Laney Triton was driving. Driving down memory lane figuratively and literally.

Laney Triton was returning to her childhood home — where she learned how to walk, read, talk, discovered her talent with animals, and so, so very much more. Where she met the Professor. Where she learned to be brave. Adventurous. Where she spent copious hours cooped up in the living room corner with her mother, cuddling and watching as she peacefully read. The sun trickling through the windows and the frost decal reflecting the sun shining through into numerous rays of light which lit up the room like no lamp ever could.

The fair haired lady was two parts reasonably nervous and another too hopeful.

Laney Triton was returning to her childhood home but without her family. She had missed her chance. No, she thinks to herself, there had never really been one in the first place. Her mother wouldn't have wanted to return — she never liked the house after Desmond had held her hostage within its premises. Laney's father felt that it reminded him of…Laney didn't know…of lacking? That the proud man had had to call his old friend and not out of choice but because he was threatened with the safety of his wife and child. A child who'd suddenly receded into her chambers without a word and couldn't be coaxed out. All troubling behaviour. It was an…insecure period of time when he was supposed to be at his peak, mayor of the town with a lovely sub-urban home, a wife and kid, in his thirties.

Laney Triton was returning to her childhood home but it would be very much unlike her childhood home. The furniture would be different. The post office box would not have the letters Triton attached. The same paintings and quilts would not decorate the walls. Maybe even the kitchen…? Would the kettle be electric and not stove? Her childhood home would no longer be private. No. She would be sharing it with local young folk who paid rent and roomed with one another. Laney Triton supposed that the house that harboured all her memories could have done much worse for itself than become a boarding house for young adults and adolescents.

And she was also finally there. To the place that only lived on in her head until this very moment. Laney Triton was not prepared for disappointment but regardless of her lack of preparation, disappointed she was when she drove past the gate into the residential parkway. She stayed in the car, unmoving, and then began to gather her belongings all packed in a tight, leather suitcase the Professor had gifted her. Laney supposed that she had held too high of expectations. That no matter how long nor much she'd thought she'd talked herself down it hadn't been enough. The house looked in perfectly good condition. The letters Triton no longer on the post office box, just as she'd predicted. But she didn't feel fond nor nostalgic. Didn't feel old sparks of curiosity.

No.

She felt that she shouldn't have come.

There was a rap at the automobile's window, "Excuse me? Evenin' are you Laney Triton? Otherwise I'll have to ask you not to park here and whatnot, private property and all,"

Seems the residents were expecting her. She turned while opening the car door, "Hi, yes, my name is Laney. It's nice to meet you…Cr—"

Without the AC of her car the humid heat came over her suddenly. The air was thick and difficult to breathe. The lampposts were lit and the stars out, and so despite the darkness Laney could recognize, or at least she thought she'd been able to, the young man who'd greeted her. It hit her that the converse hadn't been true for the oppositely standing ash blonde, who'd asked her if she was, indeed, Laney Triton.

"Christopher Rowen, hello, nice to meet you,"

Original, Laney thought, sarcastically.

"You don't look well…?"

"Just a bit tired. It's been a long drive, long day, and I just need an equally long nap…it's nice to meet you Rowen,"

Laney was led indoors, baggage in tow. Emotional and physical.

All was quiet, as to be expected by two in the morning. It struck her now that the young man – Crow? Rowen? – had stayed up all night himself to greet and welcome Laney. Within a few steps she heard laughing and coins clattering upon glass and she realised she'd been wrong.

"We're the only ones left…just let me off will you…?"

"Right. That makes total sense, no, it is precisely because we are the only ones left — Chris withstanding, that I have to win and take all the riches for myself,"

"Right…riches…two dollars,"

"Oh bother. Say, when do you think that mouse…"

Beyond that point the conversation had left Laney's range of hearing, but as sure as she was that the sun would come up in the hours to come, she was sure that she was the mouse in question. Nearly all her classmates had been spooked by her pet rodent once upon a time. Rowen made no sound or act that indicated acknowledgement of any such conversation. Laney was led to a room on her right.

"This'll be your room, it may be a little small though, it used to be a s—"

"A study, yes," her father's to be precise, "Thank you Rowen. I believe it's time for us to go to bed, I'll set myself up just fine for the night. Please, have a good night's rest."

