Chapter 4 - Reading Between the Lines
As the professor and Emmy arrived back at Bronev's place, the professor was surprised when he was attacked with a huge hug as he entered the house.
"Professor!" Flora squealed, throwing her arms around his neck.
"Flora! What are you doing here?" the professor asked, holding her tight.
"I wanted to be here for you and Emmy, so I convinced Mr and Mrs Layton to let us stay in a hotel last night and come and see you today," Flora smiled, letting go of the professor and hugging Emmy in turn. "So, did you get a lead? Is that where you've both been all morning?"
"Well... Not exactly, Flora," the professor sighed as they entered the kitchen. Celeste and Bronev were sat at the table, along with Roland and Lucille. Lucille automatically stood up as the professor entered and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck.
"Oh, Hershel... Hershel... I don't know what to say..." she began to cry.
"Ma... It's alright, Ma..." the professor soothed, rubbing circles in her back. They broke apart and Roland approached him, clasping his hand and pulling him into a brief one-armed hug.
"Hershel, you have to tell us everything about this woman," Roland said as he and Lucille sat down again. "Who is she? How do you know her?"
"She is an old classmate of mine from college," the professor said, taking a seat beside his father. Emmy stood behind him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "She had some sort of crush on me, which appears to have escalated extravagantly."
"She's obsessed," Emmy said. "She's tried all sorts to separate me and Hershel. She manipulated me by using my father to try and dig up my past, she was after the grounds of rebirth to try and impress Hershel, the went back in time with the time machine we told you about, putting the world at risk and dragging up Claire..."
"She's a psychopath," Flora concluded. "And now she's taken Alfendi... I'm sorry, guys, but I don't know how far she'll go this time..."
Emmy's grip on the professor tightened as Flora said this.
"I know... But we have to keep trying. Emmy, may I see her letter?"
"The poem?" Emmy handed it over to him as everyone else frowned.
"She left you a clue?" Bronev asked dubiously.
"Well, when I got to my office this morning, as Dean Delmona and Rosa said, it was a complete mess-"
"Huh? She was in your office?" Flora asked, shocked.
"Well, Emmy suspects that she has an accomplice, and I think she's spot on," the professor said, stroking Emmy's arm. "They left a poem. Let me see..." the professor read it silently. He frowned. "Emmy, my dear... You never told me of ms McIntyre's use of punctuation..."
"What?" Emmy peered at it over his shoulder.
"It's not your fault, my dear," he said gently.
"What is it?" Flora asked, sitting beside the professor so she could read the letter too. "Some of these letters are underlined..."
"Precisely," the professor smiled. "See here..."
"I'm losing everything, my life is falling apart.
I've lost my love, my family, and now I've lost my heart.
Now I have, no reason to stay.
They were my life, which now faded away.
I have no chance, to live through it all.
Some say it will get better, but my hopes are small.
I've lost my morals and my dignity, so true.
So just let me go, I know that I failed you.
Don't hate me, because my secrets were wrong.
I regret everything, which I have felt for so long.
I keep it all inside me, so nobody has to see.
What all the messed up things are, the world has done to me.
I should have just let go, a long time ago.
Then nobody would have to see, all the things that have shown.
It's okay to point your finger, for all the things I've done.
I know I've made mistakes, but I'm not the only one.
So now I just see dark, ahead there is no light.
I feel no heartbeat, my body is pale and white.
So now the world turns cold, and nobody is around.
This is the one day, that all I've lost is never found.
Word's to describe your life, Emmeline Altava, for this is how you will feel,
When you realise your situation is very much real,
Your child is gone now, with your husband soon to follow,
And then youwill learn thetrue meaning of sorrow."
"Let's see... F-A-R-M-B-O-R-O-U-G-H-B-R-O-N-E-V-'S-E-S-T-A-T-E-S-E-E-Y-O-U-T-H-E-R-E... Farmborough, Bronev's estate... See you there..." Flora turned to Bronev. "She means you?"
"My old home... Where you and Desmond were born... Where Rachel and I lived... That is the only other estate I have ever owned," Bronev said. "And it was in Farmborough." He stood up and grabbed his car keys. "Let's go."
"Hold on," the professor said, handing the poem to Celeste. "I was hoping that this poem would reveal the sort of mind frame that Andrea is in. Perhaps if we know what she is thinking, we might figure out what she wants."
