So. There it is. Finally. :grin:
Wiritng this was a real pain cause I changed it up like... so often. It's not as good as I wanted it but I wanted to write this for so long and I thought it fitted really well for the
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where we had to convey emotions.
I wrote about my favourite fandom, Professor Layton. For anyone who knows it, this is about when Alfendi was in coma after having been shot. For everyone else, I have written a quick summary so you know who every person is ^^
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Summary:
Four years prior to the events of "Layton Brothers: Mystery Room" Alfendi "Al" Layton worked as an Inspector for Scotland Yard. He and his colleagues Justin and Hilda (his girlfriend) and the Commissioner named Barton are about to finally catch the "Jigsaw Puzzle Killer", Keelan Makepeace.
They chase him down and because of Al's impatience he goes after Makepeace alone which ends in him being shot and Makepeace dead. He is in coma for several weeks and this is where this story begins.
Alfendi Layton himself has a strange affection towards criminals, the more sadistic they are the "better". He is straight-forward, impatient and not very polite to his father's disapproval. While his sister Katrielle "Kat" loves their father, he has a strained relationship towards him because they have barely anything in common but also because their father left them years prior. They also have a older sister named Flora.
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Broken Pencil
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Kat barely listened to what her teacher was talking about. Not that she could understand anything. His words got mixed up and left an unrecognizable mess in her head. The signs and numbers written on the chalkboard made no sense to her. She squinted her eyes. It wasn’t because she was sitting in the back of the classroom. No, she had always been sitting there and on top of her class. Al had always been very proud of her for that which had made Kat happy. She had always been quick to make sense of things. Had.
It had been exactly one month, two weeks and five days since things had stopped making sense to Kat.
Her eyes wandered to the clock hanging above the door. 11:33 am. Exactly 37 minutes until she could finally leave this place. 37. A prime number. Al would be delighted if he knew her thoughts.
Al, she thought like so often in the past weeks, can you hear me?
He couldn’t, of course not. 11:34 am. 36 minutes. Kat tapped her toes. She would visit Al after school and do her math homework, probably discussing the problems she’d have with him. He would roll his eyes at her and snap how she could not get it if he could only hear her. She would hiss back that she had a different way of solving stuff, they would snicker and tease each other before Al would help her in the end and they would have some food or so.
But no, that wouldn't happen.
Al had been in coma for exactly one month, two weeks and five days. Kat had always feared that something like this would happen one day, that her brother would get hurt because of his job. Her fingers wrapped themselves around the pencil she was holding tightly. Why hadn’t the genius just become a math professor or anything else but a police officer?!
At least they had killed the guy who had shot Al. Otherwise she would have done it.
She had visited Keelan Makepeace’s grave three weeks and six days ago. Kat hadn’t known and still didn’t know why exactly she had done it. Maybe she had hoped to feel something, anything again. It felt like she was living in a bubble since Al had taken into hospital. Kat hadn’t cried once since than in contrast to her sister Flora whose cheeks had been covered in tears for weeks whenever she had visited their brother. Kat had only wanted to know who had done this so she could find this person to murder them for doing this to her brother.
People had never said she had something in common with her brother, but she had felt like his twin in this moment.
Her hand clutched at the pencil, it felt like a thousand needles stabbed the palm of her hand, but she didn’t realize it. 11:41 am. Time didn’t seem to . When could she finally leave this place?!
Kat shifted, causing the fabric of her school uniform to shift uncomfortably against her skin. Her throat became tight. Her breath hitched and she took a deep breath when she loosened the blue tie a bit. She wouldn’t dare to take it off; Al liked wearing ties and since he was her big brother, she did what he did. Always had. She smiled. Even though she was already seventeen. She longed for the days when she had been ten, when Al had picked her up from school, tugged at her tie with a smirk and she at his, and then they had gone home, and he had cooked something while she had done her homework in the kitchen to ask him whenever she got stuck. He would always help her.
But she wasn’t ten anymore, she was seventeen and alone.
Concentrating was fruitless work. Her thoughts wandered to Al. Was he alone, too? Or was someone with him? 11:44 am. Flora was still at work. Maybe Justin or Hilda were with him? In the beginning, she had still hoped to meet her father one day when she would enter Al’s room. She had even prayed for it though Al had always laughed at her for that, and she had huffed and replied that he should mind his own business. He didn’t believe in God. He only believed in himself.
