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Fifty Days	By : sashocirrione Category: Death Note > Het-Male/Female > L/Misa Views: 2868 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note, and I do not make any money from these writings.

Chapter List
- 22
- 23
- 24
CHAPTER 23: Christmas I
L kept Matt in Japan long enough to see the Hideki Ryuga project to the end. The NPA successfully took Hideki Ryuga and his servants into protective custody without leaking information or creating a fuss. The victims all had heart attacks on schedule, while under sedation. The police created full documentation of the event, including videos, and L made sure Matt saw it. This was part of Matt's education. He needed to know that filling the role of L was much more than just a kind of game against criminals that was played over the computer. There were innocent victims who were real people, and more of them could be created with every mistake.
It was an eerie sight, to see a large room with several long rows of hospital beds, each bed holding an unconscious person who looked perfectly healthy and peaceful, right up until their simultaneous heart attacks when they all arched and grimaced and spasmed together, and then each and every heart rate monitor went flat. Matt looked suitably awed and unsettled as he watched the video. Good. Matt had seen what Kira was capable of. If he ended up taking over the role of L, he'd be better prepared for it.
Later, when L received word that the fire at Hideki Ryuga's mansion had been staged successfully, he told Watari to get Matt ready and send him to the airport.
Just before Matt left, he came to L and said, "When you arrive, are you going to stop me from smoking there too?"
"No, Matt. I will leave it up to Roger and the staff. I will be on vacation, and it would be suspicious if I took any more interest in you than I have before."
"Okay. Well, are you related to Near?"
Considering the superficial resemblance, this wasn't an odd question. L had often wondered if he'd subconsciously chosen his number one potential replacement to be someone very like himself. Though it was partly Near's fault for being such a mimic.
L said, "Matt, you know that everyone's history is classified. I'm not authorized to reveal anything about Near's past."
"I already know a bunch of things about Near's past. I was just wondering if your past and his past are connected, er, in a genetic way."
"Nice trick, but my past is even more classified than Near's past. Considering that the murderer's notebook can force people to divulge information, I have even more motivation to be secretive than ever before."
"You know I'll find out someday."
L smirked and said, "Yes, you will," and then went back to work.
The next day, the story of Misa's stalker dying the previous March with a mysterious heart attack hit the tabloids, leaked to the press by a con woman Watari had hired to insinuate herself into Yumiko's social circle and talk to Yumiko in bars while she was drunk.
L had been avoiding visiting Misa, even though he was supposed to once a week and not visiting was stretching that requirement. Misa's hospital was under surveillance by the Matsuzaki Detective Agency; that much was clear. Both Wedy and Watari had been sent in at different times, in various disguises, to check for bugs, hidden cameras, and stalkers, and had found all three. Watari had given Rem the signal to follow him back to his car, and once there had explained that Misa was under surveillance by other detectives and that L couldn't visit yet but would soon.
Since neither Wedy nor Watari did anything suspicious or looked anything like "Hideki Ryuga" and neither went into Misa's room, they were ignored. When the look-alike decoy Watari had hired tried visiting the hospital, two men had trailed him expertly at a distance when he left.
L didn't like taking chances, but he knew he needed to visit Misa once before leaving the country. Rem would need at least that much reassurance. And, if he was trailed after leaving, he wouldn't be going straight back to headquarters anyway. Jumping from country to country was the easiest way to throw off pursuit.
When all the arrangements had been made, L had a security expert ostensibly hired by Misa's modeling agency enter the hospital a few hours before L's planned visit, scanning with devices to detect the hidden microphones and cameras Wedy had already confirmed. The security expert removed all the devices and had a serious talk with the hospital's management about the problem of such things being illegally placed in and near a celebrity's room. Then, after one last sweep of Misa's room to be absolutely certain it was clear, the security expert gave the signal.
At that time, Watari sent the look-alike decoy in and out of the hospital to draw away the watchers. This time only one followed him away, and there seemed to be a third watcher, unnoticed previously, who was more discreet than the other two. While the one watcher was drawn away by the decoy, L had himself delivered to the hospital. His small frame was completely folded up inside a large wicker vase that was holding a huge spray of flowers nearly as tall as a person. The vase of flowers was being delivered by a service that would only be used this once. If the detectives tried to investigate the delivery service, they wouldn't get anywhere.
