Hi hi.
I've been busy! I'm working on my cosplays for ACEN (anime convention in Chicago), and haven't had time beyond that and my actual job. I wanted to get this chapter done though, and move on to bigger and better parts of the story. I'M REALLY EXCITED ABOUT THE NEXT PART.
This chapter marks the end of this little emotional arc. We're getting into solving this whole thing, beginning with the next chapter. So hold tight.
PLEASE REMEMBER TO REVIEW. Don't just read and forget. :(
Preparing the dirt for the growing season,
Kelsey
CHAPTER 34: ENGLISHMAN IN CHICAGO (DEPARTURE)
'How…how…why?'
Professor Layton did not sleep that night. By 2 in the morning, his brain felt gnawed at and hollow, like a chewed up bone in a dingy kennel. Indeed, as he stretched amidst silk sheets, he knew he was anywhere but a dingy kennel, but it didn't help, as he had tried, numerous times, to drift into calm dreams. It was no use, and he realized it with every turbulent nightmare he was forced into when his eyes closed and his subconscious took over.
He continued to glance in the darkness of the hotel room over to Laura's bed, and each time she was still in the same place, wrapped in the same inky sheet. She'd hardly budged, and if she weren't breathing, one might have thought her dead. Once he actually got up to make sure: and yes, she was inhaling and exhaling, like all normal live people.
It was a little comfort that the city wasn't asleep either, and the lights from the street lamps and signs of area buildings shown around the edge of the window curtain like an angelic frame. It served as their nightlight. It also served as a reminder that the Professor wasn't getting anywhere with sleep, as he'd traced it with his eyes multiple times.
On the 79th time, grumbling and guiltily whispering curses, he finally accepted by 8 AM that he wasn't going to ever rest, and he got ready to seize the day.
As he listened to the low rumble of boiling water in his portable water heater, he fell into a daze. His eyes tore into his top hat, sitting silently on the dark end table next to his bed, and then they shifted their gaze to Laura again, still in slumber. He didn't notice his behind becoming numb as he sat in the hard wood chair at the small dinette table; his brain was too busy churning out possible conclusions and outcomes.
'Don Paulo, you're a mystery enough, and then Laura….What does she know…'
He wasn't sure of anything, so he didn't want to dwell on any one thing for too long, but…
'I think she's being reticent about something...'
He sighed. No sense wasting time on things he didn't know an ounce about.
"Laura, it's time to go," came his voice, thin and taut. He repeated the words, and by the time she arose, he had pasted a smile to his face and hammered out a pleasant tone of voice to smooth over the worried pitch. She might not notice, was his thought.
Astonishingly, Laura cleaned up in minutes, and was out parading through the city once more, hair freshly combed, her companion newly pensive.
"What are you thinking about?" she asked while stopped at an intersection. Eyeing a window display with subdued interest, she kept one ear on the Professor's response, the other on her surroundings. "You're awfully…contemplative."
He shook his head, a rigid grin stretched across his face. "Nothing. I didn't get much sleep, so I'm a bit worn out…"
"Thinking too much? Or, do you solve puzzles in your dreams too?" The girl laughed, a skip in her step as they crossed. Her warm, springy demeanor was the perfect foil for his, reserved and cold.
"Hmm. How did you know?"
After exiting a bus, they walked towards a large building with a dome in the center of its roof. Laura only guessed that it might be a museum, and she soon learned she was right. More importantly, she should have known she wouldn't get through a trip without Layton going through some sort of museum or academic attraction. In truth, she didn't mind, as she now saw that they were entering the Museum of Science and Industry, but once the lecture started… There was no time limit to the classes outside of the University campus gates, and the Professor had the tendency to be wordy.
The gentle nature of their browsing soon lulled the Professor back into his comfort zone, and he'd pushed all deep thoughts to the side, saving them for later. Exhibits too curious for half-attentive thoughts, he decided to dedicate his focus totally on the attractions at hand, and he forgot all about last night's events concerning Don Paulo, and anything else that wasn't adding up.
By late afternoon, they had exhausted only a quarter of the museum, yet their stomachs were directing their actions rather than their curiosities. They left the museum semi-explored, and Laura followed the Professor to wherever he knew to go.
They found a small café after a short trip to the center of downtown and walked inside. Eased up a bit, Laura stared up at the menu on the wall as they waited in line. She was in a pliable mood, and Layton found it suitable for questioning.
"So, you got me, it turns out I was doing a lot of thinking after you fell asleep," he started, after they'd finished half of their meals. Pushing his plate forward, he placed his folded arms on the table. His voice became low as he leaned forward. "I have to admit, I haven't really had the opportunity to think as clearly as I was able to last night. Somehow, prior to us coming here, my mind has been…caught in a haze…" Laura gave a sideways smile, chewing the inside of her cheek. "I'm wondering about Stabilnon. What are your thoughts?"
