Watari Pt 1: L\'s Heirs

Most people do not survive solitary confinement for long. For those incarcerated without hope of release, the decline of body and mind arrives much sooner. The Universal Declaration of Human Rights states that \'everyone is entitled in full equality to a fair and public hearing by an independent and impartial tribunal, in the determination of his rights and obligations and of any criminal charge against him.\' The psychiatric effects, on the victims of arbitrary detention, can be severe. In August 2003, prisoners at the Connecticut Department of Correction reportedly swallowed razor blades and smashed their heads against the wall, amongst other things, in response to social isolation and sensory deprivation. Neuron knew all of this. He had been studying it.



From the caged screen, Mrs Wendum droned on and on. She was teaching her class on MySQL and Oracle. Even the kids in the room with her looked bored. Neuron found himself staring, not at her, but at his peers. He watched them looking out of the unseen window or up at the ceiling. He could almost smell the classroom, taste its air. It was as if his former and life, and all his memories, had become a television programme; a daily soap opera to view but never to influence. He couldn\'t see his sister. She wasn\'t in this class. He wondered how many of them were thinking about him now. Eyes glazed and minds distracted not by tedium per se, but considerations of Neuron. He was, after all, this generation\'s Mello. Better than Mello. The hacked rankings had placed him top amongst his peers.



On the screen, Daton raised his hand to answer a question and irritation flashed through Neuron\'s psyche. He clutched handfuls of the quilt cover beneath him. It was an instant reaction and he took a moment to analyse it. He was irked because this was evidence of concentration. Daton was listening to the lecture, not musing upon absentees. Neuron forced the emotion back down. Feelings of depression, despair, irrational fears and anger assault the long-term imprisoned. If there were already mental health issues, then these feeling exacerbated the problems. It was a known phenomena. Neuron refused to stagger into insanity in here. Daton could attend classes all he liked, he had already lost The Game. They had all lost The Game, because Neuron was already winning it.



Neuron turned his face towards the camera. He was watched constantly, in a feed directly overseen by Near. He didn\'t know if that included audio, but he supposed that it should. He told the little lense, "Tempora mutantur, nos et mutamur in illis." Times change and we change with them. Neuron smirked. He was not only in The Game, but he was ahead of The Game, because alone of all his peers, Neuron had Near\'s undivided attention. Just a handful of walls and corridors separated Neuron from L himself. He was Near\'s problem. Near\'s concern. He was the only person, in this whole bubble world built around them, who could match Near\'s intellect. Let Daton answer as many questions as he liked in some far-away computer class; Near was watching Neuron.



One slip. One breach of security and Neuron could have the L Code. The plot had worked. It hadn\'t worked quite how they had envisaged, but the goal was not out of sight. It had always been like the slogan from that television show, \'The Apprentice\'. Sir Alan Sugar snapping out, \'First prize is working for me. There is no second prize.\' Thus it was in Wammy\'s House. First prize was to gain the L Code. That was all. For the rest, Neuron knew, there was not one of them who wouldn\'t kill or be killed to take that prize. Neuron was so much nearer now. Hollow and Catania had taken out most of the mighty Kira generation. If the prize of Mello and Near had not been dangling so enticingly, then Matt would have been removed too. When questions of succession were asked, then so few people now stood between Neuron and the L Code. His location only made him stronger.



Neuron smiled. His computer beeped as the assignment, set by Mrs Wendum in her classroom, was patched through to him too. He stirred from his bed and wandered across to look at it. It was stimulus. However tedious, it was work like this which kept him from going mad. They were still educating him! Neuron chuckled whenever he thought about that. That was Chrissie\'s doing. Cold, ice maiden Chrissie, who was one of the few people whom he ever saw face to face. She was totally devoid of human emotion, but she went after rights and legalities like a rottweiler. It was Chrissie who had assured him that one day he would be released. It was a pity that one day he would have to kill her.



He knew her weaknesses. He knew all of their weaknesses. Secretly studing the things that they liked and the known details that made them tick. His bookcase creaked under the weight of all the Mafia books, delivered six months ago from his room at Wammy\'s House. Neuron had read the Catholic Bible six times from cover to cover. He was ready for Mello. Neuron used the computer to research toys and games. He had learned the meanings of tarot cards. He had researched child law and the history of portrait art. All of those tidbits of information, gleaned in the past from Hollow, were his to master and use now.



In his philosophy class, he had chosen, as his major project, dynamic deontic logic in the application of mathematical physics. Such unforeseen results there, throwing up massive flaws in the Watari system. He had to have private tutorials, but none of the lofty geniuses would risk a lecturer speaking directly with him. Instead he had had messenger sessions with Deontic and Luigi. He had charmed them. Deontic had finished by inviting him to contact her again, if he needed more assistance. While, with Luigi, an hour long session had turned into three, the pair of them sharing a passion for advanced physics that had lifted Neuron out of himself. He was due another of those tutorials tomorrow with Near himself. How many other Wammy\'s House students got that? None of them. Neuron smirked. None of them. He was being taught by the best and, in the process, they were being mentally seduced by him. On the day he was released, he would be ready for them.



Mrs Wendum was releasing her class, so they could go for their lunch. Neuron turned expectantly towards his cell door. They were punctual here. He didn\'t need a clock to know the time and, right on cue, he heard the clanging of the outer door being opened. The inner door followed, revealing the cage and a warder flanked by two guards. It was Stuart. That was a shame, because Stuart was habitually dour-faced and utterly intractable. Neuron could at least get a smile out of Marie, the other warder. Stuart placed Neuron\'s tray down at the threshold of the door, then reversed out. There was an electronic click, as soon as Stuart was clear, and the cage opened for Neuron to claim his food. He smiled sweetly, "Thank you very much and compliments to the chef." Neuron met Stuart\'s gaze. "Any mail?"



