I really hate this chapter. It didn't come out how I wanted, but I can't try anymore to make it worthy. There may be several mistakes. Let me know. I'm too anxious to get to the exciting stuff (next chapter, I promise!).

A DEATH?! WHAT?

Anyway, please don't forget to review. I hate people favoriting/following, and they don't say anything.

Obsessing over Shingeki no Kyojin,

Kelsey

CHAPTER 37: ALL THAT IS GOLD

10 Years Ago
Half of her wanted to run back; run back through the dusk, run back through the screaming of her parents, forbidding her to leave so late (especially after rejecting dinner). Run back to a proper apology that would set everything straight, suture the lacerations of such razor-sharp words, still grating her ears.

But the other half of her knew better, and it was furious. Hurt. Broken and demolished, her confidence and trust in her best friend—no, in everybody—was razed to the ground. Amidst the tears, she'd fought with herself. Was I too brash? Too narrowminded? Should I go back and talk it through like a rational adult?

No. There was nothing that could take back such a thing, nothing that could be said as a remedy. She'd given something away she couldn't get back, and invested in something else that would never pay dividends.

She'd just finished her last final and felt no sense of accomplishment. All of the studying, falling asleep on books, drooling on notes, felt meaningless. Students walked past her, professors pushed towards their offices to rush in a last grading, and the world was a blur. Her hand was on her messenger bag's strap, but she still let it sag messily across her chest while continuing her stiff and slouching gait down the hall. Who cared. They'd all just think her joints were tense from exercising or something. Her eyes saw grays and blues and hazy reds, but she didn't bother making out shapes or faces; her surroundings were as misty as the distorted fog in her head, and she was too nauseated to try making sense of that either.

The stand-in professor of archaeology walked out of a classroom to her right and locked the door behind him. He was a wispy man, tall and grasslike, swaying where the crowd blew him. His hair was as errant and flighty as the final had been, nothing like Professor Layton had alluded to. Maybe he'd lied about its difficulty all along; she didn't doubt it. After all, she'd been the laughing stock of that whole game for the past term. What was one more prank?

'Stupid idiotic course… If this school didn't pride itself on a stupid liberal arts curriculum, I would have never taken it, never met him…never met him…'

She took the same route home that she had taken since her first day of classes. Millie cackled with her troupe of jesters, each clown breaking from the others as they walked, each going home to her respective circus. How many times had she watched this scene? How many times did she comfort herself with the thought of possibly taking an early right, and heading instead to a 'study session'?

Not today. Not any day.

She'd considered not going back to school after he'd dismissed her from his life, but fought against the urge. The night blanketed her as she cried herself to sleep, waking up every half hour from a dream where she would chase after a man she couldn't catch, and every time he'd turn to face her…it was him. And then he'd disappear, turning back towards ether, dissipating into black.

And that very next day, all of the Professor's belongings were transported to his new place back in London; she'd watched the lorry take it all away. When everyone and everything was gone for sure, she tore up the long cobblestone path that led to the creaky porch that she knew so well, and with her hand on the door knob…

Did she expect it to be unlocked?

So that was it. He and his things were back in London, moving on to the future, while she stood on the old house's rickety door step, stuck in his past. The bridge of her nose became hot and her eyes flooded. Face contorted, she inhaled painfully, doubling over in agony as her resolve gave out; she would not make a sound, she told herself. She dared not look at her screwed up face in the door's glass; she would not look ruined, she bellowed internally. But there was still the smarting pang of tenderness between her legs that reminded her about her folly, as much as the anguish in her mind that she had no one else to talk to; to lean on; to look forward to seeing… Who to share life events with? Who to laugh and learn with?

That was the day after she'd felt betrayal, in its rawest, purest form. Now, since her first year was over, she recited a voo doo-like mantra as she walked past that street, as if no one important had ever lived there. She didn't need a reason. She didn't need logic and a rationale. But what she did need was something to dig her resolve into. And as someone who habitually found it difficult to adapt and cope with change, she greedily guarded the last bit of a sane foundation that she could manage.

Laura Haris made a promise to herself, if only for herself.

'I will never offer forgiveness to Hershel Layton, even if he begs for it.'

Present Day
Leopold reminded Laura once about his 'speech'. She thought that perhaps he'd not really wanted her there after all, and her brain conjured up a fantasy where none of the events of the past two-thirds of a year occurred: no paranoia about employers, no strange stirrings of intuition, no devious plots paired with investigations…and no break of her hiatus with the Professor.

But then the Chancey heir to the oil empire waltzed into her office unexpectedly, his eyes manic with excitement. His dark espresso strands were slicked back with the professionalism of a rattish car salesman; his vanity, however, rivaled that of a king. If she had the luxury of privacy, Laura would have rolled her eyes.

'Red carpet roll out…'

"Almost the big day!" he said loudly, slapping a fat folder onto her desk. It wasn't usual for him to prance and croon while delivering quarterly reports. The sing-song tone was new, Laura noted; the glint in his eyes—typically a dull sapphire, today a bold lapis lazuli—was not.

