"Promise me that if anything happens, you'll contact Near."
"What's going to happen, Mello? Don't talk like that."
"Quit being a stupid sap for once and just listen. Promise me, okay?"
"Okay, okay. I promise."
They were still chasing him. The cops hadn't expected him to run, and they shot at him but somehow he dodged it. His lungs burned and if he were to hesitate at all, he was certain his legs would collapse beneath him. He knew exactly where Mello was. He would meet him there. He was pissed about the car, though. It was material, but he whimpered envisioning those bullets ripping through its body.
It wasn't easy to outrun the cops. This wasn't part of the plan, and he hated running. He ducked into alleys and through hedges, his body bruised and scraped, and eventually he couldn't hear their pounding feet anymore. He had no idea where he was. He crumpled to the ground in exhaustion and tried to call Mello again. It didn't even go to voicemail; it just kept ringing. He stood, legs shaking from overexertion, and head for the church.
He saw smoke long before reaching the meeting point. But he denied that the smoke was the meeting point, despite what he saw.
Cop cars were circled around the church, or what was left of it. It was an old, abandoned building anyway, with most of its walls missing, and he didn't understand why Mello even chose it. There were other secluded, abandoned places, but it was typical he'd select a church. He crouched behind a hedge, his legs still aching, to watch.
A few cops came out of the building with gas masks on, shaking their heads. He recognized the frame of a truck inside, though its walls were singed and crumbled.
No. No no no no.
He sat down. He waited for the cops to leave. His phone rang soon after.
"Mello?"
A pause. "It's Near."
"Oh. Um... hi."
"Matt, where are you?"
He didn't respond. He wanted to get to that church and confirm his worst fear. But he didn't want to go at all. He hugged his knees.
"Can you get here?" Near went on. "You're not safe out there."
"I need to find Mello," he finally said.
"Matt." He sighed. "Mello is..."
Near wouldn't say it, either.
He hung up. The sound of screeching tires faded into the distance and he waited for complete silence before standing, confident that the cops were gone. The church still smoldered, but the fire had been extinguished. He clenched a fist around his cell phone, willing it to ring, considering calling again. Instead, he approached the truck, slowly, welcoming the burn of smoke in his lungs. He walked around to the driver's seat.
If anything happens...
It was too much. He tried to push back the rising nausea, but his stomach emptied at his feet. He squeezed his eyes shut. The ash could have been anyone—anything—save for the warped rosary beads on the floor. He grabbed them and ran.
...you'll contact Near.
Still following orders.
He could have encountered the cops. It was stupid, running exposed like that, but there was no choice. No car. No bike. No Mello. A black car pulled alongside him, and he didn't even flinch when the driver rolled down the window and called his name. He knew Near would send someone. The car rolled to a stop in the middle of the road and he stopped running, staring as the passenger's side door opened. Mechanically, he fell into Agent Gevanni's car. He hid his face between his knees, pulling at the roots of his hair, ignoring the world outside speeding by. They would pass the intersection where he had escaped, and he didn't want to see the remnants of his car. Of all things to worry about. He couldn't catch his breath; he wondered what a panic attack was like.
The car stopped, and Agent Gevanni opened the passenger's side door to help him out. Standing on his own was a chore; walking seemed impossible. He was vaguely aware of a hand on his elbow as he was guided through the silent halls.
"Take a seat," Near said when they entered the room, but he lied on the floor. He curled into the fetal position and had to remove his goggles, because they were filling with tears. Through his blurred vision he could see the SPK members look at one another, anxious, before leaving the room. Leaving him with Near.
"I don't want it," he said, closing his fist around the rosary's cross, unsure to what he was referring. The emptiness. The sympathy. Life.
Near shuffled over and sat beside him; he stared at his white-socked feet. "I'm sorry."
"At least when he left Wammy's I knew he wasn't dead." He was blubbering now, tears streaked across his face; he didn't care. "He told me to prepare for the worst, that it might happen. I should be dead. Why aren't I dead?" A small hand touched his arm but it disappeared just as quickly, like it hadn't been there at all.
"We're going to confront Kira in three days. You can come with us, if you'd like."
Kira. This was his fault. His hand moved to the waistband of his jeans, feeling for smooth grip of the revolver. "Yeah. I wanna be there."