"No."



Anger flashed through Neuron\'s psyche, but he reined it in. It had been over a week since Kato had last written or sent him a drawing. Neuron knew that these were vetted by Near before they arrived in this room. The hold up must be there, because his sister usually sent something every couple of days. "I demand to know..." Neuron began, but Stuart and his guards had withdrawn and the door closed in Neuron\'s face. Neuron shook. He sat down at his desk, suddenly not hungry. What if Kato was ill? Alone in that house without parents or brother. She was only little! She needed him and yet his repeated requests to see her had been ignored. Neuron choked down the despair that always lingered beneath a layer of his anger. He had to eat. If he didn\'t eat, he would get ill. Then he would contact Chrissie. She could move mountains. She would investigate this for him. He would make her get the answers for him.



Neuron ate silently, bitterly, focusing on the new assignment just for something to think about other than Kato. The food was tasteless. A functional necessity, soon gone. Then he typed an e-mail, on a system monitored and restricted by Watari. There was only one address he could send to, despite his best attempts at cracking it. He sent two e-mails to it, the first for the attention of Chrissie, complaining about the with-holding of his mail and lack of information about his sister. The second was for the attention of Hal. It listed his decision regarding the subject of two projects. The first, he stated, would be an investigation into how the geology of Dinas Emrys could have contributed to the rise of the red dragon/white dragon mythology of Wales; the second would be an exploration of the role of the Catholic Church in the modern American Mafia. Now Neuron cheered up. Now he smiled. He sat in gleeful anticipation of the messenger sessions inherent here.



The reply was almost instant. Less than a minute pass before a beep told him that he had mail. Neuron blinked in surprise and opened it. It was unsigned, from the generic address that they all used, and read simply. "There is no-one able to supervise either of these projects. Choose again."



Neuron stared, stunned, at the message. There was no-one?! No-one amongst the alumni who had knowledge about Catholicism? Nor geology, Welsh mythology and history or the American Mafia? "There is!" Neuron breathed. He rubbed his face, thinking through the possibilities. He decided to push it further. He typed back. "It is my understanding that Fenian is very good at geology. Maybe he would oversee the first project." The response was again immediate and simply reiterated the first. Neuron frowned. Fenian had always been a problem. In their clandestine meetings, Catania had told him that Hollow could not contact Fenian. He never responded to e-mails and she had had no reason to call him on the Watari line. Neuron squirrelled away this information. When he was L, he would have to locate Fenian through other means and ensure that he was no longer a problem. For now, he typed back. "Ok, forget about the geology. I\'ll look into how the Welsh oral history tradition contributed to the mythologising of Dinas Emrys and the Myrddin legends. I\'ll alter the second project to be an investigation of the role of the internet in the modern Catholic Church."



It took twenty minutes before there was a reply. That in itself was telling. Someone had been asked this time. "There is no-one able to supervise any project involving Welsh history. Choose again."



Neuron bit his lip. Century had no reason to dislike him. Why had Century said no? He had the Welsh historian mentally listed as an easy target. Hollow had said that he should be easy enough to lure out of hiding. She had said that she would tell him of a site of historical importance and get him to meet her there. She had mentioned a gun phobia. He should have been easy to kill. Neuron had not expected Century to refuse even to talk with him. Then a second thought occurred. The e-mail had made no mention of his second project. Neuron\'s spirits leapt again. That had to mean that someone was speaking with Mello. His idol and his nemesis! Neuron shivered. "Come on, Mello. Come on!"





It was late evening before the reply came and then it was in person. Long after Neuron\'s meal tray had been taken, the outer door clanged and there was a click on the inner door. Neuron blinked, his heart racing. The door never opened this late. He moved to see who was coming and froze when he saw the figure in white. "Near!"



The current L fixed him with a wide-eyed stare. Neuron quickly felt uncomfortable beneath it. It took long minutes before Near actually spoke. "Why would Neuron even attempt to contact Mello?"



Neuron\'s mind raced. "I haven\'t."



"Neuron is choosing projects that, he had deduced, will allow individual contact with each of the fourth generation. Neuron thinks that he is safe from Mello here."



Neuron willed his own heart to stop thundering. "Mello doesn\'t want me dead."



"Neuron is sure of that?"



"Yes."



A tiny smile curled the very tips of Near\'s lips. He turned to leave and, as he walked, he calmly stated, "Neuron is boring me. You are not very clever and you will never be L." He paused at the door and looked back with a frown. "For Neuron\'s own protection, Mello will never tutor a project. You will be sent a list of topics from which you may choose." Then he was gone. That was it. Neuron felt his world collapsing inside himself. He wanted to scream or shout out, but no words came. He just stood there with his fists clenches and his eyes staring wildly at the door through which Near had left. He heard the teenager\'s voice, out of sight, speak matter-of-factly. "Oh. He had this."



There were footsteps and the huge form of Anthony Rester filled the doorway. He carried a white envelope, which had been opened, and this was slotted through the grill of the cage. Neuron dashed forward, fighting back tears and outrage, then clutched his mail like a lifeline. Doors closed with a certain finality and Neuron bowed his head. He would not let them break him. He would survive intact until they released him. Chrissie said that one day they had to release him. This had to go to trial. There had to be a date when he would be free.



Neuron swallowed hard and wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his long-armed t-shirt. He opened the envelope and unfolded the picture inside. Kato had drawn him their childhood home, as best she could, with figures who were recognisable as himself and her and their parents, inside it, smiling. In her childish scrawl, she had written in sunny oranges and yellow, \'I miss you.\' Neuron kissed the name that had signed it and hung it on the wall.