"Yes, indeed, sir. Any chance that we know the theme of the presentation? Is your uncle going to be there as well, making a speech? Hopefully I'm not expected to present or talk," she tried, hoping to make a catch with cheap bait.

"And you will be there," was all he said. It was more of a demand than anything.

Really cheap bait, Laura thought as she silently conceded. It was bold of her anyway. Why would she mention Edward II in passing, so randomly? She never made mention of him before, so why now? It wasn't as if he were a visible, public pillar of the company…

She stared at him with a vague expression, while underneath she was as nervous as a bag of rabbits. "Yes. I'll be there. Without fail."

"Oh, I love everything 'without fail'. No hiccups means no revision. And no revision…means there's no Plan B!"

He gave a curt wave and was gone.

April 22nd came as any other day, except that Laura awoke at 4 AM with a massive headache. She'd been up all night and had in reality only slept for two broken hours. It felt more like a nap than a nightly commitment to resetting the body. Since dinner the night prior, she spent her night contemplating (as she had been for months), running potential happenings through her head. Now, though, she felt like time had run out. The day had arrived, and she was nowhere closer than she was when she started.

'Maybe Leopold is really the head of a rival company, and he's been infiltrating Petrolite, but now he's coming clean,' she invented, smiling at the prospect. 'Or maybe he's developed an alternative energy source and he's turning the company over to someone else in order to pursue his cleaner industry, and...

"Who am I kidding." She buried her face into Layton's former pillow and breathed in as much air as the fabric would allow, the cotton case caving into her nostrils from the forced vacuum. The Professor's scent had gone long ago, and she was left with the bland but familiar smell of her own hair and skin. "I suppose all I can do is search his office before the event, see what I find, and show up quietly. It's my last chance."

Dressed casually enough to make the trek to her drill but professional enough to sneak into her boss' event, she'd no sooner walked out of the room when she heard sounds from the kitchen, as if someone were already awake and set for the day's course. To her surprise, the Professor and Luke were just that: prepared to eat and depart quickly.

"What…what are you two doing up so early?" Laura asked incredulously as the Professor poured himself the rest of the kettle.

"Why, we're going to help you out, Laura!" Luke said with a burst of energy, trying to wake himself up. "Flora's almost ready to leave. But we're just finishing up breakfast. Don't you know that's what gentlemen in training do for…" He broke into a yawn prematurely, never finishing his sentence.

"I said I'd help you, Laura, and we're going early to get things cleared up," Professor Layton said before steeping his tea. He had dark spots under his eyes, but was otherwise himself. Laura wondered how long he could keep up with the stress of his profession as well as his side hobby of solving mysteries.

But she didn't worry about that now. With a smile, she told him she was eternally grateful, and then they were off.

The boat ride was colder and more drab than before, but they were able to get the best possible view of a sunrise as the little vessel tore off towards the east. The North Sea seemed to bleed gold as the warm sun broke the horizon. Despite the aura of the morning, and the sense of foreboding that increased with every minute, the Professor took the time to look around.

Time seemed to stop. The boat continued, the waves still sprayed him with salt, but the surrounding scene reminded him that all that was gold didn't have to glitter. The warmth of the sun caressing his face; the half-sleeping children seated next to him; the confident yet nervous friend at the helm, whose emotional barrier was strong, her will stronger, but her heart still warm enough to trust him with her most personal of problems (the other issues too tangled and knotted to handle presently).

He looked at her and analyzed, something he hadn't done in a while. She stood there against the sun, stoically guiding the little speed boat as it cut into the choppy water. What was going through her mind? What missing pieces was she searching for? And did she have any ideas in her head, really, as to what was going on here? He hadn't told her anything that he'd studied while using the Book page in his possession. And, he decided he wouldn't tell her. He hadn't told Luke either. He had to see for himself what the page and the circumstances were all about. He would prove it to himself before revealing anything. After all, he never alluded to solving anything before he had conclusive evidence, even if that meant holding back information.

'All in good time…'

When he returned to the regular world, the two towers loomed in front of him, the boat slowed, and they arrived and climbed the staircase as before. This time, instead of taking an elevator, they entered the door that connected to a hallway. It was tiled like the ones they had walked in before, but the walls were lined with a canvas-textured wallpaper and adorned with several original paintings. They looked quite expensive, as such stylized avant-garde pieces were priced more than they seemed to deserve.

"The offices are located in this part of the building," Laura said. "One being mine, although I never come out here anymore. A couple belong to other important people—no longer employed—and the final one is Leopold's."

"How about an office for Edward Chancey senior, Leopold's partner?" Layton asked. "That would be a pertinent place to look, wouldn't it?"

"An excellent question, and yet, don't you think I would have looked there already?" Laura said derisively, turning to look at him. "There is one. But it's locked. I've never been in. I doubt anyone else has either. I tried and tried and tried to find a way in, break the lock. Nothing."

"And how are you able to access Leopold's office?" The girl held up a key ring. "Ah, I see. Yet no key for Edward's office…"

"I only have so many attempts at snooping and swiping…" She shook her head and proceeded to open a door at the farthest end of the hall.

