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Chapter Text

  Act I: Despite What Occurred Before        

         “Hershel, there’s the door!” Randall pointed. The pair shared a relieved smile. Hershel had been genuinely afraid that Randall was right and there were a hundred floors. But this appeared to be the last floor.

         If Hershel remembered correctly, this was also the eighth floor. I wonder if the number eight was important to the Azran or if it’s just happenstance, Hershel mused. He decided that he would ask Randall later. At the moment Hershel was busy keeping his balance, hopping across the stones over the water.

         There was a click, a loud rumbling, and the rocks beneath their feet began to shift and shake. Another trap.

         “We’re sinking!” Randall cried. The pair ran quickly now, their accumulated exhaustion built up over the course of their journey seemed to disappear in a rush of adrenaline.

         It was going to be okay, they were going to make it, it was just like any other trap, with their wits and a bit of luck it was going to be just fine-

         Their luck had run out.

         Randall leapt across the final gap and quickly turned around, stretching out his right hand for Hershel to grab. His other hand tightly held onto the Mask of Chaos.

         Hershel was about to follow Randall’s lead, but the moment he took off the rock he had been standing on crumpled away, giving him no solid surface to jump off of. He flailed, desperately reaching out.

         Their hands barely managed to grab onto each other, clinging as tightly as they could but gravity and their sweaty, slippery hands were conspiring against them.

         Without a second thought Randall dropped the mask, trying to pull Hershel up with both hands now. It was a struggle, fingers clamping tightly, and Hershel tried to use his feet against the newly made cliff face, but the rocks were too slick.

         Out of the corner of his eye, Randall saw a glint of gold. A glance over and he saw the mask slide, inching closer to the edge of the chasm that had opened up beneath them. Refocusing from that temporary distraction, Randall pulled up with a strength he didn’t know he possessed.

         Even with his efforts, it only took a moment for Hershel to start sliding away from Randall’s grasp.

         “Randall, I can’t hold on.” Hershel was starting to panic, desperately trying to tighten his grip but the damage was done. With an almost inaudible noise, Hershel slipped free and began to fall.

         Hershel fell, his figure and wordless scream fading away into the depths of Akbadain’s ancient abyss.   

         Randall screamed, “Hershel!” his hands uselessly reaching over the edge. But there was nothing he could do. Hershel was gone.

.--.-..-..-.--.  

         Randall didn’t know how long he had been sitting there. He just felt numb.

         They had been so close. The door was less than thirty feet away.

         Now what? What was Randall supposed to do now? How was he going to tell the Laytons? How was he going to tell Angela and Henry? Was he really going to go back to Stansbury less than empty handed?

         It was with these thoughts buzzing when Randall finally stood up and walked up the small flight of stairs to the door.

         There was a puzzle keeping the door locked tight. Of course. The Azrans never made anything easy, did they?

         On his first attempt, Randall got it wrong but there didn’t seem to be a penalty for it. After a moment of thought the solution became clear. Compared to everything else that they had encountered so far, it was laughably easy.

         Randall felt like he was being mocked. He went through the now opened door and gazed upon the reward of this journey.

         Gold. Gold and jewels, other precious metals, and obviously valuable items. All piled haphazardly at the base of a tree. It all glittered and glistened in a rare beam of sunlight, reflected and refracted in the water surrounding. Under any other circumstances, it would have been the most beautiful thing Randall had ever seen.

         As he walked towards the treasure, Randall’s footsteps echoed and bounced off the walls before fading into nothing.

         This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Randall couldn’t help it, his overactive imagination played out the scene he had dreamed about for weeks.

         He and Hershel were going to run towards the treasure in amazement, yelling obscenely loud. They would start excitedly sifting through the piles of gold and Randall would find two things. First, the key to Azran civilization, something to propel the field of archeology for years to come. Second, a ring to propose to Angela with. A sappy and romantic notion, Hershel would tease but agree that Angela would love it. And as they sat underneath the tree catching their breath, gazing out onto their discovery, Hershel would have said something along the lines of, “You know, I might be interested in archeology after all.”

         As his childish, naïve, stupid fantasy finished playing out, Randall’s knees gave out as the gravity of everything hit him. He truly began to understand that Hershel was gone.

         Hershel wasn’t here for this moment and wouldn’t be for any moment after. No more late-night rendezvous, no more fencing matches. No more chats about puzzles over tea. No more good-natured ribbing and teasing. None of it.

         Numbly, Randall realized that tears were beginning to fall down his face. It just wasn’t fair. Everyone warned against going on this trip. Everyone was afraid Randall was going to get himself hurt or killed. Hershel was supposed to keep Randall from doing anything stupid. They were right, he shouldn’t have gone, shouldn’t have insisted- He should have waited, he should have-

         Randall began to tremble with anger. There was only one person Randall hated in this moment, the one person who could be blamed. Rage and sorrow and regret burned, held him in a vice, and weighed him down with an inescapable gravity. His throat began to constrict, making it hard to breathe. Any semblance of self-control he still had fell apart. Randall sobbed, shaking with heaving breaths, arms wrapped tight around himself. In his maelstrom of emotion, Randall only had a few coherent thoughts repeating.

         It’s my fault. My best friend is gone. And it’s my fault.

.--.-..-..-.--.

         “It’s getting rather late…” Angela mumbled to herself.

         “Don’t worry, Master Randall and Hershel will be back any moment now,” Henry assured her, but he did share her concern. The sun was beginning to set and there was no sign of either of them.

         Another ten or so minutes passed by in silence. Angela was the first to spot the figure coming over the hill. Both she and Henry gave a sigh of relief. A few seconds later they could see enough detail to tell that it was Randall.

         Angela ran towards her boyfriend, enveloping him in a tight hug, ignoring the fact that he was covered in dirt and sweat. However, he didn’t reciprocate, arms hanging limply at his sides.

         “Randall!” Angela exclaimed, “I’m so glad you’re back!” She pulled back to look at his face. “How did it go? Did you find your treasure?” Randall wasn’t looking at her, a downcast expression that she didn’t expect.  

         Randall’s throat was still unbearably tight, but he managed to sputter out, “I found it, but… I- I- I lost Hershel. He’s gone. It’s my fault- I tried- I tried to- but he-” He could barely make eye contract with her, and he couldn’t stop shaking. Randall swallowed and wanted to try again, to properly explain, but the words refused to come out.

