-Here's chapter two, the letter.

…

The day after the trial had been shown live on TV, the Professor drove Luke and Flora to where Clive was being kept. The drive was mostly silent except for Flora sniffing occasionally in the back. Luke kept his eyes focused on his shoes. It was still unbelievable. How could the jury be so cold-hearted, so cruel? They weren't humans… they probably didn't have hearts. Or, if they did, they were made of stone.

Luke shut his eyes tight and didn't open them again until the car slowed to a stop in front of the building. When they entered and asked to see Clive, the Warden just smiled sadly and shook his head.

"Sorry, sirs an' miss, but I can't let ya do that," he said. "Dove said he don't want no visitors these last days of his. Says it would be too hard on everybody. He did tell me to give dis to ya, though."

The Warden handed Layton a piece of paper folded in thirds. They all stared at it, then looked back up at the man before him.

"Surely the jury hasn't called the…execution so soon?" Layton asked, forcing the word 'execution' past his teeth.

The Warden shook his head. "No, no, it ain't that. Dove said this explains why he won't let ya see him. Says you should go back and read it where you can sit down. I didn't read it."

Layton thanked him and led the two children back to the little red car. Luke glanced back to see the Warden watching them, looking like he pitied them. Luke quickly turned back around and kept walking.

…

When they were back home and sitting comfortably, the Professor reached for the note, unfolded it, and began to read.

To Professor Layton and company,

Hello hello! If you're reading this, then it means you've tried to come and see me off. I applaud your efforts, but I can't allow that. You want to hear why, I'm sure. Luke is probably furious with me right now, isn't he? Well, give me a few moments and I'll try and explain…

First, think back two months ago. Do you remember when I lured you all to "future London" and pretended to be "future Luke"? I hope you do, it wasn't all that long ago. Anyhow…do you all remember how the Professor revealed my true identity? He turned and pointed dramatically, and I stood. It was very intense. You'll remember that at first I tried to deny I was who you said I was. I guess…I didn't want to believe it myself. But when someone other than myself told me of my plan, I completely lost it. I kidnapped Flora, and I terrorized the streets of London. But up until then…I was enjoying myself. I was being myself. I wasn't the all-consumed madman bent on revenge…I was…

I was Clive.

You all saved me. And now, it's my turn to save you. Because, you see, if you come to visit me, everything will come loose. If you see me like this, like a caged bird about to be shot, then you'll never remember the good times we had. You'll remember me, sitting in a cell, being sentenced to death for being a terrorist. I don't want that, and neither do you.

What day is it? How long has it been since the trial? Am I gone yet? Can I see you reading this note aloud, or to yourselves? I don't know, because right now, I'm still alive. Am I speaking in past tense? Well, I guess it doesn't really matter at this point. I'm going to leave this with the Warden now. I hope you see it soon. Be sure to read my letter when it's done, okay?

Clive, September, 18 years old.

…

Flora was sobbing. Luke was trying not to cry, but not having much luck. The Professor pulled the brim of his hat over his eyes as he finished reading aloud, trying not to think of how calmly Clive must have written this letter. How did one stay so calm in the face of death? He shook his head slightly. In two more days…

==…==

The two days passed with little other incident. On the third day, the sky was gray. There was drizzle. It was the kind of weather you stayed at home reading the paper in. but somewhere out there, one of Luke's friends…was…

He buried his face in his pillow. It was so hard to think about. It was so…unreal. It was a dream…

There was a knock at the door. Luke didn't want to get up, and he heard the professor, downstairs, getting up to answer it. There was a bit of talking, and the door was shut again.

"Flora, Luke," he called. "Come down, will you?"

Luke hauled himself off the bed, heading for the stairs. Flora was right behind them, and as they entered the room with their mentor, they saw something in his hand. It was rectangular and had some very familiar writing on the front of it…

Clive's letter.

This was it. This was the last time. This was the final straw. Numb, the children sat down on the couch. All three of them exchanged a glance, and Layton opened the letter like it held a bomb, and started to read.

To My Dear Friends,

Well, I assume this is the last time I'll be writing to you. It's funny…how you never realize things until the very end.