Laney was eyed carefully.

"The bed sheets have been placed in advance by Gus so you should be able to rest immediately. Water is on the table, and the bathroom joins you to another one of the kids' rooms, careful to not make too much noise please. Anyhow, you're right, it is late. Pleasant dreams Triton,"

The door was promptly shut, the click of it cold. Laney felt a shiver and her eyes wandered to the windowsill. She'd have to open the curtains after brushing her teeth if she had any hope of waking up come morning. The washroom was just across the hall and as she waltzed in she regretted not taking the time to dig through her baggage for slippers. The floor was unimaginably frigid and it sent a chill up her spine. She brushed to the side the shower curtain and opened the box of fresh toothpaste. The reflection in the mirror spoke volumes to her discomfort as she squeezed out the tube and neatly capped it before placing it back into her shower bag to return to her room. She may have brushed her teeth too fast but the tradeoff between dental hygiene and warm feet seemed worth it at the time. Then scurrying into her beds' sheets, which felt slippery and cold too until they finally warmed up to her body's heat, she struggled for sleep. He didn't remember her.

When Laney awoke it was not to the chirping birds like she'd hoped or previously imagined but to a sharp rapture on wood and a yawn embedded morning call. The fair haired young woman rose and called that she would be down in ten minutes. She was down in twenty but not a soul mentioned her tardiness and she made no move to explain that she'd lain in bed as though mesmerised by the ceiling before finally stumbling into the kitchen where she'd stood awkwardly at the doorway, not knowing how to approach the table for stretched minutes.

She presumed this was a breakfast reserved for special occasions, it was unlikely that all, if not most, of her boarding mates would gather for breakfast every morning or habitually. But, it seemed that that was exactly the case the longer she listened, "Laney, please, sit down," a dark-haired young man gestured eagerly to the seat beside him, "Ts'Marlyin's turn today, usually makes pancakes 'cause they're easy,"

Her left brow nearly reared itself into her hairline at the friendly usage of her first name. She sat down and tuned out the remainder of the conversation until she heard screeching.

"It was all I could do! There wasn't any paper towel!"

"You've done it this time Gus!" Marylin says with gleeful shrill, and the whole table laughs, in on the joke. But she was not. These strangers were so much more comfortable in what was her childhood home than she was. She shivered and stood up to leave, no one said a word. She supposed they didn't have to accommodate her in conversation, but she had been more accustomed to being questioned, to being interesting to the folk who'd never met her, a traveller, a stranger, an outsider.

Once she washed the pretty, white dishes and placed them to dry by the windowsill she left through the side entrance to cut through the bush surrounding this house and onto the roads. She wouldn't be a ten minute walk away from the downtown if she hurried but she was feeling especially slow today so she took her time through the woods and all through the pebble path that was lain beside the paved road and bordering fields of corn. It was sunny enough, with bright clouds and a summer's breeze and for the moment she'd let go of all the work and all the decisions that had to be made. She was carefree, she was skipping, she was waving her arms about and she just imagined if it was raining, oh how lovely that would be! Warm, heavy summer rain! She'd be twirling her umbrella, dancing and kicking at the pooling water. With each passing step she grew more aware of the scenery so different from her childhood: the sweets shoppe gone and replaced with a bike shop, an entirely new plaza, and the old abandoned farm buildings had been finally done away with in the decade she'd disappeared. Little things she wouldn't have noticed if she'd stayed and grown up here but mattered so much now because they made it seem foreign. The feeling of estrangement was so odd to her because usually when she travelled somewhere, she rarely ever returned and settled for so long as she would here, a whole four months. And further, she'd never been so discomforted by change.