Four weeks and two days ago, she had given up believing. Their father wouldn’t come.
He had left them six years ago; why should he come back now? He obviously didn’t care about his children.
Kat jumped in her chair, her pencil leaving a sudden ugly stroke on her otherwise empty piece of paper when the sound of something crack nearby reached her ears. No one else seemed to have notice it she realized when she looked around to make out the origin.
Something sharp struck her palm. When she opened her cramped hand, she realized that she had caused the sound. She had broken the pencil.
Without giving it another thought, she threw the pieces into her pencil case annoyedly. Useless stuff. Useless like a broken bone. Al had seven of them.
Seven broken ribs, a severe concussion which caused the coma, and the bullet had grazed his left lung. He was lucky his heart hadn’t been hurt.
Something stirred within Kat. All because of that stupid man! Why did Keelan Makepeace have to murder anyone in the first place?! Provided it some mad kind of satisfaction or what?! What was it he had with these stupid puzzle pieces?!
He was so lucky he was dead. Kat decided she wouldn’t have killed him. Not right away at least. She would have taken all the time she wanted. He would have suffered.
Why had the commissioner even assigned Al to that case? Hadn’t any other DCI been as suitable? Or was Al the only capable man within all of Scotland Yard?! Probably. No one understood criminals like him. He might not have become one, but his strange satisfaction had been the reason he got hurt all the same. Why?!
Why hadn’t Justin been with him when he had confronted Makepeace, why hadn’t Justin been the first one on the roof?! Where had he been?! And Hilda! She called herself his girlfriend but left him alone when it got dangerous! They could have prevented it! All of them! Justin, Hilda, Commissioner Barton! If they only hadn’t left him alone! Then her stupid pencil wouldn’t have broken!
Kat lowered her head when she felt her cheeks grow hot. A few grains were lying on the blank page of her notebook. Why did it always happen to her?! First her father, then her brother, and now that stupid pencil! She clenched her teeth, her eyes watering from the sheer force. Always her!
11:59 am. 11 minutes, another prime number.
Kat waited for the tears to flow down her face, but they refused to do so. Why didn’t even that work?! She finally wanted to cry, cry like anyone else. Why couldn’t she?!
Why couldn’t Al just have never been shot? Or at least wake up. When Big Ben started to ring, Kat sunk into daydreams, imagined how he would smirk at her when she would come into his room. He would smirk and say, “Thought you would become the sole heir, hm?”, his red hair would fall into his face and he would snort when Kat would throw herself into his arms, but he would be just as relieved and hug her back and…
“Hey, Kat. Are you okay?” someone suddenly asked. Kat flinched. She had almost forgotten about the boy sitting next to her.
She grinned. “Sure. It’s just super boring,” she whispered so the teacher wouldn’t notice them talking.
“Yeah, as usual,” he laughed silently before he returned to his notes. The page in his notebook was filled to the brim with numbers and signs that made no sense to Kat, hadn’t in weeks. She felt guilty.
“Yeah,” she agreed quietly but he didn’t hear her anymore. As usual. People never listened. They only watched. He was content seeing her smirk, didn’t care about what was behind a façade. Kat ran a hand through her amber locks. Why was she like this? She’d never cared what people thought, had always minded her own business like her brother had taught her when their father had vanished and people had started talking, when Kat had come home from school crying and told him that the people wouldn’t shut up.
She bit down onto her lip, chewed on it until she could taste iron.
She’d barely caught anything of the lesson. Again. Kat’s gaze flickered to the broken pencil pieces in her pencil case. She clenched hr fists. Why was it always her?! First her father, then her brother, now the pencil!
When the bell rang to call the end of the lesson, Kat threw her stuff into her bag. The sound of papers wrinkling echoed loudly in her head, the chatter of her classmates only distant voices. The world felt like toppled over to the side.
She hurried outside as quickly as her feet could carry her. Down the stairs and long hallways. She pushed through the many students chatting and laughing. Kat didn’t look left or right. She didn’t want to see their smiles.
London’s typical red buses brought her to the Green Hospital. She looked out of the window. It was a nice and sunny day, one of the first nice days of the year. If this was a movie, the day would be grey and rainy. She would lean her head against the window and a silent tear would run down her face smudging her mascara artistically.
