Chapter 34 – Vindictiveness and Self Pity

Inside the ship, Leon Celeste, Luke and Little Emmy were sat in a corner in silence. They studied their surroundings; several people huddled in the centre of the room, with a green tinge to their faces: sea-sickness. "I'm just glad that Flora is back in our time, safe from getting sick everywhere," Luke thought, remembering how she'd fainted after 'time travelling' to 'Future London'.

Leon yawned widely and glanced over at his niece, who was currently falling asleep against the wall. He smiled. They were halfway home, and soon enough his little Emmeline would be safely tucked up in bed, free from worrying about her future self and disappearing from existence. He remembered the memory eraser and that in a mere few hours time, neither of them would remember any of what had happened in the past week or so. Emmy would be back in her normal routine, and he would go back to searching for signs of the Grounds of Rebirth and worrying over his niece's mental state. He sighed agitatedly. "I suppose I should be thankful," he thought. "I could be the one to have to pick up the pieces with this whole Emmy-Claire thing..." Then he remembered that he would be reliving the entire situation in twelve years time. "Oh, wait... ah... shit..." he sighed again and placed his head in his hands. "Why does everything have to be so complicated...?"

Celeste saw this and patted Leon on the shoulder. She glanced out the window and saw Markus, stood at the railing with his head bowed. She sighed heavily, making Leon look up.

Celeste pointed out the window to Markus. "I'd better go and see if he's alright," she said.

"I go outside too," Little Emmy said groggily. "Is too stuffy in here. Need air."

Celeste turned to Luke, who was struggling to keep his eyes open, completely oblivious of their current conversation. She smiled at him. "Stay here with him, Leon," she said, turning to leave and beckoning for Little Emmy to follow.

The professor walked onward towards the restroom, his mind still weighed down with thoughts of Claire. He passed the ship's bar and glimpsed a small, dark-haired woman sat at the bar. He stopped in his tracks and turned back.

Andrea downed her latest shot and winced. She sighed heavily and nodded at the bartender to pour her another. She downed that one twice as quick as the last and ordered another.

"You sure, love?" the bartender asked. "That whisky tends to go straight to the head, it does."

"I'm troubled."

The bartender raised his eyebrows and poured her another shot. He turned away to serve another customer.

"Ms McIntyre."

Andrea slowly turned around to see the professor facing her. She raised her eyebrows.

"Professor Layton. Have a seat." She pulled up a stool beside her.

The professor hesitated, looking around.

"Don't be shy, Hershel, I don't bite," she smiled.

"Mmm..." the professor sat down, his face slightly red.

Andrea turned to face him and leaned against the bar. The bartender pushed another shot towards her. Andrea pushed it towards the professor and ordered another.

"Ms. McIntyre... I really don't want—"

"Drink," she said sharply. "I should think you could do with it, what with the little situation I left you in." She smiled maliciously.

The professor fought to keep an expressionless face. "May I ask you something?"

"Drink up, and you can ask me anything you want."

The professor hesitated again, and then tipped the whisky into his mouth. He winced as he felt the alcohol burning his throat.

"There now. Don't you feel better after a little pick-me-up?"

"I believe there are better ways to deal with one's stress and problems that to try and drink them away," the professor retorted bluntly.

"Like what? Trying to avoid it and have it weigh down heavily on your conscience? Blatantly ignore the people it concerns?" Andrea smirked at the professor confused expression. "Yes, I am talking about Miss Altava. How you haven't even said a word to her the whole time we've been aboard this rust-bucket. How you can't even look at her... or Claire..." Andrea smiled nastily. "Not very nice is it? Let me buy you another drink."

"This is madness, Andrea!" the professor hissed. "Why did you lead us here? What would you have to gain from driving a wedge between me and Emmy and jeopardising everyone's existence?"

"What do you have to gain from being with Altava?" Andrea retorted.

"I love her!"

"Oh, you love her? Just like you love Claire?"

"Yes!" the professor snapped angrily.

"So you admit that you have two women on the go? Or how many other girls are you messing around with?" Andrea shouted.

The professor stared at her.

"What about the small quiet one in the pink dress?"

