No matter how hard he tried, he never could get away from the suede and white rabbit fur apparel. However, it was just too damn cold in Winchester at the time for him to be in his normal garb. He'd been really lucky to find a designer in L.A. who would make a personalized trench coat from suede and white rabbit fur.
He'd left the west costal designer very confused and with a good chunk of money. The coat itself was expensive as hell. Oh well, at least he wasn't privy to the cold that crystallized his breath as he made his way to the memorial.
The stone was simple. It wasn't a tombstone, for there was no body under it. The body was gone by the time the fire department had gotten to it, and it was probably ashes in the wind by then. On the stone was a statement made by Mello before he left the orphanage. It was one of the last things he'd said to Matt before leaving.
Peace is a Lie
Passion is the Answer
Through Passion I gain Strength
Through Strength I gain Victory
Through Victory my Chains are broken
Matt laughed, but it was bitter, and cold as the flakes in his hair.
"You had to go and kick it, didn't you Mel. I always thought of you as a man who would live forever. Guess that didn't work out so well, did it? We used to think we were indestructible once. That the world had never seen anything like the two of us. We were wrong, Mello. I think you knew we were wrong. I think that when you left, our perspective of the world slipped into reality. You saw that you could not always predict a person's moves as well as Oasis. That scar of yours must have been a lot more sentimental that it seemed. It taught you what you always refused to learn. People put in desperate situations will do desperate and often unpredictable things. Hell, I still can't believe I have to turn twenty-nine, or that I'm lucky enough to be.
"We planned on changing the world once, too. You, Sahara and I. We were going to bring about a revolution to shake the ages." He smirked and lit a cigarette, as the snow got heavier. The smoke swirled in pointlessly fascinating trails through the snowy sky, and Matt remained silent, watching it.
The pencil touched the paper ever so lightly, and the bony hand began sketching, Line after line in quick succession, the image began to come to life. The face, the hair, the eyes.
Lucius peered over the young woman's shoulder as she sketched, her eyes closed off from the world. People said she was a psychic, or a prophet. Lucius didn't believe in that shit, but this girl made him wonder. Her first predictions were eerily accurate.
Suddenly, she stopped. The sketch was of a teenage boy with fluffy light hair, and a blasé expression. The girl snatched the fresh cigarette from his lips and crushed it out against the flesh by his eye. He cried out and stumbled back from the girl. She glared at him through milky eyes.
"That is a disgusting habit that I will not allow in my presence," She said in Italian to the man, "Do it again, and it will be your eye I burn. The boy is Near. I have no other name for you, but this should be an accurate depiction of him. Find him, and bring him back here. Nothing will work if he is at liberty." Lucius took the sketch and left, his baldhead shining from the dim light of the room.
A woman entered, long dark hair swept up in a high ponytail on her head.
"Well?" She asked in Italian. The artist turned to face the newcomer.
"My men are not incompetent, Sahara. They will find him."
"Near is smart, Oasis." Oasis smirked lightly.
"But I am smarter, not the smartest from our little group, but definitely smarter than Near.
Another card fluttered to the floor, tossed from pale fingers onto a floor strewn with playing cards.
"L, I really don't think that the gang problems in Ireland have a center solution. Gangs have always been a problem all over the world, including Ireland. I don't think that there is anything significant with the gang wars in Ireland." Roger's voice came through the screen dubbed with a gothic W. Near continued throwing cards on the floor until the last one had landed in silence, then began to counter the statement as he gathered them back up.
"Watari, I understand your point, but you must understand that I have considered that outcome already, and have ruled it out. There is significance in the gang wars of Ireland. There are more than brutes with weapons out there. I think there is an allied force out there that I could use to my advantage in the upcoming turmoil." Roger could tell that Near's mind was on another topic, but knew that he would explain in time. However, the statement about upcoming turmoil was a fact he must be informed of.
"Upcoming turmoil, L?"
"Yes. When I was at school, a young girl with a gift for seeing events to come warned myself and several others that a third world war would come to arise in our lifetimes and that it would be like no other. There would be no allies between countries and all would fight against each other. Bio-terrorism will arise and the greatest country will fall along with others, to the power of a successful dictator. I have mentally prepared myself for the battle I will face in this war, but I have not prepared well for a team. I had originally planned on finding the Wammy children that I grew up with. Now that the two girls are missing, and Mello and Matt are dead, it seems I need a new team."
A crash.
Heavy footfalls.
The slight gasp of a young man.
A deck of cards hitting the floor.
Silence.
He took a long drag and let out the ghost of his addiction with a heavy sigh.
"You Catholic bastard. You still had a lot to learn about people, about life." He pulled a single rose out of his coat, momentarily risking the freezing temperatures and letting the chill dust his flesh. He dropped the rose and the black ribbon tied to it fluttered as it plunged downward. "Merry Christmas, fucker."
Matt got to his feet, adjusted the guns on his belt, pulled the cigarette from his lips, and dropped it to the snow as he turned his back on the memorial of his friend. He crushed the butt into the snow with his boot as he left the Wammy campus.
After a moment, his phone began vibrating in his pocket. It was an unknown number, but he answered anyway.
"Yes?"
"Matt?" A panicked elderly voice came over the line. Matt stopped in his tracks.
"Roger." He responded in disbelief.
"Near is gone." Then the line went dead. Matt stared at the phone as his icy breath gusted away with a fresh wind.
"Fuck." He snapped the phone shut and walked back to his bike.