L waited patiently as the man carrying the vase checked in with hospital staff and confirmed that these flowers were certainly for Misa's room. Too many flowers, gifts and cards had been sent by Misa's fans, overflowing all available space, and now those items were being diverted to her modeling studio. Only things sent by her friends and family were allowed in her hospital room anymore.
When the courier reached Misa's room, he placed L's vase on the floor. L waited until he heard the sound of the door closing before he opened the hinged front of the wicker vase and emerged. He paranoid enough about even one missed camera that he was wearing a simple cloth mask over his face, and he did one additional sweep of the room with a scanning device, finding nothing. Only then did he remove his mask and turn towards Rem.
Rem said, "Misa's sister truly hired the detectives?"
L said, "Yes, and I believe they will drop the case soon. They are no threat to you unless they figure out who I am and what I'm doing."
L held up the tabloid he'd brought along with him, opening it to the appropriate story so Rem could read.
He said, "The media has been digging into Misa's past. Normally even tabloids would not be quite so eager to publish the ramblings of a drunk woman, but Misa's actions have created a major scandal. I was not aware of this event previously."
Rem's single visible eye widened. She hesitated, and then said, "That happened before I revealed myself to Misa. I killed the stalker before he could harm Misa."
"Did you follow her always then? Why not just knock the knife from the stalker's hand and frighten him into staying away from Misa?"
"Misa's lifespan was scheduled to run out that day. I watched from a portal in the shinigami realm, so it was not possible to interfere in any way except by killing him. By the time I realized who the threat was, it would have taken too long to travel to Misa's location."
So, unless Rem is lying, lifespans can be changed by averting incidents that would cause death. It would seem that the normal rules of cause and effect work, not predestination. Can lives only be lengthened this way, or can they be shortened as well?
L said, "Why did you introduce yourself to Misa? You could have continued protecting her the same way, and she never would have become a suspect. It seems as if you only endangered her."
Rem sighed. "I admit it was a mistake. I did not think it through, and I believed she would never get caught or try anything as public as those Kira videos. I felt sorry for Misa and I wanted to be by her side, to be part of her life. I cannot remain in the human world for more than three days at a time unless a human has one of my death notes. That way, I would always be with Misa."
Well, this line of questioning has gone far enough. Rem might think it suspicious if I keep asking about these things. I should try to quiz Ryuk later about everything Rem has told me.
L braced himself and turned to face Misa's hospital bed. She was hidden so far, just one arm visible, but as he walked further into the room she came fully into view. When he saw Misa's face, she was looking right back. Her eyes held something. Pain and exhaustion?
Nothing else moved, just the eyes. Every other part was unnaturally still, like a statue, frozen in place. Those eyes only followed L's progress across the room halfway, and then they were suddenly blank and unresponsive again, as if Misa's body no longer had an inhabitant.
She looked smaller than ever, like a tiny, brittle doll, overwhelmed by the tubes and wires. Her skin was pale and her lips, without lipstick, were nearly the same color. The bandages on her head had been completely removed, showing where a little more than half of her head had previously been shaved for the surgery that repaired her wound, so her long hair was only on the opposite side of her head. On both sides, her dark undyed roots were growing in, except for a large shiny patch of scar tissue where it was obvious that hair would never grow again. L felt a sharp stab of sympathy for her, and tried to bury it deep within.
It seemed almost impossible that such a tiny frame could support a pregnancy. L knew that Misa was getting extra nutrients and vitamins through the IV and the feeding tube to help ensure normal development, but it still didn't seem like a good idea for her to be pregnant. The doctors had already measured her pelvis, and they said the opening in the pelvic bone wasn't large enough. Misa wouldn't give birth naturally, it was too risky. It would have to be a caesarian.
Rem is watching.
L swallowed his revulsion and leaned down to press his lips to the back of Misa's hand. It was limp and felt completely dead, a corpse hand except for the very slight warmth it held. He rubbed the unresponsive hand, imagining it wasn't Misa's at all, and tried to put an expression of fondness on his face.
Rem drifted closer and said, "The doctors say that if someone comes here often to talk to her and touch her hands like that, she will be likely to wake up permanently sooner."
I can't easily refuse this. I must give in to Rem with the small issues. But I can place the responsibility elsewhere.
