Chapter Text
“Hershel Layton… is my younger brother.”
After Desmond’s admittance of his, and Hershel’s, true identities, there was a palpable shift within the triage friendship. Sure, you always kept a cordial relationship with Desmond, mainly for Hershel’s sake. The last thing you’d want was to create tension between the already strained relationship the two brothers had forged, because in truth, you felt uneasy around the masquerading eldest sibling.
Of course, he’d never shown any signs of ill intent. If anything, he was an excellent flatmate. Cleaning up after himself, cooking dinner for the three of you from time to time, and even waking you when you had fallen asleep mid-study on the living room sofa in the dark of night, imploring you to return to your bedroom for a proper night’s rest. He still used up the majority of the hot water in the morning, but nonetheless, a cold shower has proven beneficial for the body, as many studies have shown.
Still, you couldn’t help but feel on edge whenever Desmond was nearby. Particularly due to the career you’d inevitably find yourself in. Although he seemed settled down for the time being, you couldn’t help but question how long that would last.
New Year’s came and went, and you returned to Duchester when your winter holidays came to an end, along with your unorthodox career as Hershel Layton’s assistant. Before you knew it, many months went by, and you’d finally graduated with friends and family by your side to celebrate.
“Have you decided where you’d like to be stationed?” Brenda asked excitedly, a slim glass of bubbling champagne in her hand as everyone mingled at the after party. Sweetly, she’d been pushing the idea of you working at the Metropolitan Police Station in Central London for quite some time, so that you’d be able to work nearby the Triton family, along with Hershel himself.
“You’d be happy to know, I’ve been confirmed for a spot at Scotland Yard this coming August.” You informed her, and she cheered with glee.
“Oh that’s wonderful! Isn’t that just fabulous, Hershel?” Brenda turned her attention to Hershel, who was standing nearby.
“Hm? Oh, yes! It’s great to have another connection to the local authority.” Hershel joshed, giving you a jocular pat on the back.
“I’m sure it’ll be nice to work with someone less grouchy.. and, erm.. hairy.” You responded, referring to Inspector Chelmey and Inspector Grosky respectively.
“Aha, I can only wish you luck with working under their heels.” Hershel commented, and you couldn’t help but exhale a disheartened sigh.
“I’ll try not to think about it too much..” You jokingly responded.
“What’s with the downtrodden attitude, sweetheart?” Your father butted into the conversation with his usual casual attitude, a half empty champagne glass in hand.
“Ah, just gossiping about her future colleagues in the Met is all.” Hershel explained, however, your father’s cheery attitude turned to distraught at the realisation of what your future held.
“M-Met..? After all those horror stories I’d told you, you’re still going—?!” He exclaimed in disbelief while you waved your arms in an attempt to calm his concerned nerves.
“Relax, Da, relax!” You said through a chuckle, before lowering your tone to a hushed whisper as you leaned closer. “This is just a test run, I can always get stationed elsewhere if things go awry.” You explained, a hand hiding your mouth away from Brenda and Hershel, who were luckily preoccupied in conversation. Though you chose London, you weren’t entirely sure if it would be a long-term stay.
Months later, sitting at your desk, only a couple of weeks into your official job as a Police Constable, you were already contemplating your re-stationing anywhere far, far away from London.
Day in and day out, files on top of files, petty thefts to unsolved cases that would eventually be left to the higher ups, work never ceased to end. You’d get called in to chase down an erratic buffoon causing havoc in London’s streets, only to return to your desk with your stack of paperwork having grown even taller. Many of your colleagues opted to sleep under their desks, finding it more optimal to rest their heads where they worked rather than dealing with London’s rush hour traffic. You, on the other hand, wouldn’t dare deny yourself the comfort of a warm bed.
At the end of your shift, with the moon high in the sky, you were left packing your supplies into your leather satchel, when all of a sudden you’d been called to Inspector Chelmey’s office.
A request that made your stomach turn, since deep down, you knew what incentivised the inspector to request your presence.
Nervously, you made your way down the empty halls, the dense silence only filled with your hesitant footsteps. Reaching his office door, you gingerly knocked, before peaking your head in.
“Inspector..? You requested me?” You asked before swallowing your nerves.
“Yes, Constable. Come in.” He said in his usual gruff tone, greeting you with his commonplace scowl as he looked at you through his thick brow.
“Now I understand you’re new to this career..” He began in an unnervingly calm tone, his hands clasped together on his desk before him. “But the one thing a Constable must abide by when doin’ their job is no snoopin’.” His anger was quick to seep into his words, a finger furiously prodding his oak desk, annunciating each word. “Don’t go putting your nose in cases where it don’t belong, y’hear?!” He demanded, and you could only nod before bowing to the Inspector.
“Yes Inspector.” You said, sucking in your bottom lip in shame.
“Knowin’ ou’er history, I know what to expect from yous. Don’t think for a second you’ll ‘ave the chance to go prancing through files you ‘ave no reason to go searchin’ through. You understand?!”
“Yes Inspector. Sorry.. Inspector.” You apologised.
“..You may leave.” He excused you, and you exited his office, face red with ignominy.
