Gathering Suspicions

Things that I know to be true:

My name is Professor Hershel Layton.

I have two children, Flora and Alfendi.

I live in London and I teach at Gressenheller University.

He repeated these things in his head as he walked, deciding they were the key information he needed to remember. He was still unsure what was happening but knew that his memories weren't lining up with the world around him. It was very possible he could lose more as time went on, and he was afraid of forget the things that mattered most.

Nonetheless, he tried to remain calm as he puzzled it out, walking round streets. The air in Stansbury was warm, and if Hershel weren't so wrapped up in his own thoughts, he might have stopped for breakfast at one of the cafes along the way. He saw a small building with several tables outside and was shocked to see that it was the bakery he used to visit as a boy. He was sure it had closed just before he moved away, but here it was in it's full glory, with a menu that had doubled in size.

Perhaps Stansbury has simply experienced a boom in tourism, it isn't uncommon for towns.

From one of the tables outside the building, a child around school age waved and called out to him.

"Hello Mr Layton!" Taken aback slightly, Hershel waved back to them. He hadn't been referred to as anything other than Professor in years. He would be lying if he said it didn't hurt his pride slightly. As he walked on, he heard the child's mother tell them not to bother people on their day off.

People here that he'd never seen recognised him. Amnesia was definitely still a possibility.

He continued walking, his feet absentmindedly taking him down path he'd walked a hundred times. Before he even acknowledged where he was headed, he found himself stood in front of his childhood home. It seemed well kept and clearly lived in. He knocked on the door but there was no answer. He knew they didn't live there any more, he wasn't sure what he'd expected. But something had drawn him there.

"I think they're still out of town, your father mentioned being back on Sunday." He heard a voice from behind him and turned to see a man the same age as him, smartly dressed and carrying several bags. He seemed very tired, and not in the mood to stop for conversation. "I'll let you know if I see them about."

"Henry?" he asked, and saw the other man raise an eyebrow, Hershel quickly assumed that Henry being in Stansbury had a normal explanation that he didn't remember, his shock would seem awfully suspicious. He tried to continue the question "Where are you headed?"

"Just back to the Manor" He answered coldly "Mrs Ascot needed me to pick up some groceries." He lifted the bag higher onto his shoulder. "As well as a newspaper, she's desperate to read the story."

Something clicked in Hershel's mind, a newspaper would be a vital source of information. He attempted to hide his confusion at Henry's words.

"I haven't had a chance to read it yet, is it in the most recent one?" He stumbled his way through the sentence, trying to make it believable.

"Yes, published this morning. I'm on my way to pick one up now."

"I'll accompany you then." Henry's strained smile seemed to portray that he wasn't thrilled with this idea, and he declined when Hershel offered to take one of the bags.

Hershel had always been confused by his relationship with Henry but was certain they'd been able to mend it over the past few years. The two were never going to be like brothers, but at the very least Henry had helped him on a case a couple of months back, and they'd enjoyed their down time in London. But now, Henry seemed to have a harsh animosity towards him that he couldn't work out the reason for. He didn't even want to open the mystery of why he was working for the Ascots again.

The two of them came across a little stand at the edge of the road, and Hershel spotted a rack of Newspapers on the side. He hurried towards it, leaving Henry behind. It was ungentlemanly, but he had offered to help. He tried to look collected as he read the date on the top of the most recent one.

It was the next day.

He'd been in London March 15th. The paper read March 16th, same year.

"Hello Hershel!" The man behind the counter called out to him "Your friend's been in the papers again, did you see?"

"My friend?" he ran through all the possible people in his head, he didn't know who he was referring to. Though if this was someone recognisable in Stansbury…

"Page 6." He picked up the copy and flipped through to the page to show Hershel, and sure enough there was a photo of a man with big glasses and slicked back red hair- Randall Ascot. He was photographed in front classroom that Hershel recognised, he'd taught there before. "He solved another big mystery or something."

"Remarkable-" Last he'd heard, Randall was on vacation in Spain. It seemed unlikely he'd travel all the way back to solve a case- Especially when he wasn't known for it.

"I'm here to pick up a copy as well." Said Henry who'd finally caught up. He took his wallet out and paid the money, taking his copy and leaving.

"Good to see you Henry" he called after him. Henry didn't respond.

Hershel turned back to the stand and tried to read the story, but the man closed the paper, clearly expecting payment of some kind. Hershel felt round in his pockets but hadn't picked any up. He held his hand up apologetically and the man laughed. "I'll have to come back later."

He began making his way back to the house and went over the new information in his head.

He needed to get back to his normal home to try and figure out what was going on, and so far, he had no proper explanation- Time hadn't changed, and people weren't where they were supposed to be. Henry and his parents were in Stansbury, Randall was at Gressenheller. It felt as if he'd missed 5 years in the span of a night.

But that article gave him an idea. An easy way to find information.

He hurried back home and went to the desk, going through each of the drawers. He'd always kept important letters, and it seemed there was no exception here. He leafed through them, searching for a London address.

He finally found one that had a return address that he recognised as being very close to his home. He opened it up to find a short letter that seemed to be from a few months ago.

Hello, Hershel

I hear you're settling in well at Kingsbrooke, I always said you'd make a great teacher, hope the children aren't giving you too much trouble!

We're all moved in now and it's such a relief, it'll be so much easier to live nearby rather than us both having to commute every day, you know what it's like on the Underground. (Though, I won't be working for a few more months at least.)

It would be wonderful to have you come and visit one day. You'd love this corner of London, there's so many museums!

If you're ever in town, our door is always open!

Best Regards,

Angela Ascot

He reread it a couple of times, several things catching his eye that he tried to rationalise. First, the implication that he worked with Kingsbrooke, the local school. Perhaps there had been Archaeological work undertaken in town that he'd been involved with?

Then there was the fact of who had written the letter. He'd expected it to be from Chelmey, or perhaps Rosa. But apparently the newspaper article was not a one time event. They- he assumed this referred to Angela and Randall- were working in London. Surely he would have known if they'd moved across the country, they kept in touch quite frequently.

And the end of the letter caught him by surprise. He'd never known Angela to use that surname, she tended to use her maiden name in conversation and 'Ledore' for legal purposes- considering the baggage that came with Randall's past in Monte D'or. He didn't think they'd ever officially gotten married. Come to think of, he didn't know if she and Henry had ever technically gotten divorced.

Regardless of what had gone on between them, he knew one thing for sure. If Randall was solving mysteries in London, he might have answers about what was going on.

It seemed like a far-fetched plan, but London was only a few hours away. He hadn't seen his trusty Laytonmobile parked outside, but he was certain the same bus route he used to use would still be running. And he'd never figure out what was going on if he just stayed in Stansbury. The one thing he wanted to do was speak with his parents, but he didn't have time to waste waiting till Sunday.

He found a small suitcase and packed a weekends worth of clothes into it, as well as the letter so he'd have the address ready. He noticed a big jacket on the back of the door and pulled it on, then grabbed a black cap from a hook on the wall, wrestling it over his hair. It wasn't the same as his usual attire, but it was a good substitute.

Reaching into his coat pocket, he was delighted to find a leather wallet. Inside was a good amount of money, and a driving license with his name on. At last he could finally remove the guilt he felt from being in this house, he'd had suspicions, but this had confirmed it. This was his house.

More things I now know to be true:

I have a home in Stansbury and am somehow involved with Kingsbrooke Academy

My childhood best friend didn't invite me to his wedding

I need to get back to London, and get to the bottom of this