         Angela still held Randall as she took in the news. It didn’t feel real, couldn’t possibly be right. She had feared the worst but that didn’t make the reality any easier to accept. Though there was no denying it here, the proof was in her arms, his heart beating a mile a minute. “Gone…?” Angela found herself blankly repeating. She knew she should be showing some reaction, but she had no expression for this feeling. Instead, she buried her face into Randall’s chest and clung on tighter.

         Henry walked up to the both of them after some time, putting his hands on the couple’s shoulders. “Let’s head in. Get you cleaned up and we can talk more. I’ll put the kettle on.”

         Randall nodded, and the three of them headed towards the Ascot estate. The silence felt strained and fragile, like an abandoned house on the verge of collapse.

.--.-..-..-.--.

         “Master Randall, you should drink your tea before it gets cold,” Every inch of Henry’s being conveyed concern and worry, barely tempered by his normal calm.

         “Right.” Randall agreed distractedly, “Thank you, Henry.” He picked up the cup and took a sip. It tasted like pure comfort and warmed his insides. All Randall could think about how Hershel firmly believed that most of the world’s problems could be solved with tea.

         He’s not completely wrong. It was doing wonders for Randall’s physical discomfort, but his mental fatigue and composure were at their limit. He hadn’t even begun to tell Angela and Henry what happened.  Before Randall knew it, his cup was empty.

         More silence followed. Randall swallowed, the tea’s effects quickly fading, leaving him cold. Angela placed her hand over his. “What happened, Randall?” Her tone was soft and sweet. Randall found it painful to listen to.

         With a deep shuddering breath, Randall recounted the moment that had been playing and replaying in his mind. “We…we nearly made it to the end. There were some close calls, but we were- and it was just one more room, we were walking and then it just- it just fell apart beneath our feet and I… I made the jump, he didn’t but I managed to grab him, but I just couldn’t hold on and he- he- he fell. I couldn’t see the bottom, didn’t hear him hit- oh god. I-”

         Once again, Randall found himself pulled into Angela’s arms. She had him in a vice. Randall was so exhausted he wouldn’t have been able to escape her grasp even if he had wanted to. He tried to relax, to reciprocate, but found himself unable to move. As if this embrace was for her comfort, not his. Randall didn’t blame her in the slightest. He looked over for the reaction of the only other person in the room.

         Henry’s eyes were averted. “I see.” His tone was placid and unreadable. “I would say that we could discuss this more in the morning but… someone has to tell them. Sooner rather than later.” Henry gave a small sigh that betrayed his true feelings. “Master Randall. Would you like me to speak to the Laytons?”

         Randall’s stomach dropped. He shook his head, “No, no. I should- I need to be the one to tell them. I should do it now.” Randall began to stand and stagger towards the door. Angela loosened her grip, but still clung onto his arm. She was supporting his weight and her knuckles were nearly bone white.

         “Let me come with you.” Her tone made it clear that there was no way of changing her mind. Randall was grateful for that. He nodded, and the three of them headed off together. They moved slowly, a tame attempt at delaying the inevitable unpleasantness to come. Angela and Randall were attached at the hip and Henry hovered closer than his usual sense of propriety.

         They had barely turned the corner of the street when the door to the Layton’s home opened. The trio must have been seen from the window. Lucille was at the entrance, with Roland right behind her. Randall saw their expressions and any remaining courage left him. He wasn’t ready to do this. He was about to break their hearts.

         Angela squeezed Randall’s hand, trying to reassure him but the gesture just reminded Randall of that moment. Sweaty palms, desperately clinging onto each other, then… empty air.

         However, Randall forced himself back to the present. He had to be here for this, no matter how unprepared he was. It hurt to make eye contact. “I-” Randall began, but he couldn’t decide on what to say, his options and words clumped together in a mess in his brain. “I’m sorry. Hershel and I- No. I dragged Hershel along with me and… and…” Randall knew what he had to say next, but it seemed like an impossible task. No one should ever have to deliver this news, and no parent should ever have to hear it.  

         “There was a trap, a chasm. The fall was too far down… I didn’t even hear him hit the ground. He’s gone. Hershel’s gone. I’m so sorry… I shouldn’t have… it’s my fault…” Randall trailed off, running out of breath. Tears were threatening to spill again. There. He had said it. Now all he could do was wait and brace himself for the Laytons’ reactions.

         The Laytons were silent, eyes darting and searching, trying to pry the entire truth out of Randall through pure force of will. Lucille was quickly overwhelmed and turned towards her husband. Roland comforted his wife while he gave Randall a glare of a building and righteous fury.

         Randall knew that expression from his own father. The fact that there was an audience was the only reason this conversation hadn’t devolved. He knew that it was unwise, but he had to say something- right? He couldn’t just walk away after just telling the Laytons that their son would never come home. But there was nothing he could do- But he had to do something-

         Then Randall felt a hand on his shoulder, pulling him out of his spiraling thoughts. He looked to see Henry. Randall had forgotten that he was here, and that Angela was still holding his hand. He wasn’t alone in this moment.

         Henry spoke up, “You have my deepest apologies, but I think the rest of this conversation would be better had in the morning. If there’s anything you need, do not hesitate to ask. I wish- I wish you a quiet night.”

         Lucille simply nodded, her eyes filled with tears. Roland closed the door on the trio, leaving them alone in the middle of the street. The couple needed time to themselves, and no one was going to begrudge them that.

         Henry continued to take charge of the situation, “Angela will you be staying with us tonight? If you’d rather go home, that’s fine too. At the very least, all of us should try to get some sleep.”

         “If you don’t mind.” Angela answered, “I don’t think any of us should be alone tonight.”

         The walk back to the Ascot home was quiet, the trio staying close to each other. They slipped in through Randall’s window unnoticed and tiptoed through various nighttime rituals. Henry brought in spare sheets and blankets so they all could stay in Randall’s room.

         That was the clearest sign to Randall that Henry was significantly shaken up by the day’s events. Normally Henry would have never suggested such an arrangement, much less act on it without asking for permission or confirmation. Randall tried to offer his bed to Angela, but she insisted otherwise. She argued that Randall was the one who had been running around in ancient ruins all day and needed the proper rest more. Not that any of them were going to sleep anytime soon, but the sentiment was appreciated.

.--.-..-..-.--.

         That night was long and painful for everyone in that room. There was too much to think about, to process, and none of it was pleasant. Loss was hard enough even under the best of circumstances.