"Oh yes, the place is quite curious," she said with a heavy air of enthusiasm, as if it were her lifework to study the little village. "Do you have a hypothesis about the whole 'sleeping' bit? I just realized I haven't felt the least bit exhausted, at least not the way I was back in that town. I feel a lot more energetic."
"Hmm, yes, strange, isn't it? As for a hypothesis, no, I don't."
Laura stared at him, as if expecting him to elaborate. "Oh, you don't? Well, that was rather blunt! And quite simple, coming from you. I thought maybe you had…well, a thought at least."
"I feel…rather stupid, if I could say such a thing, but no, I have no explanation for a whole town that expects to be lulled to sleep like an infant mid-afternoon, and has snow that won't sit still." When he said it aloud, it sounded all the more absurd, and he frowned in response. "It just doesn't make any sense. Whatsoever. I'm not so sure our facts connect, in any way."
"But of course not. None of it does. That'd be much too easy to find a conclusion…so soon." She sipped her water with a bored expression on her face. "I feel what we know connects, but I don't yet know how. Do you think we've hit a wall?"
He thought on it briefly, and nodded. About Stabilnon, he had no clue. But about other things…? He decided that he still wouldn't let her know everything going on in his mind. Her comments about Don Paulo and the involvement with the Ferris wheel remained, swirling about his muddled brain.
Her words. She seemed so nonchalant, saying them without any thought: 'The thing with the Ferris wheel was still odd. I suppose it's not the first time for you though, huh?
'…the first time for you though, huh? Huhuh.'
He still wondered what first time referred to. First time he had to deal with the antics of his voluntary nemesis? Or the first time having trouble with a Ferris wheel? Should it be the latter…
'…she wouldn't know that about me, the situation with the Ferris wheel in St. Mystere,' he thought to himself. 'She was out of my life then.
'…unless…'
Oh yes, she'd asked a question.
"Do you realize when you zone out?" she grumbled, her eyes narrowed on him. "Do you think we've hit a brick wall?
"Hmm, I suppose it seems that way, a brick wall," he stammered, fumbling with sandwich crumbs and appearing attentive. "But… Oh. I forgot. We weren't supposed to be chatting about any of this. We're supposed to be enjoying our time. Conversation terminated." His top hat tipped at an angle as he cocked his head.
And he smiled. It was like a trip in a time machine, for Laura was transported back ten long years ago when the world was alight with humor and excitement and remedial archaeology lessons. She could look forward to the man in the top hat and the tea pot, smells of old paper and books and boiling herbs seeping into every fiber of the tiny office. The murky, dark wood of the desk, of the shelves, of the historic architecture was aged and brooding, but when the sun shone through the floor-to-ceiling window, the room was awash in gold, priceless, invaluable, like a cave of all the gold in the world. It was her chapel, her sanctuary.
The best part was…no one had to know about it. Any of it. It was her, and him. The whole affair was like a well-kept secret, one that was never exposed, locked in a safe, one that was supposed to remain hers and hers alone…
…until it was ruined, picked at and opened up like a wound premature. The scarring was invisible, but it was there, a blot on the soul. Mental scars were not the quickest to heal. The proof was in the pain.
Laura squirmed a bit, somehow shaking her emotions off, then returned the grin. "You are such an annoying person sometimes…"
The return trip to their hotel area took a while, but it was warranted, given the amount of people using public transportation. Not only warranted, but welcome. Something had happened back at the restaurant. Something quiet, something deep in the subconscious. It sparked, fizzled, then rekindled again. It burned low, but with a concentrated, intense heat. They both felt it, but neither knew of the other's confusion. The long ride back to their destination gave them the opportunity of silent reflection.
Head fuzzy, Laura continued the exploring quietly. She felt a bit giddy, but at the same time removed, as if she couldn't figure out how to feel and her mind had floated away to escape the harrowing experience. Her eyes darted to the side constantly, trying to gauge the Professor's inner atmosphere.
He'd already caught on, and captured one of her sidelong glances.
"What are you looking at, Laura?" he asked, the question tinged with laughter. Her eyes immediately snapped forward, staring straight ahead. The sidewalk was packed with people, and she'd almost walked into a stuffy old woman.
"I thought I saw something, out of the corner of my eye…a pigeon, perhaps…" It was dumb, she knew, but all she had. Her self-esteem clawed at it as if her life depended on his acceptance of her excuse, hoping he'd buy it.
"I haven't seen a single pigeon this entire time. They're all huddled away, it's too cold, I imagine."
"Well, they have a tendency to…well, you know…get hungry and hop about, looking for…stuff."
"'Stuff'?"
"Er, yes. Stuff, you know…pigeon-y things. Like corn. Or fluff."
The man cleared his throat. "Can I ask you something?"
"Hopefully it's not about pigeons…"
"No, it isn't," he laughed, more heartily than intended. He was practically putting his apprehension on display. "You really did not think about me, for ten years?"
