CHAPTER 28: SEQUEL OF DISTURBANCE

Professor Layton gave one last glance at the children to make sure they had indeed fallen asleep. Flora's stomach rose and fell as she breathed in quietly; Luke smacked his lips as he turned over in the midst of a dream, smiling as a bead of drool threatened to escape from the corner of his mouth. Shaking his head, the Professor left the hotel room, closing the door with a soft click.

His footfalls were silent, the carpet absorbing the shock and sound of each step. His breathing, in contrast, was ragged, a bit strained. After all, it had been many years since he'd last tried on his swimsuit, and he was livid that it no longer assisted him with looking at least a little bit…presentable.

Perhaps livid was an understatement. He was certainly past perturbed.

Pulling his robe closer around him, he grumbled as he made his way to the elevators. Laura was already waiting for him.

"Did your suitcase try eating you or something? Took you long enough!" She crossed her arms after selecting the "Down" button.

"I might as well have been eaten, or at least chewed up, spit out, chewed up again, with the way I look in a swimming suit…. I refuse to join you."

"My, aren't you opinionated! If it soothes your wounded ego, I'm not actually getting in the hot tub. I'm only soaking my legs over the side. It helps with the cramping, you know. There's really no reason to need swimming trunks."

"O-Oh… Well, then I—"

"What, don't go telling me you were hoping to see me in a swim suit…" She laughed softly as the Professor choked on his own words, causing him to cough. "You're too easy…"

"What has made you so cheeky?! I demand to know why you find it so hilarious to pester me with these sort of…these sort of…things… Nevermind. Forget I said a word about it."

The elevator ride was stiff. Layton held fast to his robe, ignoring Laura's teasing, sarcastic gaze. Before long, she had led them to a bright room with topaz-colored tiles, the smell of water and chlorine reaching their noses before they had the chance to even look at its source. A large cerulean pool was in the middle of the room, its surface still and smooth as glass. Beyond it was a bubbling hot tub. The steam rose far above it to the dark ceiling, the night sky visible from the many skylights. The place was quiet, still.

Laura sat her towel down on a nearby chair and sat at the lip of the hot tub, slowly dipping her feet into the water. She winced a bit as her toes skimmed the top of the turbulent surface.

"Pretty hot."

"Well, it's called a hot tub for a reason you know…" he said with an air of sarcasm, crossing his arms indignantly.

"Don't get all cocky with me, Hershel. I know why it's called a hot tub." She cupped her hand and collected a bit of the water in it, proceeding to toss it at the grumpy man now standing at her side. Layton took a quick step back, shaking his head, sputtering.

"What on earth—"

"Now then, are you just going to stand there, or are you actually going to get in? Come on, do you really think I'd do something so low as to make fun of my former teacher?" She smiled brightly, yet a hint of untruth glinted behind her eyes.

"In a word, yes!"

Laura rolled her eyes. "You're probably right. Whatever. If it helps me, that's all I really care about. The hot water, I mean. You do as you please."

Without further pestering, he sat on the tiled floor, mimicking Laura as he put his feet over the side as well. He shivered as the hot water wrapped around his feet in a wet embrace, the warmth spreading from his toes to the rest of his body. His skin prickled. "I'm sure you'd like to know the fruits of our investigation earlier."

Nodding enthusiastically, the girl turned her head to face him. "Poor Luke, he wanted to be the one to tell me. Guess I'll have to feign interest when he blurts it out tomorrow?"

"You'd be very kind to do that, yes."

"Very well. As for me, I can't wait through the night to find out, so spill."

Layton sighed, staring at the ceiling. He leaned back on his hands. "We had—by strange, yet fortunate, chance—come upon a lead, right from the get-go."

"This is in Ostia?"

"Yes. We started out in an affluent neighborhood, seeing if we could get some names and information out of anybody. We stumbled across an older woman, who turned out to be a maid. She took us to a group of fellow servants, as she thought they would have a story or two to share with us."

"It doesn't surprise me," Laura grunted, sarcasm sweeping over her face as she rolled her eyes. She had been doing that a lot more, Layton noted to himself. "Maids. Yes, some 'stories' to share. Gossipmongers among gossipmongers."

"Indeed, a whole slew of them. Almost cult-like, they were. After gaining their trust by solving a puzzle ("Really?!" Laura groaned),we were allowed to ask questions of them freely."

Laura shrugged. "Okay? So you asked them what? To make you some supper?"

"We asked about the Chancey family, of course, and one of them actually used to serve the family. This particular woman mentioned something that was of great interest to me. It turned out that she hadn't actually seen or served the family for quite some time, and as I continued to explore the news further, I found her information all the more strange as I pressed forward."

Kicking her feet in the water just beneath the surface, Laura bounced like a child tortured by the evils of waiting. "…Okay? Well, what is it already?!"