         Randall stared at the walls of his bedroom, covered in his research and notes, theories and attempts at ancient puzzles. In the shadows of night, they looked like the writings of a madman, obsessed and possessed. All that time he had spent trying to unravel the mysteries of the Mask of Chaos and he didn’t even have it anymore. He had barely noticed it, but it had fallen down into that abyss, along with Hershel. Hershel… he hadn’t even been gone for a day yet, but already Randall missed him terribly. The guilt from the consequences of his actions weighed heavily on his conscience and burrowed itself deeply and painfully. Randall wished for sleep, for an escape from these thoughts, but he was denied in the hours to follow.

         Henry fidgeted, tossed and turned. He felt the urge to get and do something, to fix things. But there was nothing for him to do, nothing that could be done. He had been taut as a bowstring all day, trying to distract himself from his worries. Once again, the three worst scenarios Henry had imagined ran through his head again. Hershel not returning. Randall not returning. Neither of them returning back home. Henry couldn’t deny the relief of Randall coming back safely, but that feeling was overwhelmed by guilt. Guilt for feeling that relief and guilt from Henry’s own sense of responsibility. How that trip wouldn’t have been possible without Henry’s assistance. Everything leading up to this was excitement and ambition, something that promised to be grand. But now there was nothing left but broken pieces scattered about. Even if they were all gathered with time and effort, they would never be the way they were.

         Angela laid in a pile of cushions, looking up at the dull ceiling. It didn’t feel quite real to her. Not yet. How could it be? She had just lost another person to ancient ruins. The parallels were not lost on her, as those scenes ran side by side in her mind. The cheerful goodbyes, the waiting, then the horrible truth delivered later. Angela hovered on the edge of tears but didn’t want to make too much noise. Her thoughts were loud enough already. They cycled around and around, the same frustrations and sorrow, now amplified. She clutched the sheets in her fists, fantasizing of tearing those ruins into dust.

         The next morning came far too soon.

Chapter Text

            The next few days were a blur for Randall. His father was furious, of course. His anger rolled over Randall, acknowledged but failed to sink in. The punishment that was decided on was that with the exception of school, Randall was grounded until graduation and his research was locked away in the attic. His mother was much more understanding and tried to give her son space to grieve, to process. She even gave him a notebook to write down his feelings, to get it out somehow. That notebook found itself buried under the pile of schoolwork and study exercises on Randall’s desk.  

            The only comfort Randall felt was from Henry and Angela. Though as much as the trio clung to each other, they couldn’t be all together often. At home, Henry’s routine became Randall’s as well, though his father’s disapproval could be felt throughout the house like a foul odor. At school in between classes, Randall and Angela exchanged quick kisses and whispered plans. Randall also knew that Angela and Henry found ways to meet together in town. Ironically, Randall felt the most alone in class, the time when he was surrounded by the greatest amount of people.

            Stansbury’s small population left him be, some parts pity and some parts scorn. At Kingsbrook the mutterings were louder, and the staring was less discrete. There were rumors, condolences, and snide remarks that just happened to be in Randall’s earshot. Even worse was that there was no escape from it. Randall had to be here. Trapped at his desk, Randall had to see Hershel’s empty seat for hours on end.

            It couldn’t be helped; his eyes were drawn to it. Like an almost finished jigsaw puzzle, Randall thought, the empty spots and missing pieces take all the attention. Randall then berated himself for thinking of puzzles. This was nothing like a puzzle, there was no solution to fix this. That didn’t stop him from wishing it was so. He wished there had to be something he missed, some clue he didn’t see, some factor he didn’t consider. Some way they could have gotten out of that horrible cavern.

            Out of that line of thinking came a new question. Why? The more he thought about it, the less it made sense. Most of the mechanics were still functional, so why did the floor crumble beneath their feet? Why all the traps and puzzles? The treasure at the end was valuable, yes, but did it warrant all that protection? On top of the barriers in Akbadain, the location was hidden in the Mask of Chaos, whose location was hidden in the Wall of Norwell. It was very deliberate and overly elaborate, honestly. Randall had done so much research in the lead up to the expedition, but he had no explanation.

            Even if he wanted to continue delving into the mysteries of the Azran, Randall couldn’t. What with all of his books and notes locked in the attic. He didn’t have enough information to figure any of it out, and no easy avenue for new information in the foreseeable future. Regardless, the questions burned and filled his days.

.--.-..-..-.--.

            Then the day Randall had been dreading had arrived. The day of Hershel’s funeral. Randall had nothing to do with the planning or the proceedings. The Laytons had asked if he wanted to say a few words, but Randall declined. How could he, what right did he have? What on earth could he say? Randall stared at his sunken expression in the mirror. He was dressed to the nines, his hair was tamed, but he looked gaunt and unsightly.

            Not able to bear his reflection much longer, Randall turned away and opened his bedroom door to find Henry on the other side, about to knock. Henry was also dressed well, prim, proper, and somber.

            “Are you ready, Master Randall?” Henry asked.

            Randall sighed, “As ready as I can be. I… I need to be there.”

            Henry nodded, “Of course.”

            As the Ascot family along with Henry left their home, Angela was waiting for them. Her bob of pale blonde hair shone in contrast to her black dress. On the way there Randall’s parents took the lead, the younger trio behind quickly fell into the step of their new routine. Randall in the middle, Angela at his right side, and Henry on the left, one step back. Their silence was part of their new routine as well, full of melancholy and understanding.

            They arrived neither late nor early, so there was already a small group, all in black, beginning to form. All familiar faces, many turning to look at the new arrivals. He had only just arrived, and Randall was already feeling unsteady. It wasn’t the people, that wasn’t any different than any other day, though maybe a bit higher in intensity. It was the place where the ceremony was being held.

            Stansbury was largely lush and green, soft rolling hills, with gorgeous views of the mountains surrounding. There were places were the two intersected, spots of rougher terrain, boulders and debris that came down over the years, overgrown with plant life. The best example was the area around the Wall of Norwell with its moss-covered walls of rock. On the other side of those walls is where everyone was gathered now, the spot marked with a tree with sprawling branches growing out of the rock, roots breaking and cracking the stone.

            Beneath that tree was one of Hershel’s favorite places in town. Between the leafy canopy and the rock, the area was shaded a majority of the time, making it a prime spot for Hershel to sit down and read. Randall was very familiar with this spot, there were good memories here. It felt ruined now, seeing the freshly erected tombstone.

            Nearby that solemn reminder were the Laytons, talking with the priest. Randall was secretly relieved that he didn’t have to talk to them right away. The couple had been nothing but kind to him since that night, even though they were suffering most of all. Randall could barely stomach it.

