I tried making it more poignant, but…..I'm not so good at it.

CHAPTER 45: A PLAN UNRAVELED

The last sliver of light edged to a close, and the lift was wholly surrounded by the narrow shaft, cast in darkness. It creeped along, grinding against the track at a terribly sluggish pace, a deafening screech of metal on metal. Dawdling almost with deliberation, the vessel lurched and crunched, until brusquely, without warning, it decided that it was built for better things. It increased performance, picking up speed, forced to the surface like magma under pressure.

The Professor huddled on the ground in a corner of the elevator, knees pulled up to his chest, his fingers digging into his scalp. His eyes darted frantically, bloodshot, but he didn't know; it was pitch black (the single light-bulb had gone out), and there was no mirror. He wouldn't have cared anyway. His body somehow managed to release violent sobs. They were lost in the sound of the speeding machine, but he felt every jolt in his throat, the wails catching, his throat was so dry. He began coughing forcefully after a while, his hacking turning to dry heaves. From within, he felt his stomach clench and flop, invisible bile making him wretch. The top hat had fallen off long before, and lay in its own corner of the floor, forgotten.

He continued for minutes, hours, days it seemed, howling and recovering, crying again and stopping. The pattern continued. All he saw was Laura, smiling at him. It was all he had: the sight before the lift pulled out of the lit world. It was all there would be. The only slight comfort was that he was the last to see her, and she him. But it wasn't really comfort. There was no such thing. Not for this.

He'd lost the world. She wouldn't be out there, living her life, as he'd told himself all those years. 'Somewhere,' he'd said, 'she's living. Working. Studying something, making someone angry, making someone sad. Maybe she's even making someone fall in love with her.

'But it won't be what I feel…no one can feel that way about her except for me.'

But now, it was different. He knew better.

Suddenly he was angry. He cursed her, hated her for what she did. The brat forced him into the stupid, busted, old lift, didn't even allow him a decision. Rusty old box! Where was the democracy? Where was the justice? He justified her death, punishment for her insolence! It was her fault they plunged that far into the earth, they shouldn't have stepped foot into an elevator with the risk of the power blowing. Her fault, her fault, her fault.

But again. He knew better.

Fleeting as the feelings were, one moment upset, another furious and full of rage, he was experiencing a confusion that he'd never known. It was a deep despair, a genuine sense of loss. A vacuum was within him, sucking him dry of all sense. Now he knew what widows and widowers felt like, what parents who lost their children felt like. His best friend, soulmate, and his student. Gone. He felt he'd had a hand in raising her up from a sullen product of grizzled and weary education, into something more worthwhile. More productive. More…Laura.

Gone. Gone.

"G…Gone…she's…"

His eyes widened and his hands shot to his mouth, a futile attempt to keep the stomach acid in. He gagged and vomited something, but the lack of light wouldn't let him see.

He didn't know how long it'd been, but the little lift started to putter, chattering metal teeth grinding as the gears squeaked and scraped against each other. The Professor scrambled to his feet, losing his balance and slamming his knee into the grated side. He cursed loudly, not caring about manners and proper etiquette (no one was around anyway, to hell with it all), and tried again to gain his footing. The elevator shrieked and shuddered.

'The pulleys…not again, please don't snap, don't lose power, don't fall at all! I need to see Luke, Flora…I need to see them safe!'

He grasped what he could, the only thing that extruded from the flat walls: the useless button panel. The vibrations were immense, almost knocking him off his feet again, when the lift finally came to a sharp halt. The weakness in the Professor's legs caused him to buckle yet again, this time, causing his face to slam into the harsh metal wall. He winced, feeling his skin split along his cheek bone, but he was grateful that the noise and the grinding had stopped.

He still saw nothing, felt only the slow trickle of warm blood coursing down his face. The shaft still surrounded him. Blinded, his other senses were augmented, his hearing and sense of touch heightened in his inability to see. He kept thinking he was starting to see little glowing specks, but it was his eyes playing tricks. His fingers found the metal accordion door, tracing the diamond-shaped holes in the lattice. He tried to pry it open, feeling for another door. Pneumatic hissing issued from beyond him, and in an instant, light poured into the vessel as a secondary door in the shaft slid to the right, opening to a room. Lifting his arm, the Professor blocked the brightness from his eyes as he adjusted, trying to stare beyond his prison.

