Well well well. What a hiatus! What a break! And…..what a lapse in mental sanity. Anyway, with the release of the fourth Layton game (the 1st chronologically…), I've been inspired to continue my story. However, there may be some discrepancies in my writing, now that I have some more information about the professor, thanks to the 4th game. Too bad I didn't translate it earlier before I started writing! Oh well. Bear with me.

Anyway, enjoy chapter 3. Don't be too surprised. Haha. Sorry for my terrible puzzles/"mysteries". They aren't very….good twists, are they…

Writing cruddy fanfics,

Kelsey

CHAPTER 3: THE BASKET WEAVER AND THE CHARMER

"Professor, are you sure you aren't hungry? I'm eating your eggs if you don't come out!"

Luke rapped his knuckles against the professor's bedroom door for a third time. He listened for footfalls beyond the door and heard nothing. Shaking his head, he headed back to the kitchen, plate of eggs still in hand.

Within, Layton lay under heavy covers, still in bed, staring through half-raised eyelids at dust caught in sunrays entering the bedroom window. He heard the boy, but failed to process his words. His mind was blank, empty. Had he even slept? He tried to remember. Unable to recall, he concluded he had indeed slept, but felt quite fatigued regardless. Had he dreamt everything?

He emerged from the room a half hour later, hair tussled and eyes heavy.

"Tea's cold now, lazy!" Luke yelled from the kitchen. "And I really did eat your eggs. About time you woke up! I called the university and told them you'd come down with flu!"

He ignored the boy and walked straight to the bathroom, deciding to assess the damage of his restless sleep. The mirror told no lies as bloodshot eyes stared back at him, a bored expression on his face.

"Ridiculous." He splashed his face with water, then buried it in a soft towel. He wished he had dreamt. All of it. He left the bathroom and headed straight to his study, finding the paper in the envelope just as he had tossed it on the desk the night prior. However, it was now blank. "Curious…"

"Why, it's white!" Luke started, but smiled weakly, noticing the professor's frown. "Heh heh, sorry…"

"Seems I can't restrain your curiosity any more than you can," he muttered, managing a grimace. "I can't say that I blame you. It perplexed me all of last night."

Luke nodded. "Well…what exactly do you suppose this paper is about anyway? It's like a diary, but, at the same time, not."

"It indeed seems to be that way, doesn't it? However, why my signature triggered another's broken diary is beyond my current comprehension." He stopped. "Luke, humor me for a moment."

The boy nervously took a pen from the professor. "Er…Professor?"

"The instructions asked, well, ordered me to write my name at the top. Let's see how it reacts to yours."

Luke obliged, gingerly scrawling "Luke Triton" across the top. "Well, it's certainly not my best but… My goodness! It's starting again!" The same Latin heading, the same format, the same script. However, only one entry appeared: July 12th: Ice cream at Dilliam's.

"Ice cream at Dilliam's? Is that all?" asked Layton, slightly disappointed.

"Why, that was just over a month ago!" Luke yelled. "That's when I went to that fancy ice cream parlor down the avenue, and I hadn't brought enough money."

"Oh yes, I do recall that. Did anything…out of the ordinary occur?"

"Other than me feeling absolutely ridiculous because I lost my change, no."

"Surely, this entry isn't random." The professor thought for a moment. "Well, how were you able to leave without paying? Didn't you say something about the waitress telling you that your tab had somehow been cleared?"

"Oh, oh yes! I completely forgot about that! Yes, the waitress said my bill had been paid for by a regular customer. But, I never saw anyone else in there. Well, at least, not anyone that seemed to realize my trouble. And really, there's only children in there. Their parents give them money to go."

"Strange." Layton held his chin in his hand, arms half crossed. "A gourmet ice cream parlor, where the customers are primarily chidren. It seems odd that anyone there would have had more than enough money to pay for anyone other than his or herself, if parents merely give their children enough to buy a single treat. Of course, there may be outliers: some children might be…hmm…satiated only after several treats, but most likely, those of that nature may not be so willing to forego their own ice cream for the sake of another's."

"You seem….to be putting a lot of thought into this, Professor…." Luke mumbled. "It's merely ice cream, it's merely an entry to the strange paper. What are you getting at?"

The Professor smiled and laughed lightly. "What I'm getting at, Luke, is our little junior postman. Whoever put this letter in my mailbox, I believe is the person that is linked to the entries listed when I write my name, to the person whom you met at Dilliam's."

"Wait, you-you think they are connected?"

"Oh, more than connected. I believe they are one and the same. We're dealing with one person: one person delivered this paper, and only one person shares these events with both of us."

"How do you know?"

"A guess."

"But, that doesn't tell us who it is, or, or even where we can find them. And besides-" the boy sat heavily in his favored recliner, "-does it really matter? It's only a silly piece of paper. What harm could it-? Professor?"

Professor Layton raced to the bathroom and splashed his face with water. After attempting to smooth down his hair, he nodded curtly at his reflection and hurried to the front door, throwing on a coat. "Luke! I'm going out."

"But-huh? I'm coming too!" He jumped up and reached for his coat, but was stopped.

"I won't be out long, merely gathering a bit of information. Don't follow me."

He placed silk hat atop his head, straightened it quickly, and was out the door, leaving Luke confused and staring blankly at the empty coat hook.

"Well I'll be… He put on Rosa's gardening jacket…"

Running-no-any physical exertion was not really the professor's strong point, the feeling of the stitch in his chest making the realization all the more conclusive as he stopped at an intersection to catch his breath.

'One more block…'

He soon found himself in front of a building with a sign that read "Dilliam's" (The Creamtissential Taste of the 21st Century!), the bright, modern colors of the inner décor fascinating him through the mildly frosted windows. Stepping through the doors, a waft of vanilla, strawberry, and everything sweet swept past him, taking him momentarily back to childhood.

"I can see why the children love it."

Walking across the neon orange and olive green mosaic floor of the entrance, he glanced around to observe the customers. Sure enough, groups of children flocked to booths and tables, several more standing impatiently in line to secure their prize in a large room to the left; a register counter sat heavily, spanning the entire width of the space. There was a soda bar with seating, as well as dozens of tiny tables placed throughout the large room. The soft lime walls stained everything with an eerie green glow, yet it was still lovely. Most of the children looked about middle school to early high school aged, yet some were close to Luke's age.

Layton turned around to look at the other room to the right of the entrance. It was separated by a set of closed French doors, and seemed to be a more adult-centered space, with wainscoting running along the perimeter and a gaudy goldenrod-colored theme used throughout the room. The clientele appeared to be college aged, or late 20's.

Amidst the clamor of the customers, the professor noticed an outdoor terrace that the children's section extended into, allowing customers the choice to dine outside. He walked through the entrance, stepping out onto a brick patio which descended to a larger one that extended to the street curb.

"Hardly safe. Hopefully these children don't jump the short fence… London's becoming quite the lawsuit."

His eyes scanned the terrace, quickly looking at each person in the area.

'One of these…'

He walked up to a table near the perimeter, clearing his throat.

END.