AN: Review replies!

Descole's Apprentice: Thank you very much! I hope you enjoyed your holiday, and here's what happens with Emmy, for you now.

Also, heads up, this is the penultimate chapter. :) (Mental illness trigger warnings: schizophrenia and PTSD)

A Perished Atmosphere

Chapter Four

"Emmy Altava..."

"It certainly is, Professor Layton," Emmy nodded, as she pulled her camera bag (that she still seemed to be carrying with her to this day) over her shoulder. Out of the top, the Professor could see the wires of a notebook, with a ballpoint pen attached, sticking out. Emmy had always liked to take notes during their cases together; that must have been where Luke had gotten it from. That had never occurred to him until now. "I believe you're in need of my services again."

"A gentleman is always in need of an assistant, Emmy," The Professor smiled warmly and opened the door wider, gesturing for her to come inside. "Please, come in. I'll brew some tea."

"Thank you," Emmy nodded gratefully and then stepped inside. "Tea's not necessary, Professor Layton. However, I would appreciate it if we sat down and had a chat. It's been a while since I last saw you and I'm sure you have a lot to tell me."

The Professor froze for a moment. His long gone assistant was seeming rather harsh and blunt, as if she didn't want to be there. And for Emmy to turn down tea. The idea was absurd! The old Emmy would never have denied a cup of tea, at least not to his memory. Besides, she definitely was rather different to how he remembered her to be- and not just because her hair had changed. She was much... Stiffer. The way she walked: it wasn't as regimented as a soldier but nothing like the care free and energetic assistant he had once knew. She was now much more formal and professional, you could say. Just what had gone on in the past two years to cause such a dramatic change?

He couldn't help but stare at her, as he followed her into the dining room, to sit down at the dining table, in the exact seats that himself and Clark had sat in that morning. He was intrigued as Emmy sat down; she'd lost the bounce in her steps and the frantic energy bursts that seemed to appear in every movement.

"So then," Emmy began as soon as she took her seat. "What's happened since we last met, Professor Layton."

"Well," Layton shuffled his seat towards the table. He pulled it so close that when he inhaled, his torso brushed against the wooden edge. "That's a rather big question, to be honest, Emmy. I don't quite know where to begin with that."

"Start at whatever point you feel is the best," Emmy replied. "It could be from right at the beginning- right after I resigned- or the part you feel is most important."

The Professor shivered in his seat, with the sudden feeling that he was being interrogated. Stranger still, he found the situation to be rather similar. As if he'd sat down at this very table with Emmy before and had a similar conversation... But, no, of course not. That made absolutely no sense whatsoever. He was just imagining things, he must have been. Of course, it was the only possible explanation.

"I suppose... Well, I suppose the most important and the biggest thing to have happened is that I adopted a girl named Flora just over a year ago," The Professor began. "Yes, it must have been about five to six months after you left that Flora came along."

"Really now?" Emmy's eyes widened slightly, and she folded her arms on the table, leaning over him slightly.

"Yes..." Hershel nodded rather nervously. He couldn't help but feel rather intimidated by this, as if Emmy were patronizing him. He tried to shake it off- the idea itself was ridiculous!- but he couldn;t quite brush it under the table.

"And how did you meet Flora, Professor?" Emmy questioned. "What made you decide to adopt her?"

"Oh, I met Flora on an investigation," Hershel replied, a smile forming on his face at the thought of his adopted daughter. "It's a rather interesting story, if I do say so myself, but you can't tell a soul. You see, I received a letter from a woman named Lady Dahlia, who lives in the village St. Mystere- it's a while out from London, and not very well known, so I doubt you've heard of the village. Anyhow, in the letter, Lady Dahlia asked that I were to solve a riddle left in her late husband, Baron Augustus Reinhold's, will. His will offered the whole of his estate and wealth to whomever could successfully locate the Reinhold family treasure: the Golden Apple. It turned out that the 'Golden Apple' was in fact, his daughter, Flora Reinhold. More interestingly, everyone in the village was a fully-functioning robot. They were being maintained by a man named Bruno; him and Flora were the only humans in the village. Naturally, Flora wanted to leave St. Mystere after that, and explore more of the world. And so I adopted her."

"I see," Emmy nodded, "And, where is Flora now?"

The Professor was rather taken a back by this. Emmy showed no element of surprise at all; no raised eyebrows, no gasps of shock; not even a question to clarify or have a part of the story elaborated on. He put it down to the fact that perhaps Emmy was far too intrigued to meet Flora. That was plausible, wasn't it?

"Flora would be at school," The Professor replied. "After all, it's gone ten o'clock in the morning on a weekday."

"Ah, of course," Emmy said, glancing at the clock behind her. "My mistake. Now, perhaps you could tell me-"

"Ah, no, you've heard enough about me. Please, tell me what you've been doing these past two years. And, why of all days do you decide to return? I'm most interested."

"Why am I here today?" Emmy repeated. "I had a phone call from your friend, Mr Clark Triton, about an hour ago. He said that you needed my help urgently, Professor Layton."

Hershel frowned, his nose wrinkling against his narrowed eyes and pursed mouth. That made no sense whatsoever. Clark had been fuming with frustration when he had visited that morning, but how would calling Emmy and asking for her assistance... Well, what exactly would that do? Had Clark done this out of spite? That was rather out of character for the man, but then again, this morning had been nothing but unusual for Clark. Then again, even if he had done this as an act of anger, what would it achieve exactly?