The Professor, holding up a warning finger, closed his eyes. "Now, we can't go taking this woman's word as gospel. It really could be strictly false gossip, after all, and—"

"Well, it's all we have to go on!" She was losing patience quickly. "What'd she tell you?"

He told her about how the woman by the name of Yuka had worked for the Chancey family many years ago, and, consequently, knew them well. But when he mentioned the part about Leopold's fatal boating accident, Laura's eyes widened for several moments before narrowing, as if discerning (under great scrutiny) whether the story was actually delivered accurately.

"Hold on a minute. You're telling me that Leopold was killed years ago in a boating accident?"

"Indeed."

"Well then, that means…well, that could mean one of several things!"

"Hold on, it gets even stranger. After speaking with the woman, Luke, Flora, and I continued our search. I decided to be skeptical of the gossip. You know, to test it. I went about town, trying to find anyone else who might have heard of the incident. I found no one willing to talk to me in depth. I also scouted the area out for media sources that talked of Leopold's death, for surely something would detail it, what with him being the only son of an influential oil tycoon. I tried finding obituaries, news articles, something that would at least mention the event. There was no death filed in city records, there is no cemetery plot, there is no word of his passing in any archived media communication. In fact, it's as if Leopold never even existed."

Laura gripped the edge of the hot tub's lipped rim as she stared down at her feet, distorted and blurred by the warm foam bubbles in the water. She trusted the Professor in his investigative skills, but at the same time, her brain didn't want to believe the nonsense he was speaking about. None of the supposed 'facts' connected.

"Well, then there's only one of three things that's going on here," she began, clearing her throat. "One, this maid—Yuka, was it?—could be wrong, and Leopold never even was in an accident. She's old, after all. Perhaps she's confusing him with another? Two, there really was an accident, but Leopold is exactly where I left him back in London, meaning, it wasn't fatal. Or, three, there really was an accident, but it ended in death, meaning…the current Leopold is an imposter."

"Yes, those are the most logical possibilities, given the current information we have." The Professor looked attentively at the bubbles and froth that were accumulating in the middle of the tub as the jet streams pushed it all to the center. He was trying to make sense of it all, even now. "I don't want to form a conclusion just yet, but I thought this was strange news. It doesn't make sense for the gossip to exist, and have nothing, nothing in the news to base it on. There's no hard evidence that there was a death, or even an accident."

"People talk. Does gossip ever need a base? Does it need a reason?"

"Well, no, but…" He grumbled something inaudible.

"However, whatever it turns out to be in the end, it's very…eye-opening, to say the least. I'm doubly going to be on alert once we return to London. No government records on the death either? Death certification?"

"Nothing, I told you."

After a brief pause, Laura stood, drying off her legs slowly as she struggled to keep her balance. "Well, I suppose we'll just have to keep going, and file this in the back of our minds. I'll keep a closer watch on the boss back at work. He's been keeping close tabs on me after all!"

"Hmm."

Laura looked at the Professor with minor interest. "Hmm? What are you thinking about?"

"I'm just wondering at what this all means…that's all." He stared ahead, keeping her movements in his peripheral vision. She pulled a towel about herself.

"Hershel?"

Layton stirred a bit and turned towards her voice, but didn't look directly into her face. He wasn't comfortable enough. "Y-Yes?"

"Do you regret anything?"

The question repeated itself in his ears, but his brain wasn't comprehending quickly enough.

"Er, well, I—"

"Nothing specific. It's just a generic question. You can take it as you see fit."

"Well, I suppose that…well, there's not much I can do about past things now, given that I'm in the present time, so…I prefer to keep pushing forward really, and— where is this going?"

"That's all I need to know." She walked away from the steam, the pool, the smell of chlorine, and continued through the room's grand glass doors, making her way to the elevators. The Professor stared after her, but never tried to make her stop. He looked into the water once more before making his own, slow return to the hotel room.

Upon returning, the room was pitch black, save for a soft glowing night light on one of the walls. He attempted to compose a mental map of the room, trying to avoid bumping into couches and end tables.

'I suppose Laura isn't in a mood for talking…' he wondered to himself, frowning. He walked to the master suite and knocked lightly on the door. He ventured inside after hearing a faint invitation to enter. He cleared his throat as his resolve wavered a bit upon noticing that Laura's face had soured significantly.

"Do you need something?" she snapped, turning away from him.

"I'm just curious as to…what your question meant. What it was referring to…?"

"Nothing. No reason."

"None at all?"

"Look, if you didn't have an answer, then that in itself is the answer. Don't worry about the question now." She returned her focus to him and pointed confidently at the door. "If you're finished, you may leave."

He shook his head. "I'm not finished. Let me deliver the same question: do you regret anything?"

