NEAR:

I suppose this is my 'origin story', so to speak. You could also call it my 'How I Came to Wammy's', or 'How I met Mello', or 'The Trauma or Near'.

I still don't like close spaces.

Even a close-to-perfect memory can have gaps.

I remember very little of my life before Wammy's, but the two memories which stand out the most are linked together. Both more star my mother than myself.

I was 4 at the time. It was late May and I was coming into our run-down flat after playing outside, leaving the door ajar. It was raining, and chilly. Stereotypically England weather, all-in-all.

She was on the phone, and barely paid attention to her muddy child.

"Mama! I was outside and it was rainin and Ben pushed me down and I fell in a puddle, but I didn' cry a bit!" I was bouncing in place. I was a fairly hyper child, before.

"Shhh, Sweetie. Mama's on the phone," she shushed me impatiently, while pinching the bridge of her nose. She did that a lot around me. I was a bit of a trial for a young woman.

"So I tripped him and he fell and he cried a lot!" I rambled on, not really paying much attention to her.

"Sweetie, please. Go play with your blocks. Oh! Yes, I'm still here," she said, perking up.

I squelched over to my blocks and started stacking them. Even then I did a lot of thinking while stacking things.

"Quillish, it's Beth. It's been a long time," I heard my mother murmur. She tried to be quiet, but the flat had good acoustics.

I had never heard that name before, and wondered if maybe it was my Daddy. I had never met him, and it had never been explained to my satisfaction where he was.

"We're fine for the most part," she continued. "Except for one big thing. Thomas's child. I can't handle him. I really don't know how. Thomas would have known how to handle him. He's too much for me."

Who was she talking about? And who was Thomas?

"He's such a handful. He's all over the place and getting into mischief, plus he's always asking so many questions. I caught him reading a book the other day, Quillish! He's only four! How is he learning these things? I didn't teach him, and I can't afford to send him to preschool... Yes, I'm sure he does come by it naturally. But I'm not as good at this stuff as he was."

I watched my mother slump a little in her chair. "Truthfully, I'm giving up. If Thomas were still alive, he'd be able to deal with him, but I just can't. He's too much for me to handle. And I don't want to anymore."

What was Mama talking about?

"I'm giving him up and moving somewhere I can get work. ... Yes, well I'm calling you cause Thomas told me this is the kind of kid you take into your orphanage. Hopefully, if just for Thomas's sake, you'll at least come and meet him. At worst, you can tell me the best place I can put him." She paused, playing with the phone's cord between her fingers.

"Mmm. Yes, we are. That's such a relief, Quillish. I'll see you soon."

She put the phone down and looked over at me. She didn't seem to see me at first, but then her eyes widened.

"Mud! You got mud everywhere!" She ran her fingers through her hair and looked exasperated.

"Mama, who's Quillish? Is he my daddy?"

"No, but he's a friend of your daddy. He's coming by in 2 days, and you'll be taking a trip with him."

She scooped me up and headed for what I can only deduct was the bathroom. I guess I'll never know for sure, as that's when she died.

A quick interjection would be good at this point. Things I found out later in life, but are still integral to the story, will make understanding more complete.

In case you were wondering, my mother died of a rupture in the aorta of her heart. It's not hereditary, and I've already had my heart checked just to ensure it's strong. Her death was very fast.

Watari was a friend of my father's. He knew Quillish Wammy had opened an orphanage for gifted children, though he never knew the real reason.

Watari normally sent other people to pick up the children he was called about. L was, of course, picked up personally. This one time, he decided to make an exception. Maybe for my mother's sake, or maybe for the old friend who had passed away shortly before my birth.

He had only been called an hour earlier for a different child, and was going to send someone out to get the boy. Based on the conversation he had with my mother, he decided to go and pick up the first child personally, then go and meet me right after.

I won't give away too much about that one. He'll be decidedly angry with me if I give away his origin story. Whether he'll write it or not.

Suffice it to say, Watari was taking a flight to Edinburgh to pick up one problem child, then would fly to Manchester for me.

If he had reversed it, perhaps I would still be the hyperactive, cheerful child I was then.

I won't get into too much detail of the days I spent, if just to keep my own nightmares at bay.

