Birthday Cards
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Tsugumi Ohba, Takeshi Obata, Nisio Isin, and Viz Media. I don't own them; I'm just examining all their possibilities.
Author's Note: Written for the contest "Happy Halloween/Happy Birthday L" at BxL-Fans at deviantArt. This story is directly related to my previous story "Red Hands" though this one can be read on its own.
November 16, 2002
Vancouver
"B sent me a card for my birthday this year."
I don't know why I said this…no…I know exactly why I said this. It has been one of the many things that have been floating through my mind repeatedly for the past 12 hours.
I am convinced now my coherence is waning, though I am only now remembering shot of morphine I received just five minutes ago. That would explain why my head is now spinning while I clearly remember being more awake than this the entire day I have spent in a regular room.
"Yes, I remember that," I hear Watari's voice say through the haze. He must still be sitting next to me. "Did you ever read it?"
I manage to catch onto the thought; the recollection of the envelope Watari put beside my computer…16 days ago was it? I believe today's date is November 16, then yes my birthday was 16 days ago.
It's sad, really; I don't think I really celebrated it this year. I had several pieces of cake with Watari, I recall blowing out some candles. I also remember a few pleasant phone conversations with my brother and sister.
My sister Sharona would be thrilled to know I was just one province over now; I don't think she would be too happy about where else I was. As tempted as I am to call her, make up some story that I was stabbed by a crazed transient or caught in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong people, I know that would be unwise. I am here for business; that is all. I will make a point to visit her and Alonzo in the coming months, maybe when I am fully healed.
Watari is doing an excellent job of keeping me company and I should be resting right now anyway.
The better part of my day has been spent with Inspector Daley wrapping up the last bits of the case against Xiang Feng and his drug cartel.
"I don't know who's more of a persistent son of a bitch, you or L," Daley said when first entering my room this morning. "But L said this meeting was your idea, in fact I believe he agrees with me; a man who was at death's door just a few hours ago needs a rest."
The L he was referring too was of course Watari, but then Daley and Watari were right on all counts. I am indeed the persistent son of a bitch who called a meeting with Daley regarding the locations Feng's last few associates an hour after being transferred out of intensive care.
Just another conversation and all loose ends would be tied up. Talking with someone and keeping my mind focused also meant I wasn't thinking about the numerous stitches on and inside my body, the itching in my nasal passages from the oxygen tubes, or the locations of any other tubes for that matter.
The authoritative way I said "as long as I am conscious, I am still the eyes and ears of L in this investigation," made me feel a little better about myself in general.
I have insisted that Feng not be charged for assaulting me; he is facing a long list of more pertinent charges.
I also know that knife in my side was as much my fault as it was his. I could have blocked it, I could have disarmed him, but I consciously chose not to.
"Shall I just move along then?" Watari says. "You look to be nodding off."
I blink a little, widening my eyes a bit more. I must have been falling asleep.
"Not right now, please," I say, realizing my tone is a bit more pleading. "I shall be ready for sleep in at least another 30 minutes."
He nods, his expression sad. He takes my hand again; I think he has been holding my hand off and on for the better part of the day. Seeing me like this has to be hard on him.
Back to the question at hand.
"Yes, I believe I did read B's card," I say, recalling the already-open envelope.
Watari told me when he gave it to me that the contents of the envelope had been thoroughly analyzed for any hidden traps; poisons, pins, any other manner of dangerous thing B was capable of putting in that envelope even under constant surveillance.
"I think he said he has been going through occupational therapy already," I say. "He is making more physical progress than the specialists thought he would."
Getting a card from both A and B had been a part of my tiny birthday ritual for three years. I still do not know exactly how they found out it was my birthday, though the look on Watari's face every time he delivered them to me have me enough explanation. He must have slipped the information to them, either directly or through Roger.
Watari has always been dropping subtle hints that I should celebrate my birthday more than I do. Every year is the same. Cake with Watari has been the same ritual since I was nine. Two years ago, a phone call to Sharona and my brother Alonzo was part of that.
It has been over two years since I reunited with my two eldest siblings; I have made it a point to stay in contact with them, maybe reclaim some old memories.
It has only been recently when I have allowed myself more recollections of my Halloween birthday during the first five years of my life when I actually had a normal childhood. Sharona and Alonzo would wear their Halloween costumes like they were putting on a special revue for me. Mom and dad, and in that last year just dad, would prepare the cake mix and frost it in festive birthday colors; however many number of colorful candles lit on top.
There was only a small, store bought cake involved at the institution when I turned seven and I actually welcomed it. Only mom and dad could put together a beautiful cake for me and they were both dead.
"He tried his hand at origami, didn't he," Watari says, breaking me from my haze again. "I believe that's what it was."
I think I nodded, the morphine having a little more of an effect than I thought it did.
