One month later.
Justin took a sip of warm water from the stained plastic cup that sat besides him. His throat felt parched, his voice was croaky. He had spent the last three hours reading aloud, with only a few short breaks as a nurse had come in to carry out routine checks.
Al had pulled through, as Justin had known he would. It had taken hours of intensive surgery when Al had arrived at the hospital, but the bullet had been pulled from his chest. Al was still in a coma, but the doctor's were cautiously optimistic that someday he would come around, though they couldn't make any predictions as to when that would be.
Justin had waited in the hospital until Al was out of surgery, to do so otherwise would have looked uncaring at best, suspicious at worst, all the while thinking of up possible ways to assure Al's silence when he woke up. He remembered lectures he'd had on brainwashing; there had been case studies on people, victims and culprits both, that remembered events that had never happened in reality as a direct result of brainwashing.
Justin's knowledge didn't go much deeper than those hazy memories of those lectures though, and so, once he'd left the hospital, he immediately returned to the Yard to consult with one of the forensic psychologists, under the pretence of asking their professional advice for a case Justin was working on. The forensic psychologist, a condescending and sanctimonious man, had told Justin in great detail about how brainwashing was believed to have first been used in the Korean War in the 1950's, and confirmed, that he did indeed believe brainwashing worked, though the circumstances required for successful brainwashing, the target to be left alone in isolation with the brainwasher for considerable time so the brainwasher could cut down the beliefs and memories of the target, and replace them with a new set of beliefs and memories created by the brainwasher, were difficult to create, and therefore brainwashing was not something seen that often.
The forensic psychologist finally wound up his long speech by saying he glad he was that a senior police officer was finally showing the appropriate respect for psychology, too many people in the force underestimated it's power, and that he had to admit to that he had hoped to find more open minded attitudes when he himself had agreed to act as an advisor to the force.
Once Justin finally escaped, after providing brusque thanks, he promptly made a mental note to avoid the forensic psychologist at all costs in the future, and headed to a second-hand book shop, where Justin sought out any of the titles the forensic psychologist had recommended to him to start researching brainwashing. None of the titles were in stock, but he had managed to find a singular book on the subject in the graphic novels section. The talk with the forensic psychologist had been informative, if tedious, but Justin hadn't dared to ask too many detailed questions.
And then the long, tiring hours at the hospital begun; Justin constantly reading from his book, his nerves stretched and straining as he listened for any sounds that might indicate a visitor to the private hospital room, or even that Al was coming around. There were less interruptions than he thought, Hilda, of course had come for some lengthy visits at the start, but once it was decided that Al must have killed Makepeace, she had opted for action, rather than sitting around a hospital room; she had launched her own investigation into Keelan's murder, and was spending most of her time at Forbodium. Justin was slightly uneasy about that, but not really worried; he had expected no less of Hilda, and the very reason he had sent her to the Central Tower was because he knew that Hilda's pride and certainty in herself would not allow her to doubt what she thought she had seen from the slit window. Hilda didn't come by the hospital much once she had re-opened the investigation, but when she did, her tired, discouraged expression told Justin everything he needed to know.
Al's younger brother had visited a number of times as well. He had told Justin, rather awkwardly, that their father was currently working on a dig deep within the Amazon and no one had been able to contact him so far.
Offers from the Yard had come mainly in the form of flowers and cards, rather than visits. Al, often aloof, snide and grumpy, wasn't the easiest person to get along with or to get to know. Visits from medical staff were done on routine now.
Justin sighed. The brainwashing book wasn't very long. He'd already gone through it twice just today, and even knowing the importance of why he was doing it, repeating and cycling through the same phrases bored him.
You shot him. You killed Keelan Makepeace. You know you killed him, you shot him twice. You first shot Makepeace in the side, and then, when you knew he was injured from your first shot, you shot Makepeace in the head, and killed him. But don't worry too much; Makepeace was a cold-blooded serial killer. Makepeace was pointing a gun at you, your own life was at risk, it was self-defence. No one can blame you, so, don't feel bad that you murdered him.
What would happen if Al never woke up, despite what the doctors believed? What if it was years before Al awoke? Justin had been told that usually most coma patients came around within a few weeks, but there were many, many exceptions where the patient had taken longer to come around. Justin couldn't indefinitely spend hours at the hospital reading his book.
Sympathetic to what he thought must be a very distressing time for Justin, Barton had allowed Justin to work reduced hours since Forbodium, but cases at the Yard were piling up, and though Barton was still sympathetic, he had intimated more than once that he needed Justin back full time. Justin's full time hours could vary depending on his workload, but they typically covered the visiting hours at the hospital; if he fully returned to work, it could be days, if not weeks before he could see Al again, and what would that do to his brainwashing siege?
