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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
- 39
- 40
- 41
CHAPTER 40: Panic
The first thing L checked on the computer was the date and time. Mikami had 5 days, 4 hours and 32 minutes of life left. The second thing he checked was the news. If Mikami had already appeared on television to call off his accomplice, evidence of that situation would be easily findable, even if the NPA tried to conceal the true purpose of the broadcast.
There was nothing like that in the news. Mikami was still on the loose, which lent credence to L's theory of what he must have meant by a "deviation" from the plan.
Mikami was selfish. Selfish, but understandable. He'd left a mess behind, though, and Deputy-Director Kitamura or the others in the know at the NPA might panic and do something stupid if that mess wasn't cleaned up right away.
Oh, Mikami, you wanted to have your fun, didn't you? You don't care if I must clean up your mess. Where are you now?
During the entire time that L had been typing, he had felt that the keyboard wasn't level, so he flipped it over and found an envelope taped to the bottom. He opened it, seeing nothing inside except money. He went through it, carefully looking to see if any of it concealed clues, but there weren't any.
He wants to be sure I have the resources to exit this place easily.
I will need to contact Kitamura to stop any panic from happening, but the NPA now believes L is under the control of Kira. Should I contact them as Eraldo Coil? No, Coil would have no plausible reason for knowing as much as I know. I have no choice except to contact them as L.
If I say the right things to the NPA, I can avoid giving them any harmful information or anything that might contradict my story for Mikami, in case he is still planning to test me by getting information from the NPA. L can play the role of Mikami's messenger, controlled and dying, but dependable for that very reason. First, though, I need proof that I'm correct. It should be hidden somewhere. Here, or in the safe house where I lived with Mikami? I'll search this place first, just to avoid wasting time by returning later.
Suddenly, a sound made L twist in his chair to look behind him. A door at the far end of the room was opening. L watched as a man stuck his head in and said, "Haruhi, the computer is on."
Is he controlled?
A woman's voice said, "I haven't been in the basement all week, it isn't my fault."
L waved.
The man replied, "I haven't either. Even if I had left it on, it should have shut itself off by now."
I'm sitting right here. He doesn't seem to see me.
L pocketed the money, jumped from his chair and approached slowly. The man's eyes did not focus on him and before L could get close, the man and the woman came into the room. They were both wearing rubber gloves and carrying cleaning supplies. The man went into the vault, put down his supplies, and began carrying out as much of L's garbage as his arms could carry. The woman started spraying down the vault door with some kind of cleaner and wiping it vigorously.
L followed the man up some stairs, through a nice living room, and then out a back door where he put everything from his arms into trash or recycling bins. L experimentally poked the man in the side as he was doing so, and the man merely swatted, as if he'd felt a bug.
Mikami certainly controlled these people, probably to create a normal facade to keep others away while I was imprisoned and to destroy all fingerprints and other traces of me after I leave. I am sure they are unable to contact the authorities about anything, and they perhaps ignore other people entirely, or at least they ignore other people who are on their property. I will search a little, but this means it is unlikely that it is hidden here.
L went back inside and looked in all the usual hiding places: underneath mattresses, behind and under toilets and sinks, inside light fixtures and air vents, in cupboards and in drawers. He was efficient, but not as good as Wedy and he didn't dare to call in any help. Mikami might still be monitoring things and ready to kill any such helpers. Nothing turned up.
It was depressing to think how many completely innocent people Mikami had murdered for small reasons. L was sure that the workers who had originally built and installed the vault must have been killed as well.
L didn't feel it was a good idea to leave a taxi record from this address that could possibly be accessed by Mikami and lead to a dead taxi driver, and he supposed that there was no chance that Haruhi and her husband would ever report their car as stolen, so as soon as he'd given up his search he lifted the keys and stole their car.
When he arrived at the safe-house where he'd lived with Mikami he half-expected to see Misa waiting to greet him but instead there was only Jojo, who came running at the sound of the car's motor turning off, stopped in the exact middle of the garage, then let out a plaintive yowl, flopped heavily onto his back and batted all four paws in the air. It would have been an insanely cute maneuver for a kitten, but Jojo was too large and old-looking for it to be anything other than a combination of cute and weird.