And with a small ping, the lift's door loosened, the pin unlocking. Layton's reaction time was stunted, but after a pause, realization struck him, and, snatching up his hat, he pushed himself out of the confines of the box.

Tattered and miserable, Layton emerged, covered in soot, sick, and sweat. It was an extremely narrow room that he stepped into, and then he realized: he was in the top of the corporate tower. He was back where they started. Just outside was the exit!

The door to it all was straight ahead and he almost dove at it. He prayed for the blast of the sun, the sea spray, the circulating air.

The light really wasn't all that bright once his eyes trained themselves. But, as he turned to glance back at the lift, the abyss was complete in the shaft, as was his own personal darkness.

'She's down there…she's down there alone, she's—'

The doorknob turned, he walked through the exit. New air squeezed itself into his lungs, and the surface welcomed him with a calm splash of cool, coastal breeze. The world was a foreign place, after the underground circuit. The air wasn't stale, wasn't pumped. It was fresh and natural. The ceiling was still grey, a canopy of dark clouds, but it was a welcome landscape.

"I'm aboveground…I'm…Luke, Flora!"

The Professor made a mad dash down the short flight of metal stairs, looking for his Laytonmobile-turned-boat. But then he remembered.

"Luke and…Flora took it…"

'But…how did Edward escape?'

He looked around. The oil rig, about fifty yards away, loomed above him; there was a narrow platform connecting the two buildings. Scaling the stairs in two hops, the Professor raced across the bridge and onto the other tower's platform. Within a minute he'd found several emergency boats covered and secured in their davits.

"Bingo."

Flipping off the cover with some difficulty, Layton finally jumped into the boat and released it. It slid down the ropes evenly as the squeaky pulleys turned and turned. As soon as he was in the water, the motor started and he sped off towards the coast, impatient and fidgety. He couldn't lose the others. They were all he had, all he had, where could they be?!

He failed to slow down in time, and as the Professor slammed into the gritty coast he was thrown into the helm. As the wind returned to his lungs, his eyes caught sight of a group of people several meters ahead, frantically speaking in heightened tones. Immediately, he sloppily exited the boat and ambled towards them.

He'd recall it later with more clarity, but the volcanic eruption inside of his skull currently clouded his ability to rationalize choices, browse options, decide on appropriate actions. It was a sensation he'd never felt. At the time, he was beyond feeling anyway, but this…

A young bobby had walked away, leaving Edward standing alone and open. White-suited yet with hair tussled, he still looked out of place with his many rings and aloof glaring. His arrogance might have been toned down given the circumstances, but his upturned nose still smelled the stink of the world.

And the Professor snapped. "YOU."

The young man was startled, but smirked as the Professor approached him in a rage, fists clenched, his hair disheveled beneath his top hat. They were alone, removed from the crowd that had gathered around the vicinity. The police were rushing around, possibly trying to gain information, trying to clear the area. Reporters had cameras set up on tripods, on vehicles, in hovering helicopters.

None of it mattered. The man in the white suit never moved, a perfect target.

"Ah, Professor! What a wonderful surprise! I was hoping you'd survived," Edward guffawed as he clapped his hands together, the rings on his fingers tinkling against each other. "Did you have fun in the depths, destroying my property? How's your little dove? Ah, or should I say, your little bitch?

"I'm going to kill you, I swear it, I'm going to kill you," Layton growled, his irises contracting, pupils pinned on his quarry. He picked up speed, shortening the distance between them. Edward laughed, a high pitched scoff. Even now, he was still pompous.

"Are you? How's that arm treating you? You'll do a fine job making minced meat of me, and look so dazzling doing it, in that garb. Maybe you'll get another picture of your stupid fat head and hat in the papers!" But then he started backing up, a worried look in his eyes. His patent-leather shoes picked up the moisture from the grass blades, muddling the shoes' surface as he stepped backward. Suddenly he felt vulnerable. The bobbies weren't about to come back around any time soon, and he'd have to put up with the furious educator sooner rather than later. His mouth was quicker than his brain, much to his chagrin. Perhaps, he thought, that was his only flaw.

