Archive of Our Own

"So, you're the man who tried to wipe out London,” the old man said, upon recognizing a familiar face passing by in the prison courtyard.

The other didn’t even dare looking at him. He knew exactly that the instant their eyes would meet that he wouldn’t be able to control his anger. He did not even need to look at the elderly man to identify him – somehow, Clive had no doubt about the identity of the man who had just asked him such a rhetorical question. There was only one person it could be; a voice like that could have belonged to only one person… so of course Clive would lash out. How could he not? Leon Bronev had done lots of mistakes. Lots of manipulations. Lots of killings. And if that wasn’t enough, he took the life of his own daughter-in-law and her daughter – his own granddaughter.

Clive was too young to acknowledge what was going on when he first heard people talk about that dreadful event. His own parents weren’t even dead yet that Annabell and Aurora Sycamore had been found lifeless in their house. At that time, to him, it was a mere headline among others of the same kind. Of course it was sad, but it wasn’t something to reflect upon for days. Tragedies like these happen all the time, don’t they? At least I’m not the one who’s lost a family, he used to believe. And then his life kept on running its normal course. There was nothing to be afraid of. Nothing to complain for. Nothing to hope for.

Until the day he learned how difficult it was to be forced to live on your own when you’re still a child. He learned that tragedies don’t only struck the others. He learned what true loneliness felt like and experienced despair the way no one should ever have to.

When he had nearly reached adulthood, he decided it was time to set a plan in motion. He did not yet know how, or what it would be like but he was sure that he had to act on his own if he wanted to see the criminals who had taken his parents’ lives behind bars (or, why not, in an even worse condition). It was around that time that he had come across the Sycamores’ tragedy once more, and this time, he had looked at it with different eyes.

In the process, thanks to his short career as a journalist, Clive had tried to uncover some of the family’s secrets and found out about a long-lost brother that Hershel Layton surely wasn’t even aware of (or had forgotten about). In the end, the Bronev-Sycamore family had suffered too many losses to even hope keeping its count. And there was one thing Clive was convinced of: Leon Bronev was the one responsible for every single one of them. Thus the man had to pay.

And pay he did; Clive had actually been quite pleased to learn that Leon had been imprisoned, three years before. That’s one good-for-nothing leader out of the picture , he had thought. One I won’t have to fight myself. His own loss had made him realize how insufferable any kind of injustice was to him – crossing paths with Bronev, another ruthless individual who cared for no one but himself, was clearly out of the question for Clive.

But then he got imprisoned himself, and at the same prison, no less. He got imprisoned while Hawks could still walk freely in the country, with no hopes of being arrested for all the wrongs he’d done. Clive had hoped to right these wrongs – he had put everything in his power to not let his plan fail, but he still wasn’t able to success in any way. And so he came to be in the same prison than another man who reminded him too much of Hawks himself. Not the most pleasant of outcomes for Clive, who was still struggling between who he had been, who he was, and who people wished he would be – he ended up spending too much time thinking about the evils of the world; perhaps even more than he had before. He hadn’t given much thought to how the rest of his life would unfold after being arrested, but if there was one thing he was certain of, it was that he should not have felt so down, so empty, so miserable. He should have at least one thing to be proud of, but no matter how he looked at the whole predicament, there was none. He had failed people who had put their faith in him, he had harmed people who had nothing to do with his revenge, and he had ended up a mere cells apart from a man who could only remind him of all that failure, whereas his real target was elsewhere.

That’s why Clive could not hope to be confronted to Bronev, but here they were, walking in the same lonely and dirty spot of the prison courtyard. As the young man clenched his fists, he thought about everything he could do to Bronev; everything he would do if that old good-for-nothing murderer even dared to push him too far.

He would tell him everything he kept inside him for years; he would make him understand what a failure he was; he would ask why, why did you murder your own family, why did you tear apart the only thing that truly matters in life, why…

Before he’d realized it, a minute had passed, and Leon Bronev had stopped looking at him, having somehow given up on the possibility of hearing the young inmate’s voice. That’s when Clive found it in him to reply.

"And you are the man who killed and destroyed a part of his own family," he retorted in anger.

There were many things Bronev could reply to that, but he simply managed to shrug, and then scoff at Clive. A fitting answer, surely. Still, the older man knew he could not truly argue against those words; they depicted the truth and nothing else. Clive was right, but why would Bronev simply nod?

The older inmate himself had his own complaints to make about Clive. He hadn’t really chosen to go and find the man; something within him had awoken and he felt compelled to walk in the courtyard until he would recognize his familiar face. These days, no one could forget what the man in blue looked like, even if they so chose; what’s more, Clive had been given the right to keep in his possession something that reminded him of his old life – his blue cap, though he had not been able to state why. (Some would have assumed it was linked to who he had impersonated along professor Layton and his friends – who he dreamed he could have been, perhaps).

There were two things Bronev could not forget about Clive Dove.

First, the young man had spent days investigating – masquerading – with his son, only to betray him in the end, and thus he’d risked ending Layton’s life even though he knew exactly what was at stake upon calling him to that London of his. Bronev couldn’t pride himself on his behavior with his two sons, but he still could not handle the possibility of Hershel Layton getting hurt in the process of one of his investigations. Thus the cycle continues, Bronev had thought – Layton would always spend his life trying to figure out every mystery exposed before him, no matter what evils would result of it. This time as well, the professor had managed to win and there was one fewer criminal in London. It would have to have been sheer coincidence – or destiny – that the two criminals he’d managed to wipe out of the picture ended up together.

Also, Bronev was aware of what everyone else knew about Clive: he used to be a journalist. The kind of people who pride themselves on knowing everything the others don’t. Then, he would have to know where Descole – Desmond Sycamore had flown off to. Or was it Hershel Bronev? That name reminded him too much of times that were long gone and would never be coming back.