If she leant her head against the window now, she would probably get a concussion from how rough a bus ride through London was, and mascara never smudged in a nice way. No, this was no movie. If it was a movie, Al would have woken up by now, her father would have showed up weeks ago with a worried face, he would have apologized for leaving in the first place. Al would have forgiven him; they would have hugged, and everything would have been fine, they would be a family again. Maybe they would go on a new adventure and find their mother.
But this was reality. In reality, Kat sat entirely stiff, and Al would never forgive their father for leaving. He freaked out, got as angry as some of the criminals he adored so much whenever people associated him with their father. The worst thing she had witnessed was years ago, but she would never forget it. Al had just finished his training to be a police officer and had talked to someone (a witness who later turned out to be the murderer, Al and his colleagues had searched for at that time).
Kat had wanted to pick him up after school to have dinner together when Al had suddenly backed the man against a wall and punched the wall next to his head with all the strength he possessed. “I AM THE REAL LAYTON!” he had yelled at the man who had only grinned smugly. Kat had feared her brother might punch the man next instead of the wall but when he had realized she was there he had merely glanced at the man one last time before letting him go.
Later that night Kat had dragged her brother to the hospital, the very hospital she was about to visit now, because he had broken his hand.
The bus came to a sudden halt. Traffic jam. She should have reckoned with that and taken the underground. Kat groaned. Why was it always her?!
Something stirred within her again, just like earlier. She didn’t know what exactly it was, but it made her insides flatter and caused her to jump up. She squashed through the people standing in the aisle until she reached the driver. She needed to get out. Immediately.
“Sorry, I need to get off here!”
The man barely turned. “No stop here.”
She clenched her fists. “HERE!” she commanded the man with so much force she hadn’t known she could muster up.
He finally turned knitting his eyebrows. “Girl, listen-”
“NOW!”
He sighed but finally opened the door since they were standing anyways. Kat jumped out of the bus and started running, squashing through the people. She heard them mutter disapprovingly or even yelling after her, but she couldn’t care less. Her breath formed little white clouds, they vanished almost as soon as they had been created. The feeling within her got worse, knotted her stomach. Something had happened to Al, she could feel it, always had been feeling it.
Her sides started to hurt but she wouldn’t stop. Al needed her. He had always been there for her, now she would be there for him.
If those stupid doctors would let him die, she would ensure they would end up in the grave next to Keelan Makepeace.
Crossing London’s streets was an adventure for itself, even a suicide attempt. But Kat was careless. Nothing would happen to her, Al looked after her even if he wasn’t there. Cars honked and brakes squealed around her but the only things running through her mind where
Al, hospital, Al, murdering doctors, Al, Al, Al…
It was only when Kat collided with a nurse in the entry hall that she stopped in her tracks. She immediately picked herself up again, not caring but the nurse was even quicker.
“Careful there. Oh my, are you alright? Do you need a doctor?” She had both her hands on Kat’s shoulder to check her. The sudden warmth caused her cheeks to go red and her nose to run. It must look to the nurse like she was sick.
Kat normally didn’t mind people’s touches, but it was too much today. She pushed the nurse’s hands away more forcefully than she would have needed. “No!” she barked. As if she was important right now!
While she picked up her bag from the ground she was already running again, down the long hallway, up the stairs. Third floor, room 197. A room that she was so used to by now she doubted she would ever forget it.
Kat stopped abruptly when she saw the door standing open and heard the voices coming from it. Something was different.
Dead, dead, dead, Al is dead,
was the first thing that came to her mind.
The tears still didn’t come.
Placing one foot in front of the other, she made her way to the room. It felt like someone else was guiding her, like it wasn’t her. She couldn’t feel her breath coming in bursts, her hurting sides, the blood and adrenaline running through her body, the sweat on her forehead. Everything was dull and grey. She hadn’t known sound could be grey. There was a first for everything.
A doctor scribbling on his clipboard hectically. Three nurses rushing around the room. Flora with tears running down her cheeks, Hilda with a hand clasped over her mouth. Commissioner Barton standing in the corner of the room with his had wrenched between his fingers while a tear was running down his face, Justin slumped down on a chair. It was fascinating how small a man of Justin’s size could appear. Kat wondered how small she could be when she felt two arms around her.
The world suddenly came back to normal, the colours, the sounds, the voices, the nurses chatter, it like an explosion; Flora’s crying next to her ear, Hilda’s sobbing, the beeping of the machines which had kept Al alive for the past one month, two weeks and five days. And a voice, a voice she hadn’t heard in one month, two weeks and five days, and it said, “I really don’t know. I am Alfendi Layton.”
