"One could only damage oneself through the harm one did to others. One could never get directly at oneself."
― Jean-Paul Sartre
They say hindsight is 20/20 but I disagree. I would explain, but there wouldn't be a point. This is what I have to say: no matter what you do, it will be wrong in someone's eyes. No matter how you act, you'll be worthless in the end. No one will remember you. Except perhaps your family—those are the only people foolish enough to hold on.
"Oh, home at last!" a woman with a swaddled infant in her arms stepped over the threshold, into the small flat. "What do you think, my darling? This is home, we're finally home..."
A man followed her into the room, a miniature bassinet tucked under his arm and a bag slung over his shoulder.
Clive drifted forward in awe of the sight. He hadn't been allowed to visit his parents at the hospital. For the past three days he had been holed up with his elderly grandmother, relishing in the occasional visits from his father. Finally, they had returned for him, baring some kind of... a baby, was it?
"Come say hello, Dear, don't be shy." His mother beckoned him forward. She had already kicked off her shoes and was now making herself comfortable on the old chesterfield. The young boy wandered over and climbed up to peer over his mother's shoulder. There below was a ruddy face, relaxed in sleep. Clive's instincts took over. He reached down to touch it.
"Mum, why's it got such funny cheeks?" he asked, feeling the newness of the infant's skin.
"Please Clive, don't touch him. How would you like to be prodded at like that? They're not funny, babies have to be chubby to keep healthy. And it's not an it. He's your little brother."
Clive didn't buy any of this. He figured the thing in the blankets looked a bit like a porcelain doll. He wondered if it would crack if it wasn't handled right. "I didn't ask for one of em little brothers," he said, reaching to touch the new baby again.
"Clive, stop it!" his mother said, with much less patients this time. "Mummy's very tired, babies are a lot of work. You're a good boy, so behave like one. Do as I say."
Considering this for a moment, the boy decided to slither away from the strange sight. His father was talking with his grandmother so he milled around, searching for something interesting. There wasn't much for an eight year old. Soon, the infant started to bawl. Clive covered his ears and watched his mother rock the thing, her face puckering into a weary smile. This was when he decided a little brother would only hinder him.
A year passed in this manner.
"You're a big brother now, Clive, you have to set a good example. Must you do so many naughty things?" my mother would say. All I could hear was the contempt. Jealousy is the fastest path to loathing. That was why, ten years ago, I forgot him in the flurry of the moment. If I were to save my parents, they would have to love me. My little brother vanished from my memory. He had always taken the attention owed to me. For some reason, he garnered more attention. Even to this day he has that attention—family. More family than one person deserves.
As far as I know, they never attempted to reunite us after the accident. They knew the likelihood that I would be adopted was low. But he, being under a year, would be something of a commodity. Ms. Dove would have happily taken us both if she had known. Thankfully, that was not the case. Once again the attention was all mine.
I adjust my watch. It's cold—the metal of the back raises the hair on my left arm. 1409.
Revenge was always my goal. All of this was for revenge. Hindsight may not be 20/20, but my memories of early childhood serve me well. Things changed with the addition of the baby, but I do remember happiness as an only child.
Revenge was always my goal. But I knew of Luke. I knew I would be able to pull off playing his older counterpart. It was perfect pieces all placed together, the click and the ah-ha.
Things always seem clearer... things always seem clearer... the top down view, the big picture. All of it—all at once. It's a hard way of looking at things but you have to keep all of the facts straight somehow.
Layton is the greatest threat to the plan. But he is also a quintessential part.
Luke is the insurance.
The plan is set. Revenge was always my goal, as far back as I remember.
I've started spending nights at the facility. I don't sleep anyway, I might as well be working. Dimirtri never leaves but we keep out of each other's way. The woman sometimes comes by, asking if I need anything. I sent her out once for coffee, but when she returned she told me everything was closed. It was one in the morning, neither of us had noticed.
I inquired about her only once, when she first made an appearance. Dimitri simply said she was investigating the explosion.
"Clive, dear, lunch is ready!"
The boy had been spinning with his arms outstretched. Upon hearing this he toppled to the grass purposefully, laughing. "Okay Cogg! I'm coming!"
It was these kinds of Sunday afternoons that allowed Clive to live his childhood. He relished in the sun, rolling over to lay still a moment. He was twelve now. And, for the most part, flourishing. There were bad days, and there were days when the boy stepped so far out of line his foster mother didn't know what to do with him. But for the most part he was brilliant.