The room was large yet dim, but the expansive windows set along the perimeter of two walls let in enough light for one to manage walking and casual viewing. Sharp shadows were plastered across the plush maroon carpet as the newly risen sun rays collided with a few casually placed sofas, end tables, and peculiarly shaped vases and sculptures. Book cases lined most of the walls and were covered with various archaeological paraphernalia, as well as a thick layer of dust. A large U-shaped desk sat heavily to the left of the room, its top free from clutter, and behind the dark piece of furniture was another door, heavy and wooden. Immediately, Laura walked to this knowingly and wrenched on the handle.

"Still locked," she barked, kicking the door with a loud thoom and whispering bitter curses as if she could light the thing on fire.

"You've tried it before, Laura?" Luke said as he fought the urge to examine the various artifacts and bric-a-brac on the many shelves. Defeated, the woman nodded, proceeding to eyeball the room meticulously. As silent as a ghost, the Professor had already started examining the shelves, his hand to his chin.

"Archaeology books, history books… Leopold seems to be well learned. Unless they're just for show." He thought of his own bookshelves, housing many weathered tomes that he hadn't even cracked open yet. He'd started an addiction that was only abetted more and more by seeing unwanted books of students around the campus. Could he really judge someone from their property?

Laura ignored looking at the shelves; she'd already gone through them a few times before and had found nothing. As she watched the others engage in the knick knacks, she exhaled sharply to get their attention. "Perhaps you should search elsewhere, while I continue in here. That way, we can cover more ground quickly. You're only going to be looking at the same things I've been looking at for the past year if you continue on like that."

The Professor faced her and nodded. "That is the most logical plan. But what place would be worth investigating at this point?"

"There's the main control deck, which can control this drill and others around the world. It has all of the main computers located there. The screens deliver data and feedback from the other rigs as well. I haven't been in there lately, so I'm not sure what would have changed. However, since I don't know how recently Leopold has been in there…"

"Then we'll search there, and we'll come back to meet you here." Laura explained the short route which would lead them a few levels deeper and warned them to keep their hand to themselves when it came to looking around keyboards and computer screens, and then Layton ushered the children from the room.

She was alone. For the umpteenth time, she rifled through the papers in the drawers, only finding the same boring reports, charts, and graphs as usual. They were updated and current, so she knew he'd visited the space recently.

Or, at the very least, someone had.

Suddenly, as she looked through the last of the documents, she felt a wave of sadness wash over her. There was nothing here that she didn't already know about. Leopold was going to go about his business by announcing whatever nonsense he intended to spew; whether or not he was a corrupt, devious criminal bent on doing something dastardly was still a moot point, but one that was beyond the scope of her skill set to prove (or disprove, since she wasn't sure what she was doing anymore).

"What am I really doing here…" she moaned as she glanced around like an outwitted lab rat, shoved to a corner, ready to accept a fate of being trounced for the last time, but still scared at the prospect.

Her mind raced as she gripped her head in her hands, elbows resting on the desk as she leaned forward onto it. Vision swirled and thoughts derailed.

'I started out doing this for archaeology, and now it's oil. He's a psycho. He changed. His eyes screamed megalomania, but he's never done much to show that side, except for the few times around me. People have died randomly—famous archaeologists, people I'd just talked to… He has the Book, there's no explanation tying any of it together. I can't find a solution, and I waste all this time…

"…Solution…"

Her right hand instinctively flew to her neck, where she used to wear the locket the Professor gave her, the Latin word for 'solution' ground into the gold casing. It'd been several months since she'd stopped wearing it, not wanting Layton to see her wear it religiously, like some disgustingly hopeful maiden waiting for her old lover's return.

Although she never opened it—revealing the picture of them—the word emblazoned on it was a reminder that there was indeed a solution to every puzzle, something she begrudgingly learned from the man that had taught her more than just archaeology.

"Damn it all…"

With a newfound zeal, she straightened and scanned the room again, pacing first, then tracing a path to the giant picture windows. The ocean undulated beyond her hands' reach, but her eyes followed: rising up, falling down with each dizzying wave. She did this for several moments until she rested her sight on a hazel vase. It sat on a pedestal that looked like a stumpy Roman column. The smooth glaze of the clay sculpture seemed to glow, successfully garnering her attention. She wasn't sure if she'd even seen the thing before.

It actually spoke to her in bold fragments. Words were etched in a flowing cursive:

No matter how angry, how much you shout,

You won't get within, if me you're without.

She blinked.

"A…riddle…" As she stared, the golden script burned itself into her eyes, the words reverberating in her head. "I don't have the time for this. I need to just find something—anything—that will show me what's going on here! And I'm sure it's in that stupid, locked room!"

Her scowl was as fleeting as her fury; she gasped and stood in front of the vase again, analyzing it closely. As her eyes twitched over the riddle again and again, she took her fingers and skimmed over the etchings as if they were brail, her only chance at reading a blank world.

