"Where've you been, Ryuk?"
"Eh?" The pale shinigami paused upon being spoken to, turning his attention to the lesser-ranked god of death nearby. The cloaked and bandaged figure came a little closer, but still kept his distance, eying him warily.
"Down in the human world," Ryuk responded. "Thought I'd do a little something different to try and ease the boredom."
Sidoh blinked once and tilted his head.
"Did it work?"
"Nope."
"Ah...that's too bad." Sidoh paused, glancing in the direction from which Ryuk had come. "You didn't happen to find a lost notebook down there, did you?"
Ryuk stared for a few seconds, expression as unreadable and freaky as ever.
"Nope."
"Ah...that's too bad." The wrapped shinigami paused, realizing he'd repeated himself, and felt even more awkward when Ryuk simply turned to leave. "Um...if you happen to find one, could you let me know?"
"Sure thing."
Ryuk kept walking.
It really was too bad -- it had almost worked out. If only it had been picked up by someone with a longer lifespan, maybe he would have gotten some entertainment out of it. One could never predict what those humans would do with it, after all. The most he could do was simply watch from a distance.
It was kind of interesting, actually -- he was pretty curious as to how the kid would die. Sometime on the way to the young man's house, the death god paused in confusion, turning to see just who it was that was following them. At first he thought it was another shinigami, judging from the feel of the presence alone, but first glance revealed him to be human.
A second glance told him different.
"Dropped your notebook?" the other man casually asked. Ryuk stared, somewhat stunned that such a pathetic-looking specimen could see him. Except for the horrific burn marks all over the human's body, there was absolutely nothing remarkable about him that he could see -- not until he took a good look at his eyes. And even then, it was bizarre.
"You have the Eyes," Ryuk observed, standing aside as the man passed him by, "But not a notebook. And your lifespan..."
"I don't know what I am either." His voice dropped to a mumble so his quarry wouldn't be able to hear. "But I can tell you what I will be."
Ryuk glanced at the young man he was originally following, watching the counter run down closer to zero. 'Ah, so he's going to kill him,' he thought, wings lazily flapping as he took in the scene before him. It had always struck him as bizarre, the petty reasons for which humans killed other humans, and sometimes their methods of murder disturbed him even. How gruesome would it turn out this time?
"What's that?"
"Number one."
~*~
"Drugged, strangled, and nailed to a wall. The cause of death was determined to be from the strangulation. No mutilation occurred either pre-mortem or post-mortem, except for the nails."
"I see. The body does appear to be untouched but for the obvious. It's...not his usual style."
The other end of the line went quiet for a short while. The bright, flickering computer screen before him provided the only source of light in the room, and yet the pictures he was currently viewing all but cancelled out that effect entirely, filling the room with an aura of heavy darkness. He clicked through them, examining each one carefully before moving on to the next. He wanted to be able to pick them apart pixel by pixel, but until he could hang up all he was able to do was scan through them for the obvious clues.
"Are you sure it's not just a copycat? There were a few of them after the press got a hold of the Los Angeles cases..."
"I have considered that," he replied, glancing over the last of the injury close-ups before returning to the main picture of the crime scene. The victim was found in a Christ-like pose, arms spread wide and parallel to the ground, held up by four nails in each arm -- hands, forearms, biceps, and shoulders. A ninth nail was driven through his feet, keeping them from dangling. There was no sign of a struggle according to the autopsy, suggesting that the drug had done its job in keeping the victim sedated.
The troublesome part was what hung from each of the nine nails.
"I mean, it's not like Wara Ningyo are difficult to get a hold of..."
"Yes, but the rest were amateurs." His tone was cold, holding no admiration or indication that he was impressed. "This is too...professional. Too clean." As if a murder could be clean.
"...That's what I was thinking, too. I...when I got the pictures, I got the same sort of...chill."
"So you can see why I asked for your assistance."
"Yes. And I will do my best to help this time as well."
"Thank you." He paused, bringing up a few new windows, the morbid pictures replaced by walls of text from various documents and reports. "Understand that this case will be more dangerous than the last. I apologize for getting you involved again."
"Don't be ridiculous. It's what I do." The woman's voice crackled out as the signal briefly faded, then returned. "And you know that if there's any way I can be of use, I'll do it."
He paused again, bringing his thumb to his lips and idly chewing on the nail.
