A/N: Hiya, everyone! This is a story I thought up a while ago and I'm just getting around to putting it on digital paper. I have the entire story planned out, the only thing left is to actually write it, so unless I get lazy, updates should be pretty regular. I'm willing to change things around based on any advice or ideas you, the readers, have for me. I really like hearing what other people think, even if it is criticism! The story will be pretty dark and serious overall, but seeing as it's Death Note, it's kinda a given. I hope you enjoy chapter one. Don't be afraid to review ;)

Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note!


The Power of a Name: A Death Note Fanfiction

Chapter One: Existence


"The whole secret of existence is to have no fear. Never fear what will become of you, depend on no one. Only the moment you reject all help are you freed."

(Hindu Prince Gautama Siddharta, the founder of Buddhism, 563-483 B.C.)


The girl peeled a wet sock from her numb foot and tried to rub some feeling back into it, careful of the raw sores from her boots. Blood, dirt, and puss stained the pale skin and didn't really help with the smell. Snot ran freely from her nose and over her cold blue lips. She absently wiped the mucus away with a stiff sleeve and sniffed. Her fingers shook violently; her heart was still pounding from the adrenaline rush from earlier. Salty tears mixed in with the rain dripping from her dark red hair, leaving cleanish streaks in the grime on her face.

She dropped the threadbare sock on the rotting floor boards and cradled her head in her shaking hands. The sobs came freely now that the day's events had caught up with her. The girl had never been so scared in her life and it frustrated her and made her feel stupid. She had no reason to be scared because she wasn't a real person; she didn't exist.

I'm not real, nothing can hurt me. I'm not real, nothing can hurt me.

She rocked back and forth on her perch, her scrapped knees pulled against her chest waiting for the psychological pain to go away. The panic started to leave her body through the tears and the energy she was using up by shaking. Images flashed through her mind, refueling the fear she felt earlier and she took deep breaths, trying to convince herself it wasn't all that bad.

The adolescent girl was walking as quickly down the sidewalk as her short legs would allow. Thunder rolled through the air like cannons and flashes of lightning brightened the ever-darkening sky through gray clouds. She had to get back to the den before it started raining; she couldn't afford to get sick again. A mix of wet clothes and cold, bacteria infested basement air wasn't exactly good for one's health. Last time she got sick, she nearly starved to death because she was too weak to get up and "borrow" money for food.

The boots she'd dug out of the dumpster were big on her feet and she could feel the beginnings of blisters on her heels and toes. The holes in her thin socks were growing and she realized she'd have to find a way to get new ones before it got too cold. It was better than nothing though and she learned to make do a long time ago.

The girl jogged across the street, not bothering to check for cars. She was in the slums and not many people around could afford cars. There was no reason to even be there if you could afford a car, either. Movement in her peripheral vision caught her attention and the girl glanced quickly over her shoulder. She caught her breath; she was being followed. Her stalker was making no effort to hide his intent as her glided across the street after her.

His clothes showed he had some wealth. He wore a black tailored pinstripe suit with a purple button-up and a narrow black tie. A dark knee-length jacket kept the chill out and he held a black umbrella in one hand. His loafers were polished so much that one could see their reflection in it. The man was fairly tall, maybe around six feet and his hair was dark and, surprisingly, a little out of place. It was his eyes, though, that really scared her. They were an ice blue and she could see cruel amusement dancing in them.

Recognition sparked in her drowsy mind and her own eyes widened in fear. The man grinned maliciously at the sight. She picked up her pace a little, to a fast jog and glanced in a car mirror to see that the man had sped up as well.

How did he find me? Why the hell is he here?

Her panicked thoughts and a rush of adrenaline pumping through her veins sent her sprinting towards the den. The man followed easily, his long legs covering twice the distance she could. The girl's boots rubbed at the sores on her feet and she was half limping at the end of the block. She kicked one foot forward and the untied boot flew through the air and into the street. The other boot soon followed, but the action slowed her down and the man was gaining quickly.

