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Another Note: Crime Scenes	By : Resting-Madness Category: Death Note > General Views: 2556 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't make money from this work of fiction. I don't own the realm of death note's creation like characters and plot, and world. None of it is mine.

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
- 5
The small group of housemates reached the second-floor library almost at the same time. Mello snatched a seat in the front of the four chair set up of gathered Chip and Dale chairs. Beside him sat Near, and behind them sat their agents Matt and Gevanni. The former mafia members were prepared to make a violent jolting slam to their left crashing themselves into Near and Gevanni when Kira entered the room, if he grabbed a chair from one of the tables and sat beside them; but to their surprise- and joy- he set it down beside the chair that's been placed in front of their's for L.
They didn't need to voice that he had a lot of nerve, their peeved expressions hollered loudly enough about it- if Light had been paying attention to it.
When his cool gaze landed on them, Light wasn't exactly smiling at them either; he took the seat crossing arms and legs, sporting a bored expression aimed nowhere. He patiently waits for L to enter the room.
Matt leaned forward and swatted Near on the back of the head, clearing his throat before righting himself on his chair. The younger detective's eyes rolled to the ceiling, and he ignored Mello's curious look as he stood up and crossed the short distance, hand extended, and with a handsome smile on his face, he says to Light.
"It's nice to see you again, Light Yagami. Welcome."
Light looked surprised, almost spooked, but he took the offered hand and gave it a polite shake. "Thank you. It's nice to be here."
With a nod, Near returned to his seat. Last time he ever loses a bet with Matt, he glowered. It would seem virtually gaming isn't the only type he's good at.
Mello looked from Near to Matt over his shoulder, but he only received a wave of the hand that he'd tell him about it later.
Four minutes passed before L sauntered into the library, hands in his pockets, posture terribly relaxed in front of his subordinates; and with all the grace of a dancer does he placed a foot on the seat of the cushioned chair and with a pivot brought his other foot up for balance before he crouched down on the seat with his hands on his knees. His dark eyes taking the detectives and agents in, he cocked his head thoughtfully.
Light smirked at a private joke as he wondered if the four were waiting with bated breath for what L was going to do next. Hn. They'd probably marvel at him for his technique for scratching his ass. Lemmings. The room remained in an audible silence, but before anyone could say anything to disrupt it one of the butlers walked in with a cart of desserts. Fresh strawberries with the green removed so they can stand with their points to the ceiling. The berries have been cut vertically in an X to hold the piped in whipped cream and drizzles of chocolate sauce.
"Thank you." L monotoned to the servant before taking a berry into his pinched grasp. "Please pass me your dossiers so I may look them over."
Near produced his manilla folder first, handing it over to L. Mello had to retrieve his team's from Matt before he could hand it up. This was just like when they were children, except now the person taking their dossiers isn't Roger, who would then hand them off to L once he'd gone through them. The folders are going to the man himself. And it was impossible for Mello not to feel like a kid again; back when they were set in front of a monitor of some kind: television, computer screen, or a speaker. All youths ready to ask him questions- credible or otherwise. He's sure Matt and Near feel the same way: and they could all agree that this is much more favorable because L's here in the flesh! It was too surreal!
The four sit quietly, calmly, watching L go through their folders; now and then the detective would remove a rich red fruit from the tray to nibble on by first noisily removing the cream, through a suctioned sip before he would ingest the berry. Mello wondered if L knew how suggestive it looked when he absently pushed his finger into the top of the split berry, bobbing it in and out before he would stick the cream coated finger to his lips to lick the mess off.
Handing the dossiers back to Mello and Near, L then addressed them as a whole. "Aside from his showing up at the crime scenes, why do you like Ellis Quimby for the murderer?"
Near and Mello slid sizing glances at each other, unsure of whether or not this was a moment to raise hands or simply see who could speak first or the loudest.
"I'll make it simpler for you. Matt?" L gave him the floor.
'Crap. Teacher behavior never changes no matter how old you get.' Adjusting his goggles, he settles for placing them down around his neck. 'Always calling on the kids who don't seem to be paying attention. ...Ellis Quimby... Why, aside from the obvious?' Taking a deep breath, he answers the question. "For starters, his existence is too isolated with no wife, partner, or kids it's hard to take his word that he hasn't left his house to commit the murders."