Two critical reasons then, to be out of his cell on such a rainy night, trying to get some answers to his questions. Perhaps even trying to understand the man while seeing something (someone) other than his small and repelling cell for the first time in three long years. Bronev had been looking for a way to atone for his crimes other than purely standing here waiting for his sentence (or his life) to end, and he felt that somehow, such a meeting could be a good beginning.

“You could have killed my son,” was the only thing Bronev managed to get out of his lips, no matter how many different sentences and thoughts swirled in his head. Targent’s ex-leader hadn’t even given much thought about this whole assertion of his – it suddenly occurred to him that perhaps the other one wouldn’t even understand who he was talking about. Still, deep inside, he had a feeling that Clive would immediately catch up.

And how Bronev had been right! The younger inmate suddenly burst out yelling, “How dare you show concern for the professor after everything you’ve put your family through by your own damned hand?”

Anger. It was to be expected. In the span of a few seconds, he had become out of hand. Though Bronev didn’t know the man, he’d figured that Clive would not stop talking (or yelling, or whatever his behavior was supposed to be) until he’d be done with at least a part of his thoughts – thoughts that had been kept inside him for too long. Imprisoned thoughts that needed to get out, just as the young man dreamed he would.

“You had everything you could dream of and you still somehow managed to throw it away! You could have saved everything, you could have fought all these years but becoming a monster suited you better, didn’t it? It was too easy; you didn’t have the strength to resist. Leading a life of crime is always the best choice for people like you who are too frightened to bear the harshness of life.

“Then you start lecturing people on their lives, you spend all your time finding out about their flaws, keeping track of their mistakes and their achievements only to forget about what you lack in life – only to forget about what you used to be and can no longer be.”

Bronev was still firmly looking at Clive. Years of practice had showed him how to remain stoic at all times, especially considering that he was aware that a part of what the man had just blurted out was wrong. “You’re assessing a lot of things about me for someone who barely met me.”

“I probably know more about you than your own children do,” he paused. “And all the atrocities you’ve done in your life are written on your face.”

Bronev’s impassibility irritated Clive; there was nothing he hated more than people staying calm in situations where they needed to fight. He was not the kind of man who had learned to keep his temper.

No matter how impassive the older man was thought to be at that moment, there was still a lot he kept hidden within the confines of his mind. And he knew he couldn’t let himself be offended that way by another criminal, no matter how true these words could hit. “You seem to be familiar with my ways anyway.”

Clive shrugged, contempt still showing in his eyes. He didn’t wish to fight it. “Perhaps – but there’s one thing that makes me different. I have never lost sight of what I had to do.”

Bronev had to struggle not to let a loud laugh escape from his lips. Clive was acting like he had before, so the mistakes he was still making were plain obvious to him. He smiled, “Are you really sure about that? Is that why you’d called Hershel Layton to your rescue?”

When he looked at Clive again, the young man was obviously having a hard time to hide all his hostility towards Bronev – but also the glint of hurt there was in his eyes. Bronev pursued, “Come on, Clive. Don’t pretend to be so insightful when you’re talking to a man who has spent his entire life acting like a criminal. You know as well as I do that you’re wrong.”

Clive blinked, taken aback by Bronev’s confession. Clearly, he had no trouble admitting the deeds he’d done – at the very least, not in front of someone who had been through the same. Clive wanted to fight; he couldn’t let Bronev get the upper hand in this battle of words, but there was nothing he could voice. All his thoughts were stuck in his throat. As if, subconsciously, he’d realized that it was better not to reply…and that Bronev was right.

Soon, the two men were unable to know what else to say to each other.

Though what Bronev had done looked the same, in substance, it was still very delicate to understand the man – to feel empathy for him, even. At least, that was what Clive believed. He had spent so many years thinking only of himself that he had started to lose sight of what he truly was… and he was still struggling to remember that he and Bronev were more alike than he’d have imagined.

They both had to pursue a goal. That goal could have been noble – and somehow, for the both of them, it had been, at first – but they had not imagined what it would be like to spend so many time locked between the same doors, working on the same project, talking to the same people, hoping for the same miracles. One day, they both had come to realize that the goal they’d set was unreachable. They had taken a different path, willingly or not – knowingly or not. They felt lonely, so very lonely, but they were stuck. If they stopped working, everything would definitely be over, and all the same atrocious memories would flow back and haunt them. Nothing would have been done to change that. That couldn’t happen, of course, so they kept working, day and night, tirelessly, until they had started using different methods. Their dreams had changed, as well. And then they were lost. Lost to the people who had known them once, but more importantly, they had lost themselves.

That truth was awaiting them, and there was only so much they could manage to do to hide it.

Clive was ready to accept his fate (he had been for eight months straight) and he could acknowledge the wrongs he had done to so many people – the lives he had taken – but he believed that he could never do it before anyone else than the professor. And the professor hadn’t visited in almost six months, for reasons Clive couldn’t fathom. The young man felt awfully lonely and abandoned but this, he wouldn’t admit to either.

Bronev, however – and though he was well-aware of all his mistakes – had a hard time accepting his fate. All alone, at night, he’d spend hours thinking about what he had accomplished in life, and the more time passed, the less he’d think that he had actually done something worth fighting for. On the contrary – he had lost everything he had and there was no way back. He had lost what he still had while hoping to save it (save them He’d spend every single one day, for three years, believing that he had been imprisoned for thirty years. Going to prison, this time for real,was taking this feeling to a whole new level.

The two men sat on the same bench, at the back of the prison courtyard. Clive had finally decided to sit next to the older man, but he’d made sure there was enough distance between them. The man in blue looked at his feet while Bronev couldn’t take his eyes off of Clive’s face – to the latter’s discomfort. It was as though the gray-haired man could catch on everything that was going on inside the other’s mind; inside his soul, even. Clive, on the other hand, had no idea what the man was planning.