A thought struck her in this moment. Why was this so disconcerting? Logically, she'd expected all of this, she'd known that her return would be much like her travels to foreign corners of the world where she knew nothing and no one. There was history here, this town had once been important to her, the only place she knew — her whole world. All that was here now, was a ghost of that. It reminded her of when she'd first properly come back home to her parents at age fourteen and she hadn't found her place back in the household. "Home" made her nervous ever since her parents had seemed oddly discontented with her reappearance. Like the whole she'd once left had already grown back in but scabbed over with scar tissue. If she'd prod at it, it would elicit strange looks and a foreboding of pain associated with the subject at hand. Her skips had long turned into a slow pace. The bustling of the downtown and half-forgotten faces were now lost to her as she grew more worried and her heart rate and breathing quickened. Her walk was fast until a full on run she made a dash towards Adrien's house. Adrien who was sweet as the candy he always gifted her with, Adrien with whom she always snuck out of boring adult gatherings with to traverse the unknown paths of forest floor and canopy. Her elder by two years, he had been a good friend. And the tears welled in her eyes because she could already see it but couldn't stop running towards the familiar blue house by the ravine. After all these years, time had not been kind to it. She could only speculate its likely vacancy from the garden's state and every other boarded window. She still rapped on the door twice, thrice and a couple more times to receive no answer. Adrien was gone too. She collapsed onto the door and slid down to her knees.

What was still here? What remained of her childhood? What was she looking for and why, when would the ache, which felt so much more pronounced in this town, dissipate and leave her in peace, without weight? When would it stop? When did it start?

Laney would never know where her mind would have gone or what she'd have done in the following moments had she not heard a dog's bark.

It was a small, quick sound she could have hallucinated but if she just raised her chin and pushed slightly with her fingers the mail slit in the door she could peer into the house and she swore on every life she'd ever lived she'd seen a paw disappear past the corner of the staircase. She had to get in now. The doorknob rattled but refused to budge when shook, she quickly abandoned the notion and circled the house to the back where she knew there was a balcony. The weeds rose past her knees and scratched her black pantyhose, never quite ripping, but she'd definitely need to replace them. To her left was a boarded window that was otherwise completely open. Trying her luck, the young lady rather easily pried the planks out of the window border, which was held back only by rusty nails.

"Lucky," she whispered under her breath, she was focused on other tasks at hand. She struggled some to lift herself up to the sill and dragged her legs over and onto the otherside. Now inside it was a whole other world. Dusty, disorganised, and largely empty but so familiar it hurt. Sitting on the couch she closed her eyes and imagined her childhood.

When she awoke it seemed to be past noon. She groggily shrugged off the soft, turquoise blanket which rested on her. Later, Laney would wonder where it'd come from but for the time being she continued to sit in silence and feel the cold of the room seep through her skin and remove some of the warm sleep accumulated within her limbs. Her fingers traced the goosebumps and the prickly sensation reminded her this was her body, a sentiment she wasn't wholly aware of. She was dissociating. Disconnecting more, much quicker than she had in London. Maybe that was horrible, that it exacerbated her symptoms but maybe it meant she was on the right track. Laney had found where it hurt most, hit closest to home and now all she had to do was care enough to not hurt herself.

It was dinner by the time her mindless wandering brought her back to the boarding house which had once been home but no longer. She could smell food and hear the sounds of her roommates scuffling. She wasn't hungry. Not for food or companionship at the moment — though she'd grown accustomed to the two being intertwined.

She was longing though. For her home. She felt both rejected by and estranged here, from her past.

She'd always known that travelling in the way she did from a young age would be lonely and cumbersome when she'd grow older and feel the desire for something more stable. Tangible. She'd also known that just as she moved on from one place to another she left people behind never to see them again and she'd made peace with that. She was furthermore comforted by the idea that the people she'd visited moved on in their hearts from their brief acquaintanceship. Laney found that melancholy and nostalgia were her weakness these days.

Perhaps that made this trip more difficult then. Laney had never properly left this quaint town behind, always she'd expected to return. But its inhabitants had said their goodbyes to her long ago.

Laney didn't have the exuberant energy she once did to take on befriending a whole town. She didn't want to force friendship or camaraderie either way. But she would try, she should try and see what happens. Find some work to keep her entertained while she studied, maybe. It would most definitely not be nearly as entertaining as her roommates' work if Crow's family business...had stayed in business, she grinned wryly. The thought of wearing a mask suddenly made sense to her as she remembered the odd costume of the Crows' employees. She was reminded of Descole and Don Paolo who'd both donned masks to not just work or hide their identities but to start new lives. Because they couldn't bear to return home barefaced. Laney sympathized, all she wanted now was to start fresh.

All present problems are rooted in the past, Laney. How far back are you willing to go?