            The next arrival came while Randall was distracted and when he turned his gaze back, he found himself face to face with Dalston.

            “Hey, Dalston.” Randall said reflexively, without any energy or emotion.

            “You look terrible, Ascot.”

            Henry gave Dalston a sharp glare, but Randall wasn’t particularly bothered. “The outside matches the inside, I guess.”

            “It’s a real shame, though.” Dalston lamented, gesturing towards the ceremony moments from beginning.

            “Thought you weren’t fond of Hershel.” Randall remarked.

            Dalston shrugged, “Yeah, he was a wishy-washy good-two-shoes, but he wasn’t a bad guy.” He sighed and made no move to get away from the trio. Another quick look around and Randall clocked that their parents had found each other and were having some conversation.

            After some mulling about, the rest of the attendees had arrived. The priest stood next to the freshly carved tombstone and began to speak.

            Randall tried to pay attention to the priest’s words, but they didn’t ring true. They felt generic, hollow. They were considerate, vague, avoiding the truth everyone knew. Randall’s guilt was on full display, everyone there knew it was his fault that Hershel was gone. Randall had taken Hershel away from the world of the living. The atmosphere was oppressive, scrutinizing and judging him at every turn.

            Randall kept his gaze on that tombstone, not daring to look anywhere else. The flowers gathered were bright: pinks, yellows, and whites. Most of them were daisies, and the ones with a lot of petals and the really long name. He knew it was traditional and probably meant something nice, but Randall didn’t know what that was. He wondered what kind of flowers Hershel liked. It was a mundane thought, one that was much easier to think about, but it still hurt.

            His musings were interrupted by an elbow in his ribs. Randall looked up to see that it had been Dalston. Quickly, Randall realized why. The priest had finished speaking, and Roland Layton was about to speak, Lucille by his side. Randall had to pay attention to this, it was the least he could do.

            That may have been a mistake. Randall was pretty sure being stabbed would be less painful than hearing Hershel’s father recount how blessed they were to have had Hershel in their lives. How kind, clever, and loyal he was. How he would lend a helping hand to anyone that needed it. How Hershel will be missed terribly and could never be forgotten.

            Randall’s hands were shaking, he couldn’t rein it in. The world had lost a great person. A better man than I’ll ever be, Randall thought bitterly. It just wasn’t fair. They had been so close, all Randall had to do was hold on… it wasn’t fair to anyone, least of all Hershel. Randall thought of what Hershel had lost that day. Hershel lost his future along with his life. He had dreams and ambitions and there was so much he could have done, so much he wanted to do. And Randall had taken that away from him. Hershel would never grow old, have a family, or whatever he would have chosen to do. Randall was here instead. And Randall couldn’t even give them a body to bury.

            Here we are again. The place where his thoughts always eventually cycled back to. There was no body. Randall never saw Hershel hit the ground. There was a possibility- No. Don’t. You were there. There’s no way- no point in hoping. Even so, Randall saw little use in fighting the conclusion.

            He had to go back to Akbadain.

            That was a fact that Randall couldn’t deny. Alive or not, Hershel was still down there, and that would not do. He deserved better than that.

.--.-..-..-.--. 

            The rest of the funeral continued… Randall assumed. He was fairly checked out of everything at this point. It was fine, this was a normal reaction to what was happening. Maybe, Randall didn’t know.

            All the adults were once again in their little social circles, some people were leaving. Must be over then. Angela gave an apologetic wave as her parents pulled her away. Dalston still stuck around though. Not that any of the three boys-nearly men had anything to say. The silence was heavy, it would take so much effort to think of what to say and then to actually say it out loud- it was just easier not to speak.

            Silence was a large part of the new way of things. Randall kept swinging back and forth on how he felt about it. It was a wonderful relief, an endless torture. A comfort to not have to say anything, a torture to be unable to let the words out. A blessed-

            Dalston had left. Randall’s observational skills were suffering far more than he had originally thought. Still, Henry was there. He always was. Randall looked over to him, and with a brief moment of eye contract and an exchange of expressions, Henry seemed to understand. He turned to follow Randall’s lead as they left.

            While walking on the road home, Randall found his words again. “Why are you still here? With me, I mean. Not that I don’t appreciate it.” He knew he had been taking Henry for granted. Randall took it as a fact of life. The sky was blue, water was wet, and Henry was there for him. But how could he? After what he did. “I got Hershel killed.” No matter how many times Randall thought that sentence in his mind, it still stung with the same ferocity from when the thought first occurred to him.

            It seemed the statement rattled Henry as well. “Master Randall,” He started, clearly dealing with conflicting emotions. “Make no mistake, what happened was a terrible tragedy. However… I will not abandon you. I believed in you then, I believe in you now and will continue to do so. You’ll find your way.” There was a small smile on Henry’s face, hope and pity in equal measure.

            Randall was floored. “Thank you, Henry,” came out breathlessly. Randall didn’t have the confidence that Henry had. The guilt was so heavy and burrowed itself deep in Randall. He still felt so lost, as if he was still trying to navigate those ruins, still searching for the exit. “I don’t know what I’d do if I had to do this alone.”

            “I feel the need to express the same sentiment. I don’t know what I- what we would have done if you didn’t return. Both of us just wanted you both to return safely. We feared the worst.” Henry quietly said, balancing a tightrope with his choice of words.

            “I know… I know. I wish-” Randall couldn’t just pick just one wish. Infinite moments of regret where any other choice at any point would have been better. “I’m just so tired,” was the selfish sentiment he landed at. Of course he felt burdened and overwhelmed. He was responsible and he just needed to learn how to carry it. He had to carry it, otherwise that would be a waste. Everyone had been right about him. Flighty, reckless, impulsive, selfish, narrow-minded, thoughtless

            “I’ve been telling you to get more sleep, you know.” There was a bite in Henry’s voice that usually didn’t make an appearance that snapped Randall from the mire of self-loathing. Upon reflection, it was closer to light teasing but that was even more rare.

            Home was in sight now, “How about this? I’ll take a nap or something if you take your own advice. I know you haven’t been sleeping either.” Henry looked away at the last statement, they both knew it was true.

            Henry had the common sense to agree to Randall’s proposal. “I can certainly try, Master Randall.” Randall almost believed him. Probably as much as Henry believed him. Still, it would give Randall the chance to enact the plan that he had been brewing.

