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Annals of Fear II	By : DeathNoteFangirl Category: Death Note > Yaoi-Male/Male > Mello/Matt Views: 5803 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note and I do not make any money from these writings

Chapter List
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I

It wasn't ideal to be driving through the Welsh countryside alone with a prisoner and a corpse.   Hal had no choice.   Uncertainty dogged every mile of featureless blackness and desolate roadsides, only half-seen in the headlamps, as the Land Rover sped across the Cambrian Mountains.    She was heading east, away from the blackout, and her orders had come from Deontic.   But now Deontic was gone too.

Originally she had been following in her own car, refusing to share transportation with the brothers.   That had not been wise from any angle, but Hal had recognised how close to the edge Deontic had seemed.   There could well have been another fatality, had Deontic been allowed to brood in the passenger seat, with Morien Williams restrained in the back seat.   It hadn't come to that.   Instead Deontic had flashed the lights of her BMW, a few miles past a place beginning with 'M' and ending in too few vowels.   It had taken nearly ten miles before the corkscrew bends of the mountain road had finally yielded a lay-by, in which they could park up and confer.

Fenian was being discharged from Bronglais Hospital.   He had been x-rayed and scanned, but his back was basically bruised with a pulled muscle.    He'd be fine with rest.   The good news caused tears in Deontic's eyes, which she'd hurriedly blinked away.   Hal suspected that the Malaysian woman had been crying during the lonely journey thus far.    Century had yet to be seen, having only just made it through triage.   Deontic had handed over a laptop and 'phone, along with in-car chargers for both.   She had to collect Fenian from the hospital.   Hal was on her own.

Hal drove now, into the night, half-hypnotised by the milky green glimpses of grass verges, as she sped past them.   There were no lights out here.   She presumed that there never were.   There were no buildings nor lamp-posts either.    She became aware that her jaw was so tightly clenched that it was becoming painful.   None of this felt right to her.   They had disturbed a crime scene.   She was escorting a prisoner in an unsecured vehicle, on her own. A prisoner who stunk to high Heaven with the heavy musk of sweat and cold fear; a prisoner who was conscious again and trying to curl his bulk into a corner of the seat and the door. Occasionally petrified with fear, eyes jammed shut, whole body trembling with the tension of being so stiffly held. Occasionally panicking, in sudden jolting movements, pulling against his cuffs, kicking the passenger seat before him.   Hal hated this.   This was no way to transport a felon.   It was safe for neither of them.

The road hurt her eyes.   It twisted and turned, seemingly back on itself, around some unseen obstacle out in the country night. She felt herself drifting into a kind of limbo, feeling as though she travelled through another time or place or something.   Hal was no stranger to driving.   She had regularly gone on road-trips back home, travelling for two or three days.   Her mind drifted back to that summer, when Loretta had moved from Montana to Tennessee and they had transported all of her stuff in three road-trips, over the course of just two months.   But then Loretta had been a bitch, who hadn't reimbursed her gas money and had stopped returning her calls shortly after she'd no need of a mug to con into taking ridiculously long road-trips.

Hal breathed.   It was irrelevant and she had no idea why it was even cropping up now.   She hadn't thought about it for years and there were far more pressing concerns right now.    The way ahead took a long curve around an outcrop of rock and there was a house.   Its windows were illuminated with the electric light inside.   It lifted Hal's spirits in a split second, until she couldn't quite believe how despondent she had became.   She sat up and wriggled her shoulders.   On the back seat, Morien began to whimper.   Hal ignored him.   She pulled over, at the side of the road, partially blocking the driveway of the house, then she tested the laptop for power and a wireless signal.    It worked and she allowed herself a smile as she logged onto the Watari Network.

It took another 38 minutes to reach Llanidloes.   It felt like the same number in hours.    The little town burst out of the darkness; its lights, in contrast to all she was used to, seemed as lavishly bright as the Las Vegas strip.   It took another fifteen minutes to navigate the roadworks on the bridge and the streets, with their strange names, that would not stick in her memory.   Hal found the police station and parked up, right outside the door.   She took the laptop with her, stretching automatically, as she stepped down from the Land Rover.

She took a moment to compose herself and to place the call.   This was Watari.   This was what she'd seen a dozen times, in filmed recordings, the old man doing.   She entered through the double doors, with their flaking brown paint, into the inner porch. The place was tiny.   She worried that it might not even have any cells, let alone a mortuary.   It was apparently not even constantly staffed, but there were two officers waiting for her now.   They had been called in especially.    Hal straightened to her full height and walked to the counter, under the worried, expectant stares of them both.   She held the laptop open, displaying the Old English font 'L'.

