Layton Drownout 2020

Someone Saved My Life Tonight...

Summary: Stumbling through the streets after a horrible attack, Hershel Layton is rescued by the last people he ever would have expected.

Keep moving, Hershel.

Don't stop. Don't stop walking. Don't stop moving. If you keep moving, you'll eventually come across someone. Anyone. Anyone who could help you. There has to be someone out here this late at night...

...someone who won't attack you like that man did...

He repeated it to himself in his mind, over and over, as he stumbled down the street, his hand pressed as hard as he could manage against his left side. He could feel a burning hot wetness on his fingers as he crashed into a streetlamp, and he leaned against it to catch his breath.

He looked up, straightening his skewed hat, and searched around the street for any pedestrians who could be nearby. His vision fuzzed and blurred with every turn of his head.

"...h..."

His foot slipped out from under his body and he only barely managed to catch the lamp post in time to avoid falling. He couldn't fall. Not now. He knew that to collapse now would mean he couldn't get back up again.

"...help..." he gasped. "...someone... help me..."

Even if there had been someone to hear him, he hadn't spoken anywhere near loud enough to catch their attention.

It wasn't fair. This was Monte d'Or, one of the most populated and tourist-filled cities in the United Kingdom. How was it possible that he was in the one part of town that had nobody around to come across him?

He pressed himself away from the streetlamp, still clutching his bleeding abdomen, and kept walking. He had to keep walking. He was sure to come across someone who could help him. Someone who would call an ambulance or the police or at the very least, give him a bandage.

There was no way Professor Hershel Layton could fall to a wound from some random knife-wielding thug on the street.

Thank goodness he still had his wallet, at least. Whoever that thug was, he'd been satisfied with the money and hadn't felt the need to take Hershel's entire wallet.

So if he did lose his strength and pass out in the street, whoever found his drained body would know what to carve on his tombstone.

He cursed himself. He couldn't think like that. Even if every step was agony, even if every movement cost him more blood, he had to keep moving.

The situation was nothing if not frustrating. He wanted to give himself puzzles to solve to keep himself awake, but if he took even one moment to shift his focus away from staying awake and moving, he'd end up on the floor.

Keep moving, Hershel, he had to remind himself. Keep moving. Just keep moving.

What terrible luck that this would happen so far from the Dromedary. Moving as slowly as he was, it would take him until noon tomorrow to get back to his hotel room and meet with Emmy and Luke. It wasn't fair to them. They needed to know what had happened to him, especially if he really didn't make it back.

And thanks to that thug, he couldn't use a payphone to connect with them even if there was one on this street.

It would be so much easier to move if he didn't feel as though his entire torso was on fire.

His leg shuddered under his weight with every step and he couldn't keep himself from stumbling again, shooting another stab of agony through his body. His gaze was filled with nothing but the golden-lit footpath that blurred and spun before his eyes.