"Yes," she exclaimed as she fingered the word me, "that's it! The answer is a key, but not just any key…" After a brief struggle, she managed to wriggle the word out of the baked clay. On the back of the heavy piece was a thin, carved sliver of metal that jutted out of it. "It's not a word at all. The me is actually a key! A key to…"

As fast as she could, Laura ran to the locked door and shoved the newfound key into the lock and turned. And…the knob turned as well, allowing her access.

"Success!" she shrieked, covering her mouth out of instinct. No one was around, why should she care?

'I'm so juvenile…'

The door opened stubbornly, stiff at the hinges, and she was presented with an annex similar to the main office. The décor was the same; a small desk was in the middle of the room, and crystal-clear windows gave perfect views of the ocean. And…more shelves showed off more scrap.

Her nerves trilled back and forth between steeled and empowered to fearful and uncertain. But as she looked around, what enticed her most was that the desk didn't have an empty slate. While the desk in the previous room was clean and organized, this one had unkempt piles of papers. It was obviously used more often, and had a lot of information that she hadn't yet seen.

She smiled, sat in the cozy chair, and grabbed the first manila folder that she laid hands on. It was labeled Fracking.

"Boring," and she grabbed another, tossing the former in a newly established pile on the floor. She did this several times, only opening two and lazily thumbing through it, merely to make herself believe that she was getting something out of doing it. The folder was dumped with the rest and then she picked up one without any title or indication to its contents. She frowned, and felt like she was only prolonging her fruitless torture.

Laura opened the report. The first page was a diagram of the drill. It listed capabilities, purposes, the materials it was made of. Names of metals and alloys and pieces and parts filled the sheet, as well as pressure limitations and weaknesses (a small list). It was all information Laura knew and had compiled herself. Which was why she was surprised at the fifth page in the report.

'This is…a report from the geological engineer…' She held her breath as she skimmed the pertinent keywords, the report incessantly and repeatedly warning of the dangers of drilling off the Italian coast. The engineer had not given any clearance to go ahead with the project. The drilling was supposed to have been cancelled.

"But…I oversaw that installment," she mumbled. "I got the go ahead, Leopold told me to do it, it was supposed to be okay. That's…what the geological engineers are for…"

Several similar reports followed. Off the coast of India: denied. Off the coast of South America: rejected. Off the American coast: no permission given.

"They were all denied?"

The last refusal held her eyes without any effort. It was a short blurb about 'planar fractures' and 'strong discontinuity' in the deep sea rock, all jargon to anyone else, but to her: the words were a straight forward denial for Leopold's plans. The word Stabilnon was boldly printed on the next page, and she stared at it, holding her breath as she let her eyes drop down a concise summary.

She froze. The words blurred, and she had to reread them multiple times, ten times, twenty times quickly. Her stomach hollowed and felt like it would shoot up her throat with her heart as her arms went numb.

"Oh God, what is this," she whimpered as the pages shook in her arms. She read as her fingers trembled, her mind attempted to fade to black, realization drilled into her brain. The paper laid it all out quite clearly. Too clearly. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure it out.

Stabilnon was undeniably positioned in a fault zone. The earth's plates in the zone were purported to have a strain threshold that easily dwarfed the others around the world, the giant slabs of earth threatening to let an earthquake lose any time it was pushed beyond its limits. Although still theory, it was strongly supported by further data and charts in the file that showed images of the tectonic plates under heavy stress beneath the little town. It was a little known fact, and one that the townspeople had not shared during her time there. However, the villagers were well accustomed to the constant vibrations, as faint as they were.

"That's…that's why…"

It was all in the list on the paper: why the citizens were so tired after several hours of dealing with the barely discernible shakes of the earth, the vibrations; why the buildings' foundations were so fortified when compared to average house architecture; why frozen precipitate couldn't sit still, even on non-sloped surfaces.

'Didn't anyone question this?! Are those people really so simple?'

In the matter of a minute, it all clicked: the city was a ticking time bomb with a short fuse.

"And I…planted a drill right over it…"

Some papers floating gently, others scattering this way and that, she let the folder fall. The contents landed where they willed. Colored graphs and black and white text painted the floor, and Laura took in air sharply as her hands flew to her mouth, covering half-sobs. Her throat was dry. Her eyes were glazed saucers. She stared at nothing, but she saw her stupidity plainly. Her lack of judgment. The blind trust. The inability to notice changes sooner.

"I set them up. I set them all up. I built them, I oversaw their construction, and I…always got the okay. Leopold said it was okay!" she cried, shooting up from the no-longer comfy seat. Her hands greedily grabbed at more folders, trying to find something that would refute what she'd just confirmed for herself. More papers flew and spilled over the desk's surface; she chucked several across the room and shouted.

'No! No! That can't be it, this can't be the truth!' her mind screamed erratically. 'I didn't build them on fault lines! There's no problem. It's oil; it's all oil! Petrol! That's all! My drills were made for petrol, not…not setting off earthquakes! Not…not that…'

"No, no, no no no no…" she moaned. "I couldn't have, I didn't, I didn't, I didn't."

The more she searched, the more knowledge she gained, and the more she became conscious of how dire the situation was. Leopold had been perfect in his execution. Earthquakes in the ocean were not simple rumbles and shakes. The tiniest blast, the most minute shift of rock would cause waves. Tsunamis. Floods. With drills around the world, set to go down as far as they were commanded, even a minor shift of the plates would cause problems at the shore line.