            First step was the waiting. Randall didn’t even bother trying to sleep. Puzzles were a good way to pass the time. While waiting for night to fall, Randall fiddled around with an old sliding puzzle. One that he had solved years before but couldn’t remember the solution to. It gave his fingers something to do and took enough brain power to muffle the feelings and thoughts. Henry came by some time later to call Randall for dinner but upon returning to his room, almost immediately any memory or detail of the meal vanished. All that mattered was that Randall was almost done with his waiting.

            The sun had set, the moon was beginning to rise, and Randall snuck out of the house through his bedroom window.

.--.-..-..-.--. 

            Thankfully, Randall didn’t run into anyone on the way there. Night had fallen and the moon was nearly full and bright. It was a pleasant night and there was the quiet rustling of leaves from a light breeze. The moonlight and the branches of trees created a scattered pattern of shadows on the ground. Randall loved nights like these, with summer creeping around the corner, the temperature almost perfect. Still a bit chilly at the moment.

            It felt so clean when he arrived at his destination. The grass was still stomped flat from everyone gathered from earlier, the flowers laid were still fresh and pristine, and the stone was smooth and precisely carved. Frozen remnants of the event, sure, but soon it was going to be all that was left.

            No one had said anything, but everyone knew. The Laytons were going to leave Stansbury. Too many memories. They were going to pack up everything they had of Hershel’s and take it far away from this place. All Stansbury was going to have was the marker that he had died. A mere marker, it wasn’t even where he fell, and it certainly wasn’t where Hershel was. Hershel wasn’t here, but this is where Randall went. This is where he could be alone and speak aloud to the one person he wanted to see more than anything.

            Sitting next to the tombstone, back resting on rock and tree root, Randall took a deep breath. “Hey Hershel. I… I really hope you aren’t listening. But if you are, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for everything. I’m sorry that I brought us to Akbadain. I’m sorry that I didn’t notice the trap, I’m sorry I couldn’t hold on, I’m sorry that I even found the mask to start with, I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you, I’m sorry that I’m such a terrible friend, I’m so sorry, Hershel. Also… sorry for zoning out during the funeral. And… wow, I’m not good at any of this.” Randall could feel his cheeks getting red and filled with such genuine emotion, even though he was just talking to himself.

            “I should say that you were right. About how dangerous it was. What was I thinking? That just the two of us armed with just our wits and shovels could make it all the way to the heart of ancient ruins filled with deadly traps?” He sighed, hardly believing that was a sentiment he had believed, full-heartedly.

            “You know, this is the part where you say, ‘I told you so’ and look disappointed. You deserve that, at least. Well, you deserve a lot more than that. Everyone’s really heartbroken about you, you know. You were- You’re a good man, Hershel.” Slowly, Randall grew more comfortable, spilling out the things on his mind a bit more cohesively.

            “I don’t know how many times you saved my life that day. So much happened, I’m not sure I could count them all. It’s thanks to you that I’m even here at all. If I had been the one who didn’t come back… I can’t even imagine, for obvious reasons. I don’t think anyone would blame you. You did everything you could to make sure both of us would come back. What happened is my fault.

            “And since that’s the case, I need to make things right. I’m going to find you, Hershel. No doubt about that. Though I’m afraid it might take a while. I’m not going back there unprepared. I know I’m asking you to trust me, which might be hard after all this, but I do promise you that. I swear that I will not take my last breath until I know where you are.”

Chapter Text

            Angela took a deep breath and opened the mailbox. There was a singular envelope inside, which she quickly grabbed and flipped over to see if it was the one she had been waiting for. It took only a moment to confirm that yes, it was, and Angela ripped it open without a second thought.

            She almost pulled out the letter before taking a moment to think if this is when and where she wanted to read it. Angela didn’t want to be with her parents, that’s why she checked the mail multiple times a day including Sundays. Angela was exhausted dealing with them. She could put up with their old-fashioned values and disappointment in her life choices most of the time, but lately they were becoming truly unbearable. Angela spent many mornings glaring at her eggs while the same old speeches and tirades played out.

            This particular morning was a classic, why archeology was awful and terrible, and no one should study it. They didn’t say that, of course. They were just concerned for Randall. After all, it was hard to find jobs in that field outside of academia. Not to mention how difficult it was to get funding for dig sites. Even beyond all that, it was dangerous work with very little reward. What could be learnt from long gone savage civilizations? That’s not how progress is made. Look at what happened to-

            It stops being subtle after a certain point.  

            Angela couldn’t really bring herself to argue or talk back. This was nothing new, even before what happened to Hershel. Besides, with graduation and university on the horizon, it was just easier to run out the clock.

            Speaking of university, there was still the matter of the letter. Angela didn’t want to be alone when she read it, but her usual desired company could be hard to find nowadays. Her and her girl friends were already beginning to drift apart, things had been awkward with Dalston for years, Randall was still grounded, and she didn’t want to get him in more trouble, and Henry- wait. Henry might be available; he was usually in town running various errands. With a destination in mind, Angela headed for the busy part of town.

            On her way, she tried to take it all in. No matter the news from this particular letter, she wasn’t staying after graduation. Most of her classmates weren’t and Randall already got his acceptance letter from Gressenheller. The assumption was that Angela was also London-bound. Which was true, though not a lot of people seemed to understand that it wasn’t just because of her boyfriend. Her parents were such people, approving but still completely misunderstanding things.

            She was tired of all the assumptions, though her assumption about where Henry was turned out to be right on the money. He had an armful of groceries, and it took only a moment for him to notice her. They stepped off the main path, both out of politeness for everyone else and habit from all their other meetings.

            “Good morning,” Henry greeted. “Is there something you needed-” He began to ask but halted as she pulled out the envelope and showed it to him.

            “I didn’t want to find out alone,” Angela explained. She didn’t miss the look of confusion on Henry’s face. He probably assumed that Randall would have been her first choice for this. That aside, she turned her attention to the matter at hand.

            Carefully she pulled the letter out of the envelope and unfolded it. Trying to read it was a mess, barely looking at the greeting, skimming for the important part, skimming too fast and missing it, ending up at the signature at the bottom, back up the to the top and looking for those few key words- with great pleasure we offer you admission to- there they were!

            “I did it, I got in!” Angela’s grin was so wide it almost hurt but she was way too happy to care.

            “Congratulations.”

            “Thank you, this is- I really needed some good news.” While Angela had already received an acceptance letter from her backup school, this letter was from her first choice, Addenwell. Right in the heart of London, with a fantastic business program. Now she could start making real plans. As much as she regretted recent events, there was only the future and Angela planned to take it by the horns and have it play by her rules.

            Henry nodded, “I’m sure Master Randall would be glad to hear of it as well.”