Back to being a nobody. But that wasn't what the Professor had meant, she knew. For hiding behind a new identity — no matter how one did, as Descole or Don Paolo or as Bronev had even, never did do any good. But Laney sympathized. She understood. And she knew that while the Professor hadn't had plastic surgery done, or assumed a new identity, the bright mind had plunged into his studies, his work, in an effort to get away from his old town and into the city. Then, when his wife had passed, the bow-tied chap had done the same again — become an acclaimed academic and moved cities to teach. Laney encountered and learned about all these incredibly intelligent men growing up and she'd seen the pattern, the tells, to know exactly what was happening to her now. Laney was so conscious of her plight, of her current delicacy. But she still didn't know what to do. For all that she'd seen, she knew nothing. For all that she'd read, she still knew nothing. Books mentioned healthy coping mechanisms and mental health but it felt dull and mechanical and as though she needed surgery on her personality. She didn't want to be some villain, some deadbeat, or lonely all her life until, by chance, a stubborn ten year old latched onto her and forced her to, once more, open up. Which sounded more pathetic than the Professor was ever known to be, as a man of character and integrity, but Laney knew that the man lacked passion. Laney would have never realized the fact if it weren't for his wife's brief return to the Professor's life. Her role model had been so much more alive. Hershel Layton had always had meaning but in those days he had a purpose.

Laney didn't think herself stupid, at the very least, for not knowing what to do — how to fix the mess that was now her — when so many bright minds had failed before her. But she feared that she wouldn't become villainous or dispassionate and lonely — just a forgotten failure. A deadbeat. Someone who could have been so much more than she was. And people whisper it too — it's not just in Laney's head.

She fell backwards onto the bed and recalled the funeral of the Professor's old friend, Sean Salowey. Laney remembered the Dean fondly, and while she paid her respects to the family she mentioned off handedly to her granddaughter that Laney would only be a call away if she'd needed help with puzzles. She'd smiled and gratefully accepted, all the while Laney's exhale came out heavy — she'd been so worried, what if she'd taken it wrong? In no world did she want the young woman upset by her words, which had from a place of genuine sincerity and desire to comfort. And it was that moment, while she walked away from the casket she heard the Dean's colleagues. Men she'd literally but not figuratively looked up to as a child. The Professor had commented on her apparent discomfort in their presence.

Men who live and breathe a perfectly normal life, Laney, are content with the silvers of excitement their life has to offer — they are of little interest to those who live and breathe to follow adventure where it goes.

"I thought she'd follow in Layton's footsteps by now, the bird's got the brains and the academic background but what?" one had said,

"Entirely potential but no substance," another added.

Laney felt nauseous — she didn't know why she hesitated to graduate this year and pursue a doctorate. No, she did know. She hadn't wanted to. She wasn't even sure if she wanted to. Her mom thought she'd become a veterinarian given her love and talent for animals. Flora just told her to do what she wanted to do. She didn't know what she wanted to do. That was her problem. She could go into archaeology no problem and like it. She could become a vet and like it. If she succeeded in any career she took — hell, if she just went into business straight away, she'd have enough money to do all the travelling she liked. Each job would present her with challenges and stability. But neither called to her like a cat to a mouse. She had no calling.

Laney glanced at the windowpane, maybe she could bring in some plants to liven up the space. Her possessions were sparse and the room bare. If her gaze shifted a little higher she'd be met with a navy sky covered in clouds. The stars were elusive to her just as her own self was.

She didn't know what she wanted to do but she felt she had to know soon. Laney, as everyone, even herself, saw it, was supposed to be ahead of the game. Laney even had the Professor to nurture her and it was high time by now that she was supposed to cough up her debt to her ever so privileged life. She owed it to the world to do something for it, make it better, safer, more knowledgeable.

She just didn't know what. She wished her days with the Professor weren't long over — would come back.

But they wouldn't. Short of a time machine. Short of the philosopher's stone. They just wouldn't.

A sob wracked her body as she turned over to the side and curled into herself.

What was she to do with herself, here without a single friend? Without the Professor?

She soon abandoned herself to sleep, the false slumber.

Death, my child, is not so foreign or far away as we think it is. Hypnos and Thanatos were brothers. Maybe, Laney, we sleep to practice death.

Luke is now Laney! Arianna is now Adrien. I wonder what other changes I've made to canon…

More importantly, what's happened to the beloved Professor? Leave a comment and let me know what your thoughts are so far!

Best Wishes,

Myrelle