over and over in my head: I just need to outrun him until Phoenix and Maya get here. It was almost nine and they should be here soon.

Unfortunately, we were all prone to lateness, and I had enabled it. Since I needed grace with my schedule, I told Phoenix that I didn’t care if he was late, so long as the work got done and he was early to client meetings. He would probably be here ten minutes late and Maya would be five. I don't think I could last that long.

I tried to outmaneuver Redd White, but he was so quick. Every time I moved one way, he’d quickly catch up with me. He looked a lot stronger than me too. If he grabbed a hold of me, I don’t think I’d be able to get away.

I tried to distract him or create distance, pushing over my new lamp and shattering it on the ground. He wasn’t deterred at all, walking through the shards towards me.

As he approached the far corner of the office, where I stood, I saw a small gap to my right, near the window. If I could sneak past him and out the door, I’d be safe as long as I made it to the building’s hallway. There were security cameras out there that would record him.

I made a mad dash, but I wasn’t fast enough. He blocked me with his arm, holding me in place. He punched me in the stomach, dizzying me. While I tried to find my bearings, I looked up to see the statue over his head, ready to strike.

I covered my face to try and block his attack, but it didn’t help. With a single blow, he hit me hard over the head and I started to drift out of consciousness. I muttered something as I faded away, but I don’t remember what. Then, I was dead.

Date: ???

Time: ???

Location: Shadow Realm

After I died, I awoke in complete darkness. I was wearing the same clothes I had on when I was killed and there was a wound on my head from where Redd White had struck me. I didn’t feel pain from the wound, and I couldn’t look at myself in a mirror to see it, but it was alarming to touch my head, feel the blood, and see the residue on my hand but never be able to heal it.

In this realm, I don’t see anything. There is only blackness and not another soul around. I can walk infinitely in any direction and only more blackness waits for me. I have absolutely no concept of time or place. Despite the nothingness, I don’t feel happiness, sadness, boredom, anger, or loneliness. I just don’t feel anything at all.

Then, every so often, I see a flash of light and I am brought back to earth. The first time it happened was shortly after I died. Phoenix was serving on my murder case, defending Maya.

The idea that she would kill me was preposterous but, when Phoenix caught me up to speed, as Maya channeled me, I realized that Redd White had carefully planned for this. He wrote her name on a receipt in my blood, trying to frame her for the crime.

Luckily, I still retained the information and knowledge I had on earth. Phoenix still wasn’t confident enough to defeat Redd White on his own, but it didn’t matter. The names of all his victims and their stories were burned into my brain.

I wrote their names and stories down on a memo and handed it to Phoenix at the trial. When Redd White saw the memo, he finally confessed to my murder, preferring prison over the potential retaliatory hits he could take as a free man once that list got released and Mr. Blakely confirmed its validity. So long as Maya could channel me, I would always be able to generate new copies and implicate him; despite killing me, I wasn’t silenced.

Before I left, I wrote a brief note to Maya, asking her to help Phoenix with the firm. Since I would be in this state of limbo indefinitely, I wanted her to channel me, whenever he was in trouble, to ensure the success of the firm in my absence.

Phoenix was going to be a great lawyer someday, but he was a diamond in the rough. After seeing him perform on Maya’s case, I thought he might still need some assistance.

After that trial, I would wait in the abyss until my next channeling, quickly needing to figure out the details of a case on the spot and then helping as much as I could. There were some pretty harrowing cases I had to face upon my summoning.

Maya was charged with murder again, less than a year after I was killed. As I spectated during the case and gathered details, I had the unfortunate realization of who the true culprit was, Aunt Morgan, working with another woman to frame Maya. They had different motives for the murder, but their interests aligned enough that they had collaborated.

It’s crazy. When I was alive, Aunt Morgan and I always butted heads. She was so strict and her anger towards me and Maya for being next in line for the Master was palpable, to me anyway. Maya always seemed to see the best in everyone.

Yet, when I realized what had happened, I couldn’t implicate her. Phoenix had been given a magatama from Maya or Pearl and he had to use it on me to reveal the truth. Aunt Morgan had raised me after Mom and Dad left and there was some part of me that couldn’t believe she’d go so far as to frame Maya for murder to ensure Pearl became the Master instead.

It didn’t matter what I felt though; the truth was that she had. At the end of the trial, we had Pearl channel me instead of Maya. Pearl was present at the courthouse that day because Phoenix and Maya were looking after her. We didn’t want her to see her mother charged and taken away in handcuffs.

The most harrowing case of all happened not even a year after that, with Maya being kidnapped and held ransom to ensure that Phoenix would obtain a not guilty verdict for his guilty client. If Phoenix failed, the assassin his client hired, the man who kidnapped Maya, would kill her.

It tortured me to see all the horrible experiences that Maya had to go through. I had given up the Master title because I wanted to protect our relationship. Making Maya next in line and asking her to help Phoenix in my absence had only put a huge target on her back and endangered her more than I could have ever imagined.

While Maya was held hostage, Maya and Pearl took turns channeling me so I could relay relevant information to Phoenix. I would gather details about Maya’s surroundings and then Pearl would channel me so I could tell Phoenix, and he could find Maya. Thankfully, he and Edgeworth worked together to ensure her safe return.

Phoenix had always told me that Edgeworth was secretly a good person and not the menace I had faced during my first trial. The one who called me a “quaggy hag” and a “bimbo.” I didn’t believe him until this trial, when I saw Edgeworth put aside his ego to ensure justice was served and Maya was safe.

Phoenix explained that Edgeworth had changed his ways after losing two cases and finding out the truth about DL-6 and his father’s death. However, from what I had seen up until this trial, he was the same arrogant prosecutor I always knew. Maybe he cared about Maya now, but he was happy to put forward disingenuous arguments against her during my murder trial.

While I only felt emotions again while I was being channeled, a stark contrast to my complete lack of feeling in the Shadow Realm, being there for brief moments made me ache in a way I had never experienced while I was alive.

I put on a brave face when I was summoned, knowing that Phoenix and Maya needed positivity, but I had a deep, chasmic longing that couldn’t be filled. Seeing them again, hugging Maya as Pearl summoned me, was excruciatingly painful.

One time, while Phoenix was despairing over a case, I gave him some encouragement: “A lawyer is someone who smiles no matter how bad it gets.” While he needed to hear it at the time, I think I was the one who needed to hear it more.

That line was Diego’s; he told me that during my first trial. When he first said it, I thought he was just being dramatic. After the trial ended, and Terry’s limp body was carried out of the courtroom, I understood why a platitude like that would be helpful. I especially understand it now. Each time I was summoned, I had to push down the urge to cry and grieve my lost life.

While I was happy to assist Phoenix and help him become the lawyer that I knew he could be, I didn’t understand why I was still in limbo. I should be in the Twilight Realm, living a peaceful existence in the afterlife. Why had I not moved on yet?

Though I wasn’t summoned for it, Phoenix had told me that the DL-6 case had been re-tried before the statute of limitations ran out, and Manfred von Karma, Miles’ adopted father, was revealed as the true culprit. The retrial proved that my mom wasn’t a fraud.

Gregory Edgeworth had passed out from lack of oxygen in the broken courthouse elevator, and he didn’t know who his real killer was. Only nine-year-old Miles Edgeworth and a security guard were trapped with him at the time.

He assumed that the killer had to be the guard and not his son and that’s what he had told Mom during his channeling. He didn’t know that Manfred von Karma stumbled upon the scene and shot him.

Before Phoenix told me that, I had thought that maybe Mom was the reason I was still in limbo. However, hearing this news made it unlikely. I had punished the man who tarnished her reputation and Phoenix had restored it, but she still hadn’t come out of hiding. It couldn’t be that. I had avenged my own murder so it couldn’t be that either.

I thought maybe I was needed to ensure Maya’s safety but, after both of her murder trials and her kidnapping, I was still here.

Maybe it was for Phoenix, and to ensure his success, but he was becoming capable enough to defend without my help. I was summoned less and less as time went on. Even the times I was summoned, I thought Phoenix could have solved the cases on his own, if given enough time.

Then, one day, I was channeled again, and it all made sense. When I was awoken in the courtroom, I looked across from the defense stand and at the prosecutor we were facing. It was him: Diego. Only it wasn’t really him. He wasn’t the person that I used to know.

His hair was still completely grey; he didn’t bother dyeing it. He had the new vision technology that his doctor had told me about it, these unusual-looking goggles with red neon lights. He was dressed similarly to how he used to, but not quite the same.

In the past, he mostly wore red, his signature color, having a closet full of dress shirts in various shades of it. Now he was wearing green instead, a color I rarely saw him wear in all the time I knew him.

His changes in appearance weren’t the most notable differences about him though. He was a lot angrier and a lot more bitter than the man I loved. He never referred to Phoenix by his name, instead derisively calling him “Trite.” He badgered Phoenix the way crooked prosecutors used to badger us. Whenever Phoenix annoyed him, which seemed to happen frequently, Diego threatened to scald him with hot cups of coffee.

I couldn’t understand why he was on that side. He always swore that he never wanted to be a prosecutor. He used to be so devoted to defending his clients, even the guilty ones, and giving them a chance to receive a fair and honest trial. Now he had become everything that he hated.

Worst of all, he was trying to indict Phoenix’s client, even though he must have known that he was innocent of the murder charge he was facing. I had only been channeled for mere minutes, but even I could clearly see that he had been framed. Diego was ready to put an innocent man in jail for murder if it meant beating Phoenix.

Even though Phoenix was on the right side of the case with this trial, he needed my help to push back and achieve his not guilty verdict. Diego intimidated him and Phoenix wasn’t thinking straight. He was at a loss for what to do. Maya had summoned me to help him, shortly before the judge was set to hand down the verdict.

“Your Honor!” I exclaimed. “Just now you said something very interesting: ‘You have cross-examined every statement the witness has made here today.’”

“Y-Yes, that's true,” the judge replied. “But...”

I cut him off. “Unfortunately, your Honor, you're forgetting something. Earlier, after the last cross-examination, this witness made a number of remarks!”

“Y-Yes, but these comments appear to have no importance whatso...”

I cut him off again. I technically wasn’t even a lawyer right now but, by being firm with the judge, he seemed to accept me as one anyway.

“Very well. Then we shall prove their importance via cross-examination. At any rate, as long as the witness has made these remarks, we, the defense, assert our right to question them! Is that alright with you...” I hesitated. I wanted to call him Diego, but I didn’t think he was Diego anymore. “...Prosecutor?”

He just stared at me in shock, not saying anything for a moment. Maya had channeled me, so I was wearing her clothes and had her hair, but he recognized me too. He must have realized, at least momentarily, that he was in the wrong because he agreed to my request. Either that or he just wanted to appease me, even though it lost him his case.

Chapter 18: Chapter 17 - Parker

Chapter Text

Date: Sunday, April 1st, 2018

Time: 5:45 am

Location: Diego’s Hospital Room, Shinjuku Heights Teaching Hospital

Become a doctor, they said. It’ll be fun, they said. Med school is supposed to be hard, obviously; I knew that when I applied. I didn’t think learning how to save people’s lives would be easy. I just think it’s interesting how they think putting medical residents on 24-hour shifts is a good idea.

You know how people always perform their best after pulling an all-nighter? Nothing like trying to do chest compressions, start an IV, or interpret imaging on zero hours of sleep.

It’d be like asking a commercial pilot to fly a 300-passenger airliner with no sleep. I’m sure it happens all the time, but not by design. And then the hospital administrators wonder why doctors get burnt out and quit.

Ah well. 15 hours down and another nine to go. Hopefully, I can kill at least a half hour of that time in this zombie’s room. I should really be out on the floor of the ER right now, assisting my preceptor with patients, but I needed to take a break from that sad*st.

I swear, some of these doctors only get into the profession to cut people open. At least they have a healthy outlet for their sickness. The only time I see my attending get more pleasure than when he’s stitching up a mangled body is when he’s harassing me, talking down to me, or barking orders at me. Giving me pop quizzes and then calling me an idiot if I get anything wrong.

The nurses here are a lot nicer, but they can be kind of condescending too. Any time I try to put in an order, they override it, even though I’m right. I can hack it for another year though. By that time, I’ll be their boss and they’ll have to listen to me. I finish this placement in a month anyway. Hopefully, the orthopedics rotation will be easier.

I gripped my coffee cup in both my hands and blew on it; too hot to drink, but I’m content to wait it out in here until it’s bearable. I’m technically being a rule breaker right now, both for sitting in a random patient’s room and for bringing coffee in here. His mother and girlfriend had instituted a no-coffee policy years ago and the unit was still observing it.

This guy was some sort of coffee aficionado in his waking life, and they didn’t want to taunt him with his favorite drink. I don’t know how anyone could be allured by the crappy cafeteria coffee they have here though. I’ve gotten used to it over the past year and a half, but it’s weak as hell and often burnt. Besides, he’s not conscious enough to be taunted anyway.

I’m not worried about being in his room either. This guy has been here for almost five years now and his care routine basically involves inspecting his tubing, checking his vital monitors, and turning him every few hours. I doubt anyone will walk in during the 30 or so minutes I’m here. His room is the perfect place to hide.

He’s practically a legend at the hospital at this point. I’ve heard that the staff here even have a secret bet going to see when he’ll wake up. If there was actually money involved, I wouldn’t make a wager though. My guess is that he’s never waking up and I’d have to wait a long time to see that bet pay out.

I feel bad for the guy though. Obviously for the multi-year coma, but also because his mom and girlfriend are dead now. I don’t think anyone comes to visit him anymore. Must not have had many friends.

That girlfriend of his too? None other than Mia Fey, my ex-girlfriend from Ivy University. In a city as big as ours, I can’t believe the chances of that happening. I guess there are only two teaching hospitals in the city but still.

Seems like Mia had a type, going from a doctor to a lawyer. If she was still alive, maybe she would have dated an engineer, a firefighter, or a pharmacist by now.

I don’t mean to sound blunt. It was really horrible what happened to her; I was horrified when I saw it on the news almost two years ago. I even cried. I wasn’t entirely surprised though, as bad as it is to say. She just couldn’t let things go.

The guy who killed her, he got what he deserved at least. He was arrested for her murder and then got shivved during a prison riot a few months ago. It was that smarmy Redd White guy. The one who had all those cheesy TV commercials advertising his company. I still don’t even know what that company did, but it’s closed now. Obviously, something shady because his accountant was arrested too.

I’m not sure how she got involved with him in the first place, but I assume it had something to do with her mom. Mia always wanted to find her again and restore her reputation. Maybe she did that but, was it worth it? I haven’t heard anything about a famous medium coming out of the woodwork since Mia died. Lost her life and for nothing.

I couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened if we had never broken up. I always tried to convince her to move on, and she always said that she agreed with me, but she’d never drop the issue. We didn’t live in that world though.

I still kick myself sometimes over how I messed that up with her. I never thought a girl like that would look at me, much less date me for six months. I couldn’t resist the urge to show my friends how much I had lucked out, but my gloating bit me in the ass and then she kicked it.

Maybe I deserved it, but her act of revenge just made me feel less bad about saving copies. I still had them on a thumb drive locked away in my desk drawer at my apartment. Proof that someone that hot had dated me.

I couldn’t look at them now that she was dead; it felt icky. I couldn’t bring myself to delete them either. Schrodinger's nude pictures I called them; they both exist and don’t right now.

Probably for the best we didn’t work out. My fiancée isn’t as pretty as Mia was, but she’s cute, and a lot bubblier and more carefree than Mia. She comes from a normal family too, so she isn’t likely to get involved with murderous psychopaths.

I’m supposed to go to her parent’s place for Easter dinner after my shift, but we’ll see if I have the energy for that. Her parents can be a lot sometimes, but her mom’s a pretty good cook and they probably won’t make me help clean up after my shift. They love that I'm a doctor.

The nurses here said that Mia was quite devoted to this guy before she died. She was even in here the morning before she was murdered and used to visit him every week. She did that for three years, which had to be longer than they even dated. I wonder what it was about him. He’s tall, I guess. Full head of hair too. He looks so old though.

His chart says he’s only 32, but I have a hard time believing it. I doubt his aging was all from the poisoning too. Avoiding the sun for five years probably should have made him age less, honestly.

When I was on my dermatology rotation, my preceptor showed me UV photos of people’s sun-damaged skin and that finally convinced me to become a regular sunscreen user. Somehow, skin cancer wasn’t motivation enough for me.

God, this coffee is still lava hot. They must brew it with boiling water or something. I need to wake up soon though. Sitting down was a mistake, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to convince myself to get up without it.

I took the lid off the cup and blew on it again. Maybe I should have put cream and sugar in it like I wanted to; it would have been cool by now. With the amount of coffee I drink in a day, I was just trying to be healthy.

Screw it. I took a sip before spilling some of it on my white coat. Not a good look. I didn’t spill it because it was too hot though. I spilled it because I heard a groan coming from the patient’s bed. That’s...not normal. This guy can breathe on his own, but he hasn’t made a sound like that in almost five years. He just did it again.

I lidded my coffee and bolted out of there. “Nurse!” I yelled as I ran out of the room. I can’t be the one to hold this guy’s hand and explain his sad story to him when he wakes up. That is way beyond my pay grade. I sent the nurse to go check on him and then started booking it to the ER. Looks like break time is over.

Chapter 19: Chapter 18 - Diego

Chapter Text

Date: Sunday, April 1st, 2018

Time: 7:19 pm

Location: Diego’s Hospital Room, Shinjuku Heights Teaching Hospital

I feel like absolute sh*t. My body aches all over and I can barely move. Not my legs, my arms, my fingers, nothing. I’m that weak and it’s like my limbs are completely heavy and weighed down. I’m drowsy as hell too and my head is pounding. The worst part of all are my eyes though. I keep opening and closing them, but I still can’t see anything at all.

I heard a voice. “He wakes!” she said excitedly. The voice sounded younger. Like she was in her late teens or early 20s or something.

“Where am I?” I asked sleepily.

“The hospital, of course,” she replied cheerily.

“Right. That makes sense. I just can’t see anything right now.”

“Oh.” She paused. “Are you blind?” she asked.

I inhaled. Am I blind now? Not that I had much time to think about it, but I assumed that my lack of vision was temporary. “You tell me. Aren’t you my...doctor? My nurse? Uh, a student nurse, maybe?”

“Sorry, no. I’m just a hospital volunteer,” she said contritely. “You’ve been drifting in and out all day and they wanted someone to be here with you when you woke up. I normally help out in the front lobby, but I’ve been sitting here reading most of the day.”

“Good book at least?”

“It’s alright,” she said indecisively. “I kept getting distracted. There were so many times I thought you were awake for good, but then you went back to sleep.”

I heard her get up and rustle with some things. “I’ll get them to call your doctor,” she said. “She’s off today but asked us to call her when you woke up.”

“Okay,” I agreed.

“Will you be okay for a few minutes?”

I laughed. “Don’t think I can get into much trouble like this.”

She laughed back. “That’s true. The nurses will come by soon, I think.” She started to walk out.

“Wait!” I exclaimed. Her footsteps stopped. “Before you go, what day is it?”

“Sunday,” she replied.

I laughed again. “Sorry, I meant, what day and month.”

“Oh,” she said, elongating the word. “It’s April 1st.” I didn’t say anything in response. I’ve been asleep for seven months? “Are you okay?” she asked.

I swallowed. Obviously not, but I’m not going to unload my frustration on some volunteer kid. “Yeah, I’m just surprised.” I paused again. “Thanks.” She walked out.

Two nurses came by a few minutes later to check on me. They told me that my doctor would be at the hospital in about a half hour or so. She was going to bring some specialists with her. They told me how thrilled they were to see that I was awake. Everyone at the hospital has been waiting for me to wake up.

It seemed crazy for everyone at the hospital to care, but I guess seven months is a long time. I told them that I couldn’t believe it was April 1st and they seemed surprised that I knew today’s date. I asked the volunteer, and she told me, I clarified. They replied with a knowing “ah” in unison.

I explained to them how weak I felt and about my pain, and they told me that the doctor would advise me on my care plan, but I would likely need some physical and occupational therapy for the weakness. They offered me morphine for the pain, but I declined. I was thinking ibuprofen or something a little less extreme. When I asked about my blindness, they got evasive, again saying that the doctor would know more.

I wasn’t able to check, but my doctor seemed to arrive right on time, based on my internal clock. She had what sounded like a 12-person contingent of people with her and they were all chattering as they walked into my room. She instructed them to quiet down.

“Hi Diego!” she exclaimed too loudly. I’m blind, not deaf. “I’m Dr. Clark, but you can call me Ellie. I’ve been your attending physician since you’ve been at Shinjuku Heights.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said politely. “Well, while awake,” I added. “Who’s your entourage?”

“Yes, I have a whole team of specialists and interns with me. We’ve all been so eager to finally get to talk to you. After all this time... it’s an Easter miracle!”

“Easter?” I asked. “I thought it was April Fool’s Day.”

“It’s both this year. First time since 1956. Crazy, huh?” she asked rhetorically.

I laughed. Mamá will probably call this a sign, but I’m a little more grounded than she is. “A miracle, huh? I think that’s what we call a wash.”

She laughed graciously. “Day aside, your recovery is miraculous. We all agree.” A few of the others made remarks of agreement. “None of us have seen a case like yours before. Most people in your condition would never wake up or would be completely vegetative and living in a long-term care facility.”

“I don’t know, doc,” I replied skeptically. “I can’t say I’m feeling too miraculous right now. I can barely move and I’m completely blind.”

“Trust me,” she assured. “You’re a medical marvel. I can’t believe how lucid you are too. Your brain is so sharp for someone who’s been asleep for 4.5 years.”

I could feel my face paling and my heart sank. 4.5 years? “What year is it?” I asked.

She paused. “Oh. I’m so sorry,” she said apologetically. “The nurses told me you knew. They said you seemed to take the news really well. It’s April 1st, 2018. You’ve been asleep since August 27th, 2013.”

I was speechless but hearing the 2013 date started to jog some more memories: Dahlia knelt beside me, digging through my pockets. The man on the courthouse steps calling an ambulance. My poisoning put me in a coma for almost five years.

I tried to think of what to say. All I could think about was how I went to sleep at 28 and now I was almost 33. Five years of my life gone. I felt panicky. Like I was going to hyperventilate. There was a whole team of people here though.

“What made me wake up after all this time?” I asked, trying not to think about the lost years.

“We’re not entirely sure. A medical resident was having a coffee break in your room this morning.” She scoffed. “I’m not entirely sure why he was in there. Anyway, he said he heard you groan, and you woke up completely 14 hours later.”

The coffee. No wonder I love it so much. It’s obviously life-sustaining. I smiled. “I’ll have to thank him for his misconduct. ‘Wake up and smell the coffee’, as they say.”

“You can’t. He said he’d like to remain anonymous.”

“Huh,” I reacted with surprise. “Seems like a swell guy.”

“Yeah, he’s... okay,” she said diplomatically. That doesn’t sound good. There’s obviously more to the story there, but probably better if I don’t know.

Ellie started naming all the people in the room with her: a neurologist, an ophthalmologist, an orthopedic surgeon, a urologist, a psychologist, a physical therapist, an occupational therapist, a pharmacist, a dietitian, and several medical interns and residents. They all said hello and introduced themselves.

She started going over my treatment plan: physical therapy, occupational therapy, potential surgeries, an EMG, scans, drug regimens, nutritional interventions, psychological therapy, and experimental eyewear, but this whole situation was too overwhelming. I appreciated their dedication, but I just lost five years of my life. I needed some time to process.

As she regaled more and more details of the treatment plan, I finally cut her off. “That all sounds great doc, but I think I need a day or two to wrap my head around everything. I’d just like to see my mom and my girlfriend first, if that’s okay?”

Everyone was completely silent. So much so that I probably could have literally heard a pin drop. Ellie shooed everyone out of the room, and I heard the door close.

“I’m such an idiot,” she said remorsefully. “We were all just so excited. We didn’t think enough about how you would feel.” She paused for a long time and then exhaled. “Your mother, Maria, we all loved working with her,” she said, her voice faltering. “She died. A little over three years ago.”

“What?” I exclaimed. I had stopped myself from reacting too much earlier, but I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I started gasping for air. I couldn’t breathe. “What happened?” I asked between gasps.

“She had pancreatic cancer.” She swallowed and it sounded like she was trying not to cry. “I’m so sorry. It’s just horrible, horrible luck. It’s one of the worst kinds to get. Most people don’t know until it’s too late. She probably had it for years.”

The tears started falling and I couldn’t stop them. She had it before I went to sleep? Were there any signs? Could we have stopped this? I tried to think, but I couldn’t focus. I didn’t know what the signs were, even if I could think straight.

I needed some good news. Just anything. I wasn’t hopeful though. She probably would have started with that if there was anything good to share. I took several deep breaths, trying to calm down enough to speak. “And Mia?” I asked.

She hesitated again and I became more rattled. There was no good news. Mia probably moved on long ago. I guess that makes sense; it had been five years, but it hurt me. I would have waited for her. I just knew it. There was no one else for me but her.

The reality was a million times worse than I thought though. Ellie took another deep breath. “I’m so, so sorry, Diego. She died too. A year and a half ago.”

“Cancer too?” I said, barely getting the words out. “A car accident?”

“No.” I could hear her sniffling. “She was murdered.”

It was all too much to take. I wanted to throw something or hit something or bang my head against a wall until I couldn’t think anymore, but I could barely even move. All I could do was hyperventilate and cry.

“You. Need. To. Leave,” I gasped out.

“Of course. I’ll give you some time. Just ring the bell if-”

I cut her off. “Please. Leave,” I said, wheezing.

She didn’t say anything else and walked out. When I heard the door close, I started wailing like a dying animal. Like a soldier who had been fatally injured in combat. Crying 20 years of tears all at once.

Date: Wednesday, April 25th, 2018

Time: 3:15 pm

Location: Diego’s Hospital Room, Shinjuku Heights Teaching Hospital

Not much happened that first week in the hospital. The medical team wanted to get me started on my treatment plan right away, but I couldn’t handle it. I mostly alternated between bawling my eyes out, completely prostrated, or completely catatonic, not talking or moving the few muscles I could move.

While I declined the morphine when I first woke up, I took as much as they would give me from then on. After almost five years of sleeping, all I wanted to do was sleep so I wouldn’t have to think about them. It just hurt too much to think. Multitudes more than the physical pain I was dealing with.

Ellie tried to comfort me, but it didn’t work. She assured me that there was nothing I could have done for Mamá with her cancer. Absolutely, no way I could have known. It seemed impossible for that to be true.

I asked her to go over the early symptoms with me, and she begrudgingly obliged. When she mentioned lowered appetite, I felt certain that this was one symptom I had overlooked. Mamá was never a big eater, but she seemed to eat even less before she died. I should have known.

When I asked Ellie what happened to Mia, she explained how Mia was hit on the head with a statue. She died almost instantly. I asked her how this happened, and she said that she didn’t know. Mia was killed by this Redd White guy. He was some minor celebrity, I guess. This big business owner who used to appear in these tacky commercials. Ellie guessed that she had angered him in some way; it wasn’t random, but the full details were never revealed to the public.

I told her how guilty I felt for not being awake to help Mia. I didn’t know what this guy looked like, but I’m strong, or I used to be. I felt certain I could have taken him. Even if he was bigger than I thought, I would have been around to help. She wouldn’t have had to face him alone.

Ellie told me that I couldn’t know that for sure. No one could know what would have happened if I was there. She told me that Mia wouldn’t have thought about it that way anyway. She came to visit me the morning she died; she obviously wasn’t upset with me, she argued.

I was happy to hear that she visited me right to the end, but this made the guilt worse somehow. It must have crossed her mind before she died how different things would have been if I had been there to help. If she had forgotten about me completely, she wouldn’t have thought about it.

Ellie kept trying to get me to focus on something else, namely getting better. I had a lot of issues and, the sooner we addressed them, the sooner we could figure out my prognosis. She told me that my case was such an anomaly that, even though they had a plan in place, they didn’t know how effective it would be.

The team’s primary concerns were my eyes, the rest of my nervous system, and my muscles. I was blinded by the poison. After reviewing the substances I consumed, the only one that would have caused blindness was methanol. Ellie said that, if I had ever heard of people going blind from moonshine, methanol was why. They had given me an antidote for it, but one of the other substances in the poison must have counteracted it.

The poison had damaged the rest of my nervous system too, but they couldn’t determine the extent of the damage without further testing. They did assure me that I wasn’t paralyzed completely, but I would likely have long-lasting pain, tingling, and numbness. Frequent headaches and migraines too.

My muscles had atrophied due to the immobility. I guess muscles are a use it or lose it kind of tissue and not moving for five years meant that I had lost a lot of my lean body mass. There was a scale in my hospital bed, and they told me that I weighed 165 lbs now, about 25 lbs less than I was before I went to sleep. They said that being active again and eating would help; I was still on a feeding tube and couldn’t even feed myself, but progress would be slow.

There were so many other weird complications when you undergo what I’ve been through. Ellie informed me that I was lucky not to have bed sores after laying for so long. Yippee. I mean, yeah, I’d rather not have them, but it seemed like a small victory in light of everything else I’m experiencing.

I did have what she called “urethral erosion” from my catheter, a common side effect, she stated. I made the mistake of asking what this meant. She said that the best way I could think of it was to imagine a flagpole staked into a field on a very windy day. I begged her not to continue her analogy any further; I got the picture. f*ck me.

When I finally got out of my stupor a week later, my first goals were to feed myself and to walk to the bathroom by myself. It felt insane that just obtaining that level of dignity again was my goal, but it was unbelievably embarrassing to not have those things under control. At least I couldn’t see myself like this.

I was still weak, and my coordination was still awful, but I was able to get these tasks handled in about a week’s time. The hospital food wasn’t all that enticing, and I had achieved the bathroom accomplishments of a toddler, but I considered this a triumph, nonetheless.

About a week and a half into my stay, I got some of my sight back, and that did feel like a God damn miracle. A biomedical engineering professor at Ivy University had invented these crazy-looking goggles for the blind and they just passed clinical trials last year. My insurance provider didn’t want to pay for them, but the professor had heard about my case and wanted to give me a pair for free when I woke up.

I don’t mean to look a gift horse in the mouth but, when I put them on, I felt like a total freak. I debated if it would be better to just be blind instead. I wasn’t seriously considering not using them, but I wish I didn’t look like a Blade Runner character now . Right in time for 2019, I guess.

I asked Ellie why they looked so dumb, and she told me that the inventor was a total eccentric and thought the design looked cool. He could have made them look more practical but didn’t.

My ability to physically see things had been restored, but I could only see two colors: red and black. The goggles appeared to glow neon red too, although I couldn’t be sure that it wasn’t actually some other color.

I asked Ellie about this too and she explained that the other colors hadn’t passed clinical trials yet. They had concerns about the use of shorter wavelength colors like purple and blue. They thought maybe they would cause eye cancer when installed directly into a user’s optic nerve. Even though they wouldn’t utilize ultraviolet light, the kind you get from the sun, the same thought process had guided the design of these goggles. In theory, red was the safest color.

The stupid design and minimal color range aside, I was grateful to have my sight back. These goggles hurt my head, digging into the side of my face and giving me headaches after a couple of hours of wear, but it was better than the alternative.

Today, I had another visitor in to see me. Not a specialist, but a familiar face, for once. Grossberg: the man about town, the big cheese himself. I didn’t think he cared that much.

“Gross-, er, sir,” I said. “What are you doing here?”

“Just checking in, my boy,” Grossberg said matter-of-factly.

My boy? I look like the Cryptkeeper right now. We’re past that. “Really? I’m just surprised.”

“Well, and there are some legal matters of yours I had to attend to.”

There it is. We didn’t have a bad boss-employee relationship, but we were never exactly close. The only employees Grossberg really seemed to like were Hammond, because he was up Grossberg’s ass 24/7, and Mia, because, well, of course.

“Does that box have something to do with it?” I asked, gesturing to the 12 x 12 cardboard box in his hands.

“Yes, this is from Mia. I was the executor of her estate,” he said, his voice faltering. He cleared his throat. “The items inside were in her safety deposit box. She wanted you to have them.”

He handed me the box and I opened it. I caught a glimpse of a couple of items: the framed photo I used to keep on my desk and the yellow bear from the carnival. Frantically, I closed the box shut. I inhaled deeply a few times, trying not to cry again.

“Thank you,” I said brokenly. I cleared my throat too. “I’ll look at everything later.”

He nodded and then pulled out a set of keys from his pocket. “I have this for you too.” He handed them to me.

“What are these?” I asked.

“Keys to a storage locker. Mia was the executor of your mother’s estate, but then she died, so now I am,” he explained. “Your mother paid to keep some of your belongings in storage while you were asleep. Your car too. I believe the car keys are in the box though.”

“Right,” I said, nodding. What a waste. Spending all her hard-earned savings so my stuff can sit idly in a locker and my car in a garage. “Where are they located?”

“Uh, I’ll get them to call you,” he said sheepishly. “I forgot the addresses. Meant to put them down on a piece of paper and slip that into the box too.”

“Did you go through the box?” I pressed him.

“Well...yes. I had to. The box has been at my house. I had to transfer everything out of her safe deposit box when she died.”

“So, you just transferred everything into that box? You didn’t really look at everything?”

He paused. “Yes,” he lied.

I shook my head. Whatever. Can’t do anything about it now. I changed the subject. “Were you in touch with Mia at all before she died?” I asked. “You must have been, as her executor.”

“Not as much as I should have,” he said remorsefully. “I had no idea that she had a will and listed me on it.”

“Do you know what happened? The staff told me about this Redd White guy, but I don’t know all the details. I don’t have internet access.”

