Sisters are amazing. Even when they argue with you, can't cook and can't bear to be alone...they're still pretty amazing.

It was my sister's birthday yesterday. She was awfully excited at the thought of baking birthday cookies for herself and her friends - but Daddy and I insisted that we make the cookies for her, seeing as she was the birthday girl. (But it was really because we can't stand her cooking.)

Daddy got her her own frying pan, too! It ever has her name on the side. She wants to use it soon... I hope she doesn't make anymore choc-chip surprises, for Luke's sake especially...

"Well, look who it is. Mah predictions were correct."

Goldie Potsby-Mahn, Zach Carriere and Mike de Bonair were downright lousy criminals. Sure, their methods were challenging, and sure, they had each murdered somebody, but a massive threat? They weren't one. Alfendi had cracked them like eggs. In a group, they seemed slightly stronger.

These "villains" - if could anyone really call them that - had carefully laid out the scene. Just a mere amount of light flooded in through the windows, but it was enough to shine on the three chairs in the center of the room. These three chairs bound back an individual each with layers of rope thick enough to cut through skin, and whilst there were no real weapons in sight, the scene had enough shock factor to worry the trespassers that were now on the property.

Effortlessly, Al had noted the detail. Let's see what they have in store, he thought, and Goldie approached, almost as if he had called her over. Alfendi wondered if she had learned anything from the Potsby case that had resulted in her imprisonment...

"Well," she purred, "we were expecting you, Inspectah. Nice to see you made it here alive."

Emmy grimaced. "W-What is all this?"

"Just a little game we like to call "Revenge on Mr. Layton", mademoiselle," Zach replied. "Just because you outruled us for our crimes, Layton, doesn't mean we're wiped off the surface of the earth, you know. We're just...restricted. And we needn't introduce our victims, non?"

Oh, much to his displeasure. He could see that on the chair furthest to right, there was a woman with green eyes and long, indigo hair - the very picture of who Olivia had described, back in that dreaded cafe. Had she been manipulated into all this? Whoever she was, she didn't seem to Al to be the sort of girl who would go around kidnapping people.

Furthest to the left, however, was a recognizable face - Al's very own Lucy Baker. Tut, tut, tut. Lucy, Lucy, Lucy. Her name spiraled through his mind, and he could hear her in his head, shakily laughing and saying "Looks like I got into a bit of a hand sandwich 'ere, eh, Prof?". But that aside, she was silent.

There was one last silhouette, between the two ladies. Al didn't need anyone to identify it...and it would hurt him if they did.

Emmy yelled angrily, "Is this some sort of sick joke? Kidnapping people, just for a slice of revenge?"

Goldie and Zach both shrugged, emotionless. "The only joke here is you, hun', and Inspector Dearest," they answered, and at that moment - that single moment in time - you could literally hear the cogs in Alfendi Layton's brain snap.

"I can just imagine you all, hoisting innocent people up and off into your lair so that you can torture them. You're all here just to torture, aren't you? If I didn't know any better, I'd cut all your tongues off, you savage fools."

"Then why not?" de Bonair challenged. Emmy wanted to step in while she had the chance, but the placid prof was already rolling up his sleeves in preparation to attack, and as a result of Flora's midnight story, she knew much better than to interfere with him. A fight would have to commence - Layton and Altava, one side, and the villains on the other.

Goldie started it off. She swung forward, her nails merely scratching Al's cheek. He jumped back up after the attack and Emmy accompanied him, kicking everywhere she could in attempt to get the three away. Their efforts fell fruitless, however. Al collapsed on to his knees. Why did he always have to end up being the one in pain? And if he let go of his head, would it fall off? Would it really make a difference if it did? The world was already a blur how it was.

That blur consisted of a red lab-coat sleeve, a familiar pink dress and a frying pan splattered with blood.