"Even with the doctor's reports of when the victims were killed?" Asked L.
"Yeah. As it turns out the Talbott's were killed two days before Quimby showed up at their house, that was according to the neighbor. And forensics proved her right." He looked briefly to Mello as if asking for assistance, then he continued on. "So Quimby could have easily done the deed, checked out, then went back to the murder scene. We think he wants to create a buzz to gain some recognition as a reporter. He only writes mediocre articles and gossip for the paper, and everyone wants to be on television or known for something more than a blurb."
"Interesting. And the more recent crime?"
"No one can prove that he was placed there. He could have killed those women last night and called the cops in the morning to cover his tracks. Not to mention he would have been seen entering the hotel by the staff or the front clerk if it were in a suspicious way." Elaborating, he says. "Wouldn't anyone look at someone being carried into a place? It's too noticeable."
They all agreed whether they nodded or simply understood that Matt was right.
"Killing for fame." L pondered the concept out loud to himself. "It's certainly a possibility. Near?"
"My theory is no different than Matt's, the only difference is that I believe it's a two-man operation so that Quimby can have a chance to exonerate himself of the crime being committed, while still gaining recognition through being chosen as the one who's abducted."
"Mm." Grabbing another berry, he applied light pressure to it squeezing the filling from its sides and he sucked away the overflow then ate the berry. Speaking with an occupied mouth, he says. "I'd like to consider this, because the murders are somewhat random at its core," the detective continued with his musings. "mutilating the Talbott children seems a bit personal while the mother sits, almost peacefully, watching what's gone on. Even with a slit wrist, you'd react to your children being slaughtered."
The detectives and their agents look at the photos they've taken.
"The police report showed that Mrs. Talbott had a suppressant in her system, along with a little alcohol. Getting the refrigerated bottle of wine tested, it showed that it was heavily laced with" Mello paused to pronounce it correctly. "Flunitrazepam or Rohypnol, as it's often called."
Going through his mental library of medications, Near wondered. "A simple sedative would have kept Mrs. Talbott still, so then why use medication that treats dementia?"
"With how those women looked almost peaceful, I wouldn't be surprised if they're sporting a little something too." Comments Matt. "Tox-screens haven't come in yet." He checks his phone to be sure.
"Maybe it was something the unsub had on hand." Mello threw it out there. "He or she could be using it for their own personal reason."
Matt already made a note to check all the names of people who were given the drug either directly by a doctor or over the counter from a pharmacist.
L rejoined the discussion. "There's something about the photos that's caught my eye... Do any of you see it?" His dark gaze swept the four with a question.
They all knew what L was driving at. They saw it when checking over the photos the police had taken. All of the women had similar features: the color of their hair, the length, the hue of their skin matched in pairs. The chocoholic detective felt his hand raising but he commanded it back down. He isn't a teenager, this isn't Wammy's house. He's a man now. And, being a man, he answered the question quickly before Near could swoop in for the kill.
"They all possess similarities, face shape, body type... I'm not sure if the women knew this or if it was the unsub's intention. For all we know, only two of them actually knew each other and the other two were abducted for his purpose." He took a second to think.
"And what do you believe is the purpose?" Inquired L.
"You think this guy's after twins- or, at least, look-alikes." Wondered Matt.
"Christ... You honestly wanna go through all those hospital records to find all of England's matched sets? We'd be at this for the rest of our lives trying to figure out who this creep'll go after next."
With a shrug, Matt replied. "We could go by kill zone radius."
"Or maybe it's a message." Near's finger twirls calmly through a lock of his hair. Seeing that he had everyone's attention, he went on. "Similar. Close to... The unsub could be trying to tell us something, either about himself or who he plans on killing next."
"You may be right," L muttered. "If that is the case you'll need to find out what the message is, it could be at the crime scene or on the bodies themselves."
"There are enough of us that we can split up and search the places." Light spoke for the first time since the meeting's begun.