"He's…he's going to drown it…the world...drown everyone…they're all going to…"

'Die.

'They're all going to drown and die.

'And you killed them all, Laura. Happy Earth Day.

"I killed them all."

"There's only dust and old food crumbs," Flora reiterated to Luke, both of them sighing with discontent as they searched under desks and computer units for the fifth time.

"Honestly…?"

The control room was a mess of olive green monitors with sickly yellow text and charts; graphs with lines that rose and nose dived; measurements and data feeds based on an unknown set of parameters that would flash onto the screen, only to shortly be replaced with another flicker of information. Screens like these lined the room's perimeter, an adjustable swivel chair in front of each station. The place was set up as if it should have housed an appointed group of employees keeping tabs on each drill, making sure it was running appropriately. However, the room was desolate, apart from the three explorers and a handful of spider webs and the rare insect husk.

Professor Layton sat down at one of the computer decks and again tried making heads or tails of the information on the monitor before it cycled through the same jargon.

"I don't think there's anything here," Luke grunted, thoroughly bored and disheartened. He wanted desperately to find something worthwhile and earth-shattering. "This is turning out to be a waste of time."

Flora nodded in agreement. "It's not very likely that we'll find anything here, Professor. Don't you think that's the case?"

"Have you two opened your minds to all possibilities?" He smiled at them as they shuffled uncomfortably.

"Well, how should we know if we have or not?" Luke asked testily. "It's not like there's a check-list or anything."

Layton chuckled and stood. "Since this room has a closed set of information, meaning the screens aren't showing anything novel since we've come in ten minutes ago, I think it's safe to assume that this room isn't going to expose anything noteworthy.

"Which means we need to change our course and do a bit of light exploring of our own. Maybe we'll think of something we forgot in this room. For now, let's head out."

When they left the lifeless control room the children perked up instantly, and the team set off down the hall. The powdery white tiled floor soon became industrial matte-gray after they went down a few levels. Deeper and deeper they descended, searching for something, anything, but doing nothing more than trying every door knob that they came across. Most rooms were locked; the ones that were open were only other control rooms or storage areas. A few sealed up areas were the living quarters for the rig workers, the only clue being the signage next to the slate gateways ('Bathroom', 'Kitchen', 'Barracks'); but those workers were long gone, as was access to the rooms.

"I wonder how comfortable, or rather, how enjoyable it was to actually work here," Flora wondered aloud, her brow furrowed. "Think about it. Weeks, months at a time, out here with only your coworkers, and you couldn't see your family. I'm sure they got lonely and bored."

"It would be tough," Luke sympathized, thinking of his own family, living out their daily lives: without him around. It made him teary when he thought about it too hard. "But sometimes that's what we have to do. For whatever reason, life isn't always comfortable. Or easy! But you still have to push through it and do your best. No matter what."

"But of course, Luke." The girl smiled and tried another handle before they turned the corner.

Professor Layton smiled as the boy gave his logic without second thought. The man was getting more and more wisdom from the mouths of babes than he ever got from textbooks or colleagues.

'They pick up so much sense from the circumstances around them, as if it were some innate skill…if only us boring, stick-in-the-mud adults would listen…'

Overhead, the fluorescent lights buzzed annoyingly like a swarm of lazy gnats, and the crew started down yet another dull hallway, Luke in the lead. Running ahead, the children raced to see who could get to the most doors before they had to go down another level, leaving Layton at the beginning of the extending hall.

"Why don't you join us, Professor?! Or are you afraid of losing?!" Luke yelled behind him, his chattering trailing off with him ("He's too old," Flora quipped, covering her mouth after Luke belted out a laugh and told her she was too loud). The Professor merely shook his head and grinned, admiring a 'Caution!' plaque that warned about the dangers of smoking in such a facility.

He was just beginning to wonder who in their right mind would consider doing such a thing at an oil rig when he heard Luke let out a markedly prepubescent scream and jump back from the wall. Flora leaned in to see what the fuss was about but the boy shoved her back.

"Arrgh! A hand! That's a hand! Oh gosh, Professor!"

His breathing heavy, Layton caught up with the kids and reset his hat in place, lungs strained and heart jumping from his chest. "What's the matter, Luke?"

The boy pointed to the open door. Inside was the bottom of what looked like a narrow chute, dark and hazy, a pile of rubbish gathered to a height of about three feet. Some yellowed paper, dried up food waste, and old plastic wrappers shifted and had fallen all over the floor in front of them.

"The door said Trash Collection, and I didn't know exactly what that meant so I…opened it. It actually wasn't locked! I didn't think it was a chute like this." He swallowed, pointing a shaky finger towards the trash once more. "There's a hand sticking out, just beneath that dusty-looking stuff in the middle…" Flora gasped and stepped back.

"Get back, Luke," said the Professor, lightly pushing him back along with the girl. He peered inside, pushing the giant slab of metal door open completely so every ounce of light could invade the darkness. The door clanged as it slammed flat against the wall.