"…what sort of question is that…" There was a silence as they scuttled through the last group of shoppers and tourists before reaching the hotel doors. Laura hoped the one, two, three smacks of shopping bags and colossal purses would knock the conversation to the ground where they'd trample it to death.
But he continued with more antagonizing questions. "Not even once?"
"Hershel, I made myself clear when I…found you again, and talked to you at the ice cream parlor. Didn't I say I didn't want anything to do with you? Ever again? That's what I said. So for ten years…"
"Well, you may have alluded to that, once or twice, but I just don't find it plausible to—"
"'Don't find it plausible'? Aheh, ha ha, seriously?" she snapped softly, not wanting to attract several pairs of interested eyes. She waited until crossing the lobby before resuming. "After what happened, that's your opinion on the matter? Not plausible…" She made a spitting sound as if the words tasted like something vile and rotted.
"Are you able to answer 'yes' or 'no'?" he asked. "Did you ever think or wonder about me, or seek me out in any fashion over the past ten years?"
His stern gaze shadowed under his hat, he was hoping he could force an honest answer. Surely, she'd break and admit to something. Absolutely, she had to have at least thought about him. After all…he had thought of her, admittedly, often.
But her face confirmed her angry answer before her mouth uttered the words. "I never did."
"Never did what?"
"Never thought about you."
"In any capacity?" he pushed, coaxing her to give a completely specific response, with no question of the integrity of her answer.
"I don't know what you're trying to dig out of me, Mr. Archeologist, but I have no treasure hiding."
He frowned. "I asked for a 'yes' or a 'no'…"
"No!" she grunted, tiny fists punching downward towards the glassy floor, much like a frustrated child in a toy store. "No, no, and no. I wanted nothing to do with you, and…I didn't want to think about you…ever…again… No more dumb questions."
One furious finger jab later, the elevator descended to ground level and collected them. Professor Layton's heart felt like ice. His throat felt dry and cold, his brain equally as numb and dead. He might have felt his stomach churn, if it hadn't already dropped to his feet. It was a blessing it didn't turn and go the other way; he might have been able to vomit, if he thought about her words hard enough. Somehow, he felt betrayed. It wasn't exactly rational, but he couldn't help the stinging wounds buried deep into his ears, his mind, after hearing her bitter comments. Yes, betrayed, let down, fooled…
'Was I really expecting another answer…?'
He looked at her tiny frame, her arms crossed tightly across her chest. She did not move, not even her foot was tapping, no fingers running nervously through dark strands of hair. Her eyes were magnets, caught on the metal casing around the button panel; from his angle, he could not judge their feelings. The lift swayed ever so slightly, and only then did she shift her stance.
"I'm sorry," he said after a time. They'd arrived at their hotel room, Laura grumbling as she fished for the key card. She plugged it in the slot and entered as if not hearing him.
The room itself was not incredibly large, but was packed from wall to wall with comforts and amenities and perks the likes of which neither of them was able to experience often. The entry way was paved in creamy yellow tile that led to a bathroom off to the right side. This room itself could have been considered the size of the average bedroom, but instead of a bed was a squared off section in the corner that served as the shower. It was boxed in with crystal clear glass walls, only now speckled with the residue of that morning's showers. A toilet sat adjacent, ivory colored and complete with digital buttons and settings that had hardly been touched. Across from all this, spanning the length of the room was a granite countertop, and amidst the stone field were two designer sinks, floating atop the surface like inverted, glass UFO ships.
While the bathroom awed Laura more than anything, the bedroom was also quite beautiful, as the black ceiling trim contrasted starkly with the subdued burnt orange walls. The small sitting area—complete with cozy sofa, coffee table, and flat-screen television—complemented the color palette, as did a small dark wooden desk opposite the two king size beds. Despite the room's size, both beds fit comfortably, still allowing easy passage around the space. The Professor's bed was notably messy, the black duvet and sheets pulled and tossed this way and that like rolling fields freshly plowed, while Laura's was equally the opposite: impeccably made, as it was when they entered the room for the first time.
Now, she crossed the room after removing her shoes, and threw herself amidst her bed's pillows. A muffled grunt of frustration was barely audible.
"Imf's ahgay."
"Umm…I'm sorry, I didn't quite—"
"I said…it's okay," Laura said, sitting up and speaking to the air instead of the pillow. "As long as you buy me dinner, it's okay."
"I…" He lifted a hand in protest, opened his mouth to speak, but ended with a sigh. "They say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach, but…"
"Look, I'm sorry for being petulant. I'm just not…Well, I gave you my answer."
Layton nodded. "Yes. You did. I won't press you anymore."
"Are you upset?"
His eyes set on hers. They were dark and hollow, and yet somehow pleading. "I…I'm not."
"Liar…"
"That's…not very polite…" he choked.
"Politeness was never my policy. Not with you." She launched off the bed and pulled back one of the many thick window curtains. Delicately, she touched the cold glass with her hands and leaned forward, her breath fogging it with a tiny irregular cloud of steam. "I want to be down there when the new year comes. I want to see the bean again."