The newcomer has been observing them not quite ready to mix and mingle, but rather to get a feel of the group dynamic. So far he can see that Matt and Mello aren't in the best terms with Near, Gevanni is yet to be decided, and Near is completely indifferent to Mello's malicious feelings. And with the way he's eyeing the back of Near's head subconsciously, he can guess that the albino's techie has a thing for him. If it goes both ways, it's unclear.
"I have work to attend to today, but before I call this meeting to an end is there anything you'd like to ask me involving the case?" He looked at them with a blank expression. "Alright, are there any unrelated question?"
Their gazes look around their small cube of inhabitants before Mello nodded at the elephant in the room. "And who will HE be investigating with?"
On his feet, L replied smoothly. "It's up to you. You don't have the same manpower as Near, and you could use the extra set of hands, eyes, and ears."
'Thought you said it was up to us?' Mello clipped in his head.
"And there's another thing, you are not to address Light by his name outside of these walls." And was L smiling? "From now on he'll be known as Lethally Legal... or Legal for short."
"Excuse me?" Light's comfortable posture bristled before he popped up out of his chair. "Who agreed to an alias, and such a stupid one at that?"
Eyes to the ceiling, he touched his bottom lip in thought. "Funny, it seemed fitting to me. You are Legal." And when he said this he made eye contact with Gevanni, who blanched.
Blinking, the pretty boy looked to see if anyone had noticed the look, but the other agents were muttering to each other or trying to get the detective's attention. He wondered if L knew about him and Near? If his choice of Light's alias was simply a dig at him or a threat. 'But how could he know?' Wondered the techie. Looking at L, he sees the man's large gaze slide to his left.
Turning his head dropped him a lighter shade of pale, as there- on the bookshelf- not even hidden but tucked into the upper corner over the books- is a video camera.
"No." Protest Light, cutting L's smirk at Gevanni off so he could listen to him. The newly instated already hated the name, more so when hearing the snickers from the others. As if their aliases were any better! But Legal?! Come on! "L?" He followed after the detective's hasty retreat.
Through the calamity of Light's nickname, their sharp eyes didn't miss how rigid L's back had been when he suddenly fled the room, or how annoyed he'd looked suddenly. Passing through the entry way into the hall they watched him calmly storm up the stairs to his bedroom.
"L?!" Mello and Matt called in unison before attempting to follow after him.
"Where do you think you're going?" Asked Light. "We're supposed to be looking in on the case, we don't have time to chase after L. He's a big boy, he can take care of himself."
All eyes flashed dangerously at the unwanted guest, as they wondered who the hell he was to talk about L's wants or needs?
"Whatever he's going through, he'll tell you when he's ready, if at all." Brushing off L's brushing them off, his self-included, Light starts for the garage.
The three Wammy's detectives stare after L. Then slowly they began to realize that Light may be right.
"I'll call you if we find anything," Mello said to Matt brushing a quick kiss on his lips.
Scoffing, Matt wished him luck before heading to their bedroom to retrieve his laptop. Near removed his phone, calling Rester while Gevanni followed his boss into the library where they'd been a moment ago. It will be hard to concentrate knowing there's an angered L stewing in a bedroom of his home.
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Grabbing a key from the hook, Mello watched Light climb into one of the cars on the passenger's side. With a humorous snort, he mounts a charcoal-colored motorcycle then turns the key. Before he put on the helmet, he called out to Light.
"I don't know how they're making 'em in Japan these days, but here you have to drive the car manually." He laughed through the roar of the bike's engine starting.
Getting out of the vehicle, Light offered Mello a sort of belligerence by walking over to him and grabbing hold of the bike's handlebars. Locking eyes with the smug blond, he coolly clipped at him. "We're supposed to be working this case together, you can't just leave me hanging. I don't know where to go."
Mello wanted to tell the pretty boy to "fuck off" or "learn how to be self-sufficient", but he had a feeling he'd be made to regret it later by the head-honcho. He isn't sure how, but he knows it'll be bad. Shutting off the engine, he spoke through a grit. "Fine. I'll drive us." Because he certainly wasn't gonna allow the murderous bastard to ride on the back of the bike with him. "But stay out of my way once we get there, Yagami."