Celeste scanned through it and nodded. "I have a theory, alright... But I think it should wait until we follow up this lead."
"Okay," the professor said, getting up again. "Bronev and I will go to Farmborough and look there. Emmy, Flora, Celeste, I suggest you try to decipher the true meaning of this poem. It may contain more hints than meets the eye. I have a strange feeling about this. I would advise that you trust my instincts."
Flora nodded.
"I'm coming with you, Hershel."
"No your not, Emmy," Celeste said sternly. "Flora and I are looking at this poem, you are going back to bed, even if your uncle and I have to drag you. You're overdoing it, and you could hurt yourself. And we all know that little Alfendi is going to need his mother after an ordeal like this."
Emmy opened her mouth to protest, but didn't know how to justify her going. The professor took her hand.
"I promise you that I will call when I find him. I promise you, Emmy."
Emmy felt her eyes fill with tears once more, but blinked them back. "But Hershel..."
"Emmy, darling..."
"I... I feel so useless, Hershel..."
"You're not," Lucille said, getting up and wrapping her arms around her. "You're anything but useless, Emmy. You brought the little mite into this world, and there's nothing you could have done to prevent McIntyre from taking Alfendi. And Celeste is right; you mustn't strain yourself. Alfendi needs you, and Hershel needs you too, and running yourself ragged and making yourself ill won't help."
"I'll be back as soon as I can," the professor promised. "I assure you, Emmy." He kissed her on the cheek and turned to Bronev. "Let's go." They left.
Emmy sat down and sighed heavily, wiping her eyes. Flora sat beside her and wrapped her arms tightly around her.
"It's okay, Emmy," Flora murmured. "The professor will know what to do..."
"If Alfendi's not there, I don't know what I'll do," the professor thought desperately as he stopped the car. He carefully observed the house before him. The place was a dump, the walls covered in ivy and moss, the formerly yellow paint faded, all the windows smashed in... And yet, the place just felt so familiar to the professor. It was as though a part of him from long ago had been brought back, his former home right before his eyes. He stared.
"Layton. Let's go," Bronev said, beckoning for him to follow. They knocked on the door, but there was no answer.
"Hmm..." Bronev beckoned for Layton to stand back and, with an incredible roundhouse kick, he smashed the door into cinders.
The professor stepped forward apprehensively, astonished. "It is clear that this is where Emmy gets her martial arts skills from..."
They entered the house, Bronev leading the way. "You check here, Layton, I'll check upstairs," Bronev said quietly. The professor nodded.
Bronev quietly ascended the stairs, taking utmost care to make as little noise as possible. He took a deep breath. It had been so long since his last time in that house - too long. The last memory he had of the place was blurred as he was dragged out of the house by Aleksander Chovanek in a semi-conscious state as he watched his youngest son look on in terror. Bronev shook his head. Now was not the time to be reminiscing. Emmy needed him, now more than ever, and he was going to find his grandson.
He approached the first door on his right. A faded sign hung on the door, and Bronev could just make out the letters; 'Hershel's room'. His oldest son. Bronev stepped in the door and examined the room. Everything had been left untouched since that fateful day; Hershel's schoolbag remained dumped on the floor, pictures of comic book heroes still adorned the walls, puzzle books still sat on the desk... There was only one thing Bronev considered to be out of place.
The family album sat open on the desk, on a picture of a fair-haired young man, accompanied by a beautiful brunette with beady brown eyes. Bronev stared down at his wedding photo, his heart feeling heavy. He turned on to the next page to look at more pictures, when he found a scrap of paper tucked into a pocket containing a picture of Theodore. Bronev frowned. He gently prized it out and opened it out. As he did so, Bronev noticed that the paper was fresh. The paper contained words written in block capitals. Bronev could hear the professor rush past the room to check the rest of the upstairs portion of the house as Bronev read the note again and again, shocked at its contents.
The professor entered a few minutes later. "There's no one here. This house is empty."
"Indeed," Bronev said quietly. "But someone has been here before us."
"Hmm?" the professor noticed the note in his hand. "Let me see..." He took it and read it. His face fell.
'YOU WILL NOT SEE ALFENDY BEFORE HE GETS SHOT ON Wednesday seCOnd feBruary'.