Christmas 2002

Mello felt ill. He felt ill and shaky and a little bit sick. He was walking ten feet off the floor, amazed that his head wasn\'t banging on the ceiling, or so it felt. He had spoken to L. He had spoken with L at length. Mello had managed to play it cool in there, alone in a room with a webcam and L, but once outside the door his whole psyche had crumbled. He had had to promise by Almighty God, Jesus, Mary and a whole host of saints that he would never breathe a word about that discussion to anyone. Not Near, not any of the other children, not even Matt. Mello had to hide in the library, just to catch his breath and to regain his composure before daring to return to his room.



L had told him about three cases. Three! It had started curiously enough. After a brief chat with Mr Wammy, which left Mello feeling like there really was someone around this institution who cared about him as a person, L had suddenly piped up. "Hello, Mello. I apologise for interupting, but I wish to speak privately with you." Mello had nearly died on the spot. He honestly thought he was going to have a heart-attack, but he had not let any of this show on his face. He had kept his gaze watchful, his stance confidently relaxed and his tone respectful. L had continued, stating that he wanted Mello to understand what had happened with one of his predecessors, B. Mello already knew. There had been rumours from the moment he had stepped foot in the place, but nothing like the detail that L now provided him with.



Mello understood. "You believe that one of the children here has the potential to become another B." He had smiled faintly into the webcam. "Me. You see the sin in me and you know that I could take that route."



L had replied. "Meditate on not seeing the wood for the trees, Mello." But then had smoothly gone on to discuss two more cases. They had not been connected with Wammy\'s House and Mello understood that they were fillers. The important case had been the first he had told. Nevertheless, Mello had quietly lapped up every word like manna from Heaven, learning, assimilating methodology that had everything to do with winning and nothing directly to do with justice. Winning was everything, but Mello knew that.



Then his time was up and it took all of his will to nod a simple \'Merry Christmas\' to Mr Wammy and L, then agree to tell Deontic that Mr Wammy was ready for her. He didn\'t have to. She was waiting at the foot of the stairs. Shocked to the core, Mello had just stared at her, until she fled past him and gone to have her private chat. No-one else was going to get that. Everyone in the House would be going up those stairs, but only Mr Wammy would be waiting to speak to them. Mello felt like he was falling. He drew his knees up to his chin, wary of books falling on his head. L had spoken with him. Him alone. Him above everyone else in the House. He, Mihael Keehl, was special. He had spoken with L. Alone.



It took him a long time to recover enough to face the world. He rose shakily, his mind sliding from the incomprehensible to the shot of confidence. Mello felt secure in his position for the first time in years. He hadn\'t felt like this since Near had arrived and it seemed like his world had solid ground after a long time of cakewalk swinging. Mello clutched the little crucifix around his neck and thanked God for what had just happened to him. He\'d spoken with L. Mello laughed aloud. His emotions had swung in the other direction now. He wanted to rush downstairs and to kiss everyone he saw. He wanted to tell Mairoo that he too believed that the herons would take them home; he wanted to tell Century that Sion Corn was real and was going to find him here every year, because he was a lovely, little boy; he wanted to tell Fenian that Matt had worked out that he was from Galway Bay, but that was ok, because no-one would ever hunt him down to kill him with that knowledge; he wanted to seek out Near and offer him a football, then ask about him, where was he from, how did his mind work, why was he so weird, and all the other questions which might build bridges between them; he wanted to find Salvo and tell him that he was sorry he\'d hit him; he wanted to tell all of them that, because he probably had hit all of them at some time or another; he wanted to sit Hollow down and discuss with her the pentacles and tell her about the gospel to save her soul before it was too late; he wanted...



Mello had reached the door of his room. Inside there was faint clicking, but no game music. Matt in hiding, as Matt generally was. Downstairs, Mello could hear faintly the music of carols and occasional shouts as some of the other kids played a game together. An uneasy alliance, because it had to be in this place. Mello stared at his own hand on the doorhandle and realised anew that he had a rare and precious thing. He had a friendship in this institution, though there was no guarantee that one day Matt might not turn on him. If he had a clear run at the L code, without having to fight a war on two fronts, then it would be only natural for him to do so. Mello shook his head. He didn\'t want to think like that. Not today. Not on the Christ\'s Mass, with his crucifix clutched in his hand and the voice of L reverberating in his mind.



He opened the door and closed it quietly behind him. The curtains were drawn, but there was no real evidence that anyone else was in their room. Even the clicking had stopped, if it had ever really been there. Mello stared at the window. There were no bumps in the curtains. They were thick enough to conceal a silhouette. Mello smiled. His instincts were ringing. He knew that he never would go downstairs and say all those things to all those people. He would lose more than he could win. However, he was going to do what no-one else in this institution would dare do in a million years. He stepped forward and pulled back the curtain. Matt\'s eyes slid sideways to look at him. Mello didn\'t say a word, he just pulled the redhead off the windowsill and onto his feet.



"What?" Matt snapped. "I was playing my..."



Mello hugged him. Even Ann only ever touched Matt to pull him out of danger. Most people let him keep the space around him, because Matt had a variety of ways of punishing anyone who penetrated it. Mello had got away with a quick hug on several occasions, but nothing like this. He held him close, even when Matt squirmed, trying to get free. "Let me hug you." Mello demanded sternly. The redhead quietened, though his heart beat furiously against Mello\'s chest. "Let someone finally hug you."



Matt didn\'t hug back. He stood like a block of wood, but Mello didn\'t mind. It was more than anyone else had ever managed. In truth, it was nice for Mello too. He hugged Matt for a full minute before letting him go. Matt stood back against the wall, his arms drawn up defensively around his chest. His eyes stared at a spot on the carpet. He spoke so softly that Mello had to strain to hear him. "Why did you do that?"



"Because you\'re my best friend."



A half-smile flickered on Matt\'s face, then he climbed onto the windowsill again and closed the curtain behind him. From behind the folds of fabric, there came a quiet clicking of a boy lost in a game. Mello nodded and turned away.