Clive crept past Constance's bedroom, only to be stopped by a frail, reedy voice. "Clive? Is that you?"
The boy straightened and managed a half-smile. "Hello, Mama."
Constance frowned a little, causing the wrinkles on her forehead to deepen. "What's wrong, dear?"
"Nothing at all." He replied carefully, stepping in to smooth the hair away from his adoptive mother's forehead. He noted how dry and stringy they felt in his hand, and that made his fingers shake.
Constance must have noticed the sudden fear that had leapt into his eyes, because she smiled and said: "I'll soon be up and about, don't worry! A flu is nothing to Constance Dove." The firm tone of her voice was spoiled by a coughing fit.
"Mama! Don't talk anymore. Just rest." He gently pushed her back onto the bed. As he turned to the carafe of water, several sketches fell out of his satchel.
"A school project?" Constance accepted the glass of water from Clive's hands, eyeing the sketches in surprise.
"…something like that." He smiled uneasily and hastily picked up the papers.
"What is it supposed to be? It looks like a turtle…. It's a bit too big, don't you think?" on one sheet of paper, the measurements read: 'one leg = approximately 50 meters of steel'
"It's purely hypothetical." Clive said sharply. Immediately afterwards, he felt guilty for snapping at his mother like that.
Constance looked taken aback, for her little boy had never spoken to her like that before. She sank back onto the bed, glass forgotten. "Clive…. Come here." Once he had done so, she took his hand in both of hers. "I'm not going to be around soon." She said quietly, admitting for the first time that her flu was something much more. "And before my tongue is sealed in death, I want you to remember this…."
A clock bonged somewhere from the basement of the house. It sounded huge.
"Choose…. Based on what you truly believe in….." she tightened her grip. "Listen to your own true heart."
Clive was about to say something, when Constance started to fade. "Mama? Mama! What's-"
Clive jerked awake. The hammering on his door ceased as he stomped over to it. "What is it?"
"Beggin' yer pardon, boss, but Layton and his little pee-wees are in the fortress right now." The thug grunted. When Clive didn't respond, the thug said a little louder: "Exactly as you predicted, right boss?"
"Proceed according to my plan." The man ordered. "Make sure they make their way here."
"Yes, boss!" the thug ran out. With a sigh, Clive turned back towards the flickering screens in front of him.
"I'm sorry, Mama. I still don't know what I really want."