"The bean?! We were just there!"
"Yes. I want to hear all those people being completely and utterly useless and stupid. But I mostly just want to see the bean and maybe hear the echoes bounce off the buildings. I think it's more…poignant that way. Hopes and cheers for the new year, drowning out everything else. Even if none of it actually makes any headway… New Year's Resolutions were always something strange to me… But the whole cacophony, you know. It might take my mind off things."
The Professor stepped forward, towards the window, but not to her side. "Yes, I'd already planned on it. Do you mind a late dinner? I thought we'd stick to the ground level so we'd already be down there, so I got a reservation…"
Laura nodded, waved him off, and excused herself to the gift shop several floors below.
It was the first time she'd been alone that day, other than in the shower, and she wanted the solitude desperately. Her mind screamed for the relief of seclusion, now more than ever. She swam in feelings: anger, sadness, agitation. Every few moments she began drowning in them, and, counterintuitively, being isolated helped her to pull herself out of the mental pit.
The Professor's presence was now making her feel obsessively self-conscious. What rubbish would he ask next, she wondered. Would she really have to come up with more painful answers and explanations? Didn't he understand anything that went on ten years ago? Didn't he understand what he was doing to her now?
"Some college education, the bloody idiot. He has no idea about anything. He only thinks about puzzles and rocks and lectures… A decade won't teach an idiot anything."
She whispered to the ghosts of the lobby. No one was around, save her and the bored desk clerks. The ceiling was stories above her, too far up to be reflected in the glassy floor. Only her own image looked up at her as she glanced down. Her face was milky and distorted in the white tile, but she didn't need to see the details to know she appeared shook up and distressed.
"Speaking of New Year's Resolutions…" she said to herself as she mindlessly picked up knick-knacks in the gift store, aimlessly looking at price tags.
'I'm resolving to shut him out, shut him down, and shut him up.
'…at least…after this silly holiday.'
Confetti fluttered around like snow, the tiny pieces swept up and scattered by the breeze, not unlike the members of the crowd walking and running around. As the wind rose and fell, more and more of the pieces danced all the longer, avoiding the ground by pure chance.
Professor Layton, on his last walk around the United States' third largest city, silently recalled the New Year's Days of years past, and very few stuck out in his mind as something profound. Most were spent around colleagues of the academic world, those present toasting their glasses high, the Professor holding his warm mug of tea close to his lips. He would hope for a safe, healthy, and productive year, and perhaps he'd wonder if anything new was in store for him during the next 365 days, but that was where his New Years experience would end.
This holiday was different, as his mind and heart were battling for control, and the other warring party bumbled along next to him, unawares of his tactics. He didn't consider himself a strategist, but the past couple of months were turning him into one. A rather seasoned one. That in itself was odd enough to feel foreign, yet somehow seductive.
They'd ate, they'd somehow eased past the half-argument from earlier, and they were able to comfortably get through a pleasant conversation without any mines being stepped on. Confidence intact, Professor Layton led them to a prime spot for firework viewing. At least, it would have been prime, had the crowd not filled in every possible spot. Packed like sardines, everyone looked at watches, mobile devices, and anything else around them that told the current time.
Somewhere a band played loudly, and a rise of voices took to the air as the minutes whittled down. Laura buried her hands in her pockets, the Professor tried not to crush into her as he provided an inconspicuous barrier between her and any of the wild animals around them. He gave a few of them harsh looks (as harsh as he could muster) as they tried to cut in front of him or if they obnoxiously careened into Laura, but the girl never noticed.
They stopped along a low concrete fence, where a few teenage boys were conducting a balancing act while trying to stand on the ledge. Just as the Professor was preparing a speech to deliver as soon as they toppled over his top hat, the group left, opening up the area for the two to sit.
Then the fireworks started. The crowd took a collective deep breath before cheering as the show commenced with a triple high-pitched whistle, followed by an equally startling triple boom. A flurry of cannons couldn't have been louder, as blast after blast continued to force neon flowers into bloom and send them spinning across the blank night canvas. The glow painted the entire scene; buildings shown pink, orange, blue, and green. The faces of those watching were turned upward, necks craned and throbbing as the fireworks progressed over the next few minutes.
Laura smiled stupidly with childish delight, her face splashed with a sickly yellow, and the Professor couldn't help but smile too. Both clapped loudly at the show's end, which came more quickly than anticipated. But time passed as it always had, and now, the year was up.
Another year closing, another year given clearance to be locked up with all years past.
Shyly, Laura looked up at the man standing next to her. The shadow of the top hat fell across her face. He didn't notice her staring.
A minute left, the crowd started counting down.
"Well, did you make your resolutions yet, Laura?" the Professor said loudly, cutting through the clamor. The voice came to her as a surprise.
