Childish Rhyme ch5
No, I didn't forget, it's just that there's two other fics that I took a long sabbatical from before starting this one, so they were owed new chapters first. I'll try to space the updates for this one a little closer together from now on.
Also I finally stopped forgetting to put this up on my website. I'm cleaning it up a bit as I go (there were a few typos and areas that needed different wording). Nothing drastic, but if you want to read it again I'd suggest doing it there. Plus I have the notes with pretty colors and stuff.
Previous chapters linked here.
Title: Childish Rhyme
Chapter: 5/? ............ Slip and Fall, Face the Wall
Rating: R for safety
Spoilers: pretty much everything from the first game to the fourth
Warnings: This fic will be heavily into heavy levels of unsettling and creepy. There might be one or two incidents of real violence towards the end but for the most part it's children staring with dead eyes more than chainsaws. Ye be warned.
Summery: A fairy tale on fairy wing is something to make the birds all sing. Still I wonder what tale we sow since all I hear are the calls of the crow.
If there was one aspect of his rock star career Klavier could take into the courthouse, it was how he dealt with the press. No other prosecutor was so good at dealing with the vultures, and that's why he got most of the high profile cases. Yes, he was also good, but there was no denying he had near infinite patience and grace when it came to public relations.
He had just about reached the end of that infinity.
Klavier closed and locked the door to his office and then all but fell against the polished wood. Over a week since the two attacks and they had nothing. His frustration over the failed investigation was only fueled by the media calling for competence and on and on. The fact was that half the force was working on this case, particularly worried about Trucy Wright as she put on a free show for their children last Christmas. And they were more than competent, with plenty of resources... the attacker was simply that good. No slips, no fumbles, only a seamless execution that left no trace.
The prosecutor wondered how long this person waited, how long they planned. Dahlia Hawthorne's trial and execution took place a decade ago. Did they spend all those years perfecting this crime? It certainly seemed like that was the case; revenge executed quickly was easy to uncover. This...
The phone rang, the shrill siren breaking Klavier out of his thoughts. He shuffled across the room, worn to the bone and ready to crack. He slumped into his chair and answered, ready for more bad news. The person on the other line barely had the chance to say a sentence when he dropped it, grabbed his coat, and ran out the door.
~~*~~
Klavier returned in a flurry, unceremoniously dropping his coat on the floor along with his helmet and keys. He'd just returned from the hospital where Apollo's mothers were likely still sobbing with relief at their son's awakening. Klavier had to admit that he felt a little choked up when he walked in the door and saw for himself that Apollo Justice had not been permanently felled. In the wake of Kristoph's betrayal the young prosecutor was lost and more than a little broken, and through it all the defense attorney stood without judgment or pity, only that slight grin and the flash in his eyes that said he was ready for the next courtroom challenge.
Of course, nothing was different so far as the case went. Apollo couldn't remember anything specific about the deli; it was a flurry of action and shouted orders and he might not have ever even looked at the person who poisoned him. But he was awake and there seemed to be no permanent damage, and that fact bolstered Klavier's spirit and gave him the strength to look the case over for the hundredth time.
He'd just about reached the end of the lists and articles and crime lab reports when the thought really hit him: there was no permanent damage. The after effects of Trucy's allergic reaction were gone within a couple days, and the doctors said that Apollo's shakiness and drowsiness would wear off in no more than two weeks. Full recoveries for them both.
The last man poisoned by this poison spent years in a coma with substantial full-system damage, he thought, pushing his chair back and tapping his chin with a pen. The more recent cup of dosed coffee posed a health risk to Herr Forehead, obviously, but it's not as if it would have been any harder to add a few more drops and guarantee a kill. And Frauline Trucy... her allergy is severe but not as severe as it could be, and a hospital is literally right around the corner from her performance. Again, the latex powder could have killed her, but the odds were for her survival.
The prosecutor would bet everything that this was no mistake. People who took revenge with rage made mistakes. People who moved too quickly made mistakes. This suspect wouldn't be smart enough to leave no trace and then in the same breath be stupid enough to stack the deck in the favor of the good guys.
It's doubtful that their deaths would have troubled this person much, but the suspect let both Frauline Trucy and Herr Forehead live. This wasn't accident. They're toying with us. He stood and paced the length of his office. They're toying with Wright and Iris Andrews. Of course! They waited a decade for this; kill them with the first blow and it'll be over too quickly...
This still doesn't bring us any closer to catching them.
He threw a file down onto his desk in frustration and then picked up the phone. He told Mr. Wright of his suspicions and they were confirmed. They all promised to be careful, but they were already doing that. There was only so long they could stay in the bubble of that hospital room. Only so long before somebody slipped, and it probably wasn't going to be the suspect. Klavier could do everything and still see two caskets in the ground.
