This is a short, Hal-centric fanfic that I have been crafting within my head for quite some time. Hal is personally my favorite female Death Note character, and I wanted to experiment with the possibilities of her emotions following the fairly traumatic events of the Kira case. I find her an interesting, intelligent character and wished to test out my writing abilities with her...and here is my attempt at doing so!
Please forgive me if my portrayal of Gevanni is complete crap. I need to analyze his character more deeply, methinks...
I don't own Death Note. But you already knew that.
The one who survives by making the lives
Of others worthwhile,
She's coming apart right before my eyes.
- The Tower, Vienna Teng
Her calender is three months behind, and Hal Lidner doesn't seem to notice.
When she keeps in mind that the days pass by with or without her turning the monthly pages of a half-assed record of time upon paper, she simply allows the dust to gather upon the sheet and lays in bed for another hour or two. She needs to wash her bed linens something desperate, but she's been out of laundry soap for at least a week. She loses track.
She hasn't been sleeping lately. The nightmares spawned within the base of her brain, the endless dark web that has been collecting the grime of the world keep her from doing so. Not that she's all too bothered. Society can't do anything new for her now; her job is done, and as spent as her own motivation.
When she puts enough thought into it with her tired mind, society is merely a pseudonym for him. Kira.
Light Yagami. Gunshot. Hand.
Although she's barely left her apartment in the past three months, besides the occasional outings for food or bland visits to friends who call to see if she's still functioning, she's managed to lose the full curves of her body that used to bring her endless ogling and a healthy confidence. Before now, she's never had to worry about her loved ones coaxing her to eat or being prodded for reasoning behind the sickly pale sheen of her skin. The bags spawned under her eyes are the telltale proof of her insomnia, of her nightmares and her lapse of reality.
Light Yagami. Yellow Box. Scream.
She hasn't even cast a single glance at the trunk that holds her gun since the last time she held it, since she threw it into the damned chest to never see the light of day again. If she's lucky, she'll be able to pawn it off to some bright-eyed pen pusher without a firearm so that they can point it at some distorted serial killer the way she did.
Kira. Running. Three months.
She's been feeding off of memories and noises and visions of the world's twisted god, and quite frankly, her appetite for a new mindset is growing ravenous.
Hal Lidner is starving, slowly but surely, for life.
She gets out of bed once the alarm chimes three in the afternoon, her set limit for hiding beneath the sheets. Her legs are weak from having been immobile for hours, her head is throbbing, and she curses under her breath when the phone rings. The endless charade of being checked on via teleohone tells her that breaking the routine could only disrupt her mind, which is currently dangling on a grimy string in front of her eyes, and she answers with nothing heartier than, "Hal here."
Stephen Gevanni, whom has kept a relatively safe distance from the woman ever since she has been placed on leave from her job, is on the other end. Much to Hal's relief, he doesn't bother with the horribly overused line of "hello" and brings his proposal to the table.
"You need some air?
Hal's mind slips another inch at the disturbingly familiar voice, and she vaguely recalls her scheme to pack as much as she can fit in two suitcases and book a flight to somewhere green. She can't listen to the man speak without her stomach sinking; for Stephen Gevanni, however indirectly, is a reminder.
Notebook. Names. "God."
She winces at the sunlight through the curtains and she makes a mental note to invest in thicker ones. "There's plenty of that over here," she responds. "Why, are you running low?"
Gevanni releases a forced little laugh, a seal of approval that even her social skills, those that had been polished and refined and pinned within the prized treasure that was Hal's personality, are slipping from beneath her. "Not exactly. The others are meeting up at the old bar downtown. We would hate to leave you out."
Hal rolls her eyes at that. They'd get by…
He is being much more friendly than normal; Hal is accustomed to the sober young man in which had lingered with the case until the fall of Kira, the fall of Light Yagami in which had been witnessed with their own eyes. To this day, Hal is unsure as to whether or not the sanity within the man's mind has been as exhausted and spent as hers. He is an intelligent man, Hal knows and amires that.
But they had admired her, too. And for what?
Strength. Stability. Everything that is slowly falling to shambles at her feet.
When Hal does not promptly respond, Gevanni takes it as his nod to elaborate. "Anyway, it's right down the street from-"
"I know where it is, Gevanni, thanks," she interjects before he annoys her with directions. She might as well go, she figures. It will be interesting to see if she's the only one that has been living a travesty of a life for the past three months.
Gevanni clears his throat roughly, obviously growing increasingly uncomfortable with the shift of moods their conversation has taken. "Yes, well, six?"
"Thirty," Hal adds tiredly. She does not feel the need or the drive to ratify her point to the man awkwardly lingering on the other end; five-thirty in the evening is the dreadfully designated time that her sister calls, normally sharing the line with her mother and asking the same questions that she did the previous night.
She's grown weary of questions, the same burdening inquiries that bring the turbulent force of her own impatience with the planet back onto her shoulders. Before she'd been assigned to the case, it was a rare occurrence for her sibling to contact her, as well as her mother, for the sole reason that they did not approve of what she had become. A well-trained, quick-tongued combatant with a notable proficiency in infiltration with the suavity of a fox.
They hang up on gauche terms and Hal barely replaces the phone on the receiver steadily.
Steady. Shots. Crash. Light. Yagami. Kira. Fall. Run.
She makes her way to the window and endures the beams of sunlight striking her face like the slap of a memory. She remembers enjoying the sun, the way it could manipulate her skin into a golden bronze in the summertime and streak her hair with a crisp honey sheen.
Now, this very sun makes her look down at her shrunken form, her loss of curves and the tasteless wan of her skin and just…think. Wonder. Question.
She doesn't cry. She hasn't cried in years, even after her friend having been swiped by Kira right beneath her foundations. The core of her body aches; for what, exactly, she has yet to understand. But even in the midst of what feels like a collapse of something within her that has never quite been inclusive to begin with, Hal Lidner never cries.
She has three hours to prepare for her first planned outing, but her mind is straying from its leash, tugging relentlessly at the stem of her brain. Swallowing, she glances at the unsightly, mediocre calender sported on her wall. The dust, the three months, the recollection…it's spiraling back down her spine, through the weakened muscles of her thighs and calves, down to her toes and making the long journey back up to her skull, where it festers and remains dormant until the next time she will glance at it.
Hal climbs into bed and turns her back to the sun.
I will be updating this quite soon, since I have the following chapters planned out already. Be prepared for some SPK and Matsuda plot arriving shortly...
This may only be a four-chapter-or-so fic, but I am actually quite inspired from starting it!
Reviews would be highly appreciated!
Until next time.
phollie.