“I know too much; I’m afraid.” He sighed. “I feel guilty over what happened to her. I told her about him. How he smeared her mother’s reputation.”

I rubbed my face, processing. “How did you know about that?”

“I was a victim of his. He ran a consulting company, but he actually just bribed and blackmailed powerful people.”

“How did he blackmail you?” I asked skeptically.

He swallowed. “I was the one who told him about Misty... for a bribe. Then he blackmailed me after.”

“What?” I exclaimed. “What is wrong with you? Was it worth it?” I asked venomously.

“No. It wasn’t,” he acquiesced. “You remember Bluecorp and all their quality improvement work?”

That was the company? They were completely useless; it’s no wonder. “He made you use them.”

“Yes. Every year since 2002 or he would have revealed the truth.”

“Why didn’t you just tell Mia? Then he’d have nothing on you.”

“I did tell her, eventually. The day she quit the firm. I tried to make it up to her,” he assured me. “I gave her money to start her firm. The cost of the bribe and then interest.”

I nodded, thinking. She got to live her dream for a little while, at least. “Why did he kill her?”

“I can’t say for sure, but I think she knew too much. She must have been investigating him. His company went under after he was sent to prison. His accountant came forward with some financial records and said he had worked with Mia on a list of victims before she died.”

“So, everyone’s secrets got revealed anyway?”

“No. No one came forward to confirm anything. There was no reason to after Redd White got locked away. He couldn’t hurt us anymore. His accountant went to prison for fraud though. He’ll be out in a year or so.”

“Why didn’t you come forward?” I asked angrily. “All her work was in vain.”

“Well, I was close to retirement. There was no point.” Excuses, excuses. “It wasn’t all in vain!” he argued. “She made sure he went to prison. His company collapsed. Her protégé was on her murder case, but he must have used her work.”

“Her protégé?”

“Yes, the man who’s been running her firm since she died. She mentored him until she was killed.”

“Who was this guy? Would I know him?”

“I don’t think so. Phoenix...” He stopped to think, trying to remember the name. “Ah, Wright. Phoenix Wright. That’s the chap!”

“So, he just took over her firm after she died? What a ghoul.”

“No, not like that. You’re too harsh on the lad. She willed it to him.”

I froze. She gave him her firm? “How long did she know this guy?”

“I can’t remember. Two months. Three?”

That wasn’t a long time. “When did she write her will?”

“The day before she died,” he said somberly.

I was ambivalent. She cared enough to see me right before she died. She gave me all this stuff. These mementos. However, she willed her firm, her pride and joy, to this guy she barely knew that same day. “Were they...involved?” I asked hesitantly.

Grossberg tutted. “Diego, you know I don’t pay attention to idle gossip.” He thought for a moment. “Maybe though. She did will him her old apartment too. Her sister stays there when she visits.”

I wanted to throw up. She kept this stuff for me to be nice, but she had moved on after all. This guy has her firm and her apartment. He’s close friends with Maya. It only took her two or three months to be sure of him. Twice as fast as it took her to be sure of me. Three times as fast if you count when we first met.

I shook my head. “This is all a lot to take.”

“I know. It’s horrible what happened. I still think about her every day.”

“It’s just...everything. It’s too much,” I explained, not elaborating.

“You’ll get back on your feet.” He looked embarrassed. “Uh, literally and metaphorically,” he clarified. “I’ve retired and there’s been some turnover at the firm. Reina left. Robert...” He shook his head. “He was killed too. So many tragedies in the past few years. All related to that same case.”

“DL-6?” I asked.

“I think so. His former client from that case was innocent, but Robert made him take a deal. He killed Robert in revenge, four days before the statute of limitations ran out on that case.”

Good lord, the whole world has fallen apart since I went to sleep. What the hell happened? I never liked Hammond all that much, but he didn’t deserve to die. He had kids at home.

“That said,” Grossberg continued. “Many of the partners are still at the old firm. They would probably take you back in a heartbeat if you wanted.”

“Maybe,” I said non-committedly. It would be nice to have some normalcy in my life but, suddenly, the Grossberg name has a lot less shine to it than it used to. “I’ll think about it.”

“My number is still the same, as is the firm’s. I’ll let you look at those items alone.” He started walking away. “I’ll get someone to call you about those addresses. See you soon!” He stood by the door and waved.

“Yeah, see ya,” I said, barely waving back.

When he was gone, I looked inside the box. My car keys were indeed in there, along with my favorite pen and my favorite mug. There were old movie stubs and receipts from past date nights. Sea glass and shells from the trip to the beach. A coaster from this coffee shop we used to go to sometimes and a branded T-shirt from The Bar Association. Those items, along with the yellow bear, made me smile. Memories of good times.

Then, there were the emotionally heavier items. The framed photo of us from my desk. I just kept staring at it. It was the first time I had looked at her since I woke up. She’s so beautiful. She was. I’ll never get used to that. There was another photo of her too, by herself. It was an instant photo, and she was wearing a wedding dress.

It took my breath away and I started crying again. Once I started a few weeks ago, I could barely contain it anymore. She looked so perfect; it was like the dress was made for her. There was a string of numbers and letters underneath the photo and the words “I said yes!” written on the back.

The ring box was in there too. She must have found it cleaning out my old apartment. She was wearing it in the photo. There was no date stamp on the photo, so I couldn’t tell when it was taken. Probably shortly after I went to sleep.

I kept looking at it, studying it. As stunning as she looked in it, the photo was now haunting. I can’t see white anymore, but I know that’s what she’s wearing. Seeing her in white, knowing that she’s dead... she looks like a ghost.

Finally, there were the bombshell items. A big manila envelope with a sticky note on the outside written in Mia’s handwriting. It said that this letter was written shortly before Mamá died. I emptied the contents of the envelope onto my lap.

There were photos of Mamá when she was younger. She was standing next to a man who looked an awful lot like me. There was a clipping of an obituary for the same man in there too. He died three months before I was born. He wasn’t even thirty.

It was surreal to look at him and to read his name. Mamá never showed me what he looked like or told me his name before. She didn’t want me to look for him. I tried my best to look anyway, but it was nearly impossible with the information I had to go on: businessman, spoke Spanish, from Japanifornia, “rat bastard,” and visited the Dominican in 1984. That’s all I knew.

I took a deep breath and began reading the four-page letter Mamá had written for me. Time to learn the truth.

Chapter 20: Chapter 19 - Diego

Chapter Text

Date: Thursday, July 5, 2018

Time: 9:55 am

Location: Diego’s Hospital Room, Shinjuku Heights Teaching Hospital

The past two months have been the longest two months of my entire life. Each day was marked with only small moments of progress. One step further I could walk during physio. One more subtle flex or muscle movement I could make during occupational therapy. Other than that, there wasn’t much to distinguish the days. I was just sitting in my hospital room or some assessment room, most of the time.

I wasn’t sure how much money I had to my name after the coma. Mamá had left me her savings, I had my security deposit, some banked vacation money, and a rainy-day fund saved but not as much as I probably should.

After being flat broke until the age of 25, once I started making real money, I wasn’t as frugal as I should have been. I paid my student loans off at least and had helped Mamá with her down payment, but practicality had ceased there.

I spent money like it was going out of style. That stupid car that I constantly had to fix, but I loved anyway. My fancy watch. Weekly trips to the Bar Association and restaurant meals on the regular. High-end coffee appliances and a sound system for the apartment. That giant TV and that fancy leather couch. Expensive colognes. The engagement ring for Mia.

I didn’t have luxury clothes like Gucci or Armani, but I used to go to this family-owned menswear shop that made and tailored clothes in-house and getting a closet full of items from there was expensive enough.

Then, there was that apartment that I had to save for a year to afford. It wasn’t that big, but it was brand new and made with all the best finishes, so it took a lot of overtime hours to live somewhere like that on my own.

I wasn’t going to be that way forever though. My plan was to get settled and buy up all the things I wanted and then get practical about saving and investing when I was 30. I would have 40 years to work; I could spend the first five being frivolous.

Obviously, I didn’t know then that I would spend my 30th birthday comatose in a hospital, and my 33rd birthday still in that same hospital, eating some dry vanilla cupcake they probably pulled from the kitchen’s freezer, being serenaded with a rendition of Happy Birthday by the staff on duty that evening.

It’s for that reason that I had to reluctantly decline the rental of a TV while I was awake for the past three months. It costs $15/a day to rent one but spending that much seemed wasteful when I might need that money later.

Being here was mind-numbing without it though. I didn’t have anyone who could keep me company or drop off my laptop to me. My phone still worked and could get internet, but it was now a few generations behind and was painfully slow to respond.

The hospital staff had lent me books that other patients had left behind, so I mostly read those. Once I got more mobility, I could walk to the visitor's lounge in the unit and watch something in there, although I had to play nice with the other patrons of the room and couldn’t just watch whatever I wanted. I wasn’t keen on home renovation shows, reality TV, and cheesy TV movies but, hell, if that’s what was on when someone else was in there, it was better than nothing.

I did have one more visitor come to see me other than Grossberg, but those visits were about as pleasant as his. It was my Grandma Lydia, my dad’s mom, the woman in all those black and white photographs, and she didn’t know I had woken up until she came to visit me one day.

I guess she had tried to become my legal guardian after Mia died, but there was no way to prove her familial connection to me. Even with Mia, Mamá had to grant her power of attorney after she died because we had no legal status either. After Mamá’s death and Mia’s murder, I became a 31-year-old ward of the state. As a result, no one had called Lydia, and she got a big surprise when she came in on one of her monthly visits.

It was like pulling teeth trying to talk to her. Even with my now haggard appearance, she kept remarking how much I looked like him, but you can only talk about that for so long. Mamá told me everything about the situation in her letter. How Dad had died, and Lydia didn’t want anything to do with us because she blamed us for the death. Other than chiding her for her crappy treatment of us for 28 years, there wasn’t much else to say about that situation.

She came to visit me again last week and I told her that I would be discharged soon, so she didn’t have to come by anymore. She gave me her number and address and asked that I go to her place for dinner when I get out, but I don’t know if I will.

Dad wasn’t a total louse like I thought; it turns out that he had a very valid reason not to get in touch. What was her excuse though? She knew Mamá’s name and knew we lived in the same city, and it took my attempted murder for her to contact us. I told her that I might stop by but didn’t give her any way to reach me.

That wasn’t a lie about my discharge though. It took three months, but I was finally able to leave this hell hole. As crazy as it is to say, the Shinjuku Heights Teaching Hospital is now the place I’ve lived longest in my life. Mamá and I moved around a lot, and I never stayed in one place for long

Ellie wouldn’t discharge me until I had ticked every box on her recovery checklist. I had to go through every scan, test, and round of blood work she had outlined in my treatment plan and had to achieve a certain level of independence with my activities of daily living before I could leave. Once I was able to walk short distances on my own, it was painful to have to be here for as long as she required but at least she was thorough.

The one silver lining is that my insurance provider has spent millions of dollars on my care since I’ve been here. They got more than they bargained for when they signed a healthy 25-year-old onto their health insurance plan and then had to cover five years of medical expenses related to my coma. Serves them right after they used to fight against paying for my routine appointments.

Since I was crawling up the walls of this place even more than normal the past two weeks, knowing I was so close to leaving, Ellie did grant me access to the computer lab one level below. The lab was meant for doctors and interns to conduct research, but she took pity on me.

While I was down there, I finally got to change out of my hospital gown and into some gym clothes that Mia or Mamá had brought for me. They weren’t my finest threads, but it was a welcome change of pace to not worry about mooning someone in the hallway anymore. The nice clothes I wore to the courthouse the day of my poisoning were cut open and thrown away when I first arrived at the other hospital.

I’ve been to the computer lab every evening for the past two weeks, once I got through the treatment regimen and physical therapy they had for me during each day. I’d grab two cups of subpar coffee from the unit’s kitchenette and carry them with me to the lab before I conducted my research. I had to catch up on what I missed these past few years. They only let me in there for two hours a day, but there was so much to look up that the time went fast.

Mia and Mamá were top priority, of course. There were obituaries for both of them online and I finally got to determine the days they died. The hospital staff had a good ballpark but didn’t remember the exact dates.

Mamá’s obituary said that she was buried, and I could go visit her grave once I got out. Dad’s too. She chose to be buried at his cemetery instead of her church’s. Mia was cremated and I don’t know where her ashes were.

Mamá had a release written about her on the hospital’s website too. She used to be a chair on the hospital fundraising committee, and they had given her an award posthumously for her years of service as a nurse, and for her volunteerism.

Mia had dozens of articles written about her after she was killed. The story was huge for a few reasons. For one, she was murdered. Whenever a beautiful woman is murdered, it always makes front-page news. Two, she had become a renowned lawyer while I was asleep and had achieved a staggering 100% win record, something no defense attorney had ever done. Three, her killer was a local celebrity and that just made the whole story all the more notable.

That information is all I got to explore on my first visit. I tried to plan what I would research in advance before I got down there so I wouldn’t waste any minute of the two hours I had. The next day I planned to investigate Mia’s career and what she was up to before her death. There was a lot to look through and it ended up taking days to review everything.

There were articles about her trial wins and even a feature on her in the LT Times, about a year into starting her firm. Her success was insane given how the deck is stacked against defense attorneys in this country, and so her win streak was worth its own feature.

I suspected that she may have had some help from her magatama, but it was impressive, nonetheless. Even if I had her powers, I don’t think I could touch her skill. In past trials, when I was certain my clients were innocent, I didn’t always win.

That said, inevitably, she would have had a guilty client at some point and sometimes the evidence is just too damning to overcome. I knew she would never forge evidence to win, especially for a guilty client, so I assumed there was, at least, a little sorcery afoot.

I loved reading about her cases and learning about everything she had achieved while I was gone. I loved looking at the photos of her in her articles even more though. Other than the photo I used to keep on my desk, I didn’t have any photos of her on my phone. The few photos we took together were taken with her phone camera. I didn’t have any social media accounts where I could look at old posts and her old accounts had been deleted too.

My favorite photos were from her trials and the LT Times piece. She looked so happy, determined, and fierce in her trial photos. Like she was just about to obliterate any opponent that she faced. The LT Times piece was the absolute best though. She was beaming like crazy, standing by her firm’s doors, looking so proud. She had the ring on in that photo too and it made me obscenely happy. She did care until May 2015, at least.

Those photos were just the tip of the iceberg though. There were a surprising number of photos of her online. It seemed that she attended many black-tie events in her private practice career, and she was in so many of the photos taken at these events.

She was dazzling, as always, dressed in a large collection of evening dresses, but those pictures made me less happy. She looked hollow. She was smiling, but the emotion didn’t reach her eyes. She looked a little thinner too, like she was stressed or something. She always forgot to eat when she was stressed.

Also, she had stopped wearing the ring. After May 2015, there wasn’t a photo online of her wearing it. She must have given up on us sometime around then.

I couldn’t figure out what she was doing in all these photos. She wasn’t a homebody, but these types of events didn’t seem like her idea of a good time. She liked going out dancing, to eat, to drinks, to live music, or to the movies, not to stuffy events where she’d have to make small talk with snooty and out-of-touch rich people.

Networking was my first thought. Maybe these galas and ceremonies were a good place to meet potential clients. From her LT Times article though, it seemed like she did well enough without them. My next thought was that it had something to do with her investigation, but I couldn’t quite piece together how they connected.

I looked up Redd White next. I needed to know more about this f*cking prick. He was given 15 years for Mia’s murder but no death penalty. They usually reserved that for serial murderers or first-degree cases, and they somehow classed his case as a second-degree charge.

It didn’t end up mattering. He was placed in the Los Tokyo Institute for Men, a pretty rough and overcrowded prison, and was killed during a prison riot back in December. Good riddance. I was tempted to pay him a visit once I got out of this place, but I guess the fine men at LTIM took care of him for me.

Even though he was dead, his suffering wasn’t enough. I wanted him to pay for his blackmail and bribery schemes too. For his reputation to sink even further. It’s what Mia would have wanted; what she had been researching.

As Grossberg said, there was barely any fallout from Redd White’s blackmail work. Bluecorp dissolved but his victims’ reputations remained intact. Redd White’s accountant had mentioned Mia in his testimony during his criminal trial and how he wanted to continue her work out of guilt over her death.

His attempts to air the truth didn’t work though. No one powerful wanted their secrets leaked and they wouldn’t back his financial records nor her list of victims. Figures. Only the good people involved in this case were punished.

The last person I looked up was Phoenix Wright, the rookie running Mia’s firm since her death. There were a few articles about him too, getting notoriety immediately as the one who took over noted lawyer Mia Fey’s firm and helped lock up her killer. He didn’t serve on many defense cases, taking about one every few months, but he had won almost all his cases too.

There was a photo of him in one of the articles and he had a magatama in his breast pocket. Looking at the photo, I wanted to smack that goofy look off his face. She gave him access to her powers too. Something she planned to keep from me indefinitely until Maya spilled the beans.

Of course, he wasn’t as remarkable as Mia so, other than a few articles, I had to dig through the court database to find more information about him. Luckily, they never suspended my account, and I could still access case records. I saw that he had been Mia’s criminal defense client before she was his mentor. The more I looked at his case though, the more incensed I became.

His criminal case was Mia’s first after the Fawles trial and she won, granting freedom to Phoenix and definitively tying Dahlia to my poisoning, the attempted murder of Phoenix, and Doug’s electrocution. Just one more tragedy that happened while I was asleep. We warned Doug, and he did break up with Dahlia, but it still couldn’t save him. I didn’t need any more proof of how incredible Mia was, but implicating Dahlia on three crimes in one trial was a masterclass performance.

She did it with no help from her client though. Reading the court transcripts, Phoenix sounded like a total bimbo. He had eaten out of the palm of Dahlia’s hand and had helped her get away with her crimes. He hid the poison bottle that was used on me for months, dating Dahlia that whole time, and then deep-throated that bottle when Mia tried to send it for lab analysis.

This guy? Really? It’s like she picked the person who would hurt me the most to mentor. How did this guy even make it through law school and pass the bar exam?

It only got worse when I read about her murder case. Phoenix helped Mia put Redd White away, but I can’t help but feel that he was partially responsible. Mia was killed sometime between 8:55 pm and 9 pm and she was supposed to go to dinner with Phoenix and Maya at 9 pm. Both showed up late though.

I’m happy that Maya was late. She was probably a little taller and bigger than she was before I went to sleep, but I doubt she could have been much help to Mia against Redd White. From the pictures I saw, it looked like he worked out.

Why was Phoenix late though? I was always early. Early to work, early to court, and early for my dates with Mia. I probably wouldn’t have left for a few hours anyway. Why leave when I could spend more time with her? He obviously didn’t care about her like I do.

With that last court record reviewed, I was caught up on what I had missed in my absence. However, I still felt so unsettled. So adrift. Mia had avenged her death and my poisoning, but I didn’t feel as relieved as I should. Dahlia was on death row, set to be executed this year and Redd was dead, but the damage they had inflicted on us was too great.

Dahlia Hawthorne took away my past. The year I could have spent with Mamá before she died. The last five years of my life. The help I could have provided Mia if I wasn’t sitting useless in a bed. Redd White took away our future. The life we were supposed to have together. The firm, the wedding, the house, and the family we were going to have.

We were supposed to grow old together. To be that retired elderly couple sitting on a porch swing on a sunny day, holding hands, sipping lemonade, and people-watching. Slow dancing at our 50th anniversary party. Instead, she died at 27. Another tragic member of the 27 Club.

Mia had caught up on pop culture once she left the Village but hadn’t heard of the term until I mentioned it to her, the day before my 28th birthday. I had joked to her about it the whole day and said that I needed to sleep with one eye open until at least 2 pm Dominican time. She hated it when I said dark stuff like that, but I was only kidding around. If I had known what would happen to her, I would have never joked about it.

Maybe it never would have been that way anyway. That’s what I wanted, but Mia clearly didn’t feel the same before she died. Still, as much as it ached to know that she had moved on, I wanted her to be happy. Maybe she’d be married to someone else by now but at least she would be alive.

I hoped that I would find some closure as time went on, but I wasn’t so sure that I could. Right now, it felt like my insides had been ripped out, jumbled around, and shoved back inside me. I always felt sick to my stomach.

I was going to have some comfort, some connection to her again, at least. I needed to find a new place to stay after I left the hospital and her old crappy Skid Row apartment had become available. The exact same one: apartment 3B at 731 Poplar Avenue.

The apartment she willed away must have been a different one, as this one had just been listed and cited some extensive renovations over the past year. With upgrades and inflation, it was $1,900/month now, but I took the place sight unseen anyway. It’ll be expensive for what it is, especially with no salary right now, but I’ll make it work somehow. I don’t want to have roommates again.

I’ll get to see what it’s like after the renos and what kind of stuff Mamá had saved for me in my locker in a few hours. Today was discharge day and I only had two more things to check off my list before Ellie let me leave.

First, I had to stop by the hospital’s pharmacy and pick up the co*cktail of medications she prescribed me. Pain medications, medications for MS and Parkinson’s, appetite stimulants, anti-depressants, sleeping pills, and immunosuppressants. She said that they’ll have to experiment with medications before they find the right combination. I don’t have MS or Parkinson’s, but I have a lot of the symptoms, so they wanted to try me on some of the same medications.

The last medication on the list made me laugh though: an ED medication. It wasn’t actually funny; I should have been crying instead, but the absurdity of my circ*mstances made me laugh anyway. How much indignity can one man possibly suffer?

I told Ellie that she could strike that one from the prescription pad. I don’t have any use for it anymore. That part of my life died when Mia did.

The final thing I had to do was meet with one of the hospital’s psychologists. I was supposed to meet with her shortly after I woke up, but I kept brushing her off every time she came by. However, Ellie wouldn’t discharge me until I did.

I probably could have fought Ellie on it. I was of sound mind to make my own decisions and my insurance provider probably would have welcomed one less day in the hospital to cover. However, she had been good to me for the past five years, so I humored her.

I wasn’t opposed to psychological counseling per se, but I didn’t think I had much use for the psychologist that they assigned to me. She was probably in her mid to late 20s but looked about 12 years old and I didn’t feel confident in the kind of advice she could give me. Every time she came to see me in the past, she seemed to offer the most saccharine and unhelpful comments. I’ll give her the chance to prove me wrong though.

I was pacing around the room, waiting to get this over with, when she knocked. I opened the door and waved her inside before sitting in the chair by my old hospital bed.

“Hi, Diego!” she said cheerily. “Thank you for meeting with me before you leave. You’ve been through so much that I felt it was important we talk at least once.”

“You can thank Ellie,” I said jokingly. “She made me, and I want to stay on her good side.”

She tittered. “Well, thank you nonetheless.” There was an awkward silence like she didn’t know how to start. “It’s crazy that this room will be unoccupied for the first time in almost five years. You must be happy to be leaving.”

I scoffed. “Happy seems like a strong word. I don’t know how much they filled you in on my case, but my mom is dead, my girlfriend was murdered, and my body is falling apart. But yes, I’ll be pleased if I never have to step foot in a hospital again.”

She nodded solemnly. “Yes, I’m aware. That’s why I’m here. I just meant, leaving means you are at least well enough to live on your own.”

“Yeah, I suppose,” I said plainly.

“Do you have any plans for when you leave today?” she asked brightly.

“I’m not planning to kill myself if that’s what you’re asking?” I replied sarcastically.

She shook her head frantically. “That’s not what I meant, but now I’m concerned. If you’re not well enough, you can stay here a little longer.”

“No, no, I’m fine,” I clarified. “Jesus, sorry. I have a dark sense of humor sometimes, but making that joke is probably the psychological equivalent of saying bomb in an airport. Please don’t make me stay here any longer.”

“What are your plans for after you’re discharged?” she asked again.

I shrugged. “Just figuring out my life, I guess. I have to pick up my car and my stuff from my storage locker and move into my new apartment today.”

She smiled. “I’m glad you found a permanent place to stay. Where will you be living, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Uh.” This won’t sound good. “It’s...my girlfriend, my ex-girlfriend, I guess. Her old place.”

“Oh. I meant, what part of the city? What neighborhood?” She rubbed her face, thinking. “Do you think that’s a good idea? I think that will just make it harder for you to move on.”

“Honestly, I don’t expect to move on from this,” I said frankly. “This will give me some normalcy in my life.”

“Okay,” she said in resignation. “If this provides you with some comfort.” She paused again, trying to think of what to ask next. “Tell me about your friends and family. Will you reach out to any of them when you leave?”

“I don’t know. I don’t have much for either to be honest. My grandparents are dead. My mom is dead. My dad is dead. My girlfriend is dead. I don’t have any siblings.”

“Do you have any aunts or uncles or cousins?”

“I have three aunts and some cousins back in the Dominican, but I haven’t seen them in years. Maybe I’ll make a trip down sometime. I need to figure out my finances first.”

She nodded sympathetically. “Friends?”

“Uh.” I laughed mildly. “Now, you’re just making me feel pathetic. I had friends, but not many close ones, honestly.” It was hard to admit that out loud.

I like to think that I’m a nice guy and that people like me, but I was always a bit of a loner. I could joke and talk to people easily, but I was never good at keeping in touch. I wasn’t much for hanging out with colleagues after work unless I bumped into them at The Bar Association, or I was celebrating with them after a first case. I basically just had girlfriends and then hung out with their friends. Then, when we’d break up, I wouldn’t see those friends anymore.

The first names that came to my mind, Lana and Reina, were more Mia’s friends than mine. Candace and Paul from the bar maybe, if they even still work there. Hammond and I talked sometimes but that friendship, if you could even call it that, was always strained, and he was dead too. Maybe I could reach out to some old high school and college friends if they don’t think I’m dead. The news reported my poisoning as a murder and not an attempted murder.

“I know you probably don’t want to hear this, but you’ll have to try to connect with people. You'll need support after what you’ve been through.”

“Yeah, I’ll try,” I said non-committedly. “I’ll join a dance class, aquarobics, or guitar lessons or something,” I joked drily.

She laughed politely. “Well, it doesn’t have to be that, but you’ll have to put yourself out there. You can’t isolate yourself at your apartment.”

“Noted.”

“What about that woman who came to see you? The older one? Is she a friend or family member?

I chuckled. “Her? That’s a long story.”

“I have time.”

I sighed. “To make a long story short, we thought that my dad was a deadbeat. You know, went to get cigarettes and never came back kind of thing. He was actually just dead this whole time. That’s his mom. My other grandmother.”

“You have another grandparent? Well, that’s great. I’m sure she’d love to get to know you.”

“I’m not sure if I want to get to know her, to be honest. She knew that my mom and I were here this whole time, but she never did anything with that information until now.”

“Tell me more about that,” she instructed.

“Oh, it’s a long and boring story,” I said, waving her off.

“I’d love to hear it,” she said enthusiastically. I didn’t respond. She sighed this time. “Look, I know you’re resistant to talk to me, but I promise that it’ll feel better to talk things through.”

I just nodded, thinking. “Tell me about yourself,” I replied finally.

“Why?”

“Well, you want me to just spill my guts, but I don’t know anything about you.”

“What do you want to know?” she asked.

“Oh, you know. Your background, your family, your schooling.”

“I’d rather focus on you,” she insisted. “I promise, my life is a lot more boring than yours.”

“If you don’t answer, I’ll just guess,” I warned. She didn’t offer any information. “See, when I look at you...” I paused and pretended to think for a moment. I had a lot of time to think in this God-forsaken hospital, so I already had what I was going to say locked and loaded.

“...I see someone who grew up in a nice house in the suburbs,” I continued. “Mom and a dad, two siblings, two cars, a cat, and a dog. Your mom worked part-time and looked after you and your dad had a good job. Businessman or doctor or something. You played T-ball when you were a little kid and were on the student council in high school. You’re engaged to your high school sweetheart and your parents helped pay for the downpayment of your house after you got engaged. You went to the same university as him and chose psychology as your major because it sounded kind of interesting and you like helping people. You have a golden retriever and are training for a marathon.”

She looked at me with bewilderment and didn’t say anything. “Did I manage to land on anything?” I asked.

She shook her head. “I’m going to have to start skydiving or something,” she said wryly.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you weren’t 100% accurate. For example, I have three siblings, a black lab, and my fiancé and I met in college, but you were closer than I feel comfortable with.”

I smirked. “Man, I’m just too good sometimes.”

“Why don’t we get back on topic?” she asked.

“No, I’m sorry. You’ve had a charmed life and, really, I’m happy for you. However, I just don’t think I’ll be able to relate to you. I don’t know what advice you can give me.”

“Okay,” she reluctantly agreed. “I only want to help, but I can’t force you.” She pulled a business card from her clipboard and handed it to me. “If you change your mind, my number is here. If you ever feel hopeless, I promise that I am better than the alternative.”

“Thanks,” I said, looking at her card briefly, before placing it in my pocket.

“There are other therapists too,” she said. “Unfortunately, there is a shortage of trained people, but I can put you on a waitlist. Maybe you’d feel more comfortable with someone else.”

“Thanks. Sure, you can put me on a waitlist,” I agreed.

“Thank you; that really makes me feel better. Knowing that you’ll try again.” She started to walk to the door and stopped in front of the threshold before turning around. “I wish you all the best with your move. Never hesitate to reach out if you need anything. There are people here who care about you.”

I nodded. The subtext of our conversation made me uneasy but, given everything I’ve been through, I can understand why she’d be concerned. “Will do,” I promised.

Date: Monday, July 9th, 2018

Time: 3:47 pm

Location: Department of Motor Vehicles, Los Tokyo

God damn gentrification. I know the ad said that the apartment would be renovated, but I assumed that a good deal of that was landlord puffery. However, they actually had extensively gutted the apartment and the whole building. It was still in Skid Row, but it was no longer a complete slum.

The exterior of the building had been refinished. New windows, new siding, and new steps. The inside of the apartment had new appliances, laminate floors, redone drywall, and a fresh coat of paint. The plumbing had been replaced and there was a new tub and updated bathroom fixtures. The front door had more than six feet of clearance and I didn’t bang my head on it anymore. When I grabbed my keys from the landlord, he told me that they had fumigated, and I no longer had to worry about the cat-sized rats this place used to have. The place was actually livable now.

This just won’t do. I wanted to move here to feel some connection to my old life. To have something similar to what I had before I slept for five years. Other than it being small, this place didn’t resemble her old place at all. I couldn’t hear her neighbors screaming at each other through the walls anymore. Apart from the sounds of city life outside, the building was quiet.

I’ll just have to deal with it though. I signed on for a year and, unless I default on my rent payments, I’m stuck here.

There was one familiar thing here at least. My old mattress. Mia had taken it and left it here and they never bothered to get a new one. Like everything at my old place, it’s top-of-the line and a king, so why replace it? I slept on her side of the bed from then on.

The place sort of resembles her old place in one other way too. Filled with disorganized boxes and piles of stuff. Mamá had saved a lot more for me than I anticipated, and I had to make two car trips to bring everything over.

I’ll have to sort through it all at some point and put everything away, but I left it for now. Just moving my stuff into the building had me so winded that I more or less passed out once the last box was carried in.

One box I did try to unpack had all my clothes but, unfortunately, it looks like the moths got to them first and they smelled like mildew. All my old clothes were ruined, and I’ll have to rotate the four sets of gym clothes that were left at the hospital for me until I can get some new ones.

My biggest priority right now is the car though. I was driving on Friday, out to buy some groceries and toiletries for my new place and a cop pulled me over. He told me that my license and registration were out of date and that I needed to get them renewed.

When I told him that I had been in a coma for five years and that I was unable to get them renewed until this week, he accused me of being a smartass. He wasn’t swayed at all when I pointed to my psychotic-looking eyewear or the sharp discrepancy between my old license photo and my current appearance. Unsurprisingly, given my luck these days, he gave me a ticket and told me I’d have to get to a DMV within five business days or receive another ticket.

So, because I am such a good law-abiding citizen, I made a trip there today, the first business day I could, to get this issue rectified. I took a number and waited for almost two hours until it was my turn.

I walked up to the available clerk, greeted her, and then slid my old car registration papers and my license across the stand.

The clerk looked at the registration papers and chuckled. “You know you can renew this online, right? Would save you a lot of time.”

I laughed politely. “I know. I have to renew my license too though. It’s expired.”

“Of course.” She picked up the card and her eyes widened when she looked at the photo and then looked up at me to compare. She laughed nervously. “Yeah, it looks a little out of date.”

I nodded and smirked. “Yeah, I looked a lot better seven years ago when that photo was taken.”

“I’ve seen wilder transformations,” she consoled me. What kind of freaks walk into the DMV these days? “Your vision,” she said, pointing to my goggles. “Are these...do you need these to see?”

“I’m blind without them. 20/20 with them though.”

“What are they?” she asked.

“Uh. They’re...state of the art, I guess. ‘Vision visor’ is the name the inventor is going with, I think.”

“Why do they glow like that?”

I shook my head. “Honestly, your guess is as good as mine. I can only see red and black now, so I assumed that the red glow has something to do with that.”

“I see.” She paused. “I’ll be right back. I just have to talk to my supervisor.”

I waited at the window for about five minutes and watched as she and her supervisor had a lively discussion out back. When she was done, she returned to me, with a rather grim look on her face.

“I have some bad news,” she said contritely.

I rubbed my face and sighed. “Just lay it on me.”

“My supervisor says that we can’t issue you a license. Your vision...visors, they aren’t in our system. We can put down glasses, contacts, or laser eye surgery but not laser goggles.”

Of course they can’t. It’s not like anything else has been working out for me lately. “I can see perfectly though. I can prove it to you with one of your eye charts.”