"Er…well…"
"You still have 30 seconds. 29, 28…"
"I said I don't like resolutions," she hollered as she watched a digital countdown display that was splashed on a skyscraper, counting down to her new year. "I get too overwhelmed with keeping them."
"That's the point, to be diligent on keeping them." There were only 15 seconds left. "Well, I made mine. It doesn't matter if you do or not." He finally looked down at her and smiled. Again.
9, 8, 7…
'I do have one!' the girl thought to herself, fidgeting as the year came to a close. 'But…I…I'm not too sure I want to keep it…'
3, 2, 1…
The crowd erupted, voices raised to the skies, extra loud bursts of cheers booming from random parts of the area. Some grabbed friends and began lifting them in the air.
All the Professor said was, "Well, Happy New Year, Laura." She nodded with no response. Anticlimactic. Expected.
As was one of the New Year's customs, those observers close to one another shared an embrace and for some, a kiss, some a bit deeper and longer than standard. They got stares and grunts of disapproval by a few bystanders, others hooted and punched the air. 'Auld Lane Sang' played loudly from all directions, speakers mounted around the perimeter blaring the traditional New Year's song. Children cheered, couples continued to nuzzle and caress each other, laughing together with their traveling parties. They'd made it intact into the new year.
Laura stared straight ahead. The Professor stood stock-still amidst the happy chaos, smiling calmly. His brain, however, shot off in a thousand different directions, each new thought all the more logical, or emotional, or rational, or confused, than the next; he felt as torn and split as the confetti that continued spilling from some unknown source.
In the matter of seconds, he had made a decision for the evening, still staring into the multi-colored paper as it apathetically floated around, waiting to land wherever the wind took it.
'Wherever the wind goes…confetti just leaves its fate up to the flow of the wind…
'The flow…no thinking, just…just…'
He removed the glove from his right hand and took Laura's in his. She immediately reacted with surprise, perhaps a tinge of fear at the touch of skin against her own. She looked up into his face, her eyes bewildered, as if some stranger nearby had just took her by the hand.
"W…What are you…?"
"Is there a problem?"
She looked down at where her hand should have been, no longer visible as it was tucked away in the Professor's warm coat pocket. Her fingertips and knuckles brushed the sheep skin insert, soft and thick.
"Hershel, we shouldn't…"
"I'm merely guiding you about Chicago, Laura. It's a bit different than the environment in London. A gentleman never lets his company become lost, especially a lady."
"But…but!"
He led her through the throngs of people, some rushing to leave, others still cheering and jumping around. They walked out of the thick of the crowd and towards a low wall that cut into a park hillside. It ran alongside a sidewalk, with the small grassy plain leveling out atop the cement barrier. A light dusting of snow laid on the grass, the brittle blades punctuating the otherwise white field.
The Professor sat on the wall, careful not to fall back into the snow. "Shall we wait for the crowds to thin before heading off?"
Still unsure, Laura merely sat, saying nothing. Her mind faded in and out, all of her senses burning, her wit and logic melting despite the cold.
'I don't want to go through this again, I can't go through this again, I—'
She felt him looking at her from the side. She was afraid to turn her head, but did it anyway, unwillingly so. That same awful smile, the same exact one that made her feel simultaneously riled and calm, angry and happy, frustrated and relieved.
She grimaced, feeling more stupid than anything now. "P…Please let go…" Her voice was lost. "What? What's that smile for?" she managed to giggle, tempted to make fun of him, if only to alleviate the awkwardness she was experiencing.
"I was only admiring."
"Admiring what?"
"I'm not surprised that winter is your favorite season. It really brings out a natural beauty in you." He grinned broadly, teeth hidden behind taut lips, his eyes lazy.
"How can you say that so matter-of-factly?! Without even twitching, without a laugh? What's your problem, you were fine up until now!"
"Because it's the truth," he replied, the smile unwavering. "It's not hard to express it. I won't deny truths, it's too difficult to do so."
"I beg to differ. I'll fight off some of those truths until I'm cold and dead in the grave." She pursed her lips, turning away from his gaze.
"So you admit that you're denying something that is true?"
"As illogical as it is, yes."
"Even if it's staring at you in the face?"
'What an idiot!' she screamed inside.
"Even if—" She looked back at him, not ready for what came next. As she opened her mouth to speak, the gap closed between the both of them, the Professor's lips firmly pressed against hers.
The world froze. No one spoke anymore, no confetti fell. The earth no longer spun, and her heartbeats resounded like war drums in her ears. An otherwise silent, unmoving battle.
Laura looked down her nose, Layton's face distorted and blurry. Then she closed her eyes, deciding it'd cause more of a scene to reject the action than to let it occur. After several seconds, the Professor pulled away slowly, his lips still brushing hers. She could feel his breathing, warm breath turning to vapor in the freezing temperature. He looked into her eyes, dark black orbs burning like coals, fighting the winter. He smiled, almost seductively, although Laura tried to reason that she'd imagined it. Or maybe she was reading into it too much.
