A/N
I made this quite a while ago, but because I lost motivation, I forgot about it. It wasn't until my friend Nagiza (who actually got around to read this) told me to continue, and I thank her for the help. :)
On another note: some of the characters seem a bit OOC, and I apologize for that, or maybe because I second guess? *shrug*
The Aperture in World Mystery
Ch. 1
It was a sunny summer day in Lower Michigan. The breeze rolled through a wheat field just outside of a small town not far from it. An old peculiar shed stood longingly in the middle of the golden sea, rusting and undisturbed, but not for long. A young man, who looks to be in his early twenties, sporting a World War II bomber jacket slung over his shoulders, and holding a brown paper bag in his right hand, strolled to the said structure.
"Wow! This things so old! The guys told me it's cursed or somethin', but seriously, how could a shed this small house a ghost? I thought they lived in big creepy mansions and stuff. Eh, so much for scary, I mean, really, what's so scary about a rickety shed in the middle of nowhere?" he decided to open the door casually, but found it bolt shut and locked, so, putting his paper bag down, tried opening it with more force, and yet again, the flimsy-looking door stayed put, unmoving.
"Hey! What gives?" this time he used both hands to try to pry the door open, but to no avail. Finally, he threw his hands in the air with an exasperated sigh and slumped down, reclaiming the bag he had set down moments earlier and took out his lunch consisting of many burgers and a large milkshake, then he moved to a more shaded area of the shed that casted a better shadow in the three o' clock sun and started scarfing down on his meal, using one hand to eat while the other wiped the beads of sweat that had started to run down his forehead.
"Man, this place is so beautiful, so peaceful; I could just lie about here forever," he said in between bites. True, the scenery was majestic, and it was even mentioned in a song, but as the young man munched and stared off, the entrance of the shed slowly opened, revealing not only a sturdy, five inch steel door, but two crawling, snake-like mechanical claws that appeared to have communicated with each other via beeps and clicks came from inside. One of them spoke, and the other nodded in return, the speaker took the way that went around the shed, while the other went around the door and closed in on its target.
The young adult, who was now clearing his eighth burger, was about to go look back inside his paper bag when, at the corner of his eye, a robotic arm slowly approached him, its claws open and its extension drawn back like a snake about to attack. He waited for the object to make its move, and though it was five feet from where he was, it felt like minutes before the arm charged at him with great speed, but he was even faster and jumped before the robot can reach him. The man scoffed and whistled to the mechanical arm around his way, a teasing grin on his face. The robotic snake shook its head and went to chase the human around the plain, screaming in beeps and missing the person whenever he evaded it.
Meanwhile, as the angry claw and the laughing man ran about in the field, the other claw rose up to see what was happening, but then lowered its head in embarrassment when its comrade had gotten itself turned into a pretzel, still chasing the man and trying its best to undo the mess it created, but failing even more in both as it soon became a game of snake. Seeing that its friend was of no use but to distract, the "smarter" claw kept to the ground and slithered its way into the fray, bracing itself when the person came too close to step on it or when the many metallic knots ran into it. Eventually, the opportunity arose when the man was close enough and struck him from behind, its maw encompassing the width of its prey.
"Hey!" he struggled as his arms were bound to the side of his body, rendering his attempted flailing useless. The other claw slowly made its way to its friend, head low and, thankfully, its whole mechanic untied, though it received a nice, stern binary lecture from its partner. The man, who was now hanging sideways after its captor righted itself, was still trying to free himself, but the robot's grip was tighter than a boa constrictor.
"'Kay… are you guys done playing or something 'cuz I gotta get back home before the next meeting. So will you put me down so we can arrange a play date sometime again soon, alright?"
The one claw looked to him with the utmost childish" face" and nodded to him with the greatest enthusiasm. Its friend, however, "rolled" its eyes and started for the shed; leaving its partner and making it hang its head down in sadness, and then it too followed behind. The man knew he was going with the sentient bots, and he knew that not only is he being taken hostage, but the claws did not let him finish his food, and, with a whine, he tried to grab for his lunch bag but was too far and out of reach, even for the short distance in between. The more hostile claw, annoyed by the person's squirming, smacked him onto the shed's thick wall and knocked the wind out of him, then it picked him up again unceremoniously and descended into the depths of where it came, closing the door softly on the way.