"For now, your best use may be to console the victim's family. I am sure they are only too willing to help, as well."
"His father has alrea..." Static. "...fered the help of the Japanese pol..."
He glanced at the speakers.
"...you there?"
"Yes, I hear you," he confirmed.
"There. Sorry, this phone's a piece of crap."
"No trouble. You were saying?"
"You know his father is expected to make a statement to the press about it, right?"
"Yes. For now..." His eyes switched from the autopsy report back to the thumbnail of the body. "Please instruct him not to mention my involvement with this case. As far as the public is concerned, this is the act of a very brazen criminal lashing out against the police."
"...Alright. And what about his offer?"
"Hm...I see no reason to forbid police involvement and a seperate investigation. After all, this is quite a slap in the face for Mr. Yagami..."
"Right. I'll make sure that any leads are passed along to you as well."
"Thank you, Miss Misora. And please pass along my gratitude for the cooperation of the Japanese police."
"Will do."
Another pause, then a click, and the conversation concluded. With a sigh, he brought the image folder up again, beginning to thoroughly examine each one. A knock diverted his attention briefly, followed by a creak and a rectangle of light surrounding him. He wasn't alarmed; he knew who it was before he even heard the footsteps. Different people had different ways of knocking.
"I've brought an evening snack," came the aged and authoritative voice, and the tinkling of porcelain as he set the tray down on the floor.
"Thank you."
"Quite welcome." Rising to leave, Watari stopped suddenly upon seeing the pictures on the screen, brow furrowing in thought. It wasn't an expression of repulsion or shock so much as it was one of disapproval, acknowledging there was something out of place -- something was there that shouldn't have been.
"I have no doubt this is his work," L said simply, reaching for one of the many sweets stacked on the tray. "He is challenging me. Again."
"I have been worried about this since the correction facility burned down." The older man straightened, staring at the screen thoughtfully. A more sorrowful expression came over his features, frown deepening, and he turned towards the door.
"It isn't your fault, Watari." Click, click, click. "These things happen. Brilliant minds go to waste every day. It was his decision..."
"I still cannot help but feel I am responsible." His slow footsteps grew softer as he reached the door. "Please do let me know if there is anything you would like."
L said nothing.
The door closed, and he was alone again.
~*~
Three years.
It had been three years since the murder of Light Yagami, son of the Japanese Chief of Police Soichiro Yagami. He was a fantastically brilliant young man that was full of aspirations, looking forward to a life of grand accomplishments. Certainly a role model for all to follow. Unfortunately, he never did get to live out his destiny. Instead he became the victim of a vendetta he had nothing to do with; an unfortunate bystander in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Four months after his death, there was another.
"Otis Umphrey," Naomi read, flipping through a thick stack of papers and trying to make her desk look relatively organized. "Caucasian male, age twenty-seven. Five feet nine inches, one hundred eighty three pounds. Single. Worked at a law firm...are you looking at the pictures now?"
"Yes," came the masculine voice on the other end. "It's about what I expected."
"What you ex..." Naomi paused, staring at the photograph she had just picked up. He had been found spread eagle on the floor of his apartment, nailed to the floor, a Wara Ningyo on each nail. The nails had been driven through his major joints -- ankles, knees, elbows, and wrists, and the cause of death had been a little more brutal this time.
"...Drugged and made to bleed until death. That's what you expected?"
"I meant in terms of how the victim appeared."
"With each of his fingers cut off?" Naomi lowered the picture onto the desk, placing her hand over it and drumming her fingers on the desk. After a few seconds, she paused, grimacing, and protectively curled her fingers into a fist. "...Sawed off?"
"The image is a little more violent this time, isn't it?" He sounded like he was chewing on something as he spoke. "I expect the next would be a little more violent than this, as well. Provided he manages to elude us before the next one."
"Eight Wara Ningyo," she muttered, rubbing at her temple. "It's just like before. He's planning to kill nine people...why?"
"...He's sending a message."
"What message?"
The line was silent.
Apparently not even the great L knew everything.
Every four months, on the dot, for three years.
Otis Umphrey, killed in Chicago, Illinois. United States.
Aleida Roorback, killed in Amsterdam, the Netherlands. Female, age twenty-three. College student. Drugged, drowned, and beaten post-mortem, with several bone fractures in various places. The hands and feet were removed. Seven Wara Ningyo were found.