            “Do you mind telling him?” Angela asked. She felt a little bad using Henry as a messenger, but it was Saturday, and she wouldn’t be able to see Randall until Monday at school.

            “I do not mind in the least,” Henry answered, always accommodating, “and as much I enjoy your company…”

            “Of course, don’t let me keep you.” She had interrupted his shopping, after all. Watching him walk away after such a brief conversation gave Angela the strangest feeling. Months from now, she and Randall would be learning in London and Henry would still be here, keeping up with his regular routines and duties. It seemed a bit sad from her perspective.

While Henry was technically a servant of the Ascot household, everyone knew that his loyalty laid with Randall. Helping with Randall’s departure and hearing him talk excitedly about Gressenheller must be agony. Though Angela knew that Henry wouldn’t have it any other way.

That was something that he and Randall shared that Angela was frankly jealous of. They both were so self-assured and firmly decided in their paths in life. Dalston was the same, though he was probably the loudest about it. Angela cared for them all deeply, but a small nagging annoyance would crop up whenever they spoke of their future plans so assuredly. It seemed a bit unfair that they didn’t have to struggle the way she did.

Though, she hadn’t been the only one who felt that way. And as much as she tried to avoid thinking about him, this whole situation brought her thoughts back to Hershel. She would’ve enjoyed telling him about her acceptance letter. There was his grave, she knew Randall visited sometimes, but it didn’t feel right to her.

Once again, she looked down at her letter. With a bit of grim amusement, Angela realized that Hershel was probably receiving acceptance letters too. He had been so stressed picking which universities to apply to. With little resistance, Angela let her thoughts take her to one of the first times that they had talked about that sort of thing.

.--.-..-..-.--.

            It was too hot to be outside, but Angela was there anyway. Though the sun felt amazing on her skin, it didn’t take long for her to get sweaty. No wonder the streets were deserted, everyone either holed up inside or away on holiday. It was like walking through a ghost town where she was the only person around as far as the eye could see.

            Angela relished the feeling of being alone. It wasn’t her normal preference, but right now it was refreshing. There was nowhere she needed to be, so Angela put no thought into the direction her feet were taking her. Though the sun was definitely influencing her decision as she found herself heading towards the woods, finding some semblance of shade and a familiar face.

            Hershel was sitting in a particularly darker nook, reading a book. Must have been pretty interesting, since he didn’t notice Angela yet. This wasn’t one of his usual haunts, so Angela’s curiosity was piqued.

            She kept her footsteps quiet as she approached, wondering how long it would be before he noticed her. It turned out the answer was not until she was standing right over him before he looked up.

            “Angela!” Poor Hershel was completely startled, “I didn’t see you there. What are you doing out here?”

            “I could ask you the same thing. It’s positively boiling, even in the shade, and you’re still bundled up.” She sat down next to him and took a quick peek at his book. Wasn’t a title she recognized but was pretty sure it was fantasy.

            “Bundled up?” He tilted his head, sounding amused, “You make it sound as if I’m wearing a coat and gloves.”

            Angela snorted, “You’re wearing long sleeves in this heat! How are you not burning up right now?”

            “Clearly, I am cold-blooded and got tired of basking in the sun all day.” That got an almost-laugh from Angela. Hershel’s sarcasm always caught her off-guard since it rarely came around and the change in his tone was easy to miss.

            “But really,” she insisted, “what are you doing out here? The dirt can’t be that comfortable.”          

            Hershel merely sighed, getting distracted some wayward thought. As least Angela assumed, it took some effort to read past his general polite demeanor. When they were first getting to know each other, Angela thought it was just a front for strangers and adults. Her confidence in her insight was based on how well she knew her own friends. It turned out to be misplaced since her social circle mainly consisted of people she knew before she could walk. Though after a few years, Angela was now once again confident in her assessments.

            “I just… needed some space.” He vaguely answered. That clinched it, something was bothering him. Though in Angela’s experience, that phrase usually came up after having an argument with someone. For the life of her, she couldn’t picture Hershel getting into that kind of situation. In fact, she couldn’t imagine him getting upset or angry at all. Exasperated, mildly irritated, vaguely annoyed, yes, she’d seen those. But genuine ire or fury? The idea was laughable, Hershel didn’t have a mean bone in his body.

            Still, she had to ask. “Was it Dalston? Because if he’s being annoying again, I’ll give him a piece of my mind.”

            “No, not at all. I was just… it’s nothing.” Hershel’s hasty denial was followed by a long pause, probably him deciding whether or not to tell her. Angela kept quiet, being pushy would just get him to clam up. Her patience was rewarded when he dog-eared the current page in his book and closed it shut. “Just discussing with my parents… future possibilities.”

            “Future possibilities? You mean university?” Angela asked, “I bet you can get in anywhere with your grades.”

            Hershel flushed a little at the praise, “Oh, well in any case… there’s a lot of options. Haven’t quite decided yet.” He shifted his gaze away from her.

            Angela rolled her eyes, “Randall’s been pressuring you about Gressenheller again, hasn’t he?”

            “A little,” Hershel admitted, “He’s not wrong though, it’s a really good school, even with its… focus.”

            Angela understood where Randall was coming from, but unfortunately her boyfriend had the subtlety of a peacock in a snowstorm. As much as she also wanted their little group to stick together, it wasn’t something any of them could force.

            She leaned towards him, their shoulders touching. “But what do you want? What do you want to study?” Angela was genuinely curious, she’s heard him talk about a variety of subjects in casual conversation, but she couldn’t pinpoint his favorite for certain.

            “… I don’t know.” Hershel sounded tired, like this was a conversation he’s had too many times already. She was willing to be this was the heart of the issue. “I never really thought about it, and I don’t know how to think about it. I imagine that sounds rather odd, doesn’t it?”

            Angela shook her head, “It doesn’t seem odd at all. I haven’t thought much about it either. I’ve just been fighting to get out of Stansbury. You’ve heard me complain about it before, but my parents don’t think I’ll ever get a job… except as a wife.” She sighed, the nasty feelings flaring up inside her. But this conversation wasn’t about her, Angela knew that, and tried to turn it back around, “They’re more old fashioned than you.”

            “Old fashioned?” Hershel looked indignant. “I’ll have you know I’m with the times.”

            That evoked instant laughter from Angela, “‘With the times’?” She quoted between giggles, “What book did you pick that phrase up from?”