But it was also a voice Kat had never heard before. She struggled to get out of Flora’s hug (Kat was surprised by how strong Flora was, to be honest) and get to her brother. She wanted to see him. See her brother with this strange new voice, look into his amber eyes and finally, finally, be able to cry. But Flora gripped her shoulder and pulled her back. “Kat-”
“Let me go to my brother!” she demanded, the sound of her too high voice cutting through the room like a sharp knife through skin. But when nothing happened after one second, after two, three, she hesitated. Why hadn’t Al said anything? He should long have demanded his sister to be let through and would have threatened to cut everyone’s tongue out if they didn’t.
“Al, he is…,” Flora started but her voice failed her, a few more tears rolled down her face and her grip on Kat’s shoulders loosened. Kat envied her for being able to cry. Flora was normal. She was broken. Broken like the pencil in her pencil case.
Flora wrapped an arm around her shoulders and guided her to Al’s bed, and Kat finally got to look at him.
Aside from being even skinnier than he already was, this wasn’t the brother she knew. His bright red hair had somehow turned into a pale purple, his usual sharp features had softened like they only did when he was sleeping. His amber eyes looked at her friendly yet quizzically. Like a puzzle, their father would have said, and Al would have rolled his eyes at that and replied something snarky.
This Al wouldn’t. She didn’t know how she knew; she just KNEW. The bag slipped from her shoulder, falling to the ground. The sound of rumpling paper echoed through the room. Kat didn’t bother pick it up. Her gaze was fixed on her brother.
The siblings looked at each other for what felt like an eternity. When the doctor cleared his throat, Kat didn’t react, but Al flinched.
Her Al wouldn’t have flinched. He would have glared at the doctor for making a sound, for still being here. No. If this was her Al, she would long lie in his arms and cry.
“Is she… alright?” the doctor asked.
“Yes.” Flora’s voice. “It must be the shock. Please give her some time.”
When had her brother left?
The doctor explained what had happened. Though the bullet had damaged Al’ lung and ribs, the wound at the back of his head must have been worse than they had reckoned with. While Al suffered some kind of memory loss, which the doctors doubted would last long, he had something called “Dissociative Identity Disorder”. That was at least what they suspected now from what they had heard from family and friends and what information the brain scans had provided them.
Her brother was gone; in his state was a meek, even considerate Al none of them had ever met before. An Al who would never threaten people to cut out their tongues like he had done with the boys who had bullied Kat in third grade and the boy she had fallen in love with last year, who had left her when she had refused to sleep with him. An Al, who didn’t find criminals fascinating, an Al who wouldn’t tell her stories so scary every adult would scold him for telling a little girl, but Kat loved them.
Every other person would consider this a better Al, a better brother, a better boyfriend, a better son, and would probably call this “sudden change of behaviour” a blessing. They wouldn’t even acknowledge it as a mental illness, no. A blessing.
Her brother didn’t believe in god; did this brother?
Kat didn’t know it. She only knew one thing. That man wasn’t her brother anymore. Her eyes watered. Would the tears finally flow now?
Something within her snapped. Like a pencil broken in two pieces. With a sound a dying animal must make Kat sank to the ground next to her back and started crying. She facepalmed and cried, she cried when Al said, “Katrielle, I’m fine, really, stop crying, please!” because he called her Katrielle, because he begged her; she was Kat to a brother who didn’t beg, to a brother who would pretend he didn’t care but did.
She cried when Flora wrapped her arms around her and rocked her back and forth because even though Flora was the oldest of them, it had always been Al who was the “Big Sibling”, but now it was Flora; she cried because she realized that Scotland Yard had just lost their best officer because Al was the best with criminals, because he had understood them in a way no one could; Kat doubted this Al could. She cried because Justin had lost a friend, Hilda a boyfriend, her father a son, she a brother.
Kat cried all the tears she hadn’t been able to cry in the past month, two weeks and five days. Her brother was dead, and there was nothing Kat could to do bring him back; she could only try to learn with this new version of him.
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The pictures I used:
Comments (6)
:0 I love this :0 I haven’t played the game but I’m considering it :joy:
There's actually like... 10 games and an Anime with 50 episodes by now :joy: but this fic is particulary based on "Layton Brothers: Mystery Room" which is like the darkest and most sinister of all the games :grin:
Reply to: Melinaa
Sounds like my thing lmao- I’ll get to it soon :)