Edgar Normand, killed in Cape Town, South Africa. Male, age thirty-two. Translator-for-hire. Drugged and stabbed to death. The arms and legs were amputated from the elbows and knees down. A large gash streaked from the left ear, across the bridge of the nose, and through to the right ear. Six Wara Ningyo.
Orson Taylor, killed in Darwin, Australia. Male, age forty-five. Mechanic. Drugged, shot five times, and beaten post-mortem. The arms and legs were missing completely. Cuts and bruises were particularly heavy around the face, and a Wara Ningyo was placed over each bullet wound.
Indira Malhotra, killed in New Delhi, India. Female, age forty-one. Secretary. Drugged. Cause of death was blunt trauma to the skull, with the entire back of the skull caved inwards. The post-mortem damage to the body was much more extensive this time, again with complete amputations of the limbs, and significant bruising all over the remaining torso. Each rib was either cracked or broken, the collar bone broken in three places, and the face was beaten until it was almost unrecognizable. Four Wara Ningyo were found.
Miguel Olivares, killed in Rio de Janiro, Brazil. Male, age thirty-two. Jeweller. Drugged and electrocuted, though the exact means of the electrocution is unknown. Post-mortem damage left the body almost completely unrecognizable; the body had to be identified via dental records. After the limbs were removed they were further cut at each joint and placed at various areas throughout the victim's apartment. The torso was found in the oven, burnt to a crisp, and the head had been removed and placed on the pillow of his bed, eyes and tongue and most of the facial tissue removed. A Wara Ningyo was placed in each eye socket and the mouth.
Roman Tarasov, killed in St. Petersburg, Russia, was the only one whose cause of death could not be determined. Male, age twenty-eight. Fisherman. It is assumed that he was drugged before his death, but there was little left of his body to examine upon discovery; all that was found in his home was a large container of hydrofluoric acid, which held evidence of organic tissue inside of it, and Tarasov's hands, found palms-up beneath a wall-mounted crucifix, as if in supplication. A Wara Ningyo was placed in each palm.
Almost three years since the death of the first victim.
One day to go, and they were still too many steps behind. Certainly they had their clues -- the way the victim's initials lined up was no coincidence, and L had expected such a thing from the start. However, the murders still didn't have enough of a link between them to tip off as to where the next murder would take place, let alone who was being targeted. The pattern of names and ages narrowed it down, but the location of the murders and what the victims had in common (that is, absolutely nothing) only complicated things.
The most obvious message he had sent was that he could kill anywhere, on any continent, at any time, without hinderance. He had power. The first hint was in the initials of those killed; the message had narrowed the search down to any and all individuals with the initials A.L., with a high possibility that the target was female (following the male-male-female pattern). The second hint was in the ages. The next victim would likely be either nineteen, thirty-seven, twenty-four, thirty-two, fifteen, or forty-one years of age.
They had no idea where he would strike next.
"Nothing. Absolutely nothing," Naomi sighed in exasperation, dropping the last manila envelope onto her disaster zone of a desk. "I have spent the last two days going through these, without even so much as a nap, and I can't think of anything. I'm exhausted."
There was nothing on the other line to indicate anyone was listening, except for the clicking of a mouse and the ever-present sound of chewing.
"What a monster..." She leaned back in her chair, rubbing her eyes. "Each case just gets worse and worse. I can't even think of how the next one will be found..."
"There will not be a next one," L insisted, before shovelling another food item into his mouth. "I...mm...haven't given up hope. Not yet."
"It's impossible. Even if we do figure it out at the last second, how're we gonna get there in time to prevent it? I mean, if we're lucky, we could get the government to section off its borders or tighten security in hopes that we catch him, but..."
"Please, keep your spirits up. We cannot focus our thoughts on failure. Not yet."
Naomi sighed again.
"China," she voiced after a while. "He hasn't hit China yet. Or Canada. Or the Middle East..."
"Excuse me for one second."
She was put on hold. After waiting a good two minutes, she put the phone down on her desk, putting it on speaker and leaning back again. She closed her eyes. Damn, did she need a nap.
If only L knew what such relaxation was like.
"Misora!"
She jolted forwards so fast she almost fell out of her chair.
"What? What is it?"
"Get to the airport and book the next departing flight to England as fast as you can. I will reimburse the expenses later."
"You've figured it out? Who is it? Where in England?"
"Winchester."
And then the line went dead.