L said, "We will see after my trip. I can't easily visit as long as Misa is being watched, and I am forced to work very long hours until the case is closed, unless you feel like telling me what I want to know. I will hire someone to do that job, and you can do it yourself as long as you remain unseen."
Just then, L heard soft footsteps approaching the door. It felt entirely wrong. Something about the way those footsteps were placed seemed very stealthy.
L ducked down behind the bed and peered carefully toward the door.
Rem said, "What is it?"
L said nothing, and a few moments later he saw a tiny gray disk slide under the door and then ascend to about knee-height on a curved wire.
Obviously, a camera or microphone. Probably a video camera, judging from the designs I've seen. It must have been too suspicious to remove all their surveillance devices and then have the decoy lead one of their men away within such a short time span.
L motioned for Rem to come close. When she had positioned her ear right by his mouth, he said, in a whisper that was almost as silent as a breath, "See who is outside, but don't kill or do anything. It will only draw suspicion."
Rem passed through the door. L waited, but she wasn't coming back with a quick answer. Just as he had almost decided to call Watari, there was a distant clatter sounding like a large number of pots and pans crashing to the floor all at once, followed by a loud, low-pitched hissing sound and then arguing voices. The gray disk on the end of the wire retreated and then L heard footsteps going away, not bothering to be so soft this time.
Rem drifted in through a wall and said, "It is a woman in a doctor's uniform."
"What is her name?"
"Shinigami cannot tell the names they see to humans."
"Surely you can read from her name tag. Go read it."
L stayed hidden behind the bed and waited until Rem returned.
Rem said, "Her name tag says Haruki Fukada."
"Thank you. I will investigate this. They probably bribed an employee of the hospital."
L plucked his cellphone from his pocket and told Watari to send the courier back up to retrieve the vase. Then he used a cloth to wipe clean the few surfaces where he'd touched and might have left fingerprints, and retreated to the vase, making sure to bring his tabloid with him. It wouldn't do to leave any clues.
A couple of minutes after he'd carefully replaced the cloth mask on his face and wedged himself back into that tight space inside the vase and latched the hidden door, he heard the worker return and felt the wicker vase being lifted and moved. On the way past the chaos Rem had caused, he heard workers arguing about what could have possibly ruptured a water pipe and knocked over a cart full of equipment.
How strong is a shinigami?
At last L felt the vase being put down, and heard the sound of doors, like car doors, slamming one after the other.
I should be in the van now. Only two more stops, and then I'll be with Watari.
L couldn't see what was happening, but he knew the plan and could guess where he was at any point by the patterns of movement and sound. First there was being delivered to a flower shop, to be switched for an identical display. If there were followers, they should follow the decoy unless they were quite prepared. After being left at the flower shop for twenty minutes, hearing the shop girls gossip and complain, the flowers were taken away and replaced. The top part of the vase, only a few inches deep and completely unconnected to the chamber he was in, was exchanged for a new top part that should be an arrangement of dried plants.
Next, there was being carried to yet another van and being delivered to an empty hotel room. L climbed out of the wicker vase, used the facilities, and stretched his legs for a few minutes. Then he wiped down all surfaces where he might have left fingerprints and put himself inside a large padded suitcase, wearing the breathing apparatus from scuba equipment so he'd have a couple hours worth of air without a risk of suffocating.
It was one of thirty-four suitcases in the hotel room, each with a different address label attached, each to be sent to a different destination via a separate courier. In order to follow the correct suitcase, the detectives would need to have thirty-four followers working at once, or they'd need to be lucky.
At the end of the next leg of the journey, L was delivered to the back of Watari's car, and only after Watari had driven a considerable distance did he stop and release L from the suitcase.
L scrambled out of the suitcase and into the backseat with a sigh of relief.
Watari said, "Are you sure the next step is necessary? I'm certain we have no stalkers now."
"I would rather be too careful than end up with my photograph published."
Unfortunately, airports always had surveillance cameras, and even L couldn't just request the authorities to remove them. If the detectives realized or suspected that "Hideki Ryuga" was leaving the country, they might spend time combing through all of those videos. A disguise would probably thwart the cameras, but L wanted to be completely certain of not being followed or photographed.
Using a private jet would allow that usual airport security to be bypassed, but if the detectives had any idea that particular jet was being used for such a purpose, it would be a simple matter to trace its flight path and get altogether too close to home. Even narrowing down the likely citizenship of "Hideki Ryuga" to one country would be disastrous. L needed a large buffer of secrecy, not a small one.