"I'm going to kill you!" Layton roared.

"She was only a student, why don't you find someone with a real background?" Edward tried reasoning, hands held outward. "I hear you did find that physics researcher, but oh, I forgot about…well… What is it with you and your women, getting blown up?"

"SHUT UP!"

"Then again, students are easy to get. How'd it feel? I'm sure you screwed her, am I wrong?"

Reason fled. He no longer existed. There was no 'Professor' or a top hat. There was an evil, and justice. And justice was a mighty sledgehammer about to crash down.

"You fucking son of a bitch, I'll kill you!"

He was upon the boy now, and the Professor launched himself at the younger man, taking him down in one quick tackle. Layton's top hat fell from his head and rolled away a couple of meters, landing in the wet grass. Edward attempted to stand, scrambling on top of Layton, who was swinging like a madman, his punches landing against the other's shoulder and once on a cheek. Edward shrieked in pain and kicked Layton in the ribs, knocking the wind from him and making him feel instantly sick. But he reached up, grasping at the villain's suit coat, pulling him back to the earth.

The cold grass smashed against his white suit, staining it in several patches. In moments, Layton had dealt another blow, this time to the side of one of the young man's knees, finishing with a throw to the crook of the joint, in the soft sinew behind the cap. Edward collapsed, clawing to get away. His fearful whining had replaced his sassy retorts, now that he was at the Professor's mercy.

The struggle continued, Layton regaining his strength enough to propel himself up and over his punching bag, straddling a half-bawling Edward, who was trying to shield himself. His whimpering was disgusting, fueling the Professor's genuine anger and resolute hatred all the more. His skin itched with the lust of knuckles against flesh, getting partial satisfaction after each bruising pummel.

"You killed her! You killed her!" he shouted between blows, his eyes hot with angry tears. He might have tasted them, were his taste senses quicker to communicate with his brain; all was white with burning rage. The truth of the matter increased the ferocity of the bashing as he grabbed Edward by the collar, the silky material crushing beneath his fingers. The Professor shook him brutally, slamming him over and over into the ground. The business mogul, once on top of the world, now found his head struck against the earth, bouncing back and forth, back and forth on a burning spine, cracking with each thrash. His coat was so stained from the dirt and crushed turf, it would be impossible to regain its original pristine state. A dried, red-brown stain complemented the palette, blood from a bleeding lip plastered on his shoulders and lapels.

He reached up, hands about Layton's neck, trying to clench his throat.

"Get-off-me, you-senile-old-man!" he managed to scream, his voice cracking as he bit his tongue, his head continuing to bob up and down. "God damn you, get the hell off! Somebody help me!"

"No one's going to be able to help you after I mutilate you beyond recognition, you sick bastard, you set it up and killed her! You planned this all, and had your end in sight—YOU KILLED HER, GOD DAMN IT, I'LL KILL YOU!"

In the commotion, neither realized the gang of police rushing to the scene. A thick set of hands set like a vise to Layton's shoulders, pulling him away from the wailing Edward. Inspector Chelmey forced Layton to his feet, grabbing him roughly by the material of his jacket. It managed to shake the Professor a bit, having the Inspector seething so close to his face. If he were thinking clearly, and the situation weren't so tense, he might have compared him to a rabid dog ready to take his face clean off.

"Have you gone completely mad, Layton?!" Chelmey blurted out gruffly, shaking the Professor to sense, or, at least, attempting to. "What in the bloody hell are you doing? You're close to dismantling my suspect! Speaking of which, why don't you have cuffs, you nasty little—" The Inspector grabbed Edward by the neck and pulled him closer, slapping a pair of hand cuffs around his wrists.

Professor Layton struggled to get his balance, looking over still at the boy who was now flailing to his feet. "I…I don't—"

"You brought this case to me, what in God's name are you doing running off and getting your own hands in it?" Chelmey shouted.