'Way too much.'
"I…don't know if…" she started, her voice shaking, then cracking.
"You don't know if what?" he asked, no more than a whisper.
Laura could tell he wasn't finished, and wanted very few interruptions, his tone impatient. But she wasn't sure what he wasn't finished with. It frightened her a bit, but the adventurous side of her wanted to find out all the same. He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek, then moved further down her neck. He worked slow, making sure to avoid being seen by passers-by.
"Hershel, I…"
"What's the matter?"
"I already resolved…we…really shouldn't…mmph." Her lips locked with his once again, his breathing ragged, broken as he ravaged any part of her mouth that his tongue and lips could reach. She whined, then moaned as he cupped the sides of her face, holding her head still, her tongue battling for dominance as she struggled to catch a breath.
The Professor pulled away, his face covered in a faint film of nervous sweat. "Let's leave New Year's resolutions for tomorrow."
"Please, Hershel, come now," she laughed weakly. "We can't do this, you—"
"I don't—want—to—follow mine yet," he muttered, strained as he continued pressing kisses to her face, missing the most obvious target. "Please, Laurie, let's head back to our hotel. I don't feel comfortable making a scene in public." He helped her gain her footing, then led them both towards the tall hotel building. She didn't object: she didn't know how.
They cut through the thinning crowds, no one aware of the confusing passion that was occurring underneath the surface, the Professor holding Laura's hand tightly.
It was like a movie. The lobby, the chandelier, the ground floor restaurant. Everything blurred and bled into one fleeting image, one frame. They finally got into the elevator, Laura smiling nervously. She almost hoped someone would join them, she was so unsure of how to proceed; being alone with him was awkward, in a way. She wanted any break, any break at all, something to change the focus. "What floor are we on again—"
"Hush, no more…" He pushed her against the wall, taking full advantage of her mouth as she whimpered, small punctuated peeps that managed to sound through their wild dance of sorts. The door shut, the curtains closed.
She involuntarily threw her arms around his neck, her brain fighting…something. Was she fighting herself? The lights were too bright, her breathing was shallow, was she dying? Was she about to have a massive meltdown?
"Hershel, I…I real—really…"
"You need to close your mouth; it's harder to hit a moving target." When the elevator dinged loudly, he frowned and waited for the door to open at their floor. When had he pressed the button? He didn't know, and didn't care, whisking her off to the room, his hand about her wrist. Laura laughed weakly, feeling much too happy, her brain short-circuiting, as it knew this should be opposed, stopped, a huge halt to it all.
And then the fighting came, the self-arguing.
'Shouldn't there be some sort of major interruption here?! I need something to intervene. Please, please, anything, please—
'Shut up. Shut up and just let go. Let it go, like everyone else does.
'No, no, I can't do that. My logic, my reason. Where is my reason?
'WHERE IS MY GOD DAMN BLOODY REASON?'
"Professor, we really—"
"'Professor'? Where did that come from?" he laughed, punching the card into the door's handle, the little green light not showing up quickly enough for him. Laura begged mentally for it to flicker red.
'Please be a faulty key…please…
'Green, yes. A private place. No more crowds…
'But I want a crowd, I want to blend, melt away—!
'…don't I?'
"Sorry, I sometimes am still so used to saying, hearing that… I mean, you are a professor. But really," she hurried inside, removing her coat, brushing the snow flurries off. "Really, Hershel, we…" He wasn't listening to her, she could tell.
Something carnal clawed at the dry, thirsting sensation in her brain, something lethal. It would be fatal, she knew. She watched the Professor hurriedly remove his sweater, his top hat, his shoes tossed haphazardly against the closed door. The smile. A bit crazed, but the smile, nonetheless.
She waited for him to stand up straight as she fought with herself internally, winning and losing at the same time as she chose one possible action over another.
Fizzle, fizzle, beep beep beeeeeeep—a fictitious alarm, she felt her mind crack and flat line, and then…a surge of something from somewhere. Was that adrenaline, was that what it was called? Dopamine? Serotonin…?
Too many hormones to remember. She hated them all. A pain. A righteously mortifying pain, things running through her body, interfering with her mind.
No sooner had Layton removed his hat and hung it on the wall hook that she jumped at him, arms about his neck, kissing him repeatedly repeatedly repeatedly until being lifted off the floor, the ceiling spinning, the feeling of a firm bed beneath her back. She pushed herself backwards to keep herself from sliding off the slippery duvet, but found it difficult under the Professor's weight. He straddled her between his knees, then pulled her legs along the sides of his, her heels naturally pulling him closer at the back of his thighs. She wrapped one leg tightly around him, the other riding his lower back, catching him in a securely tangled web. Not that he was interested in breaking loose any time soon.