Justin took another sip of the foul water, resettled himself in the hard plastic chair, and opened the brainwashing book, but before he could even begin to speak, he heard a low groan from the the bed. Without thinking, Justin jumped to his feet, and jabbed at the button to call a nurse, before he leant over the bed. Al was blinking up at the ceiling, eyes unfocused, a confused expression on his face. Justin knew that people that had just awoken from comas tended to be confused and disorientated, but as he looked down at Al, he couldn't suppress a feeling that something about Al was just not quite right, even accounting for the current circumstances. Al gasped out something that Justin couldn't understand, and just like his face, something about Al's voice was just...wrong, somehow.
Before Justin could say or do anything, a nurse strode in, a practised motherly smile on her face. She took one look at Al, still, blinking unfocused at the ceiling before she started gushing her relief, peppered with random endearments, at Al's awakening. She patted Justin on the hand as she happily told him that she needed to get Al's doctor in to take a look at him, and cheerily walking back out.
Justin looked at Al. Before he had fallen into a coma, Al would have responded with disgust, if not outright anger at anyone who behaved the way the nurse had, but now he just lay there, motionless and silent. Justin reminded himself that Al had just come out of a month long coma, it was to be expected that he wouldn't be his usual self, but Justin couldn't deny something was giving him a bad feeling.
A doctor strode in then, and immediately ordered Justin to leave. Irritated by the doctors imperious tone, Justin completely ignored his presence, but picked up his bag, and told Al, though Justin wasn't sure if Al could actually hear anything, that he would return with Hilda later.
Instead of heading straight back to the Yard to let Barton and Hilda know Al was awake, he headed to an empty bench and sat down. He realised that he had erred in calling for the nurse straight away; he should have taken the chance to try question Al, see if Al was even capable of communication right now, and if so, whether the brainwashing had worked. As it was now, Justin had no idea, and worse, he knew that that some coma patients remained aware of their surroundings, what if Al knew that Justin had tried to brainwash him? If he didn't contact Hilda and let her know that Al was awake, and she found out that he hadn't told her straight away though, well, he almost thought that he'd rather turn himself in for killing Makepeace than deal with Hilda's anger.
As Justin had expected, Hilda had been overjoyed when Justin told her that Al was awake. She'd been at Forbodium yet again, and by the time that she'd returned to the Yard, visiting hours were over; forcing her to wait until the next day before she could see Al. Justin had kept quiet about his misgivings about Al. Though he had been certain something was amiss in the hospital, in the hours he'd waited for Hilda, away from the suffocating atmosphere in the hospital, he'd managed to convince himself that it was just his imagination.
They went to the hospital together the next day, Justin knew that Hilda would have preferred to see Al alone, at least for the first time, but he had to know what Al had to say. They had to meet with Al's doctor before they were allowed into see him – although Al had woken up, he was still recovering, and had slipped into a state called minimal consciousness, sometimes Al was able to communicate, and obey simple commands, at other times, he was as unresponsive as he had been in a coma, though still conscious. The doctor, explained, with far more patience that he had shown Justin the previous day – though Justin wryly noted that the doctor kept his eyes mainly on Hilda during his talk – that this could happen to patients coming out of a coma, and they were still hopeful that Al would make a full recovery, though it could still take a few more weeks.
Al already looked considerably better than he had when Justin had left yesterday, the bed had been moved so he was sitting up, and though Al looked tired, he didn't look quite so confused as he had yesterday, and his eyes flicked towards them as they entered, and slowly, he smiled at them. Justin could only stare at Al; now that Justin was seeing him again in person, he realised that it wasn't imagination that told him something wasn't quite right with Al. Justin opened his mouth, intending to quietly warn Hilda, but she was already pushing past him, almost running over to the bed, where she flung her arms around Al. Even from where Justin was standing, he could tell Hilda was holding on too tightly, Hilda was physically strong, and after a month in a coma, Al's already thin frame was almost skeletal. Al's only reaction was a look of dull surprise, no jokes, no sarcastic comments. Hilda was whispering to him, but Justin couldn't make out any words.
"It's good to see you awake again, Al," Justin said as he slowly moved further into the room; he felt like an intruder, guilt weighing heavily on him for interrupting the reunion between Al and Hilda.
"How are you feeling?" Hilda asked. She had stopped hugging Al by now, and was kneeling on the floor next to the bed, holding one of Al's hands in both of hers.
"A little under the weather, I must admit," Al gasped out, his voice croaking.
"You really had us all worried, it's been a tough month," Justin said.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry anyone, but..."
"Al, we don't need to talk about this now. Let's just focus on you getting better," Hilda said, her soothing voice a complete contrast to the glare she threw at Justin for raising the subject in the first place.
"No, Hilda, I sho...you need to know...I have to tell you...I shot Keelan Makepeace," Al was staring downwards as though he couldn't stand to see Hilda's reaction.
Justin couldn't stop himself from exhaling out loud with the release of tension, but the relief he felt was immediately overpowered by concern. This quiet, placid man wasn't Al.
iWhat have I done?/i Justin thought. Justin had only meant to make Al believe that he had killed Makepeace; Justin had never wanted to turn Al into the strange, distant, broken person he now saw in a hospital bed. Maybe, it would have been better if I had killed Al. Justin angrily pushed the thought away.
