Hey everyone! First of all I'm sorry this is so late! I accidentally deleted the first version I wrote of this off my iPod, and was forced to rewrite the whole thing from scratch. z.z The version you're about to read is a rewrite of my original oneshot. I decided to change quite a bit of it to accommodate everyone's prompts, and due to the prompts it is quite a bit longer than Luke and Flora's chapters. =)
This chapter is told from the POV of Clive, and contains ideas by W0lfWarrior, falconadventurer, SolHikari and a kind girl who wishes to remain anonymous. :) Again I was in a hurry to get this out there, so if it seems rough or just plain horrible, don't worry, I'll get back and edit it soon. ;)
Thank you so, so much again everyone for your reviews, PMs, favourites and follows
and I hope you enjoy this next chapter!
When I was twelve years old, going on thirteen, the apartment building where my parents and I lived caught fire, and burnt down. I didn't know at the time what started the fire. All I knew was that when I came home from school that day, the building was alight with flames. Black smoke bellowed from the windows, sirens were blaring, and people were screaming. The smell of smoke and cinder hung heavy in the air. When the shock of the initial blow began to fade, the cruel reality dawned on me. My father had been off from work that day, and my mother had been home since three. Both my parents were still inside that building.
I felt like my heart stopped beating at that moment. My mind stopped functioning, and my legs took over. Everyone was running away from the disaster, I ran into the flames. I could have sworn to God I heard my mother's voice amidst the terrified screams of bystanders, and the agonized cries of survivors who watched as everything they knew turned to ash. Her voice called me forward, into the engulfing fire, like a helpless insect being drawn to the light. The voice of a little boy would have joined the cacophony, if it hadn't been for a man in a top-hat standing by.
I was grabbed from behind by that top-hatted man, his hat he appeared to be fighting with to keep from falling off his head. He subdued me under the arms and though I wailed and cried and fought against his grip, he never released his hold on me, no matter how hard I made it for him to hold on.
"My parents are still inside!" I bawled, ramming my small foot into his shin for the umpteenth time in attempt to escape.
"Pull yourself together, boy!" The man slapped me across the face. "There's nothing to be done! Jump back in there, and you'll die too!"
I screamed, pounding at his chest with balled fists. At that moment there was no one I hated more than that man. He was a villain in my childish eyes. He wanted to keep me from entering the building — He wanted to stop me from saving my parents... But as another floor of the building collapsed onto itself, and the remains of the bodies of the fire's victims rolled out on stretchers covered by blinding white sheets, I realized the top-hatted gentleman was crying as well. My first thought was that I had hurt him, but then I realized that was far from the truth. That man had lost someone in the fire, just as I had. He fully understood my pain, and was just trying to save me from suffering the same fate as my parents, and his loved one.
In spite of my attempts to inflict pain on him, the man never withdrew, or even flinched. Instead he pulled me closer, wrapping both his arms around me in a tight embrace. And that time I didn't try to escape. I allowed myself to sob openly then, and the top-hatted man did the same. I buried my head in his shirt and tried to drown out the noise of the chaos around us.
For as long as I live, I will never forget that day. The look of the fire that consumed my whole world. The sadness, the ashes, and the man who saved my life, and comforted me after I had lost everything... Many years after that fateful day, I sought revenge on those who started that fire. I tried to destroy the city where everything I had was once destroyed. With the money left to me by the woman who adopted me after my parents' death, I tried to annihilate London, willfully kidnapping some of the world's leading scientific minds to help me build the ultimate weapon. I was blinded by my anger, and grief over what had been lost... But yet there was still a part deep in my soul that realized I needed help. I knew there was only one man in the world who could free me from my insanity, and in a most confounded, complicated turn of events, I got in contact with one Hershel Layton, hoping he could save me from impending tragedy again, just as he had so many years ago.
The details are labyrinthine, but save me the professor did. The professor stopped me before I did bodily harm to anyone, however I did do severe damage to a large portion of London. And what was done could not be undone. I paid for my crimes, just as I deserved to — I was sent to prison for a sentence of ten years. It could have been a life sentence — It probably should have been a life sentence. But as I hadn't actually killed anyone, they decided ten years was fair.
