"We need to get these clothes off of her; they're soaked in blood.
"I think she's in shock."
"She won't tell us her name."
"She's so small for her age."
"Why won't she speak?"
The secretary smiled before motioning to a seat in front of the doctor's desk, then taking her leave. The older gentleman sat himself down, waiting as the doctor sighed and laid a manila folder on the desk between the two of them.
"She's perfectly healthy, aside from the shock. I suspect that's why she doesn't talk. She hasn't said a word since she arrived. Hasn't cried, hasn't even thrown up, which normally happens when someone so young goes through something so traumatic."
The older man's mustache twitched. "She's five?"
"Yes. Although I have to say," The doctor began, rubbing his left temple with two fingers. "She acts much older. It's in her mannerisms. It's unnerving." He pushed the folder closer to the older man before continuing. "The reason we called was because instead of staying in bed, she's been following the nurses. She's fixed several computer and technical problems we've had, she's completely organized all of our datafiles in a single day, and she's even helped some of my doctors figure out the cause of patients' illnesses."
The older man nodded. "I see."
"I need to know she's going somewhere good. After what she's been through, and with what I've seen, I need to know that she'll be happy and live up to her potential. I've never seen anything like her." The doctor looked the older man directly in the eyes. "I need for her to go to your orphanage, please."
The man cleared his throat. "I wish to speak with her first. Even if she doesn't say anything, it can still be insightful."
"I'll take you to her room."
The hospital was less busy now that Halloween was over, but there were still nurses and doctors rushing around, gripping paperwork and charts in their hands. The smell of antiseptic was strong, as were the fluorescent lights from overhead.
"She gets upset when you address her by her name, so we've been avoiding that. I thought you should know."
The doctor knocked on the door before entering.
A petite girl sat in the middle of a white hospital bed, her bright red hair tied up into a small bun. A small mountain of books was piled beside her bed, and the television was turned to a major news network, the volume muted and captions on. Her amber eyes studied the doctor before resting on the older man, and she gently pursed her tiny lips.
"This man is here to talk to you. He's from an orphanage for gifted children. His name is Quillish Wammy."
"How do you do?" Wammy asked, taking off his hat and smiling wanly at the girl.
The doctor gently stepped out of the room, leaving the small girl to stare at the older man intently.
Any other person would be intimidated, uncomfortable with the intensity of this girls' gaze, but Quillish Wammy had seen one other like it and was not fazed.
"The doctor was telling the truth. I run many orphanages around the world. One in particular is called Wammy's House. There are many gifted children there. I believe you would live comfortably there, where you could further your education and fully put your brilliant mind to use."
All Wammy got from the girl was silence.
"You don't have to go by your birth name there. We give those who desire them aliases. You can lead a life you choose there."
The girl's hand twitched at his words.
Both of them stared at each other in silence for a minute, before Wammy continued.
"I came across a boy quite similar to you about two weeks ago," His smile widened. "Wouldn't say a word, just stared at me. He's a year older than you. Has a penchant for figuring out mysteries."
The girl's tiny fist gripped the bedsheet, and she finally opened her mouth. "Could he help me figure out who killed my parents?" She spoke in perfect English with a hint of a French accent.
Wammy took in the young girl before him, amber eyes blazing, back straight. He wondered how many more languages she knew.
He smiled again.
"I'm sure he'd be happy to. The way he's going on now I'm sure he'll become the head of some country's investigative team, or even an incredible private detective."
The redheaded girl bit her lip, taking her eyes off the older man to stare into her lap.
Wammy stood up. "If you choose to accept my offer, I can have us seated on the next plane to England as soon as possible."
"...Alright."
Wammy watched as the girl quickly sorted through the pile of books, deciding which ones to take and which ones to leave behind. She slipped on her shoes, ignoring the older man's offer to carry her suitcase, and slung it over her shoulder.
"Please refer to me as Watari from now on."
"As you wish, Watari."
3 years later
The glint of the knife is the only thing that causes her feet to move, desperately sprinting away from the dark figure down the dimly lit hallway.
It's no use and she knows it. She can run until her lungs give out and her muscles tear, but no matter how hard she pushes herself she is biologically 8 and nothing can change that.
Her heart sounds loudly in her chest, as if knowing its last beats are numbered.
Her small foot catches on something, and she tumbles to the ground. Her eyes frantically look behind her as she tries to scramble up to her feet, and the man is now towering above her, face barely visible, gripping the knife with white knuckles.
The girl inhales sharply as the blade comes down with force, and-
She is awoken abruptly by someone slamming a book.
Staying still on the couch until her heart rate reaches a safe level, the girl sighs and closes her eyes.
How long had it been since she'd had that nightmare?
She internally groaned as she looked up at the clock mounted on the wall. Dinner had started nearly twenty minutes ago. There was no way she was going to go down there and have everyone stare at her as she took her seat. No doubt Roger would scold her.