She stared at him, eyes blank. "Why yes, I do," she said rather quickly, making no hesitation to make her case known. "I regret this—", she slapped her thighs, "—for going out and getting my body banged up, and I regret letting small, insignificant things get to me. You can take that as you will. Satisfied? Oh, you really don't know how annoying it is to be asked the same question that I just asked moments ago…so irritating…"

"When you say 'insignificant things', you're referring to—"

"Professor, I'm very tired. It would be highly beneficial to you if you just turn in for the night and allow me to do the same." As he took a few steps forward, it was obvious he wasn't paying any attention to her words. She shook her head and groaned as he opened his mouth to say something. "Don't you have ears?"

"Look, perhaps we got off on the wrong foot, but—"

"Apparently you don't have any: you're not listening…"

"—I think if you could curb your emotions, and I could curtail any that I may experience as well, we could get a lot more done. Ever since we…met again, after all this time, you seem to…"

She wasn't listening. The words hit her eardrums with resounding absurdity, reverberating idiocy. She wanted to roll her eyes into the back of her head and plug up her ears. Perhaps it was the changing weather. Perhaps it was stress from being in a foreign country. Perhaps it was the incessantly bothersome stinging that shot through her legs like nervous sparks, electric pulses with a pain-seeking agenda. But whatever it was, it made Laura want to grab the words from the air before they reached her ears and shove them back down the Professor's throat.

'Maybe I'm going mad, but my patience is already sheet-thin, and it's tearing, ripping, splitting right down the middle with every. Word. He. Says. I've never felt so irritated, I just want it to all—'

"STOP." She held her hands fast to the sides of her head, rubbing her ears to get rid of the sounds still buzzing around the inside of her skull like pestering flies. Professor Layton looked at her, shocked at her sudden change in demeanor.

"I…beg your pardon?"

"Just stop, shut up, I don't want to hear another word, I don't care about remeetings, and catching up, and how I've changed, you've changed, whatever! I know I've changed, I don't care, why do you care all of a sudden? You didn't care then, you shouldn't care now! Ah! What does it matter, I don't care anymore about that. Was I really so desperate to ask you for help…I'm regretting that too, I suppose," she mumbled to herself.

Layton held his hands up, and motioned for her to take a seat on the bed. "Laura, I think you're getting overwhelmed and stressed. How about you just sit and rest, and forget I said anything, okay?"

"Oh yes, easy for you to say now that you've gotten me thinking a million meters a second! Didn't you hear me? Stop giving me advice, stop talking! You got ears? But I guess you can't hear because they're probably hiding under that stupid hat!" Tossing the advice to the side, she instead took a quick step forward and grabbed towards the silk hat's brim, narrowly missing as Layton leaned backward in the nick of time. He casually blocked her arm and repeated the action as her other hand shot up towards the hat, each attempt refused and denied.

"My ears work just fine. What'd my hat ever do to you? Leave it alone. Laurie, you'll stop this at once, I—"

"It's not even the same one that I gave you, why do you care about it so much?" She continued thrusting her hands toward her prize, the Professor trying to catch her by the wrists. "Just because some—stupid—brat—gave it—to you—doesn't make—it special—"

"Oh, you mean the first brat?" He glared at her from shadowy eyes, continuing to defend himself, as Laura's eyes widened in surprise and rage at his audacity.

"Why you… Don't get cheeky with me, Hershel! I swear, I'll verbally and physically tear you apart!"

"I daresay you would! Verbally may hurt worse. Your tongue seems to be a bit sharper than your wit as of late."

"You nasty little—"

Laura recoiled her hands and lunged toward him, landing lightly on the bed as he fluidly swayed to the right. Had she viewed the scene from an audience's perspective, she might have felt embarrassed of herself, pawing and jumping at the Professor like an owl clawing at some rodent among the thrushes. But the unbridled fury coursing through her brain transferred to the rest of her body as destructive energy. Her hands lusted for something to twist, mangle. If it wasn't the stupid, taunting hat, it'd be his blandly calm face. Layton started to feel his breathing becoming labored. He wasn't physically inclined to guarding silk hats (not to mention his character) from ferocious and vituperative young girls. He inhaled sharply as he dodged her crazed grabbing.

"Will you just settle d—"

"God knows I want to slap that insipid expression off your dainty little mug," she growled, eyes shining, wincing as she extended her legs each time to get nearer. "How dare you insult me! First with that mockery on your head, then with your words!"

He warned her once with his eyes. "Laura Haris, don't make me say anything I'll regret—"

"You don't have regrets, remember? You stupid, blithering, vile, old man!"

A second warning, as he successfully gripped both of her wrists, struggling to keep her restrained. His brow was furrowed as he tried to match her strength, which was surprisingly immense for one so small and handicapped below the waist.