“Will you stop looking at me like-” he started, but the words couldn’t get out for a moment; they were simply hanging in the air, as a threat of a sudden realization he had wanted to chase away in the hope it would never be coming back to haunt him. He finally managed to speak up again, “…like I’m some kind of criminal?”

Bronev scoffed. “Well, we’re both here because we committed the most serious crimes, aren’t we? It would be a lie not to tell you that you are a criminal.”

“I don’t need to be reminded that, especially not by someone like you,” Clive glared resentfully at the older man. He still could not contain his rage; he had to create the illusion that he would be heard, no matter how insane it could seem, given who his interlocutor was. “As far as it goes, you look as though you’re quite enjoying your stay here. I guess it’s fitting, after all. You could have met a whole different end if it weren’t for Layton.”

“I still would have been sentenced, one way or another. I guess it was bound to end that way from the start,” he admitted, and noticed that every feeling of hate he’d seen emanating from Clive had suddenly vanished.

The younger man didn’t wish to spend the entire evening with Bronev. He wouldn’t be enjoying his company in the slightest, and it was against his principles to even tolerate sharing the ground with a criminal like him. Still… there was something burning inside him; a desire to learn more about the man, a desire to understand what had caused everything to fall suddenly apart. Somehow, he wanted to see if he could see himself in Bronev so he could learn from his mistakes and never give in to madness again. That very same desire was a sign that he could be redeemed, though he’d already showed clear signs of sanity before.

“There’s… something I would like to understand,” Clive finally admitted, unsure. Leon Bronev gave him a nod; a confirmation that he could feel free to ask whatever was troubling him. “...Why? What have you done it?”

A slight smile suddenly appeared on the older man’s lips. A passing smile, even; so much that Clive even doubted it had been real. “I can recount most of my lifestory, but that would be to your disadvantage.”

Clive suddenly cried out. “I hate being here, okay? Especially with you. Honestly, I wish I could never see you again, and you have no idea how much I’d like you to suffer for all the wrongs you’ve done. Yet… I just want to understand, now that I have that chance. I haven’t had it before,” he sighed. “So you can talk for whatever long you please, and I’ll do my best to listen.”

Bronev had never thought about the possibility of confessing to someone other than himself – perhaps he would have with his sons, were they to come to the prison and show the express need of a meeting (something that he couldn’t really hope for). Still, now, the occasion had just presented itself, though he doubted Clive would listen easily. But if he was the one who asked, wouldn’t it go smoothly?

Clive, on the other hand, believed that he had already said too much, but he hadn’t been able to stop the words from coming out of his mouth from the moment he had started to confess some of the thoughts that were flowing in his head.

Bronev smiled again, this time in a more apparent manner; but only until it faded away when everything came rushing back to him for the hundredth time. How everything collapsed, how that night had been the beginning of a never-ending nightmare, how much he’d made people suffer for the sake of a fantasy… Yet, in spite of everything, it seemed that Bronev could be redeemed as well. Clive was the first one to witness the man’s first clear signs of sanity – signs that everyone had forgotten about, or had stopped hoping for. Then, the two of them were on the verge of sanity, simply by allowing themselves to talk to someone who could understand their pain probably better than anyone else.

Leon Bronev’s tale was about to begin. The man closed his eyes for a moment, trying to not let madness take the better of him once more. When he knew exactly where to start, he gazed at Clive with a lot of sadness in his crimson eyes (he didn’t want anything to do with his old sunglasses). They both felt that they’d never seen him with such a sad look on his face before. Bronev didn’t wish for Clive to show empathy, but even the latter had to be surprised at such a change of heart.

The gray-haired man took a deep breath, and moments later, everything was set in motion. Clive would spend minutes learning of a past he’d been so reluctant to hear about, while Bronev would have to endure the longest reminiscence of his life.

“Everything began…almost sixty years ago, I’d think. I still was a very young lad and I was already spending a lot of time looking for ancient secrets; it was the only thing that I could manage being so immersed in. My parents were very strict – so I couldn’t go very often far away from our house – but they still welcomed the possibility of me becoming an archaeologist. I’d promised them I’d work hard at school, and that I’d always be here looking out for them, would the need arise.

“Sadly, they both died when I was fifteen. I was an only child and I had no family left, so I had to handle a lot of duties on my own, aside from my studies. It was a very dark time in my life, as far as I can remember.”

Clive could have sworn he saw tears forming in the corner of Bronev's eyes, but as soon as he’d blinked, they were gone. He still couldn’t believe the man could show that much feelings and compassion – it had to be a trick. No man could lead a whole life of violence and corruption and then end up opening up, all too sentimental, in front of a fellow criminal, could he? How can a man like him actually show such humanity was what Clive couldn’t stop wondering. No matter how unsure Clive was about what he’d asked for, he had been struck by another truth – Bronev too had lost his parents at an early age, though he wouldn’t elaborate on the reason of their sudden death. The young man felt all the more uncomfortable. Was it what it was like to be forced to understand that he had faced the same trials than the man he’d sworn he would never stop hating?

Bronev, on the other hand, had no idea of Clive’s real struggles. He’d become so engrossed in his story that nothing else could catch his eye. “That was around the time when I met Rachel,” a sincere smile appeared on his lips. “She was my light. We shared the best memories of my entire existence, and I was even happier to work hard to officially become an archaeologist. I wanted to make her proud.

“Some years later, we learned that she was pregnant. That child…” His smile was suddenly gone. It had left his lips as fast as it had appeared. To Clive, it looked as though the man was only capable of showing three emotions: pain, happiness and malice. “...You wouldn’t know him, but you have probably heard about him. Hershel Bronev, better known as Desmond Sycamore – or Jean Descole.”