“I believe you. There’s just nothing I can do until they’re added to the system. They probably will someday. Although, we were concerned about your color blindness too.”

“My color blindness?” I laughed. “I’m just driving a car here, not flying an airplane.”

“I know, but what about the stoplights?”

“Well, they’re all red, but different shades of red. It was a little weird at first, but I can tell them apart. I know the order they go in too.”

“What about stop signs? You can only see red and black now, you said?”

Stop signs were worse than stoplights. I can’t see white on a red background anymore. The word “stop” just blends into the sign. “Well, it’s just a red octagon now. But I know what a red octagon means.”

She simply nodded. “I’m sorry, but there’s nothing we can do right now. I wish I had a better answer for you.”

“Please,” I pleaded. When did I get so pathetic? “I’ve lost...everything. Just let me have this.”

“I’m sorry. I really am. I can replace your license with an ID card though, if you’d like.”

I inhaled and then exhaled deeply. “Yeah, thanks.” She took my old license away. “Can I keep the old one? As a memento.”

“I can do that!” she said enthusiastically. “I’ll just have to punch a hole in it, so they know it’s invalid.”

After she invalidated my license and gave it back to me, she got me to update my address information and take a new photo. She asked me one more question before I left. “Do you have someone who can pick up the car for you? You won’t be able to drive it out of here.”

I don’t have someone. I can’t tell her that though. She’ll probably confiscate my keys and tow the car away. “Yeah, my mom will pop by and get it after her shift,” I lied. She nodded and allowed me to leave with my keys.

I walked down the street to a diner and sat in there for a few hours, silently fuming, and drinking cup after cup of bottomless coffee. Once it was almost dark and the DMV had been closed for a while, I walked back over there and drove my car away.

I drove at a leisurely city pace at first, and then a comfortable highway pace. Once I made it out of the city and onto the more rural highways though, I went a lot faster than that. The gas pedal was on the floor as I cruised past the outskirts of town. Weaving in and out to pass the slower cars I came across on my way. Someone could report me, but I don’t really care. What were they going to do? Take my license away?

I had been a God damn model citizen my whole life. I wasn’t rebellious as a teenager. I didn’t egg houses or bust open mailboxes. I never shoplifted a candy bar or snuck into a movie. I never smoked a joint at a house party. I never dined and dashed. I refused to drive with even a drop of alcohol in my body.

Probably the most rebellious thing I ever did was get those piercings on a whim when I was 17 and only because I had to listen to Mamá go on and on about how stupid she thought they looked. It wasn’t like getting them was a criminal offense. Mia liked them anyway, so I had no regrets.

I wanted to be a lawyer since I was a kid, and I lived my life like one false move would unravel my entire plan. And what do you know? It didn’t matter anyway. Everything was pulled away from me, just like that.

And now, I have to sell my car too, if I don’t crash it first. I don’t want to sell it. I’d sooner light it on fire than sell it. It’s mine and nobody will care about it as much as me. I can’t even get that much for it anyway. It’s a LeBaron, not a Lambo or a Porsche or even a Mustang. Someone’s dad probably drove this car to his middle manager job in the 80s.

It wasn’t a horrible car. It had a peppy V8 engine, it drove nice, and it had that boxy 70s look that I like for some reason. It was a Medallion too which was the higher-end model. It’s not that rare or in-demand though.

The only reason I wanted it so much is because it was in this 80s B action movie. They used to play it on cable all the time and I saw it about 10 times when I was a little kid. Thinking about it now, they probably only used this car because they couldn’t afford the kind of cars they’d feature in James Bond movies.

I had no idea what I would do with it, or where I was even going, but I didn’t care. I just drove. I made it so far out of the city that I rarely came across anyone. I felt completely emboldened to do whatever I wanted. Knowing how this crazy world works, the one time I don’t play by the rules, nothing will probably happen anyway.

I started driving along the coast, the windows rolled down, feeling the breeze wash over me. It was loud and it slowed my speed, but it felt nice. I had to slow down a little anyway, but only a little. The road was winding and there were some sharp turns. I had 3/4 of a tank left and would just drive until I absolutely had to turn around.

That was the plan, although my drive ended up being cut short a little early. A deer ran out into the road, and I had to slam on the brakes to avoid it. The tires squealed and I nearly careened off the side of the cliff, but I managed to stop just short of the guard rails, saving myself and the car. The deer too. It pranced away like nothing had happened.

I started hyperventilating, thinking about what could have happened if I had reacted just a little slower. Then, the tears, the yelling, and the slamming of my fists against the steering wheel. I was falling apart at the seams.

I started driving back, windows rolled up, and speed slowed way down. I was so rattled, and I still had almost a two-hour drive home. I passed by the rocky coastal cliffs, saw a sandy beach, and pulled over there to collect myself.

The beach was completely empty. It was almost 10 o’clock at night and this area of beach didn’t have parking, cabanas, lifeguard towers, or any other beach amenity people sought out. It was just a lonely stretch of sand.

I picked a spot and laid down, breathing deeply, in and out, trying to calm down. I looked up at the stars, those red dots punctuating the dark black sky, contemplating my next move.

I can’t be like this forever. I refuse. I don’t know what to do though. Everything I’ve ever cared about is gone. I have nothing left. Mia and Mamá. This car. I could take my old job back, and pretend like nothing had changed, but I can’t do it. Not after I know what Grossberg did. Not with Mia no longer there.

I just wanted to go back in time to five years ago. It probably was about five years to the day when Mia, Maya, and I went to a beach just like this. Digging a hole that Maya could stand in. Getting into a water fight. Thinking about that day, I wondered if Maya was my answer.

When I reviewed Wright’s court records, I saw that Maya had been endangered many times in Mia’s absence. Charged with Mia’s murder. Framed for another murder by her “delightful” Aunt Morgan. Kidnapped and held ransom.

Her status as future Master and proximity to Wright seemed to make her target number one. She never was indicted, and Phoenix got her back eventually, but, if he had done a better job, she might not have been kidnapped in the first place.

I’ll need another job eventually and something else to occupy me at home, but, in the meantime, I can keep an eye on her.

Chapter 21: Chapter 20 - Diego

Chapter Text

Date: Tuesday, August 21st, 2018

Time: 9:55 am

Location: Prosecutor’s Building, Los Tokyo

As I predicted, nothing happened after my illegal seaside jaunt. I got pulled over a day after I left the hospital, innocently buying toothpaste and soap for my new apartment, but I made ithome without incident the day I drove like a madman without a license. Not that I’m complaining. Technically, that’s a jailable offense and I was being a little unhinged.

It took a lot of convincing myself, but I decided to sell the car. I didn’t want to, but I could use the cash right now. I was able to get $9,000 for it. The guy who bought it asked me to knock some money off the price for the “racing stripe” that Mia put on it. I didn’t have the energy to haggle with the guy and let it go for that.

I didn’t have absolute proof that Mia did that but, I mean, Mamá knew how to drive so I’m just assuming. I shook my head when I saw it but laughed it off. I found it impossible to stay mad at her.Maybe this meant she got her license at some point.

About $12,000 of Mamá’s savings had gone towards covering the storage locker and storing my car. It was an obscene figure, but it made sense when I counted the number of months that had elapsed between her untimely death and my waking. I appreciated the gesture, but it made me feel guilty when I knew that money could have gone to a better use.

After closing on the sale of her house and the funeral arrangements, there wasn’t much more left after that. She aggressively put money into her private pension plan at work, and I was listed as the beneficiary, but I couldn’t touch that until her planned retirement date in 2025. That money was locked in.

All told, between the car, her savings, and mine, I had about $30,000. Really not bad. I’ve definitely lived on a whole lot less. Maybe I could have sprung for that television in the hospital after all.

That said, the money wasn’t going to go far. My rent was almost $2,000 a month, I needed to eat and all, and then there was health insurance and all those medications I needed for my condition. My disability insurance covered my health insurance premiums while I was asleep, and I was listed as on prolonged leave at Grossberg Law Offices, so I was able to stay on my health insurance plan.

Now that I’m awake and walking though, my disability insurance has finished. Further, now that I’m no longer a Grossberg Law Offices employee, I needed to find a new insurance provider and the premiums for a guy who spent five years in a coma are obscene. Who knew? That money, an amount of savings that could have covered two years of my living expenses as a broke college student, would now only get me through a few months.

Honestly, it sucked, but I was pleasantly surprisedthat I didn’t have a multi-million-dollar hospital bill waiting for me when I woke up. I fully expected one of my insurance providers to screw me over while I was too braindead to fight for myself.

Mia could be a pit bull though, once she casther nerves aside. So, while I couldn’t confirm this to be the case, I assumed she must have threatened to throw the book at them or go to the media if they didn’t honor their end of the bargain.

Knowing how precarious my financial situation was, you'd think I’d be rip-roaring and ready to get back to work. It didn’t quite work that way. Hell, I barely even unpacked that first month. Shameful as it is to say, I kind of just laid around mostly. The only thing I unpacked was my TV and I would just watch movies orwaste time scrolling on my laptop. Mostly old black and white movies too. They looked better with my visor’s color scheme.

I couldn’t sleep very well so I would sometimes go for walks too. Usually late at night, so there were fewer people around that I’d have to interact with. This neighborhood wasn’t the safest but, even with my now scrawny body, no one bothered me. My don’t give an eff attitude, my blank expression, and my visors made me look like The Terminator and I think I scared people away.

Otherwise, I didn’t leave the house much other than to get food. Mostly groceries, but sometimes I’d go to a ramen stand or a diner and eat there. They were cheap and reliable sources of calories. I still didn’t have much of an appetite, so a lot of days I would just subsist on coffee if I didn’t make a point to eat at one of those places.

It took almost a month, but I think I’ve finally turned over a new leaf. After feeling sorry for myself, I realized I was being kind of a jerk to not even unpack all the stuff that Mamá had saved for me. Now, my place and the storage locker are distinguishable from one another. It finally looked like someone lived here. The bed was actually made; there wasn’t just a balled-up comforter on a bare mattress.

I also started working out. A lot. My gentrified building had a small gym in it now and I went there for hours a day. Now that I’ve lost 25lbs of muscle mass, I had a lot of ground to cover, and I decided to pack it on as quickly as possible. I drank a nauseating amount of protein shakes to aid in that effort.

I never liked the gym, but I used to go out of necessity. I only got out of the habit when me and Mia dated because she didn’t like going, and I would rather see her than go by myself. I remembered telling her that I would be a lot skinnier than I was when we were together if I didn’t go at all. I could tell that she didn’t believe me when I said that. She just looked the way she did; she didn’t have to try, so she just didn’t get it.

Unsurprisingly, back in Kurain Village, she didn’t spend any time on bodybuilding forums and didn’t know the nuances of men’s strength training. She didn’t know that the actors in movies spent hours at the gym every day, might be on steroids, and were probably dehydrated for their shirtless scenes, or that I had to put in a lot of hours if I wanted to look even half as good.

I hated every single solitary second that I was there, and it was a lot more painful with my body the way it is, but I pushed through the pain. I hated pretty much every solitary second that I wasn’t there anyway, so I might as well be productive.

Sometimes, I overdid it and spent the entire next day literally knocked on my ass and completely unable to get up, but the effort was working. I was getting stronger and gaining some of the weight back.

I started getting into my hobbies again too, well beyond watching hours of TV and movies. I used to experiment with coffee blends in the past, but I got really methodical about it now that I have a lot of time on my hands. I would combine coffees of varying countries of origin, roast strength, and grind size and then trial them in different pieces of coffee-making equipment.

I got all the way to blend #107. Blend #26 was perfect for the French press. #47 was best in a pour-over. #63 was optimalfor the espresso machine. It took 102 attempts to get the greatestcup for the common drip machine. Drip coffee wasn’t my favorite, but it was the old faithful. The method I used when I was too lazy or tired to make a more involved cup.

I was pretty happy with the results of my experimentation although I did think about how deranged I would have looked to an outside observer. Me with my Doc Brown hair, trialing cup after cup of coffee into the wee hours of the morning until I had it just right. Not sure if this could be classed as a productive activity, but it kept my brain occupied, at least.

Most importantly, I finally decided to apply for a job. As a prosecutor instead of as a defense attorney. I vowed to keep an eye on Maya and make sure she was safe, but I hadn’t done anything to ensure that. I didn’t know how I would. I couldn’t stalk the girl, obviously, and I wasn’t going to go to Wright’s office and beg for a job. Bafflingly, Maya seemed to help Phoenix with his cases, even when she was still a minor, so the only logical place to see her was in court.

I had an interview this morning at the Prosecutor’s Building, and I was pretty sure I was a shoo-in. They seemed desperate nowadays and even had ads on bus shelters announcing that they were hiring. I wasn’t planning on blowing the interview, but I had some leeway.

In preparation for the interview, I finally bought some nice new clothes. Prior to that, Ijust kept re-wearing and re-washing the clothes that were left for me at the hospital. In fairness to me, nice clothes were expensive, and I spent 95% of my time completely by myself. Who was I trying to impress?

I should have cheaped out and bought some bargain basem*nt clothes, but I went to my usual clothing store and just was more selective about the number of items I picked up. Five shirts, three pairs of pants, a vest, and a tie only. Just enough to get me through a work week.

Clothes shopping while only seeing black and red was an interesting experience. The price tags didn’t list the colors on them and the idea of approaching the clerk with a pile of shirts and asking him what color each item was seemed embarrassing for some reason. I couldn’t even tell if the pants I picked up were black, dark brown, or navy blue.

I decided not to overthink it. I picked up the requisite number of items and brought them up to the cash register. Before I paid, I simply asked the clerk for his “expert opinion” and whether he thought everything matched together or if I should change my selections. He assured me that they did and so I purchasedthem. As crazy as it is to say, I have no idea what colors I’m wearing right now.

I showed up 15 minutes early to the interview and was called in ten minutes later.

“The Chief Prosecutor is ready to see you now,” the secretary announced before she directed me to his office.

I knocked until I heard “come in” before opening the door.

He stood up to shake my hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Domingo. I’m Calvin Lewis, the Chief Prosecutor.”

“Nice to meet you too, sir. My friends call me Godot.”

“Godot Domingo?” He picked up my resumé and looked at it. “I don’t see that name on here. Do you go by your middle name?” he asked.

“No, just Godot. It’s a nickname. Take my first name and last name, Gonzalo and Domingo, chop ‘em up, push ‘em together, and there you have it.”

“Ah, I see! I’m happy to use your preferred name, Godot.” I nodded in thanks. He sat down and gestured for me to do the same.

When I decided I was switching careers, I wanted to eliminate any association with my old life. I didn’t want anyone to find out about my attempted murder, my coma, my past career, my relationship with Mia, or anything like that. I didn’t want to deal with the questions.

So, I came up with a new name and work history for my resumé. My plan all along was to use Godot. However, as little regardas I had for the prosecutor’s office, I think they’d have somequestions if they saw a mononym like that on my law degree and resumé. I came up with a fake full name too, so I could justify the nickname.

I picked the name Godot for a coupleof reasons. For one, it sounded close enough to my real name that I figured I’d get used to answering to it quicker than another name. If I picked a name too dissimilar to my real name, I’d probablyreact too slowly after someone addressed me and look like a moron. Like I didn’t even know my own name. Two, it was used in this play I read while I was in the hospital. One of the many works left behind that the staff lent me to read.

The play was a little out there, to be honest. Still not entirely sure how I feel about it. I thought the name was ironic and amusing though given my circ*mstances right now. Godot is some bringer of enlightenment to the suckers waiting for him. I don’t think I have to explain that I offer the exact opposite of enlightenment right now. I can’t even figure out my own life. There were also people waiting for him, and absolutely no one was waiting for me when I got out. Sometimes, I think my dark sense of humor is pathological.

“So,” he continued, looking at my resumé again. “It says here that you have been working in the Dominican Republic for the past eight years, but you got your degree from LTU. What made you decide to move?”

“Well, I’m from the Dominican originally and I had a sick family member back home. I had to move back to look after her.”

“I’m sorry to hear about that,” he said contritely. “Is your family member better now, at least?”

“Passed, unfortunately. Got to spend the last few years with her though.”

He frowned. “Really sorry for your loss.”

“Thanks,” I replied graciously.

“How does the legal system there compare to Japanifornia’s? Are they similar?”

“Uh, not exactly,” I admitted. “Little more corruption than I’d like there. I tried my best to uphold the standard of ethics single-handedly.”

He scoffed. “As much as I hate to admit it, they’re probably not that different from us.” I was taken aback. A prosecutor acknowledging corruption in our system? The man’s a unicorn. “You were a defense attorney there. What made you decide to switch sides?” he asked.

“I answered the siren call of your bus and radio ads,” I joked.

He laughed. “Seriously though, why? Defending and prosecuting are quite different.”

“Just needed a change of pace and scenery. New country, new job.”

He nodded. “Fair enough.” He sighed. “Honestly, when I saw your application, I was a little hesitant. You have a Japanifornian law degree but lack experience in our courts. As you seem to have gathered from our advertising though, we’re in a bit of a bind.”

“Why is that, if you don’t mind me asking? I’ve always heard that prosecutors here made the big bucks and had the better work-life balance.”

“We’ve cleaned house quite a bit since I’ve taken over as Chief.” His voice lowered. “I’m not sure if you’ve heard of any controversies over the past few years.”

I matched his tone. “What kind of controversies?”

“Well, Prosecutor von Karma, Manfred not Franziska, that is. He murdered a defense attorney 17 years ago and was found to have tampered with evidence.”

I laughed. “I could have told you that.”

“What do you mean?”

Right. He didn’t know I had faced von Karma’s wrath and blatant cheating many a time before. “Just heard it through the grapevine. Back when I was in law school.”

He nodded. “I don’t like to pay attention to rumors, but sometimes they do turn out to be true. Then, there was the Chief Prosecutor before me. She’s in prison now under similar circ*mstances. The former Chief of Police, same thing.”

I had heard about Lana. She moved from the police department to the prosecutor’s office, but she was arrested about two years into her tenure as Chief Prosecutor. Evidence tampering and obstruction of justice charges landed her in prison.

The charges should have amounted to three years soaking wet, especially since it appeared that she had done those things under the duress of her former boss. However, she had to serve seven years, with no chance of parole, and was stripped of her police badge and law license. They obviously wanted to make an example out of her.

“Did those incidents really make you that short-staffed? Don’t get me wrong; those scandals are horrible. However, you filled in for the last Chief Prosecutor, so that should leave you only one lawyer short.”

He sighed. “Those three were bad enough, but there’s more, unfortunately. Have you heard of Redd White?”

“Yeah, I think I’ve heard the name before,” I said, through gritted teeth.

“Basically, this guy went to jail for murder, and his multi-million-dollar company dissolved. It had beenalleged that he had bribed many elected officials, lawyers, and police officers. There was no proof, so we ignored the rumors, at first. Then, these cases happened, and we finally put forth an internal investigation. Long story short, 18 lawyers were dismissed.”

I shook my head. “That’s...insane.” So, Mia’s work did cause more ripples of change than I thought. “I appreciate your candor, but I’m honestly surprised that you’re telling me all this.”

He smiled. “I just don’t want there to be any illusions about the kind of operation we run here now. I have zero tolerance for that kind of behavior.”

“I assure you; there won’t be any problems from me.”

He leaned back in his chair and stroked his chin. “Alright, we’ll give you a go.”

Date: Wednesday, September 12th, 2018

Time: 3:32 pm

Location: Los Tokyo Maximum Security Women’s Prison

After I passed the interview, I still had to go through the screening process. Changing my name to avoid any association with my identity ended up being a bigger pain in the ass than I anticipated. The prosecutor’s office needed copies of my law license, my law degree, a criminal background check, and two references.

The paperwork was annoying, but straightforward at least. I had to legally change my name and then make changes to my degree and license, which took time, but ultimately was not an issue.

The references were a little more complicated. I had said that I had worked in the Dominican for eight years so I couldn’t use Grossberg. I told theChief Prosecutor that I’d have to check in with my references before using them and would give him the contact information later.

I tried to dissuade him from calling references, saying that they didn’t speak English very well. However, he said that it was no issue. They’ll just get a translator when they conduct the reference checks. God damn it.

So, I made two fake email addresses and two fake names, and ordered two burner phones online from the Dominican so I could be my own references. It seemed a little scuzzy given this new era of honest and uncorrupted law we’re supposedly in, but I didn’t really have much of a choice.It gave me a chance to use my Spanish and practice my impression work, at least.

I was always pretty good at imitating people and picking up accents. I decided to have fun with it and made one of my references female too, just for the challenge. Not exactly playing it safe, but maybe some of my old hotshot lawyer's confidence was being restored. I must have done fineenough voice acting workbecause I was officially hired and started the day after Labor Day.

The prosecutor’s office was a whole different world compared to my time at Grossberg Law Offices. The starting salary was on par with my senior salary and the benefits were better. Two extra weeks of vacation, paid sick days, and a better health insurance plan.

Everyone started with their own private office too; no slumming it in the commons until an office freed up. This wasn’t just because they were short-staffed either. There were tons of vacant offices in the building.

They seemed to have entered the 21st century too. They had top-of-the-line computers, used video conferencing instead of telephone conferencing, and completed all their research and paperwork digitally. Grossberg was stuck in the 80s and 90s. He insisted on printing everything; utilizing reams and reams of paper and thousands of pages of printed documents.

I had tried to steer him paperless, just from a budgetary and efficiency standpoint, but he couldn’t be convinced. Our computers were so old and laggy that it was technically more efficient to print than work online, but new computers for the office would have been more cost-effective in the long run.

Despite how desperate they were for lawyers, the expectation of unpaid overtime was non-existent, and they still maintained a lengthy orientation period for new hires. I wouldn’t serve on a single case nor do anything classified as real work for the first three weeks. In contrast, I started at Grossberg Law Offices as a law school intern, and they basically just threw me into contracts halfway through my first day, really putting that cheap labor to work.

Working here, I started feeling like a bit of a sucker. I became a defense lawyer to help people and give them a fair shake at trial, but it came at the cost of my sanity, my sleep, and my personal life. This whole time, I could have been living the good life in the prosecutor’s office, making big bucks, only working 9-5, and winning almost all my cases without much effort.

I don’t think the lawyers here know how good they have it. In fairness to them, they have nothing to compare it to. Ira, the prosecutor who’s been orientating me since my first day, is in his late 50s and has been working here his whole career. He probably makes 50% more than I do, has one of the best offices in the building, and has twice the vacation days. Yet, on the drive over, he spent most of the time whining about the job.

We were heading to the Los Tokyo Maximum Security Women’s Prison today. As part of my orientation, I had to pay a visit to all the prisons and detention centers in the area. Sometimes, in our role as prosecutors, we have to meet with the accused or be present at parole hearings.

I’ll be honest, I was a little nervous about this prison trip in particular. Dahlia is set to be executed soon, but she’s still alive and this is where she’s being held until then. I asked Ira how long the visit should take, and he said only about a half hour. That wasn’t a long time, but I wouldn’t be able to feelat ease until we were out of there.

Ira showed me around the facility: the commissary, the visiting area,and the cells, before we landed in the common area. Seated at one of the bolted-down tables in there, in a striped jumpsuit, and reading a newspaper was Lana. I stared at her, but she didn’t look up.

“Is it okay if I talk to her?” I asked. “I know her.”

Ira looked over. “Oh, it’s Lana. You know her too?”

I nodded. “I used to.”

He checked his watch. “Sure, but make it quick. I’m not working a minute after 5:00 and I still have to drive you back to the office.”

I smirked. “I promise that I’ll keep it brief.”

“You better,” he warned. “I’ll go grab a snack from the commissary. Let me know if you need back-up. The women in here are feisty,” he joked.

When he turned around, I rolled my eyes before walking towards her. “Hey, stranger,” I said casually.

Lana looked up from the newspaper. She squinted at me for a moment and then had a look of recognition. “Diego?” she asked disbelievingly.

I nodded in agreement before sitting down across from her. “If the guy I’m here with comes by though, I’m Godot now.”

“Godot? Like the play?”

I chuckled. “You take some English lit classes in college?”

She smiled. “A couple. I hated that play. Why did you change your name though? Why are you here? When did you even wake up?”

“It’s a long story; I’m a prosecutor now, and five months ago.”

“Wow, five months and you didn’t think to visit your old pal Lana,” she joked.

“I meant to. I only got out of the hospital two months ago.” I may have said that, but I don’t know if I was being truthful. I probably should have come by. I knew she was in prison, and I had read her case files. While Lana and I always got along well, there was a bit of unspoken tension between us. Probably because I had beenplaying with her favorite toy.

“Sure,” she said skeptically, elongating the word.

“Sorry, I’m a bad friend,” I said remorsefully.

“Ah, it’s okay. We were never really that close anyway,” she teased.

I smirked. “So, how’s prison treating you?” I asked, wincing after I said it. What is she possibly supposed to say to that?

“Oh, it’s just grand,” she said sarcastically.

“Sorry, stupid question. It’s hard to make small talk when you’ve been asleep for five years. You miss a few things.”

She laughed. “I’m just being a jerk. Obviously, I don’t love it here, but Gant kind of forced my hand.”

“What happened exactly? I saw your case file, but it’s hard to get all the details.”

She smiled mischievously. “So, you did catch up somewhat then?” she asked rhetorically. “Like you, it’s a long story. Bottom line, Gant knew how much I love Ema and would do anything for her, and he exploited that weakness. Now, I’m here.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said apologetically.

“Thanks. I could say the same to you. I’m sure you’ve had a tough time too.”

I shook my head. “Yeah, it’s been rough. Not going to lie. When I heard about Mia...” I swallowed. “It broke me.”

She nodded sympathetically. “Me too. I wish I had spent more time with her before she died. Maybe I could have helped.”

“I think that same thing every day. When was the last time you saw her?” I asked.

“This sounds bad, but about a year and a half before she died.”

“Really? That long?”

She frowned. “I know. There’s really no excuse. I’ll say, at the time, that Chief Prosecutor job, raising Ema, and keeping up with Gant’s demands were killing me.”

“Actually, I wanted to ask you about that. When you were Chief Prosecutor, Mia was murdered. Why did you allow Maya togo to trial for the crime?”

“I know it sounds crazy, but it was my only choice. Either press charges and proceed with the case or drop the case completely and consider it cold. The police could only identify Maya as a suspect at the time, and I wanted Mia to get justice, so I had to press forward and hope that they’d find the true culprit. Thankfully, it all worked out.”

“That makes sense,” I agreed. I couldn’t argue with her logic. That is what happened after my poisoning. If Dahlia hadn’tacted again, I would have never seen justice.

Speak of the devil. Behind Lana, and in the corner of my eye, I saw Dahlia walk by, chatting with a dark-haired woman. I averted my eyes and ducked my head down behind Lana until she walked out of the common area. Even after she left, I was still shaky.

“Are you okay?” she asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I looked up. “I really hoped and prayed that I wouldn’t see her here today.”

“Who?” She paused thoughtfully. “Dahlia?” she asked. I nodded. “She’ll be dead soon at least. I think her mom is slated for some time next year too.”

“Is her mom here too?”

“Yeah. This is the only maximum-security women’s prison in the country.”

I shook my head. “That must have been who she was talking to. Another woman was walking with her, but I didn’t get a goodlook.”

“Probably,” Lana concurred. “They’re always talking.”

“That can’t be good. Put those two together and there’s nothing but trouble to follow.”

She laughed. “I think you might be a little paranoid. What can they possibly get up to in here?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t trust it.” I thought for a moment. “Can you do me a favor?” I asked. She nodded. “Can you keep an eye on them for me and let me know if you see or hear anything suspicious? Morgan tried to frame Maya before, and I wouldn’t put it past her to try something again.”

“Of course. How can I get in touch?” she asked.

I pulled out a business card and handed it to her. I got a whole box of them yesterday, hot off the presses. I was able to convince the secretary to just put the nickname on there. “My number’s on here. Call anytime and I’ll get here when I can.”

She looked at the card and grinned. “I still can’t believe you’re a prosecutor now. You’ve turned to the dark side.”

“I know. Couldn’t go back to the old firm after Mia died,” I said solemnly.

Her smile faded. “I don’t blame you.” She turned her head to look behind me. “Did Ira bring you here?”

“Yeah, why do you ask?”

“Well, he appears to be tapping his foot impatiently, waiting for you.”

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, if we’re late getting back, he’ll miss watching his reruns of M*A*S*H.”

She snickered. “I won’t keep you then. I definitely don’t miss my time at the prosecutor’s office. See you later, Diego.”

“Take care, Lana.”

Chapter 22: Chapter 21 - Diego

Chapter Text

Date: Sunday, October 14th, 2018

Time: 2:57 pm

Location: Courtroom No. 6, Los Tokyo District Courthouse

You know that brave new world of uncorrupted law we were supposedly marching towards? Yeah, I don’t think that was quite panning out. Calvin Lewis, the Chief Prosecutor, and the only person I respected in this place, is now on indefinite stress leave. He was only in the role for a year and a half.

The state brought him in from New York in the hopes of overhauling the system we have here, but the deep-seated corruption obviously started to get to him. The amount of work needed to fix everything was overwhelming. From what I’ve heard, the US’s system is far from perfect but it’s a utopia compared to what we have here.

To the man’s credit, he did clean house, letting anyone go who was suspected of corruption but, from what I can tell, the remaining prosecutorswere up to a lot of the same tricks. They may not have been bribed or blackmailed, but they still forged or withheld evidence so they could blindside the opposition. Having a near 100% conviction rate was still seen as a badge of honor and anything below 80% was considered worthy of derision.

In the meantime, the state is looking for a new Chief Prosecutor to serve in the interim, although no one has volunteered. Well, other than me. I offered to as a joke, just to see if they’d let me do it with no prosecutorialexperience. They weren’t as amused at the notion as I was. Probably for the best. It sounds like a tough job with not enough extra money to make it worth my while.

Since the prosecutor’s office requiresdaily team meetings to assign cases, and Ira is the most senior prosecutor on the team, they have placed him in charge of chairing the meetings until they find a suitable replacement. As I have grown accustomed to in the short time I’ve worked with him, Ira has made this extra undesired work everyone else’s problem, complaining ad nauseam about the responsibility.

Ira was at the head of the boardroom Friday morning, assigning cases, when I finally heard the name that I was waiting for. It was the last case on the docket.

“Uh oh,” he said, laughing. “Here’s a doozy. Anyone here interested in taking a Saturday morning case against Phoenix Wright?” Everyone was silent. “No takers?”

I was dumbfounded. Are these people for real? “Is everyone joking?” I asked.

Ira looked at me. “Did you want to take it, new guy?”

“Sure, why not?” I asked rhetorically.

He checked the case off his list. “Your funeral, but I won’t try to change your mind. Less work for me, trying to find someone else.”

I laughed. “How bad could he possibly be?”

“Well, he beat Miles Edgeworth and Franziska von Karma so badly that they fled the country to practice elsewhere,” Ira responded. “They were our top prosecutors before they left.”

Those two were von Karmas, by blood or by law. Who knows why they do the weird things they do? “I doubt that’s why they left. The guy has just been lucky anyway.”

Winston Payne, a mousy but arrogant guy, who I never had the displeasure of facing in my defense career spoke up. “Mr. Godot, Phoenix Wright is the real deal. He’s the second coming of Mia Fey. I hadn’t lost a case for seven years before I was matched againstthe two of them.”

I scoffed. “Phoenix Trite is more like it,” I said derisively. Everyone in the room let out an “ooh” in unison and murmured to each other. I chuckled. Trite: that’s a good nickname. I like that.

“You’re talking a big game for someone who has never prosecuted a case before,” Ira countered.

“Look, I’m just not scared of the kid. He’s only 26 and serves on a criminal case once a quarter. I’d be amazing too if I went to court that infrequently.”

I know age doesn’t really matter. When I was 26, I was the top lawyer at Grossberg Law Offices. When Mia was 26, she had served on and won at least twice as many cases as Trite. The difference was, we both had to work our asses off. We didn’t just luck out or have help.

“Mr. Godot, I have a proposal for you,” Ira offered. “How about you face Phoenix Wright whenever his name comes up?”

“I will. Anytime. You don’t even have to ask me,” I agreed.

Ira smiled. “Fantastic! Fewer cases to assign.”

After the meeting, I got to work investigating the crime scene of my first case as a prosecutor. With the police at my disposal, I didn’t have to investigate crime scenes anymore, but old habits die hard. Furthermore, the detective assigned to the case was known to be a bit of a buffoon. Surprising. With a name like Dick Gumshoe, you’d expect detective skills to be in his DNA.

I had only met him once before I was poisoned, when he testified during Mia’s first case, but I still introduced myself to him. With my new look, he didn’t recognize me. Besides, at the Fawles trial, he was too busy gawking at Mia to noticeme. You and me both, buddy.

“Detective Dick Gumshoe, sir,” he said deferentially, saluting me as he did.

“Nice to meet you, pal. Are you always so formal to the prosecution team?” I asked.

“Mr. Edgeworth would threaten to dock my pay if I wasn’t.” He sighed. “I miss that guy.”

“Yeah, he sounds like a peach,” I said drily. “Phoenix Wright still here snooping around?”

“No, he and his assistant left about an hour ago. Are you two friends?”

I scoffed. “Not quite.” Damn, I was hoping to talk with Tritebefore the trial. To get into his head a bit. Looks like I’ll need a workaround. “Actually, I’m glad you’re here, Gummy. There’s something that’s been weighing on me and I feel like I can trust you.”

“Sir?” he responded, perplexed.

I let out an exaggerated sigh. “I’m just so nervous to face Phoenix Wright. I’m new to the district, but back in my home country, I had never lost a case. Just case after case. Win, win, win, win, win.” I shook my head, sadly. “I’m just not ready to fail for the first time in my career.”