"Officers," came Near's electronically masked tones, "I need you to find appropriate lodgings for Watari's prisoners. I intend to have them transported by noon tomorrow. You will be compensated for your trouble."   He sounded distracted and slightly bored. Hal loved him for this favour anyway.    The two officers didn't reply, though one raised his eyebrows and looked like he was trying not to smile.   "Is this acceptable to you?"

"Yes," said the older of the two, exchanging a glance with his amused colleague, before moving to unlock the counter hatch. "Better show us then."   He continued, conversationally, as he headed towards the door. "Home Office knows about this, is it?"

Hal was sure that Near yawned before he answered the question. "This is not a matter for the Home Office. You can do this, in exchange for my discreet future assistance or," Near paused, "Watari could cross the border into England.   Maybe Wales never has cases worthy of..."   He stopped.   There was clicking.   The officer with Hal shook his head and carried on out.   His partner had just scowled.   Hal followed the first man out.   They were beside the Land Rover before Near continued.   "Yes, you do. We can work together. Help Watari please."   Hal smiled at the officer's bewildered expression.   "Watari, collect the Bronwyn Meredith and Gemma Davies case-files before you leave please."   She could tell by the sudden seriousness of the officer's demeanour that those names were known.   He peered into the back of the Land Rover and frowned.   "And tell M that, when he has finished with his current assignment, he needs to interview a suspect in L..." There was just the briefest hesitation. "Llanidloes for me."

"Yes, Sir."

"Thank you, Watari."

II

Deontic sat in her car, looking out of her windscreen at the blackened ocean.   The wind was fierce here, raging across the exposed expanse and occasionally rocking her car, as sturdy as it was.    Out on the beach, the flames of the bonfire were caught and lashed, back and forth, as if they could be scattered and destroyed with the next strong gust.    She glanced at Fenian, in her passenger seat.   He looked haggard and white, in the moonlight.   Deontic pushed her glasses back up her nose. The metal frames felt icy on her skin.   "You can go and lie down in your chalet, if you like.   I can keep an eye on Kiana."

"I'm grand." Fenian lied.   "I'm just trying to get my fucking head around this.   Dead?"

"Fenian, don't. I feel sick enough as it is."

"And Mello killed him?"   Fenian looked pensive.   He seemed more guilty than outraged.   "Did you not get any clue about the cause of death?"

Deontic grit her teeth. "I'm wishing that I hadn't told you."   She reached across and snatched the pen, that he had been tapping with, from his hand.   "It makes no sense that Mello killed him nor abandoned the other one in that state.   Unless he was interrupted and he's currently in much more trouble."   Deontic frowned.   "Even then, what is the purpose?"

"Vengeance."

"Don't!"   She glared at him, then relented under the weight of her own barely suppressed distress. "I don't want anyone killing anyone over me."   Her hand covered her mouth.   It was taking all of her will to not let her mask slip. She wasn't entirely successful.   "Matt isn't answering his 'phone.   It's not the signal.   I gave Hal my other 'phone and I called her, as I was coming to find you.   That worked."

Fenian took out a cigarette, but just held it between his fingers, unlit against his thigh.   He didn't find his lighter nor make a move to leave the car.   Deontic had already made it clear that he could not smoke in her BMW.    "What about the fourth man? Matt got one. This covered another..."

"Please." Deontic inhaled sharply.   "Can we deal with one horror at a time please?   Why wouldn't Matt be answering his 'phone?"

"I'm assuming that you called through Watari?"    Fenian waited for her nod. "Then it's either that he's underground or he's being an unsociable fuck."   He stared out, into the night, watching the fire and the moonlit figure of his girlfriend standing on the beach.    "Don't you be worrying about it. Fucking Teflon those two. Shit doesn't stick."    He shifted slightly and grimaced at the pain.   "Are you done here?"

"What?"

"Are you not going home now that your mediator role is done? You were planning to go."   He began gently tapping his thigh with the cigarette.   "I think we'll be gone, soon as we can fucking persuade Century to come too.   Probably drive out and wait at the ferry port.   Go home."

Deontic blinked. "You are really tired."

"Fuck off.   If you don't know I live in Éire, you're a fucking idiot."

Deontic rolled her eyes, "I meant that you're really tired. You shouldn't be driving anywhere, until you've rested." She propped her elbow on the narrow shelf before the side-window, then propped her head up with her hand.   "I'm staying until I've seen Mello and Matt.   I couldn't..." She let her words trail away.    They sat in silence for a few seconds. "Why...?" But Fenian had said, 'I'm...' at the same time.   They both stopped speaking. She gestured for him to carry on.

"No, you say what you were saying."

"Why have we let Mello and Matt go up to that blasted house on their own?"

