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Once Luke has gotten used to Clive sleeping over at their hotel room, he asks for him to stay again. Layton tells him that the man would no doubt be more comfortable back in his own quarters rather than sharing a room with the two of them, but Luke has a good point that it’s more convenient for him to stay nearby to help them with their investigation.
After some thought, Clive agrees to stay a few more nights with them before going back to his own place and Luke cheers.
Layton tells Luke to stay at the hotel and take a break while he does his own investigating in the evening. Luke argues against this, but his feet are small and tire more easily than the older man’s do, and so he must concede and give in to rest. Clive is asked to take care of him until Layton returns.
The spotlights outside are beginning to dim, tinted red like a sunset falling into darkness, and Clive settles down into what was Layton’s bed with his arms behind his head. That man is a gentleman in every sense, some might even say much too polite, and takes to sleeping in the armchair so that the bed is free. The other one goes to Luke.
But Luke is not interested in his own bed and climbs onto that which is now Clive’s, crawls up close to him and peers into his face.
Clive gives him a confused little smile, wondering what it is that he is up to. Luke rests on his knees and looks at him up close. The man is so much bigger than Luke in every way, so much taller, leaner and more angular, and handsome while Luke is still considered a cute little boy.
Luke has remarked on these traits more than once. It is flattering certainly, but none of these things have made Clive any happier. He does not take any pride in being bigger and stronger than a child. Luke will someday grow up too. He will not look like Clive. He will not act like him either. There is nothing to look at in Clive and to hope for.
Clive’s smile fades watching his wide-eyed stare. Luke looks like him when he was a child. Almost exactly. It is unsettling to look at an unruined and enthusiastic little Clive. What he could have been had his life been different.
And he lies there, like some adult version of Luke from another world where his life is wretched. Passing himself off as the future version of someone he will never be, who will never be him. Who will never understand him and whom he will never truly understand.
Every person is a bad week away from turning into someone like himself, Clive sometimes thinks. But some people are more resilient than others. Maybe he is weak. Maybe he is at times stupid. Maybe he just can’t control the urge to destroy anymore.
He looks at Luke’s huge eyes which swallow all light, much like his own, and desperately hopes Luke will be spared. He resents Luke for having what he could never have. Within Clive lives the desire to crush this boy like an insect, as was done to him. But at the same time, he would give up his own miserable, worthless life for this innocent child to not go through what he has. Knowing he doesn’t deserve such cruelty, Clive will never say a word about his horrible thoughts. It’s not the boy’s fault.
Clive’s emotions are muddled. There is something inside him which wants to be better but it is impossible to reach, buried so deep down. Surrounded by an ocean of hate.
“What is it, Luke?” He finally asks.
He’s somewhere between annoyance and amusement as a long moment has passed where Luke has stared at him in silence.
“I,” says Luke. “Well. I wanted to talk to you about something. You probably already know what it is. And I know you can’t tell me much about the future, but it’s important.”
Clive tenses and prepares himself. There is no future which he knows about. There is no future to spoil by talking about it. There is only now.
“Can you elaborate?”
Luke sits down on the bed, with his back facing Clive and plays with the bedsheets, gripping them in his fist.
“It’s that… I’m moving away. And the professor will stay in London. We won’t be able to go on adventures together anymore.” Luke’s voice trembles. “I’m just… He seems so calm about it. He said our friendship will last forever. That it doesn’t matter. But I will miss him so.”
“Ah, yes,” Clive says. “That situation.”
He pretends that he already knew.
“Please, Big Luke,” Luke turns around and says. He bites at his lip, eyes shining. “Will we really be okay? Will I truly see him again?”
Clive blinks at him, frowns, thinks about what to say.
“If you’re the future me and the Professor separated from you when he became evil, then I,” Luke says, breathing heavily. “I won’t see him again, will I? Our friendship will be lost forever.”
He curls into himself and a sob escapes.
“Luke, you can’t think that way,” says Clive, sitting up. “We are on our way to stop the evil Professor not only to save the city, but because we care about him too. We are still friends. We will always be friends. And somewhere inside him, he still remembers you and misses you as well.”
Luke cries and tries to be quiet but choked hiccups bubble out of him.
Clive reaches out a hand to touch at Luke’s shoulder but hesitates. He looks at him. Luke is so, so small. He has almost no shoulder at all.
Clive feels evil. Completely evil.
He is the devil.
He finally closes the distance, grasps Luke’s shoulder, and tries to stop the boy’s trembling with the simple force of his grip.
“You must believe me,” Clive continues, spinning dust into a dream. “The Professor and you will meet again. The separation will not be forever. You will see… When I.”
He thinks about Layton.
How he collected scraps of newspaper articles on the man from the archive in which he worked.
How he remembered his face, that top hat, that calm look in his eyes.
“When I meet him. He and I will make amends.”
Luke finally twists around and looks at him, crying weakly.
He grasps at the man’s hand. His eyes bore into Clive’s, wanting to believe.
Wanting, more than anything.
“He and I will be friends again,” says Clive.
These words flow out of him as does water from the well of truth, like the gift of prophecy thrown down in a bolt of thunder. They seem almost as if they come from another place, making him shiver.
Clive wants to believe them, but knows that he can’t, that he shouldn’t. After all, they came out of him.
He remembers Layton holding him in his arms all those years ago.
He couldn’t feel the man’s warmth from the shock of it all, the mindbending fear. All he can remember is his own screaming and struggling, the cacophony of people fleeing, the light of the flames, and those arms around him like shackles, like chains, like the most protective of cages.
Warmth is what he feels from Luke’s hand now and he squeezes it tightly.
The truth is that he has no doubt that Layton and the real Luke’s friendship will never end.
But there is no hope for him. Clive knows what he will do. And despite that, he still wants to believe his own lies. Wants to believe that he will destroy everything and that at the end of it all, Layton will someday smile at him again.
It is completely and utterly impossible.
“You must trust me.”
“Big Luke,” says Luke. He can barely speak, with his voice so cracked. He seems resigned to the destiny which Clive has foretold. “Th– Thank you.”