"LEAVE FLORA OUT OF THIS!" he roared.

Andrea opened her mouth to reply, but quickly shut it again. She looked around sheepishly. Everyone in the bar was staring at them, shocked. The bartender cleared his throat nervously.

"Er... everything alright? Is 'e botherin' you, love?"

"We're fine," Andrea said sharply.

The bartender put up his hands and turned away, a sheepish expression on his face.

"What is the meaning of all of this, Andrea?" the professor hissed as the noise level increased to a healthy volume again.

"You took everything away from me, Hershel. You know that?"

The professor frowned. "What do you mean?"

"You. You reject me, you betrayed me..." The professor frowned even more as tears started in Andrea's eyes. "I... I handed myself on a plate to you, yet you chose her."

"What do you mean by that?" the professor frowned. "I have no recollection of anything of the sort happening."

"Don't lie," she hissed. "Don't pretend it never happened... that I never told you..."

"Never told me what?" he asked.

Andrea sniffed and wiped her eyes.

"What's wrong, Miss McIntyre?" the professor asked gently. "What did I do to upset you this much?"

She glared down at her shoes.

"What can I do to end this?"

Andrea stood up and ran out the door, towards the restroom. The professor stared after her, confused.

"Woman trouble is it, mate?" the bartender asked, walking up to the professor.

"Hmm... something like that..." the professor muttered.

"Here." The barman pushed a pint of ale towards the professor. "Drink up. It's on the house, along with a bit of advice: bin her. She was bein' a right old cow to you, and a fella with a hat like yours could to way better. Enjoy your drink." He left.

The professor sat there, dumbfounded by what had just happened. Andrea... the way she acted... it was as though they had had some sort of altercation once before... the professor remembered her words, "I handed myself on a plate to you, yet you chose her..." "I handed myself on a plate to you..."

"When did this happen?" the professor wondered. "I remember her from university... vaguely... if I'm quite honest, the only person I remember well from my archaeology group was Clark... but Andrea definitely rings a bell...she was definitely in my lectures, she lent me notes more than once, I'm sure...but I can't ever remember seeing her outside of the lecture room... 'You chose her'... I chose who? Emmy or Claire? When was it that I 'betrayed her'? Recently or years ago?" the Professor sighed heavily.

"What on earth is wrong with her?"

Celeste stopped in her tracks and grabbed Little Emmy's arm, causing her to stop too.

"Vat is it, doctor?" she whispered.

Celeste said nothing as she stared in her son's direction. Markus' sobs could be heard clearly from where they stood. Celeste closed her eyes and suppressed a large sigh.

"I will speak with him, Emmeline. Off you go."

Little Emmy gave her an uneasy look and glanced back at Markus.

"I will speak with him. He will be fine."

Little Emmy looked into her eyes and nodded. "You vill too." She gave Celeste a quick hug and ran off.

Celeste let out an enormous sigh and walked toward her crying son.

Markus swallowed shakily and wiped his eyes on his sleeve. He heard someone approaching him and sighed angrily. "Whoever it is, will you please just go away? I'm not able for this."

"Markus. What's the matter?"

"Just leave me alone."

Celeste sighed agitatedly and stood closer to him. She took his hand in hers.

Markus swallowed again, his eyes brimming with tears once more.

"Tell me what's wrong, Markus," Celeste said softly. "You can tell me anything, you know that, don't you?"

Markus nodded miserably.

"Well?"

"... Claire..."

Celeste nodded. "I know it's hard, seeing her again, but not being able to really speak with her about—"

"She knows, mother. She knows... I'm sorry..."

Celeste's eyes widened. "You... you told her...!"

"No, mother! She-she guessed... she said she knew she wasn't going to make it to see the next ten years, and I just—"

"Where is she?" Celeste interrupted.

"O-over on the other side of the deck... but... but what're you going to say—"

Celeste was already gone.

Markus sighed agitatedly. "For fuck sake..."

Meanwhile, Claire was still stood at the railing where Markus left her, staring out at the sunset. It was nearly dusk; a view perfectly scenic for a person as deeply in thought as Claire was to be standing and watching.

