Puzzle 011

Everything stopped.

The sound of the shot reverberated off the walls, echoing and repeating itself as if it were a stuck recording. Clive dropped the gun in front of him with a loud clatter, the gun merely an extension of the cruelty he did not know he could commit. The horror was evident in his eyes, terrified that he just took someone's life. It was apparent from his reaction that he did not believe himself capable of firing a gun, let alone fire at someone. Layton could see that Clive was no killer; all at once the young man showed terror behind his calm demeanor, terror that he accidentally became the last thing he intended, the monster he never wanted to be.

Luke broke free from Clive's side, running to where his father lay. The young man did not speak and barely breathed as he knelt in front of his father, afraid to touch the man's shoulder. Layton stood his ground, his eyes locked on Clive. If Clive tried anything, Layton would respond regardless of the violence necessary to do so. Luke tapped his father's broad shoulder, almost afraid to disturb him as if Clark simply rested or napped at home. From Layton's vantage point he could not see Clark's face or tell if he could breathe at all. Neither of them kept firearms of any sort; Layton believed that a gentleman did not need a weapon to solve a dispute and Clark found them to be too dangerous with a young boy living at home. As a little boy, and like every little boy in his play group, Luke was fascinated with pretending to be some sort of bandit or outlaw and fired pretend guns made of sticks or various objects. Being so impressionable, as soon as Layton explained why he never carried a firearm Luke vowed to never carry one either. Maybe now Layton would seriously contemplate purchasing a gun.

Suddenly movement from the corner of his eye distracted Layton. Clark's torso shuffled, then his legs and finally his arms. Groaning in pain, he slowly propped himself up on his elbows and checked for the hole in his shirt. Apart from a bit of blood and a tear through his shirt and coat, the bullet merely grazed his hip; as soon as Clark stood the bullet dropped to the floor.

Forgetting himself, Layton rushed over to Clark's side as Luke helped his father stand. For a moment Clark and Luke stood wrapped in each other's arms and Clark could hold his baby boy once again, could be sure he was alive and well. Layton could not break the two apart, instead he placed an arm on Clark's elbow for support. Although he could not see any grave threat to Clark's life, the man's face already lost some of its color and a thin film of sweat peppered his forehead. If they could escape within a reasonable amount of time Clark would not go into shock. For the second time in days, Layton would have to call upon Dr. Lerwick once again. From there, they would call Brenda and Flora, and they could reunite Luke with his mother and "sister." Would quickly became if.

"Let's go home, Luke," Clark winced against his son's messy head. The young man needed a bath, a warm meal, and a change of clothing but as long as Luke was out of immediate danger that satisfied Clark. Luke dug himself into his father's chest, believing—much like he did as a little boy—that as long as his daddy held him, Luke was perfectly safe. However, Clive halted their reunion.

"Release the boy," Clive demanded, his voice hardly audible and leaving no room for questioning. In his hand he held the same gun he accidentally fired, aimed directly at the back of Luke's head. "Let him go, now. You've seen what I can do with this; do not force me to attempt the feat a second time."

Layton froze in place to the right of Clark. He calculated the odds of survival if he were to jump between them and discovered three possibilities; one, the shock would cause Clive to drop the gun. This would possibly lead to a misfire that could harm anyone in the close vicinity. Two, Clive would accidentally fire again and the close proximity would permanently maim Layton, possibly killing him. Similarly, his third option meant another misfire that hit either Clark or Luke. None of these options were desirable.

Clark pulled his son further into his shoulder and tucked him beneath his arm. "No," he replied with icy breath. Luke's large eyes, the eyes his mother gave him, bounced back and forth between his father and the madman.

As soon as Clark finished his response Clive pointed the gun at the floor near Luke's feet and fired another deafening warning shot, then trained the gun back on Luke's head. "Now, Mr. Triton. I will not ask you again."