Not about to show his annoyance, Light opened the door returning himself in the seat. Upon closing the door he looks at Mello with a sort of indifference as he says. "I don't know what your problem is with me, but I think it would be in both our benefit if you just got over it. I'm here for L only, and if that involves helping any of you at this point in time, then that's something you'll have to accept."
'Hn. Even with customized amnesia this asshole's sole focus, good or bad, aside from annihilating half the population, is L.' Starting the car, he glanced into the rearview to avoid looking over his shoulder and having to glance at the snide passenger. 'It sucks that the little shit has a point, though. He probably doesn't wanna be here any more than we want him here.' Sighing out his grievance through his nostrils, he mutters. "Fine."
"Good." Thumbing through the dossier Mello tossed into his lap when climbing into the car, Light looks over the photos with more care. He's seen the ones that the police have taken with L, and as any good detective knows a good amount of different eyes in one location counts. "I'm curious about your theory of it being Quimby who's looking for recognition. If this guy has left clues at the scene than he either wants us to know who's the next to die so we can stop him, as Near suggested, because he's killing for the purpose of morbid sport and his possible dementia wants us to stop him, or he's the one looking for the recognition and is using Quimby to get the word out by leaving him at the crime scene." Looking at Mello's profile, he asked. "Have you made any announcements in the news? Do you have a liaison?"
"We don't use liaisons, it's too much of a risk to show our faces on such a wide scale." Mello left out the fact that Kira, in particular, is the reason for that. Anytime before the Kira murders, they simply didn't need liaisons.
They work discreetly and efficiently, there's no need for televised messages. The press usually hops all over that, and the police their trampoline. For them, any time they need to address the public, there's always the monogram on a blank screen with voice disfigurement.
"I suggest you get used to existing in a sort of secrecy from the rest of the world." Chides the blond. "Or you'll never make it in this crowd."
Always one to do better when challenged, Light continued studying the photos; remaining in a thoughtful silence during the drive to the Talbott's.
'If L's theory is true, then is the murderer suffering an identity crisis? If the medicine slipped to Mrs. Talbott belonged to him, then it would stand to reason they're using them or recently stopped. That could be the stressor, and possibly what has started him in killing.' Flipping through the next set of photos which are of the women in the hotel, Light began to wonder since none of the women were related though they do look similar in appearance. 'But I can't rely too much on the thought, it could be as simple as a guy wanting to kill for fame because he's been unnoticed his entire life. The similarity thing could just be coincidence, we all unintentionally do it, picking a 'type'.′
"Care to share what's on your mind, or am I expected to read it?" Mello jumped across the tracks of Light's train of thought.
"No. I think I'll keep my thoughts private until we get there," Replied Light. "I don't think it's so smart to group-think when we're looking for clues."
"Hn. We don't 'group-think', we just keep each other in the know about things to gain another perspective." He left out the "Smartass".
"Well, I just thought that the twin effect might just be a distraction... If the unsub thinks we're looking for clues, he might be using that as a means of throwing us off- if he's even aware that he's doing it."
Smirking, Mello returned his glancing eyes to the road. "See, now you're being productive and letting me know we'll be searching in different directions."
"Yeah." Light returned the smirk.
The car slowed to a stop a block away from the Talbott's, it would seem someone in the neighborhood is having a social gathering, that, or these are cars who usually park in front of their own homes but can't today for some reason.
"Hey," Mello says in a mocking tone of voice. "Do you think it'd be legal if I jay-walked to cross the street? I don't feel like going all the way to the crosswalk."
"Ha ha." Muttered Light as he exited the car.
"I'm just making sure that you're not gonna take legal action on me for breaking the law. I know how lethal you can be about these things."
"Would you just 'mellow out' with the teasing? You're being immature." Light commented smugly; his satisfaction grew a bit more when the blond narrowed his eyes.
"Haa Haa." He all but stuck out his tongue. Pulling the key from his pocket, it's shoved into the lock allowing them inside. "I'm looking forward to when someone jumps out of the woodwork and lethally takes you out." And this time, Mello does stick out his tongue.
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"I think L knows."
"I'll go ahead and take it that you're talking about our nefarious encounters." Near dull-drummed in reaction.
Gevanni could only throw his hands up as, once again, a teenager is making him feel like an ass. More so because Near's his superior. "Aren't you worried?"