“Really, you too? I had no idea,” he replied, awestruck.

“Yeah, I’ve kept in on the down low. Mr. Edgeworth told me how ashamed he was losing his first case to the guy. He told me not to do it.” I shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess justice is that important to me. I had to take the risk anyway.”

“You and Mr. Edgeworth are friends?” he asked.

Not exactly. “Yeah, the best of friends. I stay with him whenever I’m in... Europe.” Where did they say that guy moved to again? I can’t remember.

“A friend of Mr. Edgeworth is a friend of mine,” Gumshoe said proudly. “Your secret is safe with me.”

“I knew I could count on you, Gummy. Anyway, I better finish my investigation and head back to the office. Gotta be prepared. I’ll see you at the trial tomorrow.” I waved to him in salute, and he saluted back.

When I turned around, I smirked. I don’t trust that guy with a secret as far as I can throw him. Word will get out.

After a thorough investigation of the crime scene and a review of the files back in my office, I felt pretty confident about my odds of winning. Trite’s client, Ron Delite, had been accused of stealing a sacred urn from Kurain Village, while under the persona of notorious local thief Mask ☆ DeMasque.

The prosecutor’s office had wanted to get this guyfor six months now. Mask ☆ DeMasquehad already completed five successful heists, and they wanted to nail a single suspect on all five charges rather than splitting the charges across several trials. This case was for all the marbles.

The defendantseemed far too shy and unassuming to be a flamboyantly dressed famous thief, but when I went to see him at the detention center, Ron straight up admitted to me that he was him. His wife Desirée came by at the end of the meeting to visit him and, well, she was way out of his league. So, if he could bag someone like her, maybe he was more capable of surprises than he initially appeared.

I felt confident about my chances until I got a call from Gummy at 9 am yesterdaymorning, that is. One hour before the trial. They had evidence of Mask ☆ DeMasque’s presence at the site of the theft at 1:00 in the morning on October 12th, and at the site of a murder at the exact same time. If Ron Delite was Mask ☆ DeMasque, and there was a copycat on the loose, then he was guilty of at least one of the two crimes and the copycat the other.

If Ron Delite kept Trite as his attorney for both cases, no matter what, I would have to lose one of them to him. Well, there goes my dream of a 100%-win rate.

I had a good idea who the copycat Mask ☆ DeMasque could be too. There was this insufferable private investigator named Luke Atmey who was investigating the crime scene while I was there, and he seemed far too familiar with the details of the case. Maybe he was just the “ace detective”he proclaimed to be or maybe he was guilty of one of the crimes at hand.

I decided to pursue the theory that Ron Delite was the murderer and that Luke Atmey was the thief. There wasn’t enough clear evidence one way or the other and I figured it’d be most embarrassing for Trite if he lost a murder case rather than a grand larceny case. I wouldn’t tell him about the murder until after the trial either. It was my right as a prosecutor to withhold evidence. If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.

When I arrived in the courtroom yesterday morning, I could see that Gummy had done a good job at talking up my reputation. Trite seemed uneasy by my presence. Maya was assisting him, as usual, and I heard herwhisper that I was the one they had heard about. The judge knew who I was even though we had yet to meet under my current persona.

“Your reputation precedes you. What kind of cases have you dealt with so far?” the judge had asked me.

I laughed. “None.”

“What did you say?” the judge asked confusedly.

“I've never prosecuted a case before,” I answered. I already had my fun so there was no sense continuing with the lie.

“N-Never? But you said you've never lost before.”

“Exactly. I've never lost. I've never won before either,” I explained.

“Quite arrogant for a beginner, aren't you?” the judge chided.

“Even the mightiest of redwoods begin their lives as mere saplings,” I quipped.

The judge asked me about my unusual mask, and I brushed off his question with some sort of analogy about masks and hearts. I don’t remember; it was yesterday. I spouted out so many off-the-cuff analogies and metaphors trying to disarm and bewilder both the judge and Trite, that I can’t remember half of them.

I finally got to introduce myself to the man himself,as well. “So, we finally meet, Mr. Phoenix Trite!” I declared.

Phoenix looked confused. Maya didn’t seem to recognize me either. I had hoped that I made enough of an impression on her during our two pre-coma interactions that she would, but I did look decidedly different. She never saw me in court or in my formal attorney wear either.

“N-Nick! Is he a friend of yours?” Maya asked curiously.

“No. I don't have any friends that call me ‘Trite.’” Phoenix replied, bristling at the nickname.

“I've returned from the depths of hell to do battle with you,” I taunted. Unsurprisingly, that remark seemed to keep him quiet. He was even more baffledby me than before.

The first case went exactly as I predicted. Tritewas easy to lead to the conclusion I wanted. I pretended to put up a good fight though, asking him for proof ofall the wild accusations he threw out during the course of the trial. I felt like a broken record with the number of times I had to ask him for supporting evidence for his many stabs in the dark. He seemed to be throwing arguments at the wall, hoping that one would stick.

Despite Trite’s protestations, I also wouldn’t allow Desirée Delite to bring forward the urn she claimed to find at Atmey’s agency as evidence of his guilt. She had a clear incentive to implicate someone else other than her husband, so her gesture couldn’t be taken at face value.

By the end of the trial though, Trite had implicated Luke Atmey as Mask ☆ DeMasque and I let him do it. To prove Atmey’sguilt, I had confirmed on the record with Tritethat Ron Delite was indeed innocent of the thefts because he was at KB Security, the location of the murder, while the theft of the scared urn of Kurain had taken place.

Once the verdict was announced, and Trite had his glory, I met him in the defendant lobby to pull the rug out from under him. I had Ron arrested and told Tritethat the alibi of Ron Delite that he confirmed with me during the trial, and which had allowed his client to achieve his not guilty verdict, made him the most likely culprit of the murder. Phoenix was completely mystified by the series of events.

I was feeling pretty smug about the whole result until today, when I had to face off against Trite again, duringthe murder trial of Ron Delite. About two hours into the second trial, it became apparent that I had bet on the wrong horse. Luke Atmey was the murderer and Ron Delite was actually Mask ☆ DeMasque.

It appeared that Luke Atmey had committed the murder and had doctored security footage to make it look like the urn was stolen at the exact same time. In reality, the urn was not taken at the same time, and both Ron and Atmey were at the scene of the murder. Ronwas directed to the crime scene by Atmey so he could be implicated, and Atmey had doctored the footage to give himself an alibi for his true crime of murder. Not only had I followed the wrong conclusion, but I had been tricked by the machinations of the true murderer.

I wasn’t sure what to do. I still cared about justice being served, but I didn’t want to lose both cases against Trite. Atmey’s grand larceny case was going on in the courtroom next door, so I allowed Trite to retrieve him so he could testify. I told Trite that, if he didn’t go retrieve Atmey right away, they would declare him guilty of the urn theft, which would make him ineligible to be accused of the murder.

While proving that the footage was doctored would make Atmey eligible as the suspect of both crimes, that couldn’t be proven without Atmey’s testimony. Yet, if he was found guilty of grand larceny, he could not be compelled to testify on the murder case due to the doctored footage being the key piece of evidence used to convict him on grand larceny charges.

I gave Trite a chance to question and implicate Atmey, but I wasn’t going to make it easy on him. I knew Atmey was guilty. In reality, probably from the first time he said, “I’m Luke Atmey, zvarri!” However,Phoenix would have to prove this with decisive evidence. I wouldn’t just let him win with some of the co*ckeyed arguments he was spewingout.

He had no evidence that Atmey was at the scene of the crime and, without it, he couldn’t be implicated. Even though I made the wrong decision yesterday, Ron Delite was going to be found guilty of the murder, as he was the most likely alternate suspect besides Atmey. If Trite couldn’t figure it out, I would still win, even if it wasn’t the just result.

Trite was ready to concede when Maya came to his aid in the 11th hour, channeling Mia. I was in awe when I looked at her. She had told me about channeling, but never before had I seen it in action. It all happened so quickly. One minute, Maya was standing there. I looked away for a moment, and there Mia was in her place. Mia was wearing Maya’s clothes, and her hair was styled the same as Maya’s, but she was unmistakably Mia. Same angelic face, literally, I suppose. Same height. Same, uh... curves.

Mia silently observed for a moment, gathering the facts of the case, but she didn’t say anything. At least, nothing that could be heard from my side of the room. Before the judge was about to hand down the verdict though, Mia objected on behalf of Trite.

I don’t know who the judge thought Mia was right now, clearly not Maya, but he let her object and cut him off anyway. Like Trite, he could be easy to push around if you were firm and authoritative with him. He even let me set upa drip coffee machine at my bench and I brewed coffee throughout both trials.

There was no way he would let me get away with that back when I was a defense attorney. Technically, Mia was on the side of the beleaguered defense right now, the side the judges rarely allowed grace to, but he was probably just in awe of her too.

“Unfortunately, your Honor, you're forgetting something. Earlier, after the last cross-examination, this witness made a number ofremarks!” Mia exclaimed.

“Y-Yes, but these comments appear to have no importance whatso-” the judge remarked before she cut him off again.

“Very well, then we shall prove their importance via cross-examination. At any rate, as long as the witness has made these remarks, we, the defense, assert our right to question them! Is that alright with you...” she paused as she looked over at me.

Her eyes bore a hole right into my soul and I could tell that she recognized me too. Even with my new look and my new role, she still knew it was me. Would she say it though? Would she say my real name? Despite all the effort I put into concocting this new persona, I wanted her to. It had only been two months, but I was already tired of the charade. I wanted an excuse to stop it. I couldn’t give it up on my own though. I needed to be caught.

“...Prosecutor?” she continued. She didn’t say it. She kept looking at me and I stared back, not saying anything. The way she looked over, her eyes pleading with me, I knew what I had to do.

“Is something the matter? Mr. Godot?” the judge asked after I had not responded to her request for 15seconds.

“Ah, nothing,” I replied quietly.

“Oh, sir lawyer! It looks like you're one step too late! If you think such falsehoods will do anything to me, Luke At-”

“Let’s hear it,” I agreed, cutting Atmey off.

“Huh?” Atmey replied with surprise. If I refused the request to cross-examine him, I would win the case. Atmey was banking on my competitiveness to save him. He didn’t know that there was something more important at play.

“It's true that the witness made some ‘remarks.’ So then... let's hear this last bit of cross-examination,” I explained.

Through cross-examination of one of Atmey’s seemingly innocuous statements, he was shown to be the likely culprit of the murder and was dragged out of the courtroom to await his own murder trial at a later date. As he was escorted out, he laughed hysterically, continuously remarking on his own genius.

Ron was declared not guilty of the crime. Not only that, but he admitted that he was indeed Mask ☆ DeMasque and had committed several thefts. However, he was unable to be retried in court due to the double jeopardy rule. He was foundnot guilty of the five thefts yesterday and would have to steal again to be convicted of grand larceny. For now, he would walk.

I looked like a fool. The cases went as badly as they possibly could have. If I had just tried to convict Ron of grand larceny like I initially planned, I would have won. As the thief, hewould have been ineligible as a murder suspect due to the doctored security photos Atmey created, and Atmey wouldn’t have been able to testify to doctoring the photos without admitting to the murder. If I was the prosecutor on Atmey’s murder case, I would have won that too.

This whole time, I could have won two cases. Instead, I won neither. I got too blinded by my desire to beat Trite and make him look stupid. Worst of all, my failureplayed out in front of Mia.

Date: Saturday, January12th, 2019

Time: 11:12 am

Location: Visiting Area, Los Tokyo Maximum Security Women’s Prison

After seeing Mia at my first trial with Trite in October, I was left with mixed feelings. I was so happy to see her again. However, the way she looked at me, I could tell that she was ashamed. Ashamed by my willingness to put justice aside in favor of winning. I knew she was right. That’s not how I had ever done thingsbefore. I could be a bit of a showman at trial, a little arrogant maybe, but I never pulled any crap like that as a defense attorney.

However, seeing her also made me angry. Not with her but with Trite. The way he bumbled through his cases against me, I didn’t know how he achieved nearly the same win record she had. By the end of that second trial, it suddenly became very clear.

Not only did he have a magatama, but Maya wasthere to channel Mia on all his cases. Any time things got a little tough, she’d just summon Mia and get her to figure it all out for him. He took over Mia’s firm and her legacy, but he’d clearly be nothing without her.

Still, as displeased as I was with how he was using her, seeing her, I vowed to be a better man. Well, I’d at least try to be one. After losing those cases, that alluring 100%-win rate was no longer a possibility. If I lost again, it really wouldn’t matter anymore.

I had many other cases without Trite on the other side of the courtroom. I had to. If I took as few cases as he did, I’d be fired. Not only was he entitled but lazy too. Following those cases, I was at about a 65% hit rate. Not bad compared to my defense days, but the worst win rate in the whole prosecutor’s office. After I made such a big show about beating Trite, it made me kind of a laughingstock in the office. I mostly didn’tcare. Mostly.

It stung knowing that I was the absolute bottom of the barrel in the prosecutor’s office when I used tobe the top lawyer at Grossberg Law Offices in my prime.However, I just kept thinking of Mia’sface. I couldn’t pull any more tricks knowing how she’d react.

From then on, I’d analyze the facts of each case I prosecuted and try hard depending on whether or not I thought the defendant was guilty. If I thought they were innocent, I’d let things go. Not bringing forward any argument or piece of evidence that could cast doubt. If I thought they were guilty, I’d throw everything at them until they were begging to go to prison. I probably should approach allmy cases with equal effort but, if an innocent defendant had a bad attorney, I felt an obligation to put my thumb on the scale in their favor.

Unfortunately, the times when I needed to really hold on to that integrity and follow it, were the times when I was least likely to do it. The only time I could see Mia was at trial with him. Whenever I was against Trite though, well, winning felt like the only option. I couldn’t lose to someone like him. Again.

Almost threemonths after my first cases with Trite, I served on my third case against him this week. A retrial of a case from December. I had told the other prosecutors that I’d take on any case against him, so they assigned me to the original trial. When I got to the courthouse though, and looked at who I was actually facing, I backed out last second. It wasn’t him at all.

I may be blind without my visor, but I could clearly see that the “Phoenix Wright” I was supposed to be facing was an imposter. He was probably half a foot taller, 50 lbs heavier, 20 years older, had a ridiculous Brooklyn accent, and was tanned within an inch of his life. Other than the same crappy blue suit and Guido haircut, they really looked nothing alike.

In hindsight, maybe I should have told the judge and my replacement that they had the wrong guy. I wasn’t even sure if he was a licensed attorney. I just found it so God damn funny that they had mistaken this guy for Trite that I couldn’t do it. Best of all, when this schmo lost the case, the newspaper wrote a big smear article about Phoenix Wright’s worst law performance yet.

The retrial went his way though. I lost, yet again. In fairness to me, the actual murderer was Furio Tigre, an infamous local loan shark and the same guy who posed as Tritein the original trial. He obviously had been highly motivated to avoid punishment, by any means necessary.

He was also a complete moron who got tricked into admitting his crime. Trite showed him the victim’s ear medicine, claiming it was the cyanide bottle used to poison the victim, and Furio Tigre corrected Trite, smugly explaining that the actual poison bottle looked much different. How am I possibly supposed to win under these conditions?

If he was the accused, I would have won handily, but the retrial was to determine the innocence of Maggey Byrde, some broad Gummy was trying to woo. He was the one who pushed for a retrial. I didn’t like losing, but I had to respect the hustle. Hope it works out for those two.

I was pissed but, with Mia in my head, I tried to look on the bright side. At least Maya seemed to think my impression of one of the witnesses, this pervy old geezer, was funny. It would have been a lot cooler if she finally recognized who I was too, but I digress.

While everyone cowered in fear at the brute that was Furio Tigre, I was the one who found him and wrangled him into the courtroom by myself in 30 minutes flat. Looks like all that working out was paying off. Of course, when something impressive like that happened, Mia wasn’t channeled to see it. Trite must have used her expertise during his investigation instead.

Oh yeah, and Jean Armstrong, a French restauranteurwho looked awfullyfamiliar to Giuseppe Armstrong, the Italian chefwho violated me on my first restaurant date with Mia all those years ago, hit on me during the trial. I’m not sure if that’s really a highlight, I’m still not interested, but at least someonefinds me attractive in my doddering old man state.

Anyway, I didn’t have time to wallow regardless. I had other matters to attend to.Last Thursday, the first week of January, I received an alarming call from Lana.

“Go for Godot,” I answered.

Lana laughed. “Wow, that’s the lamest greetingI have ever heard.”

I rubbed my face and chuckled. “Oof. Harsh. I kind of have a whole ‘thing’ going here at the prosecutor’s office; you obviously don’t get it”

“Clearly not. My skin is still crawling from the cringe,” she joked.

“I assume you’re calling for a reason. Not just to bust my balls.”

“I am. Dahlia’s being executed tomorrow.”

I smiled. “I heard. A little behind schedule though. I thought she was slated for December.”

“She was. Her birthday was on Christmas Day. She managed to convince them to push the execution to the new year. I’ve heard she’s been successfully pushing the date back for years.”

“I’d expect nothing less. It always seemed fitting somehow that the literal Anti-Christ was also born on Christmas.” I paused. “Is that the only reason you called?”

She sighed. “No. I think you might have been right. I overheard Dahlia and Morgan talking this morning. I couldn’t get all the details. However, they seemed very excited about a prison visit Morgan’s having with Pearl next week. Saturday at 11:30 am.”

I wrote the details down on a sticky note. “Did they say anything else noteworthy?”

“Not much more. I didn’t want to seem like I was eavesdropping. Just something about putting ‘the plan’ into motion.”

I groaned. “I really wish I wasn’t right.”

“It definitely doesn’t sound good. What’s yourplan?”

I thought for a moment. “I’ll be at the prison a little before their meetingthat day. I’ll see if I can wrangle some sort of listening device so I can overheartheir conversation. I’ll sit at a table nearby and pretend like I’m visiting with you.”

“Good idea. I’ll pretend like we’re friends,” she said teasingly.

I scoffed. “Man, were you always this mean?”

She laughed. “I think so. Mia may have softened my rough edges a bit.”

“You and me both. I’ll see you next week.”

I arrived at the prison at 11:00 am this morning and was frisked by the guards. They tried to take away my cell phone, my listening device, the ballpoint pens, and the book of crossword puzzles I brought with me. I guess they were pretty strict during inmatevisits at the maximum-security prison. When I showed them my prosecutor’s ID badge and told them I was here on official business, they let me bring in my contraband.

Both Lana and Morgan were seated in the visitors' area at separate bolted-down tables. There were a few other prisoners talking with or waiting for their respective visitors and three guards stationed in the room. I sat down across from Lana and slapped the book down on the table.

“Hi...friend. What’s this for?” Lana asked, reading the cover of the book.

“I thought we could do some crosswords during our visit.” I ripped a page out of the book for each of us and handed her a pen.

She nodded in understanding. “Ah, of course. I’m not big on talking to you either.”

Lana worked on her page while I pretended to work on mine, fiddling around with the settings on the listening device and placing the earbud in my ear.

Lana looked up from her puzzle. “She’s here," she whispered.

I wanted to look back, but I waited until I saw a tiny figure in Japanese robes pass by our table, escorted by a guard. Morgan was stationed at the back table in the left corner of the room. I increased the frequency settings of the device. I’d have to keep adjusting it to pick up Pearl’s voice and Morgan’s voice and avoid listening in to the conversations of others in the room.

“Mother!” Pearl exclaimed as she seated herself at the table.

“My dear Pearl,” Morgan replied quietly, in a deeper, almost regal way. “You mustn’t be so loud in here,” she lectured.

“I’m so sorry, mother,” Pearl replied timidly.

“Did your cousin bring you here today?”

In the corner of my eye, I saw Pearl nod. “Mystic Maya and I took the train. I love trains.”

“Of course you do, my dear. Is your cousin around?”

“No. She’s at the comic book store down the street. Mystic Maya and Mr. Nick are going to take me to lunch today and then we’re having a sleepover,” Pearl said softlybut excitedly.

“That’s very nice of them,” Morgan replied disinterestedly.

“I wish we could go somewhere together again,” Pearl remarked sadly.

“I wish that too, darling. In March, I’ll have to go away for a long time, but I will see you again.”

“I’ll miss you,” Pearl said sweetly.

“You too, dear,” Morgan said emotionlessly. “Pearl, would you be able to help your mother with something?”

“Of course,” Pearl replied enthusiastically.

“I had planned some special spirit training for your cousin before I was taken away. I never got to take her. Will you make sure she completes the training?”

“I’ll do anything for Mystic Maya.”

“I know, dear. I left instructions for hertraining in a letter. It’s hidden in my jewelry box back at the Village. Do you know where that is?

Pearl hesitated. “I-I think so.”

“Were you going through Mother’s jewelry?” Morgan asked sternly.

“A little,” Pearl admitted sheepishly.

Morgan’s voice softened upon having a realization. “That’s okay. They’re yours now.”

“Really?”

“Yes, but don’t lose anything,” Morgan warned. “All those items are very precious to Mother.”

“I won’t, Mother. I promise,” Pearl agreed.

“The letter is underneath the lining of that box. You’ll need to take everything out and remove the lining to find it.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t show the letter to anyone. Not even your cousin. She has to be tested for her training.”

“I won’t let you down,” Pearl said resolutely.

“That’s a good girl,” Morgan repliedwarmly.

They chatted for about a half-hour more, but not about anything that seemed relevant. Mostly about the Village, Pearl’s schooling, and her training. At the very end, Morgan requested that Pearl come back at the end of the month to confirm the instructions. The plan was to happen on the first Thursday in February. Something to do with the moon cycle, Morgan had said. Then, Morgan was escorted back to the prisonand another guard led Pearl outside.

“sh*t,” I said under my breath, removing the earbud and placing it on the table.

“What did she say?” Lana asked. She had quietlycompleted two crosswords while I listened to the conversation and absentmindedly filled in random letters on my page.

“She wrote some plan for Pearl and left it for her back at Kurain Village before she was arrested. I’m not sure yet, but I think Morgan and Dahlia are planning to hurt Maya somehow. She told Pearl not to show anyone the letter.”

“That’s concerning,” she said worriedly. “What are you going to do?”

“I’ll have to get to the letter first. Pearl is staying in the city tonight with Maya and Trite.”

“Who’s Trite?” Lana asked curiously.

Damn. I forgot that Lana knew him too. He was the lawyer on her case. “Uh, Phoenix Wright,” I mumbled out.

“Oh, Phoenix! Yeah, he’s a really nice guy. My sister loved him,” she said gushingly.

“Yeah, he’s the best,” I said shortly.

She smirked. “Someone’s jealous.”

“Takes one to know one,” I threw back.

Her smile faded. “Point taken.”

“Sorry,” I said remorsefully. Mia’s gone so we’re not in competition anymore. Lanawas never blatant about it, but I could tell that she was always waiting in the wings for us to break up. Don’t think Mia would have just switched teams if we had but, when it comes to Mia, I completely understand desperation.

“It’s okay. Grief effs with your brain,” she said plainly.

“It truly does,” I remarked quietly. “Thanks for your help. Really,” I said sincerely.

“Anytime. Let me know if you need anything else. You know where I’ll be.”

I took the next available train to Kurain Village. Itstopped about a half houraway, so I had to walk along the side of the road to the Village from there. There were buses that traveled from the train station to the Village, but the next one would be four hours from then and I couldn’t wait.

When I arrived, the place looked desolate. There was a temple and many traditional Japanese-style buildings but no one was around. I could understand why. It was cold here in January. The Village was in a mountainous region but also near the coast. The elevation and cold sea air were a powerful combo.

I knocked on the door of the closest building and was greeted by a stern-looking older woman. She looked me up and down with disdain. “Who are you?” she asked skeptically.

“A tourist,” I answeredhumbly. “I’ve been told that the Village offers tours.”

“Next one isn’t until tomorrow morning. How did you get here? There’s no bus at this time.”

“I took the train and then walked from the station.”

She shook her head disapprovingly. “Typical man. Doesn’t care to research the ways of the Village before showing up. Just barges in uninvited.”

Christ. Mia wasn’t lying about the gender dynamics of this place. Men get treated like trash and then leave and then the women regard them as even bigger trash for leaving. It seemed like a vicious cycle.

I needed her help, so I ate sh*t and played dumb tourist. “Gee, I must have misread the schedule,” I said vacantly, scratching my head.

She sighed. “I’ll show you around,” she reluctantly offered. “I have to prepare supper in a half hour so that’s all of my time I will give.”

“Thank you kindly,” I said in a folksy voice. Okay, maybe I’m laying it on a little thick.

The woman never introduced herself nor asked me my name. She led me through the Village, pointing out various statues, artifacts, and buildings. Many buildings were residential so I couldn’t look inside, but she did show me the interior ofthe one-room schoolhouse, where Mia and Maya used to go to school.

I smiled, imagining a little version of Mia working diligently at her desk. Going up to the chalkboard of the old-school Victorian classroomto write an answer on the board.

The last two stops of the tour were Fey Manor, where Maya lives, and the Branch Manor where Pearl lives and where Morgan’s old room was, presumably.

“I don’t think we’ll have time to view both, so I’ll show you Fey Manor first. It’s the most elegant building in the Village,” she said proudly. I’m surprised she’s letting a dolt like me look at it.

As she showed me the various rooms of the manor, I tried to rush her through the tour. I needed her to have enough time to show me the Branch Manor after. I wanted to drink everything in, the place where Mia grew up, but I mostly resisted the urge.

I couldn’t help but linger though when I was sideswiped, just before we exited the manor, seeing several ornate cremation urns on a hutch in the main living area. “Are those former Masters?” I asked dourly.

“Yes, some of them.” She pointed to the first urn. “This was Mystic Ami the Seventh. She was the former Master. The mother of the current Master.” She pointed to the next urn. “This was...well, she could have been the Master if she hadn’t abdicated,” she said derisively. “The daughter of the current Master. Was a pity what happened to her though.”

Understatement of the year. “I think I heard something about that in the news,” I said solemnly.

“You probably did. She became somewhat famous after she left. I hope it was worth abandoning her duties and traditions.”

I silently seethed. Never hita woman. Never hit a woman.

“Well, I suppose I have a few minutes left to show you the Branch Manor,” she continued. “That’s where the branch family lives. They are the familynext in line if the main family is unable to perform their duties.”

The inside of the Branch Manor was almost as nice. A little smaller, not quite as fancy, and with no channeling chamber inside. It was the second nicest building in the Village. However, I could understand how it would seem inadequate when placed directly next to Fey Manor, making the two buildings rife for comparison. My guideshowed me the rest of the building and was about to lead me out when I stopped her.

“Is it okay if I use the bathroom?” I asked politely.

She scoffed. “Not in here,” she said adamantly.

“Is there a public washroom I can use?” My guess was no, but I don’t know what my plan was if she said yes.

She paused. “No, there isn’t.” I looked at her expectantly, fully anticipating that she’d direct me to the woods like a dog. “Fine, but be quick,” she eventually agreed. “Down the hall and to the left. I’ll wait for you outside.”

I nodded and started walking down the hall. When I heard the door close, I walked into Morgan’s room and located her jewelry box. I lifted on the liner, taking the jewels with it and found a sealed letter inside.

I hesitated for a moment. If I open it, Pearl will know that someone read it first. I didn’t have a choice though, so I gently opened it, tearing it as minimally as possible. Inside was a picture of Dahlia. I barely resisted the urge to rip it to shreds, instead dropping it face down on the floor. With the photo were instructions written across three half-pages of thick letterhead.

The instructions read: Be careful my dear Pearl. Once night falls at Hazakura’s Inner Temple,Maya should be there completing her training. As soon as you hear the lights out bell, you must channel her spirit. Leave everything up to her. Her name is Dahlia Hawthorne. She is our ally and Maya’s channeling guide. The whole plan relies on her. Here is a picture of her. Use it when you channel her. I know you can do it. Once this is done and Maya has finished, burn the papers in the incinerator. Also, make not a sound nor tell anyone about this letter. Gravely roast the Master in the fires of Hades and bring our vengeance to fruition.

This was demented. Morgan plotted to kill her niece. She wanted her daughters to be the ones to do it. With Maya out of the picture, Pearl will be next in line to becomeMaster. Most effed up was Dahlia plotting murder from beyond the grave.To be expected from her, but still. This must be Dahlia’s revenge on Mia for locking her away.

I don’t know what to do exactly, but I don’t have much time to decide. If I leave the letter, Pearl will follow the plan. If I take it, she’ll tell Morgan on her next visit and then what? Morgan is set to be executed in March and murder from beyond the grave is now on the table. Pearl could channel her any time from then on and infinite new plans could be generated that I won’t be privy to. I’ll have to outsmart the plan. To come up with a counterplan.

I resealed the letter and put it back where it was, restoring the contents of the box where they were. Once I was certain everything was in its proper place, I met my tour guide outside.

“You took a while,” she said severely.

“Sorry, I got lost,” I said empty-headedly.

She shook her head. “Please tell me you at least flushed.”

I stifled my laughter. Wow, they really have no faith in men around here. “Gee, I’m not sure. Want me to go back and check?”

“No!” she exclaimed. “I need to return to my duties, and you’ll probably just get lost again. Pearl will deal with it when she gets back.”

She turned around, leading me out of the Village and to the road, while I contemplated my next move.

Chapter 23: Chapter 22 - Diego

Chapter Text

Date: Saturday, January 19th, 2019

Time: 2:15 pm

Location: Main Hall, Hazakura Temple, Eagle Mountain

I didn’t have a ton of time to figure out what I’d do. From the moment I read the note, I had less than a month to come up with a counterstrategy. I could get in touch with Maya and Pearl and just tell them what was going on, but I couldn’t do it. After being “Godot” for five months, to suddenly reveal my true identity would be insane. To Maya anyway. Pearl was at the courthouse one day, lord knows why, and she saw me, but I doubt she remembers that.

Besides, I just didn’t want them to know how deep the Fey family dysfunction went. Maya already knew that her aunt had tried to frame her for murder, and I imagine that knowledge tore her up inside. To find out that her aunt was trying to get her nine-year-old cousin to kill her too would destroy her. For Pearl to find out what her mom was plotting would forever change their relationship. I don’t think she knows why Morgan is in prison.

Then there was Trite. If I had to guess, he’ll be accompanying Pearl and Maya on this trip to Hazakura Temple. Those three seemed inseparable. That said, I don’t think I have to explain too hard why I don’t want to involve him in the plan.

I can’t stand the guy for one and, for another, he’d be liable to just mess everything up. He’s never prepared, half the time he doesn’t even know what’s going on, and his luck is bound to run out someday. Knowing my luck, it’d be when I need to rely on him for something.

I tried to think it through logically. I needed to get in contact with someone at Hazakura Temple at the very least, so that I could be stationed there the night of the plot. Looking it up, I realized I was already somewhat familiar with the location. It was on Eagle Mountain, the site of Terry Fawles’ planned meet-up with Valerie Hawthorne.

The Temple had a very ancient website that looked like it hadn’t been updated in a while, but there was contact information for two people listed on there: a Sister Iris and a Sister Bikini. I chose to reach out to Iris, and she agreed to meet with me at Hazakura Temple today.

I didn’t know for sure, but I suspected that she was Dahlia’s twin sister. Her whereabouts hadn’t come up in my and Mia’s research on Dahlia, but we knew that Iris had been abandoned by her father shortly after he left Kurain Village. It also seemed unlikely that another Iris would live at the place where Dahlia had conducted her kidnapping scheme and murder.

During the week, I also did some digging on Misty Fey. I was dismayed to find out that she wasn’t as hard to reach as I thought. Mia told me on our first date that it would have been easier to find Misty as a prosecutor, but she obviously didn’t know how much easier. I talked to a few prosecutors at the office, who got me in touch with some police officers and, within five days, I had her phone number.

Misty’s whereabouts were well-known to the police department. They didn’t have much faith in Misty’s channeling abilities after the DL-6 case. However, many years later, after Kurain Village’s reputation had been restored, they started using her abilities again on tougher cases, on the down low, keeping her involvement hush-hush to avoid another scandal. They didn’t use her very often, so she still needed to find another source of income.

What she went with was children’s author and illustrator, taking on the pen name of Elise Deauxnim. From what I could find online, she seemed to be pretty successful too. She had published 16 books, and they all appeared to have a loyal following.

Despite her acclaim, she was stated to be a hermit, with no pictures of herself on her website, and no book signings, readings, or public appearances promoting her work. She was still in hiding. Even the police hadn’t seen her in person in 17 years.

It honestly pissed me off. There was no excuse for her to be in hiding anymore. Her reputation had been restored, the police were still using her powers, and she had a successful fallback career as an author. What more did she need to come back? After all that Mia had tried, it was clear that there was nothing she could have done to get Misty to re-enter her life.

Despite her reclusive nature, I had to call Misty later this evening and try to convince her to help anyway. As the Kurain Master, her channeling powers are supreme. If I couldn’t find a way to distract Pearl from following the scheme, Misty could channel Dahlia instead and I would keep her from hurting Maya. I knew Pearl wouldn’t be conscious to experience it, but I didn’t want to potentially injure a nine-year-old in a struggle.

That phone call would come later though. First, I needed to talk to Iris and inform her of what was planned for February 7th. I took another train ride out to the sticks to visit Hazakura Temple. It was even more remote than Kurain Village somehow, being about the same distance away from Los Tokyo, but in an area much higher in elevation. Like Kurain Village though, I had to walk about a half hour to the Temple after the train ride. On days like today, I really wish I still had my car.