A and B used to put a lot of effort into their cards. It was clear both of them every year were hand made; they wanted to impress me with their technical and artistic skills. Maybe it was because they wanted to reflect their admiration for me in their handcrafted works; maybe they wanted to compete with each other, or maybe they wanted to show in this simple way they were worthy as my successors.
A's cards were the style that could be found at an expensive stationary shop; multiple layers of paper making a series of framed designs, his knowledge of calligraphy and his interest in poetry doing the rest. If I looked carefully enough, I could see no card stock was involved; it was parts of cereal boxes, egg cartons, packing paper, any number of household items.
I didn't get a card from A this year. A made me a rather ornate one last year with magazine cut-outs of pumpkins that created a three dimensional effect on the cover. I believe he hung himself a month later.
"B was always good with his hands," I say, managing to shift my position on the bed in such a way that aggravates my injured side a bit less. "B could never just make a normal card for me; he always had to make a statement. I remember last year he took a newspaper, shredded it, and made a whole two-fold card by weaving the paper together. Even the message was woven into the paper."
"He did have some redeeming talents," Watari says with an air of finality.
Watari doesn't like to talk about B, especially to me. I think that whole calamity still bothers him and I know he can tell it bothers me too; I need to give him more credit for sensing my emotions than I give him.
Maybe he is aware that I am here now because of my own actions; though if he is I believe he is in denial. I would be too if I were in his position.
"I was rather surprised when you handed me that card two weeks ago," I say.
"I was rather surprised to receive it," Watari says. "I thought B was up to no good again, though I am starting to think he is trying to rehabilitate himself in more than just the physical way."
B's card this year lacked the usual craftsmanship. That was a given considering the extent of his burns after setting himself in fire.
I remembered looking at the envelope as if it was a monster ready to bite my hand off. Watari had checked it over thoroughly, so I knew there was no actual danger; just the danger that existed in my mind.
I kept it on the floor for the better part of the day, my eyes going back and forth between it and my computer.
At last I snatched it from the floor and tore it open as if confronting it.
It was a yellow leaf folded out of origami paper; some rougher edges the result of B not having complete use of his hands yet, though bearing the usual talent.
A piece of paper with printed words in an ornate font was glued to the other side. I expected to read a stream of curses; I think I would have welcomed a stream of curses as opposed to what I did read.
To L; my mentor, my hero, he who remains the greatest detective in the world.
I write this to you humbled, for I tried to beat you; I tried to outsmart you. Yet you were the one to have the last laugh; you remain ever the cleverer one.
Forgive me my misguided pride, I underestimated you and it has cost me dearly.
I would like to think that I offered the Great L his finest case; catching the genius killer who sought to elude his notice. May that make you feel better about your existence. May you remember every day that the infamous killer Beyond Birthday is now locked away, a husk of his former proud self, a killer who only accomplished his own undoing.
May you go down in the history books, L; may the papers sing your praises, may all other criminals tremble in your shadow.
I could have been you, L; but I forfeited my rights to the throne. Do not weep for me, for I am content. The skin grafts have fully taken hold; I now have almost all use of one hand and partial use of the other. I have an excellent therapist who will remain with me when I go to prison in a few weeks.
This card I send you now is, as it has ever been, a token of my esteem.
Have a joyous birthday, L. May the next 23 years be filled with more success and happiness.
With deepest sincerity,
B
I remember putting this card in a drawer somewhere as I tried to make the decision of whether it should go into a fire like its maker had. I believe that card is still in its original place as I have had no time to decide its fate.
The day after receiving it, I was on a plane to Vancouver for this current case. I believe the only burning that will happen with those words is the memory burned into my mind that resulted in the burning in my flesh I experience now.
"I want to go to back to Winchester after I'm released," I say, pushing away the effects of the medication for a few more seconds.
"I was going to suggest the same thing myself," Watari says. "You need some true rest and Winchester is the best place I can think of for that."
"I want to meet with the children," I say, "remotely of course; choose my next successors. While I trust your judgment, I want to make my own choices."
I'm tempted to say I was almost unable to make that decision, though I refrain.
"Understood," Watari says. "But now you really need your rest."
I cannot argue with him this time. Keeping my eyes open is now more of a monumental task, whether solely because of the morphine or the fact the last of my energy is completely exhausted.
"I do indeed," I say. "Could you bring me my laptop tomorrow? I want to jot down some final notes on this case, that is all."
I can see the look of reluctance on his face, but he gives an agreed nod.
"I will have it for you tomorrow afternoon," he says. "Of course that depends on what your doctor says."
I nod.
"Then goodnight," I say, laying my head back and closing my eyes. "Until tomorrow."
I didn't hear Watari walk out the door; in fact I believe I fell completely asleep at this point.