Clive nodded, but couldn’t hide his surprise. “I was aware of all that, but it’s been ages since I last heard someone utter the name ‘Descole’,” he admitted. “I’m afraid that even if I wanted to help you in your search – or could, for that matter – I couldn’t be of great assistance. The man has completely vanished since the time you’ve been arrested, or so I’ve heard.”

“I have no idea where he is right now. I know he’s never going to come and greet me, but still, I would at least like to know whether he’s dead or alive.” Leon sighed, and the image of a young and happy Hershel Bronev was anchored inside his mind. “Rachel and I loved him like no one else would have. He was a very intelligent child, and would always stay by my side whenever I was working on my archaeological findings. Around the time when he’d turned three, I had discovered an ancient civilization, the Azran, and I wanted to uncover all of its secrets. It was a passion, not yet an obsession. I couldn’t have dreamed of harming anyone for it at that time. I just wanted to study it until something new would come to light. I wanted people to understand what incredible legacies were still hidden, and how beneficial it would be for all mankind to learn from them,” he let out a scoff in self-mockery, “I guess you can see where it went wrong.”

For a moment, the two of them fell silent. Bronev had already been speaking for a while – he felt dizzy and weak, and he couldn’t find enough strength to speak too loudly or too fast – but there was still a lot of events that were to be told.

“Hershel – not your Hershel – was about to turn four when Rachel told me she was expecting another child. Theodore… the man you know. In retrospect, I had everything I needed in my life at that time. I had to be around your age, and I still felt that I had a lot to achieve… Until that decisive night when I encountered shady men on my way back from work. Men from Targent. Only a cult, by then – they had so little power. Unlike…” Bronev struggled to voice the truth. He’d never realized how hard it would be to publicly admit that he was the man who gave Targent its actual strength. “Well, they intimidated me. I didn’t want to lose my family, and I was still so young and naïve. Time passed, and I was always able to fight back. Able to delay the inevitable. Rachel and the children never knew I was harassed by these men who wanted me to join them.

“Of course, I would always refuse. My researches were mine and I didn’t believe Targent would really become such a threat to me – to us. At first, I didn’t come across them a lot. Every six months or so, but over time, I’d started to understand that they were overly insistent and bend on obtaining what their leader had asked of them. They wouldn’t take no for an answer, and I still didn’t find it in me to tell my family the truth.

“Until that night… Another fateful night. Theodore was almost five years old, and his older brother was nine. For the first time, the three men had come to my house. They had found us, though I suspect they had for a long time. There was nothing we could do… Rachel and I were taken away along with my researches. It was a hopeless sight. I still remember to that day Theodore’s screams while they were making a mess of our house in an attempt to not forget anything of value. I remember Hershel’s courage when he tried to face these men, and then his despair when he realized he wouldn’t be able to change anything and ran to his little brother’s side to protect him.

“Two thoughts kept me going at first. We would find a way to go back, and in the meantime, the children would surely be able to deal with our absence. Hershel would, at least. He was only nine but he was as resourceful as a fifteen-year-old would be. Sadly, even to this day, I have no idea about what precisely happened to them after we left. There are things I could figure out, of course – specifically after… after I had become another man years after the kidnapping. I eventually learned about Theodore’s adoptive parents and about his new identity. I also recognized Hershel in the papers when he’d become a famous archaeologist, though he, too, had thrown away his old identity. From that day onwards, I tried to follow their lives as closely as I could, but my judgment was already too clouded. I wasn’t thinking straight – I wasn’t the man they once knew.

“But before all of that happened, I had to go through a lot with Rachel. They held us captive during two months – two months during which I experienced many things, some good, some awful. I’ll spare you the details of the torture they put me under at first. Still, there’s an event I would like to confess to you, Clive – an event no one has ever heard about. If…” Bronev paused, unsure whether Clive would actually do him this favor or not, “If you were to cross paths with Hershel Layton again, I would like you to tell him this on my behalf. Rachel… she was pregnant with our third child when we were kidnapped. We only learned the shocking truth when it was too late, and we didn’t know what to expect; even less what to do.

“How would Targent have reacted if they’d learned Rachel was pregnant? We had hoped we could leave their headquarters somehow, but such an illusion quickly vanished. There was no chance they would let us get away – they had made it clear a thousand times. We were scared that our child would never get the life they deserved. But we could never find out what would have truly happened, because Rachel fell sick, and the conditions under which we were detained made it worse. She didn’t survive, as well as our child. Two months after the start of our captivity, she died. I was left all alone with Targent.”

After such a confession, none of them could find the strength to speak up again. Clive was shaken up by what he’d just heard; even him couldn’t deny how awful such a revelation – such a fate, even – had to have been. So the Bronevs would have had three children if destiny hadn’t been so cruel to them. And what would that have changed? How would Clive’s life had been if he hadn’t met the professor? If he weren’t the man he knew and had grown attached to, the one he liked to think of as his savior? The young man couldn’t help but think about his very own fate, but there was also something else. A feeling of unease – sadness, too, perhaps – he couldn’t shake. He’d been used to thinking about other people’s lives and how they could have changed, for the best or for the worst, if some men hadn’t existed, or crossed paths with him. But that very evening, along with Bronev, everything was new for Clive. He felt regret for another man’s destiny, and no insignificant man – one whom he thought he despised.

Though that story affected him, Clive hadn’t usually wanted to do Bronev any favors. Still, this, he could never refuse. It wasn’t something Bronev had asked on a whim, as he would have done before; it was a tragedy, one that had to be told to the one that deserved the most to hear it… the professor himself. Thus it would be told; thus Clive would not feel indebted to Hershel Layton anymore, at least for a while.