There was also the option of flying as part of the inanimate freight, in a shipping container, but that was more dangerous. Being unpressurized and unheated at flight level required special equipment, and freight workers were far less careful with those containers. They sometimes dropped them roughly off forklifts or subjected them to violent jerks.
The best solution was to fly with the animate freight. Livestock got exactly the opposite treatment. It was very expensive to fly them and there were correspondingly serious consequences if they were damaged or died. Most livestock being flown were extremely valuable purebred animals, or the pets of the very rich.
And so, L flew out of Japan in a special crate. It was about as big as a medium-sized bathroom. It had its walls, floor and ceiling all made of thick wood, had three small windows covered with metal grating, and had a double back wall that concealed a crawl space just wide enough for L to sit in without squeezing his elbows too much. The main section of the crate contained a large quantity of fresh hay and two llamas that were supposedly extremely tame.
L did not trust the report Watari had been given and so he spent all of the 14-hour flight in the secret crawl space rather than the main section. Llamas were known as spitters, after all. Several times an attendant visited to bring the animals fresh food and water, and L watched through a crack between the boards as the llamas surged forward and "rewarded" the attendant with excited licks. Yes, that was the problem with animals. If they weren't hostile or unpredictable, they were usually too friendly.
Watari had been instructed to take an entirely different route, on passenger planes but switching both his flights and his disguises a number of times during the journey. The two of them eventually met up where the huge crate of llamas was delivered, on a farm rented just for that purpose. Then there was driving south as the sky brightened and the sun rose, the sky turning from a wild pink to a blazing orange. Then, finally, the sky was just blue with white clouds as Watari went through the security system to let him drive in the front gate and pulled up in front of the familiar building, the one building most strongly etched on L's memory.
It was an old structure, functioning as a Catholic orphanage managed by nuns until being abandoned during World War II, and then sitting empty until Mr. Wammy bought it and refurbished it. It looked like a religious building, and still even had a cross mounted on the peak of the roof despite that the students, from all over the world, included those who were agnostics, atheists and of non-Christian religions.
Technically, Wammy's House continued to have a tenuous relationship with a small complex of religious buildings that were a mere five minute walk from the orphanage, but it was more a kind of camouflage than anything definite. The nuns there were not allowed inside the orphanage, and the children at Wammy's House were encouraged to have whatever beliefs they felt appropriate.
One student, code named Glad, liked to switch to a different unusual religion every six months or so, just so he could force Roger to bring in someone to instruct him in it. Last time L had looked at the student files, Glad had converted to Yazidism and Roger had been almost unable to procure a Yazidi cleric to instruct him, seeing as it was a tiny, isolated religion with a deep suspicion of outsiders and other ethnic groups.
Memories were heavy in this place, brought on by everything from the shape of the stairs leading up to the front entrance to the way the snow stretched off into the distance and reflected back the dull sunlight. It felt like being assaulted by memories, an overwhelming wave of them, but that very assault was welcoming. It didn't leave much room inside for Misa. Misa was a person for another place, another time. She could not enter here.
L exited the car and got his own suitcase from the trunk. Watari did not act like a servant in this place. L put a neutral, slightly bored look on his face as he climbed the steps behind Watari. He was supposed to be the nephew of a rich man who had orphanages all over the world, and any single orphanage just wasn't that interesting to a mere nephew, even if he might own the entire chain of orphanages someday.
The children here were smart enough to suspect that L may have visited them in person in addition to the computer interviews he sometimes conducted. When asked during those computer interviews, L always denied it, but he knew the suspicion was there.
From the very beginning he'd made sure to send plenty of people who could be the real L to the orphanage, ostensibly as part-time tutors, gardeners, electricians, plumbers, people who came to give speeches on various topics, and instructors in specialized skills that only needed a week or two of lessons each year.
L made sure that quite a number of these people were barely-there recurring presences, gone enough of the time to possibly have a career as L when elsewhere, and yet continuing to visit year after year, as L should if he were truly keeping on eye on the orphans in person. L also made sure that most of the decoys had the letter "L" at least once somewhere in their names, and he gave them various tests to put the students through.
It had been difficult to resist playing tricks and subjecting students to tests and questions in person, but by doing those things only through proxies or through the computer, it was possible to appear in person as one of the people who acted the least like L should act. There were so many candidates for an undercover version of L that it should be impossible to pick out the real one.