L ignored Jojo. He didn't have time, and without cheese in hand, there was no telling when a friendly overture would suddenly turn into a bite or scratch.
Bowls of catfood and water were in most of the rooms where L stopped, a plentiful supply for the gap in Jojo's care. But the litter boxes stank from not being changed.
Misa was not there. A phone call to her doctors revealed that she was back at the same hospital, and that the paternity test "Hideki Ryuga" had supposedly ordered for her had been positive.
Although L had fully expected the child was his all along, he still felt a shock running through his body at the news. It was another piece of the reality of his impending fatherhood, falling into place. It was only a matter of time, growing closer moment by moment, and it was immensely frightening to think of it.
She was also making suicide threats, and was being kept under 24-hour surveillance to be sure she couldn't act on those threats. That was according to plan, though, since Mikami had been told the attempts were all part of a lead-up to eventually faking Misa's death by suicide.
L decided not to visit Misa in the hospital while Mikami still lived, not unless it turned out she was likely to have a piece of the puzzle, the evidence he was searching for.
After the call ended, he searched the entire safe house in the same cursory manner, but found nothing. Frustrated and angry, feeling the filth caked on him and also being hungry and trying to decide what to do next, or whether he had time for anything other than searching, L almost sank to the floor to start sobbing. The chance that Kitamura might panic and tell governments that they were being held hostage increased with every passing hour.
Instead of giving in to his frustration, he went straight to the refrigerator to check for sweets.
And then he wanted to kick himself for not thinking of first looking in the one place where Jojo couldn't mess anything up.
There was a delicious-looking cake with pink frosting, enclosed in a plastic container with a clear lid. And, balanced on that lid, a piece of paper with a haiku in Mikami's handwriting:
An ancient pond
A frog jumps in
The splash of water
It was the most famous poem written by Japan's most famous poet.
Suddenly, L remembered something he'd seen in another room. He rushed up stairs and into that room. Jojo followed him at a fast run. There were several bookshelves from floor to ceiling, completely stuffed with books. His eyes wandered to the top shelf of where he thought he'd remembered seeing it.
And then he saw the book, titled "Basho's Road."
His heart was beating fast as he pushed up a chair and climbed it, stretching to grab the book.
It wouldn't budge, no matter how he pulled on it.
He removed the other books from the shelf, throwing them to the floor, Jojo leaping aside and hissing at each of them.
The single book remained by itself, and now he could see a thin line of dried glue at the bottom of it. Mikami had obviously been afraid that Jojo might push it off the shelf, and this also helped draw attention to it in case the haiku clue had somehow been missed.
L hit the side of the book as hard as he could, and with a crack it came loose, peeling off a thin line of the wooden veneer, stuck to its bottom.
L's hands were shaking as he broke the remaining strip of wood off the bottom well enough to open the book. As soon as he opened it, a folded piece of notebook paper fell down from between its pages. L snatched it out of the air before Jojo's jump could connect with it.
It said:
Taro Yamada, heart failure
Destroys all letters and papers in his possession, including any that he hid or sent away. Does not tell what he has been doing, keeping all his secrets to himself. Dies the moment he has completed these tasks.
L let out an angry shout and dropped the paper. Jojo pounced on it as it fluttered down.
As I thought, there is no need for a broadcast if he kills his accomplice instead. Mikami wants to enjoy his last few days instead of spending them in police custody. How selfish.
L threw a book at Jojo, missing him but causing him to drop the paper. L retrieved and pocketed it. It was possible it would be needed later. He went to the nearest computer and did research. With what Mikami had written, there shouldn't be any evidence left, but all the same he wanted to see the death.
Within a few minutes of investigating, L found three deaths of people with that name within the past few days, and only one of those was heart failure.
He stared at the screen. It seemed almost unreal for everything to have ended so easily and abruptly, after so much struggling.
This proves it, then, at least as much as it can be proven. Mikami's accomplice is dead. It is unlikely that Mikami has any additional tricks or a second accomplice. Still, Mikami himself is loose, and I should be cautious until he is dead, just as I instructed Misa to remain cautious.
