This is a fan fiction. Beyond Birthday, and L belong to Tsugumi Ohba and are not products of my own imagination. Ophelia, however, is mine. Names, characters (Other than the ones I've listed as belonging to Ohba), and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, or persons living or dead, is coincidental.
Chapter One- Too Late
Black silk soothed her skin as she lay prostrate on the rounded bed. A large pool of violet flowed from the top of her head. Her body ached while her heart was sore. What was it about this particular case that stressed her out the most? Did this unforgiving melancholy result from the unforgettable sights of the slaughtered woman whose limp structure was meticulously photographed? No, sure it was heartbreaking to see the photo of a young Tara Blefton. She was a bleeding mess with a large meat hook shoved in between her shoulder blades. Still, no matter how gruesome this scene, this wasn't enough to extract this kind of reaction from her. She was surrounded by the pictures taken by her partner ,Allan Vandergaurd, a newbie to her kind of work. With a long, tedious stretch Ophelia sat back up, her bones popping at her movements. She was getting too old for this type of thing, even if 25 was fairly young. She scooted off the bed, ignoring the soft PLIP! of the polaroids falling to the hard wood floor and landing on their back as she made her way to the window. Her hand touched the glass pane. It was cold in London, even at the warmest of nights London was cold to her. But it was fine, by now she had become numb and unable to react to the mind straining loneliness she had to withstand since Jonathan was gunned down.
She scanned London's skyline as Midnight was introduced by Big Ben. The heavy lullaby rang throughout the still air. With a twist of the carefully crafted, gold door knobs the doors swung open gently and she found herself leaning on the edge of the balcony. The white wood beneath her fingers was as cold as the air around her. London was a beautiful place when it came to the matters of the eye, but when it came to the matters of the mind it was ugly. The tourists that ran hand and hand with their spouses below the towering Ben only knew what they saw. She knew this place, she knew the happenings. One of the most notorious murderers lived in London, Jack The Ripper. It didn't matter where someone was born they knew who Jack The Ripper was, they knew what he did. She snapped out of her reverie at the last three dings of Big Ben's song.
Stars dotted the sky as though an artist meticulously painted them there on a thick, black canvas. She knew exactly why sadness hovered above her with the moon's large, smiling face. This night, this day's new beginning marked the anniversary of the day she met Jonathan, her dearly departed. She was entangled in the soft, twisting vines of daydream, lost in precious memories and perilous thoughts of his sweet lips.
So enthralled in her whimsical thoughts was she that she did not notice the ever-lurking shadowed figure. The predator opened the freshly oiled door and slinked onto the My House Is Truly Home mat. Abruptly he stopped halfway across Ophelia's bedroom. A smile graced his face as he watched the barely dress figure waltzing with an imaginary partner, reliving her first date. He couldn't watch her like this forever it was time to implement his plan.
Eyes closed still, Ophelia began to twirl to the right, but a force stopped her.
"You smell beautiful."
The voice was eerie, male, and undeniably monotoned. The tone reminded her of someone from Whammy's, but what was his name? He went by so many. Did he even know his own real name? Her thought process was impeded abruptly as she tilted her head upward in horror to view her assailant. She saw him and her heart instantly race. Blood cells pushed pass one another, crowding her veins as adrenaline would soon provide the means necessary for her escape.
"Ryuza-"
"Better." He interrupted and shoved a moist rag over her mouth. She smelled something odd as she took in an involuntary breath. It was a sweet smell. Chloroform found its way into her body, she knew what would happen now as her eyelids began to fall.
He kneeled as Ophelia became dead weight (Well, actually unconscious weight.) in his arms, keeping the rag over her mouth. An overwhelming blanket of darkness shrouded her mind and to a deep slumber she plummeted.
The malicious attacker began to drag his sleeping beauty to her doom over the slick floor. After the front door of the old Victorian-styled house was shut, sound filled the elaborately decorated living room. It was the laptop which was placed precisely on a freshly Pinesol-wiped coffee table. A flashing window suddenly appeared and automatically opened an E-mail.
O,
I've deduced by a chain of murders , many of which are no doubt your cases to solve, that a former sucessor of mine was located in your vicinity. He simply goes by Beyond Birthday. Please be careful, he's very resourceful. I am sending this E-mail because I have reason to believe he is informed on your whereabouts. Do NOT leave your home.
L
PS You should probably get some new security features on your computer. It was easy for me to hack into your IP address and perform a key trace.