“I promise you that I will tell him about it, if I ever meet him again.” And for the first time that evening, a very discrete smile he did not wish to fight appeared on Clive’s lips, though it was only at the thought of meeting with the professor again.

“Thank you, Clive. You don’t owe me anything, but still, there’s sincerity in your eyes. That’s the first time I see you that way.”

“Perhaps that’s because I’m starting to understand that listening to other people’s tales of madness has to take me along the right way to redemption,” Clive thought he answered, but soon he realize that it was merely words spoken to himself inside his still tortured mind.

After another moment of silence, Bronev spoke up again. “May I? What’s left of my story, you somehow already know; there’s not much I can tell you, because what you’ve no doubt learned through the papers was, sadly, the truth,” he admitted with the same sad look in his eyes, “However, there is… one specific event I have to share. One specific event I haven’t yet told anyone before – not that way.”

Bronev felt fully engulfed in discomfort as Clive’s compassionate look suddenly became a distant memory. There was only contempt left in his eyes. “I’m not sure I’m going to like what comes next, but I’m the one who asked. I’m listening.”

“I don’t know whether or not I’m trying to make amends for what happened at this point in my life, because the damage is long done and it’s eating me up every single day. I’m not entirely sure I know why I’ve chosen to tell you this – you’re not the one I should apologize to – and perhaps it won’t ever help me to get rid of this awful feeling of guilt, but I’m not sure I’ll ever get another chance to talk about it.

“It was almost fifteen years ago now. I had… I had become someone else, someone that couldn’t have been me, someone whose actions I could never have condoned if I had been in my right mind. I had used the same methods as the previous men who ruined my life to get what I wanted the most, in my fury – information on the Azran. My son Hershel had it. Perhaps I’d imagined that as soon as I would get this, I’d be able to finally get closer to this civilization’s secrets and everything would be over with. I’d get back to a normal life. That was what I thought at the start, but nothing went the way it should have, and I wasn’t able to notice the changes in my heart… the changes I’d caused myself, as well as the pain that probably plagued the rest of my long-lost family. Most importantly, they wouldn’t have dreamed of sharing anything with the man I was back then. Everything had fallen apart. It was as though nothing was real anymore.

“In any case, one day, I presented Hershel with a choice – no, not even a choice. A dilemma,” Bronev sighed, and Clive could have sworn humanity had left the man once again. “Well, I guess the most accurate phrasing for that would have to be that I left him no choice at all and coerced him into following my orders. Either he was to join our organization and help us uncover the Azran’s secrets, or there would be consequences.”

“You’re…” Clive started, his face filled with rage. “I can’t believe you’re actually telling me this story as though it doesn’t change anything to you!”

“I assure you, Clive, it does change everything. But what else can I do? I can’t deny what I’ve done. I’m just telling you the truth, and how it unfolded.” Once again, Bronev was impassive – perhaps the only way for him to pretend he wasn’t affected while reminiscing his worst decision; one where words could not even be enough to get out of it. “As you probably know, Hershel refused. How could he not? I had done the same, all those years ago. Perhaps one of the reasons why I became so enraged was because, somehow, history repeated itself. I was so confused, so really, it cannot make sense. I had become Targent’s leader, so I acted like the previous leader, without even truly remembering how much I suffered when I had to face the same dilemma. All of my thoughts, my hopes, my expectations and my desires were mixed up inside my head. When Rachel died, I couldn’t find the strength to fight Targent anymore; I had become desperate for a way out. I had lost my sole guide and my children – everything that ever mattered to me. The only choice I had left was to act differently so I could hope, one day, to get out of here.

“Only, I slowly started to become a different man. There was no one here for me, no one who could tell me to stop before I committed a crime, no matter which one. I focused my entire actions on the Azran, and reality slowly started to fade away. I was consumed by despair, and the hopes of regaining my freedom never truly left me; except that I should have known that the day it would finally come, everything would have to be different. That day… it was about three years ago. My oldest son had spent years looking at me with such anger in his eyes, and he was still tortured by a past I had forced onto him; my youngest son didn’t even want to acknowledge me as his father. Though he would never show such aggressive behavior, unlike his brother, I didn’t have to ask him to understand that he thought the same way than Hershel did about me. My sons had led a life without their biological family, and they both suffered because of that, even though Theodore hadn’t been aware of it. Hershel… now that I am myself again, I can’t – I know it is such a cowardly way to act – and I don’t wish to imagine what he has been through, and what his struggles may still be. I know that excuses couldn’t ever erase his pain, and there’s no way I could make up for these thirty years of misery I caused him. Still… they both deserve excuses. But I will never blame them for not wanting to meet me.”

Clive felt upset, and though he could be used to hiding his emotions, there had been no point in doing so in front of Leon Bronev. “You did not tell me why you’ve killed your son’s family. The one he probably tried so hard to build after everything he’d already been through.”

Now that the words were out, there was no way for the gray-haired man to escape this. He’d answered every other question, but still couldn’t find the strength to voice anything about this event. Now, he was met with no other choice.

“I could plead insanity, of course. I guess it wouldn’t be that wrong, although it doesn’t take away my guilt – so it would be too easy. At the time, I was certain Hershel would cooperate if… I took everything from him. I hadn’t meant to kill them. I had imagined they could be detained here, the same way that I had been almost twenty years before, without Hershel knowing the truth, and so he would work hard to get me what I wanted and he would walk free with his family after having offered me a hand. But… it was Hershel. Nothing went according to plan. I was with one of my agents… Swift, who had already become my right-hand man at that time. Hershel and his family had been brought to our headquarters that day. While I had him detained in a cell, I explained the situation to his wife and daughter. I still remember the terrified look they had in their eyes, and for a moment, fragments of a humanity I didn’t know I still had threatened to show up. For a split second, I wondered what every man in his right mind would wonder – if it wasn’t better to let them go. I couldn’t deny that I was still tortured by my past, even though it’d been nearly twenty years since I lost everything.