Layton kept his mouth glued shut during the exchange. Everyone else ignored him, although he was ready to do as asked. He watched Clark's face illuminate the internal debate that roared within him, trying his best to determine what he should do. His mouth bobbed in incredulity, unable to decide the best course of action for his son. To Clark, his son was worth the gunshot; he was worth as many shots as necessary. But at times it is the responsibility of a parent means doing things in the child's best interest no matter how much it hurt to do so.

With a heavy drop in his shoulders Clark held Luke at arm's length and bent to meet his son's eyes despite the excruciating pain in his hip. "Luke, listen to me."

Instantly Luke panicked, clamoring at his father's arms to return to the man's embrace. The boy's tears flowed incessantly as he pleaded for his father to stay. He knew what Clark would do.

"Luke! Son, calm down and look at me," Clark tried once again. "Listen to me, son. You are going to go with this man once again. But I swear to you, I will do whatever is needed to bring you home." He ran his fingers through Luke's hair. "You must be brave, son."

Luke's tears did not stop, even as he reluctantly nodded and wiped a few of the tears from his face. The track marks of his tears cut clean rivers through the dirt on his face, dripping from his chin to the dirty floor beneath them. He had no words as he turned to face Clive's revolting smirk, instead he breathed deeply and shuffled back to Clive's side.

Satisfied, Clive backed away from the older men with his hand fisting Luke's collar. The gun bobbed between the two as he attempted to escape but before he could move too far Clark stopped him once again. "You are not going to hurt him, I know that you won't."

Clive's smirk slithered into a bemused grin. "And how might you know that, Mr. Triton? For all you know as soon as the boy and I leave he will be nothing but a corpse. I shot you, who is to say I will not shoot him?"

The argument made Layton's hands shake once again. Clark seemingly ignored the provocative talk and charged Clive, grabbing the gun and holding it to his own head. Layton could see the whiteness in both their knuckles as Clark put pressure on Clive's fingers. "Do it," goaded Clark. "If you want to shoot somebody, then shoot me. I dare you." Blood from Clark's fingers, which he used to put pressure on his wound, coated Clive's hands in strange crimson patterns while his hip and the outer thigh of his trousers stained a darker maroon. "Well?"

No one took a breath as the two stood in placed locked in a sadistic version of Russian roulette. Clark's round eyes fixated on Clive's, unable to look away. The young man simply needed to squeeze, to put pressure on the trigger and fire the pistol and end Clark's life. He could leave Luke without a father and Hershel without a best friend in one fell swoop, one desperate act of insanity.

How much time passed, neither Layton nor Clark knew. Suddenly Clive withdrew his blood-stained hand and shoved Luke towards the back doorway. "I do not yet have what I want, Mr. Triton. Until then, I bid you both a fond farewell."

As Clive retreated, Clark snarled at the young man's retreating image. "I will have my son back, do you hear me? You can put me through the Apocalypse and I will still find my son!" The door slammed shut as Clark's breathing labored, then his shoulders sank. Layton caught the taller man as his knee buckled and his eyes threatened to roll back in his head. The blood from his hip spread across his clothing, darkening his otherwise pristine and pressed shirt. As soon as Layton held him upright Clark's eyes focused once again.

Together, with Layton supporting Clark, they made their way outside and into the blistering cold to hail a taxi.


Doctor Lerwick tugged on the suture string, pulling the flaps of skin around Clark's bullet wound closed. Due to a numbing injection of some sort, Clark could barely feel the needle going through his flesh as he nibbled on a piece of bread provided by a nurse. The small amount of food coupled with the warmth of the surgery brought color back into his cheeks, although it did nothing to calm the worry he felt.

Layton never cared for blood but he sat quietly in the chair adjacent to the bed, drumming his fingers together until Dr. Lerwick sat up again. She placed the suture scissors on the tray next to her and prepared a cotton ball of antiseptic. "How on Earth did you get yourself mixed into all this, Professor? And do not tell me there is a mafia of archaeologists out there trying to hunt you down," she teased, dabbing the cotton ball over the wound. Clark winced as the stinging substance seeped into his skin. "My apologies, Mr. Triton."