A week later, across the Atlantic, somewhere in Britain, a mansion created of the greatest of elegance stood proudly in its estate. The hedges trimmed to make various shapes and the flower garden patterned in every which way to make a colorful insignia resembling a phoenix on a blue shield background, the water of the fountain that rested on top of said flower shield made ripples of the moon's reflection. The outside was a wonderful spectacle, large and grand, but the main show was happening inside.
"Thank you all for appearing today," a young man said as he paced around the room, hand to his chin in a contemplative manner. His name was Hershel Layton, professor of archaeology at Gressenheller University, a man known for his kind and resourceful attitude, his knack for solving the most puzzling mysteries, which got his name in the papers many times and lover for a great cup of tea. He is a tall man, wearing an orange turtleneck under a brown trench coat, matching dress pants, and olive green dress shoes, but what is the most notable on him is his top hat, red lace circling its circumference above the rim, and a gift given to Hershel's closest friend. Accompanying him is his young friend and apprentice, Luke Triton. Luke is Layton's helper, keeping him organized by reminding him of important matters, getting his mail, making his tea and such. Strong-willed but a little brash and sometimes cheeky, he is nevertheless a great assistant and student. His ability to talk to animals has proven helpful on more than one occasion. Blue is his favorite color, as the outfit he wears is composed of a blue long sleeve sweater, brown shorts with the suspenders hanging to his side, and, like his teacher, a blue hat to go on top of his head. The two are at the study room of the mansion's owner, Henry Warren, where Hershel is deducing the real identity of the suspect involved with a crime that happened the night before. As he paces around the room, various other persons seat themselves on the many chairs, recliners, and sofas the room had to offer. Mr. Warren sat at his study, chair turned to face the thoughtful man, a middle-aged couple sat together, a stern look on both faces, and Mr. Wilson sat on the sofa next to them. There was inspector Chelmey standing strait with his hands in his pockets, along with Constable Barton, and on the seat opposite to Mr. Wilson was the victim of the crime, Arthur Kirkland.
"To sum up the events of what has happened," began Layton, "an item of value was taken from Mr. Kirkland, a book of magical properties, so to speak, then that very same book was used by the suspect to hack into ATMs, steal from public places and disappear without a trace, and later on to framing Mr. Kirkland for the crimes, am I correct Mr. Kirkland?"
Mr. Kirkland stood up, he looked to be in his mid-twenties, his blonde hair a bit mussed up, and he had green eyes. His eyebrows, as Layton noted, were quite, er, bushy on the person. He wore a forest green uniform, and his clean and strait posture told the professor he was a well-mannered, sober, respectful, disciplined individual.
"Yes," responded Kirkland, "I had a personal possession stolen from me, and it was later used to place the criminal charges against me," he took out a dark book with cryptic lettering on the cover, "this book."
The room fell silent, Layton, from the corner of his eye, found Mr. Wilson sweating a little.
"Now, after a little bit of analysis, the criminal did not leave any fingerprints on the tome, however, I had noticed that it was folded on some pages," the professor, after asking permission to show the book flipped to the ones with the corners bent over.
"Ones that I'll have to press flat later," mumbled Kirkland.
"All of us here are avid readers, and we all have different ways of marking pages, whether using bookmarks or remembering page numbers or even the folding of a page's corner, and that bit of logic brought me to the conclusion-" he paused," that the criminal is you!"
He pointed to Mr. Wilson, who stood up suddenly, mouth agape. His shocked expression then gave way to a sly smile, "you have a very interesting book Mr. Kirkland, it was a shame I had to give it back to you, I would have loved to keep that and do more with it, but no, with the constant nagging thought that I would be caught at some point kept at me and so, to make it as if I was being nice without being seen, planted the object in your bookshelf when you were not around and skedaddled out almost scott-free… Almost."
"That's when I came into the room," continued Mr. Kirkland, "and you, knowing I would call the police, knocked me out with a dictionary and dropped my book on me to make the cops think that I committed the crimes you've done, and now you will go to jail for it!"
Chelmey clicked the handcuffs on Mr. Wilson, "you, sir, are charged with theft and the attempted fraud against an innocent."
Wilson growled, and then turned his face made another sneaky smile, "by the way, while I still had possession of the magical book, I memorized one of the spells, one that has proven a helpful diversion when I escape," he took a deep breath and muttered a few unintelligible words, the lights started flickering and everyone was at a loss of what was going on.