L coaxed Jojo into a cat carrier by using cheese as a bait, then drove to the densest part of Tokyo, wiping away all his fingerprints from the stolen car and leaving it in a parking garage. He paid with cash for four weeks of it occupying that space before it would get towed.
He then walked several blocks away, got a taxi, and took that to another of his safe houses. He knew the NPA was likely to be fiercely monitoring every single hotel in the city, and he didn't care for his face to be caught on video. However innocent it was likely to be, everything would be under extra scrutiny and allowing his paranoia free rein made him feel better.
This other safe house was smaller, in a less affluent section of Tokyo, and it made him feel safe and enclosed, with a high wooden fence around its tiny yard full of tall trees, a shaded space choked with greenery protecting him from the outside world. All the green was the bright, pale green of early spring. It felt like it could be a new beginning.
He let Jojo loose inside the house, barely snatching his hand back in time to avoid an angry swipe. Then he raided the stash of supplies for another of his untraceable cellphones, putting it on a setting that would switch from one of his own towers to another every 20 seconds, leaving even less chance that his signal could be traced.
When he was ready, he locked himself in a room away from Jojo, curled up in a leather window-seat overlooking the yard, and called the NPA, giving the codes that identified him as L until he was allowed to speak directly to Kitamura. L stared at the soft green buds on the branches just outside the window, creating a chaotic screen of tangled brown and green. He could barely see the street through it.
As soon as Kitamura was on the phone, L said, "This is L. I am calling to report that Teru Mikami will not be making a broadcast. He has killed his accomplice instead, and the world's governments are no longer held hostage. I am sure you will find Mikami's dead body on or shortly after Tuesday, when he is scheduled to die."
L could hear cheering in the background.
Kitamura must have me on speakerphone.
Kitamura said, "L, can we trust this? I was sure Mikami would make a broadcast. How can we know you are telling the truth?"
"Whether I am controlled or not, this is what Mikami wishes you to know, and there is no reason for me to lie in either situation. Doesn't this action make sense for a dying man? If Mikami had made his broadcast instead, there is no way he could have prevented you from capturing him immediately afterwards and making his last few days unpleasant, or at least boring since he is unable to be tortured. This way, he can indulge himself."
L heard someone in the background say, "That must be true, director. It has to be over."
There was more cheering along with several shouts for quiet.
In a calmer, slightly gentle voice, Kitamura said, "L, we cannot know what mischief Mikami might have controlled you into performing. I trust that the world's governments are no longer hostages, but you still might be forced to help Kira. The murders will start again as soon as the original Kira is safely hidden, won't they? You are our only link to that knowledge. For your own good and for the case, please turn yourself in and hand over all evidence in your possession."
"I'm afraid I can't do that, Kitamura. There is a high chance I am controlled and thus I could die at any moment. I wish to spend my remaining time alive with my family."
Kitamura said, "You are controlled, then, or you would at least give us the evidence."
L cut off the connection. He stared at the phone, his entire body feeling numb.
This is truly the death of L. After this, no law enforcement agency can ever trust L again. There will still be detective work for me under other aliases, but "L" is an unusable alias from now on.
It made him angry, to think that the Kiras had finally destroyed L after all. They had won in a way. Or maybe everyone had lost. Yes, that was it. Nobody got what they wanted, and most of them ended up dead.
He felt an ache for Matsuda. He wanted that brave, bumbling idiot to walk into the room, hand him some coffee, and say something stupid. Not in the creepy way that the hallucination-Matsuda had done, but in a way that was perfectly normal and fine, like waking up from a nightmare and suddenly realizing that none of the horrible things had actually happened.
L rested his forehead against the window, allowing his eyes to get lost in the rampant spring growth. He suddenly didn't feel safe. He knew he couldn't have been traced. And yet... and yet...
He jumped up, went through the place and wiped all surfaces he might have left fingerprints on, managed to get Jojo back into the cat carrier with no cheese and only a few scratches, and took one of the cars and left.
