SHOT IN THE DARK

CHAPTER FOUR

Time seemed to trickle by slower than the rain that dripped persistently from the heavens, as Hilda clutched Alfendi's hand in her own. There had been a brief consultation as to whether they should move him out of the rain, but it was agreed that it would be best to jostle Alfendi as little as possible. So instead they all crouched around Alfendi's prone form, Justin holding his coat over Alfendi to try and protect him from the rain, the Commissioner pressing his jacket against the wound to try and stop the bleeding, and Hilda holding Alfendi's hand to try and prevent him from slipping away.

Every now and again Hilda's eyes strayed over to where Makepeace's corpse lay cold and forgotten. Later, Hilda knew there would be disbelief and even horror that Al could have just shot a man like that in cold blood, criminal or no. But for now, there was only numbness.

"When will the ambulance get here?" asked the Commissioner, the worry evident in his voice. "I'm no medical expert, but I know he can't hold on much longer."

Lawson looked over the castle parapets, eyes squinted in the rain. "The nearest hospital was in Brisbane, I think. Should take them about ten minutes, providing the roads are no worse. But… There's a possibility…"

Silence fell over them once more, as Hilda tried not to think of the possibility that the ambulance would come only to find their services were no longer needed. "Perhaps," Hilda finally suggested, her voice breaking slightly. "We should just take him in our car?"

But even as the words left her lips, she knew it would be impossible, and the shaking of the Commissioner's head only confirmed it. Their attempts to move Alfendi would be clumsy at best, and the chances that he would survive the drive to the hospital were slim indeed.

Suddenly, Alfendi's narrow hand twitched within her own, and Hilda looked down startled to see an expression of pain flicker over his pale face. "Shh, shh" she whispered uncertainly, tightening her grip on his hand.

Helpless was not a word that would normally be used to describe Hilda Pertinax. In a world of crime and injustice, she prided herself on being forceful, competent, and strong enough to deal with any situation. But now, watching the man she had come to consider her lover die before her eyes, Hilda felt utterly useless, helpless, and hopeless. There was nothing she could do to ease his pain, or prevent his passing. She lacked the spark to reignite the flame that was dying in the rain, and she almost hated herself for it.

"They're here!" Lawson bellowed suddenly, dropping his coat, and running over to the parapets. And indeed, even over the sound of rain pummeling the ground, Hilda could hear the piercing wail of approaching sirens. Funny how such a dreadful sound, one that like a murder of crows normally signaled disaster, could now bring such relief.

"Stay with him," shouted Lawson, dashing to the stairs. "I'll show them the way."

Hilda did not argue with this. "Hold on a bit longer," she murmured softly, brushing her fingers across Alfendi's knuckles, not caring that the Commissioner threw her a glance as she did so. Technically, relationships within the station were not sanctioned at all. Nonetheless, though Hilda suspected the Commissioner knew of their affair, he had never said anything at all, and so Hilda did not bother to disguise her feelings.

Shortly afterwards, Hilda heard many footsteps pounding up the stairs, and then a collection of medics poured out onto the rooftop, bearing a stretcher. One of them, who appeared to be in charge, immediately ran over to Hilda and the Commissioner, while motioning the stretcher over.

"Where's the point of entry?" asked the medic earnestly, crouching down to inspect the injured man. Wordlessly the Commissioner lifted the bloody jacket slightly to show him the bullet wound, and the medic nodded. "Right. You did well to try and stop the bleeding. He'd be dead otherwise. Now, I'm going to need you two to step aside, so we can move him on the stretcher."

With extreme reluctance, Hilda slowly let Alfendi's cold hand slip out of her own as she rose unsteadily to her feet. She and the Commissioner moved away, Lawson joined them, and they watched as the medics began lifting the limp Alfendi on to the stretcher, slowly and gently, while one of them kept the jacket still pressed to the wound.

Then they began carrying him away, while Hilda stared blankly, wondering if she could follow. The head medic lingered for a moment, and walked over. "You can follow us to the hospital, if you wish, but I'm afraid I can't allow you to ride in the ambulance. Sorry."

Lawson nodded understandingly, and the medic followed his team down the stairs. "Well, Hilda," said Lawson gruffly, awkwardly patting her on the shoulder. "Shall we follow them?"

"You two go on ahead," the Commissioner said tiredly. "I'd best stay here and call for the coroner to get Makepeace's body. I can't just leave…it…here."