You thought you were playing smart, that the Inspector hadn’t caught on. And yet, he was on your case far sooner than you had expected. For, you see, you never gave up your promise to Dr. Alfred Dormi. To be completely frank, your main drive for staying in the Met was that promise alone; to find out who attacked his indefensible daughter, Patricia Dormi.
Just her name alone was all you managed to discover during the limited time you had to investigate her case between your usual work.
Leaving through the double door exit of Scotland Yard, it was refreshing to feel the cool autumn air hit the burnt cheeks of your face as you strolled your way home. You were lucky to find a relatively cheap flat in central London. It wasn’t comparable to the apartment Mr. Richmond had lent you, but it’s short distance from the station made it an optimal place to live. Entering your apartment on the third floor, you tossed your shoes by the front door whilst slinging your jacket and hat onto the coat hanger that stood tall nearby. Noting the late hour on the face of your wristwatch, you didn’t bother with dinner, instead unbuckling your belt as you sauntered to the bathroom in order to get ready for bed.
Clambering onto your clean linen sheets, thanks to you dressing your bed the day prior, you could feel your aching bones wash over with a gratifying sensation of tranquillity as you pulled your duvet close to your body. As your head sunk into your plush pillow, the familiar feeling of your subconscious drifting to slumber began to take hold of you for a well-deserved night of sleep.
However, the billowing wind of your curtains rustling alive, your windows blowing open at a sudden intrusion of nature’s cold autumn gust slapped you awake. Frustrated, with a palpitating heart over the unexpected encroachment of your slumber, you dragged yourself out of bed. With eyes barely open, you shut your windows closed with a heavy sigh before ambling your way back to your awaiting bed.
“A little birdie told me you’ve been snooping.”
A voice whispered out from the shadows as soon as you reached the edge of your bed. Your blood ran cold, goosebumps running through the back of your neck, all the way down your arms. Without saying a word, eyes as wide as an owl’s, one of your hands reached for your bedside table, grasping onto your ornate wooden alarm clock. A heavy, dense object that could surely incapacitate any assailant.
“Show yourself, coward.” You demanded with a stern tone, holding the alarm clock high above your head.
Hearing the familiar click of a low heel on your floorboards, the intruder approached from the darkest corner of your bedroom, hands held out in an attempt to show you no harm, white ruffles adorning his wrists.
“Please– There’s no need for animosity. I only wished to pay a visit.” He spoke in an ostentatious dialect, with an undertone that sounded oddly recognisable.
“What kind of man visits a young woman by entering her home without consent at two in the morning donning a mask and cape ?” You said, eyes fixed on the snow-white mask that disguised the upper face of the mystery intruder.
“Hm..” He lightly chuckled, his ever-present grin widening, only visible by the pale blue light shone by the moon through your sheer curtains. “Then allow me to do the bare minimum by introducing myself..
..I am Jean Desco–”
“.. Desmond? ” You interjected his flowery introduction, with your eyes particularly fixated on his shoes.
“Ah–” He seemed to stutter at your accusation. “You must be confused–” He cleared his throat. “I am the brilliant mastermind, Jean Des–”
“Desmond, you’re wearing the same shoes you always wear.” You stated blankly, your hand that held your alarm clock high in the air in defence lowering to your side, before tossing it on your tousled duvet. “Don’t think you can trick me with a mask and a funny accent.” You said, a nonchalant chuckle in your tone as you took a few quick steps to approach him.
“Come on Desmond, you don’t have to hide yourself away.” You said, reaching for his mask, to which he slapped your prying hands away.
“Don’t– touch it–”
“Oh come on, it’s been ages since we’ve seen one another–” You jokingly begged, continuing to reach for his mask and elegant hat before he eventually swished his cape, blindsiding you with a huff as he stormed towards your bedroom window, clearly frustrated at his failed attempt at a mysterious re-introduction into your life.
“You’ve always had a knack for making things much more complicated than need be.” He grumbled, his back facing towards you.
“Ha. It’s nice to see you too, Desmond.” You said, putting your hands on your hips. Although you kept a relaxed attitude, your nerves were still on high alert. While you both share a pleasant history, that fact alone didn’t entirely confirm your safety, now that he was back on the prowl as his alter ego Jean Descole.
“Any particular reason why you decided to barge through my window at an unusual hour, other than for a quick scare?” You inquired, your head tilting while awaiting an answer.
Turning to face you, a smirk slid back onto his expression. “Just out of plain curiosity. Word on the street is that you’ve sought interest in Patricia Dormi’s cold case.” He explained, strong arms folded across his chest.
“And what of it?” You questioned, mimicking his pose.
“I was.. interested, to see how far you’ve achieved under the boot of Inspector Chelmey. He’s always.. alert, for a man so.. simple. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Perhaps I would. But maybe I wouldn’t.” You said with an accusatory squint. “My question is, how do you know..?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Descole responded, pulling your windows open, letting the autumn air spill into your bedroom once again. Clambering across your windowsill and standing atop your miniature balcony, he turned to look at you one more time. “Perhaps that’s something for you to find out on your own.” He said, revealing a sleek smile before hopping off your third story apartment window.
Sprinting towards your windowsill, peering down at the street below, you expected to find an incapacitated man lying on the street below, and yet, there was no evidence he’d been there at all, as if he’d disappeared within the wind itself.
With a sigh, you knew from that point onward, you’d struggle to have a good night’s rest for quite some time.