He drove in circles in Tokyo for hours, too paranoid to leave the city as all ways out were surely being watched, too frightened to check into any hotel, and feeling unsure about his own safe houses. There were three more of them inside the city, but he dreaded the idea that the feeling of not being safe might overwhelm him in those places too, leaving him with fewer options. Going back to the headquarters he'd shared with Wedy, Watari and Matt was not an option either, not if there were even the slightest chance of being followed or found somehow by Mikami. There were things in that place that might be suspicious if Mikami ever saw them.
As night fell he continued driving, going around and around, getting pulled in by a feeling of being hypnotized by the steady pulse of streetlights going past him in the darkness. He was filthy, and still hungry, but he couldn't seem to pull himself out of his mental state. It was like a quicksand pulling him further and further in.
Finally, Jojo started yowling and refused to stop. L couldn't stand it any longer. He looked up a pet boarding facility that was still open, drove there and boarded Jojo under an assumed name, giving them plenty of money and receiving assurances that the cat would be cared for very well.
L still felt pursued and drove in circles, even getting lost a few times. His eyelids felt heavy. He felt as if the filth was coming alive, crawling on his skin, but he didn't dare stop anywhere that had washing facilities. He kept checking his rearview mirror, surprised when he didn't see any indications of being followed, even though all logic said he shouldn't be followed. He was beyond logic, and he knew it.
Around midnight, he began feeling the car itself was unsafe and abandoned it. Walking was certainly an improvement, but he was driven onwards, overwhelmed with uneasiness every time he tried to stop or rest. The paper proving Mikami's action felt dangerous to be carrying. He couldn't destroy it; he might need to produce it as evidence someday at Misa's trial. At last L stopped at an all-night mailing facility and placed that paper in an envelope, mailing it to a secret address that Watari would check at some point in the future, once Watari was sure it was safe. Watari was wary, but he'd be out of hiding and in his normal habits exactly 23 days after Mikami's death, when there was no chance of a controlled L trying to bring harm to him.
Getting rid of that thing helped bleed away some of the paranoia, but there was plenty remaining. L felt positively pursued and walked the streets in complex patterns, using every trick he knew that would detect or throw off a follower, and yet there was nothing. Nobody was after him. He still couldn't get rid of the irrational conviction that he wasn't safe, that he was somehow invisibly pursued. He knew he looked like a lunatic, filthy and wild-eyed and constantly checking over his shoulder.
He kept walking until his feet were sore, and then, just as the first faint light of pre-dawn began brushing the horizon, he saw an expressway and knew what he would find underneath. After a small hesitation he altered his path, both relieved and frightened when he glimpsed in the distance the boxy blue-tarp shapes of a homeless settlement underneath the bridge-like curve of the expressway, clustered near the concrete support pillars.
Mindful of the danger of being robbed, he made sure nobody was observing him, crept into some bushes, and buried half of his remaining cash.
Then he continued and, feeling very odd, very removed from the logic that usually drove his actions, stopped outside the nearest makeshift tent of blue tarps and called out for the owner, knocking on a pole.
There was a rustling sound from within, and finally a woman's voice saying, "Go away!"
L moved a few tents over and tried the process again. This time a man immediately stuck his head out. He was perhaps in his forties and looked surprisingly neat and clean, except for his glasses with one lens cracked, and his skin which seemed to be sunburned.
The man said, "Yes?"
What am I doing? I'm rich.
But L knew he couldn't go back to any normal place soon. A terrifying fear was waiting to suffocate him. He had to escape it; he could sense it lurking for him, ready to pounce as soon as he tried to go back.
L held out enough money to pay for a decent hotel suite for a week, or an apartment for a month, and said, "Please, let me buy this tent. I need to stay here."
The man looked at L, his gaze ranging up and down L's body with a look that clearly stated, "You are crazy."
The man said nothing but merely grabbed L's shirt by the front of it and pulled him through a flap into the dimly-lit interior of the tent.
L tensed, ready to fight, but the man let him go immediately.
I am crazy.
There were blankets in two piles on the floor. The man motioned to one pile and L crouched on it. L's companion bowed and then took the money and counted through it several times. When he had finished, he said, "My name is Jiro Morita. Do you need me to leave now?"