I told Iris when I was coming, but she wasn’t there to greet me when I entered the main hall of the Temple. Instead, there was a very short middle-aged woman, wearing traditional robes, and a hood on her head. I presume this must be Sister Bikini, but her name didn’t match her being.

“Hello,” I said graciously, nodding.

“Hiya handsome,” the woman replied casually.

I chuckled. “Uh, thanks. Sister Bikini?”

“The one and only. Want to see?” she asked.

“See what?”

“My bikini, of course,” she said cheekily before laughing uproariously at her own joke.

I laughed nervously. “Well, it’s quite cold. Probably best if you stay bundled up.”

“If you’re a good boy, I’ll show you later,” she said, before giving me an exaggerated wink.

And I thought I could be forward. I’ll take the ego boosts where I can get ‘em, but I think I need an adult. “Is Sister Iris here?”

She shook her head disappointedly. “So, you like them a bit younger then?”

I don’t think there’s a right answer to that question. If I placate her and say no, she won’t stop. “She and I were scheduled to meet today,” I replied, ignoring her question altogether.

“I’m just teasing you,” she said, laughing. “Sister Iris is a very pretty girl. Obviously, looks run in the family.”

“Oh. Are you her mother?” I asked. Maybe Iris wasn’t Dahlia’s sister after all.

“I basically raised her, so I might as well be. I’ll go fetch her.”

Sister Bikini left the hall and returned about three minutes later with a woman who looked exactly like Dahlia, besides having very dark hair instead of Dahlia’s bottled red. My whole body clenched upon seeing her. I expected them to look identical, but I didn’t expect to react that way.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Godot,” Iris apologized.

I gulped. “No problem. Was just chatting with your mom here.”

Iris smiled. “She’s so funny; isn’t she?”

“She’s a hoot,” I responded politely.

“Sister Bikini, I’m just going to meet with him in the dining room.”

“Make sure you leave the door open,” Sister Bikini joked before chuckling again.

Iris and I looked at each other awkwardly. It’d be great if Sister Bikini could stop being so “funny.” We both nodded at her respectfully and exited the hall.

“Thanks for agreeing to meet with me,” I said, as I seated myself at the table, across from Iris.

“I’m happy to be of assistance," Iris replied, smiling warmly. “You said in your email that you’re here on official prosecutorial business?”

“That’s correct. It’s come to my attention that a crime is planned for February 7th at your temple. I’d like to ensure that it doesn’t.”

Iris frowned. “That’s so awful. What’s going to happen?”

“A murder most foul. The criminal is looking to kill Maya Fey, the next Master of Kurain.”

“Well, we’ll do anything in our power to protect Mystic Maya,” she said resolutely. “Hazakura Temple was founded to support the main family in their spiritual training. Do you know who the criminal is?”

I nodded. “Do you know Dahlia Hawthorne, Morgan Fey, or Pearl Fey?”

Iris swallowed. “Of course. Sister Bikini is like my mother, but Morgan Fey is my birth mother. The other two are my sisters. Did you know that before you came to see me?”

I nodded again. “Yes. I wasn’t sure if I should contact you or Sister Bikini, but I thought you might have some better insights on those involved.”

“I understand.” She thought for a moment. “What I don’t understand is how this could happen. Dahlia was executed two weeks ago, and my mother is in prison. Pearl is only nine.”

“It involves spirit channeling. Your mother has asked Pearl to summon Dahlia. Dahlia will kill Maya when she’s summoned. Pearl doesn’t know what she’s doing.”

She shook her head sadly. “Oh Dahlia. I hoped she’d finally be at peace,” she said disappointedly. “Did you go to the police?”

I scoffed. “They waved me off. They are highly selective about when they choose to believe in spirit channeling and when they don’t.”

“But you believe in it wholeheartedly?” she asked.

“I do. Absolutely.”

She smiled. “I wish it wasn’t real under these circ*mstances, but it’s refreshing to speak with an outsider who isn’t skeptical of the Kurain technique.”

I smiled slightly. “Well, I used to work with Mia Fey before she died. She turned me into a believer.”

She looked upset. “You worked with Mia?”

“I did.”

“When did you stop working with her?”

“In 2013,” I said cautiously.

“When in 2013? What month?”

I cleared my throat. “Uh, August.”

“I’m so, so sorry,” she responded tearfully. “You’re him; aren’t you? Mr. Armando.”

I paused for a moment before responding. “You knew about me?”

“I didn’t know until after it happened. If I had known what she planned to do, I would have tried to stop her. I did try to minimize the damage. She was going to kill her boyfriend too, but I intervened.”

“Phoenix Wright?” I asked. She nodded. “How did you do that?”

She turned her head to the side shyly. “Oh, well, um... it’s hard to explain.”

I laughed bitterly. “Oh, God. Please tell me it didn’t involve dating the guy?”

She looked shocked. “How did you know?”

I shook my head in disbelief. I don’t even want to think about the logistics of Phoenix, Iris, and Dahlia’s romantic arrangement. “You seemed embarrassed. I’d be embarrassed too if I dated the guy for eight months.”

“It wasn’t supposed to go on that long. Dahlia gave Feenie the poison bottle necklace as a gift to hide the evidence. Then, she wanted it back so she could destroy it. He wouldn’t give it back though. She planned to kill him shortly after they started dating, but I told her I would try to coax him to give it back instead. I dyed my hair and pretended to be her so I could nicely ask for it.”

“So, ‘Feenie’ dated both of you that whole time?”

“Mostly me, but yes.”

“And he had no idea?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

“Yeah, that does sound like him,” I said dryly. Looks like I can add unobservant to his list of traits.

“I’m sorry that I helped her hide the evidence. I just wanted her to stay out of trouble and for no one else to get hurt. She said she’d stop hurting people as long as she didn’t get caught.”

“Looks like she kept her promise,” I remarked sarcastically.

She turned her head down. “I know. I still feel so horrible about it all. Please let me know what I can do to help. I’d like to make amends.”

I grinned. “Perfect. That’s exactly what I needed to hear.”

I told Iris of the full plan as written on the instruction cards. I explained that I’d like Maya and Pearl to remain in the dark about what was planned to occur while also keeping them safe. She agreed and promised that she wouldn’t tell anyone, even Sister Bikini.

I said that I would need to be stationed at Hazakura Temple that day as backup, in case something went wrong. She agreed to escort me, if necessary, across the Dusky Bridge and to the Inner Temple side without being seen.

I had one last question for her while I was there. I wanted insight on why Morgan and Dahlia would choose Hazakura Temple as the location of the murder. I assumed it had to be the result of some sort of warped sentimentality as Eagle Mountain was the site of Dahlia’s staged ransom negotiation and the murder of her stepsister. Iris assured me that Dahlia has no such sentimentality.

Iris presumed it was to frame her for the crime. If anyone witnessed Maya’s murder, they would identify Iris as the culprit since Dahlia is dead. Iris would go to jail and potentially be put on death row for the crime. Once again, sad*stic, but very Dahlia Hawthorne. Iris said that she had let Dahlia down by backing out of Dahlia and Valerie’s staged kidnapping plan and for failing to retrieve the poison bottle from Phoenix.

Iris stated that she was still prepared to take the fall if we couldn’t stop the plan from happening. She still felt so guilty over helping Dahlia to hide evidence. I told her it wouldn’t come to that. She’d only have to take the fall if Maya died, and we wouldn’t let that happen.

However, if some lesser charge came up and it was her versus me, Maya, or Pearl, I said sure, why not? She helped Dahlia hide my poison bottle; I guess she’d be the guiltiest of the four of us.

I let Iris know that I would call her back later in the week to confirm the details. I needed cooperation from Misty Fey to ensure the plan’s success, but I don’t know if I have that yet.

When I got back to my apartment this evening, I called Misty. The phone rang five times before I heard someone answer on the other line. She didn’t say anything though.

“Hello?” I finally said.

There was another beat. “Hello,” a woman responded. Presumably Misty since her voice sounded like Morgan’s, albeit a little less haughty.

“Is this Elise Deauxnim?” I asked.

“Yes,” she responded simply.

In my culture, it is customary to greet the other person when you pick up the phone but maybe that’s not how things work on her planet.

“My name is Godot. I work at the prosecutor’s office,” I explained. “The police gave me your number.”

“What kind of business are you calling about?” she asked.

Right. If I’m calling from the prosecutor’s office, there’s no point in pretending like I care about her author career. “I’m calling about your channeling abilities, Misty.”

“If you’ve talked to the police, Mr. Godot, then you know how this works. Send me the case details, a picture, and a check, and I’ll call back after the channeling.”

I tried not to laugh. Looks like Misty’s all set. A thriving children’s author career and work-from-home channelings. The only thing missing is her daughters. “I need a different kind of assistance. Off the record and unpaid.”

“Why would I do that?” she asked disbelievingly.

“To help your daughter. She’s in danger.”

“Maya?”

“Yes. Your sister has conspired with your niece Dahlia to kill her. Your sister wants her daughter Pearl to be next in line as Master.”

“What do you need me to do?” she asked plainly, with no hint of outrage at the jarring news.

“Hopefully only one thing, but potentially two,” I explained. “You’ll need to distract Pearl. Dahlia was executed and Pearl is supposed to channel her at Hazakura Temple at 10:00 pm on February 7th so Dahlia can kill Maya.”

“How will I distract her?” she asked.

“By being Elise Deauxnim,” I elaborated. “I overheard Pearl and Morgan talking at the prison. That’s how I learned about the plot and the instructions Morgan left for Pearl at the Village. I didn’t think it was important at the time, but Pearl mentioned how much she loves your books.”

“So... we’ll read together?”

“More or less. Keep her occupied until she falls asleep. When she wakes up and is upset because she didn’t follow Morgan’s plan, you’ll need to assure her that Maya performed so excellently in her training without Dahlia’s ‘assistance’ that Pearl isn’t tempted to channel her again. You’ll tell Pearl that Sister Bikini said that Maya was the best acolyte she’s ever seen.”

“I can do that. I always wanted to meet my fans,” she said proudly. “What’s the other thing you might need?”

I exhaled. “If you can’t distract Pearl, you’ll need to channel Dahlia instead. Sister Iris at Hazakura Temple, she’s helping me. She can't channel spirits but she’s allowing me to be stationed at the Inner Temple while Maya’s completing her training. If plan A fails, I’m going to hold Dahlia off from hurting Maya.”

“How will you do that?”

“Brute force, I guess. Dahlia isn’t very big and I’m fairly strong. I’ll disarm her.”

“Right.” She paused. “So, you said this is off the record. The police aren’t involved?”

“No. I talked to them, but they didn’t believe it. In fairness to them, I have no proof. Knowing how your channelings operate, I imagine they don’t understand how it works either. If they saw that you took on the likeness of murder victims while you were channeling, I’d imagine they’d feel differently.”

“Yes, I operate out of sight and unknown to the public. The police are understanding given how they allowed my name and reputation to be smeared 17 years ago,” she said bitterly.

“Well, it seems like your reputation is good now,” I argued. “If they didn’t trust you, they wouldn’t use you.”

“Can never be too careful,” she said paranoidly. She paused again. “What made you take an interest in the family? To spy on my sister at the prison?”

“I don’t know what you’ve heard, but this isn’t the first time Morgan has tried something like this. She tried to frame Maya for murder almost two years ago.”

“I had heard. Why would you care though? You must be busy with other cases at the prosecutor’s office.”

I faltered. This line of questioning is how Iris found out my identity. “I was a colleague of Mia’s before she passed.”

“Just a colleague?” she asked. I didn’t respond. She laughed. “Nice to see a man step up for a change.”

I laughed sardonically. “Yeah, we’re the worst.”

“Were you the lawyer with Mia on her first court case?”

“You knew about that?” I asked incredulously.

She laughed again. “Do you not think I keep an interest in my daughter’s lives? They’re always on my mind.”

I didn’t know how to answer that question without dripping sarcasm. Misty’s been gone for 17 years. I don’t think it’s unreasonable to assume that she’s not exactly plugged in.

“Were you at Mia’s funeral then?” I posed.

She hesitated. “No. It wasn’t the right time.”

“When is the right time?” I pressed.

“February 7th, I suppose,” she answered.

Date: Thursday, February 7th, 2019

Time: 9:57 pm

Location: Inner Temple, Hazakura Temple, Eagle Mountain

Tonight was the night for the counterstrike plan to be set in motion. Unfortunately, I got the same ominous feeling that I had the day I was poisoned by Dahlia. However, this time, I had help in the form of Misty and Iris and a backup plan in case something went wrong. I felt more confident that we’d be okay. We just had to distract a nine-year-old until tomorrow morning.

I took the train over to the temple and arrived around 7:00 pm, while everyone was eating dinner. Iris had instructed me to walk across the Dusky Bridge to the Inner Temple and hide out until Maya was set to complete her training.

Iris called me while I was still en route and told me that Maya and Trite had already thoroughly explored the grounds so no one should see me before her training. I couldn’t let them know I was here.

It was cold as hell up on the mountain. Living in Los Tokyo, it could get chillier in the winter but never cold enough to snow. It was surreal to travel two hours away and be greeted with blankets of it and for the forecast to be calling for more.

I brought my warmest jacket, had a thermos full of coffee, and paced around the Inner Temple, but it still wasn’t enough to keep me from freezing my ass off. At least I only had to tough it out for a few hours. Or so I thought. Turns out my ominous feeling was bitterly accurate.

At around 8:00 pm, Misty came by the inner temple, and I met her in person for the first time. She was just as flighty and eccentric in the flesh as she was on the phone. She looked at the hanging scroll on the wall of the Inner Temple, depicting and naming her as Kurain Master, and smiled mysteriously. “Is it a true likeness?” she asked.

I looked at her and then at the scroll, not sure what to say. I could see where Mia got her looks from, if that’s what she was asking, but it felt weird to compliment my ex-girlfriend's estranged mother on her appearance. “You look a little younger there, but I’d say it’s accurate,” I replied.

She smiled wistfully and shook her head. “Yes, I suppose I look much, much older now.”

“Uh, I didn’t mean it that way,” I clarified. Wasn’t expecting to be stepping into a minefield today. Well, more than one. “You’ve aged a lot better than I have.” She looked pleased with my awkward compliment.

From what Mia had told me, all the women of Kurain Village had to grow up too fast. Perilous training from the time they were five and orders to marry off and have kids as soon as possible so that they could have daughters to carry the line. Misty had Mia when she was only 19. Maya was 19 now, almost 20, and I couldn’t imagine her having a kid any time soon. She still seemed like a child herself.

That said, from the phone conversation I had with Misty and this fraught interaction, she seemed a little emotionally stunted. Like she was still a 19-year-old in a 49-year-old's body. For all the physical and mental fortitude they forced on them through training, psychological support didn’t seem to be a top priority. It probably would have been valuable given all the shattered families the Village left in its wake, but I guess, with my broken brain, I’m in no position to judge.

“My daughter will be here around 9:00 pm to start her training. Sister Bikini will be escorting her here and then leaving. She has asked Sister Iris to join Maya around 10:00 pm, after lights out. You’ll have to hide out somewhere else at least a little before then.”

“Understood. I’ll hide out by the tree line until Sister Bikini leaves. Did Maya recognize you?” I asked.

“No, but it’s probably best this way.”

“Really?” I replied skeptically. “You think it’s better if she doesn’t recognize her own mother?” Better for Misty is more like it. If Maya recognizes her, all that will bring are questions. Questions like: why did you abandon me for 17 years?

“Well, just in case things go wrong.” She twisted underneath the crescent moon top of her staff, revealing it to be a sheath for a sword rather than an ordinary mystic’s staff. “If the plan doesn’t work, I might not be around for much longer.”

“Why would we need the sword? If Pearl doesn’t go along with the plan and you are forced to channel Dahlia instead, I’ll hold off Dahlia from hurting Maya.”

She re-sheathed the sword. ‘’Hopefully. You seem strong, but channeled spirits can be much stronger than they appear. Dahlia must be quite angry if she’s plotting revenge while dead.”

“It won’t get to that,” I assured her. “Has Pearl agreed to read with you tonight?”

“She has. I wanted to lead her with me to my room, but she offered to help with dinner clean-up and said she will meet me when she’s done.” She smiled. “She’s read all my books.”

“There you go. Your world’s biggest fan won’t leave you high and dry.”

She laughed mirthfully. “You may be right. Well, I had best be on my leave. If all goes according to plan, I hope to never see you again.”

I chuckled. “I’m sure there was a better way you could have phrased that but, yeah, have a nice life.”

She nodded and exited the Inner Temple.

Unfortunately, I did see her again. Sister Bikini and Maya crossed the bridge to the Inner Temple at 9:00 pm and I stood facing the tree line as they walked over. My visor actually afforded me better night vision, but it also glowed red constantly. I couldn’t risk them seeing me.

When Sister Bikini left, I waited outside the Temple. At around ten o’clock, I saw Dahlia Hawthorne bounding across the rickety Dusky Bridge, a demon-warding hood on her head, and Misty’s staff in her hand.

sh*t. Could Misty really not control Pearl? All she had to do was make sure they read together until Pearl fell asleep. By morning, everything would be fine.

I hadn’t seen Pearl cross the bridge, but that had to be Misty. Right? She had her staff.

“Oh, Maya Fey!” Dahlia yelled out tauntingly as she walked off the bridge. I was hidden behind the Inner Temple and Maya was just walking back from the garden towards it.

“Who are you?” Maya asked fearfully, about 20 feet from the entrance of the temple.

“The last person you will ever see,” Dahlia replied. She struck Maya with her staff, hitting her on the head. Damn it. I was here to protect her, but I let this happen. I didn’t want to reveal myself unless it was absolutely necessary, but I obviously should have come out of hiding earlier.

Luckily, while Maya was hurt, she was ultimately okay. She ran away as fast as she could, although she stumbled much of the way due to dizziness from the blow to her head. Dahlia followed behind her and towards the garden and I ran after them both.

When I made it to the garden, Mia was standing in front of the unlit stone lantern. I overheard Sister Bikini say earlier that the wick was tough to light, so she ultimately gave up. Other than my visor and the faint light from inside the Inner Temple, it was quite dark.

With my improved night vision, I could see what Maya couldn’t. She was caged in. There was a fence surrounding the perimeter of the garden. The only way out was the way she came in and Dahlia was blocking the entrance.

Dahlia dropped the staff on the ground. “It was easier than I thought to get you where I wanted you. I’ll need something else to finish the job.” She grabbed a dagger from a sash around her waist and brandished it, walking towards Maya, preparing to stab her.

Maya’s back was to the stone lantern. “Please don’t hurt me,” Maya cried out. “I don’t even know who you are.” I don’t know if she recognized me, but she must have seen the red lights and looked in my direction. “Help me!” she cried out.

I didn’t think; I just acted. I picked up Misty’s staff, and unsheathed the sword, stabbing Dahlia in the back, driving the blade all the way through her abdomen. Maya looked horrified as the smell of blood filled the area, and Dahlia let out a piercing shriek.

I hate to admit it but, for a moment, it felt good. To hear her scream. To make the woman who took everything away from me suffer.

She was a demon to the very end though. After I got her, she reflexively stabbed behind her, knocking my visor to the ground and slashing me across the face. I let out a cry in pain. The dagger didn’t pierce deep, but she cut a ribbon across my face, drawing a line under my eye line and across the bridge of my nose.

I heard her body hit the ground, dragging through snow, and crunching footsteps.

“Mr. Godot?” Maya said with perplexity. She had grabbed my visor and handed it to me. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

I put my visor back on and, as my eyes adjusted, I looked at the aftermath. Maya had moved away from the stone lantern and was standing next to me. Dahlia was completely motionless, lying down in front of the lantern, Misty’s sword pierced through her. The other part of the staff was on the ground. The only thing I couldn’t spot was the dagger Dahlia had used.

I walked over to inspect the body and confirmed that she was dead. I knew for sure when I saw that it was no longer Dahlia, but Misty lying there. When I saw her dead body, it finally struck me what I had done. I killed Maya’s mother in front of her. Some of Misty’s blood had probably sprayed on Maya when she was stabbed.

I was bowled over, breathing deeply, in and out, when Maya spoke again. I never answered her question, but she seemed to understand. I clearly wasn’t doing well.

“Is she...dead?” she asked hesitantly.

“I’m afraid so,” I replied.

“Who was that? Why did she want to kill me?”

“It was your cousin Dahlia. It was probably hard for you to tell in the dark, but she’s Sister Iris’s identical twin. Dahlia’s dead, but she was being channeled.”

“Who channeled her?”

“Elise Deauxnim,” I stated.

She covered her mouth in shock. “Elise is dead?” She paused. “Wait, how’s that possible?

“What do you mean?”

“Elise has channeling abilities?”

I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t lie to her at this point. Only Misty, Pearl, or Sister Bikini could have channeled Dahlia. None of those three would be a great answer, least of all Pearl. That only left the truth. “Elise Deauxnim is a pen name. That was your mother: Misty Fey.”

“What?” she exclaimed. “My mother is dead?” She didn’t say anything else. She fainted, but I grabbed her before she fell backward, slowing her fall and gently laying her down on the ground.

I tried to get my bearings. I couldn’t just leave Maya there in the snow. I had to deal with the bloody mess I had made too. I picked Maya up and carried her to the Inner Temple’s training hall, laying her down inside.

When I walked inside, I saw Pearl. She had come to the Inner Temple after all, but it must have been after Dahlia had been channeled. She was leaning against the wall on the other side of the hall, asleep. There was an empty gravy boat beside her, and gravy poured all over Misty’s hanging scroll.

If there wasn’t a passed-out Maya lying on the floor and a dead body in the garden, this sight would have been funny. When Pearl read “gravely roast the master” on the note her mother gave her, this is obviously what she thought it meant.

I was about to leave when I realized the dilemma. If Pearl wakes up while I’m gone, she’ll channel Dahlia and kill Maya. I can’t let her do that. Misty’s death would be in vain. I opened the gate of the temple’s cavern and gently placed Pearl inside before locking it shut from the outside. I’ll come back and let her out once I can separate them.

I needed to figure out how to do that. I couldn’t carry Maya the whole way back to the other temple. It was too far, and I’d risk being seen by Trite and everyone else. I’ll have to get Iris to bring the snowmobile to the bridge. I called her.

“Hello,” she answered nervously. If everything had gone right, I wouldn’t be calling.

“Iris, there's a problem. Come to the Inner Temple right away.”

“Is Mystic Maya okay?” she asked with concern.

“She’s fine, for now. It’s Misty. She’s dead. She had to channel Dahlia and I... I killed her.”

“Oh my God. What happened?”

“Dahlia had Maya corned in the garden. She was about to stab her when I grabbed Misty’s staff. It had a sword hidden inside. I killed her before she could kill Maya.”

“That’s horrible,” she said tearfully. “But you had no choice. You had to protect Mystic Maya.”

“Maybe,” I said ambivalently. The more the minutes passed, the less convinced I was that this was the case. I didn’t even try to tackle Dahlia or disarm her first. Maybe Misty was right, and Dahlia would have been too strong to fight off in her channeled form. I didn’t even try to find out. I just reached for the sword.

She sighed. “Well, I guess that means we’re back to plan B. Dahlia was going to frame me for the crime originally. I said I would be the fall person if we couldn’t stop her.”

“Iris, I don’t know,” I said apologetically. “We said that, but I didn’t think this would happen. Pearl and Misty should have been reading right now.”

“I’m willing to hold up my end of the bargain,” she insisted. “I’ll bring the snowmobile by.”

“Okay,” I agreed. “I really don’t want Maya or Pearl to see Misty’s body.”

“Talk soon,” she said, before hanging up.

I went to the garden and picked up Misty’s body, the sword still piercing her. I had thought about removing it, but it kept the bleeding to a minimum. I placed her and the other part of her staff near the bridge.

I returned to the garden and illuminated the area. The stone lantern wouldn’t light but there were tiki torches surrounding it that would. I hoped that, with the torches lit, I could see the blood on the snow, but it didn’t help. I still couldn’t see red on a white background.

I wanted to keep Pearl and Maya from seeing the horror show in the garden. I’m sure with proper vision that it looked bad enough at night, but it would look sickening come morning. Ideal world, I’d have both of them moved to the other side of the bridge, but I still hadn’t figured out the feasibility of moving them while also keeping them separate.

I took one of the snow shovels leaning against the fence and shoveled out a large rectangle near the stone lantern. Chances are, covering that large area, I had shoveled all the bloody snow. I dumped it all in the woods and out of sight.

When I finished, I returned to the bridge, just as Iris arrived with the snowmobile. As I walked towards it, I realized that our plan would no longer be viable. The bridge, which was barely safe to walk on at the best of times, was on fire. I stood at the edge of the bridge and looked across the way. The fire had started on the other side.

I had heard thunder earlier, but surely that couldn’t be the cause. Would lightning really strike the bridge less than an hour after Misty was killed? What are the chances?

Whatever the true cause of the fire, it didn’t matter. The Inner Temple was on an island separated by the rushing Eagle River and the bridge was the only way across. Me, Pearl, Maya, and Misty’s dead body were trapped on the other side.

Not only had the plan gone wrong, but this was a nightmare scenario. Until the bridge was fixed, I would have to keep Maya and Pearl away from each other.

I saw Iris get off the snowmobile and look at the fiery bridge. Then, I got a phone call.

“This is worse than I could have ever imagined,” she said.

“I know,” I replied.

“What should we do?” she asked anxiously.

“I don’t know. I was hoping you would have an idea.”

“Maybe we throw the body in the river?” she suggested.

“I can’t dump Misty’s body in the river,” I argued.

“I know. I just thought... at least Pearl and Maya won’t see her.”

I looked at the surroundings of the bridge. The fire helped illuminate the area, so it was clearer to see. “I couldn’t do it if I wanted to, anyway. There’s a rock ledge on this side of the bridge instead of water. If I pushed her body down, it would be a 40-foot drop onto solid ground.”

She paused. “Do you think if I walked across the bridge really fast that I’d be okay?” she asked optimistically.

“Uh, I don’t think so. The bridge planks are made of wood, they’ll give way.”

“I know. The suspension wires are metal though. I thought maybe if I held onto those.”

“I appreciate the dedication, but they’ll be fiery hot. You won’t be able to grab them.”

“We have to do something,” she urged.

“Are you even sure you want to move Misty?” I asked. “If you help me move a dead body, that’s a crime on its own. You know that, right?”

“I promised that I would help as much as I can. We can’t let them see Misty. We can’t risk Maya or Pearl getting in trouble for her death,” she said persistently.

“You’re right. We can't just leave the body here,” I agreed. Iris’s suspension wire suggestion actually gave me an idea although I wasn’t fully convinced that it would work. It was our only shot though. “So, you've got to do this exactly as I say, got it?"

“What’s the plan?” she asked.

“There’s a smaller ledge here, about a ten-foot drop. I’m going to move Misty here.” I paused. What I was about to say was so insane but what other idea did I have? “There is a broken suspension cable hanging down near this ledge. I’m going to tie her body to the cable and swing her to the other side. You’re going to have to grab her and untie her.”

“Will that work? The bridge is 20 yards long. You’ll have to push her very hard.”

“I think so,” I said unconvincingly. I mean, it would work in a Looney Tunes short. Maybe I can rig an Acme catapult together if this plan fails. “If it doesn’t, I’ll untie her and leave her on this ledge. At least she’ll be out of sight.”

“Okay, it’s the best plan we have. I’ll wait for your signal.”

I clicked my cell phone off and gently rolled Misty’s body over the side. Regardless of how gentle I was, and the thick blanket of snow there, she still made a thudding sound as she dropped ten feet. I winced. Maybe I should have just left her, but it was too late now. I wouldn’t be able to carry her back up the cliff ledge.

I grabbed her sword sheath and climbed down with it. Once I was down, I placed the sheath in her hands and tied the cable around her. I made sure it was securely fastened around her then took a deep breath.

The next part was the hardest. The ledge wasn’t very big so I wouldn’t have much of a running start. I’d need a lot of momentum to get her across. At least I had recovered most of my pre-coma strength. The only other thing working in my favor was that the cliff on the other side of the bridge was more level with this ledge. I would only have to swing her across instead of up.

I signaled to Iris, and she signaled back that she was ready. I pulled Misty and the cable back as far as I could and swung her across with as much force as I had. I watched in horror as she swung to the other side. I didn’t think she was going to make it. She was a few inches short of the ledge. However, Iris managed to grab hold of her.

I was breathless as I watched Iris struggle to lift her over the ledge, but she did it somehow and untied Misty from the cable. We both must have been running on adrenaline at this point. Iris lifted Misty onto the snowmobile and gave me a thumbs-up.

“Huh,” I reacted. I can’t believe that actually worked. I watched as she drove away and then climbed up the ledge. Once I made it back up, I was pretty winded. I had to carry Maya, Pearl, and Misty and I think the adrenaline was starting to wear off. My broken body was aching. I don’t have time to rest though. I need to figure out what I would do with Pearl and Maya.

I walked back into the training hall of the Inner Temple and saw that Maya was awake and standing, her back to me. Pearl was still asleep in the cavern. When I looked at Maya for more than a few seconds though, I realized that she seemed a little taller than usual. That could only mean one thing.

She turned around and revealed what I knew to be the case. Maya had channeled Mia, and she had a notebook in her hand. “Diego?” Mia asked with surprise.

Once again, I didn’t think. I just reacted. I wrapped my arms around her in a hug. “Mia!” I exclaimed with relief. “You’re here.”

For a short moment, she hugged me back. Then, her arms dropped. “It’s not really me though. You know that, right?”

I pulled away from her and turned my head down. “I’m sorry,” I said remorsefully. “I wasn’t thinking.” I was still in love with her, but she didn’t feel the same way. I shouldn’t have hugged her.

“It’s okay,” she said kindly. “If we try to pretend any different though, it’ll just be harder for both of us.” That gave me pause. Was there still an “us?”

“What happened?” she asked. “Maya wrote me this note and channeled me. She wanted my help, but I don’t think she knows what’s going on. I don’t know how to help her.”

I backed myself against the wall and slid down to sit. “Oh, just the worst day of my life happened. Well, other than the day I woke up, that is.” I looked up at her and she looked down at me with concern. She sat down next to me, about half a foot between us.

“What’s going on, exactly?” She swallowed. “Maya wrote that Mr. Godot was here, and he killed Mom to protect her, but that seemed impossible.”

I rubbed my face and nodded. “I’m so sorry, Mia. She’s right. Misty’s dead.”

Mia looked mortified. “She finally came out of hiding?”

“I contacted her and asked her to help me. She and your cousin Iris. Your aunt had plotted with Dahlia in prison before Dahlia was executed. They wanted Pearl to channel Dahlia here, at Hazakura Temple, and for Dahlia to kill Maya.”

She shook her head disappointedly. “I’d say I can’t believe it, but I know what they’re capable of. How did you hear about this plan?”

“At the women’s prison. Lana is in there now too. I asked her to call me when she heard anything, and I used my role as a prosecutor to listen in on your aunt’s visit with Pearl. She wrote Pearl a note and hid it at the Village before she was sent to prison.”

“So, you read her note and formed a counterplan?” she pressed.

I nodded. “Yes, exactly.”

“Why didn’t you just destroy the letter?”

“In hindsight, maybe I should have. Your aunt is set to be executed soon. I thought if Pearl couldn’t find the letter, your aunt would just get Pearl to channel her after her execution and come up with a new plan. I wouldn’t be able to intercept that plan though.”

She nodded, thinking. “No, that makes sense. Knowing her, she probably would have. So, you planned to sacrifice Mom for Maya?”

I shook my head. “No. The plan was to distract Pearl. Your mom became a famous children’s book author. Pearl loves her books. Your mom was to distract Pearl by reading her books together until Pearl fell asleep. When Pearl woke up and got upset that she failed, your mom was going to reassure her that the plan was unnecessary for Maya’s spirit training.”

I sighed. “She wasn’t distracted though,” I continued. “Your mom had to channel Dahlia instead. When Dahlia went to stab Maya, I killed her with the sword your mom brought.”

“My mom had a sword?” she asked incredulously.

“It was hidden inside of her mystic’s staff. She showed it to me about an hour and a half before she was killed. She told me to use it if the plan went awry.”

“Right,” she said solemnly. “I guess you had no choice.”

I shook my head. “I don’t know. Maybe it didn’t have to come to that.” I didn’t want to admit that to her, but I couldn’t lie to her again. The last time I did that, I paid for it. “I didn’t even try to disarm Dahlia first.”

She breathed deeply. “Maybe you shouldn’t have told me that. I don’t want to hate you, but it’s hard not to after hearing that.”

“I wouldn’t blame you,” I replied brokenly. “I’d hate me too if I was in your position. Just know, from the bottom of my heart, that I never meant for it to turn out like this.”

“So Maya is safe at least? It’s over?” she asked expectantly.

“As long as Pearl stays locked up in the cavern, yes. Since I’m the unluckiest SOB in the world, the Dusky Bridge has burned down. A lightning bolt just so happened to strike it. Maya, Pearl, and I are trapped at the Inner Temple until it gets fixed. I have to stop Pearl from channeling Dahlia or keep her locked up.”

“You can’t keep Pearl locked up in the cavern,” she insisted.

“I don’t know if I have a choice. Misty’s dead so there isn’t anyone else to keep Pearl from channeling Dahlia.”

“You could just tell Maya and Pearl the truth,” she suggested.

“I can’t tell Maya that Pearl tried to kill her or tell Pearl that she was almost a murderer.”

“The truth will come out anyway. You know that. You used to tell me that.”

“It will,” I conceded. “But not the whole truth.”

“What do you mean?”

