The bells had always been there; ringing softly, just beyond the edge of his conscience. They were his constant companions; they had been with L longer then any material form. The bells were there.
He had once, and only once, imagined that he could reach out and pull the cord, in order to ring the bells himself. He chided himself for such foolishness afterwards. One could not pull the strings of their own fate. If that is what the bells represent. L had yet to decide what the bells were. Or if they were at all. He had always been busy being L. Things were that simple.
Still, it was strange that the bells were so boisterous on this one day, which, if not for the bells, would have seemed so ordinary. Their usually lithe melody was strangely haunting, even when accompanied by the pattering rain. Perhaps, he should have taken it as an omen; a dark message from some far off benevolent spirit. If you believe in such things. Even if he had taken heed on this particular day, it would have changed nothing.
"He for whom the bell tolls may be so ill, that he knows not it tolls for him," L whispered into the wind and the frigid rain, letting the words become lost in the accord of sounds which they created. He was reminded of an old story that Watari had once read to him as a child. He had been sick, and was therefore fascinated by the tale of words that were spoken in winter, which would freeze solid and not be heard until they thawed in spring. He had even then known that it was a false story, but had been delightedly entertained irregaurdless. He gazed at the grey sky, watching the clouds swirl in a myriad of silvery shades.
The bells were getting louder still, almost as if mocking him. This was not the first time the bells had called out to him so clearly. There had been on other occasions, the bells calling out their protests to certain dangerous actions. But, the bells had always been wrong before. He had always succeeded, and felt that once again the bells were raising alarms at nothing. He wondered now, in some far off way, if the were merely a reaction to adrenaline, produced by what the body knows and the brain does not. That, of course, leads to the simple and inarguable fact that the body could not possible know something that the brain does not.
L smiled in that mysterious and awkward way of his, and turned towards the door from which light had called. Nothing would have changed. For L's confidence was inexhaustible and his calculations were flawless. That same smile still in place, L went inside.
One could now wonder if, perhaps, thinking of such things in ones final moments is not the wisest way to spend such time. I'll leave you with the simple notion that the most logical people in the world often do illogical things of there own accord.