Fenian frowned, then rubbed his face. "Because they're toerags, who wanted the fucking case and now they've got it.   Which, frankly, is really fucking me off, because this case should have been mine.   Every fucking substantial lead we've had has come from me.    They just had to fucking put together the fucking pieces, which, to be fair, I even fucking did for them before they left."   He sighed irritably. "I even had the fucking strategy."

"I do wish that you wouldn't swear so much.   It makes you sound illiterate."

Fenian stared.   He made to speak, then pressed his lips together and glared at the dashboard.   He wiped his mouth with his hand, then opened the door. Icy wind rushed into the car, freezing them instantly.   "I'm going for a smoke."   He tried to hurry out, but pain stilled him.

"I'm sorry."   Deontic said, quietly, as he eased his legs out.   "You've been brilliant."   She watched the back of his head. He bowed his head.   "Have your cigarette."   He nodded and made it outside, closing the door behind him.   Deontic switched on the heater, shivering in the chill.    Her mind kept ticking over all that was happening, presenting the facts, analysing them, trying to find some order beneath the cloud of emotion that was stifling everything.   She watched Kiana's arms rise, beside her bonfire, out on the beach, like she was trying to part the grey sea or something.   It made as much sense as anything else this night.   Whole minutes passed before Fenian got back into the car.   She glanced at him, not knowing what to say.

"I don't like it."

"What?"

Fenian shook his head. "Why the fuck would Mello leave a fucking corpse up there?   Was he out of concrete boots or something?   Not like that, not out on the fucking mountainside." He frowned.   "If he was struggling, he could have put the body in the fucking ambulance."

Deontic nodded, whispering, "I know." She bit her lip. "But it's too coincidental that it was those brothers.   The ones who attacked me. The ones whom Mello promised to sort out for me."

"I did too." Fenian snapped.   "I was going to fucking deal."

Deontic steepled her fingers over her mouth and nose.   She sighed, speaking through gritted teeth, "I don't want this.   I don't want justice like this.   It's not justice.   It's vigilantism."   She closed her eyes. "I'll create an identity for myself. I'll get it hacked into the system. I'll report them to the proper authorities, through the proper channels."

A loud beep sounded from Fenian's coat.   He glanced towards Kiana, but she was dancing around her fire.   He reached into his pocket and brought out his 'phone. Deontic raised her eyebrows.   "Charged it at the hospital.   Found a seat with a plug socket under it."   He checked his text messages, then closed his eyes.   "Century's going up the fucking manor house."

"He's been discharged?"

"Who fucking knows anymore?"   Fenian began texting back to ask.   "Valerie and Daf still in the chalet?"

Deontic bent down, so that she could see out of the far rear window.   She nodded, sitting back.   "I can see Valerie in the window."

"Century thinks he's losing, you know?   Eighteen years old and no big case to his name." Fenian's fingers began a heavy tattoo on his thigh.   "He's heading for a fucking breakdown. Sal thinks it.   I think it.   He's stared death in the face and saw failure. A fucking PhD and he thinks he's a failure."

"Don't we all."   Deontic flashed a wan smile.   "Lauren's with him?"

Fenian nodded.   "Sure to be.   Mello's bloodhound hasn't left Century's heels all fucking night. Which makes it really fucking obvious that Mello sees Century as his rival here.   Neither of us are being followed."

Deontic closed her eyes.   "Go and lie down in your chalet.   You can barely walk.   Call it a day for yourself and your lady."   She opened her eyes, as his 'phone beeped again.   "What does he say?"

"His heart is fine."

"Ok." Deontic touched the steering wheel.   "You know something else, Fenian. Something that you're not telling us. Something that made you suddenly very co-operative back upstairs.   What was it?"

Fenian's expression grew studiously blank.   He opened the passenger door again and eased himself out into the chill.   "Don't you be driving off anywhere without me.   I'll be right back."    He set off, in an agonised shuffle, heading towards the chalet block. Deontic watched him go and she did not turn the key in her ignition.

III

The moon shone brightly on the beach.   The clouds were there, in heavy dark shadows obliterating the stars, but only wispy tendrils drifted, threatening the moonlight.    They were moving fast.   The wind pressure was as great up above, as it was down below.    Veritable gales rushed in from the sea, buffeting Kiana, so that she had to brace herself to stand firm.    It took her breath and it whipped the flames at her feet.   The fire, at least, had some shelter, in the form of rocks piled high around it.   Kiana faced the ocean, focusing upon the moon-path, that danced upon the waves, in a long, narrow reflection of the light above.   It looked solid, as if she could walk along it.    Kiana inwardly smiled, because, in a way, she would.