Layton wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, tasting blood from somewhere; from his burning lip or the gash on his face, he did not know. His breathing was as shallow as his vision, only seeing a need to cause pain to the person who caused his own.

"The bastard tried tearing my head off!" Edward moaned with some effort, more afraid than confident. "He's insane! Jail him!"

"That's because I wanted to tear his head off, the murderer! He killed Laura, and planned on killing millions more if he had his way! I'll tear your whole bloody head off and—"

The rest of his threatening plan was lost in the flurry of bobbies helping keep Layton separated from the quaking, frightened Edward, who might have smirked in his triumph, had he not been sporting a swollen lip and a cracked jaw. The young man let the police shuffle him away to a paramedic as he held his arms around himself, glancing warily behind at Layton and a few struggling officers trying to detain him.

"You need to calm yourself, Layton," Chelmey growled menacingly, none too happy with the turn of events, yet somewhat relieved that the Professor had turned up. "This aggression will help you none. Reporters, cockroaches of the media that they are, are everywhere, despite the danger, and the last thing you need is your emotions gracing the front page of the morning newspaper, if we even have a newspaper in the morning…"

"Or a tomorrow morning, Inspector," the Professor snarled, his eyes still flashing towards Edward. "You don't understand, he—"

"Now I don't know what's gone on, but we need to get the facts—"

"I'll give you the facts, Inspector," Layton spat, jabbing a bruised and bloody finger towards the culprit. "He killed her. Laura's down there, shutting this thing down, and the place is collapsing and destroying itself, all because of him! Oh my God…"

He buckled at the knees and collapsed, grief overtaking him yet again. Confused yet sympathetic, Chelmey warned him to keep silent. "Layton, we've already got people down there, searching—"

"You'll find nothing. It's ready to cave in, Inspector, you'd best call back your men and save their own lives. Why would you send them…" He covered his face with his blackened and bloody hands. "Oh, God, Laura," he moaned, choking on tears and guttural sobs.

The Inspector, never happy with the emotional side of his career, stared bleakly at the Professor, incredulous. He didn't think anything could break this man of the highest order of gentlemanly conduct, but here it all was, sniveling and hunched over. Then again, the whole situation was one that had tested them all, for the entire afternoon. Hundreds drowned, thousands missing, and even more displaced with nowhere to go. All because of a tidal wave. All allegedly because of this Edward Chancey.

He waved away a group of his own squadron, telling them to busy the ragtag reporters with something else, when his intercom walkie-talkie crackled, a watery voice vibrating the unit with a loud hum of words. He grabbed it from his belt and steadied it against his ear.

"Calm yourself, Jacobs, you're breaking up, repeat it again! Over," Chelmey huffed, irritated yet excited, craving good news. The alert came through the receiver once more, and the Inspector tore away from the Professor at top speed, rushing toward the coast.

"Get yourself together, Layton, and come along! We've got something."

As the lift slipped away, Laura turned in a flurry of her coat and strained her legs to carry her quickly, further and further down the hall. Her teacher's screaming was too much, and almost made her override the elevator's programming. But she'd already made her choice: she'd reenter the chamber alone.

Over and over echoes and crashes carried on around her, the underground laboratories and former navigating tunnels imploding and filling in with the surrounding earth. Obsolete drilling chambers and old pressure conduits were reduced to shadows of their former selves, the engineering of years obliterated in a matter of seconds, minutes. A waste, a downright waste, Laura thought as vengeful tears filmed across her eyes. If she lived, she'd ruin her employer, force feed him his own medicine. Used for a grand scheme, she hated herself all the more.

A familiar top hat continued to form in her mind's eye, taunting her to more tears.

Her shoes clopped on the cement floor, the sealant gleaming in the light strip. Her own eerie shadow chased her weakly, a blurry phantom trying to keep up at her side. She'd recognize the door, but whether she could get in or not was a gamble.

"It'd all been a gamble, really," she admitted, choking on a sob. "I never had a sure, confirmed agenda. Only my own selfish ends, that's all I believed in."