“Perhaps Swift noticed the sudden change in my heart. To anyone else, it would have been imperceptible, but that man knew me too much. Though he’d heard almost nothing about my past, I’m sure he’d figured while looking straight in my eyes what I was truly thinking. What, or who, these two reminded me of. At the same time… Annabell menaced me. She told me that I would end up in prison for what I’d done – of course Hershel had told her of his past, and of course, if she ever got out of our headquarters, she’d report our crimes. And so… Swift didn’t hesitate. He pulled the trigger. The bullet went straight into her daughter’s heart.”

Though Clive was standing perfectly still, inside his mind, a whirlwind of emotions had got to him. However, the man was unable to say or do anything. His blood went cold – he felt as though he’d witnessed that scene. Perhaps it was Bronev’s choice of words, or his talent for counting stories, but he had to struggle not to break down in front of him even though he hadn’t been a part of this tragedy in the slightest. Leon noticed that, of course, but still chose to go on with his lifestory.

“What happened next was a mess. I had never resorted to killing anyone before; I’m unsure whether or not some of our captives ended up dead, but it wasn’t by my own hand. And now, I had found the perfect reason to explain why, at that time, my methods still excluded any kind of bloodbath. Hershel’s wife was screaming; I had never seen someone in such a sorry state. Her daughter had been killed instantly. I could hear agitation coming from the cell next to ours… the one in which my son was. He’d heard the gunshot, of course, and I’m sure he had figured out what happened. I couldn’t make out of everything he was yelling, but I could hear distinct threats, and the pain and torture in his voice. Swift, on the other hand, stayed silent and unsensitive. There was almost no emotion showing on his face, simply a… slight smile on his lips, as though he wanted me to understand that was the kind of behavior he’d expected from me.

“Swift had hoped Hershel’s wife would change her mind upon seeing her daughter’s death. But she became even more agitated. In the span of a single second, I lost my mind. I think I was trying to hide the fact that I was afraid of what could happen to our dream – how miserable this sounds now – if everything ever got out. And so, I pulled my own trigger as well. There was no noise left. Only that never-ending sound of two violent gunshots being fired. For a moment, there was only silence and the smell of blood filling the room, until I heard Hershel’s crying next door.

“Something stirred inside me. At that point, I had already started to change. I chose to become the ruthless leader everyone remembers, perhaps so as to protect myself from the consequences of my actions. That was also when I swore to myself that only my goal would matter now, and that I shouldn’t let myself be distracted anymore… I know how awful it sounds. I also promised myself I’d hide my eyes, because I did not want any more people to be able to read through them after what happened that day.” Bronev looked up at the sky though there was nothing to see, as if he didn’t want Clive to notice the pain that showed once more in his eyes. “Minutes later, when I freed Hershel, he ran straight to his family’s dead bodies. When he was done crying, he slowly turned to face me. I had never seen such anger emanating from a single person – but he had no way to hurt me. Still, I remember to that day the precise words he told me before leaving our headquarters.”

‘You wish I were dead as well, don’t you? Well, you won’t ever get that chance, and you know exactly why – you’re not brave enough, are you? But if I were dead, I wouldn’t be standing here, and I wouldn’t be swearing to you that one day, I’ll get my revenge on you, come what may.’

For the first time in minutes, Clive’s voice rose. “I would have said even worse things to you. Hell, I would have tried to kill you.”

“Though choleric, I knew my son. He was perfectly capable of controlling himself when he felt it was necessary.”

“He shouldn’t have.”

“I know. But then he would have ended up dead as well.”

“Not by your own hand.”

“Probably not, yes.”

The two men exchanged a sudden gaze. Clive’s eyes showed pain, but also contempt, which didn’t surprise Bronev in the least. There were too much emotion to even hope uttering words that would suffice to describe what they truly felt at the moment, but that gaze was enough for them to understand.

Clive asked, “Why did you let your son walk free after everything that happened?”

“I’m not really sure. I think we both knew that he couldn’t do anything bad to us,” Bronev sighed. “He would have no proof, and it was hard enough to get out of our quarters to even hope to leave with dead bodies.” He gazed at his feet, visibly struggling to remember perfectly what happened next on that day. “I remember Swift telling me that perhaps we should have been more careful, but the day when Hershel would act against us never really came. At least, not as Hershel, and not directly.”

“Jean Descole, was it?”

“Yes. He’d taken it upon himself to uncover the Azran’s secrets before we did. I had my doubts about the man; I was never entirely sure about his true identity, but seeing as though he’d made his fight a personal matter, there was only one person it could have been. And I would always remember my own son’s voice, even under all his disguise.”

“But now he’s disappeared completely. Do you think he’s given up on the hopes of getting his revenge?”

Bronev shook his head with a sad look in his eyes. “Somehow, I do believe he’s certain that he’s had his revenge the moment everything fell apart three years ago and I was forced to realize that everything I’d done during those thirty years was in vain. My pain and loneliness mean more to him than anything else, now. Still… maybe he’s looking for a way to come back unannounced so he would be able to worsen my situation. But I don’t believe that’s what he would do, though I’m sure that he’s convinced that I will never suffer enough.”

“I can’t blame him for that. Actually, I think I agree,” Clive admitted. “But you look quite aware of the wrong you’ve done, and I have to admit that it sounds… different from everything else I’ve ever heard coming out of the mouth of a criminal. Seems they can actually redeem themselves…some of them.”