"That you'll be arrested for statutory rape? Not in the least." He hid a smile as he curled and uncurled a lock of hair. "I'll still be here, working the case with or without you. And if your position is needed beyond Rester's abilities I can always hire outside help from the police, or any other capable hacker." And from Wammy's, he could think of a few.
"Nevermind, I don't know why I even bothered." Defeated hands threw themselves up.
"Gevanni... If I thought it would be an issue, do you think I would have done anything with you while knowing there were cameras all over the house?"
The man's green eyes bugged out. "You knew!?"
"They're not exactly hidden; L's home is a historical landmark; the Help gives tours of the place when it's not in use by the homeowner." Staring at the computer screen that's showing the crime scene photos, he touches the screen to zoom it in. "If it really makes you all that uncomfortable, we'll stop. It's as simple as that."
'Maybe for you.' Thought the agent with a pout.
"Focus on the case; pleasures of the flesh are nothing to get excited about."
'I would argue that,' Thinks the techie while looking over the photos to see if he can uncover a hidden meaning or message without being at the scene itself. 'but he's never shown anything towards sex outside of curiosity.'
"And relax. If L had any kind of reaction to what he's seen or could see, he isn't going to take action until the murderer has been brought in."
'Not exactly the reassurance I was looking for, but I'll take it.'
Gevanni isn't the only one who's uncomfortable with L in the house. Matt's been pacing outside of the door for four minutes since coaxing himself to go, and so far he can't bring himself to knock.
'He said we can call on him if we need anything, although it's not about the case... does it count?' He swallowed over a lump in his throat and wondered if he should just turn back.
But something about chickening out always seemed to force the gamer forward. It's no different than standing still in a video game from being afraid of the unknown. He'd have to face it, otherwise, he wouldn't get anywhere. Raising his fist he knocked on the door then waited. Silence. Knocking again the door opened a crack. Remained that way. Inviting him in... A little bit. He certainly wasn't planning on calling through the crack, not with what he has to say. He put his palm to the center of the door and pushed it open enough to slide himself in before closing it after entering.
"Am I bothering you?" Asked Matt in a quiet tone.
"No. Come in." L doesn't look at him, just continues his work at the computer. "Sit anywhere." Breaking into Portuguese, L then spoke into another microphone in Dutch.
Matt looked for a spare seat, staggered by how much more impressive a single room can be compared to the many other impressive rooms in the mansion. Grabbing an accent chair that's been placed against the wall he pulls it over to L, just close enough to be noticed but not invade the man's personal space.
"How are you?" Asked the gamer with sincere concern.
L took a pause in his typing to think over the question, of which he replied. "Devastated. And yourself?"
Matt flinched like he'd been smacked across the face, wondering then how to respond when given an answer such as that one. Having nothing he settled for an 'I don't know' shrug.
Addressing him at full-face, L asked. "Is there something you'd like to talk about?"
"It's not so much talking, but... I wanted to apologize, about what happened four years ago."
"I see." L glanced at the computer monitor then looked back to Matt. "Matt... I can't agree with your situation as a whole; but in truth, it was my fault."
Genuinely surprised, Matt repeats him out of uncertainty. "Your fault?"
"It was the job of Wammy's house to care for its inhabitants- still is. But we'd failed you by letting your cover go too far." And he met the techie's un-goggled gaze evenly. "It was our fault that you became an addict, and went to juvie. I take full responsibility. And humbly ask for your forgiveness."
L's asking for his forgiveness! After all he's done. To the school's reputation. To his own reputation. Betraying their trust when they gave him those test and he passed with flying colors simply because he knew not to shoot up on that week before, or pop a pill. He was destructive. Threatening. And during the bust, he shot an officer clouded in a haze that he willingly allowed himself to get in by injecting hallucinogens into a vein. And rehab was a nightmare after he got out of lock-up. It's why he so willingly joined the American mafia with Mello. Not just because he would follow the blond anywhere, but because he wanted out of all of those feelings, and conversations. Didn't those people know that talking about it only made him lust for it all the more? But L's taking the blame. L's apologizing.
"I... I don't know what to say." He blinked in confusion.