“I know I’ll get caught. I’m prepared for that, and I’ll do the time. At the very least though, I want them to be spared the knowledge that Pearl tried to kill Maya on orders from your aunt.”

She nodded. “Okay. If that’s important to you, I’ll respect your decision. In that case, there is one other person who can channel Dahlia other than Pearl.”

“Who’s that?”

“Maya, of course. As of tonight, she’s the Kurain Master.”

“She wouldn’t be able to stop though. It could take days to fix the bridge. Will she be able to channel Dahlia for that long?”

She smiled. “She’s stronger than she knows. She’ll do it because she has to.”

“So, we’ll let Pearl out and lock Maya in the cavern instead?”

“Yes, exactly.”

I had a stark realization. “It’s pretty cold in that cavern,” I said worriedly.

“It is. You’ll have to make sure she doesn’t get hypothermia,” she said matter-of-factly. “You’ll have to keep an eye on Pearl too. Make sure they’re both safe. As you said, it could be days before rescue.”

I nodded, but I couldn’t speak at first. All these big plans to keep them safe and now we were all liable to get hypothermia and die on this freezing mountain. “I’ve let you all down,” I choked out. I didn’t want to cry in front of her. I couldn’t. The ramifications of what had happened were hitting me though, and I felt guilty as hell. I ruined everything.

Mia wouldn’t let me cry in front of her either. She slapped me across the face. Not hard, but still.

“You slapped me,” I said woundedly, rubbing my face.

“No, I didn’t. Maya did,” she argued.

I wanted to argue back with her, but Misty was proof that she was more accurate than I was. “You’re right,” I said.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. You need to stay strong though. For you and for them.” She smiled reassuringly. “Do you remember what you told me during my first trial?”

I shook my head and laughed faintly. “I don’t know. I used to say a lot of things.”

She laughed. The most beautiful sound. “Yeah, you were always quite the talker. You said so many nonsensical things, but occasionally you'd land on something useful,” she teased. I laughed back. “You told me: the only time a lawyer can cry is when it’s all over.”

I sighed. “Mia, my dear, I’m afraid I’ve broken that rule many times over since I woke up.”

She smirked. “Well, I never thought you meant it so literally. Did you? I cried dozens of times after that trial. What I mean is the Dahlia Hawthorne saga isn’t over yet. You need to put a brave face on until it is.”

I swallowed and nodded. “I will. I promise”

“Good. So, you’re going to confess what happened? You’re sure about that?”

“Yes. Sort of. I imagine Trite will be on the case so I’d like to see if he can figure it out before I’m forced to confess.”

She shook her head disapprovingly. “Why do you call him that?”

“You don’t see any reason why I’d be mad at the guy who hid the poison bottle for Dahlia?” I asked frustratedly. “Who fought so hard during his trial to make sure she wasn’t caught? Who distracted me in the cafeteria the day I was poisoned?”

“I get that,” she acknowledged. “I hated him at first too. He’s a good guy though. You two would be friends if you were able to forgive him.”

“Glad you were able to move past it. Don’t think I can,” I retorted bitterly.

“It’s not that I moved past it. I realized that he was her victim too. He just got a little luckier than you and Doug.”

“Bully for him,” I said sarcastically. “I’m glad everything worked out for him the way it didn’t for me.”

She paused thoughtfully. “Is that the only reason you’re mad at him?”

“I just...” my voice trailed, and I exhaled. “I can’t get over how you basically only knew the guy for three months and then gave him your firm. Your old apartment. A magatama. You swoop in at the last second to save him on all his cases.”

“I didn’t give him a magatama,” she clarified. “Maya or Pearl did. I also didn’t have a choice with the firm. I didn’t know when you’d wake up and it would have died with me. Phoenix...he’s like a baby brother to me. I didn’t know him that long, but I knew I could trust him to take the reins.”

Like a baby brother? I’m an effing idiot. I still can‘t stand the guy though. “Well, if he’s as great as you say, he’ll rise to the occasion. Without your help.”

“I won’t help him,” she agreed. “But it won’t matter. He’ll figure it out on his own.”

“How do you know? Because he’s a better lawyer than I am?” I regretted that line immediately after I said it. I sounded so whiny.

She didn’t mock me for it, at least. “No, because it’s the truth and the truth always comes out.”

“You’re right, as usual,” I acquiesced. “I just wish I didn’t have to lose to someone so unworthy.”

“Unworthy of what?”

I scoffed. “Your legacy, of course. Everything you worked so hard to build.”

“Thank you,” she said halfheartedly. “I’m not perfect either though.”

“You had a perfect win record,” I countered. You didn’t have to rely on Maya’s channeling to do it either. You also served on more than ten cases in three years.”

“Yes, but you know I had help too. Besides, I made plenty of mistakes. I have regrets,” she said mournfully.

“Like what?”

“Investigating Redd White, for one.”

I grimaced. “That wasn’t your fault. I should have been there to help you.”

“Maybe you would have been if I had insisted on coming with you that day. I knew you seemed uneasy, but I let it go.”

“The day I met with Dahlia?”

“What else could I mean?” she asked rhetorically.

I shook my head. “I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

“If I was there, neither of us would have been hurt,” she said adamantly. “We would have had two sets of eyes on her.”

I had never thought of it that way. Maybe she was right. Just one more thing that I screwed up. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about it,” I apologized.

“I’m sorry too. I always told myself that I wouldn’t get mad at you about that.”

There was a beat. She picked up the letter that Maya left her and wrote some notes on the back. “I should probably go,” she said soberly. “Pearl could wake up any minute. I’ve left instructions for Maya in her notebook.” She stood up. “I’ll see you again though, okay?” she said comfortingly.

“Right. I guess I’ll see you in court.”

“Yes. That too.” She smiled sweetly. “Goodbye, Diego.”

There was so much more I needed to say to her. I wanted desperately for her to stay, but I knew that she couldn’t. It took everything in me not to instantly break the promise I made to her, but I kept it together somehow. I smiled back. “Bye, kitten.”

She laughed again. “I haven’t heard that in forever.” She waved before turning back into Maya.

Chapter 24: Chapter 23 - Diego

Chapter Text

Date: Friday, February 8th, 2019

Time: 12:55 am

Location: Training Hall, Inner Temple, Eagle Mountain

When Maya regained consciousness, I directed her to the note that Mia had left her. She was unsure why she needed to lock herself in the cavern, but she agreed to do so knowing that Mia had formed the plan, and she had never led Maya astray before.

I was expecting her to ask me again why I was there, but it somehow never came up. I was just there for some unknown reason, and she just went with it. Maya asked me if I had talked to Mia at all and if she had told me anything else while she was channeled. I lied and told her that I hadn’t; Mia just directed me to the notebook.

I promised Maya that I’d keep an eye on her and make sure she stayed safe from the elements until the bridge was fixed. She thanked me and asked me to give her snacks through the barred gate of the cavern if we were stuck for a while. She said that she had plenty in her backpack.

I also placed Maya’snotebook in her backpack so that Dahlia wouldn’t see Mia’s instructions. I still wasn’t sure about all the nuances of spirit channeling, but I was concerned that Dahlia would try to commit suicide while channeled if she realized that she was in Maya’s body. She wouldn’t have a weapon in the cavern but, knowing Dahlia, she’d still find a way.

Once Maya felt prepared to execute the plan, I unlocked the cavern, retrieved Pearl, and carefully placed her back in the training hall. I locked Maya in the cavern, and she went further inside to channel Dahlia, out of sight and seemingly out of earshot.

About an hour later, Pearl woke up, in the same place and position where she had initially fallen asleep. I was sitting against the wall on the other side of the training hall, wishing I could sleep too.

She looked at me apprehensively. “Mr. Lawyer, what are you doing here?” she asked shyly.

“You remember me, Pearl?” I asked, sidestepping her question.

She nodded lightly. “You were talking to Mr. Nick at the courthouse one day.” She frowned. “You were very mean to him.”

“Yeah, I was just joking around,” I lied. “Just a fun little rivalry between prosecutors and defense attorneys.”

“I don’t think Mr. Nick likes that or you very much,” she said matter-of-factly.

I laughed. Sounds like “Mr. Nick” and I have that in common. “You’re right, Pearly. I’ll be less mean the next time I see him.”

“Why are you here?” she asked again. Looks like Pearl was less easily distracted than Maya.

“I was conducting a top-secret investigation into Hazakura Temple for the prosecutor’s office and then I got stuck here.”

“Stuck here?” she asked confusedly.

“The bridge has burned down. A lightning bolt struck it. Only you, me, and Maya are on this side of the bridge.”

“Is Mystic Maya okay?” she inquiredworriedly.

I nodded. “She’s okay. I just saw her an hour ago. She’s further in the cavern, completing her training.”

“Why is there a lock on the door?”

“Uh, she just wanted to stop herself from backing out of her training,” I explained. “She told me to lock her in there so she wouldn’t try to quit or leave for a snack break.”

Pearl giggled. “That does sound like Mystic Maya. She loves snacks.”

“That she does.”

She got quiet and her face became solemn. It must have suddenly hit her what kind of a predicament she was in. I was probably the last person in the world whom she wanted to be trapped on an island with.

“I know it must feel scary being stuck here,” I comforted her. “I’ll make sure the three of us are okay until they fix the bridge. I promise.”

“How will you do that?”

I didn’t have a good answer for her. There wasn’t anything here. No food, no water, no heat, and no plumbing. Luckily, there was light in the training hall but that was the extent of the modern luxuries the Inner Temple offered. There was that incinerator outside though.

“When it’s bright out, I’ll get the incinerator running. Chop some firewood. I have a couple of energy bars in my coat pocket that we can eat later. I have a thermos here too and, once I finish my drink, we can put snow in there and drink that.”

“My mother says that snow is too dirty to eat,” Pearl replied skeptically.

“Just the yellow snow,” I joked. Pearl giggled again. “We’ll put the snow in the thermos and warm it in the incinerator. That will kill all the germs.”

“Do you have any water left? I’m thirsty.”

“Well, it’s coffee. You can have some if you want. I don’t know if you’ll like it though.”

“I’ve never had coffee,” she replied.

I grabbed the thermos and poured the remaining liquid into the lid cup. Then, I walked it over and handed her the cup. “Give it a try. I promise; I don’t have cooties,” I assured her.

She took a large sip and then spat it out. I laughed. Yeah, I figured. “Didn’t like it?” I asked.

She handed me the cup back with a look of disgust on her face. “It’s so bitter.”

“It’s an acquired taste. You’ll probably like it when you’re older.” I took a large swig, finishing the little coffee that was left. “We’ll stick to snow then.” She nodded in agreement.

“Mr. Lawyer?”

“You can call me Godot,” I corrected. The last person who called me Mr. Lawyer left me for dead on the courthouse steps. I didn’t particularly care for the name.

“Gandho?”

“Godot.”

“Got-toe?”

“God-oh,” I corrected again, pronouncing it phonetically.

She looked at me nervously, like she was too scared to mess it up again.

“You know what? Mr. Lawyer is fine,” I acquiesced. “What were you going to say?”

“I have to go to the bathroom.”

“Okay,” I replied. Didn’t need to know that but thanks for telling me. “You can go if you want.”

“There’s no bathroom here.”

Oh, right. That’s why she brought it up. “Yeah, I guess you’ll have to go to the woods. Nature’s bathroom.”

“The woods are scary though,” she said fearfully.

“It’s just me, you, and Maya here, remember? You’ll be okay.”

“Can you come with me?”

“No,” I refused.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to end up on a list.”

“What do you mean?”

Yeah, if she didn’t see the problem, I wasn’t explaining it to her. “Never mind. How about you go and, if you get scared, you can come back, and I’ll be right here.”

“The Inner Temple is too far from the woods,” she pleaded.

I rubbed my face in resignation. “Okay, new plan. I’ll come with you, but I’ll stand 15, no, 20 feet away from you, with my back turned. If you see anything scary, I’ll help. Okay?”

She nodded and we walked outside and to our agreed-upon places.

“Have you seen anything?” she called out from the woods.

“Nope! Coast is clear,” I called back. “You all done?”

“Almost!”

I shook my head, laughing. Like many situations I found myself in after the coma, sometimes I had to just laugh at the absurdity of the circ*mstances. How the hell was this my life now?

I heard her walking towards me. “All done!” she announced.

I turned around. “Did you clean your hands?”

“There’s no sink.”

“In the snow,” I responded.

“But you said that the snow has germs.”

“Cleaner than your filthy paws though,” I teased.

She smiled back before she rubbed her hands in the snow.

When we got back to the training hall, we talked for a few more minutes, mostly about how old we were getting. Seriously.

“I’m going to be ten in April. I can’t believe I’ll be in double digits soon,” Pearl said wistfully.

I chuckled. “Well, I’ll be 34 in May. If you think you’ll be old, what does that make me?”

She thought for a moment. “Very, very, very old.”

I laughed again at her answer. Her mother’s older than I am. I wondered how many “very”s Pearl used for her. “You getting tired at all?” I asked.

She nodded. “Yes, I am. I must do something first.” She kneeled into a prayer stance and closed her eyes for about a minute, concentrating. When nothing happened, she got frustrated. “Mother is going to be so disappointed in me,” she lamented.

“What do you mean?” Obviously, she had just tried to channel Dahlia, but she didn’t know I knew about that.

“Um, I can’t say. It’s a secret.”

I pointed to Misty’s hanging scroll, doused in gravy. “Does this have something to do with it?” She nodded. “Your mother asked you to do that?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“You haven’t let her down then,” I reassured her.

She turned her head down. “Maybe. I was supposed to help Mystic Maya with her training though.”

“Maya will be okay, I promise. Look how well she’s doing with her training right now. She hasn’t asked to be let out at all. Your cousin’s strong.”

She smiled. “Mystic Maya will be okay,” she agreed.

There was a pillow and a comforterin the training hall, and I got Pearl situated more comfortably than she had been when she initially fell asleep. I can’t imagine anyone would voluntarily sleep here, but maybe they were there in case an acolyte got too tired after her training to walk back to the main temple or for Sister Bikini to use while she supervised a session.

“I wish I had my books with me. I sleep better after I read,” Pearl said.

I wished that too Pearly. If I had my way, she’d be asleep with a pile of Elise Deauxnim books in Misty’s room instead. “Have you tried counting sheep before?”

“I have. It’s so boring though,” she whined.

I grinned. “Yeah, that’s kind of the point.”

Despite her bellyaching, it took her all of five minutes to fall back asleep. I wished it was that easy for me. There weren’t any more blankets or pillows in there. There were two comforters, but I gave the other one to Maya before I locked her in the cavern. Dahlia had probably wrapped herself in it while cursing whoever locked her in there.

Instead, I had resumed my position, my back to the other side of the wall, with only my black wool trench coat for warmth. My one nice piece of pre-coma clothing that had been salvaged. The jacket I was wearing at the courthouse when I was poisoned.

With Pearl asleep, there just wasn’t anything to distract me from my thoughts. All I could think about was this hellish night and everything that had happened. During all that ruminating, I had an even worse thought, and it made it harder for me to settle.

What if it had been Pearl? What if she had channeled Dahlia before Misty could and just happened to find Misty’s staff lying around? I thought for sure that it was Misty when I saw Dahlia carrying her staff and running across the bridge, but I really had no way to know.

It was bad enough that Misty was dead and that I had killed her. The idea that I would have killed a nine-year-old was haunting. The possibility of that made me feel so guilty. I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself if I had done that. I could barely live with myself as it was.

Unsurprisingly, I didn’t sleep at all. Not a wink. I just sat there and thought instead. Probably for the best that I hadn’t. At around 3:00 am, I heard quiet footsteps shuffling towards the locked cavern door. Dahlia was trying to inspect her surroundings and plan for an escape. I didn’t want her to look in and potentially see Pearl. She probably assumed Pearl was channeling her.

I walked to the locked gate but didn’t look inside. I didn’t want her to see me either. I tried modulating my voice too, on the off chance that she’d recognize it. “Dahlia Hawthorne, get your ass in that cavern or I’ll send you back to the hell you came from,” I rasped.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“Your worst nightmare,” I replied. She had said something like that to Maya before she tried to kill her. Not so fun when the shoe is on the other foot, is it?

“You can’t keep me in here. It’s inhumane.”

“Good thing you’re not human,” I retorted.

“A human is channeling me though. A little girl.”

Perfect. She still thought she was Pearl. “I’ll slide some water and food through the bars. For the little girl. I’m not letting you out though. If you try anything fishy, I won’t be so kind.” I didn’t mean that last part, but she didn’t know that.

She didn’t say anything, and I just waited where I was until she shuffled back inside. Great, just one more thing I had to worry about. Dahlia escaping. I couldn’t stay there and babysit the cavern door until rescue, so I had to check on her periodically from then on.

At around 9:00 am, Pearl woke up. She said that she was hungry but the only food options available were the energy bars in my jacket pockets and whatever snacks Maya had brought with her in her backpack.

I opened Maya’s backpack, assuring Pearl that Maya had given me permission, and discovered that Maya had prepared for an apocalypse. There was a whole box of granola bars, some beef jerky, a bag of chips, a reusable water bottle, and several bananas.

When I showed everything to Pearl, she refused to eat any of it, saying that it would be like stealing. These were Mystic Maya’s snacks, and she needed the energy for her training. I begrudgingly agreed and said I would save everything for Maya. I gave Pearl one of my energy bars and told her to savor it because there was only one left.

When she was finished eating, we went outside to survey the surroundings. The bridge had stopped burning, but it was a total mess, and no one was on the other side yet trying to fix it. It really hadn’t been that long, but it felt like forever stuck on this island.

I tried to keep us busy. I asked Pearl to go gather some sticks for the incinerator while I got firewood. There was an axe in the garden, and Pearl tried to follow me there when I went to grab it, but I told her not to. I had cleaned up, but I didn’t know how good of a job I did.

I told her that there was broken glass in the garden, and I didn’t want her to step on it. I had boots on, but she was wearing her traditional sandals. That excuse dissuaded her.

Pearl, while on twig duty, found some mushrooms in the woods and excitedly brought them over to me. She told me that they picked mushrooms back at the Village and these looked the same. When I asked her if they were indeed identical, with no differences in pattern, shape, or color, she looked uncertain. I told her we shouldn’t risk poisoning ourselves for the 20 calories in sustenance that they would provide.

When we had a pile of wood and twigs, I got the incinerator running and we just stood by it, trying to keep ourselves warm. Periodically, I told Pearl that I was leaving to feed Maya, and I would go to the training hall. I never saw Dahlia, but I could hear her running away as I walked in. She must have fled upon hearing the door open.

I’d slide items into the cavern, one at a time, and then recheck the lock. She was trying to figure out the combination and there was no way to do so without being systematic, going through every possible permutation, or getting lucky. WheneverI checked in, I’d reset the lock, so she’d lose all her progress.

When I returned to Pearl, each time she’d ask about Maya. I told her that she never revealed herself, only taking the items I left for her between each visit. Pearl asked why not, and I explainedthat Maya didn’t want to break her concentration by talking to anyone. Again, this lie seemed to satisfy Pearl’s curiosity.

Pearl tried a few more times to channel Dahlia, but she was unsuccessful each time. I tried my best to reassure her, but she still seemed sad about letting Maya down. She was very hard on herself. While she was convinced of other things I had told her, she didn’t seem to believe me when it came to Maya. She kept insisting that Maya wouldn’t be okay without her help.

We didn’t do much else but try to stay warm. We boiled some water in the incinerator using my thermos and Maya’s reusable metal water bottle and drank that. There was a small spring on the Island, so we didn’t have to resort to snow like I thought, but I still heat-treated it, just in case.

We played I Spy for a bit and built a snowman. We also talked. Unsurprisingly, we didn’t have much in common, but I let her talk as much as she wanted about the Village, samurai TV shows she and Maya watched together, trains, and what she liked to do when she was in Los Tokyo.

She told me that she was certain that Mr. Nick would be here soon, and I agreed that he’d probably come by to investigate with the police once the bridge was fixed. She insisted it would be for more than that. She claimed that he was in love with Maya and would do anything for her. I asked if she was joking, and she seemed offended that I would doubt true love.

God damn it, Trite. He was really working his way through the whole Fey clan, wasn’t he? When Pearl turns 18, I’ll have to build a wall around her to keep himaway from her.

Before nightfall, Pearl and I collected some large stones, and I warmed them up in the incinerator. I said that she and Maya could wrap them in their blankets to help keep them warm at night.

While Pearl was outside getting the last of the heat from the incinerator, I reset the lock one more time, and placed the hot stones, Maya’s water bottle, and one more snack through the gate. When Pearl and I re-entered the training hall a few minutes later to settle in for the night, the items had already been taken.

I gave Pearl the last energy bar before she went to bed, and she fell asleep shortly after. It wasn’t even that late, but she must have been tuckered out from enduring the elements for 24 hours.

Once again, I wanted to sleep, but I was unable to, even though I was exhausted. I hadn’t eaten anything, I had exerted myself chopping firewood earlier, and I was freezing. I put some hot stones in my pockets and, while they kept my hands warm, the rest of me froze. I still couldn’t risk Dahlia escaping while I slept. My medications were wearing off too.

Mia used to call me “old man” as a joke, and, boy, had that nickname become accurate. I thought the name was a little unfair; it’s not like our 3.5-year age gap was obscene.However, she said I couldn’t call her kitten unless she could call me that sometimes, so I compromised.

I really was an old man now though. I had a pill divider at home. You know, the kind that divides pills by morning, noon, evening, and night. I had 16 pills, yes 16, to take every single day to keep my body running semi-normally.

I hadn’t taken them with me though. I didn’t expect to get stuck here. My normally low-level headaches from my visor had become pounding headaches. My muscles were aching and tingly. I felt sick to my stomach. My tremors were acting up.

I also had to turn off my visor and take it off. It’d run out of charge eventually if I kept it on and taking it off my face helped with my headache a little bit. Without my sight, my brain filled in the darkness with images from last night. Stabbing Dahlia. Maya’s horrified face. Misty’s dead body. Over and over and over again.

It was torturous and the delirium from my lack of food, sleep, and medication only made me more rattled. I could feel myself going insane, but I told Mia I would keep it together, so I did, just barely.

The next morning, Pearl and I continued our routine, finding more twigs, and cutting up more firewood for the incinerator. When we looked out across the bridge though, we noticed that progress was being made. The bridge was not close to its condition prior to the fire; it was not even that great to begin with. However, it was halfway finished.

“Look!” Pearl exclaimed. “They’re coming to save us.”

I smiled. “Thank God, huh Pearly? I don’t think I can stay here much longer.”

“Me neither!” she agreed.

“Will you be okay on your own? I have to go and hide.”

“Are we playing hide and seek?

I chuckled. “No, not right now. Remember how I said my mission here was top secret?” She nodded. “Only, you, me, Maya, and the Chief Prosecutor know I’m here. If anyone asks you if you were here with anyone, can you tell them it was just you and Maya?”

She looked uneasy. “You want me to lie to them?”

Yes. “Not exactly. You’d just be keeping a secret. Like you did for your mom.”

She thought for a moment and smiled. “Okay, Mr. Lawyer. I can keep a secret.”

“Thanks, Pearly. If anyone asks, we don’t know each other.”

I went to the woods to go hide. When I saw Gumshoe and the other police officers make their way to the temple garden, and that the bridge was clear, I joined them after a few minutes.

I wanted to go home. I desperately needed to sleep, shower, eat, have several coffees, and take my medications. I had to pretend like I was here to investigate though because why else would I be here?

“Hey, Gummy. How goes the investigation?” I asked casually.

Gumshoe looked surprised but then stiffened before saluting me. “Mr. Godot, sir. What are you doing here?”

“I came in the other police car. I’m here to help with the investigation.”

He scratched his head. “I guess that makes sense. Are you okay, sir? You weren’t at the trial this morning. You weren’t here to investigate yesterday.”

“Family emergency. I called in, but maybe they didn’t let everyone know. I hope my replacement didn’t have a heart attack facing off against Wright,” I remarked sarcastically.

“Phoenix wasn’t there either. He was in the hospital. Had a cold or something.”

Seriously, Trite? I think you could have handled your itty-bitty cold at home like a real man.

Gumshoe’s face brightened. “Mr. Edgeworth is back. He was subbing infor Phoenix this morning.”

I was taken aback. “Really? He came all the way from Europe?”

He nodded. “Took the first plane over. You’ll have to say hi when you see him. You’re good friends, right?”

“Yes, yes. We go way back.” Wow, I never thought I’d potentially get caught in that lie. “You have any leads yet, Gummy?”

“Not yet, sir. Something definitely happened in the garden. There’s a dagger lodged into a tree trunk and the snow around the stone lantern was shoveled for some reason. Haven’t pieced it together yet.”

“You’ll figure it out. One thing’s for certain: we’ll need Sister Iris over here.”

“The defendant? What for?” he asked, befuddled.

Iris is the defendant? I guess that makes sense. Misty’s body was on the other side of the bridge. “We’ll need her to free Maya.”

“Maya?”

“Has your team not explored the Inner Temple yet?”

He shook his head. “We were focused on the garden.”

I laughed derisively. “Tsk tsk. Sleeping on the job again, I see. I already checked it out. Maya is locked in the cavern. It’s the only place she could be. She was trapped here when the bridge burned down. Iris is the only person who could have locked it. That’s her duty during acolyte training, right?”

He looked embarrassed. “Of course, sir. I’ll call Mr. Edgeworth and ask him to bring her over as soon as possible.”

“Atta boy,” I said, patting him on the shoulder as I walked away. “I’ll explore the training hall until she arrives.”

Iris didn’t know the combination any more than Dahlia did. It would look suspicious if I unlocked it without effort though. I planned to subtly tell her the combination once she arrived.I was standing in the training hall, pretending to explore it for clues, when Trite and some woman walked in.

Despite seeming young, probably about Maya’s age or slightly older, the woman looked severe. She had ice-blonde or white hair, a stern expression, and some crazy outfit. A mini skirt suit with dark leather gloves, dark leather boots, and these ridiculous Victorian-style puffed sleeves. She was carrying... a whip? Is this chick for real?

“What took you so long? I thought even you'd manage to get here faster than this, Mr. Trite.” I said cynically.

Phoenix was flabbergasted at how I got here before him. He also wanted to know why I wasn’t at the trial today. I threw it back at him. I had it on, uh, moderate authority, that he wasn’t there either.

“But I was, I had a cold, so...” he protested.

I laughed bitterly. “I had something slightly more important than a common cold to deal with. The importance of which is something you have no hope of ever understanding.”

The woman with him spoke up. “Enough! I believe I have the measure of you. You are the very worst kind of prosecutor. What could be more important than a trial?”

I rolled my eyes. So, she’s a prosecutor I take it. The insufferable kind though. Good God, I didn’t have the patience for this today. “Who's the wild mare, Trite?”

“This is Ms. von Karma,” he answered. “She was the acting prosecutor in your absence today.”

Ah, Franziska von Karma. That made sense. Theysaid she was a prodigy back at the office, but I imagine she just bugged the sh*t out of the defense until they gave up. So, both she and Edgeworth had crawled out of whatever cave in Europe they were in to serve on this trial.

I needed her to go away. This was between me and Trite; I wasn’t letting her take over my turf. I knew her type though. The strong, independent type. She wouldn’t be persuaded easily. I guessed that I’d just have to piss her off until she left.

I chuckled. “Well, I guess I owe you one then. But you can go now, princess. It's time for the big boys to take the reins.”

“Just who do you think you are?” she asked indignantly. “This case is my-”

I cut her off. “Hey, filly. Know your role and shut your mouth. I can't stand women like you. I'm only going to say this once, Lady von Whippingberg. Go home!”

She looked upset, but she didn’t leave. “Phoenix Wright,” she whined, roughly shaking him, pleading with him to do something about my comments. She took her anger out on him, nearly whipping him before he got her to stop.

I laughed again. You know what? I was wrong about her. Maybe I liked her after all.

I told them the same thing I told Gumshoe: Maya was locked in the cavern and Iris needed to unlock it. Then, I accidentally told them way too much. How I had nearly died six years ago and how I held Trite responsible for Mia’s death. Until then, he didn’t even know that I knew Mia. Clearly, my poor physical and mental condition had gotten to me.

I wanted to test Trite at the trial tomorrow. I needed him to prove Mia right; that he could figure things out without her help. I wouldn’t just accept it without proof. He wasn’t the brightest bulb, but he’d put two and two together now. With my comments, he’d figure out who I was and why I was here. He was supposed to do that on his own.

When I walked away from them, I felt ashamed. I told Pearl that I’d be nicer to him. I didn’t mean it when I said it, but I thought I’d at least try when I saw him again. Thinking as much as I did the past two days, I knew I had less of a leg to stand on. Knowing Mia, she probably hadn’t even told him about Redd White. Once I saw his stupid face again though, something snapped inside me, and all bets were off.

There was an earthquake about an hour after our chat because of course there was. I went over to check on Maya, and to make sure the cavern was alright. Iris and Franziska were there by the time I arrived. There were now five locks on the cavern gate instead of one, and they were trying to unlock them.

I became even more rattled. Maya could be stuck for days now with that many locks. If I was in court, I couldn’t stay and watch over her. She could die awaiting rescue. Who put them there? Ordinarily, the police would just bust the locks open, but the cavern was hanging on by a thread after that earthquake, and a light touch was needed.

Franziska shooed me out of there. She told me she’d let me take the case from her, but I had to leave her alone while she worked on the locks. Iris would have to go back to the detention center soon, but Franziska planned to stay there as long as neededto unlock them on her own.

I got what I wanted, the case to myself, but I had to leave Maya there. I exited the training hall, planning to do a tour of the area before I caught a ride back into the city with one of the police cars. I bumped into Edgeworth on my travels.

He offered out his hand and introduced himself. “I don’t believe we’ve met. Miles Edgeworth.”

I shook his hand. “Prosecutor Godot.”

“Ah, yes. Detective Gumshoe had mentioned you.” He squinted at me. “He mentioned that we knew each other, but I don’t recall meeting you before.”

“I doubt it,” I replied. “I just moved here seven months ago. I’ve heard about you at the prosecutor’s office though.”

“Hm, it’s curious. Gumshoe had sworn that we knew each other. He said you told him we were good friends.”

I chuckled. “Well, you know how Gumshoe can be,” I said, gesturing my index finger in a circle by head.

He let out a reserved laugh. “Yes, he gets some interesting notions in his head sometimes. So, you’ll be at trial for the rest of this case?”

“Should be. I think your sister finally gave up the reins.”

“Yes, Franziska can be quite... passionate. She means well.”

I scoffed. “Yeah, that’s one word for it. You won’t be helping Wright on his case, will you?” I pressed. If needed, I could generate a lot of insults about Edgeworth to get him to back off, and they wouldn’t be quite as nice as my comments to Franziska.

“No, no. Wright is quite capable on his own. I just stepped in while he was sick.”

“Ah, yes. This horrible cold of his,” I remarked sardonically.

“He’s very lucky that’s all it was. He fell a great distance through the bridge.”

“The bridge?” I asked incredulously.

“Yes, he was here the night of the murder. He heard Maya was trapped on the other side and ran across the burning bridge to try and save her. The boards gave way, and he fell into the river. Thankfully, he was fished out and rushed to a hospital.”

I was speechless. There wasn’t much of an insult I could devise. That was unbelievably stupid, but it was also pretty metal. I sure as hell wouldn’t have done that. “He survived all that?”

He nodded. “It’s remarkable. They’ll have to use him as a case study at the hospital. Ran through flames, fell forty feet into an ice-cold river, and just a cold and a fever. He swears by the demon-warding hood Sister Iris gave him to wear that night. Says that it saved him. As a scientifically minded person, I’m skeptical, but I don’t have a better explanation.”

That sounded like good karma or divine intervention to me. I swallowed. “Yeah, that’s pretty crazy.”

There was an awkward silence. “Well, I must head back into the city. I have a bit of research to conduct.” He smiled reassuringly. “Don’t feel bad if you lose to Wright. It can be a tough pill to swallow but losing can make you a better prosecutor. I know that now.”

Boy, this guy sure mellowed out while I was in a coma. A little less Bratworth and a little more Gregory. “It wouldn’t be the first time,” I said shortly. He nodded and left.

I felt even more ashamed. Now, I really had no excuse to unload on Trite like I had. When I saw him again though, right before I left, I only double-downed. Berating him. Telling him that Maya wasn’t going to be okay, and that it was all his fault. Pearl was with him, and she looked at me with disbelief. I had just spent two days telling her Maya would be fine and now I was saying the complete opposite.

I decided to quit while I was behind. I told him that I’d see him at court tomorrow and walked away. As I left, I overheard him reassuring Pearl that Maya was okay and not to listen to “that man.” There went two days of goodwill I had built up with her.

Date: Sunday, February 10th, 2019

Time: 9:23 am

Location: Prosecutor's Lobby No. 7, Los Tokyo District Courthouse

Ordinarily, before a case, especially a case I was thrown onto at the last minute, I’d be up late the night before, preparing. I didn’t need to this time. I knew the details of this case better than anyone else. Instead, I recovered from the past two days and started saying my goodbyes.

I drank ten cups of coffee between the time I got home and the time I got to the courthouse, making at least one cup with each of my machines. It would be a long time, maybe never, before I had such varied and quality cups of coffee again.

I finally ate something. Dry toast at first, because I was too nauseous to eat anything else. Then some cheeseburger ramen takeout from the stand me and Mia went to all those years ago. During my fast, I had an unexpected craving for it.

I took a hot shower, an hour-long one. The longest shower I’ve probably ever taken but it took about that long to warm up. I was frozen to my bones. I charged my visor, and I took all my medications. They didn’t kick in instantly but knowing I would feel some relief eventually was mentally helpful.