He left his office, remembering that someone saw Detective Skye down in the basement archives. Perhaps their two minds together could come up with something. Or maybe he was just looking for a verbal spar so he could pretend this case wasn't turning his world upside down. The last time he felt this out of control was when he was standing in the courtroom all but begging Apollo to say the words so he wouldn't have to...
"Frauline Skye?" he called softly. "Emma?" he added, knowing she hated him calling her by her first name and that it would make finding her faster.
There was no reply, however, from her or anyone. Not even a clerk. He wandered the dusty shelves, absently touching the odd report or reference and then moving on listlessly. It was not often that he had no other avenue to pursue. No other case stopped him dead like this one.
At length he came across a table tucked away in the corner. Files and booklets lay open in at least three or four layers. Klavier rolled his eyes; he might keep a less than tidy desk and home but at least he cleaned up after himself in public places. For lack of anything better to do he stepped over and started closing and stacking the files.
He had the desk half cleared before he started taking in the headings and highlighted sections in the reports he was closing. He slowed, and started scanning the lines before he stacked them. Red Dahlia, addresses of floral companies, the chemical structure of the scorpion venom...
Towards the bottom he came across a few scrap papers with handwritten notes. One read: all floral companies in the county called / no one made order / poss. ordered online or separately / likely home-grown. Another: the wait was for planning, injury, sentence, grieving, ??? And another: easy to go all the way / torturing parents of victims / next move is to finish job or something else?
Because the hasty scrawl was so vastly different from the careful and slow lettering she used on her official paperwork, it took Klavier a good ten minutes of staring at the notes to connect the funny loop on the S and D with Emma Skye. He frowned, knowing that she'd never leave a table like this with her own personal notes not stuffed into that overflowing bag of hers. He wondered if she just ran upstairs for some coffee or a fresh back of snakoos and it was her casted leg accounting for the half hour he'd been standing there alone.
Klavier set her notes down and turned, ready to physically carry her to her apartment and force-feed her pain killers if that's what it took. His determined mindset was almost immediately derailed as he slipped on a piece of paper and went tumbling to the ground in a very ungraceful way. He stopped the fall with his knee and elbow, both of which throbbed horribly, so he decided to just stay on the floor and curse his existence until moving was no longer agonizing.
And so it was that he rolled on his side to face the wall, rubbing his knee and wondering if he cracked anything. Upon opening his eyes to glare at nothing, he saw it.
A paper cup of coffee lying next to the wall, the contents splattered across the baseboard and institutional tile.
In a second he was on his feet and running up the stairwell.
Also I finally stopped forgetting to put this up on my website. I'm cleaning it up a bit as I go (there were a few typos and areas that needed different wording). Nothing drastic, but if you want to read it again I'd suggest doing it there. Plus I have the notes with pretty colors and stuff.
Previous chapters linked here.
Title: Childish Rhyme
Chapter: 5/? ............ Slip and Fall, Face the Wall
Rating: R for safety
Spoilers: pretty much everything from the first game to the fourth
Warnings: This fic will be heavily into heavy levels of unsettling and creepy. There might be one or two incidents of real violence towards the end but for the most part it's children staring with dead eyes more than chainsaws. Ye be warned.
Summery: A fairy tale on fairy wing is something to make the birds all sing. Still I wonder what tale we sow since all I hear are the calls of the crow.
If there was one aspect of his rock star career Klavier could take into the courthouse, it was how he dealt with the press. No other prosecutor was so good at dealing with the vultures, and that's why he got most of the high profile cases. Yes, he was also good, but there was no denying he had near infinite patience and grace when it came to public relations.
He had just about reached the end of that infinity.
Klavier closed and locked the door to his office and then all but fell against the polished wood. Over a week since the two attacks and they had nothing. His frustration over the failed investigation was only fueled by the media calling for competence and on and on. The fact was that half the force was working on this case, particularly worried about Trucy Wright as she put on a free show for their children last Christmas. And they were more than competent, with plenty of resources... the attacker was simply that good. No slips, no fumbles, only a seamless execution that left no trace.
The prosecutor wondered how long this person waited, how long they planned. Dahlia Hawthorne's trial and execution took place a decade ago. Did they spend all those years perfecting this crime? It certainly seemed like that was the case; revenge executed quickly was easy to uncover. This...
The phone rang, the shrill siren breaking Klavier out of his thoughts. He shuffled across the room, worn to the bone and ready to crack. He slumped into his chair and answered, ready for more bad news. The person on the other line barely had the chance to say a sentence when he dropped it, grabbed his coat, and ran out the door.