            Hershel looked a bit bashful, but Angela knew that she hadn’t truly offended him. Which allowed her to continue, “But in all seriousness, do you want to know what I think?” Angela turned so they were making direct eye contact. She waited until he nodded, “I can see you being a teacher.”

            Hershel seemed a touch uneasy at her declaration. Angela understood. There was something surreal about someone telling you what they think of you. What they assume and gather about your character from their observations. “What makes you say that?” He asked, seemingly intrigued by the notion. “You know I’m not… the best at dealing with people.”

            At that Angela had to sigh, boys were blind to the simplest of facts somethings. “I have to respectfully disagree.” She has had this thought for a little while now. It was just little things she noticed, but this was the conclusion her gut feeling led her. And if she learned anything from Randall, it was to follow her instincts, that first thought. “You’re sharp and love learning, you’re a good listener, and have a large well of patience. Of course, that’s just my opinion. I think you would be great at whatever you decide to do. But it has to be what you decide, not what anyone else says. Even what Randall says.”

            He dropped his gaze, finding his shoes fascinating for some mysterious reason. “I know. I just… can’t bring myself to do it. I don’t want to make the wrong choice.” Hershel looked so downcast that Angela thought about putting her hand on his shoulder, some physical reassurance. The words she had been relying on had dwindled out. There wasn’t much she could do to help, after all, her mind stuck in a very similar place.

            Well, at least they could be confused and undecided together.

.--.-..-..-.--. 

             Memory lane was not the nicest place Angela decided. Exhausting was what it was. Important, but draining.

            She wasn’t quite ready to tell her parents the good news, but there was plenty of the day left to unwind as best she could.  

.--.-..-..-.--. 

            Taking one last glance at the mirror, Angela brushed a few stray hairs out of her eyes. Then her eye caught the picture on the corner of her dresser. A stiff family photo at first glance, but Angela knew better. Her smile in that photo was genuine, trying to hide a laugh from a joke her brother told before the camera went off.

            Turning away, Angela felt a small yank. With a sigh, she tugged at the hair that had gotten caught in her necklace’s clasp. Well, ‘clasp’ and ‘necklace’ were rather generous terms for the improvisation around her neck. She still had the coin that Randall had given her before he went to Akbadain. Neither of them had the nerve to bring it up afterwards, there were more important things.

            Angela kept it, even though she didn’t always have a pocket to put it in. Like today, it was threaded by a ribbon tied with a messy (but secure) knot. She felt it was important to keep it close for this event. Finally, after the slog of the past few months, she and most of her friends were graduating.

            It was the end of many things, like Randall’s punishment, and the beginning of many, many more. Excitement was the dominant feeling, tempered by uncertainty and bittersweetness.

            As soon as she left her room, Angela was caught up in the rush and the hustle and bustle of the ceremony. It felt as though she simply blinked and was surrounded by all of her classmates, and subsequently swept up in conversation.

            Things ran relatively smoothly, some small hiccups but nothing disastrous. Everyone who was supposed to be there was present and – oh. It was strange how these feelings came and went. Angela was still excited, but she did miss her friend with a matching intensity.

            Hershel had promised to look out for Randall, and Randall had promised that everything would be fine in turn. She just had to trust them. Her brother promised similar things.

            They had all turned out to be liars drunk on confidence. Her brother thought those structures would hold steady. Hershel thought he was safe, caution being his friend. Randall thought there wasn’t a puzzle he couldn’t solve.

            Angela hated those ancient long dead peoples that intrigued them so. She hated her brother for leaving, hated Randall for rushing after in his footsteps.

            She hated herself. She had asked Hershel to go.

            Even if I hadn’t said anything, he still would have gone. 

            Angela didn’t know what to do with that thought. It was a comfort only to her, and she had no idea if it was true. It wasn’t like she could ask. She hoped that Hershel could forgive her. She didn’t think she could forgive herself.

Chapter Text

Firth brushed the crumbs out of his beard as he finished with his sandwich. Getting up, he took a handful of steps out of the kitchen and peeked around the corner. He didn’t see anything except the hasty piles of stuff taken out of the guest room piled up in the hallway, the door to said guest room still shut. 

Since he wasn’t the nosy sort, Firth turned right back around. He wanted to give his guest as much privacy as possible, it would be rude to eavesdrop. Also maybe illegal, something about doctor-patient confidentiality or other. Heading back into his kitchen, Firth started preparing another sandwich. Surely his guest would appreciate having something to eat after the check-up. 

That is, assuming the lad had an appetite. Firth didn’t know him well enough to guess. It had only been almost a month since Firth had fished the unexpected houseguest from the river. Strange day, that was. 

.--.-..-..-.--.

Firth had been going upriver for some actual fishing when he spotted a stream of red flowing in the water. There wasn’t anything to obscure his view, so he had quickly spotted the person-shaped source. He dropped his gear and rushed over. As Firth got closer, with relief, he noticed a dark head of hair on the riverbank not in the water.

Arriving at the person, Firth learned several things in short succession. There was a pulse, the blood in the water was from one of the person’s legs, and their hair was soaked in red as well. Firth dragged them out of the water completely and did whatever half-remembered first aid he knew. With the fervor and energy of a younger man, Firth ran back to the heart of Craggy Dale hollering and making a ruckus. 

In short order a cart and horse were arranged, the doctor called, and Firth managed to catch his breath in-between giving directions to where he had found the injured person. When not relying on foot travel, the back-and-forth trip took barely any time in comparison. Without missing a beat, the stranger was brought in for immediate care. 

Firth didn’t even want to think about what might have happened if he hadn’t been there. Even so, it had been touch and go for several frightening moments. Though in the end, the newcomer pulled through and was on the mend. He no longer needed constant care but wasn’t well enough to move under his own power. 

Firth was the first to volunteer his home as space for the injured man to finish his recovery. It seemed like the right thing to do to follow through. Firth wasn’t used to having houseguests, but he had no complaints about this one. At first, the guest spent most hours of the day sleeping which was easy to deal with. When the lad was awake, he was pleasant enough company and the pair of them had started to fall into some form of routine. 

.--.-..-..-.--.

With the sandwich quickly constructed, there wasn’t much for Firth to do at the moment. He could do something about the dust being highlighted by the blinding afternoon sun, or the absolute mess in the hallway, but he didn’t see anything worth worrying about. It wasn’t too much longer until the doctor came out of the guest room. Firth tried to read her expression for any clues but found nothing. He should have known better; he had lost dozens of pounds to that poker face over the years. 

So, it was on him to ask, “Anything new?”