I started saying goodbye to everything in my apartment. My books, records, and CDs. My TV. Most importantly, the mementos from Mia and Mamá. I re-read Mamá’s letter and looked at the old photos of her and my dad. I leafed through all her old photo albums. I stared at the photo of me and Mia on the mountain peak, trying to commit every detail to memory. I went through the box of keepsakes she gave me.

Last night was my last night as a free man. Soon, all I’d have to look at were the walls of my prison cell. Knowing that, part of me wanted to stay up as late as possible but, after two all-nighters, I knew sleep was more important. I went to bed earlier than normal and slept until it was time to get ready for the courthouse.

While I was getting ready this morning, I received two phone calls. The first one made me laugh. I was on a waitlist for a therapist. I told the psychologist at the hospital that she could put me on there seven months ago, and then I forgot about it.

The woman on the phone told me that one of their therapists had an opening for a new client and they were wondering if I was free for a session on Friday. I told them I’d check my schedule and get back to them. Between this call, the lightning strike, and the earthquake, I was starting to think that, if there was a God, he sure as hell had a sick sense of humor. Either that or he didn’t like me all that much.

The second call was from Gumshoe. He told me that Iris wanted to testify for the prosecution. At first, I assumed that he meant she wanted to implicate herself in the crime because she still felt so guilty. I told him that was unnecessary. I knew the truth, so I wasn’t going to let Iris take the stand just to perjure herself on my behalf.

He said that wasn’t it. Iris wanted to implicate Maya in Elise’s murder. Iris was going to testify that she saw Maya stab Elise and that Iris moved Elise’s body to protect Maya. I couldn’t believe it. Was Iris just as bad as Dahlia this whole time? I could convince her not to testify if it was to implicate herself, but not if it was to implicate someone else.

When I got off the phone, I went straight to the courthouse so I could get there early and chat with her. I saw her in the prosecutor’s lobby and walked over to ask her what was going on.

She smiled sweetly and greeted me. “Hi, Mr. Lawyer. Did the detective tell you about my plans to testify today?”

I smiled back. Never in my life did I think I’d be happy to see Dahlia Hawthorne. Maya was alive. She had been channeling Dahlia for nearly 60 hours, but she was okay.

Only one twin had left the crime scene so that could only mean that Dahlia had finally escaped, locked Iris in the cavern with those extra locks, and Franziska was still trying to unlock her. Less than ideal but better than Maya being stuck there for three days.

“Yes, he told me all about it. Tell me more. So, Maya Fey really killed Elise Deauxnim?” I asked with faux earnestness.

Her lips trembled and her voice started wavering. “It was just dreadful. Mystic Elise had tried to kill Maya and Maya was forced to stab her in self-defense. I hid the body to protect Mystic Maya. She’s the next Master of Kurain and I have a duty to protect her as part of the branch family. I just couldn’t bear to lie anymore though.”

“Oh dear, that must have been very hard for you, Sister Iris. Well, just testify on the stand like you did right now and I’m sure everyone will believe you.”

She wiped her crocodile tears with her sleeve. “Thanks for believing in me, Mr. Lawyer. It was really hard to come clean.”

I smiled kindly. “I’m sure it was. You seem like an upstanding young lady.”

Well, this trial was already shaping up to be interesting. Not only would Trite have to uncover the mystery and determine the motive behind my involvement but now he would have to tell his ex-girlfriends apart from one another.

I entered the courtroom and took my place at the prosecutor’s stand while the bailiff escorted “Iris” to the witness stand. Trite walked in a minute later, Pearl in tow. I didn’t know why they allowed a nine-year-old to sit in on a murder trial, but I guess he was on babysitter duty with Maya incapacitated and Morgan on death row.

He looked over at the witness stand, uncertain why Iris would testify for the prosecution without first conferring with her defense attorney. Then, he looked over at me. I expected him to glare but the look he gave me was pitying instead. What had he figured out since yesterday?

Pearl was barely tall enough to look over the defense stand, but I could see her from about the neck up. I looked at her and smiled feebly. She responded with a worried look. She must have been thinking about Maya and wondering if she could trust anything I had said.

When Dahlia gave her testimony, Phoenix was outraged at the idea that Maya would kill Elise, and that Elise would try to kill her. He said it was impossible because Elise was actually Misty Fey, and Misty would never kill her daughter.

I was surprised. I didn’t know that he knew about that yet. He was right. Misty would never kill Maya, but I told him that his argument wasn’t enough on its own. While it didn’t happen often, mothers have killed their daughters before and vice versa. That argument alone wasn’t enough to discount the testimony, and he’d have to prove it some other way.

He tried to do it by poking holes in Dahlia’s testimony. Dahlia claimed that, in Maya and Misty’s struggle, Maya was backed up against the stone lantern. However, that would have implied that Maya stabbed Misty in the stomach when she had been stabbed in the back.

I pointed out that it was pitch black in the garden, as Sister Bikini had testified that the lantern was unlit. Dahlia’s testimony was inaccurate due to mixing Misty and Maya up in the dark, but she ultimately would have discovered it was Misty who died when she moved her body.

He tried again to discredit her testimony. Dahlia claimed that the snow had stopped by the time she moved Misty’s body, but the snow hadn’t stopped until after the bridge was on fire. There was no way she could have moved it across the bridge and for it to be clear outside at the same time.

I pointed out that the body had indeed made its way over to the other side of the bridge and Sister Bikini had witnessed Iris desecrating it. He would have to explain how that was possible if the murder happened on the Inner Temple side.

His next argument was the first time I felt that I might have underestimated him. He noticed the broken suspension wire, looking at the photos of the burnt bridge, and correctly concluded that Misty was swung from the Inner Temple side and across. I was the one who did that, and I would have never suggested something so insane. I still couldn’t believe that it had actually worked.

He wasn’t quite accurate in his assessment of how this was done. He said that the killer had somehow grabbed the hanging suspension wire from the far edge of the bridge, swung Misty across, and she became untied just as she reached the other side, dropping 10 feet as she fell. The lower ledge I used wasn’t drafted on the map of the area and, obviously, he hadn’t noticed it during his investigation. That said, I wasn’t going to pull a Furio Tigre and correct him.

I accepted his theory of events but told him that he’d have to explain who had helped the killer. Someone had to launch the body, but an accomplice would have needed to catch it on the other side. Further, if Iris had witnessed the murder and was stuck on the Inner Temple side, how would she later be found by Sister Bikini, arrested, and detained onthe night of the murder?

He brought forth remnants of the letter Morgan had given Pearl. Pearl had partially burned them in the incinerator. Pearl must have confided in him what her mother told her to keep secret. He said that the Iris before us was not the real Iris but really Dahlia Hawthorne, who had been channeled according to Morgan’s plans. He had correctly determined that they had switched places during the chaos of the earthquake.

Dahlia admitted to her true identity and the judge asked her to testify after a recess. He was more accepting of spirit channeling than I anticipated, believing her to be a channeled spirit.

Dahlia confessed what I already knew: she didn’t care about Morgan’s plans to install Pearl as the Master. She just wanted to punish Mia for sending her to death row by killing her beloved sister. The rest of her account was inaccurate. She claimed that Maya had killed her, not me, and that Pearl had summoned her in the cavern. She didn’t know how she ended up in there.

By the time the earthquake hit, she hadunlocked the lock onthe cavern gate. Iris went to check on Maya and Dahlia locked Iris in there. Since Maya’s body was not found and Dahlia knew she wasn’t locked in the cavern, she assumed that Maya committed suicide in guilt over killing her mother.

I got a call from Franziska, shortly after Dahlia’stestimony, confirming Dahlia’s accounts. Franziska informed me, quite smugly I might add, that she had unlocked the cavern. Maya wasn’t in there though; Iris was.

Trite started to lose his mind with grief thinking that Maya was dead. The judge had accepted Dahlia’s account as well, ready to rule that Iris was innocent and Maya was Misty’s real killer.

I had to step in and give Trite a hint. It wasn’t the first time I had done that. I told him too much about my identity yesterday. I gave him hints earlier in the trial about the potential twin swap, and the fact that the witness testifying may not be human. While I had objected to his arguments earlier, I still led him on the right path. There were some hints at our last trial too.

I knew why I did it this time. The case couldn’t end here; I needed the truth to come out. I also knew what it felt like to lose Mia. Even though Maya couldn’t channel Dahlia forever and he’d realize eventually that Maya was okay, I didn’t want him to experience that grief for even ten minutes. Why I helped himthe other times? I couldn’t really say.

“Trite, have you ever heard this one?” I asked. “‘Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains must be the truth.’ No matter how improbable it may seem.”

“Wh-What is that supposed to mean, Prosecutor Godot?” the judge inquired.

“According to this witness, Maya Fey threw herself into the Eagle River. However, is that really the truth?” Trite looked puzzled. “Remember, this woman testified earlier that the bridge was already on fire when the murder was taking place in the garden.” I continued. “Which means if Maya had thrown herself into the river, it must have been from the Inner Temple side, near the bridge.”

“That's right!” Dahlia exclaimed. “That's where she jumped from.”

“But that's impossible. It's impossible to jump into the river from there.” I responded. Trite didn’t say anything. He still didn’t get it. “Don't get your panties all twisted up, Trite. Just relax and think through the whole thing again.”

He thought for a moment and then figured it out. There was a rock ledge on the Inner Temple side of the bridge. If Maya had tried to throw herself into the river, her body would have been found 40 feet below on the rock ledge instead. That only left one possibility. Maya was channeling Dahlia right now and had done so while Dahlia was locked in the cavern.

Dahlia couldn’t believe it. Pearl was in this very courtroom right now and she was the only other person who could have channeled her that night. That’s when I realized that Dahlia didn’t even know what Pearl looked like. She would have realized it was her if she saw her in the training hall, but as a little girl standing in the courtroom, she had no idea. Dahlia had never met her half-sister before.

“I-I don't believe you!” Dahlia argued. “A stupid little girl like that who has never been out in the real world. She could never have come up with a plan like that! Who could have ever given her such a brilliant idea?”

“Me, of course,” Mia replied. While Dahlia was fretting, Pearl had summoned her. “It’s been a long time, Dahlia Hawthorne.”

I smiled. “So, it’s true? It was you?”

Mia knew I already knew but played along. “Yes.”

I laughed amusedly. “You’re something else.”

Mia explained to Dahlia what had happened. How Maya wrote Mia a note and Mia asked Maya to channel Dahlia and lock herself in the cavern. She did so without mentioning my involvement. Dahlia refused to accept it. She couldn’t believe that her and Morgan’s plan had failed.

To rub salt in the wound, Mia and Trite started taunting her. Telling her what a failure and miserable creature she was. How no scheme she had devised was successful. She always got caught. I just sat back and watched the fireworks. I should have brought popcorn.

“And that's exactly the punishment you'll never be able to escape from,” Mia stated. “For all of eternity, you'll have to remain as Dahlia Hawthorne. A miserable, pathetic, weak creature who can never win at anything. And for you, there is no escape from that. No hope of freedom. Since the day you were executed, the narrow bridge that once stretched out in front of you has burnt to a crisp!”

“How could I lose to the likes of you?” Dahlia replied, exploding with rage.

Trite delivered the finishing blow to her ego. “It no longer matters! I don't care whether you win or lose anymore. The only thing I want is for you to come out of Maya's body right now!”

“I’m not ready! I’m not ready to go!” she shrieked out. We all watched in horror as Dahlia’s spirit was literally exorcised out of Maya’s body. If the judge or the spectators were at all skeptical about spirit channeling, they believed it now. You couldn’t fake that.

I already knew all the reasons why I loved Mia. However, watching her exorcise the succubus who poisoned me back to hell was a new addition to that long list. And... I guess Trite helped too. Gold star for him.

When Maya regained consciousness, she was visibly quite weak, so the bailiff sent her to the medical office to receive care. The rest of us remained in the courtroom, awaiting the real Iris who was being rushed over from Hazakura Temple.

When Iris arrived, the judge was once again very trigger-happy with his gavel, ready to declare Iris not guilty and adjourn this trial even though the true murder culprit hadn’t been found. I objected before he could hand down his verdict.

“What do you mean by that, Mr. Godot?” he asked with perplexity.

Mia answered for me. “This trial, it isn't over yet. That's what he means.”

The judge and Trite seemed confused, so I laid it out for them. While Misty had channeled Dahlia, she was stabbed. We knew that for certain because Dahlia had testified to losing consciousness when it happened. We needed to determine Misty’skiller.

“Unless someone else is found guilty, the accused is still on trial,” I explained. “We can't let her walk until there is evidence that proves her innocence.”

“No way,” Trite replied.

“But the court isn’t prepared for further testimony,” the judge asserted.

I told them that the prosecution still had one more key witness that needed to be called. The one witnesswho could testify to the events of that night.

Mia knew I meant Maya. “Is it really alright, Mr. Prosecutor?” Mia asked hesitantly. If Maya testified, my arrestwould be inevitable.

She looked at me somberly and I reassured her of my decision with a look of steadfast certainty. “Of course it’s alright, Madame Attorney,” I replied. She nodded back.

I asked that Maya Fey be called in to testify and the judge agreed. Trite objected on account of Maya’s condition, but I told him that the truth needed to come out. The judge stated that we’d recess first and only allow Maya in once a doctor had cleared her.

Before we exited, I had a few words. “Hey, Trite! I've got something to say to you, so listen up.”

“What is it?” he asked.

“I don't think much of you as a lawyer. It's always the same with you. You somehow manage to just squeak by without even a faint understanding of the case. Some beautiful woman always seems to come dashing in at the last minute to save you.”

“You’ve got some nerve!” he replied irritably.

“But that's not going to happen this time. This time, you're going to have to do this by yourself.”

The judge responded before Trite had a chance, telling us to cut it out with the taunts and asking us to leave for the recess.

When I exited the courtroom, I made my way to the courthouse cafeteria. I sat there during the hour-long break until I was called back to the courtroom. It was empty, just like that day. As I sat and sipped my coffee, I felt oddly at peace. I wasn’t doing well, far from it, but I wasn’t scared to face the truth anymore. I’d embrace it.

If anyone had asked me a week ago or even yesterday if I was scared, I wouldn’t have even known what they meant. Today, I realized that I had been scared the whole time. Ever since I woke up. If I hadn’t been, I would have done things a lot differently.

When Maya took to the stand, she was hesitant to speak. She said that she didn’t want anything to do with the Fey clan anymore after this case. I urged her to testify to what she saw anyway. She eventually agreed but was evasive with her answers. She said there was a man there, standing behind Dahlia, but she didn’t know who he was. She couldn’t see her assailant either.

Trite pointed out that it was pitch black so she shouldn’t have been able to see that the killer who came to her aid was a man. He asked that the courtroom lights be turned off. In the darkness, the only things anyone could see were the three red neon lights of my mask.

I laughed. “That was a nice bit of deduction, Trite.”

He asked Maya if that’s what she saw but she lied and said that’s not how she knew it was a man. She hadn’t seen the red glowing lights. She thought that it was a man because she saw the shoveled-out area in the garden and Misty’s body removedbefore she channeled Mia for help. She assumed a man must have done it.

I didn’t know what Maya was doing. Mia went to see Maya in the medical office during the recess. Mia likely told her the truth. Maya suddenly seemed more knowledgeable than she had been the night of the murder. Still, Maya was trying to cover for me, even though I had killed her mother. Miamust have left some key details out of her explanation.

Trite pointed out that the shoveled area was all the more indication that it was me. While I cleaned the bloody area, I had missed something important. Dahlia, after she was stabbed, had written Maya’s name on the stone lantern in Misty’s blood, trying to implicate Maya for the killing.

Trite deduced that it had to be me because a normal accomplice would have tried to clean the bloody writing. Me? I couldn’t see blood on a white stone lantern. This wasn’t the first time my vision issues had blinded me to evidence. It happened at our last trial too and he had noticed.

Trite formally accused me and Maya tried to cover for me again. “M-Mr. Godot isn't the killer!” she insisted. “After all, he didn't even come to the Inner Temple until 2 days after the murder took place! He didn't show up until after that old bridge got fixed up!”

“Maya...” I warned. “You can’t testify to something like that.”

“Why? What do you mean? I may not look it, but I'm-”

I cut her off by slamming my fist on the prosecutor’s stand. She was startled. “After the murder happened, you didn't even exist,” I said firmly.

She tried again. She said that she knew I wasn’t there because she talked to Pearl in the medical office after Mia stopped channeling her. Pearl told her that she was all alone while she was trapped on the island and hadn’t seen me until after the bridge was fixed. Right, I had two Fey girls lying for me.Three, maybe. What had Mia told her?

Phoenix tried another tactic. I had mentioned earlier in the trial that I saw Misty Fey’s hanging scroll in the training hall, but I couldn’t have seen Misty unless I was there before the crime. Pearl had doused the scroll in gravy, covering Misty’s image.

I asked why I would possibly be there before the murder, and he said that I knew about the letter. Pearl had told Trite that the letter had been opened before she got to it. With my role as a prosecutor, I could have walked freely into the prison and overheard Pearl and Morgan’s conversation.

He was doing what Mia said he would. He was rising to the occasion. Any time I tried to stump him; he circumvented it. I had Maya on my side, actively trying to help me, and he still was able to point to the evidence.

I said that he needed one more thing: motive. Why would I do all of that for some girl I didn’t even know? He identified my reason. He had read about Mia’s first case in the court records. He figured out who I was. He said that I would do itfor Mia’s little sister and I agreed.

I filled in his gaps. I explained what had happenedover the past six years. How Mia and I had investigated Dahlia and how I became poisoned. How I laid in a coma for almost five years and woke up with no one left waiting for me. How the newshad reported it as a murder and almost everyone thought I was dead. How Mia had locked up Dahlia for me.

I told them that I became a prosecutor to see what kind of a man Trite was and to ensure Maya’s safety after she had been hurt in the past. I explained the plan, and how I involved Misty and Iris. How we thought we could outsmart it, but we failed. Pearl worried about Maya so much that she wouldn’t stay away from the training hall and follow our plan.

He knew almost everything now, but there was still one thing he had left to do. Prove it definitively. Tie me to the killing. He didn’t need to be tested anymore. He had proven his skill. I still needed to see if he could do it.

“Anyway, that's all I'm going to admit to, Trite.”

“Huh?” he reacted.

“There's no doubt about it. You're a great defense attorney.But you're going to have to do the rest yourself.”

“The background leading up to this incident has been laid bare. There's just one question remaining, Mr. Wright. ‘Who killed the victim?’ There are only two possible suspects right now. Maya Fey and, I'm sad to say, you, Mr. Godot,” the judge stated.

“Well, Trite, if you're the real deal, then finish this thing once and for all. Show us beyond a shadow of a doubt that you can finish this on your own.”

Maya begged him not to continue. Not to force her to testify the truth. Did she not realize that we were the only two suspects right now? If it wasn’t me, it was her. He instructed her to testify and to tell the truth. He said he’d know if she was lying. Luckily, he convinced her.

When Maya testified again, she mentioned that she heard a man’s scream. The sound I made as Dahlia slashed me across the face. Underneath my mask was the scar. Funnily enough, I could never even look atit myself.

Trite said that I was slashed with the dagger found at the crime scene. The DNA on it didn’t match Misty’s blood. I reasonedthat, if it was my blood, I would have tried to wipe it to cover my tracks. I wouldn’t have presented it as evidence at trial today. I hadn’t done that, and he would know in about a day’s time if hegot me to take a blood sample, but I wanted to see if he could pin me to it in another way. If he could finish this today.

Maya, once again, worked against him. She pointed out a hole in his theory. If I had been wounded, there would have been a rip or blood on my clothes when the cops crossed the other side of the bridge. If the wound wasn’t underneath my clothes, it would be visible.

He suggested that maybe I had changed clothes, but I didn’t know I’d be stuck there all night. I didn’t have extra clothes with me. He then said that maybe I had run around naked for 36 hours on top of a freezing mountain where I was trapped with Pearl and Maya. I vehemently rejected that theory. He was stumped.

I laughed contemptuously. “So that's all you've got. I knew you weren't tough enough to finish this.” He bristled at the taunt. “Right now, if Mia Fey were here...” I paused. “If Mia Fey were here, she would have closed the book on this case already. So come on, Trite. Can you do it or not?”

“How about it, Mr. Wright?” the judge asked. “You've accused Mr. Godot of being thekiller. But can you prove it? Have you got even one piece of evidence?”

He thought for a moment, head down, and then looked up atme with determination. “I can prove it. I'm going to bring your magnificent vengeance to fruition, just as you want it.”

I laughed with amusem*nt. “That's good. A fighter till the bitter end, Trite.”

“Alright then, Mr. Wright. Let's hear what you've got,” the judge said.

“There's one thing I've demonstrated in the previous cross-examination.The killer was wounded. That was proven by the blood on the dagger,” Trite stated.

“But, we decided it wasimpossiblefor him to have hidden such a wound. If he had been cut by a dagger, there should have been a bloodstain on his clothing,” the judge countered.

“There's one place. One place the killercould have hiddenhis wound,” Trite responded, pointing at me.

He didn’t specifically point to my mask, even though I knew that’s what he meant. I scoffed. “I don't know what you're talking about. And frankly, I don't need to know. What I do know is that you'll never be half the lawyer she was. Isn't that right, Trite?”

I looked across at him and saw her. She was there too. Pearl wasn’t channeling her though; she had stopped during the recess. It was just Mia’s spirit, untethered to a host. Was I imagining things? It looked like she was supporting him. Like she was as determined as he was to beat me.

“Even as we speak, you're still hiding the wound!” Trite declared. “It's beneath your mask! During the fight, thered lightsgiven off by the killer suddenly disappeared. Seconds later, the killer let out a scream. That's right. Your mask went flying off your face! Mr. Godot! Would you mind removing your mask? If you have a dagger wound under there somewhere, then I'd say this whole case is solved!”

I broke down. “Just now... I saw her spirit in you.” He didn’t understand what I meant, and I didn’t elaborate. I exhaled. “I never liked you. Six years ago, you helped the woman who put me to sleep by hiding her bottle of poison. And then, while I was sleeping, you let Mia die. But you didn't care. You just kept living your pathetic, happy-go-lucky life. You even had the nerve to follow in her footsteps as a lawyer. I could never forgive you. That's what I thought.”

“But I was wrong about you,” I continued. “I knew it from the very beginning. The truth is, the only person I could never find it in my heart to forgive was me.”

“You, yourself?” the judge asked.

f*ck. Why was I doing this right now? There were spectators, a bailiff, and a judge here. Pearl, Iris, Maya, and... Wright. I just couldn’t hold it together any longer.

“I was the one that failed to protect Mia. Me and no one else. I tried to avert my eyes from the truth. To escape from the harshness of reality. I just couldn't face Mia's death head-on, so I ran. I hid behind a mask. I threw away my true name. I couldn't even deal with being a defense attorney anymore, so I quit.”

Maya and Wright tried to placate me. Telling me that I had put myself on the line to save Maya so I shouldn’t be so upset with myself. I must have looked like an emotional trainwreck if they were doing that. I didn’t deserve it. I had been a complete ass since I woke up.

I told them that wasn’t true. If I cared about Maya and Pearl, I wouldn’t have made the plan that I did. I wouldn’t have put them in danger. If I wanted them to be safe, I should have gone to them and told them the truth, all of it.

If I wanted them to be protected from both danger and the truth, I should have tucked my tail between my legs and talked to Wright. They trusted him. If he instructed them not to go to the temple, but didn’t tell them why, they would have listened to him.

Trying to protect them from the truth was stupid anyway. They both found out and in excruciating detail. Pearl was here today. She shouldn’t have been here in the first place, but the damage was done. Pearlknew what her mom had planned and how Misty had died. She’d now have to live with the guilt of not following our plan. The guilt of almost going through with Morgan’s plan. That’s too much for a nine-year-old to take on.

Maya doesn’t have a mother now and she’d have to live with the horrifying image of her being killed the rest of her life. I forced her to take the stand today, after everything that she had gone through, just so I could test Wright. What the hell was wrong with me? I didn’t know she was going to lie for me, so how would her testifying honestly have tested him anyway?

The truth was, I wanted to be a hero for once. I wanted to save Maya like I couldn’t save Mia. If Wrighthad been involved, it would have ruined that stupid fantasy. If I cared about anything else, I would have made a better plan. Then, when I saw Dahlia, the woman who destroyed my life, I got angry, and lost control.

Maya told me that she didn’t believe any of that. She knew I was just trying to save her. I thanked her half-heartedly. However, just because she felt that way, didn’t mean that it was true.

As if my humiliating public breakdown couldn’t get worse, I started crying. Quietly, at least.

“Y-Your wound! It's bleeding!” Wright called out.

I laughed through the tears, even as they irritatedmy scar. “Did you forget already? In my world, the color red doesn't exist. These must be my tears.”

Everyone looked at me with concern. I looked at Maya and smiled. “You'd do well to remember this, Maya. The only time a lawyer can cry is when it's all over.”

Chapter 25: Penultimate Chapter

Chapter Text

Date: Friday, December 21st, 2012

Time: 8:44 pm

Location: Second Floor, Grossberg Law Offices, Los Tokyo

The Grossberg Law Offices holiday party: it was a 25-year institution at this point. A chance for everyone, be they senior partner, law school intern, or secretary, to let loose and be inebriated in front of colleagues and superiors without any professional repercussions.

When Marvin Grossberg had started the tradition back in 1987, when his firm had just opened its doors, he had never intended it to be the debaucherous tradition that it had always devolved into. However, he had really made no effort to reign in the festivities nor put in place any restrictions on drinking in the years since. He didn’t have the heart to do it. It meant so much to everyone, he found.

After a long and typically arduous year of trials and paperwork, that party and the break that occurred between the last Friday evening before Christmas and the 26th of December, pushing back to the 28th of December if those days fell on the weekend, was sacred to the staff, and he didn’t want to upset the sanctity of that.

Ever wary and litigiously minded though, after year one, he always held a brief meeting on that Friday morning to remind everyone of the legal repercussions of certain actions, consequences they should be well aware of as attorneys and stewards of the law.

He would also point to the employment contract and HR binder, a document that had expanded from 45 pages in its infancy to 517 pages as time marched on and more and more subtlety and minute exceptions were continuously amended into it.

The document had become unwieldy and, frankly, impractical at this point. Even so, he told his staff that, if they couldn’t become well-acquainted with this document, then they were really in the wrong profession.

Beyond that lecture and instructing staff, who didn’t want partying intruders getting into their stuff, to lock their offices, he felt he had done all that he needed to do. He was their boss, not their father, even if it felt that way sometimes.

He knew there were arguments, rivalries, canoodling, and friendshipsthat went on in and outside of the office that were beyond his control. With regard to those interpersonal issues, he just tried his best to turn a blind eye and let people sort things out themselves. He really didn’t want to be involved.

One person he typically didn’t worry about each year was the poor sap who had the misfortune of being on-call during the holiday period. In the first years of his office, he had developed a schedule where senior lawyers and partners, himself included, would take turns rotating year-to-year so that no one was continuously left with the short end of the stick.

After realizing that senior attorneys and partners would leave and new ones would rotate in, he decided that his fairest system in theory was imperfect in practice. The most loyal in the bunch would end up getting shafted worse by this arrangement.

His new system was on a volunteer basis first and then, if that failed, a hat draw. Most years, no one volunteered. There was on-call pay for anyone who didn’t have the time off, but it was not an adequate incentive for the highest paid amongst his staff.

No one had volunteered last year, and Marvin had the misfortune of being the candidate drawn from the hat. At least no one could accuse him of rigging the draw. However, this year he got lucky, and Diego Armando offered to be on-call.

Diego moved to senior associate status in mid-2011, a year into his tenure as an attorney and a year and a half into his time at the firm, and he was eligible for the on-call period from the 2011 holiday season onward. Diego had volunteered before ameetingeven took place, citing his mother being on duty at the hospital the entire holiday season anyway, so he might as well get paid.

Marvin had wondered if it had anything to do with Ms. Scott, Diego’s former client turned lover turned scorned ex whom Diego had broken up with almost a year ago. Marvin didn’t normally care about this kind of thing until it was his business to care, and that situation definitely met that criterion. Despite an impressive first year in a senior position, Diego had ruined much of his goodwill by nearly bankrupting the firm with a potentially expensive civil suit.

Marvin sympathized with Diego; he did. Once the dust settled and he realized that the suit was unfounded, Marvin was able to mellow out and not treat Diego like a degenerate anymore. However, things were still never the same after that; they couldn’t be.

It was nice of Diego to try to make amends, even if it wouldn’t change much. Marvin had thought about making Diego a partner, and maybe he would someday, but, for now, he still needed more time to forgive and forget.

Sure enough, at that party, Diego was one of the only attendees not drinking, holding the same coffee cup he always used and nursing that instead all night. Most non-alcoholically inclined staff had ducked out at 5:00 pm to enjoy their holiday and avoid the show. Those who were less inclined had at least one drink to be a good sport and show their face. Everyone else had let loose completely, bobbing around the second floor, where tables of food and drink had been spread throughout the hallways.

Mia was in that middle category. She didn’t dislike drinking; she had done her fair share in university, primarily her undergrad. She just didn’t feel particularly comfortable drinking around anyone here.

However, she hadn’t navigated all the dynamics of the firm yet in the two months since she started here. She wasn’t sure if showing up was necessary to demonstrate her devotion to the job so she figured that she should make an appearance for at least a few hours.

When Mia started, Reina, in her slightly more senior position at the firm, had offered to take Mia under her wing. Reina said that she would be there at this party so they could run defense for each other and keep one another company.

Reina had actually never been to one of these parties yet either. She was hired in December and started right after New Year’s, just missing the festivities last year, though she had heard stories. This year she ended up missing it again, getting the flu on Wednesday and being out the rest of the week.

This left Mia all alone to fend for herself. It started off okay, boring mostly, just walking around, eating some hors d’oeuvres, making pleasantries with various colleagues she didn’t really know, and introducing herself to the romantic partners and spouses of colleagues who had slowly trickled in from their jobs.

By a little after 8:00 pm though, the party had already taken a turn. She had not one, but two men hit on her while she was sitting alone, minding her own business, in one of the leather reception area chairs, normally reserved for prospective clients.

One of the men, Tom, was in HR of all things and should have known better. He was in his early 40s, with three kids, and recently divorced. She felt bad for him. He seemed so sad, lonely, and desperate. However, she wasn’t his guardian angel. She lied and told him that she had a boyfriend, and he eventually left, sulking and drinking by himself in the second-floor breakroom.

The next man was younger, in his early 30s, and was much more depraved. He wasn’t desperate but simply lewd. He came out of the bathroom, rubbing his wet hands on his jeans instead of a paper towel, and caught notice of Mia out of the corner of his eye. He leered at her and drunkenly said “nice tit*” before asking if she was going to be popping out of a cake later. She just rolled her eyes at this comment and looked away until he got the hint and moved on.

She didn’t know who he was, but she saw his wedding ring and realized that he must have been one of her colleagues’ husbands. She mentally went down the list of female married employees who were here, crossed out the ones with spouses she remembered, and narrowed down the choices to a couple of people. As if she needed another reason to be skeptical about the institution of marriage. Her parents' awful marriage was enough.

She lied to herself sometimes, for fun and for comfort, telling herself that both her parents left, found each other again, and were living it up on some tropical island somewhere. It wasn’t true, and it wouldn’t have made their abandonment of her and Maya any better, but at least they would be happy and together, and not dead or miserable on their own.

After that last comment, she finally had enough and decided she was going to leave. She felt stupid for even staying as long as she did. She realized that she hadn’t seen Mr. Grossberg in a while, and he probably had the good sense to leave ages ago. She looked down one hallway and then down the other for confirmation, but she didn’t see him.

However, she did make eye contact with Diego, who was leaning against the wall between a few locked offices, drinking his coffee, and people-watching. She debated packing up her things quickly and running out of there, but she thought the better of it and stayed seated as he walked over. She would talk to him for a few minutes and then leave, she told herself.

“You having fun yet?” Diego asked as he slid into the identical leather chair next to her.

Mia scoffed. “Oh, it’s a riot,” she said sarcastically, still trying to get the bad taste out of her mouth from her last two human interactions.

“I saw that you made a couple of friends earlier,” he said amusedly, sipping his coffee.

“You saw that?” she exclaimed.

“I see everything,” he joked.

“Yeah, after that, I think I’m going to head out soon.”

“I don’t blame you,” he said plainly. “Those guys are total jackasses.”

As opposed to you, Mia thought cynically. Why did he really come to talk to me, she wondered.

“This is my third Christmas party here,” he continued. “And for the third year in a row, I’m asking myself why I decided to show up.”

“Why are you here?” she asked skeptically. “Aren’t you on-call until the 26th?”

“Just for blackmail material, mostly,” he said matter-of-factly.

Mia laughed in shock. “Are you being serious?” she asked.

“Not really,” he said, laughing. “Nothing better to do, I guess. Although, you see your colleagues do a few wild things at one of these events and it kind of clouds your interactions going forward.”

“I can imagine,” she said, smirking in agreement.

“Why did you come anyway? To look good for the boss man?”

Mia sighed. “Something like that.”

Diego chuckled. “Sorry to disappoint you, but Grossberg left two hours ago. I saw him slip out the fire stairs and then he probably caught the elevator one level below.”

“Damn it,” she muttered softly. “I won’t make that mistake again next year.”

“We all make that mistake. Look on the bright side, you had a whole evening to see how we live on level two.”

Mia scoffed again, laughing too this time. “You level two people think you’re so important. You know I’ll be up here too someday, right?”