L followed Watari through the front doors and into a small coatroom, where he shed his shoes and jacket, and then through another set of double-doors that had to be pushed to open, with discreet palm-scanners built into the part of the door you push on. Children couldn't be expected to go through extensive security checks to go in and out of the building they lived in, and the security at the front gate kept out the outsiders. Nobody should have a reason to attack an orphanage for gifted children, and if the criminal underworld ever thought that this orphanage had anything to do with L's real identity, then no amount of security would prevent those attacks. The best defense was always to remain hidden and therefore avoid attacks completely.
Roger was just inside, in his familiar hunched-over posture, looking pleased and tired all at once. It was a good thing there were so many staff workers for such a small orphanage. Roger did not like children. He was more of a business manager, someone interested in organizing things rather than people.
Roger said, "Quillsh! How are things going?"
Watari replied, "Ah, Roger, harder than usual, but nothing we couldn't handle. The investors are really expecting another upgrade on the Beacon design before April, but after rewriting the prospectus there was a grudging acceptance that it needs to remain in research and development longer, at least until we work out the ionic resistance."
For once, this wasn't a bunch of code-speak as usually happened when these two met after a long separation, but an actual update on Watari's other job, being an inventor. Still, it was a signal to Roger that things had been pretty bad on the Kira case, bad enough that Watari didn't want to discuss it at all, even in code. Roger knew the relevant details anyway. He'd been sent the files to hand over to other detectives in case of L's death, and Watari had talked to Roger on the phone a bit since being released from captivity.
A steady trickle of children was coming down the hallway, from the direction of the cafeteria. Someone must have been paying attention. A cook rounded the corner and tried to shoo the children back where they'd come from, then caught a glimpse of Watari and exclaimed, "Mr. Wammy! How delightful to see you!"
The trickle of children turned into a flood, and Roger hastily stepped back to avoid the group hug that was rapidly forming around Watari. The crowd was filled with various exclamations and questions uttered so quickly that Watari had no chance of answering them all. L hung back. Hardly anyone cared about Mr. Wammy's creepy-looking nephew, and L knew he was more off-putting than usual, with his bonier frame, more extreme eye bags, and the haunted look that had intensified ever since Misa...
L shook off his thoughts and looked down the hallway, seeing if Mello, Matt or Near were coming. As the last few stragglers arrived, it was obvious that the top three successors had decided to stay behind. A number of the older kids were missing too. They probably thought it embarrassing to leave breakfast for a group hug.
L looked at the Christmas decorations strung along the juncture of the walls and ceiling. They all seemed rather generic this year. He'd lost track of the nationality schedule.
L said, "Roger, which culture is it this time?"
"It's an American Christmas."
L gave out a short, sharp laugh, almost like a bark. "Isn't that almost cheating?"
Watari struggled free of the group hug and said, "It's a lot less work, yes, but it's a legitimate Christmas tradition. If you wanted something more interesting, you should have voted on the schedule."
As some of the children began to disperse back to the cafeteria, the two newest kids, a boy and a girl, began approaching L and then stopped hesitantly at a short distance, looking him up and down. These two hadn't been here during L's last visit, and as there were no photos of him, his presence should be a mystery. In contrast, Watari's photo was sitting on a table in Roger's office. L had only a little to do with the selection process beyond designing tests, but he was fully briefed whenever new students were chosen. He knew the true names and histories of these two, though he would pretend not to.
The boy, a Burmese orphan who had given himself the code name Yadanar after his dead sister, pointed at L and said, "Who is this?"
Watari knelt down to be at eye-level with the twelve-year-old and said, "This is my nephew, Elliot Wammy."
The idea to use "Elliot" as an alias was one of those decisions L wished he could take back. It had an "L" sound right at the beginning, and altogether it sounded like a very bad mispronunciation of his full name. But, he'd been younger and relatively less experienced when he'd made that choice, and now the alias couldn't be changed.
L let go of his suitcase, spoke a greeting and leaned down to the same level, holding out his hand to be shaken. The girl took one glance at his eyes and retreated a couple of steps, but the boy stood his ground and boldly shook the offered hand.