Clark did not phone Brenda to tell her of the night's events; she would find out as soon as Clark changed into his bedclothes. She was his wife, the woman he fell in love with and together they created a life which included the life of a child. The last thing he wanted to do was to add to the mountains of worry she already felt. As little as he knew Flora he figured she would also worry for them, especially for the Professor. No, telling the women would wait.

But they could trust Dr. Lerwick, who saw many unusual medical cases throughout the day. She could prove a valuable asset in their continuing hunt for Luke due to the reams of gossip she heard from her patients throughout the day. Clive had many people working for him when he created the underground London, no telling how many he had working for him now. And the doctor already knew much of the story so there was little left to tell. "Doctor, this is Luke's father." She stopped in placing a bandage over Clark's wound and nodded her head.

"Well, Luke's father, you can count yourself lucky," she noted. "The bullet only tore through skin. Apart from some blood loss and stitches, you will be fine. Just be sure to eat as soon as you are home to regain some of the protein you lost. Oh, and careful not to tear the stitches unless you want to go through this again." Much like when Layton and the doctor first met, she scribbled on a clipboard full of notes and charts before standing to make her exit. Layton and Clark stood, thanking her profusely until she turned back and quieted them. "Mister Triton, as soon as you find your son again you may bring him to me. He will be safe here. And Mister Layton, please try to limit your activity as I asked."

As soon as she left Clark resumed putting on his coat and tie. Still standing, Layton crossed his arms to think and addressed Clark, who refused to look at him. "Clark, can we talk about what happened?"

"You were there, Hershel. No need to speak on it."

"But what did I see?" Layton, of course, referred to Clark's near-suicidal actions regarding the gun and forcing Clive to hold it against his own head. "What was the point of all that madness, Clark?"

"Why do you even need to ask if you have it all figured out? It was a bit of madness, obviously."

That was not what Layton wanted to hear. "What if he actually fired? What would happen to Luke if you died in front of him? With you gone he could seriously harm Luke!"

Clark buttoned his coat and smiled. "He wouldn't though. I did it to prove a point, Hershel. Clive would not shoot me twice; the first scared him so. And if he would not do so at point blank, even when given the opportunity to do so, then he will not harm Luke. Do you see my reasoning?"

Although he was not entirely satisfied with the reasoning, there was little Layton could do now. He nodded and stuffed his top hat further onto his head in preparation for the wind, saying his goodbyes to Doctor Lerwick and her staff. Outside they hailed a taxi once again to return to the flat.

Inside they were virtually silent until Layton reminisced about Luke to drown out the horrible memories he just experienced. During one of their many waits to see Inspector Chelmey in his office, before Luke's age reached double-digits if Layton recalled correctly, the little boy sketched out a puzzle. To break the silence, he told the same puzzle to Clark.

"I have a puzzle that Luke told me once. Care to hear it?" Clark nodded his head. "Alright. Eleven people took part in a race, but they only awarded the top five. Alistair finished before Billy but behind Charlie. David finished behind Edward but behind Billy. What was the finishing order?"

Clark furrowed his eyebrows for a moment and scratched at his beard, then tried to reason the order out on his fingers. Finally he shrugged and gave in. "Honestly I do not even remember all the names."

"Charlie, Alistair, Billy, David, and Edward," Layton smiled, writing down the puzzle for Clark to visualize. "Luke figured this out before his tenth birthday." The idea made Clark smile and he folded the paper into a size small enough to fit into his trouser pocket. "He's a smart lad, Clark. Do not underestimate him."

The taxi slowed to a halt outside the Layton flat and Clark paid the fare. Standing in the doorway, Brenda waited for Clark to reach the steps before leaning forward for a kiss. As soon as they let go, she held a letter for them both to see. "This dropped in the post-box while you were out. Why do you have to be at Walbrook so early tomorrow morning?"