I don't mean anything by it, but pain will destroy you. Pain will destroy you. Weakness will destroy you.
Anything less.
Anything less and you will be left, forgotten, worthless. Worthlessness strikes me as odd in the sense that something perfect can mean nothing in the wrong hands. And something worthless can be made fortunate. Why is it like this? Charisma—I can compare it to charisma. Some people are born and everyone wants to be near then. Somebody with the same face will simply be looked over if they don't have that charisma.
One minute I'm too cold and the next I'm too hot—living underground can be sickeningly suffocating. But it's better than regular life. I have control. I was born with that charisma, but somehow I maintain that worthlessness. I am weak. I can make up for it.
There must be a correlation.
He has the charisma, the worth and the bounty. The joy, the beauty.
I've decided to leave for the research facility again. On the back of my left wrist, my watch counts the seconds.
2304
The walk is sticky. The sky, as ever, hangs low and keeps everything in. There are a series of ventilation shafts both behind the lab and closer to the clock shop, but they don't run at night to reduce the noise. It's always muggy anyway.
Inside the building, noise echoes for aeons. Voices can be heard. Dimitri is somewhere here on the warehouse floor, he's talking to the woman. She replies. I keep walking, ascending the stairs into the office space that overlooks the main floor. It's even hotter up here. I sit, looking over the sprawling papers and mess I've created for myself. The fan overhead whirrs, slicing the air in futility.
I don't manage any work. I stare at paper, thinking. I try to get back to my calculations, but everything turns out wrong.
0055
I've wasted so much time already. It's getting harder and harder to remember which day it is. The first letter was send five days ago—thus today, to me, is day six. Day six. Everything else is set in place, I've checked it over a hundred times.
But the timeline—I haven't quite narrowed down how exactly this will run.
I have three choices, essentially. I can go to the lab to ask about progress. The only problem is that Dimitri might have gone back to work. I could head home, take something to try to get more sleep. Or, I could head onward to the casino. I need to check out its state anyway. So I decide on that option, Dimitri won't be pleased if I cut it too close. He'd reprimand me, and I'm not a child.
In a leather pack in the corner of the room I've stashed the clothing I'll be adorning for the facade. I pick it up, standing a moment to run my hand through my hair. Air hits me, buffeted irregularly by the fan. The relief is appreciated, but I know if I get thinking I'll just waste more time. I turn off the lights and leave the room, bag in hand. Instead of taking the stairs back down, I cross into the section of the building the scientists stay in. If Dimitri ever sleeps, I suppose it's in one of these rooms.
I can't stand it here. I can't stand the smell or the sound or the air. I hate it.
But I carry on, passing into the central lab. It's no surprise that I was correct in assuming my associate would be here. He's sitting, bent over his desk, the same futile stance I've seen over and over. The woman is sitting on the floor, her back against one of the lab benches. She might be asleep, her head is in her hands. Dimitri rarely lets her leave his side. I'm still trying to decide if he's more obsessed with her or his time machine.
"I figure it's time for me to go to the casino." I say. He looks up slowly, turning his head so he can see me. A lack of rest is evident in his face, as always. "I trust you'll be in your place as well, when the time comes."
He turns his face to the girl momentarily, then back to me. Despite their closeness, there are things we aren't supposed to discuss in front of her. If Dimitri has one redeeming quality, it's that he trusts no one.
I receive a nod and leave. Outside isn't any better. I hate it. All of it. I'm not even sure how I've stood this environment for so long.
The streets are bare at night. Absolutely deserted—even the Family retreat into the shadows. I like the silence. It's easiest to think without anyone around.
The Gilded 7 is something of a home away from home. I'd call it an escape if there was any real escape from this. It's bright, both inside and out. A glow, ethereal in nature, surrounds it and causes light pollution to seep over the rest of the city. Before heading in I check my watch again.
0119
People mill around. Low voices and low smoke. It's better here than at the lab. Much more comfortable. A few Family members patrol nonchalantly—there's rarely any trouble at all. Mark leans across the bar on the far left side. I consider going to speak with him, but then make the decision not to bother.
I know this is a bit of a peculiar story, but I appreciate your time for reading it! The plot does get a little more linear, and Clive gets a little bit crazier. So if you think you're up for it, I'd love to have you for the next chapter!