So they left him there, with Lawson's coat draped about his shoulders, looking small and very, very old. Hilda and Lawson raced down the stairs, no longer caring that the castle's musty interior was pitch black. By the time they made it out into the courtyard, the medics were just loading the stretcher into the ambulance and closing the door. They quickly climbed into their own car, and started the engine

Over the bumpy and twisting roads they followed the flashing lights of the ambulance. After a moment of silence, Lawson suddenly said: "Is there—is there family? Or anyone we should call?"

Hilda remembered vividly the day she had received a phone call from Alfendi's adoptive father. Apparently, the two of them were on rather stiff terms, but somehow Professor Layton had found out that his adopted son was seeing her, and had called Hilda, who had not previously been aware of his existence.

"Please," the Professor had said gently. "I know I have no right to ask you this, but would you look after Al? He never tells me if he's safe or not, and I worry constantly. Please make sure he's all right."

I've failed him, thought Hilda miserably. I have failed both of them.

"Well?!" asked Lawson again, impatiently.

"Oh! Yes," answered Hilda startled, and pulled out her mobile. "Yes, he has a… an adoptive father. I—I will call him." She punched the Professor's numbers in, and waited anxiously as it dialed.

"Yes?" answered a rather tired voice on the other end. "This is Hershel Layton."

"Er… Professor Layton? This is, um Hilda Pertinax… your son's…?"

"Ah, yes, Hilda, how are you?"

"Well, I'm fine," she said nervously, playing with a strand of damp hair. "But it's about Alfendi that I'm calling, actually."

"Go on," the Professor said apprehensively.

"He's erm, he's… There was a raid… we were on the trail of a serial killer, and… at this castle, and he, well, he went ahead, and we didn't—we couldn't—"

"My dear," he interrupted kindly, "It would be better if you just tell me straight out what happened."

"Al has been shot."

The Professor was silent for a moment, and then asked in a slightly shaky voice, "Where is he?"

"We've just arrived at the hospital… St Jude's, in Brisbane," added Hilda as they pulled into the parking lot. "They should be taking him into surgery now. You'd… you'd best come quickly. It's serious."

"Ah… All right. Thank you for telling me. I'll… I'll be there shortly."

"I'm sorry," whispered Hilda, but the line had already gone dead.

"Come on, let's go," said Lawson, killing the engine. "Do you want to maybe…clean up a bit before we go inside?"

Hilda looked down to see that there were spots of blood on her white skirt, and blood on her hands as well. But she only shook her head; normally, she couldn't stand to be seen with even a fleck of dirt on her clothes. Somehow, that didn't seem to matter now.

So Hilda and Lawson got out of the car and dashed through the parking lot, over to the General Admittance doors, avoiding puddles as they went. The nurse behind the admissions looked at them askance as they came through the doors, water dripping off their clothes, despite having been underneath the vomiting sky for only a minute.

"May I help you?" she asked, rising a pencil-thin eyebrow.

"Yes," gasped Hilda, stepping over to the nurse's desk. She put her hands on the polished wood, remembered that there was blood on them, and then thought better of it. "Our friend was just brought here… he was shot…"

The nurse's expression softened slightly as she turned to her computer. "I see. What is the patient's name?"

"Alfendi Layton."

After a moment of searching, fingers clacking on the keyboard, the nurse looked up with a frown. "There's no record of an Alfendi Layton here."

"Look here," blustered Lawson angrily. "They literally just brought him in a minute ago, with a great gaping hole in his chest. Of course there's no record of him yet!"

The nurse, whose name according to a little placard was Meryl, considered this for a moment, and then sighed. "Very well. Just go sit in the waiting room over there, and I'll let you know of any further developments."

Lawson continued to scowl, but Hilda whispered, "Thank you!", and they walked over to the waiting room, which was completely empty save for themselves. They had only been sitting in the stiff, padded chairs for about five minutes when Meryl scuttled over.

"Okay, so I talked to a few people, and yes, an Alfendi Layton was brought into surgery a few minutes ago, but since there was no one to sign the admissions papers, he didn't show up on the computer. I'm afraid this is really a rather small hospital, and our technology isn't great." She added, sympathetically.

"Oh. Is he…okay?" asked Hilda, twisting her fingers in her lap.

Meryl shook her head. "I'm afraid I have no word on that, and probably won't until the patient is out of surgery. Now, it's best if a family member signs the papers. Are either of you…?"

"No relation," Lawson said brusquely. "But his father should be along soon."