"You don't have to say anything, forgiving me is your choice."
"No, yeah," he nods. "I forgive you. I don't even blame you, so... I guess that's all, huh?"
"It would seem so." L returned to the computer, and into the microphone, he speaks to someone in Cantonese before listening to their end.
"I'm gonna go. Thanks again." He stands on shaking legs unable to believe what just happened. L wanted his forgiveness. His! What kind of luck is that?
Almost out the door, Matt turned around marching across the room, where he then spins the detective's chair to face him and from there he wrapped his arms around L's skin-and-bone frame, giving him a firm embrace. It was evident that the man has never been touched without initiating it first, a tell-tale sign was the silent gasp the man made, and the widening of his already enlarged eyes.
"For what it's worth, we're all sad about Mr. Wammy's death. Sorry, it happened."
And slowly, a trembling arm rose and, at the end of it, L placed his index finger on Matt's back between the shoulder blades returning the hug. "Thank you." He said softly. When the agent retracted from the hug, L spoke again with a voice calm and even. "But, please, never speak Quillish's name or alias in this home again."
Matt didn't feel L needed to have emotion in his voice or on his face. Hearing those words come from the person who was closest to the man, is hurting the worst in their mentor's absence, made the implication clear. It needs no inflection for how sincere and deeply needed the request was. And with a nod he left the room with the intention of spreading the word.
...
Matt's in the middle of a drum solo with a couple pencils when Near walks into the library carrying a laptop.
"Hey, squirt."
"Mind if I sit in here?" The younger detective asked out of courtesy though he's already found a chair across from the techie, having answered himself.
"Go ahead." He continues drumming until Near is situated. "L asked me to do him a favor, and on his behalf, I'm spreading the word that we're not to talk about the old man in his presence."
Near's dark gaze settled on Matt's then looking off to the side, the younger detective nodded. He knew L was upset, but he didn't think it went towards losing Quillish Wammy. But it made sense, the man must have been more to the detective if he was as much to them as he had been. A mentor. A friend. Someone to look up to. Perhaps even a father. It's how a lot of the kids at the school wanted to see L. And have him be in their life. Near included. He was shaken more than he'd thought when they were told that he was dead. He was out for blood. Kira's blood. And when he thought Mello was killed, his resolve grew all the more.
He bit his lower lip to stop himself from boiling with anger over the fact that, once again, he's reminded that Kira is still alive. And still, has not been reprimanded for his actions. And for Near, there will be no jail. If Light screws up again, he will most certainly take the young man's life.
"Come up with anything yet?" Asked Matt ceasing his musical career in percussion.
"Nothing. And I'd ask you, but judging by your captive audience the answer will be the same."
Chuckling Matt whirled the pencil pointing it at the teen to say "point made". "But is it my fault? This unsub's a real dick, if he left any messages, it's not from any angle we can easily see in a photograph. I figure why not bored-out."
"I've sent Gevanni to speak with Quimby. He was really only in the way staying here."
Balancing a pencil mustache, Matt caught it when it fell free. "Small talk? Hn. You are bored." Standing, he reached into his pocket pulling out a dark blue handheld. "DS? It's in 3D." He waved it before the boy's vision.
Near gave it a long glance before pushing Matt's hand away. "I don't play video games."
"Right. You like toys.." He snickered. "Mine's better." Plopping back into his seat he starts the game up then sets it down on the table like an offering. Removing a cigarette from the pack in his other pocket, the redhead lit up. "Much better." He blew out a puff of smoke. "Wanna try?" Holding the white stick out to Near, he withdrew it when getting a disgruntled look as an answer. Holding the console, he quietly amuses himself with Super Mario racing while waiting for word on the other side.
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Light and Mello are in the kid's bedroom looking for hidden messages. But so far they're coming up empty.
'Why would I move the bed?' Wondered Light as he stared at the altered piece of furniture. "Mello, can you leave the room then come in after about a couple seconds?"
Blinking as a bored response the addressed exits the bedroom then waits a moment before going back in. Tossing his hands out with enough force on the return to his sides they slapped audibly against his outer thigh, he asks. "Why are you under the bed?"
"I'm trying to get into the killer's mind."