He's hoping there might be more money if he stays. He's useful, then, and probably not very dangerous or he would have attacked me already to get the rest of the money. Though, he might be waiting until I sleep.
L said, "Is there food and water here?"
"No."
"Then please get some. I will pay you an additional amount. You may call me Sato."
Jiro gave a short, quick bow and exited. L crouched where he was, feeling overwhelmed by the irrationality of it all. It was risky; it was stupid. There was no compelling reason why a hotel or one of the remaining safe houses wouldn't be a better idea. And yet, he felt as if he had outrun his paranoia in this small blue tent, left the crushing weight behind.
Perhaps I can stay here the last few days until Mikami dies. If I send Jiro for everything I need, nobody would ever see me. Jojo will be fine for the next two weeks. I have no responsibilities.
There was something immensely soothing about the four blue walls, filtering the light of the sunrise that was just starting. L knew it was an insane perception but he wanted to linger for a very long time. There would be no pressures in this place. Just sit, eat, sleep, and wait. It would be an easy life.
In a surprisingly short amount of time, Jiro was back with two styrofoam bowls full of hot noodles and broth, and two bottles of water.
As L ate, Jiro said, "Sato, there is a restaurant called 'Ginto' two blocks to the west that lets us use the bathroom as long as we are clean. You are not clean. I suggest you first visit the bath house that is across the street from it. They open in one hour. If you shit on the ground around here, the others will beat you up. Urine is somewhat acceptable as long as you are very discreet about not being seen peeing and you bury it. There is a trowel tucked barely underneath the southwest corner of the pile of pallets under the third span."
Jiro stopped talking and began gulping down his noodles at a fast rate. His neck was thin, the ropy muscles on it standing out strangely each time he swallowed, making him seem bird-like. His skin looked dry and rough. He had on a suit and tie, though, and he didn't look much different than any businessman you would see on the streets of Tokyo. He was doing a decent imitation of not being homeless, probably hoping to find a job soon. Tokyo's homeless population was among the cleanest and most polite in the world. But that did not make the present situation safe.
L watched Jiro, suspicious, wary, and yet paradoxically feeling as if no place in the world were safer. It was a web of conflicting thoughts and impulses, but still far better to deal with than the crushing paranoia, the not-safe feeling that came from thinking of hotels, cars and the safe houses.
Jiro finished his noodles first, then rummaged around in some bags in one corner, pulled out a cigarette, and said, "Sato, during the day most of us go to an internet cafe, three blocks to the west. Look for the bright red building. It's warm and there are job advertisements."
"Thank you. I will probably stay here."
Jiro hesitated at that, looked worried, looked as if he were going to ask a question, but instead he exited out the flap of the tent.
L finished eating and left a little while later, determined to seek out the bath house and stay ahead of the needs of his bowels. As L exited the little settlement of tents he saw Jiro was leaning against one of the pillars, smoking along with a much younger man and a middle-aged woman. All three stared at him.
At the bath house, there was already a line of customers waiting for it to open, some talking a little among themselves but most silent. L waited with the rest and nobody tried to talk to him or paid him much attention. Once inside, he paid the locker room attendant extra to send his clothing to be laundered, even though it gave him a paranoid fantasy of his clothing encountering a mix-up and never being seen again, leaving him naked and helpless.
Being naked around many strangers was somewhat unnerving, but L endured it. The environment of the bath house was also strangely comforting at the same time. It felt very anonymous, very removed from the main pulse of life in the city.
When he scrubbed himself clean under the squat showers, he made sure he was on the end of the row, where he at least didn't have to be between two other men. When he went to the hot soaking pool, he likewise stayed in a corner, refusing to look at anyone else. The hot water drew out his soreness and exhaustion, leaving him in a dream-like mood. Time flowed slowly, and nothing seemed quite real.
When he returned to the locker room a couple hours later, his clothing was waiting for him, clean and dry and smelling wonderful. They had even made an effort to clean his shoes, but it had only gotten the worst of the mud off.