By the time you read this letter, I'll probably be dead.

Three days. This is a future I cannot avoid.

I guess…things just didn't turn out quite right. But…this path has led me here, and I intend to follow it. I can't avoid the things I've done, and it's time I atone for them.

It's not like I wanted this to happen to me.

Can you call this spacious room, my trembling fingers, and my loneliness a lie?

I'm just now putting the pieces together that this is the real end. I was looking out the window, and I saw a bird fly away, singing. I thought of myself, and how I longed to be that bird. Perhaps this isn't what my life was really meant to be. I was so focused on revenge…I was blind to the rest of the world.

I'm having trouble writing the words I've written numerous times.

The black ink fades to purple.

However…I'm going to stay calm. Panicking won't do anything to help me now, and weather you believe this or not, you won't be able to help either. I can't lie, it's hard to write like this, knowing what will happen soon. I've tried several times to write this down, but nothing every quite came out right.

Even if I break everything in my sight, all that's left is this feeling of emptiness.

"How should I use the rest of my seventy-hour life?" I asked myself as I picked up my pen.

I tried keeping count of each hour as it went by, but it was so painstakingly hard, I gave up after two. Each hour felt like thirty seconds, but at the same time, it took an eternity to pass. Do you know what I'm talking about?

I really don't have anything to say. I just write whatever comes to me.

"This world was so bright, so kind, and so warm…"

As I kept writing these trivial things, I would roll them up and throw them away.

Perhaps I'm rambling now. But rambling is good, isn't it? It means I can get everything off my chest before those final minutes, where I'm cramming. I can write whatever comes to me for three days. I'm going to use my time wisely.

Next thing I knew, two days have gone by.

I've spent all my time writing my letter to you.

I don't know how it happened, but now I find myself with one simple day to live. I kept asking myself "How? How did this happen?" but I already know the answer. I've spent this entire time writing to you three. I've lost track of everything. All that matters is finishing this letter and getting it to you safely.

The irritation that was inside my heart is now calm and quiet.

It's as if I was watching a dream.

Earlier, I said that I didn't know what happened to me. I said that maybe this wasn't right after all…but all those thoughts are gone now. I know what has to be done, what must be done, and what I have to do. I'm set on this goal, but I feel oddly detached… Is this normal?

Far away under the sky…what are you watching and thinking?

This twenty-four hour life is too short to go to your side.

You three are too far away now. I can't come and see you, and you can't come to see me. My life is too short to allow this.

It was sad, but at the same time I was relieved.

I find myself feeling relief that I would never see you again.

Because, if I met you, then everything inside me would come loose.

Actually…I'm glad. This means we can all keep our sanity, or in my case, what's left of it. If we saw each other…no doubt Flora would start crying, and you too, Luke. Professor…you might. I don't really know. I know I would. If I saw you, then I'd start crying too, and I don't want that. I don't want to remember your faces downcast and eyes full of tears. I want to remember you as thoughtful and kind individuals who saved me from my madness, who rose to the challenge and defeated me like true heroes.

This quiet afternoon wind gently sways the curtains.

It's hard to believe that my world will come to an end in a few moments.

The man's here now. Do you remember the one from the jury? The one who told the nation what was to become of me? It's him. He's allowed me to finish the letter to you. He's allowed me more time to live…but not for long.

This fine feeling of the autumn blue sky is too bright, even if I close my eyes.

Even if tears come flowing out, it's probably because of that.

I'm not going to cry. I'm not going to huddle in the corner like a scared rabbit. I'll face my death with courage, just like you three faced me those long months ago. I'm going to be proud until the very end, and hopefully after it too.

Even if I only have a little time left, I'm going to live my life.

I'm going to have the peace of mind that I finally made up all of the wrong I did. I'm going to have the knowledge that at the very end, I made up for everything.

Even if I lose everything, I'll always know that I lived my life.

Even if…I won't see my parents or my foster mother again, I'll always know that I tried. And that, my friends, is how a gentleman faces death.

From a person with three days to live,

Clive.

…

I nearly cried at the end here. *Sad smile*