'There's a three-second task.' Mello rolled his eyes. "And?"
"Can you see me?" Light asked.
Walking the room, Mello looks at the bed during the short trip around. "Not right when you walk in, back here by the closet you're still pretty hidden." Crouching, Mello looks around the room from a child's height. "Now I see you completely." Straightening, he follows Light's thinking. "So the unsub spiked the drink, then came into the kid's bedroom and hid under the bed so he wouldn't be noticed right away. That's why the neighbor's kids heard them scream." He recalled what Matt told him when they got together at home. "The creep must have waited around the house the whole afternoon. Patiently for to when he could kill them. That's some crazy kind of patience."
Nodding to agree, Light gestures a hand out to the door. "Go downstairs, I wanna test something."
Walking out of the room with Light, slow, but in tow, Mello stands at the landing looking up.
"Imagine that I'm dragging your kids down the stairs... What are you doing?" Light then added. "And remember, you've been drugged."
Mello tried to picture it. He's in the kitchen, but the kids' screams get him out of the kitchen and over by the stairs, where he then sees a stranger stomping down them. In a haze, he wants to scream, but effectively he can't. The killer is talking to him. Mello was so engrossed in the imagery that he didn't notice Light put his hand to his chest until he was tipping backward toward the armchair where he fell into it; because of that, Mrs. Talbott would become more dazed from being knocked off-balance and off her feet.
"Leave my kids alone," Mello muttered to the killer.
"Hn." Was Light's response.
From there he shoved the kids together before the mother, but then Light paused. Looking at the blood-soaked carpet, he then turned his head and looked at Mello, who looked back.
"When did you slit my wrist?" Asked the false-Mrs. Talbott.
"Right after I was sure your kids couldn't run."
"Why did you slit my wrist?" He then asked.
Light grabbed his chin in thought. "Not for any reason other than to you keep quiet. You had to die for my purpose."
Staying in character, Mello growled. "After what you did to my kids, who would notice my mundane death?"
Getting out of character, Light comments. "You've got a point. All anyone can see is the mutilated children, it's human nature that your eyes would go to them and settle there. You wouldn't be able to take your eyes off the grisly sight compared to a woman sitting in a chair."
Both seemed to come to the realization at the same time. The killer was un-noticed and wanted desperately to be noticed. To become the bigger picture. Then that would mean... Mello got up from the armchair, and with help from Light, he pulled it over.
There, stuck into the back of the chair, is a knife. And a message.
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It was no use. L can't concentrate over the sound of the bells. Gong. Gong. Gong. Ringing, ringing for a time that's not just up but already long since over. His parents. Quillish. The somber man stepped down from the swiveling chair, and he walked to the window where he now stands. With his back straight. With his legs straight at his full natural height. Out of the window, he stared up into the sky.
The drizzle began again after the short break it took during his and Light's arrival earlier; the reflection in the detective's eyes show what he's looking at. But inside, he's watching a memory. Of a day when it rained the same way.
It was many, many years ago. A 6-year-old boy left his run-in-the-mill school for home at warp speed. He wanted out of England's usual damp disposition and inside the house where he could indulge in the richest mug of hot chocolate he can dump down his throat. And maybe a few delicious cookies to go with it.
"Bye, Errol!" One of his male friend's called to him.
The boy, without looking, waved back. He ran quickly in-between this house and that, taking even the shortcut's shortcuts. Marshmallows big and puffy. Cocoa rich and smooth. Whipped cream in an amount that couldn't possibly melt quickly no matter how hot the drink is. A warm hug in a porcelain container. And cookies. Errol's mother never made cookies that didn't melt in your mouth at any temperature. He'll have at least six.
But upon rounding the corner to his old victorian-model home, the young boy slowed his pace to a complete halt. In all his life living there, in all the days he's run home from school or even walked, he's never seen the front door left open. Touching a board on the white picket fence that runs along the sidewalk before all the homes on this street, the young boy looked around the area as if his hesitation to go in would produce his mother from a neighbor's home. She'd call him silly and tell him to go inside for the snack that's waiting. But she never came.