“I have no doubt you will,” he agreed. “I wouldn’t tease you about it if I thought you wouldn’t.” Mia smiled slightly. “Do you know when your first trial will be?” he asked.

“That’s an excellent question,” Mia said drily.

“Still have no idea?”

“Nope. Mr. Grossberg keeps waving me off. He says it’ll happen soon, but it never does.”

“It’ll happen,” he said sympathetically. “These things take time.”

“How long did it take for you?”

He paused. “About a month, but I was an intern here before I became a lawyer. And I was very persistent,” he added, trying to soften the blow even more.

“And I’m not?” she volleyed back quickly.

“You’re right,” he acquiesced.

“Sorry,” she said, softening. “It just means a lot to me. I got into this field because I wanted to help people obtain justice.” Mia didn’t disclose that this wasn’t her primary reason, and Diego knew it wasn’t either, but he just nodded, taking what she said at face value. “Working on paperwork... it’s important, but it’s not why I’m here.”

He paused and nodded thoughtfully. “How old are you anyway?” he asked.

“Why?” she asked cautiously.

He laughed. “It’s not a trick question.”

“I’ll be 24 in January.”

“See, that could be part of it, honestly. Everyone says they want an accelerated graduate because they’re usually top of their class, but then they treat them with kid gloves.”

“Is that true?”

“Maybe. Well, it’s logical anyway.” Diego thought about lying to be nice, but she seemed more receptive to his candor.

Mia laughed and shook her head. “I should have known you were just talking out of your ass.”

He laughed back. “I could still be right. Just mark my words: sometime after your next birthday, it’ll happen.”

She grinned. “I’ll hold you to that.”

There was a beat. Then two of their more senior colleagues, a man and a woman, both in their early 60s and nearing retirement, bounded past them. The man was running, and the woman was chasing after him with a cupcake, frosting already smeared all over her dress. She was ready to take her revenge.

“It’s probably good that Mr. Grossberg isn’t here,” Mia said.

“Yeah,” Diego said before smirking. “You don’t think that will be you someday?” he teased.

“No,” she said shortly.

“I was just joking,” he clarified, thinking she was upset.

“I know. I just don’t think I’ll get to live that long.”

Diego’s face hardened and he paused again, not knowing what to say. “That’s bleak.”

Mia shook her head, almost out of a trance. “Sorry,” she replied. She didn’t know why she felt compelled to say that so casually. She wanted to blame the two vodka sodas she had, but she didn’t feel drunk. “It’s true though,” she added. “I can’t picture myself getting old, but I want to.”

“I think we all feel that way,” he commiserated. “I have a hard time picturing that for myself too. Ma-, my mom said she was that way when she was younger.”

“It’s different though. Like a premonition or something. I hope I’m wrong, but I don’t think I am.”

He just nodded for a bit, thinking. “Well, you know what that means?”

“What’s that?”

“You’ll have to make every moment count.”

Diego had leaned in a bit. Not much, but enough. He scanned her face for a moment, and Mia looked back at him, scanning too. She leaned forward very slightly.

She almost did it, narrowing the gap between them to nothing, kissing him. She was surprised that she wanted to, although a little voice in her head told her that she shouldn’t be. She always thought he was handsome, but she had lied to herself and pretended that she hadn’t since she started there.

He was being real with her too. He didn’t swagger or try to curry favor with her like he had done in the past.

Then, in a flash, the moment was gone, and she felt very self-conscious. What if someone had seen them? What would people say? The new girl, trying to work her way up the ranks through any means necessary. She didn’t want it to be like that. She needed to make her own way. She’d just have to be even more careful around him from now on.

“I have to get going,” she said suddenly, standing up from her chair.

Diego stood up too, embarrassed but hiding it relatively well. Mia was so flustered, gathering her things, that she didn’t notice. He was mad at himself for getting greedy. Trying to push things along faster. He just wanted to talk to her some more and he ruined it. Now she was leaving.

They had only talked for 15 minutes, but this was the most he had spoken to her since she started. He didn’t know then that it would be the most he would talk to her until that fateful case in February.

“I should go too,” he agreed. “Did you need a drive home? I’ve only been drinking coffee all day.”

“No!” she blurted out. “Sorry,” she said more gently. “I’m okay. It’s not that late. I’ll walk.”

“Okay,” he said quietly, sitting back down. He wanted to grab his coffee mug and drink from it to busy his hands and his face, but it was empty.

Mia started to walk towards the reception door but stopped to turn around. She needed to be wary, but it was imperative that he wasn’t angry with her. That he didn’t hate her. She knew that she would barely see him anymore, but she couldn’t stomach the thought of him hating her.

“It was nice talking to you,” she said politely. “Happy holidays.”

He looked up at her and smiled feebly. “You too. Happy holidays.”

She smiled demurely back and walked out the door and towards the elevator bank. Once he was sure that she was gone, Diego buried his head in his hands.

He couldn’t shake the sadness of ruining that moment. Making her so panicked that she walked out that door. That moment haunted him for a few weeks afterward. He thought about it every time he went down to the document room, and she barely looked up at him from her papers.

Still, she smiled back at him when she left. She had leaned in too, only a little; it was barely perceptible. If anyone had asked though, he would have sworn on anything that she had. He was certain of it.

There was no head tilt or closed eyes, and the gap between them had closed appreciably, but it was still great enough to be hand-waved away. They both had plausible deniability that it hadn’t happened.

For that reason, when they got together later, this moment barely got an acknowledgment. It was bundled in with all the other times he tried to talk to her and painted as indistinguishable.

Then, when he was in a coma and she died, this memory, one they both remembered but didn’t discuss, became too painful to think about. A reminder that they could have had more time together if they both hadn’t been so foolish. If he had been more cautious and she was less guarded. Every second had counted, and they wasted them.

That smile and that lean weren’t much, but they were something. Diego had almost given up hope completely, but this had restored some faith in him.

He ruminated for a few minutes, repeating the interaction over and over in his head before he thought of something: Mia still hasn’t done her first criminal case yet.

He smiled to himself. Whether it was weeks, months, or a year from now, he would be on that case with her, no matter what. That was a promise.

Chapter 26: Epilogue - Diego

Chapter Text

Date: Tuesday, August 27th, 2019

Time: 2:35 pm

Location: Visiting Area, Men’s Health Care Institution, Shinton, Japanifornia

After the trial, I was arrested and taken to the detention center to await my own case. Wright, the world’s biggest mensch, came by to visit and asked if I wanted him to represent me. After all my haranguing of him over the past six months, he was still willing to go to bat for me. Some people are just built differently, I guess.

I had to decline the offer though. Having Phoenix Wright as your attorney is only something you’d do if you wanted to win your case. I had no intention of winning anything. I told him that I’d represent myself until the guilty verdict ultimately disbarred me.

Wright said he could at least talk to Miles Edgeworth and get him or Franziska von Karma to serve on my trial as the prosecutor. I told him to put Edgeworth on it. I wasn’t totally on board with the guy due to my past cases with him pre-coma, but he seemed like the better choice given my interactions with Franziska.

I wanted to face punishment for my crimes, not look down the barrel of a triple life sentence. Given that von Karma blood coursing through her veins and that dominatrix getup of hers, she seemed like she could be the vengeful type.

At the trial the following day, Maya testified on my behalf, arguing for a self-defense of another ruling since I had only killed in defense of her. That verdict would have allowed me to walk footloose and fancy-free, but I couldn’t let that happen. I had killed her mother in front of her own eyes, a woman she hadn’t seen since she was a toddler, and I didn’t deserve the mercy she was bafflingly trying to grant me.

Edgeworth had agreed to the ruling, but I objected before the judge could hand down the verdict. Involuntary manslaughter felt more appropriate given the circ*mstances. Sure, I had technically only killed in self-defense and there was clearly no pre-meditation involved. If Misty hadn’t brought her staff, my fists would have been the only weapon available when the plan went tit* up. That said, if I hadn’t been so negligent and reckless, Maya never would have been in that scenario in the first place.

I also recommended an obstruction of justice charge, for good measure. I had fun performing all that courtroom theater with Wright, but it was a colossal waste of everyone’s time when I knew what happened from the beginning. Forcing Iris and Maya on the stand and making Wright jump through all those hoops was something only a criminally unwell person would do.

The judge and Edgeworth tried to argue me down, urging me to think about the ramifications of my suggested charges, but I couldn’t be persuaded. I was sentenced to five years in prison with the chance of parole in three and that ruling seemed appropriate. Then, I was whisked away to the Men’s Health Care Institution.

That was one bone I did allow them to throw my way. Edgeworth had me placed in a prison, hours out of the city, designed for male inmates with mental or physical ailments too severe to place them in a standard prison. Due to my broken-down body, I was considered a prime candidate, saving me a stint in LTIM. You know, where Redd White was shivved.

It’s not all sunshine and rainbows though. I lost my health insurance and, while this place is more humane than the other prisons, only the most basic of my medications were covered by the state. Nothing too experimental was included and my condition would just slowly degrade as time went on.

Further, during my first week here, one of the other inmates with some sort of major mental ailment attacked me. Knowing he was more cognitively unsound than I was, I tried to brush it off, but then he got too aggressive for me to ignore him. I may not have started that fight, but I sure as hell put an end to it.

Not certain if standing up for myself was worth it though. After that, no one dared to mess with me anymore, even though I’ve gotten substantially weaker over time without my full suite of meds. However, that dust-up may have screwed my chances for parole.

While I was lacking in medical therapy, they do regularly bring therapists here. Although, just like the psychologist at the hospital, they were all too soft for me to relate to. Until they brought in their ringer, that is.

Ana was the psychologist who worked out of LTIM and so she was a bit of a battleax. You gotta be one when you hang out with the deplorables at that place. Honestly, I was kind of scared of her. She was quite tall and muscular for a woman and, with my failing body the way it is, she could probably kick my ass.

When I first met with her, she spent the whole first hour just laying into me. About how much of an idiot I was after I woke up and how badly I effed everything up. After all that though, when she told me it wasn’t my fault that Mia died, I believed her.

Talking with her, I wished desperately that I had met her before I wound up in this place. Suddenly, things that were so unclear before had become illuminated.

She told me that if I was around when Redd White came to Mia’s office, he probably would have accounted for my presence. He might have brought a knife or a gun or an extra person with him to level the playing field if he thought I could take him one-on-one. Maybe we both would have been killed instead.

She said that if I had brought Mia with me to meet with Dahlia, maybe I wouldn’t have been poisoned, or maybe Mia would have been instead, or maybe we both would have. Maybe Dahlia would have attacked us at home or in the parking lot one day like I had feared.

She agreed that I shouldn’t have lied to Mia, but it wasn’t my fault that I was poisoned. I promised her that I’d try not to ponder the what-ifs, but it was hard not to wonder, knowing how everything went so horribly wrong.

The last thing Ana told me really blew my mind though. I mentioned how stupid I felt after the plan went awry and Misty got killed. It wasn’t until the aftermath that I realized how flawed the plan was in the first place. She said that, unfortunately, I probably had collaborated with the world’s worst co-conspirators on this anti-murder plot.

I asked her what she meant. Iris and Misty had figuratively and literally put their lives on the line to foil Morgan’s scheme. She said that was the problem. All three of us were so desperate to prove something that no one had the sense to logically evaluate the plan. Out of the three of us, no one insisted that we just sit Maya and Pearl down and discuss what was planned to occur.

I wanted to prove that I could save Maya since I couldn’t do it for Mia. I also wanted to protect her and Pearl from the truth. Misty, who abandoned her daughters for 17 years, wanted to prove that she would do anything for them, even die for them. Iris wanted to prove that she was nothing like Dahlia. That she would even go to prison for something she didn’t do if it meant saving Maya from the same fate.

Ana, of course, was right. I thanked her for setting me straight and she has come in once a month to chat with me and see how I’ve been progressing. She said that our visits were a nice change of scenery from LTIM. When she found out how much I like coffee, she even started bringing me a decent cup from a local café a few months ago, something I can’t get here.

Grandma Lydia has come by to visit me too. She’s a tenacious woman; I’ll give her that. Once she decided to be present in my life, she refused to give up on that, even after I went to prison.

I asked her if she was upset to see her grandson in prison. She said, of course, but at least now she knows where I am, and I can’t give her the runaround like I did after I left the hospital. I told her that the same could be said of her for the first 28 years of my life and we called it even.

She comes up every two or three weeks and we play cards. Like a typical grandma, she tried bringing me baked goods that first time, but they got confiscated. So, now, she just buys us each a bad cappuccino and an oatmeal raisin cookie from the prison commissary.

She’s grown on me. The coffee and cookies definitely helped, but it has also become less awkward the more I’ve gotten to know her. She’s sort of funny in that wholesome old lady kind of way. It was nice to hear stories about my dad too.

The dynamic duo, Wright and Maya, came to visit me too about one month after I arrived. The facility is a four-hour drive away and they don’t have a car, so it meant about a six-hour train ride to come see me. Knowing that just made me feel extra guilty. I didn’t deserve their forgiveness, let alone that much of their time. They assured me that it wasn’t an issue.

They seemed remorseful when they visited, and I couldn’t, for the life of me, figure out what they had to be sorry about. They explained that Maya had hoped to channel Mia again so I could see her during our visit. They knew how grief-stricken I’ve been over her death. Maya had been unable to do so though. Maya said that she’s been able to channel others, so it wasn’t her channeling abilities; it was Mia herself.

I asked them what this could mean, and they guessed that Mia had crossed over into the twilight realm to be at peace. Wright mentioned that Mia said goodbye to him after the trial, something she had never done before. It’s like she knew she was leaving for good. Maya said it wasn’t impossible to channel someone from that realm, but it would likely be decades before she’d have the kind of power to do so.

Hearing the news was bittersweet. I was happy to know she was at peace and not in a state of limbo anymore, but I would have given anything to see her one last time.

Point blank, I asked them why they came to see me at all after everything that I did. They said that they knew I had been through a lot and wasn’t acting like the person I used to be. Maya reiterated that, without me overhearing Morgan’s plot, she would have died, and Pearl would have been a murderer. She was technically right, but my stupidity cost her a mother.

Maya was unusually pragmatic about the whole thing. She said that she was deeply saddened by the loss of Misty, but she admitted that she never thought that she’d see her again. While Mia had become a lawyer and had investigated Redd White to try and bring Misty out of hiding, Maya had no expectation of that happening. She barely remembered her and, after 17 years had passed, she had given up on ever having a relationship with her.

I had to admit that her approach was much healthier than Mia’s, as much as I loved her. Mia died investigating the man who tarnished Misty’s reputation, and it didn’t end up mattering. It may have unearthed some long-hidden corruption, but Misty didn’t come back.

I told them that I still wondered, try as I might not to, what would have happened if I had been around before Mia died. Maybe I would have talked Mia out of her investigation, but then again, probably not. Whenever justice was involved, Mia and I weren’t good at just leaving things well enough alone.

Maya, in a moment of supreme cogence, said maybe things would have been different, but then I never would have been a prosecutor, and I never would have heard Morgan’s murder plot. If Mia was still alive in February, and I had worked alongside her as a defense attorney, Pearl would have summoned Dahlia and killed both Mia and Maya.

Her logic was sound, but it was a tough pill to swallow. Were Mia and I always fated to end up like this? It appeared like, no matter the scenario, and no matter the hypothetical, one or both of us ended up hurt or dead. We were so perfect together, but this amount of bad luck could only point to us being star-crossed.

I didn’t like to think that life was this fatalistic. That everything was pre-destined, and we were all just unwilling pawns. I liked to think that I had some agency over my life and that I had control over the outcome, but I couldn’t reconcile that idea with the sheer amount of coincidence that had occurred. The way all of our stories had intertwined, and our decisions seemingly didn’t matter.

DL-6 caused Misty to run away and Mia to be a lawyer. The victim at the center of it served as my career inspiration too. Wright became a lawyer because of Mia and Edgeworth, the latter of whom became a prosecutor because of that same case.

Somehow, Mia and I worked at the same firm, when there were dozens of other defense firms in the city, and we had a case together involving her cousin. Somehow, Wright dated that same cousin and became Mia’s client and then protégé. Somehow, I woke up just in time to hear of the murder plot and attempt to foil it, only for everything to go wrong. Somehow, lightning struck that bridge immediately after Misty was killed, trapping me, Pearl, and Maya. It seemed impossible for all those events to equate to anything other than fate.

And yet, I couldn’t just accept that. I wanted to believe that, in at least one timeline, and in at least one reality, Mia and I would have been happy and together, doing everything we ever dreamed of. Living our best lives. Guess I’ll never know.

I tried not to be such a downer for the rest of their visit, especially after all the effort they made to see me. Maya liked to tease Wright mercilessly and it gave me an excuse to join in too without looking like a jerk. Wright was a good sport about it, as usual, and they left after a couple of hours with promises to return to see me.

It took months, but I did see Maya again. Just Maya. Today is August 27th and she thought that I could use the company given the tragic significance of the day. She also mentioned on the phone that she had some important news to share with me.

“Hey, Maya! Nice to see you. Where’s spiky boy?” I asked flippantly as she seated herself in the chair across from me. “You two are usually a package deal.”

“Diego...” Maya reprimanded in her sweet Maya way.

I chuckled. “Okay, I’m sorry. Where’s Nick?”

She sighed. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but Nick isn’t a lawyer anymore. He lost his license.”

I had heard about it. I didn’t have internet access here, but we were allowed TV and newspapers and I saw it reported about four months ago. They said he had forged evidence on a high-profile case and was disbarred immediately after. It seemed rich how quick they were to act when prosecutors had been allowed to forge evidence for decades consequence-free, but that’s our legal system in a nutshell, I suppose.

I nodded disapprovingly. “I saw it on the news. I know whatever they’ve said about him is BS though. A guy like him wouldn’t forge evidence.”

She smiled. “Thanks. He’s been having a tough time with it, so he’ll be happy to know you’re on his side.”

“So, why isn’t he here? He must have a lot of free time on his hands now,” I joked.

She laughed politely. “Surprisingly no. Actually, Nick... he’s a father now.

“What?” I exclaimed. “I didn’t know the guy had it in him.”

She giggled. “No, not like that,” she clarified. “He has a foster daughter. Although, he’s likely going to officially adopt her in a few months if her dad doesn’t come back soon.”

“That makes more sense. I didn’t think he was a cheater.” Maya looked perplexed for some reason. I shook my head in disbelief. “How did this happen?” I asked.

“It’s a weird story. Basically, she was abandoned after the case that disbarred Nick. So, he decided to take her in. He’s trying to find some steady work, so he can look after her.”

“I want to say I'm surprised, but I’m not really. This is par for the course for Phoenix Wright: nicest guy in the universe.”

She beamed. “Yeah, he’s the best.”

“So, how are you dealing with this? Being a foster mom and all?”

She looked confused. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you and Nick are dating, right? Probably more than you bargained for becoming a mom at 20. You already have a cousin to look after too.”

Maya laughed boisterously. “What are you talking about? Where did you get that idea from?”

“Well, Pearl told me back when we were trapped at the cavern.”

“So, a nine-year-old told you that and you just believed her?”

I chuckled. “Well, when you put it that way, it sounds kind of dumb.” Every day, I find out more and more things that I was completely wrong about. “You can’t blame a guy for thinking that though. You two are always together.”

“That’s because he’s like my baby brother,” she joked.

“Baby brother? Isn’t he like six or seven years older than you?”

“He’ll stop being my baby brother when he stops being so easy to tease,” she explained.

I grinned. There was a beat.

“Actually, soon I won’t be seeing him very much for a while," she continued. “That’s mostly why I wanted to visit you. I’m going back home next week. Home, home. To the Kingdom of Khura’in. Now that I’m the Master, I have to finish my training and it’s a lot easier to improve over there. Pearl is coming with me too. I changed the rules about leaving the Village so she could.”

I nodded. One less visitor to come and see me, but I knew this was a big deal for them. “I’m so happy for you two,” I said, smiling half-heartedly.

“Thanks. Pearl is really looking forward to it. She and I have never been on an airplane before.”

I laughed. “Well, an airplane is basically just a flying train, so I’m sure she’ll love it.”

“Exactly!” She paused. “Pearl says hi, by the way. I asked if she wanted to come today, but she was still a little uneasy.”

I shook my head. “That’s okay. She’s a good kid. She could use a break from prisons and courtrooms.” She nodded in agreement. “How long will you be gone?” I asked.

“As long as it takes.”

“That’s vague. How long could that be?”

“I don’t know. My mom might have done the training after she left, but I’m not sure. I’ve heard it could be years.”

“Years?” I asked, dumbfounded. “I best be saying goodbye then. I don’t know if I’ll ever see you again, Maya.”

“That’s not true!” she countered. “You’ll be out in less than five years. Less than three with parole. I might only be away for a couple of years anyway.”

February 11th, 2024. That’s the day I’ll be free. Same date in 2022 if I get parole, although I’m not holding out hope. It seemed so far away, and yet I have rather intimate experience with how fast 4.5 years can fly by.

“I don’t know,” I said hesitantly. “I swear I’m not trying to be negative, but I don’t know if I’ll ever see the outside of this prison. Without all my therapeutics, my body is quickly degrading. It’s only a matter of time before it quits on me.”

She nodded solemnly for a moment before smiling reassuringly. “Let’s just say you’ll make it out. What are you going to do?”

I exhaled. “I’ve had a lot of time to think and yet I have no clue. I’ve been disbarred, so my lawyer days are over.”

“Are there any other jobs you think you’d like?”

“I could be a private investigator, maybe.” I laughed. “Pick up where Luke Atmey left off.” She laughed back. “I could always work in a café again. When it comes to coffee, I’m kind of an expert.”

“What? I had no idea!” she exclaimed teasingly. “What else will you do?”

“I’ll probably see my grandmother, I guess. She’s been visiting. She’s 85, but she seems spry. Maybe go to the Dominican for a bit to see my aunts and cousins, if they let a convict like me back into the country. Lana will probably be out of prison around the same time, so I might reach out to her too.”

“Oh!” she reacted with surprise. “Like, on a date?”

I scoffed. “No, not like that. Trust me, we’re not each other’s type.” We’re both not Mia. “As friends. We get along well, mostly. We’ve both been through a lot.” I thought for a moment. “Maybe I’d get a dog too.”

“Not a kitten?” she asked, snickering.

I smiled amusedly. “Mia told you about that?” I asked, resting my chin in my hand.

“Not exactly. I was helping her at the office one day and I saw an old memo you wrote to her that was addressed to ‘kitten.’ I don’t think I was supposed to see it, but I made sure to tease her about it a whole lot.”

“Yeah, maybe I’ll get a kitten instead,” I said, grinning. “They are pretty cute.”

She smiled warmly. “Looks like you’ll be okay. If I’m not back before you’re out, I’ll at least be around to pet your kitten! Get a grey and white striped one. Those are the absolute cutest.”

“Whatever you say, chief. That sounds like a plan.”

She got up to leave and flashed another sunny grin. “See you again soon, Diego.”

I nodded. “Safe travels, Maya.”

My conversation with Maya had uplifted me to some extent. It was nice to pretend for a moment that my body wasn’t a ticking clock and to believe that I had a real chance of living outside of these walls again. It was my choice to go to prison, but it was hard to think that this place could be where I’d spend my final days.

If that was the case though, in some ways, I was handed a gift that most of us mere mortals have no hope of receiving. I had absolute proof that there was something after death. I saw Mia again, and I know now that she has moved on. Somewhere, whether it be heaven or the twilight realm, Mamá and Mia were resting, and I could see them again someday.

However, I also had confirmation that there was something like hell too. I saw Dahlia’s spirit get exorcised and sent there. My sins were not as great as hers, but I didn’t know how the eternal judges would rule on me when it was my time. I wasn’t sure how they’d feel about involuntary manslaughter. It was in defense of another person, but maybe killing someone was enough to receive eternal damnation.

It was hard to be at peace with thoughts like that rattling around in my head and to look at my surroundings and visibly see the mistakes I had made. This prison was nicer, but it was still a prison. Concrete walls, barred windows, and a toilet and sink three feet away from my bed.

The only time I ever felt at peace was at night before I went to sleep. I’d take my visor off to charge and feel relief from the chronic headaches. I was unable to see the world around me and be reminded of my failures. With my visor off, and my eyes closed, I see only her.

Chapter 27: Story Notes, Author Ramblings, & Playlist

Chapter Text

Word Count (Sans Author Notes): 158,397 (approximately a 350-450-page novel)

Reading Length: 12.5 Hours (Watt Pad estimate)

Original Writing Dates: February 28, 2024 – August 19, 2024

Table of Contents:

If you wanted Miego content, but didn’t want to read a story the length of Bram Stoker’s Dracula, here is a brief summary of all the chapters with links. The POV character is in brackets.

Prologue (Mia) – Mia's first criminal case with Diego as her co-counsel.

Chapter 1 (Diego) – Mia &Diego go to a barafter the harrowing trial.

Chapter 2 (Mia) - The pair begin work on Dahlia’s case and patch up a misunderstanding.

Chapter 3 (Diego) - Mia & Diego go to an unusual restaurant. Later, they watch a sad movie.

Chapter 4 (Mia) - The pair have a fight after Mia sleeps over for the first time.

Chapter 5 (Diego) - Diego meets Lana while out for drinks with her and Mia.

Chapter 6 (Mia) - Mia & Diego go to Maria Armando’s house for Diego’s birthday.

Chapter 7 (Diego) - Mia & Diego meet up with Maya at the beach.

Chapter 8 (Mia) - The pair discover a big lead in Dahlia’s case. They navigate a potential hiccup.

Chapter 9 (Diego) - Diego warns Doug about Dahlia. Diegomeets with Dahlia at the courthouse.

Chapter 10 (Mia) - Mia recounts the hours and days after Diego’s poisoning.

Chapter 11 (Mia) - Mia &Maria pack up Diego’s apartment.

Chapter 12 (Mia) - Mia serves on her second criminal case to avenge Diego.

Chapter 13 (Mia) - Mia quitsher job and starts her own firm. She’s with Maria at her deathbed.

Chapter 14 (Mia) - Mia learns more about Redd White’s operations at a fancy event. She goes to a bridal store to look for an evening dress.

Chapter 15 (Mia) - Mia hires Phoenix. She’s serves as co-counsel on his first case.

Chapter 16 (Mia) - Mia hatches a plan with a Bluecorp employee before she meets an untimely end.

Chapter 17 (Parker) - Mia’s medical resident ex takes a coffee break in Diego’s room.

Chapter 18 (Diego) - Diego wakes up tohorrible news. Grossberg visits him.

Chapter 19 (Diego) - Diego is discharged from the hospital. He has another setback.

Chapter 20 (Diego) - Diego ishired as a prosecutor. He bumps into Lana on a prison visit.

Chapter 21 (Diego) - Diego faces off against Phoenix in court. He learns of Morgan’s plot.

Chapter 22 (Diego) - Diego hatches a plan with Iris and Misty. The plan goes awry.

Chapter 23 (Diego) - Diego &Pearl are stranded. Diego has his final face-off with Phoenix.

Penultimate Chapter (Third Person POV) - Flashback to Mia & Diego’s conversation at the 2012 Grossberg Law Offices holiday party.

Epilogue (Diego) - Diego is in prison and meets with Maya.

Revisions: Previous revisions were done for clarity, formatting, canon compliance, reduced repetition, and grammar primarily with minimal changes to plot and dialogue.

I have been using online Word to edit my story which is meh (not as good as the desktop version, but I’m cheap), so my last edit was basically a Grammarly edit to catch errors Word missed although even that wasn’t perfect.

April 18-20 = Prologue – Chapter 7

May 29-31 = Prologue – Chapter 13

June 20-27 = Prologue – Chapter 17

July 14 = Prologue – Chapter 19

Plan to post two more revisions. One additional revision by myself and another after my mom has had a chance to critique it. The next revision will probably be posted in 2-3 weeks, and I imagine the “final cut” will be sometime in the new year. Just in case anyone’s thinking: I want this story to be better before I waste 12.5 hours reading it.

My mom has been part of a women’s fiction group for almost 20 years but will have no clue what is going on as she has never played Ace Attorney and is completely unfamiliar with the series lol. Hoping shecan pare down some of my insane rambling anyway!

Cross-Posting:

AO3 is the hub for this story. However, I have it cross-posted if you prefer the other sites.

Fanfiction.net

Wattpad

Thanks &Author Rambling:

Thanks to the small handful of people who have followed along with this story from early on into its posting! When I started, I never dreamed I would write a story this long (my initial goal was 75,000 words), but I just had so much to write about these two. If I’m not mistaken, this is currently the longest Miego fic on AO3, when only counting fics specifically about the pairing. Whoops.

I am turning 30 this year, so it meant a lot to me to be able to say I wrote a novel before I hit that milestone, even if I won’t be able to formally publish it or monetize it in any way. Prior to writing this story, I had only written a few short pieces and have a 25,000-word original work that I have essentially abandoned, so this is by far my most involved piece of writing. It has been living almost non-stop in my head for the past 6 months.

I am pretty new to the Ace Attorney series. I had heard and seen memes about it for years, but my husband and I didn’t start playing the first game until December 2023 when he bought the remaster on the Switch.

We finished the original trilogy at the end of January/early-February and Bridge to the Turnabout is the case that made me a superfan. I now consider the trilogyto be my favorite video gameof all time. Although I still have to play Dual Destinies, Spirit of Justice, the Investigations duo, and The Great Ace Attorney Chronicles so maybe that will change.

The ending of that last case just sat with me for almost a month after we finished it. I couldn’t get over how Shu Takumi and Janet Hsu had created a romantic tragedy on par with Romeo & Juliet and Orpheus & Eurydice and just casually placed it in this amazingly funny and silly lawyer game. I wanted desperately to have more interactions between Mia and Diego and one more scene of closure with them at the end, but it didn’t happen.

So, I decided to create accounts on the main three fan fiction sites and start writing the story that was in my head. Basically, I wrote this story because I wanted to have some canon-compliant closure for myself haha.

I don’t think anyone will enjoy my rambling exposition and the ungodly amount of dry real-world minutia in this story as much as I do, but I hope someone out there liked it even one quarter as much!

Anyway, rambling done! I’ve fallen down the rabbit hole of this pairing and some other Mia or Diego-related rare pairs so you’ll probably still see me around bookmarking and kudosing your Mia and Diego fics even if I’m not sure if I’ll post again.

Playlist:

Here are some songs I had in mind during the writing process that I felt aligned tonally or plot-wise and/or were diegetic with different sections of the story. Like many of us on here, I had to see the scenes as a movie as I wrote them, so music helped.

Part 1 – Prologue

Turnabout Beginnings - Trials & Tribulations OST

Courtroom Lobby - Neverending Overture - Trials & Tribulations OST

Recollection – The Scenery Seen from Dusky Bridge - Trials & Tribulations OST

Part 2 – Mia x Diego

Ho Hey – The Lumineers (bar background music – it is 2013 after all)

Berry Big Circus – Justice For All OST

Just Like Heaven – The Cure

Quando M’en Vo – Anna Netrebko

Lovers Rock – TV Girl

Moves – Suki Waterhouse

Little Lou, Ugly Jack, Prophet John – Belle and Sebastian & Norah Jones

Out of My League – Fitz and the Tantrums

Jar of Hearts – Christina Perri (lol the idea of Lana and Mia singing this at karaoke)

Latch – Disclosure & Sam Smith (clubbin’)

Happy Birthday – Public Domain

I’m In Love With A Girl – Big Star

Genesis – Grimes

Song at the Beach – Arcade Fire

Turnabout Sisters – Phoenix Wright Ace Attorney OST

I Love It – Icona Pop & Charli XCX (detested radio song – again, 2013)

Something Stupid – Frank Sinatra & Nancy Sinatra

La Vie en Rose – Edith Piaf

Never Tear Us Apart - INXS

Distant Traces of Beauty - Trials & Tribulations OST

Part 3 – Mia

What Sarah Said – Death Cab for Cutie

Good Looking – Suki Waterhouse

Songbird – Fleetwood Mac

There Is a Light That Never Goes Out – The Smiths (dark joke)

Chasing Cars – Snow Patrol

Trial 2004 - Trials & Tribulations OST

Examination Moderate 2004 - Trials & Tribulations OST

Won the Lawsuit – The Victory Does Not End - Trials & Tribulations OST

So Far Away – Carole King

West Coast – Lana Del Rey

Only Exception – Paramore

Wuthering Heights – Kate Bush

Part 4 – Diego

The Less I Know The Better – Tame Impala

Pictures of You – The Cure

Back to the Old House (John Peel Session) – The Smiths

How Soon Is Now? - The Smiths

Pretty Pimpin’ - Kurt Vile

Oblivion – Grimes

Not Allowed – TV Girl (don’t take this one too literally because yikes the narrator in this song is unhinged but the bitterness is fitting)

Mask deMasque – Please Listen - Trials & Tribulations OST

Luke Atmey – I Just Want Love - Trials & Tribulations OST

Kurain Village - Justice For All OST

Hazakura Temple - Trials & Tribulations OST

Elise Deuxnim – Gentle Melody - Trials & Tribulations OST

Cat People – David Bowie

Lemon Glow – Beach House

Space Song – Beach House

With Pearly – Justice For All OST

Cornered 2004 - Trials & Tribulations OST

Part 5 – Penultimate Chapter/Epilogue/Roll Credits

Christmas (Baby, Please Come Home) - Darlene Love

December, 1963 – Frankie Valli & The Four Seasons

The Fragrance of Dark Coffee – Trials & Tribulations OST

I Follow Rivers (The Magician Remix) - Lykke Li & The Magician

Dark Paradise – Lana Del Rey