"Stop him-!" yelled Luke as his mentor ran to the low speaking man, but just as he was halfway reaching him, the lights went out. In the struggle, Chelmey gave an oof and the thud of his fall sounded in the dark, Mr. Wilson laughed evilly, and the sound of broken glass was heard before the lights turned back on.
"He escaped!" cried the young boy as he ran to the jagged hole on the window.
"Quickly, everyone! We must catch Mr. Wilson before he goes any farther!" said Layton, "he should still be in the vicinity if those spells he remembered are only limited to that!"
As he was exiting the room, Arthur called out to him, "wait! Mr. Layton! May I go with you? I could be of some use now that my book is now back in my possession."
The other man gave a stern nod, and they, with Luke in tow, ran out of the room.
"Hey, Mr. Kirkland?" asked the ever-curious Luke as they were dashing down the hallway.
"Yes?"
"Are we going to see you do some of your magic when we see Mr. Wilson?
The older blonde spaced out for a moment, and then, "yes, yes we will."
"Great, of all the places I could have escaped to, it had to be in a labyrinth," mumbled a very lost Mr. Wilson.
He limped around the maze, holding his bloodied arm, which was damaged when he jumped out the window, and cursed whenever he got into a dead end.
"Blast it!" he would say.
Not too far off, the three men reached the entrance of the maze.
"His blood trail leads inside here," said Layton as he examined the small, drying red splatters against the green grass with a flashlight.
"We must go quickly or we'll lose him," hurried Luke.
On Mr. Wilson's side, he was becoming more frustrated by the second, and was about to scream aloud, but when he heard the sound of footsteps, he promptly shut his mouth and quickened his pace.
"Mr. Layton, wouldn't it be better if we jumped through these hedges instead of running the entirety of this jungle!" Arthur huffed in between breaths, "I'm very out of shape for a marathon."
"We could, but-" as he extended his hand into the shrub, he instantly felt a thorn prick him, and retracted it just as fast to show the dribble of blood that started to form on the back of his hand, "it seems Mr. Warren does not like cheaters."
Just then, Luke came up with an idea, "Mr. Kirkland! How about we use your powers to track down Mr. Wilson! I want to see you in action!"
"Hey! I could've thought of that!" yelled a gasping Arthur, and as soon as he stopped wheezing, he said in a mighty wide grin "stand aside and I'll show you what real magic looks like!" he took his dark book out, flipped to a specified page, knelt down, and placed his right hand on the ground while muttering an incantation from the text. Suddenly, purple beams of light came off of the roots of the tall shrubs, and some of them began extending it to a location the mystical man was directing them to. Right after that, a yelp was sounded.
"That's him!" cried Luke.
"Come now! He's not far!" motioned the professor.
The three ran through the now more spaced out shrubbery and found their plant-victimized culprit at a simple turn, who was struggling to free himself despite the verdant barbs that held him captive, and more of the crimson stream that dripped on him now fell onto much of his clothes.
"Hah! We caught you red-handed with our green thumb here, Mr. Wilson!" Luke said happily.
"Good job with the pun, Luke, but now, we need to find a way to contact the inspector to apprehend our run away," the professor looked for a way to bring attention to him in the middle of a spiny forest, "hmm, Arthur, with your power, can you create another light beam to signal inspector Chelmey?"
"Oh, sure, why not?" he began his ritual again, this time the beam was of a sunshine yellow, and, sure enough, the voice of the gruffly authority figure was overheard.
"Layton! Is that you? What was that?" he yelled out.
"Inspector! We found Mr. Wilson!" was the reply.
"Alright! Give me some time, I'll be there!"
While Layton waited with Luke, Arthur, and the captured Wilson, the trapped man took out a pocket knife and began cutting at his leafy bonds. In a matter of time, he broke free and took out a pipe (which had been concealed in the sleeve of his good arm) and lunged at the small group. Layton parried with his flashlight and, using both hands on his just turned weapon, shook the metal instrument off.
"Oh, you think I was going to be taken away like that that easy? Well, think again!"
Wilson thrust forward, and Layton dodged. Arthur pulled Luke from the fray and held on to him as the young boy struggled to try to help his friend.
"No, it's too dangerous! You will get hurt, and it would be best for someone of your age to not get involved in a physical matter such as this; wouldn't that be what Mr. Layton would like you to do?"