And something else was off... His father's car is in the lot. Errol's mind stilled of all thought, sound, even picture. Then it pushed everything out as he walked up to the ajar front door. His eyes skimmed the ruin spread all over the floor in a mess of white on the dark carpet. There were things missing, he could tell. Lamps, the television, the wares in the dining room. As his senses began to function, he next noticed the sound of the antique clock chiming over and over as if every millisecond was an hour that it had to ring. Gong. Gong. Gong.
Logic told him not to call out, whoever broke in could still be lurking somewhere inside the home, ready to pounce on him for sneaking up on him because the boy was dumb enough to give himself away and charge around inside the home shouting. So he remained silent as he crept through the living room one soft step at a time, not about to be that dumb boy. Over the papers and broken porcelain, he ended up at the staircase. The home is dark enough that it doesn't have shadows anywhere away from a window. Guess what the hall is lacking? His path is dim almost blackish.
But he had to get up there. In case. In case, his parents were hurt but will live. In case, the people who broke in are still there and will need to be identified. In case, the people who broke in were hurting them and needed to be stopped. Grabbing a silver candlestick holder from the table beside the stairs, he held it at his side like he was carrying a knife; and one foot at a time he ascended the staircase. Errol isn't worried about the stairs creaking. The bones may be antique, but the guts are new and improved. It'll be years before these stairs give any movement away that isn't intentional.
The young boy glanced into his bedroom finding it just as assaulted as the living room and dining room with the missing cutlery and dishes that no one eats off of. He can still hear the clock's chimes ringing at his heart's pace as he walks farther down the hall to the master suit. The door is open slightly allowing only a small preview into the large bedroom. As he moved closer, hand reaching out to push the door open more, he paused. Listening carefully, he can't find a single human sound brush through the air. Even when the bedroom door tapped the wall upon opening, the home remained silent, until he stepped inside...
The candlestick holder fell to the floor with a loud thump. Errol fell to his knees beside it, the sight of it all weakened him instantly. First that his father must have come home for lunch and fell victim to a bullet to the chest when discovering the break-in; his hands hit the floor and he slumped over to let tears fall when secondly seeing his mother cowered in the corner, nude from the waist down, and beaten so violently she's abstract.
And Errol screamed raw to break. Screaming that it wasn't fair. Screaming that he couldn't do anything! ...That he wasn't even given the chance.
The broken young boy let his mind go to a very deep, dark place where he then walled himself up. He walled himself up, not alone, but with every memory of his parents that he could remember great and small. And he sealed himself away there. Forever. So that when he crawled over to the bruises that used to be his family, he was sane enough to call the police. Sane enough not to tamper with any part of his parents that might hold clues as to who could have done this. Lastly, he was sane enough to leave his life and his home where it was, as the police showed up and brought with them social workers who informed him that everything was going to be all right.
Errol had never known that after two years of being a no one in an orphanage, the woman who'd reassured him was right. And in walked an older man with a kind smile and understanding eyes. He'd taken L by the hand and brought him back to life.
Quillish Wammy was more than a teacher. He was a mentor. A discipline. A friend. A father. A There. He opened the door in his soul that kept L apart from himself and the world, and he was there.
'And now he's gone too. Just another person that I couldn't protect.' L thought somberly. 'I'd gone to him to say goodbye. I thought I would be the one to die.' The wet window reflected like tears on his face, thousands and thousands of tears. 'And all that remains...' L's left hand touched the watch Light loved to wear, it's hidden beneath his shirt sleeve.
He'd taken it from him on that day when he thought the young man was dead. Thinking he'd lost someone else he deemed important to him. Touching the watch gave him a bit of comfort, as he recalled that it's not necessary for him to wear it since Light is alive and well enough. But it sort of reminds him, more than the man, of what he almost lost and the somewhat lie that's been kept.
But even with the small peace, he has from having Light back in his life; emotionally, L stooped over by that window and once again he began to scream.
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Commentary: I don't know what happened between chapter two and three but the read are up to 200. So thank you very much for reading this, I adore every single click you make. And sorry if this chapter was a little choppy but it took a minute to go past where I started typing. And sorry for mistakes and my piss-poor grammar. I swear I'm not doing it on purpose aha ha ha. And as always I'll go back and fix them if they violently show up when I skim it on the site.
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