My mother was carrying me to what I believe was the bathroom, when she stumbled. A moment later she crumpled, still holding me in her arms. I partially fell away from her, but not enough. My mother landed on me and I was trapped on my stomach, her weight pinning me from my shoulder blades down.

I thankfully don't remember the entire time I was there, however the main thing to remember is Watari said he'd be two days. Two days to a small child is a lifetime. Two days to anyone in my position would be close to forever.

I struggled to get away for many hours, but I was four. A small four, really. I was only about 14 kilos, and mother was about 55. I was cold, dehydrated and hungry. Nobody answered my cries, and finally my voice gave out.

I slept a lot after that. Self defence mechanism? Likely, I'd say. I was in shock, and had little energy left.

But I finally heard something. Voices outside the flat's door. The door was partly open because I had never fully closed it.

Our flat was at the end of the hall, so people only came to the door when they were visiting us.

A knock.

"Beth? A man called.

"The door's open, can't we just go in?" a child piped.

"No. Common courtesy says we wait to be let in. A slightly open door is not necessarily an invitation."

"Hey, I see a hand moving!" The child ignored the voice. I heard the door creak, then footsteps coming closer. "It smells really bad..." the child started, then his voice dropped to a whisper, "oh, wow."

"Get back out here-" The man started to call.

"There's a dead body in here!" the voice right above me sounded horrified.

I looked up at him. His blue eyes were the most vivid I'd ever seen.

"Watari! There's a kid here! He's alive!"

I heard hurried steps followed by a few muttered oaths. A few moments later, the weight lifted off me and the boy with the bluest eyes pulled me out from under my mother.

"Are you OK?" he asked me.

"He's likely dehydrated."

"Want some chocolate?" The boy pulled out a half eaten bar.

Arms picked me up, much more gently than my mother had.

"He needs water and warmth, Mello. Could you please get a blanket, first?" Watari asked softly.

"Chocolate milk?" Mello asked. Mello? What kind of name was Mello?

"Water is best for now. First, the blanket."

"OK!" Mello ran off.

"Are you alright, child?" Watari asked. I heard him fine, but couldn't seem to respond. My head was fuzzy and I was cold. I stared at the corner, not really seeing it. I was in my shell, and I did not want to come out of it.

"I have a blanket!" Mello called, coming into the living room.

"Thank you, Mello. Please sit here," Watari said as he got up. I felt myself moving, and then was next to Mello. The blanket wrapped around us both, and was tucked in by gentle hands.

"Why do I haveta sit with him?" Mello asked.

"Think about it, while I call the police," Watari told him.

I knew why, even then. I was cold, and Mello was a bundle of heat. I could feel his heat starting to seep into me. I relaxed onto his arm.

"He's cold!" Mello called.

"Yes, he is. He's in shock. For now, keep him warm, and please try and get him to sip some of this water."

Mello moved, presumably to take the water, then turned to me. He stuck a straw between my lips. This was something I could do. I started sipping the water.

I'm not too sure of everything that happened after that. I know the officials arrived, and things became very confusing. People tried to get me to tell them what was happening, but I wasn't coming out of my shell.

"What's his name?" I heard Mello ask.

I was being carried outside, still wrapped in the blanket.

"I believe we'll call him Near."

Near? That's not my name, I'd thought. What kind of name is Near?

"We change the names of the orphans for anonymity's sake," he said quietly to me. "Where you're going, nobody goes by their birth name."

I didn't answer. I supposed it didn't matter.

"You're coming to Wammy's with us. We take in orphans and raise them so they can be the next L. L is the greatest detective in the world. If you do well, you can take over if anything was to happen to L."

"Except that'll be me!" Mello chirped.

Watari chuckled as he placed me in the backseat of the car and buckled me in. He arranged the blanket around me and patted me gently on the head.

There isn't much more to the story that's of value to anyone, but for two things.

In London, Mello convinced Watari to buy me a toy. He argued I didn't have any of my toys from home. He picked out a robot for me. When Watari tried to give it to me, I didn't pay attention to it. When Mello tried, I clutched onto it. I still have the robot.

My readers shouldn't read too much into the situation.

The final thing of interest? I didn't speak again for a year.