She gathered her books and started off towards the room she shared with the other girls, the hair on the back of her neck standing up. She swore she could feel someone watching her as she exited the library.
Darkness was settling down on the orphanage, and the girl's heart sank as she passed a room where she frequently experimented with the piano.
It had been three years since Watari had brought her here and still there hadn't been anything she had really latched onto; a talent that made her stand out from the rest of the children. The only reason she was still here was because of her incredible intellect and photographic memory.
The girl clutched her book of Greek mythology tighter in her hands, pausing before entering the next corridor when she heard voices.
"Don't you know dinner's being served?"
"First you don't sleep now you don't eat, pretty soon you'll disappear!"
The girl peered around the corner to see two boys, C and B, cornering a smaller boy with pale skin and black hair.
Before she was aware of what she was really doing, the small girl softly padded out from where she hid, raising the large book above her head and bringing it down swiftly on C's head, effectively knocking him out.
"H what the hell?!"
She glared at where B was looking down at her, incredulous. "Clear off."
"B-But, why-"
"I said. Clear. Off."
B draped his friend over his shoulders and walked away, turning back to shoot the girl a menacing look.
The boy stared at his savior with wide eyes.
"I'm Hikari," The girl said, holding out her small hand. "I'm H."
The boy accepted her hand. "I'm L."
L tried to pull away from the handshake, but Hikari gripped tighter, leading him back towards the library,
"You'd think they'd be a little more accepting of nonconformity, being genii and all." She said, practically dragging the poor boy behind her at the pace she was going. "The island of misfit orphans."
Hikari had seen him around often, especially in the library where she basically lived. He was the only other one who pulled all-nighters there, sometimes skipping meals or sleeping on the couches, though she hardly ever saw him sleep. He was almost always pouring over some gigantic, dusty tome that hadn't been read in ages, or spending time on the computer Watari had purchased for the orphanage. She had never once talked to him since she'd been here, though. She'd had no reason to.
"Why do you always read that book?"
They were in the library now, and Hikari stopped in her tracks, a little taken aback by his question. She let go of his hand.
"What?"
"That book," He said softly, pointing to the one she was carrying. "You always have it with you. You're always reading it. You must have read it a thousand times by now. Why?"
Hikari just stared at the boy, his gunmetal eyes seeming to look right through her. She felt a wave of nostalgia wash over her as she remembered staring at Watari with those same, intense eyes.
"Have you ever heard the story of Icarus?"
"No."
"He's the son of Daedalus, this guy that created the Labyrinth in Greek Mythology. They both tried to escape from this island called Crete by making wings out of feathers and wax. Daedalus warned Icarus not to fly too close to the ocean or too close to the sun, but Icarus didn't listen. He flew too close to the sun and his wings melted."
L stared at Hikari. "He was a victim of his own hubris," He said softly.
"Yeah," She nodded, gripping the book tighter in her hands. "It's a story about failed potential, overconfidence, and hubris. I don't know why, but I'm drawn to it."
There was an awkward silence as the two not-really-children stared at each other.
"Hey, I'll make a deal with you," Hikari began. "I won't let anyone else give you a hard time if you let me in on your detective stuff."
L didn't respond and Hikari became aware of how dumb she sounded.
"I mean, I'll be by your side to help you out, and I know a lot of the kids here work better alone but I just want to learn a little bit of how you do what you do. Please?"
"Why?"
Hikari hesitated, unable to return the boy's gaze.
"My parents were murdered three years ago. I want to figure out who did it. I don't think I can do it on my own."
She hadn't told anyone other than Watari what had happened to her back then.
Hikari internally cringed as the seconds passed in silence.
"Okay."
Her eyes widened. "Really?"
For the first time since she had met L, a small smile appeared at the corners of his lips. "Yeah. It gets lonely bouncing ideas off yourself. It would be nice to talk to someone about crimes once in a while. And I'll need a bodyguard when I'm able to do more independently. There's plenty of time for you to bulk up before we leave the orphanage."
Hikari took in the boy in front of her; pale skin, jet black hair, grey eyes with prominent bags under them.
"I won't let you down, L."
And so Hikari began reading books on self defense and various fighting styles. Roger Ruvie hired a private tutor to train her in capoeira, aikido, ju-jitsu, and other martial arts. She started a strict workout routine in order to make her petite body more agile and strong.
For once, her eidetic memory came in handy for something other than memorizing text. By the age of 10 she was able to disassemble and reassemble a handgun in 15 seconds.
She had finally found purpose in her life, and something she was good at.
She swore to protect the boy who would someday become a figure of justice.
Author's Note:
Hey everyone! If you've read the original first chapter and were expecting another chapter after like 5 months, oops. I revamped and rewrote a lot, but don't worry, I already have the next chapter written and I'm planning on updating this pretty regularly.
I've had this idea in my head for a really long time and I thought I would try to impart as much in my mind to a fic finally.
Hikari is only a year younger than L, just in case anyone was wondering.
Hope y'all enjoy.
-Erin