Hilda had dropped Al's hand as soon as he had gotten his confession out, and was standing up, staring at Al as though she had never seen him before. She sharply turned her back on Al and Justin, and from the way she was trembling, Justin suspected she was crying. She walked off without another word.
"Hilda," Al called weakly, concern on his face.
"I'll go make sure she's alright," Justin said, suddenly feeling that he couldn't spend another minute in the presence of this Al.
"Thank you, Justin," Al replied, his tone sincere and polite.
Hilda hadn't gone very far, she was standing in a quiet corridor, her arm pressed against a window, her forehead resting against that arm, as she cried and cried. Deep, heart-wrenching cries, the cries of someone whom has just had their heart broken.
For a second, Justin just watched her, the self-loathing rising up again and crushing him in it's grasp. He forced himself to walk towards her, and as he approached, she turned to him, tears running down her face before she threw herself at him, gripping his jacket as she berated him; hadn't Justin noticed that something about Al wasn't right, why hadn't Justin warned her before she had gone into the hospital room, what had happened to her Al, the man that she loved, and where had this imposter come from?
Justin couldn't answer any of her tearful accusations; instead he simply held her, allowing her to vent all her emotions. Once Hilda had pulled herself back together, she refused to return to Al's room, deciding instead to return to the Yard to officially close the Forbodium case, now they had a confession. Justin protested, though he couldn't even explain why to himself, Al hadn't completely recovered, Al hadn't given them the full story, he'd only said that he'd shot Makepeace, but Hilda was adamant. Justin was left alone to return to Al.
"Don't worry about Hilda, she'll be fine, you know she can be a bit high-strung," Justin, not wanting to spend more time with Al than he had to now that Al had confessed, started talking before he had even stepped over the door frame.
Al didn't respond, he seemed to be gazing off into the distance. Justin walked over to Al, and waved his hand right in front of Al's face. Al remained unresponsive. Concerned, Justin was about to call for a doctor, when he remembered what Al's doctor had told him and Hilda earlier, this unresponsive behaviour wasn't out of the ordinary. Still, it unnerved Justin; enough that he pushed the "Call Nurse" button near Al's bed. Then, without another word, Justin turned and left the hospital.
After that memorable hospital visit, Justin returned to work full-time; he threw himself into the work that had been piling up, and made only a few, short visits to the hospital. Hilda, true to her word, had closed the Forbodium case. A lingering hope that perhaps her Al was still alive somewhere had kept her going to see Al, and even though that hope dimmed a little more with each visit – she confided to Justin that she had requested an internal transfer to a different department to get some distance from Al after her second visit – her compassion kept her going, even when hope had failed.
The final blow to Hilda's dream had come when the retired Professor Hershel Layton had finally made an appearance, almost two months after Al had been shot. Hilda had been with Al when Hershel had arrived, and though she didn't know exactly what had happened between Hershel and Al, since Hershel had, after introducing himself to Hilda, politely requested that she leave him and Al alone, but the result of the meeting between them was Al, whom had so far been a pleasant, helpful, polite, and obedient patient, flying into such a rage that Al's doctor, fearful of the potential risks to Al's recovery, which was well underway by now, had banned Hershel from entering the hospital.
Hilda had rushed back into see Al after Hershel had left, but had been greeted with the same placid temperament Al had had since waking up. And that, along with the formal diagnoses, following the many tests and consultations with various medical specialists that Al had undergone since waking up, that Al was suffering from a split personality disorder, had been when Hilda finally resigned herself, once and for all, to the idea that her Al was dead and gone.
Hilda had told Justin about those events as she filled out the forms accepting the offer for the job transfer she had applied for a couple of weeks ago. Justin had been worried by Hilda's story, Barton was always regaling the Yard with tales of Hershel's puzzle solving exploits, and keen deductive ability, painting a vivid picture of someone whom possessed crime-solving skills beyond anyone in the Yard. Barton was never one to exaggerate, and Justin fully believed Barton's stories, even far fetched as some of them were.
Until now, Justin had discounted Hershel as a threat, Al had once deigned to confirm that yes, he was indeed the son of Hershel Layton, and Al's tone had made it clear that this was not a subject to be discussed. Al had never mentioned Hershel again after that, and Justin had inferred that Al and Hershel were not in contact. Furthermore, knowing that Al had a split personality told him, unlike Hilda, that the real Al, was in fact still alive. While Justin had to admit that he was happy knowing that the real Al still existed somewhere, Justin was aware that split personalities didn't always share memories; what if the real Al remembered what had really happened at Forbodium? Was the sign of the real Al emerging, if only briefly, a sign that the brainwashing wasn't permanent?
You've marked yourself for life, and when this is done, you'll have blood on your hands. You'll spend the rest of your life living with what you've done.
You'll spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder, living in fear.
Justin was only now coming to appreciate how true those thoughts were.