A SHOT IN THE DARK
CHAPTER SIX.
"I killed Keelan Makepeace."
Al's first, whispered words slapped Hilda in the face, and she almost reeled from the shock. The joy she had felt at coming into the room and seeing Al's golden eyes open began to diminish at this revelation. Not the fact that he had killed Makepeace; she already knew that. Why, she had seen Al advancing on the already injured Makepeace…hadn't she?
Anyway, that wasn't what bothered her. Makepeace was a horrible man, and deserved what he had coming. What bothered her was the fact that Al had admitted to killing him. Al who refused to admit that he sometimes stole her lunch. To admit that he enjoyed her company. To admit that he loved his father, despite his reluctance to ever bring him up.
And now, he had admitted this huge thing, and he had admitted it with shame. She could almost imagine him confessing to it later, with a sort of boasting attitude. "Makepeace? Oh yes, I had to kill him. Not much of a threat in the end."
But this Al, laying in his hospital bed surrounded by fluttering nurses, was the furthest thing from boastful she could imagine. So pale, so tired, and so…apologetic.
"I…I hope…you can forgive me…" Al murmured, his eyes already drifting shut.
"I'm afraid he'll be very tired for the next couple of days," one of the nurses whispered to Hilda, as Al fell asleep.
"Oh…yeah, right. No, that's fine, I'll…I'll just wait outside, then. And you'll let me know when he wakes up again?"
Having received the nurse's assurance, Hilda strode out into the hallway, telling herself not to worry. He'll be fine. This is Alfendi Layton we're dealing with here. He probably just…just… The thought trailed off as she sat down in one of the chairs outside his door.
She shouldn't dwell on it. She should be glad. She was glad. They had begun to think Al would never wake up at all, and now here he was, alive, and, if not well, at least recovering. Despite his rather odd behavior, her Al was awake, and that was what mattered.
With that in mind, Hilda remembered suddenly that she wasn't the only one who had been lurking around the hospital like a frightened shadow. She quickly pulled her mobile from her purse and dialed the number she had so recently added to speed-dial—Professor Layton.
He answered on the first ring. "Hilda, how are you?"
"Oh, I'm fine, Professor, thank you. But the reason I called is…Al woke up."
Utter silence met this, and for a moment Hilda wondered if the Professor was alright. Then suddenly, he said, with a shaky voice, "Oh…oh, thank goodness…my boy! He's awake! I had begun to think…Oh, Hilda, how is he? Is he okay? Can I come see him?"
Hilda smiled in spite of herself; the Professor's joyous relief was infectious. "Well, he's sleeping now. The nurse said he would be quite tired for a while. But I spoke to him, and he…well, he seemed a bit…" Hilda found she didn't quite know how to put it in words without scaring the Professor.
Fortunately, he didn't seem too worried. "Don't worry, sweetheart. Al has always been a bit…unpredictable. You stay by his side, and don't worry. Everything will be all right now. And I'll be over as soon as I can."
She said her goodbye to the Professor, feeling a little better, and then rang up Lawson.
"Justin! Good news, he's…he's okay. He's awake."
"And?"
"And what?" asked Hilda, a little confused.
"Did he say anything? I just want to make sure his brain functions are all still there," Lawson added.
"Oh, right, yeah. Um, actually, the first thing he said was 'I killed Keelan Makepeace'..."
"Really? Wow…" Lawson let out a long sigh. "He definitely admitted that? Wow. Okay, I'll be there soon."
True to their word, Professor Layton and Lawson showed up soon enough, and the three of them sat outside Alfendi's room, waiting for him to wake again. In previous times, their vigils had absolutely silent and still, as though at a wake.
Now, the news that Alfendi would be okay loosened their tongues, and they began to exchange stories. Professor Layton told them about the time little Alfendi had smashed every single vase in the house, just to see what kind of sound the breaking glass would make.
Lawson, with a grin, reminisced about the first case he and Alfendi had cracked together, and how, after correctly accusing the murderer of the crime, Alfendi had been chased around by the murderer with a carving knife, while Alfendi yelled and yelled about how foolish the man's alibi had been.
And Hilda told them how, on their very first date, Alfendi accused their waiter of pick-pocketing his customers. Alfendi then spent the rest of the evening finding proof to support his accusation, while Hilda sat and listened, a little annoyed, but mostly amused.
Actually, that more or less summed up her general attitude towards Al. A little annoyed, but mostly amused. And, perhaps, a little in love. Maybe even a lot. So when the nurse poked her head out the door, and told them that Al was awake, she firmly squashed any remaining traces of her previous misgivings. All would be well.
And she believed that, right up until she walked into the room, and saw the soft, gentle way in which Al's eyes lit up at the sight of his father. It would have been charming, sweet, to see the joy on Al's face, except it was so very, very wrong.
"Dad! Oh, dad…I'm so sorry…I killed him…I'm so…sorry—"
"Shhhhh, hush, hush, Al, it's okay," Professor Layton murmured, sitting by his son's side. "You don't need to apologize. Everything's okay."
"But, dad…I…"
"Shh, now, it's okay," Professor Layton comforted, holding his son's hand. But then he glanced over at Hilda, and she saw it, the same uncertainty in her eyes, mirrored in his own. She glanced over at Lawson, whose face was impassive, as though trying to hide something great. That was it, then; they all felt it. There was something wrong with Alfendi.
...
Alfendi was confused. There was something deeply, deeply wrong with him, and he couldn't quite figure out what. It wasn't the fact that he felt out of place in his own exhausted body; it wasn't the prevalent feelings of guilt and shame that weighed him down.
It was the way they looked at him now, his father, Hilda, and Lawson. It was the question in their eyes when they looked at him, as though they no longer quite knew who he was. And it was the whisper that sometimes invaded the back of his mind.
He had talked to himself before, because sometimes he was the best company he could find. But this was different. This was a tiny angry voice that yelled for him to stop, that he was doing it wrong. And sometimes, when his father had to go back home, and Hilda and Lawson were off working, Alfendi would lay in his hospital bed, stare at the blank ceiling, and tell the little voice to shut up.
It never did, though, and eventually Alfendi learned to ignore it. But still, he could not quite get rid of the fear; the fear that he was irrevocably broken, and never again be whole.
Ugh, I'm sorry, guys. I haven't updated in a while, and now when I do, it's nothing but filler. I mean, everything that happened in this chapter is stuff that needed to happen to move the story forward, and so it was necessary, but…yeah, sorry. Hopefully the next chapter will be a little more exciting. Anyway, huge thanks to Awesomest99er for the reviews, you rock! Please continue to read/review/follow/favorite, everybody! And, as always thanks for reading.