Every now and then, she would glance over at Emmy and Bronev, still holding one another, and think of the professor's future. She didn't really want to think of her own future, how she could possibly have died, what could have happened to her, how Hershel would have reacted... no, she wouldn't bother upsetting herself over it. But Emmy... what was she like? Was she good for Hershel? As good for him as Claire thought that she was? She was certainly a very pretty girl, but Claire knew nothing of her personality... But, thinking about it, Emmy had hardly even spoken to her directly. She seemed suitably nervous around her, and she certainly looked very guilty about the whole affair. Judging by her demeanour, she seemed honest enough. And also, what with Andrea going after her and trying to get rid of her... She was obviously very fragile. All that on top of having to tread on egg shells... Claire felt sorry for Emmy. Trying to imagine what was going on in her head was making Claire's own head hurt. Though that was probably caused by the weight of her own burdens...

"I just need to use the restroom, my dear," she heard Bronev say. "I'll be back soon, Emmeline."

Claire watched as Bronev walked away. "I should speak to her. Now, while she's on her own." Claire made towards Emmy.

Emmy rubbed her hands along her arms as a strong, cool breeze swept past and ran through her hair. She closed her eyes. It felt like years since she had been this calm.

"Er... Emmy..."

Emmy turned around. Claire stood before her, a hand on her neck, looking anxious.

"Can we talk for a moment?"

Emmy nodded and gestured for Claire to stand beside her. Claire obliged. Emmy offered her a shy smile, which Claire returned. Claire propped her elbows up against the railing and turned to Emmy.

"I figured we should at least talk to each other, as opposed to just trying to ignore each other."

"I suppose you're right," Emmy smiled.

"I... I know, Emmy."

Emmy frowned. "Know what?"

"I know about the future. That... that I'm going to die soon."

Emmy stopped. She stared at Claire.

Claire hesitated. "I know that I'm going to pass away suddenly, and that Hershel will be left on his own. Widowed, whatever, I don't know if I'm going to live long enough to marry Hershel..."

"Claire..." Emmy began.

"... But I know that you obviously love Hershel and that you make him happy... and that he makes you happy..."

"...Claire... I'm so sorry, Claire..." Emmy whispered, her eyes beginning to water.

"I know you are, Emmy, but you don't have to be..."

"Claire."

Both Claire and Emmy turned around. Celeste gave Emmy a small smile before turning back to Claire. "We need to talk about Markus-"

"I know, Mum. I know I'm going to die, and it's nobody's fault..."

"Claire..." Celeste fought to hide her emotions, fought to compose herself.

"But we mustn't worry about that now. We have a duty here, a duty to take Little Emmy and Leon home, and to try and stop Andrea from hurting Emmy here..."

"Claire..." Emmy said, wiping her eyes.

"Forget whatever happens in the future. We're in the present now, my present... nothing else matters now. Lets live for the moment, not let Andrea and this whole crazy situation get to us, because that's exactly what she wants." Claire turned back to Emmy. "Don't let that bitch get to you. She's hurt me too much in the past, at school, in university, and when I started seeing Hershel, she absolutely hated it. And me. But you deserve to be happy with Hershel. You're ten times the woman she is, Emmy, don't you ever forget that."

Emmy nodded and beamed at her, wiping her eyes again.

Celeste stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her daughter, burying her face in her shoulder.

Claire hugged her back and smiled at Emmy.

"We mustn't let her get to us. Whatever happens between either of us and Hershel is our own business. And we shouldn't let Andrea get between us either." Claire held out her hand. "Friends?"

Emmy grinned and took it. "Friends."

Little Emmy wandered around for a short while, trying to find her way to the restroom. After twenty minutes of fruitless searching and after she had passed the bar twice, she eventually gave up and asked a random stranger, who was only too happy to help. Finally aware of which direction she was walking in, Little Emmy set off once more.

Only, when she got there, she didn't expect to see who she saw.

Andrea stood in front of the mirror, her hands gripping both sides of the sink and tears rolling down her cheeks. Little Emmy frowned as she watched the scene before her. Andrea was crying – actually crying – and this annoyed Emmy. "What on earth does this freak have to cry about...?"

