AN: Your wish is my command. And yes, chapter 14 comes after chapter 15 for those of you who noticed.

Professor Layton and the Rewound Repercussions –Part 14—

Today's setup differed from the norm Layton had come to observe. No, today was quite different than the rest.

For one, Clive was sitting on a couch. Under normal circumstances, this would be usual. Today, however, the circumstances were not normal. Clive was sitting upside-down. That is to say, his feet were where his head should be, and his head was were his feet should be.

He crossed his fingers and rested them lightly on his stomach. "Hello, professor."

"Hello, er, Clive." Layton looked down at the boy that was staring placidly up at him. "The staff members told me you were acting a little…strangely…lately."

"Oh? Did they?" Clive smiled politely. "I can't say I've noticed."

"Isn't the blood rushing to your head, my boy? That can't be good for you."

"Blood?" Clive blinked. "Oh. Right. My posture. Yes, I hadn't noticed." He flipped his legs back down and put his head on the sofa's arm. "Ah. Much better. I can lie much better here."

"Lie?" the professor repeated.

"Yes. Lie."

Layton sighed. The boy would be the death of him. "And by lie you mean…?"

"Ooh, very good, professor. The staff here would never have caught that. I should have expected more of you." Clive chuckled to himself.

"Why are you doing this, Clive?"

"Doing what?"

"Your act may fool the staff, but you won't fool me. I know you."

"Yes, you do, don't you?" Clive frowned. "Well, there's no time to waste like the present!" He sprang to his feet and began pacing around the nearby circular table. The common room was a dreary place. They didn't even get a telly. The prison had a telly. An old telly, yes, but at least it had one.

"Why are you doing this?" Layton said again.

"I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about, professor." Clive stopped suddenly, facing the wall. "If I had been the architect on this project, there would be a window here. Don't you think there should be a window here? I think there should be a window here."

"Calm down, Clive. Take a deep breath."

"I am calm," Clive replied. "I'm never calm."

"Last time I came, you had the same manic disposition. What is the purpose of this act?"

"And I believe we discussed this last time, professor. It is no act."

"I don't believe you."

"Well, you might as well believe me. What have you got to lose but your sanity? I've already lost that, you know, and I can surely say I'm better off without out."

"There are those that would disagree with you, my boy."

"And you're one of them." Clive turned from the windowless wall and smiled at the man behind him. "Correct?"

"Yes." The professor nodded. "Man is nothing without his thoughts."

"Oh, but I still have thoughts, professor. Wild thoughts. Strange thoughts. Thoughts I had before but never gave any attention to. It turns out, though, that it's much more exciting this way."

"I would have thought you'd had your fill of excitement already." The professor stepped closer to the boy, who subtly spun to the other side of the table.

"I had enough the day my parents died. I had enough, professor. Do you understand?" Clive laughed, though his eyes weren't smiling.

Layton did not laugh. "Clive."

"Yes, professor?"

"Come here."

Clive bit his lip, suddenly nervous. "No, professor."

"Come here."

Finding himself unable to disobey, Clive hesitantly walked the far length of the table to the professor. "W-what is it?"

Layton put his hands on the boy's shoulders. "Clive, a true gentleman never resorts to violence."

"Er…" Clive, for once, felt himself at a loss for words.

"That said, however, I'm afraid I must do this. Please forgive me."

"Do wha—" Clive was interrupted by the professor's sudden open handed slap across his cheek. Though there was minimal force, he stumbled and fell to his knees. "I…"

"Never speak like that again. Do you hear me, Clive?" Layton warned. "The staff members here may put up with your words, but I know the gravity behind them. Do not think of such things."

Clive held his hand to the reddening mark on his cheek. "I…I should have known that'd you'd…you always…"

"Now, then." Layton knelt beside the boy. "Have the hysterics passed?"

Clive threw his arms around the professor like he had so many visits prior. Layton swayed, balance overthrown, but quickly leaned against the table. "P-Professor…"

"I know, I know. This was probably a long time coming for you." He rubbed Clive's back kindly. "Repression's an unhealthy thing, my boy. If you feel the need to talk, I am always available."

Clive muttered something into the professor's chest, gripping Layton's suit jacket tight. "Always…it's always like this. I always do this."

"Well, I suppose I can't blame you." Layton sighed. "Who else can you go to for comfort? I'm sure anyone that reminds you of your former life comes as a blessing."

"Don't let me give up, professor."

"I won't."

"I'm—I'm scared."

"To be honest, you even frightened me for a moment. The look on your face was quite terrifying."

"Don't let me…don't let me do this again."

"I won't."

"I don't want to run into the fire." He buried his face in the familiar orange shirt.

"No worries, my boy. I won't let you."

Clive stayed motionless for a while, then pulled away rather abruptly. He stared at his hands in shock, as though in disbelief of his actions. "What have I…what have I done?"

"Clive?" Layton got to his feet, concerned. He offered to help Clive up, but was swatted away in an almost absent-minded gesture. "Clive?"

Clive leaned on his heels and swayed to a standing position then stumbling back, eyes never leaving his hands. "What have I…"

"Clive?"

"I-I'm sorry, professor, I—I—I have to get out of here!" Clive made a mad dash at the door, seemingly unaware of where he was.

"Clive!" The professor grasped at the boy as he flashed past, but his fingers clutched at only empty air. "Clive!"

The guard standing at the door was not so slow. He caught Clive straight round the throat and shoved him roughly away. Clive tripped and fell helplessly towards a table, hands still at his neck in a too-late defence.

A deafening crack rang throughout the room.