~~*~~
Klavier returned in a flurry, unceremoniously dropping his coat on the floor along with his helmet and keys. He'd just returned from the hospital where Apollo's mothers were likely still sobbing with relief at their son's awakening. Klavier had to admit that he felt a little choked up when he walked in the door and saw for himself that Apollo Justice had not been permanently felled. In the wake of Kristoph's betrayal the young prosecutor was lost and more than a little broken, and through it all the defense attorney stood without judgment or pity, only that slight grin and the flash in his eyes that said he was ready for the next courtroom challenge.
Of course, nothing was different so far as the case went. Apollo couldn't remember anything specific about the deli; it was a flurry of action and shouted orders and he might not have ever even looked at the person who poisoned him. But he was awake and there seemed to be no permanent damage, and that fact bolstered Klavier's spirit and gave him the strength to look the case over for the hundredth time.
He'd just about reached the end of the lists and articles and crime lab reports when the thought really hit him: there was no permanent damage. The after effects of Trucy's allergic reaction were gone within a couple days, and the doctors said that Apollo's shakiness and drowsiness would wear off in no more than two weeks. Full recoveries for them both.
The last man poisoned by this poison spent years in a coma with substantial full-system damage, he thought, pushing his chair back and tapping his chin with a pen. The more recent cup of dosed coffee posed a health risk to Herr Forehead, obviously, but it's not as if it would have been any harder to add a few more drops and guarantee a kill. And Frauline Trucy... her allergy is severe but not as severe as it could be, and a hospital is literally right around the corner from her performance. Again, the latex powder could have killed her, but the odds were for her survival.
The prosecutor would bet everything that this was no mistake. People who took revenge with rage made mistakes. People who moved too quickly made mistakes. This suspect wouldn't be smart enough to leave no trace and then in the same breath be stupid enough to stack the deck in the favor of the good guys.
It's doubtful that their deaths would have troubled this person much, but the suspect let both Frauline Trucy and Herr Forehead live. This wasn't accident. They're toying with us. He stood and paced the length of his office. They're toying with Wright and Iris Andrews. Of course! They waited a decade for this; kill them with the first blow and it'll be over too quickly...
This still doesn't bring us any closer to catching them.
He threw a file down onto his desk in frustration and then picked up the phone. He told Mr. Wright of his suspicions and they were confirmed. They all promised to be careful, but they were already doing that. There was only so long they could stay in the bubble of that hospital room. Only so long before somebody slipped, and it probably wasn't going to be the suspect. Klavier could do everything and still see two caskets in the ground.
He left his office, remembering that someone saw Detective Skye down in the basement archives. Perhaps their two minds together could come up with something. Or maybe he was just looking for a verbal spar so he could pretend this case wasn't turning his world upside down. The last time he felt this out of control was when he was standing in the courtroom all but begging Apollo to say the words so he wouldn't have to...
"Frauline Skye?" he called softly. "Emma?" he added, knowing she hated him calling her by her first name and that it would make finding her faster.
There was no reply, however, from her or anyone. Not even a clerk. He wandered the dusty shelves, absently touching the odd report or reference and then moving on listlessly. It was not often that he had no other avenue to pursue. No other case stopped him dead like this one.
At length he came across a table tucked away in the corner. Files and booklets lay open in at least three or four layers. Klavier rolled his eyes; he might keep a less than tidy desk and home but at least he cleaned up after himself in public places. For lack of anything better to do he stepped over and started closing and stacking the files.
He had the desk half cleared before he started taking in the headings and highlighted sections in the reports he was closing. He slowed, and started scanning the lines before he stacked them. Red Dahlia, addresses of floral companies, the chemical structure of the scorpion venom...
Towards the bottom he came across a few scrap papers with handwritten notes. One read: all floral companies in the county called / no one made order / poss. ordered online or separately / likely home-grown. Another: the wait was for planning, injury, sentence, grieving, ??? And another: easy to go all the way / torturing parents of victims / next move is to finish job or something else?
Because the hasty scrawl was so vastly different from the careful and slow lettering she used on her official paperwork, it took Klavier a good ten minutes of staring at the notes to connect the funny loop on the S and D with Emma Skye. He frowned, knowing that she'd never leave a table like this with her own personal notes not stuffed into that overflowing bag of hers. He wondered if she just ran upstairs for some coffee or a fresh back of snakoos and it was her casted leg accounting for the half hour he'd been standing there alone.
Klavier set her notes down and turned, ready to physically carry her to her apartment and force-feed her pain killers if that's what it took. His determined mindset was almost immediately derailed as he slipped on a piece of paper and went tumbling to the ground in a very ungraceful way. He stopped the fall with his knee and elbow, both of which throbbed horribly, so he decided to just stay on the floor and curse his existence until moving was no longer agonizing.
And so it was that he rolled on his side to face the wall, rubbing his knee and wondering if he cracked anything. Upon opening his eyes to glare at nothing, he saw it.
A paper cup of coffee lying next to the wall, the contents splattered across the baseboard and institutional tile.
In a second he was on his feet and running up the stairwell.