Professor Layton and the Rewound Repercussions –Part 13—

"Clive…"

"Don't say it, professor. I know how I appear to you." Clive shook his head.

"But this is…this is awful."

"You don't need to keep visiting, professor. You can always forget about me."

"In this situation, there is all the more reason to continue visiting. I can't forget something like this." Layton shook his head sadly. "How long has it been since you slept?"

"Slept or slept well?"

"Either. Both."

"I have not slept well for about ten years, give or take. I have not slept in…" Clive stared into the distance, a surprised expression suddenly crossing his face. "Oh. I've lost count. How many days have I been here? Was it before or after…?"

"That's not possible, Clive. You have to have slept at some point recently, or you would not be here talking with me."

"I'm sure I have…" He continued to gaze off in the same arbitrary direction. "I just…can't remember."

"You aren't well, my boy."

"But when the wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a handsaw." He giggled suddenly. "A hawk from a handsaw! Isn't that line witty? Well, it was wittier back in the day, really. Did you know a handsaw used to be called a 'hawkshaw'? That's why he put the line in the play. It makes more sense when you think of it like that."

"Have you finally snapped?"

"Snapped? Snapped? Oh, no, my dear professor. I haven't snapped. I'm still pencil as a sharp!" He paused. "Wait, that can't possibly be right…"

"This manic behaviour…you must be putting on an act."

"It seems that I am, doesn't it? But seems can turn to reality if you go too far. Hamlet learned that, you know. I did an entire study on him while I was in university. How shall I say it? I felt that he…mirrored me, pardon the pun."

Layton blinked. "Er…what pun, my boy?"

"Oh, that's right. There wasn't one, was there? My mistake."

"How long has it been since you ate?"

"Since I what?"

"Since you ate. You're looking far too pale."

"Well, I haven't seen the sun since I've been here. It's all artificial light, you know. They could at least allow us windows once and a while!" Clive barked a laugh. "Who can tan when a…when…hey, those words rhyme, don't they? Tan and can. Can and tan. Tanacana—"

"Clive."

Clive snapped to attention, shaking his head. "My apologies, professor. What were you saying? I seem to have drifted off."

"When was the last time you ate?"

"When I what?"

Layton made a strange noise and rubbed his temples roughly with his hand. "When you ate."

"I ate what?" Clive scratched his head. "You'll have to do better than that, professor, I really don't understand what you're saying. Have you been sleeping well?"

The professor nearly let loose an exasperated sob. "I am fine, my boy."

"Really? You don't look well. You're all white and trembly."

"That's you, my boy."

"Oh? Is…is it? I suppose you're right, then." Clive spun around in his chair. Unfortunately, it was both backed and stationary, and he slammed his thigh into the edge. He bit back a few choice curses. "Chaiiirss…"

Layton sighed. "What would it take for you to calm down?"

"Calm? I've never been calm, so that's quite the question you set for me. I certainly seem calm at times, but no, I've never actually been calm."

"Which is the act, then?"

"I don't know what you mean, professor. Act? What act? The play's the thing? The thing's the play? All the world's a stage, you know, and—"

"Clive." Layton stared calmly at the boy, catching his gaze. "Stop."

"I'm sorry, professor." Clive smiled ruefully.

"It's quite alright, my boy. Just collect your wits and we can continue our discus—"

"No, you misunderstand me." He shook his head with a laugh.

"Whatever do you mean?"

"I'm sorry, professor. I can't stop."