The two men kept at their game of swordplay. Then, tiring fast and losing more blood by the second, Mr. Wilson's every move became more desperate, more energy depleting, until, at last, an opportunity for the latter fighter arose, and he took the former's weapon from him by deflecting an incoming blow and pulling the pipe from his weakened, bloody palms.
"Argh! Y-you will pay for this, Layton!" the man cursed before he fell to the ground exhausted.
Layton walked over to the unconscious body; Luke breaks free from Kirkland and runs to his mentor.
"Professor, what are we going to do? He's still bleeding and we can't just leave him like this, even if the man himself gave us a lot of trouble."
"Don't worry, Luke, he is still alive," reassured the elder, "but the loss of blood took a toll on him, and he's out for a while. We should patch him up or he would bleed further," he turns to Arthur, "Mr. Kirkland, would you be as kind as to help heal Mr. Wilson?"
"Why should I?" retorted the man, "he stole my magic book and framed me! I think the idiot deserves it!"
"Mr. Kirkland! At least show some respect!" the professor reasoned.
"Hmph, no!" he turned his back, crossing his arms.
Luke then came up to him with a concerned look and a, low, saddened tone of voice, "Mr. Kirkland, I know he gave you a hard time when he stole your tome, but please, as a gentleman, show some mercy to the poor man."
Arthur looked at him coldly at first, then softened at the boy's worried expression, reminding him of another younger child he used to deal with.
"Fine, but because I, as a gentleman, have to show at least some respect to some annoying, weak git that other people told me to care about." He walked over to the dirtied body, flipped to a page, hovered his right hand over the bloodied form, recited a chant, and simultaneously, the broken figure began to mend itself. Chelmey came just after the glow subsided, gasping heavily.
"Ah! I see our criminal has tired himself out! Good job watching over him, Layton!"
Layton gave a curt nod and Chelmey motioned his troupe of officers to pick up the still unconscious Wilson. Layton was about to follow them out, when Arthur's hand touched his shoulder.
"Mr. Layton, I have read about you as a practical man, yet you didn't seem as surprised when I exposed my true self to you with my magic. Why?"
The other man looked at him blankly, but the smirk that slowly formed on his lips quickly gave him an answer.
"I'll just say that, like a puzzle, you should not jump to conclusions before you even had the chance to observe," he gave a wink and started to walk away, with Luke following behind him.
Arthur stood there standing, but before Layton could be out of his sight, he called out to him.
"Mr. Layton! Uh, would you mind it if I come over some time for tea? I would really like to learn about how you were able to execute such extraordinary and quick moves!"
"Why of course! I am not as busy for the next few days, anyway. Would you like to have Mr. Kirkland come over, Luke?"
"Would I ever!" squealed the young boy, "I want to see more of his magic with my very own eyes!"
"Alright then, it seems we are at an agreement. We can meet again tomorrow at my flat and I can fancy you with some tea, and teach you about fencing. You can entertain Luke with your enchantments at the end."
"A good sound deal to me," the two both shook hands at the arrangement, "well, we better get going, see you tomorrow!" Together, they got out of the maze and made their way home.
On the car ride back, Luke was giddy about the events that unraveled today, but was even more on the topic of Arthur Kirkland.
"He really was a nice guy, professor, even if he was a little rude towards Mr. Wilson, but his amazing power! It was so cool! The roots all just got out from the ground and wrapped him in its grasp! It was incredible!"
Later that night, as Arthur was sleeping, he heard a knock at his door. Grumbling, he turned to his side and ignored the rapping, but it got louder. Annoyed, he took one of his pillows and covered his face, but the loud, and quickly getting louder, tapping turned into a furious bang.
Unable to take it any longer, he slowly went downstairs to confront whoever was making the racket. He peeped through a nearby window closest to the door and found the silhouette of a familiar figure. Instantly knowing the identity, he stormed to the door and angrily pulled on the handle.
"You! What in the devil's name are you doing here, you wanker! Do you know what time it i-"
A yellow gas was sprayed from the silhouette's hand, and in a matter of seconds, the Brit, still sputtering from the sudden release of an unknown substance, began to stiffen from the feet up. He looked to the shadow, and it removed a standing cutout of who he thought was someone he knew, revealing a hooded being, face unrecognizable in the darkened sky, but pale in skin by the way its hand was still held up to his face, holding the spray that caused his paralysis. A feminine voice in her teens, who whispered a sorrowful 'I'm so sorry', was heard before the effects of the gas completely numbed Arthur.