I can't say the time went by quickly by any definition of the word, but although it's not a place I would want to go back to by any means, the London Detention Centre was not a living hell. My cell was more of a small room than the dark, dungeon-like holes portrayed in police shows, and the meals they served there weren't actually half bad. The staff there were friendly for the most part, though I could have just been lucky to have gotten on their good side, and every month I was allowed to have in one visitor from the outside. Sometimes Puzzlette, better known to some as Granny Riddleton's granddaughter, would come to visit me. The two of us had been good friends ever since she had taken over for her grandmother, and set up her puzzle shack in my "future London". We would usually sit outside under a tree on the detention centre grounds, and she would bring me puzzles we'd gave great fun doing together. Sometimes Spring and Cog, two longtime friends of mine would come to visit. And on one remarkable day, about a year after my incarceration, I was greeted in the visitation room by Professor Layton himself.
It came as the shock of a lifetime when they told me a Professor Hershel Layton was here to see me. I felt shaken to the core when I walked down that narrow corridor I had walked so many times, and rounded the corner to see the top-hatted man sitting there in the chair, waiting for me. I didn't dare ask where he had been all that time; why he hadn't come to see me sooner. My first year in prison felt like an eternity to me, and I figured the professor had forgotten by that time — Either that or I was a none-too-gentle reminder of the events of the previous year. I suppose he needed time to recover before seeing a man so closely linked to his tragedy, if not the grand architect of it all. Though the professor never physically told me why he waited a year before coming to see me.
After that extraordinary first visit, the professor would continue to come. He would meet me outside on the detention centre grounds, or inside in the visitation room nearly every month for the next nine years. He came so regularly that the staff there began to get to know him. Many of the staff members actually came to believe the professor was my father! I'll never forget that one time when one of the desk clerks asked him if I was his son. The professor only laughed and said "In many ways he is".
I don't know why hearing him say those words made me unbelievably happy. I was thirteen years old when I lost my own father. I had an adoptive mother after my parents died, but Constance was actually more the age of a grandmother, and her husband had long passed away. I had always thought of the professor as a father figure of sorts, ever since he held me so tightly at the site of that burning building. After I lost my parents, I often felt lonely, even with Constance around. Whenever I was scared or in a situation I didn't know how to handle, I would often find myself wondering, what would Mom do? What would Dad do? And somewhere in the back of my mind, amidst the memories of chaos and despair, I would remember the man who had comforted me, and wonder what Professor Layton would do.
I remembered the professor as the most soothing of souls. A brilliant and kind gentleman, cool in a crisis and brave, above all else. I had not seen him since the day of the accident, but he had always meant a great deal to me. As a child he was like a hero from a fantasy storybook, larger than life but absolutely real, and someone I should strive to be. To know that we had now grown so close, and to hear that he perhaps thought of me practically as highly as I thought of him seemed to me the greatest honour that anyone in the universe could possibly receive.
When it was finally time for me to be released from prison, I admit I was afraid. Of course I was afraid that the word would not accept me. I had been shut away from society since the time of the incident, and now that I was going back, I didn't know how London would react. But I suppose my biggest fear was that the professor and I's friendship would not remain as strong as it used to be. When I was behind bars, and the professor would come in for monthly visitation at the detention centre, I could feel safe in knowing that our relationship was constant. I knew the professor would come on the same day, at the same time every month. I knew we would talk about things: Small talk about the weather, and deep conversation about the world and life as a whole. I knew I could always count on those visits. But I feared that when I was out of prison, and back in society as a free individual, those things would all come to an end.
But you'll be delighted to hear that this wasn't the case. Professor Layton and I remained friends even after I was released. We would not have our scheduled get togethers once every month like we used to do, but instead we were now able see each other any time we desired. I even went on a few trips with the professor, solving mysteries all over England. With our combined puzzle solving genius, there wasn't a case we couldn't crack. The professor helped me to become a philosopher and a philanthropist. He even spent some time teaching at a school I had built in Africa for children who wouldn't normally have a chance at an education. The children there didn't have much interest in the field of archaeology, but there's so much else to be learned from Professor Hershel Layton, I thought that every person deserved at least one lesson from the man in the top-hat.
Professor Hershel Layton was a great man. Never could there be another friend to me like the professor. He was there for me until the end; for friendship, for wisdom, for comfort and emotional support. And now that he's nearing the end of his life, I don't know what I am to do... I suppose the only thing that can be done is to try to keep the memory of my friend alive. Just as I've kept the memory of my parents alive. Just as I've kept the memory of everyone, and everything that has ever been important to me.
Farewell for now, Professor Layton. Be welcomed into Heaven, but realize how much you will be missed on Earth. You have been more to me than you could ever know. Maybe one day I'll have the chance to tell you in person that you were a real-life storybook hero to me.
Rest in peace, my best and truest friend.