Laura didn't realize she'd been fumbling his shirt buttons in her fingers, unbuttoning the entire front of his soft cotton oxford. All she was mindful of was the softness and the faraway smell of lavender. Was it laundry detergent? Even stronger was his dark, woodsy cologne, seemingly embedded into his skin, he always smelled of it. That and tea. A lethal mix. The palms of her hands and the pads of her fingers wildly traced messy circles over his skin, along his sides, over his back. She could feel his shoulder blades tense up each time she reached his spine, stroking down the beady column steadily. She wanted him suffering, she wanted him mad from a slow torture. Maybe she was a sadist, she wasn't quite sure, but she liked when he'd seize up, arch like a parabola, and bite his lower lip, even if it meant that he'd stop whatever it was he was doing to her at the time.
He had been playing at her lips, setting out on a course over her cheeks, down her neck, kisses first, a taste test here and there. He thought he might go mad with the cute little short-lived moans she'd make each time he'd suddenly switch to his tongue, then the laughing smile she'd display for a couple of seconds. She would mellow again, taking her role seriously and playing his nerves with her fingers.
They continued in this way for several minutes before each of them recognized they'd both made it to the point where there wouldn't be any turning around, no taking their actions back should they continue. Laura slowed her pace, looking clearly into Layton's tired but hungry eyes. She mindfully started an interior monologue with herself, a last stand for her reason to shine through.
'I have to stop.
'Laura, you have to stop. Please.'
"H-Hershel…wait…"
He made his way to her undershirt, the collar serving as a feeble gate, the thin material a teasing barrier. Had she said something?
"Hershel, we need to stop, now—"
Merely a suggestion, surely, he thought. He kissed her heavily on the mouth, his hands trying to find the bottom opening to her shirt, when he was suddenly thrown backward.
"HERSHEL, STOP!"
Sitting on his backside, he gawked at her incredulously, his system sent into shock. From pleasure to confusion, he wasn't sure what was happening, his adrenaline had been pulsating through his body so violently. All he knew now were two large, worried eyes, darker than black the fear was so thick, so absolute.
"Wha—"
"We have to stop. We…we can't…not again…no…" Laura gasped for air. Her speech was tattered and anemic, barely having any substance to cling to. It didn't make it any less substantial though, as small tears formed at the corners of her eyes. "You have to stay in control. I'm…We just…It's not the same," she murmured. It was more like a moan, pleading and desperate.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, staring into blackness. He couldn't believe himself. Was he really the predatory type, taking what he wanted at the expense of others? No. No. No. What just happened? He didn't even know; he situated himself, trying to ignore the throbbing below his belt. He felt as if he was transcendent, looking down onto himself, not capable of controlling his motions, but perfectly able to judge them.
"I'm sorry," he said, garbled and faraway. "I'm…I forgot that, well…from before, my feelings from before, I don't know where they came from, all of a sudden…" He got up to turn on a lamp, staring blankly as he sat on the bed again.
"Well, I didn't forget anything. Ten year hiatus ring a bell?"
He shot up and walked hastily to the bathroom, closing the door with a somewhat contained bang. He remained in there for several minutes, the faucet going on and off a few times, a towel rack squeaking as a towel was pulled off of a loose rung. Laura had almost fallen into a half-sleep—her focus dozing, but her eyes wide open—when he finally came back out, wearing thin sleeping pants and a loose tee. He had a towel about his neck, draped over his shoulders, and his hair was damp, sticking up in random places as the dregs of water held patches together. He walked over to her, still on the bed, and smiled. Not a crazed smile, a genuine one Laura noticed. She glanced quickly at him as he approached.
He sat on the edge of the bed near her torso as she lay there, facing outward. She glanced upward again. Still smiling, he sighed.
"I'm genuinely sorry, Laurie. I don't know what came over me, I just… There's something that I just can't explain, I—"
"Don't get the wrong idea," she blurted out, monotone. Her eyes pulled away from his. "I know how you feel. Maybe better than you."
"You…what do you mean?"
"Look, you're not the only one who's torn." She pulled a sheet over her, forcing the Professor to stand momentarily as she drug it out from underneath him. She turned away, her back to him as he moved about the bed to keep her face in sight. She looked like a melancholy caterpillar, curled and clothed in her sheet-cocoon, her expression dour. "I don't know what it was but…something animalistic took over just now. Part of me wasn't with you, and part was with whatever you were making me feel. That part of me wanted you to keep going. But it wasn't…really me. Me—I mean—I am holding back, I don't know what it is, but I can't pretend that everything is fine. There's something that I can't get past with you, Hershel." She sniffed. "I just can't get past it."
He looked at her longingly, as if she was merely a picture, not the real thing. "Laurie…"
"I won't be lied to, cheated, and used again, that's all I'm saying. As much as I…thought that you loved me, I just…don't believe it was ever real…anymore. I don't know whether to be more disgusted at you, or at myself."
"But—"
"Like…nevermind."
"Like what?"
"I said nevermind."
