Professor Layton and the Rewound Repercussions –Part 11—

"Have you considered my offer, Clive?"

"Yes, professor."

"What do you say?"

Clive smiled coldly and pushed the now-tattered form back through the slot. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to decline."

"Are you sure?"

"Very. I'm far too old to warrant adoption."

"I see."

Clive glanced at Layton, whose face was shadowed by the brim of his hat. "Disappointed?"

"Yes, actually."

Clive raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Really?"

"I'm afraid I had envisioned a happy family situation."

"I'm not even free, and you're already imagining me moving in with you?"

"Nothing like that." Layton frowned. "Perhaps a cup of tea and a long discussion that does not take place over a cheap plastic receiver and a smudged glass wall."

"And you assume I'd take you up on your offer of tea?"

"I had hoped."

"Let's wait closer until my release to plan the frivolous feel-good activities you so enjoy, shall we?" Clive spotted an ant making its way across the desk and immediately began to toy with it, block its path with his finger every so often. He smiled. "How are you, professor?"

"Pardon?"

"How are you doing? You've asked me many times, but I feel like I have yet to properly return the favour."

"I'm fine, Clive. Flora has taken up knitting and Luke sends me letters every so often."

"Ah-ah, professor." Clive wagged his finger at Layton. "You're changing the subject."

"Am I?"

"I asked you how you were, professor. You replied with various activities your friends have taken up. That does not answer my question."

"If that had been all I said, you would be correct, my boy. But I believe I prefaced the description of their doings with 'I'm fine'."

"'I'm fine' is what you tell staff members when you want them to go away. It's a dismissal, not an answer."

"Perhaps in your mind. I, however, am fine."

"I don't believe you."

"There's no reason for you not to."

Clive tapped his temple. "Don't play games with me, professor. I am not Luke. I know when you're lying because you are me."

"I 'am you'? How so?"

"We're the same, professor. You know that. You know what I think, how I act, what I believe."

"Not at all. If I did, quite a number of my actions would have been unnecessary. If I knew your thoughts so well, I would have been able to predict your rejection of my offer."

"But, professor, you did predict this outcome."

"I'm afraid I did not."

"Don't lie to me. I can tell when you're lying. That's the funny thing about being a journalist—you learn to tell when people are lying." Clive chuckled. "But I don't even need that experience when it comes to you. You are an open book, professor. I can read you like that." He snapped his fingers, then returned to his game of guiding the ant around the desk.

"Then let us say you can tell when I am lying. Can you tell what I am lying about? Why?"

Clive frowned. "No, though I can guess."

"By all means, tell me your thoughts."

"You are not fine."

Layton paused. "I believe you made that clear already."

"Tsk, tsk. Let me finish, professor. You are not fine because you keep visiting me. I remind you of Claire, which makes you sad. However! You are also unable to stop visiting me because of that very reason." Clive suddenly flicked the ant from the desk. "Quite the Catch-22, isn't it, professor?"

"I understand your reasoning, Clive, but I'm afraid you made one mistake." Layton tipped his hat.

"Which is?"

"You don't remind me of Claire."