No matter how much Leon knew that the young man still despised him (and he couldn’t blame him for thinking that), he was surprised to hear such words emanating from him. Clive, the man who had vowed to take his revenge against all the evils of the world, had just stated indirectly that he believed Bronev was on the right path to redemption. Clive, the man who had sworn to himself he would never feel anything other than hate for a criminal, had failed his promise and could actually feel sympathy, no matter how faint it was, for Leon Bronev. There had to be a chance for both of them.

“I’m astounded to hear you say that, Clive,” Bronev replied. “Even though I would actually like it better coming from my sons.”

“Do you think they will ever come here?”

“Hershel will not. I’m almost certain of it,” he conceded. “He would lash out too much; he would be uncontrollable. It wouldn’t be good for anyone, and especially not for him, I’d wager. Theodore… Hershel Layton… on the other hand, I have hope, though it would still be a surprise. But I have decided to live the rest of my days here without hoping too much for a miracle. I have enough regrets as it is.”

Clive shrugged. “Well, it’s the professor. He has a kind heart. I don’t see why he would give up on coming here to see you, one day – maybe he just needs time. Maybe he wasn’t sure whether or not it would be a good idea to greet you here. Or… maybe he just wants to leave a past he’s just harshly regained memories of behind him.”

Feeling numb, Bronev got up his bench and started walking a few steps around Clive. “I’d go for the last option. But whatever happens, I know it’s been three years since I came here and he’s never showed up before. I will never blame either of them for feeling the way they do.” He paused for a moment. “I’m not so young anymore, though. I feel like I’m not long for this world, and I wouldn’t want them to feel regret if they so decided to come here and they learned I was dead.”

Clive did not know what to answer to this. Either he would admit that the man’s sons probably wouldn’t feel much saddened by their father’s death, or he would give him false hope. He decided to stay silent, because none of these options felt right to him. What’s more, the young inmate was certain that Bronev was already well-aware of the truth, having spent three years alone in his cell. Clive had only been here for eight months, eight very long months. He held no notion of time whatsoever anymore. He had no idea when he would truly get out of that place, and most importantly, if he would live to see that day. Despite his young age, what he’d done was classified as a serious criminal offense – the words terrorist attack had been mentioned at least twice during his trial, though he still had trouble realizing he was the one who resorted to such means, and what that meant for him. Clive had refused to appeal the verdict. He was well-aware of the responsibilities he had to assume. As a consequence, the subsequent sentence for his actions was in no way a light one, though the judge and jury had shown him some mercy because of his later behavior. Still, there was no denying that he was to be stuck in that prison for at least a decade – at least as much as Bronev would be, should he survive that long because of his old age. A decade of detention is a long decade to spend when one is trapped with his regrets and his loneliness all day long. Clive didn’t want to imagine how long three whole years could seem in that condition.

While he’d been lost in thought, the young man was suddenly pulled out of his reverie by Bronev’s voice. He had a question for him: one he should have expected, and one he would have to find a coherent answer to. That was the least he could do, after Bronev had accepted to recount most of his mistakes in front of him. And somehow, the older inmate believed it was the right time to ask something like what would follow of Clive – in the span of a single meeting, he’d started to change. He was no longer the choleric and unyielding man he’d acted as a mere hour before.

“What about you, Clive? What had gone so wrong for you to become an imprisoned man?”

What had gone so wrong for me to kill thousands of people without showing remorse, even though they hadn’t done anything to me would have been a more precise phrasing, Clive thought. “You don’t have to run away in circles. Just say that I’m a murderer, and one who has killed far more people than you did.” This mere affirmation caused the man’s hands to shake for a fleeting moment. “I… actually don’t usually indulge in thinking about such precise outcomes. I guess you could say it’s my own way of being a coward who doesn’t like to be faced with the truth, but I’m pretty sure I’ve always known it in my heart.”

Clive put his head in his hands and tried to forget for a few seconds where he was and what he was about to say, but he couldn’t stop the pain, the images, the regrets that came flowing back. Bronev was used to feeling such emotions; he’d had the past three years to think about his past mistakes. Clive, however, was still very much affected by what he’d caused, and not in the same way Bronev was. No matter how out of control they spiraled sometimes, the elderly man’s emotions had always been manageable. Clive’s, on the other hand, were not – something Hershel Layton had come to realize two times while meeting with him, both when he was a young boy and a young adult. Though similar their destinies were, they two distinct personalities easily showed.

Clive cried out, “I – I don’t know, I don’t understand how it came to this! If I did, I’m sure I wouldn’t have caused all of this and I wouldn’t be standing in this messed-up place right now. I remember that unshakeable feeling of wanting to take my revenge, I remember thinking about strategies to gain what I wanted to gain, I remember – and I still feel –the hate I’ve developed during the years for that man , but I can’t… I can’t wake up every single morning and live with what I’ve actually done. I can’t live with the guilt of having ended so many people’s lives while they weren’t my targets. They had done nothing wrong… and I can’t accept how close my actions look to them of Hawks,” he uttered, “Killing people just for the sake of a silly goal. Killing people because you’ve become so mad you can’t even think straight for a second. And in the end, the man I had in my sights ended up being the only one going free. I have failed everything.”

Clive’s confession had shaken up Bronev the same way Clive had been moments before. The older man wasn’t sure what he could answer to such a monologue; he wasn’t sure Clive expected any answer either. Still, there was something he had to say – no matter where that would lead them.

“I think you know,” Bronev started, “why everything went the way it did. You talk about revenge, strategies and hate… feelings and thoughts I have experienced at least once in my life as well, and feelings and thoughts I distorted probably the same way you did. You and I, we both started off as men who were hurt by tragedies we couldn’t have prevented. We ended up consumed by madness because we had our own ways to perceive justice – in your case – and despair – in mine. We were fragile and unstable; these two elements gave way to perversion, and so we started to believe that only our truths were acceptable and could change the world. Though they weren’t truths – they were illusions made up by our very own minds in times when we couldn’t hold on to anything else. And when people wanted us to think otherwise, we were already long lost.”