Andrea lifted her head and wiped her eyes. She suddenly caught a glimpse of Little Emmy stood at the doorway through the reflection in the mirror and spun around.

"What do you want?" she snarled.

Little Emmy frowned.

"Are you deaf? What do you want, you little freak?"

Little Emmy looked taken aback. "I ze freak? Zat's not vat I been hearing."

Andrea scoffed and turned away.

Little Emmy walked over and leaned casually against the sink. "So, vat's wrong? Vat have I done to piss you off zis much?"

Andrea wiped her eyes again and said nothing.

"Vell? I know I can be annoying, but not annoying enuff for somevun to vant to kill me..."

"Who said I wanted to kill you?"

Little Emmy raised her eyebrows. "Vell, bringing me to zis time a vanting to make me disappear says ozervise. I may be small, but I can read betveen ze lines, you know?"

Andrea scoffed again.

"Vat?"

"You're so full of yourself, Altava. Even as a child it seems..."

"Full? Vat do you mean, full?"

Andrea rolled her eyes. "Idiot..."

Little Emmy smiled and shrugged. "So, vy you vant me gone? You fancy ze Professor, yes?"

Andrea blushed furiously. "You'd better watch your mouth, you little squirt..."

"Or vat? You going to hit me? 'Cos, you know, Uncle Leon taught me to hit harder..."

"Oh, so you think you could take down someone twice your size?"

Little Emmy raised her eyebrows again.

Andrea smirked. "You know, I can hit just as hard as your father ever did."

Emmy's face fell.

"That's right." Andrea had an evil, malicious look on her face now. "I know exactly what he did. How your daddy abused you. How you were nothing but a scared little girl with nowhere else to go..."

"Shut up," Little Emmy whispered.

"And you think that because you were adopted by the man who killed your mother and brother, that means your daddy can't hurt you anymore?" Andrea sneered.

Little Emmy frowned, confused. "Vat crazyness are you talking now?"

"Oh, you think I'm crazy, do you? I think it's time you had a proper chat with your older self, don't you? Ask Emmy who killed your mother and Daniel, and see what she says."

"But it vas..."

Andrea smiled. "Who?"

"It vas... my father..."

Andrea shook her head. "No, Emmy. It wasn't."

Little Emmy frowned. "But... but Uncle Leon told me—"

"And why did he tell you that? You don't think he was trying to pin the blame on your father and get himself off the hook?"

Little Emmy frowned even more.

"What reason would your father possibly have for killing his own wife and son?"

Tears started in Little Emmy's eyes.

"Well?"

"Because he's a jerk! Like you!" she sobbed.

"Is that right?" It was Andrea's turn to raise her eyebrows.

"Dad vas not a good person. Good people don't lock zeir daughters in ze basement and beat zem up every day, so I vouldn't be surprised if it vas him who killed mama and Daniel. Just like good people don't go messing vis time machines and threatening to make everyvun disappear... just because you can't accept zat Professor Layton loves Big Emmy and he doesn't love you."

It was Andrea's turn to have tears in her eyes.

"You vant everyvun else to disappear because you sink zat zey are ze vun vis ze problem. But is you vis ze problem. So, vy you not just disappear and let everyvun else have ze chance to be happy?" Emmy blinked back her tears and made towards a cubical. "You are pathetic." She entered it and locked the door.

Andrea wiped her eyes and scowled. The hurried into the cubical adjacent to Emmy's and slammed the door shut. She sat down on the floor, her face buried into her knees. Anger and self pity took over her mind as she wept silently into her trousers. A large part of her wanted to kick down the door of the cubical next door and throttle the small girl with the big mouth. "Ignore her," she thought. "She's nothing but a stupid little girl... she doesn't understand... don't let her get in the way of the plan... Altava will be gone soon enough..."

But a tiny, little miniscule part of her knew that the girl was right, and that the only thing she was causing everyone by dragging them into this escapade was more grief.

But this part of her was shunted down deep inside her, buried by her insanity, and obsession with getting rid of the opposition. And even if Hershel Layton still didn't love er afterwards, at least she would have the satisfaction of knowing that he would forever be unhappy having lost his lover once again.

They would be unhappy, together.