Emmy spotted the look of confusion on the Professor's face and reached into her camera bag and withdrew a small piece of card. A business card, it looked like. She kept it facing her chest and hidden from the Professor's view. He glanced down at it curiously.

"Professor Layton, do you remember our relationship? How we came to know each other, tell me what that was, would you?" Emmy requested.

"Well... You were once my assistant," The Professor replied, a nagging sensation within him that he was giving the wrong answer.

"That was what you believed us to be, yes," Emmy said. "You believed that you were my employer, but that was one of the many lies you told yourself."

"I'm sorry, I don't understand-"

Emmy placed the card on the table, so the Professor could see what it said.

Doctor Emmeline Altava

Clinical Psychiatrist

"You... You've become a psychiatrist since we last met?" The Professor began.

"No," Emmy shook her head rather calmly. "No. Professor Layton, I was your psychiatrist for three years. I left after you remembered your childhood. I assumed the kidnapping of your parents and the murder of your older brother, which you were unfortunate enough to witness at a very young age, was what caused the trauma to result in your mental instability. Unfortunately, I was wrong, and left you far too soon."

"I... I-" Hershel tried to say. His face had gone white. Memories and images, of what must have been what Emmy was referring to, started to flash before his eyes. He blinked them away, and they went away far too quickly than expected. It was if he had done the action many times before.

"Please, Professor, let me explain," Emmy firmly instructed. "You see, when we first met, we travelled to the town of Misthallery. There, we met Clark and Luke. I'd recently been assigned to you, after your previous psychiatrist, Doctor Rosa Hufferman, retired, and so I was just learning about you first hand. It was clear from the beginning that you suffered from severe mental instability, which both me and Doctor Hufferman concluded to be a severe case of schizophrenia, caused by post-traumatic stress disorder. You seemed to turn everything around you into some form of reality that worked in your favour. You believed that Doctor Hufferman was your cleaner and housekeeper, whereas you believed me to be your assistant. You continued this fantasy for a long time. In fact, you still believe to this day, that I was your assistant. I assume there's times you've suspected otherwise, but you were so desperate to stay safe in your own world- your own story- that you simply pushed those thoughts away."

"You... You said you thought that this was caused by my parents and brother..." The Professor began. His voice shook. The world that had been constructed so beautifully and perfectly by his own mind was crumbling down around him.

"Yes, that was my original thought," Emmy nodded. "You see, after I learnt of your friend Randall, who fell to his death, you felt remarkably guilty. You took us near your home town of Stansbury and imagined that he had come back alive, and that his death had been a mistake. You also thought we- you, me and Luke- were in some sort of great city. We were in the middle of a desert."

"But, Randall..."

"And then you took us to this cave down at the South Coast of England," Emmy went on. "You believed that you were going to learn more about the Azran Civilisation. We- once again, me, you and Luke- saw nothing but caves. But you spoke of and to others, as if you were telling us one half of a story. But there was no one there but us the entire time. There, you told me that you had taken your older brother's name when you were adopted by the Laytons. It was miraculous that you remembered that. And you began to improve over the next few weeks. You spoke of nothing that no one else couldn't see for a month. And so I discharged you, you could say."

"But..."

Emmy- No, Doctor Altava's- words were rather monotonous. She told the story with barely any emotion. She was laying the facts down bare. That was what a psychiatrist did, he supposed.

"Yes, there is a but," Doctor Altava nodded. "When Clark rung me earlier this morning, he told me all the stories that you had told Luke, and that Luke had then gone on to tell his Father. You just told me about Flora Reinhold; a girl you adopted. But she never existed. You took Luke to a field and were adamant that you were in the village St. Mystere. Similarly, you later took him to an abandoned train station and told him he was in the town of Folsense. It was today, though, that confirmed the truth behind your illness, Professor Layton."

"You... You mean, Claire, don't you?" The Professor said. His voice had dropped quiet. Around him lay thousands of shards of glass.

Emmy nodded. Her mouth curved into a slight smile.

"I imagined you'd put the pieces together yourself soon enough," The psychiatrist nodded. "You may not have solved as many great puzzles as you think you have, but you made them up. That takes enough intellectual ability up."

"When Claire died in the explosion you think-"

"No," Doctor Altava shook her head. "No, Professor. Claire did die, but not in any type of explosion. Nor did she return last night, and nor was there any type of an attack on London. According to Luke, the two of you spent the day running around a deserted street in Baldwin."

"But... If Claire didn't die in an explosion..."

"I'm sure you can answer that question yourself," Doctor Altava answered. "Think hard, now."

The Professor squeezed his eyes shut as he dug up memories that he had tried so hard to forget- no, cover up... But to no avail. Altava had expected as much. After all, this was thinking back to the day when all this had began. The epicentre of the most destructive earthquake known to any man.

"Professor Layton, Claire died the day you were presented with that title," Altava told him. "She was on her way to work in a rush because she had lost track of time when congratulating you on your professorship. The research facility she worked at was only a few streets away, so it was quicker to run than to catch a bus. She turned a sharp corner and ran straight into a road, where a car hit her, and Claire died almost instantly."

And then, Professor Hershel Layton's world burnt to a crisp, caved in and shattered into pieces all at once. He was left with nothing but the cold, lonely and perished atmosphere that was the reality, that he had ignored for ten, long years.

AN: Oooookey, so like I said, folks: the next chapter shall be the last.

Reviews are grand and make my day!

Nikki~