The boy wasn't deceived. Indeed, a withered hand with puckered, dried out skin poked out from the rubble and garbage. Some of the knuckles were split and gray bone stuck through the decayed leather. The shock had wore off and the Professor now stood with a heavy heart and chilled spirit.

"What in the world…? Or perhaps I should say 'who' in the world…" He spun around and looked about the place. "Find something long and thin, stick-like, anything."

The words fell on the children's deaf ears, but they soon snapped to attention and scattered. Layton didn't bother with waiting for their search, and steeled himself as he reached in the chute and pulled out what appeared to be a piece of broken picture frame. Luke and Flora returned empty handed to find him prodding the rubbish fragments surrounding the hand, clearing the trash from around the wrist, and then finally an arm appeared. When the elbow joint came into view, the Professor grunted.

"What is it, Professor?" Luke whispered.

"It's all twisted," he replied, his voice as grisly as the scene. Shoving the piece of frame into the pile, he tried using it as a lever. "And this piece of…whatever it is won't move—one—bit—"

He put all his weight down on the wood and the pile exploded, sending pieces of matted dust and plastic upwards and outwards. They closed their eyes and coughed, waving away the cloud until the air cleared. Flora was the first to inhale and—

"AHHHHHHH!" she screamed, the harsh wail ricocheting off the walls and returning back to their quivering eardrums; the Professor felt himself go temporarily deaf. Although painful, the outburst was warranted and repeated (albeit in a lower decibel) by Luke, who leaped backward, dizzy from the scene.

"That's a face…"

The body was mostly visible now. Its back lay against the pile, slunk over it like a sloppy arch, each appendage sticking out at unnatural angles. The arms were twisted at the elbows and one leg was cracked awkwardly at the knee. A gaunt, ash-plastered head stared with vacant hollows; whether the eyeballs were long decayed or shrunken and hidden beneath the brow bone was unclear. Either could have been the case, as the skin didn't appear to have decayed much at all. Instead, it looked dried and taut like sun-tanned hide, a haunting visage, and a startling one to come upon in any circumstance. The jaw was stretched open wide, forever screaming silently. Several teeth were missing.

Layton pulled Flora close and turned her around, forcing her away from the chute. "Don't look." He grabbed towards Luke, who sidestepped the gesture.

"No, Professor," he said staunchly, resolute. "We can't turn away from things like this! I have to…face it like a gentleman!"

"But…"

"Professor, we need to get to the bottom of this. I can't…turn away now…" His face set, he did his best to stare down the dead thing, swallowing all screams with his fears. He was still frightened, but was trying hard to feign bravery.

Nodding, the Professor knew he was right. He released Flora and let her do as she wished: to look or not was her choice. "Very good, Luke. Then, let me do likewise, and figure things out."

He looked again at the crooked form. The body was that of a man. Mousey hair was still connected to the scalp, but it was matted with blood and bits of trash. It was obvious now, with proper observation, that the person had suffered some sort of blunt trauma to the head and torso, as large gashes and deep indentions were scattered around the body. It wasn't inherently obvious if this caused the death immediately or not, but they were there regardless. Miraculously, the neck didn't appear to have snapped, but the skull was sunken in near the back of the head; it was a muddied brown color, like dark rust.

"Why would someone be in the trash chute?" Flora said through a weak sob. "He didn't…fall in, did he?" Surely, she knew the answer, but was too afraid to say it aloud.

"No, he was murdered," came the low voice of the Professor, confirming both of the others' thoughts. "As is apparent by the many injuries he's sustained. It doesn't seem that he got those from falling alone."

"But…why isn't he…rotted?" Luke stammered quietly.

"The lack of air must have attributed to the preservation of the body, as he hasn't decomposed much at all, has he? There isn't even a stench. Yes," Layton continued, nodding, "this was purposeful and quite possibly meditated. After all, no one's reported his death, and he's been hidden in this chute, possibly for years."

Luke paused, staring ahead, then slowly looked up at the man in the top hat. He looked at him queerly, as if finally realizing how odd it was to see such finery in a dank place, all of them admiring a murder scene. "'Reported his death'? But, Professor, how would you know such a thing? Who knows who this man even is, let alone whether his death has been reported?"

"Why, Luke, I do know who it is, and nobody has had even an inkling regarding his whereabouts. After all, no one has seen Edward Chancey the Second in quite some time."

It took too long, in the Professor's opinion, to get back to the floor they'd started on; his mind was moving faster than his legs. He ignored the questions the children kept positing, the arguments they continued to yell after him, a swirl of his own logic clouding his thoughts like a brooding fog.

"Professor!" Luke shouted for a third time. "What are we going to do?! We need to tell the police! Someone needs to be informed! Don't you think so?" No luck. The boy breathed heavily alongside Flora as their tired legs throbbed and made them wobble like jelly. All doors and halls blurred to gray with occasional maroon and gold flecks as they continued in their rush. Then they slowed, finally arriving at the start of their journey.

The Professor stopped in front of a door, the gaudy plaque giving it away as their goal with a gold "Leopold Chancey". He wrenched it open and ran into the room. There was no sound, no soul, no life.

