Disclaimer: Of course I do not own any of the Death Note series. This is all copyright of Tsugumi Ohba.
Spoilers: Yes. Possibly spanning to the end of the manga, depending on how far I intend to go with this. So, please, if you haven't finished it yet and decide to read this…don't gripe about the spoilers. oo I warned you.
Critique is appreciated.
Frost
Prelude: An Unexpected Call
December 19, 1997—Midnight
It was by the bay window on the East side of the room where Rodger stood. He was admiring winter's first snowfall, the white contrasted the pitch dark of night so that each flake seemed ethereal, almost glowed. It was his favorite time of the year, where everything was still and tranquil and the world was a little less unsightly. He stroked his finger idly against the stubble on his chin, a thumb stationed just beneath his jaw. Below him was the courtyard, a place he and his dearest friend had spent many days deciphering the mysteries of the world and plotting out the architectural design for the Wammy House. It now glistened beneath a blanket of white, sleeping soft and sound. He frowned, his gaze trailing to the wrought iron gate accenting the border of the property. It was at that same gate that he had met the most bizarre…and the most brilliant boy he would ever set his eyes upon.
Rodger jumped. A strident ring cleaved the silence without hesitation, the fragility of this serenity shattered. His thoughts were blown askew. Rodger's brow furrowed, and he wrung his hands thoughtfully as he proceeded toward his desk, eyes locked upon the phone. He stared at it with a nervous gaze for some time, as if scared of what might lie on the other line. Rodger finally picked it up, though, and placed the phone to his ear with caution.
The person on the other side was breathing heavily, as if distraught. "H-hello?" Rodger stammered, wondering who might be calling at such an unusual hour.
"It's me, Rodger," a gruff voice came out in a ragged huff, and paused for a brief moment as if to catch his breath, "Horace. W-We have a serious case here." Rodger clutched the telephone more tightly, his mouth altering into a cutting frown.
"Horace? What's going on?" Rodger could hear low murmuring beneath the crackling static coming from the other line. He thought he could hear the sound of a woman gasping. Horace hissed something, a swear of sorts. Rodger's brow knitted and he called, "Horace?"
The man let out a heavy sigh, "I'm sorry, this boy, Rodger you should see him… I haven't seen a case like this since… God, he's in horrible condition."
"What boy? Horace, what…?" Rodger inquired, baffled. It wasn't the first time that he'd gotten a call from Horace, he often called regarding abused children that seemed to exert unique qualities. But… he'd never seemed so distressed before—at least not since that day. He was in the same state he had been on that lonesome night... "What is going on?"
"A woman called early this morning, regarding her neighbor's abandoned house. She'd heard strange noises all last night, things breaking and shattering… various loud noises. My God… we didn't realize we were going to find this," he gulped, spoke something to the others with him and continued, "we entered the place to find blood everywhere, peppering the cabinets and swiped across the walls. A particularly large stain was on the sofa in the living room. But…we found him in the kitchen, huddled in a corner. All around him was silverware, tools… most were slathered in bloody marks. He's tiny, we haven't gotten a proper look at him, but there's no doubt he's malnourished. Hell, he must weigh less than forty pounds."
"Gracious name…" Rodger breathed. "Are you nearby any hospitals or any other medical facilities?" he inquired, trying to calmly talk Horace through all the options he had open.
"Rodger. The Wammy House is the closest thing around for…miles."
Rodger's frown was pawing at his face, making it look somewhat thoughtful while still maintaining that distress. He knew what his decision would be in the end, but the idea of the Wammy House accepting any sad story that passed Rodger by was, he knew, not a good idea. He groaned, "Bring him here. But we can't keep him long. Once we have him treated we'll have him moved to a better facility. And, Horace, hurry."
Horace grunted, and a click issued, followed by a solid, monotonous note. Rodger slowly set down the phone, glancing back at the window. The snow was falling thick and hard now. He gulped and rubbed his hands together nervously. Who knew what was in store for him with this new arrival?