"Laura, I don't know how to apologize for ten years ago, I really don't. I—"
"Well, doing the deed again isn't how to do it!" she said loudly, the tone in her voice icy. "You don't need to apologize, really." She looked away from him again, closing her eyes. "I have no interest in you anymore anyway."
"I know that's a bald-faced lie," he said crossly, his anger anything but subtle. "You wouldn't have contacted me in the first place if you felt that strongly against me, and you wouldn't behave the way you do around me, if you had no interest, as you put it. Don't lie to me, Laura Haris. I'm no idiot."
He watched her shrug from beneath the sheet, her face half covered by the material. It made him furious, but he was strangely able to keep his calm. Perhaps it was the guilt nagging at him, wriggling miserably in the sickening pit of his stomach, a nauseous cesspool that if not properly contained, would contaminate any reason he could salvage. Could he blame her? Part of him wanted to, but it was the part that would be wrong. Either way, he was damned.
Laura reached towards the lamp switch. "Let's just continue this as originally planned. I do my job, you help me out. Right? No sappy history, no dirty past. Erase it. We're business partners, that is all," she uttered in a practiced voice, almost robotic. She turned to face him, her eyes red from holding back tears. "Right?"
He looked at her stony-faced, unwilling to give in to her demands. His mouth was shut tightly, hiding his barred teeth, grinding against each other for every word she spoke.
"Do you not agree? Right?" she repeated.
"I don't understand how you could possibly continue to hide it," he broke, his voice disintegrating into a low crumbly sort of tone. "Your feelings."
"I…don't have any…"
"Laura." He moved back around the bed, standing in front of her now. He bent down to see eye to eye, face to face, on her level. She tried looking away, but the Professor gripped her shoulder firmly and forced her to face him. "You will lie to my face, and tell me you don't have any feelings for me? Not even in the slightest? Look at me, Laurie, look at me. Whether you were thinking clearly or not, your…your actions just now told me otherwise."
She sat up suddenly, tossing the sheet aside. She glared daggers, hoping to slice him deep. "Since when do you care so much about 'feelings' and all of this…this 'love' rubbish? Bollocks! That's what I have to say about it!"
He stopped for a moment, thinking. He didn't really know why he was so keen on drilling her about her thoughts, her feelings, what she was experiencing mentally. And then it hit him, a clear goal: he wanted her to admit that she needed him for more than just a petty investigation. That was spare time, that was something that could wait. An investigation? She could have just as easily called the police with her suspicions, yet she contacted him. Contacted him despite her own comfort and security, to solve some stupid problem that was built purely on paranoia? Really? That was all?
"…you're right. You're absolutely right." He sighed. "I never was one for talking about such things. So, here's what I have to say about it." He leaned forward and kissed her solidly on the mouth. Her eyes widened to large brown circles, her surprise even larger. "There. Happy? That's what I have to say about it."
"That tells me nothing at all! Stop playing with me!"
Her shouting fell on dead ears as the Professor turned away from her, his face sullen and grave. He wouldn't let her see his eyes, brimming with salty tears. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything, I shouldn't have started this. I need to keep my emotions in check, I'm truly sorry…"
The sounds of her burying herself back into the sheets without another word made him break. She was done, and falling into sleep. He was left to stare blankly, his feelings unrequited. A miserable mess, and his stomach in knots.
Aimlessly, he went to his suitcase, pretending to look through it. Sifting through shirts, trousers, undergarments, and socks, he still found no agenda amid the fabric. He waited until Laura's breathing changed from ragged and distressed, to calm and peaceful. She was asleep.
He walked to the bed and looked at her briefly, his heart melting a bit at her serene grin. He'd never seen her so peaceful. Was getting all of that anger out really necessary for her to enjoy sleep? She must really hate me, he thought to himself, the idea of it making him choke on a sob.
"Even if you won't listen, it's been more than I could hope for, to be in this room, right now," he said to himself in a whisper. "I used to think…"
'I told myself I'd never see you again.'
He wanted to lean in and listen to her inhale and exhale more closely, but thought better of it. The meaning of their trip, their quarry, rang in his head once more.
'This trip was a side-story…The reason behind all this is Laura's initial suspicions…'
Things had to be looked into, and now, it was the only time he would be alone.
The answer had come to him only two days ago. The savior of their troubles.
'And now to test my theory…'
Returning to the suitcase, he quickly but quietly pulled out a yellow, wrinkled envelope and removed its contents, an equally wrinkled white paper and a pen. His eyes flickered to the bed incessantly, keen on keeping his findings purely confidential. Each crinkle of the paper made him cringe, expecting Laura to awaken.
"Tell me your secrets… You brought me here, to this point, with one signature. Now, bring me out, to someplace new…to a solution."
The name 'Hershel Layton' disappeared into the hungry paper, and the eponymously named Hershel Layton, professor of archaeology and master of puzzles, conducted experiment after experiment on the page from the Book of Memory, deep into the first night of the new year.
END.