The waves crashed in regular rhythm upon the beach.    They came as great booms, then the crackling snaps of stones carried in them, cast upon the shore.    Water, swathes of it, wild and untamed out there in Cardigan Bay, in its endless dialogue with the rugged land.   Neither one thing nor the other, as they met, but sea and land in a violent cauldron of mixing; parting only as the ocean reared back to charge again.   Kiana dropped another piece of driftwood onto the fire.    The wood itself symbolic in this place and time.    Earth-born; ocean tempered; consumed by fire; rising into the air.   Those great Earth-bound tides, frenzied in the grip of the moon.   The rocks around her, forged in the fiery depths of the fault line beneath them.    The layered cliff-faces, turned on their heads by ancient seismic shifts; fire and earth in all their fury.   All exposed now to the buffeting chaos of the atmosphere. The stones literally howled, as wind whistled through their crags and holes.

Kiana concentrated upon letting the irritation of the wind leave her; to rejoice in its whipping of her clothes and hair.   Let it knot, like the druidesses of old.   She was here, alive, part of nature.    She practised taking her breaths with the wind, instead of against it.    She succeeded.

Samhain.   The old calendar's New Year's Eve.    This night, neither one year nor the next.    She checked her watch.    It was time.   True midnight.   Neither one day nor the next.    The landscape around her.     Neither land nor sea.     She was not Welsh.   This was not her land, with its unfamiliar energies and unknown traditions.    But Irish slavers, traders and warrior forces had sailed across that sea, in centuries of landing upon this shoreline.   Their Welsh counterparts had left from here, with Irish plunder stark in their minds.    For a moment, Kiana twitched, sensing a sharp psychic repelling in the ether.   It came from a silhouetted mass of mountain, far behind her right shoulder.    She felt the hill-fort, with all its residual wariness, and didn't need a history degree to know that it had been built to keep out the Irish.    For a moment, it existed again, out of sight, but solid, Welsh warriors at the ramparts with their longbows drawn.   Kiana didn't turn around.   She didn't need physical eyes to muddy the reality.   It was her mind that reached out, in acceptance and acknowledgement.    She spoke aloud, but the message was strongest in her psyche. "Peace between our people."   Then she threw back her head and bellowed, "Y gwir yn erbyn y byd, a oes heddwch?"

As if a beacon had been lit, in the spiritual landscape, everything changed.    She knew, without looking, that it was midnight now. Her arms rose, with the athame gripped in her right hand, riding on that knowledge.   The hill-fort resistance had gone, as if it had never been there.    Kiana felt that deeper current.    The neolithic people, who had known no nations, as they sailed their coracle boats from the northern Orkneys, into Eire and back to Britain.   The grand tour of stone circles that carried with them the deities.   The same gods.   The links that they forged were still real.   Spirit currents criss-crossing land and ocean.   The same forces; the same stark, wild and powerful elemental forces.    Kiana didn't reason this out.   She knew, as instinctual feeling, with a fierce pull that she had to answer.    This was as old as the land itself and it bore no name.

She had meant to call down the goddess with ritual words and invocations.   They weren't needed.   She was already dancing, before she was even aware that her feet and arms were moving.    The wind still had to be there, but it was part of her now and it carried her, without injury, over the uneven rocks.    The ecstasy was rising within.   She was unaware even of her own breathlessness.    Kiana danced, her mind soaring, with just enough wit to fix upon the name that she had come prepared to call.   "Mab!"   A chatter filled her mind, neither English, Welsh nor Gaelic.    It subsided.    She couldn't speak, even if she'd wanted to. Sweat poured from her skin and her lungs ached under the force of the air.    Her spirit wanted to let go, surrender to the passion and the wild abandon.   But Mab was the Queen of the Sidhe here and Her name had come to Kiana, in the shaft of the stone, back at the manor house.    If any deity could protect Mello and Matt here, it was She who commanded the fairy folk.    Through cracked lips, Kiana tried again, "Mab!"   And she didn't know if she'd pronounced it Mebh, Maeve, Mab or any of the other forms. Perhaps she'd said them all.

A movement caught her eye; electricity seemed to crackle in the very air.   Kiana didn't dance alone anymore.    A figure, faded grey and translucent against the night, span in the spiral dance around the fire.   It matched her pace; it held the other pole of her position, always precisely opposite her, on the other side of the fire.    Awe, excitement and relief flooded Kiana's already flying soul.   She released all reason and let her sensibilities ride on the air.    Without a word being spoken, the Lady was here and her need had been heard.   From now, it was up to the Gods themselves; so mote it be.

Author's Note:   This story is being discussed here: http://mrsjeevas.joharrington.co.uk/forum/viewforum.php?f=11
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Annals of Fear II