Yadanar couldn't be easily frightened by appearances. He'd worked as part of Burma's clandestine mining industry, one of the bloodiest and most dangerous in the world, due to the despotic government's inefficient monopoly enforced by the secret police and death squads. Technically, all gems mined there belonged to the government and all mines were state-owned, but in reality most of the industry was privately owned, based in smuggling. The pay was scarce considering the value of the goods, and death frequently came from government crackdowns or from other miners and smugglers.
Yadanar had managed to rescue himself from that lifestyle by first building a large smuggling ring of orphans, getting gems over the border into Thailand and running con games to sell them to foreign tourists for more than the raw material was worth. Every facet of his operation had been run very intelligently. Then, when the money had built up enough, he fled permanently into Thailand with the five orphans from his smuggling ring who had agreed to come along, and they bought themselves places in an orphanage.
Thailand was prosperous compared to Burma, but it was only a slightly better place for an orphan. Most orphans either lived on the streets or were rounded up to be used as sex slaves in whorehouses for pedophiles. Relatively speaking, an orphanage was actually a high-class place for an orphan to live, and getting there was the result of either luck, or connections, or money.
The Wammy's House in Thailand regularly received reports and test scores from other Thai orphanages, and Yadanar's abilities were impressive enough that the manager of that Wammy's House offered him a place. Then, a year later, Yadanar had passed the additional tests that allowed him to relocate, if he wanted, to the British Wammy's House, for the most gifted students.
Yadanar finished shaking L's hand, turned to Watari, and said, "I have heard Elliot is your only relative. Will he inherit the orphanages someday?"
His English was precise and almost perfect, polished during years of sweet-talking foreign tourists into buying gems that looked nice to an untrained eye but were worth little.
Watari said, "It depends. Mr. Ruvie has a niece who might take over. Elliot is rather preoccupied with the ranch most of the time."
A girl from the crowd spoke up, "They're very nice ponies, Elliot. I don't want you to sell them!"
L said, "Claire, is it? Don't worry about them. I have some excellent managers who could probably take over all the decisions."
The ranch was a cover for what "Elliot" usually did with his time. It was a typical rich person's hobby job, the breeding of fine, purebred horses. The ranch was in Iceland, and even if it were discovered that it was run entirely by managers who almost never saw "Elliot" it wouldn't seem odd. Plenty of rich young people placed most of their duties onto managers, even if they claimed to be tremendously preoccupied with their hobby jobs. It was a typical cover for simply being rich and lazy. With two layers to the lie, it was very unlikely to ever be found out.
Watari was leading the group back toward the cafeteria and L didn't feel like being around people. He was hungry, but large groups were a bit unsettling. He went downstairs to put away his suitcase in the room in the basement he'd be staying in, then snuck around a different way than the main hallway, avoiding the cafeteria entirely, and waited just outside a back entrance to the kitchen until he saw his chance and darted in to snatch a cookie jar. He took it to his favorite window, on the second floor. It was one with a window seat built in, and its shape precisely matched the way he liked to curl his body.
It was more interesting to look out a window than actually be outside, just as it was more interesting to observe the world and events in general through computers than to be there in person. The view expanded outward quite some distance without obstructions. There were flat white fields to play in, already covered with many small footprints and a few snow forts and snow men, all surrounded by the high iron grillwork of the enclosing wall, marching off into the distance. Further, there were the woods, gray and leafless, and the church and a few associated buildings just visible, poking above the level of those branches. It was getting cloudier, so that the cloud shadows merged into great dark masses, and the patches of pale sunlight from the spaces between those shadows slowly crawled over the snow.
L had almost finished the entire jar of cookies when he heard the sound of socks on carpet. He looked over his shoulder to see Near, a flat cardboard box under his arm. This was nothing new. Near loved to sit nearby, as if the mere presence of L was somehow comforting.
Near simply said, "Elliot."
L nodded sharply and said, "Near, do you want to get me more cookies?"
"No," Near said as he settled on the floor and poured jigsaw puzzle-pieces out of the cardboard box, "we will probably get in trouble for those cookies anyway. It is better not to risk more."
"I will confess. The cooks know how I am."
All the visible puzzle-pieces were white. It had to be the blank puzzle, the one with just a small "L" symbol in one corner, that Near had requested and received the previous Christmas. The children did not get presents from "Elliot Wammy" and "Elliot" generally got none in return, but every child received a gift from "L" for Christmas. In reality, Watari picked out most of them and L just gave a final approval.