Sweat dampened the girl's clothes and her lungs were burning from running so fast for so long. Her stomach began to cramp and she gave a strangled cry, trying to fight through it. She could hear his loafers pounding the sidewalk behind her and forced her sore legs to move faster. The den wasn't far now; the only problem would be getting there without him following her to it.

The girl stopped suddenly and shot into the closest storefront. It was a restaurant filled with people and delicious, gourmet smells. Several well-groomed heads looked up as she burst through the door, but she ignored them and sprinted to the kitchen. The room was incredibly hot and crowded with men and women in white chef uniforms yelling for spices and equipment. She weaved her way to the exit near the back; shouts of surprise told her the man wasn't far behind.

The alley behind the restaurant was empty and the ground was slick from the now pouring rain; she was soaked in seconds. The girl slipped in a puddle and mud splattered her face, obscuring her vision. She tried to wipe away the muck and squinted to see the path, her knees aching from the fall. The rain covered any noise the man would have made and she was too scared to slow down or stop. She knew better than to look behind her. If you look behind you, everyone knows you're going to get caught. That's how a lot of local delinquents were caught by police; they looked.

The girl reached the den window and risked a glance behind her, just in case. She didn't want him to find her home and if he did, she was as good as caught anyway. Lady Luck was one her side, though, and the man was nowhere in sight. Her panic subsided slightly and she squeezed into the basement window to her den, landing softly on her feet. Her heart pounded in her ears and she struggled to catch her breath. All she could do was collapse on the cold floor and cry.

It didn't seem like a terrible ordeal, really. All that happen was that a man had followed her, but she knew who that man was. He was the man who killed her family eighteen years earlier and he was back to finish the job as promised. She had never seen him in person before now, she was still an unborn child at the time of her father's murder and minutes old during her mother's, but she remembered him from the videos.

The man, Glyn Caradoc, had videotaped himself butchering her father. Her dad's limbs were hacked away by a dull kitchen knife and his body was ravaged by chemical burns and smaller, but painful, lacerations. The man only laughed as her dad bled and burned and screamed. The girl had had nightmares for weeks after seeing it. He was scalped just as he slipped away and beheaded, the remains of his body left on the kitchen table to rot.

Her pregnant mother had been forced to watch the slaughter, gore splattering her once clean nightgown. She screamed along with her husband, her arms wrapped protectively around her pregnant stomach. She had been close to her due date, only about a week away. Glyn knew this. He tied the girl's mother down and gagged her then performed his own version of a C-section on the poor woman. He reveled in the woman's agony and then, with the child out of the way, he gave her a fate similar to her husband's.

He left the newborn baby alive in the carcasses of her parents. He would hunt her down later when she was old enough to be a real challenge. Glyn called the police himself after he finished and left along with his videos. A few years later, he sent them and a photo of himself to the girl's current foster family. They kicked her out shortly after that.

The girl didn't blame them. She wouldn't want the prey of a sadistic killer in her home either. She had managed alright on her own for a time. She found the "den" in the basement of an old theatre and made it her home. She learned to steal food and money in order to survive, but only enough for that, never more. Sometimes, people would even give her doggy bags and change if she hung around restaurants.

Every night before she went to sleep, the girl would stare at the man's picture and swear on her mother's engagement ring –the only thing she had left of her parents- that she would get revenge on Glyn for what he did. Then she met him and she was scared. She was too afraid to even consider fighting him, much less killing the bastard. All she had been able to do was run and cry and she hated herself for it.

Next time, she vowed. Next time, I'll get you for sure you sonuvabitch!

Deep down, she knew it was pointless. She couldn't do anything but hide and wait for whatever gruesome plan he had in store for her. She was weak and alone and wished she didn't exist. She twisted the chain around her neck absently staring into space. The metal engagement ring and key on the chain was cool on her skin and she held them tightly until they were warm and indented on her palm.

The girl sighed and curled up on her pile of moth-eaten blankets, trying to imagine a better world; a world where she wasn't real.

If you don't exist, nothing can hurt you…