L spent most of his remaining time in Jiro's tent. He stared at the wall. He brought in a bunch of smooth pebbles so he could distract himself by stacking them and arranging them into patterns. Jiro was mostly gone during the days, claiming to be at the internet cafe, but returning with hot meals and bottled water at regular intervals, getting payments each time that were far more than what the food was actually worth.
At night, they each slept in a pile of blankets. It was somewhat chilly and cramped but not terrible. The other life that L had once led seemed like something that had happened years ago, instead of mere days.
Jiro rarely spoke. He seemed reluctant to ask questions, but he stared quite a lot, and his facial expression plainly showed that he thought he was dealing with a crazy person. On the second day, Jiro showed up with new glasses, no longer having the pair of glasses with the one cracked lens.
L got caught up in the stillness and monotony and so he almost missed the right time. His thoughts had become very detached from the past, shying away from it, avoidant. He was crouched in the tent as usual, hands clasped around his legs, his chin resting between his knees, in a dreamy state that felt close to sleep, when he heard a snatch of conversation from outside, mentioning "today is Tuesday" among other things.
His head snapped up, and instantly he was going over his memory of sun-cycles since he'd arrived, concluding that the people conversing outside were correct. Mikami was dead, or was about to die. L needed to know the time and was immediately pulling on his shoes and then stumbling out into the bright sunlight, blinking. From the sun's position he guessed that Mikami had already been dead for some hours, and a quick glance at the nearest watch, on the wrist of a young man smoking with Jiro, confirmed it.
Can I go back to my life now? Will the paranoia be gone? No, I need to be sure there is a body first. I must know.
Jiro took out his cigarette, blew a stream of smoke, and said, "Sato, what's wrong?"
L replied, "I need to go to the internet cafe."
L started walking. Jiro followed, but said nothing. L's mind was racing. He was barely aware of the people who passed them on the sidewalk, and he almost walked past the internet cafe, stopped only by Jiro plucking at his sleeve and saying, "Sato, here."
L found an empty computer and started looking up the news. He found what he was looking for immediately. There were even pictures of Mikami's face along with the articles. Nothing was said about him being Kira; the NPA must have decided to keep quiet about that.
The event was portrayed as Kira's attack, though. It was large enough, and obvious enough, that it couldn't help but make the news, especially after a lull in Kira's activities.
A large "soapland", a brothel masquerading as an expensive bath house and spa, had been discovered with every single prostitute dead of a heart attack and only a single male within, Teru Mikami, who was also dead.
This "soapland" had been turning away all clients for several days before the discovery, and the regular clients listed in records at the site had all died of heart failure, wherever they happened to be, at the exact same moment as the prostitutes and Teru Mikami. It had made quite an impact, especially since several prominent and immensely rich businessmen had died. Soaplands all over Tokyo had gone into a panic at the news, closing and turning away clients.
L wanted to laugh out loud. He felt very strange. It was over, finally over. He had never been so gleeful at the death of a criminal. Mikami was dead, dead, dead, and it was great.
He pulled himself together, mindful that Jiro and various others might be able to see his screen, and spent nearly an hour looking at other news stories to cover his interest in the one. Not likely to be necessary, probably a product of his paranoia, but the attempt at secrecy helped to calm him all the same.
When L felt he was done, he obtained a scrap of paper and a pencil, writing down instructions for Jiro to dig up his remaining buried cash, and then wrote down the address of a safe house he knew he wouldn't be using, along with the code required to open the door.
He thought for a few moments, nibbling on the pencil-end, then wrote some more:
This house will be empty for the next year, and nobody will challenge you for living there. Groceries are delivered by a service each Friday. Thank you. You have helped a crazy person, in ways I cannot explain to you. I will not return.
L folded up the piece of paper and, on his way out, shoved the paper into Jiro's hands. Jiro looked at the paper and started unfolding it. L didn't wait, but ran outside, merging with the now-heavy sidewalk traffic, letting it carry him to where most of the people were going, to even more densely-populated areas where a taxi could be easily obtained.
There was still Misa and Rem to deal with. Mostly Rem, since Misa seemed to have given up on trying to get her way.
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Fifty Days