“No one could ever put the rights words on what I was feeling before,” Clive murmured, a single tear rolling down his cheek. However, he was quick to wipe it away to not let the other man notice that he was about to break down. “You’re so perfectly correct that it almost makes me afraid.”

“I have spent three years thinking about my mistakes, and about how they came to be. Of course I’d be right.”

In other circumstances, Clive would have lashed out at Bronev again, stating how much he hated the way the man enjoyed acting as a know-it-all even though he was so morally corrupted. But as of that moment, he couldn’t even think about showing such a behavior. He’d know better than pointing out mistakes he had himself made.

Bronev hadn’t requested more answers from Clive’s part, but the younger man still had many things he wished to confess. “I think I had imagined that the moment every single person responsible for my parents’ deaths would end up behind bars, I could finally feel at peace with my past, and so I’d finally have dealt with my grief. How wrong I was to even believe that. Nothing has changed – it’s even worse now.”

“You weren’t thinking straight, but how could you? You were so young when it happened,” Bronev replied. “Of course you would end up doing the wrong things, having built your identity out of all the misery that happened to you, and with whatever means you could find.”

Clive wouldn’t dream to see Leon Bronev as a father figure of sorts, but those were the only feelings that came to his mind when he listened to him. Somehow, it had to be the truth – the old man showed the same wisdom his own father would have if he were still alive. But how could that be? Clive looked distraught for a while, visibly struggling to acknowledge what his real thoughts were about a man who, only a hour ago, seemed like the most evil person on Earth to him.

“I don’t understand,” the young man simply said.

“What don’t you understand?”

“Why are you listening with such attention to my tales of woe? Why are you offering me such kind words, and even advice, while I haven’t even done half of what you’re doing now when it was your turn to confess to me? On the contrary – I insulted you,” Clive admitted, “So there’s absolutely no need for you to be so… kind. Hell, you shouldn’t even be standing here!”

“I’m not doing any of this out of kindness. I’m purely stating what I believe, no more, no less.”

“It just sounds so wrong,” Clive countered, “Now I feel indebted to you even though there are still some parts of me that perceive you as a horrible human being. I don’t want that.”

Bronev sighed, “No matter what I could say to people in general, I’ll always stay the ruthless leader of a paramilitary organization who killed people, or drove them to be killed. Nothing will ever change that in the eyes of anyone, and I don’t wish it to change. So that’s fine if you still think that way about me; there’s nothing unnatural about it, and as I said, our discussion here merely is that – a discussion. I’m merely pointing out what I recognize in your behavior, to help ease your pain, if only a little.”

“I can’t accept such feelings, and certainly not from you… I feel like I would only be betraying too many people.”

“Who would you betray?”

“My parents, and myself,” Clive said in a low voice, as though he was speaking to himself.

There were a lot of things Bronev wished to reply to this, but the man hesitated for a second for fear of being yelled at another time. Clive had calmed down and he felt it would be too easy to destroy every progress he’d been making. However, the older man still decided he had the duty to voice his thoughts, no matter where it would lead them. Though he had not been aiming for such a change, he had been able to help the younger inmate with his struggles. Why would he stop now?

‘If I may…” Bronev started after a moment, “I don’t think you would betray any of these people. Your parents wouldn’t have wanted what you’ve done. I’ve lost my family though I was sure I’d been acting purely to save them during all these years, and now I understand how wrong I was. As for yourself… well, I can tell you’ve made a lot of progress tonight. If you were to accept my words, I’m certain you would be on the right path to finding peace. This would be in no way a betrayal; on the contrary, it would be a sign of growth.”

Clive had already been looking at Leon Bronev many times this evening, though it had never lasted long. The elderly man had been experiencing a myriad of sentiments emanating from his interlocutor: for a while, it had been hate. Then, Clive had started to show a different façade of his personality. He’d been a listener, and then had showed empathy, though his efforts to hide it had been easily noticed by Leon. His inside struggles had been obvious as well, but he could never mask for too long who he truly was: a nice man at heart. And at this very moment, for the first time, Bronev noticed another look in Clive’s eyes – another expression as a whole. He was undoubtedly grateful for everything the old man had done, and Leon did not need to know Clive Dove much more to be sure that he would never voice his thanks. On the contrary, he’d try to escape from the truth of these awkward feelings.

And how right he had been. “I… I’ll think about it,” the young man promised. He then proceeded to get up the bench and quickly looked away. “I still have a lot of things to consider about what has been going on tonight. I’d better get back to my cell for the night, though I’m not sure I’ll get some sleep.”

Bronev smiled again; partly because of Clive’s promise, but most importantly because of the excuse he’d brought up to avoid staying by his side for a moment longer. “This has been a moment I enjoyed, no matter what you can think,” Bronev confessed. “If we ever meet again – something of which I’m sure – I hope to see you as a happier man, finally at peace.”

Clive nodded, “I still have many years ahead of me for that.” As he was about to turn away and leave, however, something suddenly stopped him in his tracks. There was a wish he had forgotten to share. “And I… I hope you’ll find peace too, with your family.”

“Let’s not have too much hope.”

Two minutes later, the courtyard was empty, filled by silence. There was not a single trace that someone had actually spent more than a hour here; no one could remember the time when two criminals who looked so different yet so alike at the same time pushed their personal feelings aside to learn from one another.

This silence, however, was not long to reign. As the two men were still walking to their cells, they both heard someone calling their names. Clive was the first one to recognize that voice and what it would mean – but he did not expect what came next. Neither did Leon Bronev.

“Dove, there is someone waiting for you at the parlor – Professor Layton is back.” There was a single pause, and for a moment, it felt as though time were standing still. “And you too, Bronev. You’ll be next.”