"Laura!" he wheezed loudly. His breath hadn't yet caught up with him but Luke and Flora followed right behind, equally puzzled looks on their faces.

"Did she go to search somewhere else?" Flora asked, looking back out in the hallway. "I didn't see anyone..."

"No, she wouldn't do that," Layton said with a shake of the head. "She knows better than to wander when we're at the mercy of her directions. She's here..."

After racing across the room, his mind was temporarily at ease as his hand turned on the doorknob; he expected no less: the formerly locked door behind the desk now opened without protest, save for the rigid hinges.

'She must have found the key,' he thought with burning pride. 'Good girl.'

What he didn't expect was the silent back turned to him. Her legs stood stock-still, but she was half draped over the desk, arms leaning on the surface, head in her hands. She appeared to be looking at something, but there was nothing in front of her, only a file resting next to her. There were papers littered all around the floor. Even after the children's audible sighs of relief, Laura only gripped the file and stood up straight, making no gesture to indicate she'd even heard them.

"Laura, what are you doing?" Dead silence. Layton walked briskly to her and placed a firm hand on her shoulder. "Are you all right?"

One expects a person to give some sort of response when startled, surprised, or brought to attention; the young woman merely shivered, sniffed, and broke down. She let out a strangled wail, guttural and pained, and then choked on sobs. The papers in the file she was holding fluttered to the ground with the rest of them, the file itself sounding with a dull plap. Her hands dug into her scalp and she grabbed fistfuls of hair, tugging to cause pain. It was obvious she was trying to make something go away, and was failing miserably.

The Professor forced her about-face. "Laura, what the hell is going on?" Luke and Flora gasped at their mentor's sudden change of demeanor, but forgot about it quickly. The Professor lost resolve as well, meaning to look at Laura sternly, but wavered at the sight of her. Silent crying had done a number to her expression. Her once daring eyes that would crackle with burning obsidian were now bloodshot and manic. He was sure he'd seen trapped animals with a similar look: lost, deranged, hopeless. Her cheeks were stiff with a despairing sort of grimace, like she wanted desperately to laugh, but her memories forgot what a laugh even was. Several blood vessels had broken around her eyes and on the fullest part of her cheeks, giving her ugly freckles.

"H-H...Hershel...I...I didn't...I didn't know...no-none of it..." she stammered with messy words, slurring everything together into an inaudible soup. She attempted a hideous smile, fake and unconvincing. "It's not...it is my...no, I won't..."

"Laura, get a hold of yourself! What happened?! What's wrong?" His voice degenerated from frustrated to desperate. Everything he was going to tell her vanished; he completely forgot about the dead Edward Chancey in the trash chute, the speculations, the facts... It was all gone. Now if only she'd put some justice to her odd behavior...

Laura wailed into her small hands, growling curses, screaming hatred at an unknown person, place, thing. Luke ran forward but stalled when Flora pulled him back with a wise hand. The older girl wasn't consolable, even by means of innocent words.

"Wait, Luke," Flora whispered knowingly.

"Laura..." the boy muttered, heart breaking from an unfamiliar emotion. "Why...why are you..."

"I HATE EVERYTHING!" she screamed, kicking the desk with a frightening force. She recoiled after something snapped: she didn't care if it was her foot or the wood, but her brain told her to move on to the desk's surface. She acted like she was looking for something, but the desk was void. Layton placed her in a vise-like grip, wrapping his arms stiffly about her; it was more difficult than expected, given their differences in stature.

Her tiny frame easily maneuvered through his arms and...then she realized everything was already scattered, thrown around on the floor like confetti. There. On the ground. She scrambled again, obsessed to find something invisible.

"She's lost it," the Professor confided to himself, half-tempted to slap her. He was completely lost for words and intelligent action. "Laura, I don't know what else to do, but-"

"I hate myself! I hate this stupid-damned-room-stupid-stupid-business-job-engi neering-ALL OF IT." She stopped. Instant. It was like a light switch, flipped to "Sane". The crystalline wild glimmer left her eyes; she appeared tired and sad, and only that. "Hershel, I've done...something... You caught me at a bad time. I keep...shifting in and out of control." He was still lost, obvious by his expression. Surely, he wasn't good at handling her complex nature as it was, but now, he looked at her as if she were an extraterrestrial.

Bending down, she gingerly rummaged through the field of paper and retrieved a beat up manila folder. She handed it to him and whimpered. "It's all in there. Leopold lied."

"About what?!"

"The drills," she shrugged. "What else? All of the geological engineers, the ones who were supposed to judge whether an area was stable enough to drill as deeply as my drills go...those people were disregarded completely. Their advice was completely bypassed. Each place around the world where there is a drill...each of those places shouldn't have one."

"What?!" Luke yelled, fists balled at his sides. "But...how?! Why?"

"The reason being," she continued, glancing slightly at the boy, "they're all on fault lines."

She knew the Professor would know enough from this statement that she could stop talking for a moment and gain a hold of her wits once more. Her head became tight, her sight vexed by an odd pulsating sensation; her vision ballooned as if she were looking through a fish-eye lens at flashing intervals, her subconscious mind trying to throw her back into mental darkness.