'How could I have been so blind…?

'It's my punishment…It's not only Edward's plan…it was mine.

'And for what?

'It's all undone…everything. And I'll be lost here. Alone.

'Unknown by most.

'Hated by everyone else.

'Despised.

'Unloved.

'And I deserve it.

'That's what hurts the worse… It's one thing to accept consequences, but the fact that I've done something so vile, to deserve this.'

"Do you really think I'd be mad with you?" rang out the Professor's words that had been troubling her.

"Yes…" She sniffed bitterly. "Like how I was mad at you…"

She almost missed it, although it was a monolith of an entrance. On her right, the door was set into the wall, three times her height. Two giant metal plates met in the middle, jagged teeth fit together seamlessly like a zipper. There were many doors like that, she was tired of them.

Laura was too busy with her thoughts that she didn't even notice the wailing alarm in the room within. It blared and ground into her ears like a drill, each blast a reminder of her surroundings. A siren signaling the end, counting down the minutes, the seconds.

To the door's left was a small key pad, lit up by pale blue keys. She punched the code into the soft rubber buttons, waiting, praying for the panels to slide into the walls. They creaked and groaned, and finally, they were open.

The chamber was in shambles, but the mega-drill still sat heavily in the center, encased by its protective, metal sheath. The plates smoldered orange each time the warning light glowed bright, simultaneous with the ringing horn that rocked the room, vibrating the ground and every metallic material in the place that would absorb the shocks. The air was thin, oxygen levels dangerously low.

Racing inside, she started working up the staircase. Her hands met with the rails, cold, hollow tubes that she used as a means to hoist herself up the steps, propelling herself forward. Her legs were pulsating with deep sinewy pain, cutting through her muscles like kitchen shears to a beef steak. Clambering up the thing was the equivalent of mountain climbing, given the state she was in.

And there was her prize: a single, sad computer. As trivial looking as it was, it was the only one with the very thing she needed. Her fingers floated over the keys, above a large blood-red button.

"Only one person knows how to shut it down indefinitely," she whispered to herself. "There's no turning back; it's permanent unless I give the word. I could have shut this place down anytime. I suppose…it's a little late, but…"

'At least the drill will stop. It will end, and hopefully no more tragedy will occur…no more earthquakes and tidal waves.

'No more deaths.'

She stared at the screen, and suddenly her mind went blank. She wretched, holding her mouth. She cradled her stomach, then turned around and released. Vomiting over the edge, she hacked and cried, spit and cursed. Gripping the railing, she screamed.

"I DON'T WANT TO DIE! I DON'T! I'M GOING TO DIE AND IT'S OVER!" Her words mixed with the siren and blaring cacophony around her, a symphony of sadness and groveling tears. "Please, please I don't want to die! I can't, I can't! I don't WANT to!"

The mantra repeated as she turned back to the computer. She logged in, and her employee image showed up on the screen. The picture floated as she looked at it through watery eyes. Bypassing the screen, she input the final program: a final emergency shutdown.

The confirmation glowed, a bright red font: Yes/No.

'Yes.'

"Are you sure?" She read it over and over and over.

"Y…Yes…"

Something exploded in the room. Her faculties left completely, and she felt her bladder release. Her hands shook. Her eyes failed. Her mind blackened as she exhaled, deeply and completely.

She pushed the key and sat down on the cold floor.

'I end here. There is nowhere else to go. Why can't I accept it? I just peed myself. I'm at an all-time low. I have no one. There is no one. No one is here. No one is here.

'My last breaths. I feel them. Death comes. I hope I stop breathing before I am smashed.

'I really failed. Everything. Everything is over, and I failed. I chose wrong. I'm sorry.'

She cried more, and laid down on her side, holding her arms to her chest.

"Please forgive me, everyone," she moaned, ending in a whisper. "Please forgive me…"

Voices swam in her mind, images were distorted. People played and studied, old memories floating and dissipating before she could figure out what they were. And with the deafening wail of the siren, darkness flooded everything, and she felt supernatural arms raising her up.

Oops, I did it again! Review?