The doctor sighed, a moment to compose her thoughts, “Not at the moment. I still insist on strict bedrest for the foreseeable future. Not ideal, but do try to keep him busy.” 

“He’s been tearing through all the books I’ve got.” Firth was certain that the young man would get bored before too long, if he wasn’t already. Though he probably wouldn’t bring it up. Firth hadn’t heard him complain much if at all so far.  

She nodded, “It does seem like his mental faculties have improved by leaps and bounds since his arrival.”

“Speaking of… any idea about-” Firth slowly tried to ask, and the doctor was quick on the draw. It was the elephant in the room, the reason that Firth couldn’t refer to his guest by name. 

“As for his memory… at this point, it’s entirely out of our hands. We’ve passed the normal recovery period for that type of disorientation and there aren’t any signs of improvement. Additionally, we don’t have the resources or information to introduce familiar stimuli. Outside of extreme fortune and circumstance, I don’t think it’s something that’ll return to him.” She spoke with a practiced tone, calm and sympathetic, even in the face of unpleasant news

Firth grimaced, “That’s awful, he’s lost just about everything but the clothes on his back.” Not that those were any better shape, torn up and considered unpresentable by some.

“On that note, before I came here, I stopped by the Samsons’.”

“They just had their second kid, right? What does that have to do with anything?” 

“Well, they were kind enough to let me borrow the list they compiled when coming up with names. Even if it doesn’t remind him of anything, it should at least get the patient’s gears turning, give him some ideas.” 

Firth nodded, “That’s good. And he has plenty of time to think about it. Sure he’ll be out the door as soon as he’s able. Might as well get that sorted out first.” 

“Are you sure about that?” Her doubt was so strong it looped back into certainty.

“Nothing a young man hates more than being stuck in a small town.” The clearly subjective statement was said as if it had the authority of a fact. 

“Speaking from experience, are you?” She raised an eyebrow, and Firth just huffed in response. Sparing a glance down the hall, the doctor’s expression grew concerned, “Even so, where would he go?” 

“Why would he stay?” Firth countered. 

The doctor shrugged, and turned towards the door, “I’ll come back in… two days? Though of course if anything changes…”

“You got it. Thanks, doc.” 

“Of course.” 

.--.-..-..-.--.

After successfully navigating the hallway of hazards without dropping the plate, Firth knocked on the door. Barely a moment until there was an answer of, “Come in.” 

Opening the door, Firth saw an increasingly familiar sight. Half sitting up, half propped up by pillows was a young man. Age unclear, a few years on either side of adulthood was the best estimate. His brow was furrowed in his usual expression of concentration, focused on the sheet of paper in his hand. 

Firth set the sandwich down on the little bedside table, on top of the pile of books. “How are you feelin’?” 

Firth’s guest gave a polite smile, “A little tired, but as well as I can be, thank you.” He broke eye contact and turned his gaze back to the paper. The smile crumpled immediately, weighted down by troubled thoughts. Firth wished he could help more, he swore his guest hadn’t relaxed once. When he first arrived, the lad’s struggle was for consciousness and lucidity. Now that those troubles had faded and the damage done was known, the sky was the limit of things for him to wonder and worry about. 

“Anything catch your eye?” Firth leaned over to take a look for himself. It was a decent sized list, though the overall theme was painfully obvious. 

“Not immediately.” The guest answered, then muttered, “They all are a bit…” He hesitated on the adjective he wanted to choose.

Firth had no such hesitation. “Boring?” 

“…Traditional.” Was what the younger man more charitably settled on. 

“I mean,” Firth began to suggest, “you don’t hafta pick any of them. You could even just make something up. There’s no rush.”

“I know, but I would like to be called something sooner rather than later.”

“Something it is then!” Firth teased. 

His guest sputtered, “That’s not what I meant, and you know it!”

“At least you have plenty of time to think it over.”

“Yes,” He clearly was not comforted by that at all. “Almost too much time to sit and think.” The statement was accompanied by a pointed look towards his bandaged injuries. A darker look crossed his face, and his irritation took on a sadder, more somber undertone. “It’s not like I’ll get any new ideas, and the ideas I do have are… not enough.” 

“Ideas? Like what?” Firth tried to encourage him. 

He spoke very carefully, afraid to be sure of anything, “I…I don’t think I had a common name. And it was soft?”

“Soft?” 

“Like it had soft sounds. Maybe a th or a sh? Never mind, I’m not making any sense. It’s nothing I can prove, it’s just feelings.” He was growing withdrawn again, Firth noticed. 

“How you feel about it is the only thing that matters.” 

“But I… I don’t want to be wrong.” The hesitation pulled at Firth’s heartstrings. The young man was clearly overwhelmed, and Firth didn’t know the best way to help. Nobody did, it was an unusual situation all around. 

“It’s kind of impossible for you to get this right.” Firth pointed out, “Don’t be unfair to yourself.” 

“But there is a right answer!” The insistence was louder than intended, so was followed by an apology and a quieter voice, “Sorry, but there is a solution to this puzzle.” 

Firth wanted to argue that literally having no clues or hints made it an impossible puzzle but knew that wasn’t the point. “Yeah but losing sleep over it ain’t going to help you now. Mystery’s not going anywhere, and neither are you.”

From the man in bed’s body language, he seemed to concede though with an air of dissatisfaction and stubbornness. He looked at the list once more and swapped it out for the sandwich after barely a moment. 

.--.-..-..-.--.

“I think I’ve decided.” The sudden announcement had little context, but it wasn’t needed. It was clear to Firth what his guest had decided. 

Again, Firth wanted to affirm, “Sure you aren’t rushing into it?”

Firth was met with a look of pure rejection. But his expression changed after a moment, something less forceful and more determined.  

“Just be clear, I don’t think it’s the name I had.” The disclaimer was a bit disappointing to hear, but Firth was just happy to finally stop thinking about roundabout ways to refer to the person in front of him. “It feels like… like I knew someone with that name.”

“What kind of someone?” Firth asked, trying to get more details, “Friend? Family?” 

The response was a very noncommittal shrug that belied an internal tiredness. Firth was at the point that he was now able to differentiate between his guest’s external and internal ills. This was the existential tiredness from the young man being haunted by a past he could not remember. This haunting would not leave for a long time, if ever. 

“So…”

With an air of formality, reaching out his good hand to shake, the young man introduced himself, “Theodore.” 

Following traditional etiquette, Firth shook his hand. Mind you, he was careful with the still very injured Theodore. “Well, very nice to make your acquaintance, Theodore.” 

End of Act I