Luke was miffed, but the Professor was wise to Laura's words. "That's...genocide..." the man muttered, half to himself, half to her. He looked absurd: a gentleman in a top hat, shaking his head left and right, a look of questioning, disbelief.

"What's that mean, Professor?" Luke asked quietly, expecting the worst; it wasn't green when it came to bad news, but that didn't mean he had developed an expectant taste for it. He looked to Flora to see if she understood what was going on. She shook her head. Now that he could expect: she was as much in the dark as he was.

"The force of those drills on fault lines. Who knows what that would do, what it would cause!" Layton stammered, a bit harsher than usual.

"Exactly. And as for Stabilnon," Laura whispered, flipping through the file he was holding until coming to all of the information on the mysterious city. She traced the document with her finger as she spoke quicker than he could read. "There's a reason for all its oddities. There is a fault in the ocean, a few miles out in the Atlantic. It is incredible. The plates are pressurized so much, the tremors from this thing... There are literally constant vibrations coming out from it, all day, every day, and they affect Stabilnon especially. Somehow, the land attracts the mini-quakes like a magnet. They are tiny and imperceptible, and yet...the human body subconsciously senses them. They lull people into a stupor, a calming and secure sleep. Hence the naps. Don't you recall? And the foundations of the buildings? Susceptible to cracks and wear due to acute quakes here and there, but really it's because of the damage over time; those tremors cause the materials to degrade faster than usual. A sort of erosion, if you will."

"And the snow..." Layton's face lit up, aware of her next statement as she tapped the words on the paper with an impatient knuckle.

"Slid off of everything because of the same thing: mini vibrations makes it scoot, scoot, scoot until it goes splat on the ground. It's strange but true. And the place is a ticking time bomb. And I just placed a match on the fuse." Angrily she took the file from a surprised Professor and chucked it sideways through the room like a frisbee, not bothering to watch it slice the air before it exploded against one of the many picture windows. "I hate myself."

Layton shook his head. "Laura, hating yourself is going to do no good now. We need to-"

"Do something about it?" she sneered threateningly. If it were any other situation, he'd have taken it offensively, as a bitter challenge. But now, she was menacing, and the man wisely used the grace his disposition entitled him to. "And what do you propose we do? You know what earthquakes do, and you should know what ocean earthquakes do. We're talking flooding, tsunamis, mass drownings..." She paused and stared like one in a casket. "Death."

The word was barely heard when she let out another excruciating cry, covering her eyes with her hands, turning away from everyone, a feeble attempt at becoming invisible. "Don't look at me, please, don't. Please forgive me! It's all my fault! I didn't act quickly enough, I wasn't smart enough! I should have...I should have been," she moaned as she shuddered.

The scope of the circumstances couldn't fit in Luke or Flora's heads, but they knew what torment looked like. Both ran forward with no clear goal in mind, with no words to say, and stood quietly, hoping their proximity was enough to make Laura's ruin seem that much less expansive.

Professor Layton was more direct. It wasn't any easier for him to comfort or face such obstacles, but the situation called for less tears, more action, and even more understanding. He placed a hand on Laura's head, then slid down to her shoulder, his fingers catching in a few knots of hair. She winced, and looked up from tear-stained hands.

"If you think you've lost, you're mistaken. Laura, you might have had oversights. You might be the catalyst in all of this. But it's hardly your fault. Things have...gotten out of hand, maybe even out of your hands, but that doesn't mean you've failed. After all, the day is young." He glanced out the window with a meek smile. Laura cursed the dull glow on his stupid grin, but noted it. "We aren't defeated. Down, but not defeated.

"My point is, I promised to help you. You haven't lost until you've given up. We'll get our answers, but for now we need to confront Leopold and get to the bottom of what his presentation is about. If we leave now, we should make it in time."

The warmth of his hand stung. Guilt sprouted from somewhere. She wanted to shrug it off, but Laura stared ahead, sniffing and mulling his words over in silence. "Even after everything..."

"Hmm?"

"No, you're right. I don't know...what came over me. I'm terribly overwhelmed, I thought I could handle it, but... Wow. I think...no, nevermind." She waved it off. "I'm done thinking. I guess I'm not as emotionally stable as I thought."

The boy spoke suddenly, "Laura, I think that's okay. It's natural, isn't it? You've...been through a lot. But!" He looked at Flora and the Professor for approval. "We'll help 'til the end!"

She saw Liam there, in the boy's smile. Her brother. Always approving, always positive. Up until he faded. Faded from life. Faded from daily thoughts. Faded into that ethereal place where worn out memories go, wherever that was. But here he was, manifest in Luke's boyish grin. He wouldn't put her down or blame her. He'd accept her no matter what happened.

Around her now, three friends, trying hard to be the same person. Despite all her failures, they were there in the same room along with her, taking on the same problem, lightening the load.

"O…okay…"

The Professor concurred, "Until the end, Laura. Let's go."

'Until the end.' And Laura smiled back.

END. Don't forget to review!