"Let go of me! I don't have proper balance!" she yelled out, just as the inevitable happened. She closed her eyes as she fell backward, expecting to slam into the floor, when instead her back and head pressed deep into the surface of the soft bed. She meant to rise, but found herself pinned underneath the one she was just battling with.

Her eyes immediately met with the Professor's, his face hovering mere centimeters over hers. Neither said a word, Layton's fingers still unknowingly retaining their vise-like grip around her wrists. He was too astounded to move, as was she. She felt her skin bristle as the sensation of his warm breathing traveled along her cheeks, down her neck. It was something she hadn't experienced in years. He blinked several times, his brain flooding with sensory data as he slowly reclaimed a memory long forgotten, a memory similar to the sight of what lay before him. And under him.

"I-I…I'm so sorry…I…was merely trying to defend myself…I didn't mean—"

The handle to the door clicked and turned, making Layton shoot up from the bed. Laura's neck cracked as she turned her head toward the now open door, Luke looking in sleepily at the both of them.

"Professor, is something wrong?" He looked slowly from Laura on the bed to the Professor, then back at Laura, his eyes widening as he traced a path between the two shocked adults. "Oh, um…nevermind…I'll just go back to—"

"Luke, this isn't what you think, we were just—"

"Professor, I really don't need to know, I'll just go—"

"Luke, really, the Professor and I just got into an argument and I got frustrated, so I threw myself down on the bed here, see?" Laura smiled and lay back heavily onto the bed once more. "Just like that. We weren't fighting or anything."

The boy smiled awkwardly. "Well, I just was worried that—"

"Boy, where do you get these sordid thoughts?!" Professor Layton said with some annoyance.

Luke raised his eyebrows. "Sordid? What's that even mean?"

"It means…wait, what were you even thinking?"

Laura stood and pinched him in back of the arm, smiling in contrast to his no pained expression. "Luke merely thought we were engaging in physical altercations of the violent sort. He thought we were quarreling, and that someone was getting hurt. Luke, I assure you, I'd never lay a hand on the Professor, nor would he lay one on me. We just…got a bit too loud while exchanging opinions, is all."

All stood still, staring at one another, until the boy smiled, accepting the story.

"Well, I just wanted to make sure. I didn't think there'd be any injuries, the Professor's just not that way, but…then again, it seemed rather loud for him, and I think I started having a violent dream where a giant plate of pizza was attacking the hotel and—"

"Luke. To bed, please."

"R-Right, Professor…good night, Professor…'night, Laura."

The door shut with a click.

Laura shot Layton a menacing glance, an attempt to drill a heavy bolt of shame into him. "I hate lying to the boy, but do you really have to go so far as to think he'd be thinking as dirty as you?" Laura spat vehemently. "Really now. He's hardly the sort. I used to think highly of you in that regard, but…"

"Well, it did look a bit…well…you know…" Pink quickly bled into his cheeks. "I don't think that way! It's just…well…I was just afraid, that's all… I wasn't thinking very clearly, I apologize…"

"Apparently!" She rubbed her eyes and threw back the bedspread. "Someone's rather sordid, as you thought the same back when choosing beds when we first got to the room."

The Professor sighed and tried to ignore the churning pit that currently took up residency in his stomach. He felt thoroughly disgusted with himself. He was losing. Losing himself, while swimming in memories. He shook his head.

"I don't know what's happened with me. I feel as if I've been…altered. I…I…You know I'm not typically this way, you should know—"

"Well, go see a shrink. Maybe you have a split personality. As for me, I'm not here to help with your mental issues. I want to get my own problems solved. And while I have my own share of issues caused by your hand, my most pressing problems don't directly involve you." She pointed at him. He looked up at her plainly, emotionless on the surface, turmoil underneath his blank expression. "I murdered my feelings for you 10 years ago, and buried them in the past. I won't exhume them. I won't resurrect them. I want them to rot. I want them to rot."

"Laura, you can't continue like this. I think that's why I'm suffering too, I'm just lying to my—"

"No. It's too late. I don't want to hear anymore. I don't want to end up…" She shook her head. "Nevermind. Good night, Professor."

"Laurie, I'm sorry I ever brought anything up, I—"

"Save it. I'm through." She slid under the bed cover, her hand on the lamp chain, waiting for him to start walking to the door. "And for a man with no regrets, you sure are obsessed with the past."

He put his fingers to the handle, staring at the door's wood grain. The light went out, and he opened his mouth, meaning to say something, but he wasn't even sure what he was going to say. 'Sorry'? The truth?

'No. Not the truth. The truth is to remain buried… Memories are for history, for the past, for the books.

'For that damned page from that equally damning book. I swear, I'll burn it if I ever get my hands on it.'