"All right. Normally there's a little tea and biscuit shop open in the corner, but since it's so late… Well, I'll keep you informed."

Wondering idly what time it really was, Hilda glanced down at her watch to see that it was nearly one o'clock. No surprise then that her eyes were burning… Despite the tiredness that was finally seeping into her bones, Hilda remained sitting upright, subconsciously straightening her skirt, and putting strands of hair into place. She had to be ready.

Lawson, however, sat hunched over, chin resting on folded hands, eyes narrowed speculatively. He seemed to be lost in thought, and frowned occasionally.

Perhaps thirty breathless minutes had passed when an older man in an overcoat and top hat rushed in through the door, and over to the admissions desk. His face was simple and pleasant, but looked terribly worried, and as he began talking with Meryl, and signing papers, Hilda knew that this must be Al's father.

Once he was done with the papers, the man who must be Professor Layton walked over to Hilda and Lawson, taking off his hat as he did so. "Hello," he said quietly, with a trace of what must've normally been a warm smile. "I am Hershel Layton, and you must be Hilda Pertinax. And you are?"

"Oh, I'm Justin Lawson, and I work with your son," he said, rising to his feet to shake the Professor's hand. Hilda considered standing up as well, and then decided maybe not.

"It's good to finally meet the both of you. He mentioned you two on a few occasions…" he added, taking a seat opposite Hilda. "But I suppose he never mentioned me? Ah well. He was—is—very independent. Now, I'm sure you are both very tired, but if I may please hear the whole story?"

Gradually, in fits and starts, Hilda and Lawson told Professor Layton the whole story. Towards the end, Hilda faltered, and Lawson had to finish by himself. Once all the details had been told, the Professor leaned back. For a moment a deep despair washed over his features, but then resolved into a blank mask.

"I see… Thank you. For everything."

They both nodded, and silence once more settled over the harshly-lit waiting room. Hilda continued to glance obsessively at her watch, unable to match the reality of time to the scenario that replayed over and over in her head.

Was it really only that afternoon that she and Al had been interviewing John Titor? She remembered the sound of Al's fist thumping the table as he yelled, his golden eyes gleaming vibrantly. Then she remembered the reverberating gunshots, and Al's pale face, eyes heavily lidded.

Surely these were two separate events in two separate worlds. Surely the Alfendi Layton that now lay on the carving table, his life dangling like the last severed thread of a spider's web, was not the same cackling Alfendi who flamed and burned and left a trail of fire wherever he went. Surely, that Al was just waiting for them at the station, a sneering sarcastic comment all ready to fling their way the moment they stepped sheepishly through the door.

Surely she would see her Al again.

Surely.

Her reverie was interrupted by the sound of footsteps. Like synchronized clockwork creatures, Hilda, the Professor, and Lawson all looked up to see a rather short doctor with flaming red hair scurrying over to them.

"Hello, I'm Dr. DeGozaro. Which of you is Hershel Layton?"

"I am," the Professor answered, rising to his feet. Hilda and Lawson did the same. "And these are friends of Alfendi. Whatever you have to tell me, you may tell them."

"Very well," the doctor nodded, and folded his hands behind his back. "I'm afraid it was rather touch-and-go with the patient for a while. We lost him twice, once in the ambulance, and again on the operating table. However, both times we were able to resuscitate him. Now, as to the injury; we removed the bullet, and while the damage caused by it was severe, it was not extensive. Two ribs were broken, but we set them, and the wound was stitched. The patient lost quite a bit of blood, and is suffering from shock. He seems to be on the road to recovery, but we'll have to wait for sure. I will be able to tell you of any further repercussions if and when he awakes."

Professor Layton nodded seriously, then blinked. "Wait. If he awakes?"

Dr. DeGozaro sighed. "Yes. Partially thanks to the shock, and partially to the blood loss, your son has slipped into a coma. It remains to be seen if he will ever come out of it."

A/N: Well, that was a bit longer of an update, for which I apologize. There was a death in the family, and things were rather chaotic for a while. But, here is the chapter, and to make up for the wait, it is nearly twice as long! Now, two disclaimers: 1. I hate hospitals, and really know very little about them, so I apologize for any glaring inaccuracies. 2. I have never played the original Professor Layton games, so all that I know about him comes from research online. I do hope he is not too OOC. Thanks to BrandishingNo.2Pencils, and as always, please review/follow/favorite! Toodle-pip.