Near has many toys and this is a suspicious selection. Has Near guessed who I am?
Near did not make further eye contact, but assumed even more of a monkey-like posture on the floor than before, his elbows splayed oddly, his face a tight mask of concentration. Proximity, simply lurking close to those people he liked while engaged in his own activities, seemed to satisfy Near's social urges, relieving him of the need to talk. All his movements and his posture, especially the way he picked up the puzzle pieces with his short, stubby fingers, gave the impression of a child who was much younger.
Near did not want to grow up. That much was certain. And he was a mimic of a sort. L remembered the blank, almost completely unresponsive child Near had been at first, the one who ignored most of what was said to him but imitated the motions and posture of children nearby. Near regularly got hit two or three times a day for it no matter how much the staff tried to protect him. Then, Near had begun imitating L, and L never said a word about it or hit him and the act stuck permanently. Perhaps Near saw everything as a game. You make yourself into what is expected of you, and the world rewards you; you win the game.
Was Near's attitude a good one for the next L? It was difficult to be sure of what Near really thought, but he seemed too calm and clinical, too focused on goals instead of methods. Was Near an amoral person? There were supposed to be measures in place to screen out those who were not interested in the difference between right and wrong, but it was possible for an amoral person to pass the tests, especially one who was focused on satisfying the expectations of others.
In general, the various examples of Wammy's House all over the world merely tried to give orphans a great education. The British Wammy's House was different in several ways. It accepted only the most intelligent students from the other institutions, and before acceptance it further screened those candidates for qualities necessary to become the next L, even if those students were unlikely to seriously enter the running.
It wouldn't do to eventually hand L's power and network of contacts over to someone who was amoral or, worse yet, actively evil. Someone with L's reputation and that much influence over the world's police forces could easily create a lot of trouble and chaos, up to and including possibly building a criminal empire.
There was also the issue of someone abusing the allies L had carefully worked to accumulate, many of which he'd grown to like. He dreaded the idea of an amoral successor using that trust to send those people on suicide missions.
So, candidates were given tests, and only those with a clear sense of right and wrong, or an ability to fake that sense, were allowed through. Obeying laws was not emphasized, rather the morality tests focused on a more general understanding of ethics. After all, L broke minor laws all day long merely by existing under various fake identities and by not turning in criminals, such as Wedy, that he had caught but decided to rehabilitate. In many countries, helping a criminal evade the law made you an accomplice.
Accepting authority was not a part of the testing either. The tests favored children who tended to question what they were taught. Hopefully this was not so much because of a rebellious streak, though there was nothing wrong with rebellion, but rather because they wanted to confirm things for themselves and pick apart how things worked. They were tested for the ability to question assumptions and see the hidden patterns behind the usual explanations, as a detective would need to do.
Then there were additional requirements that were tailored to being able to emulate L's particular work methods and style. Candidates needed to either already speak or be willing to learn the languages that L was known to be fluent in. If "L" suddenly had a problem with languages he'd clearly known before, it would be obvious that a switch had occurred. Candidates also needed to show a high tolerance for, or even a preference for, seclusion. L's usual habit of never showing himself to the police or the public and of going to other great lengths to hide his identity required a lot of seclusion.
The last two requirements in the screening process were making sure the candidate had the ability to keep secrets, and to then have the candidate agree to take an alias and keep their real name a secret. The children in Wammy's House did not necessarily want to be the next L or to be detectives of any kind. Either way, they were given training in all the areas of knowledge that might be useful in a career as a detective, and in whatever other fields they wanted.
Near had clearly decided, though, that he wanted to be the next L. He didn't seem to have any other goal, and even his play was oriented toward discovering patterns and learning to solve puzzles. L watched Near in an evaluating way for a while, trying to decipher his almost non-existent facial expressions and his strangely toddler-like body language, trying to decide just what Near's mind was really like, before remembering that this was supposed to be a vacation. L let his gaze drift away from Near and back to the view out of the window, immersing himself in pleasant memories of time spent in this exact window seat.
When his hunger got the better of L he drifted downstairs for lunch, resolving to get his single healthy meal out of the way so that he could stuff himself on sweets again in the evening. There would be plenty of special treats. The cooks had probably spent all week building up a large reserve of sweets for Christmas, and Watari had likely called ahead and warned them to make a lot more because "Elliot" was coming.
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Fifty Days