Soliloquy:
1. A dramatic or literary form of discourse in which a character talks to himself or herself or reveals his or her thoughts without addressing a listener.
2. The act of speaking to oneself.
…
"Are you sure you want to do this yourself?"
The young detective rose from his crippled position stretching his legs out below him as they reached to the floor. "Yes." He said simply. "If it is to be done at all then I should go myself." He would have it no other way. No other way would be necessary, no other way would be fitting, and no other way would be as meaningful.
No other way would be as crushing.
Not that L was one to gloat excessively, but this was something he had been longing to say. And as much as it would be humiliating, it would be a tribute just as much. It was the smallest offering of condolence, a truce in an abstract way of thinking, but more likely acknowledgement. Although L had no way of knowing how the gesture would be taken it was safe to say that he did this not only for himself but for the man he was about to address.
…
The sound of the mechanical bleep that rhythmically continued on was rivaled only by the harsh but even breaths that sounded throughout the otherwise silent room. At first it was annoyingly silent but as the minutes ticked by the silence was pushed away by the monotonous beep and continuous breathing the sound of which grew like a wave.
His eyes remained closed as if he continued to slumber on. Truth be told he wasn't sure he was able to open them. That however, was not the reason he remained sightless. It was his fear that kept him in the dark. Fear of seeing himself in this state in this…place. If he could only stay asleep for a minute longer, remain oblivious to the walls and machinery that worked so diligently to keep him alive despite his own wishes. If only keeping his eyes closed could somehow block out or alter the reality of his failure. But that was simply too much to ask for. It was too great a wish to grant the peace and finality that death brought with itself. Fate had been kind enough to offer its hand to the first three victims, yet it simply looked over Beyond Birthday as if it could care less.
Fate or rather death had been teasing him his entire life, and even when it had him in its clutches it was mocking him. It was dangling the prize in front of his face and pulling it away when he reached for it. Death was both fair cruel. Fair in that it would inevitably come to everyone. Cruel because it took no consideration in the desires of the being it hung over. Whether they desired it or feared it was of no consequence. Beyond had known this his entire life. Everyone he met, everyone he laid eyes on, and everyone who would ever be born would be subject to the twisted game humans dare call life.
It would have been a lie to say that he regretted those murders, that he wished he could go back and change what he had done, no he knew too well it didn't matter so it was hard to regret something he could do nothing about. But it was also false to say that he didn't wish for a redo of some sort. In the simplest of terms, he was not sorry for his crimes, but only sorry that he had been caught.
Those mixed thoughts of doubt, humiliation, regret, and complete devastation were what filled his head as he lay immobile on the hospital bed on the edge of California. It was impossible to tell how long he had been there. He could have been lying there for days or hours it made no difference, nor did it really matter to him. He was beyond caring about anything at all. At that moment death could not come swift enough, and there was nothing he wanted more. There was nothing he had ever wanted more in his entire life then to simply pass away and leave the world behind.
L.
L. The one the only, the great…The arrogant, L. Beyond wasn't mad about losing. As it was he blamed his own fate for his loss, and if he had to point a finger at any human being it would have been the FBI agent who saved him in the first place. But he wasn't really mad at her either; although, he did avoid thinking about her. He much wished he could do the same when thinking about L, but for some reason the efforts made left him empty and dissatisfied. Again he wasn't mad at L. He never was. He simply had far too much fascination with the man to ever hate him. From the moment he had first seen him.
That sweet, sweet brief moment as the man with his arched back and ebony hair ever so silently passed him by; unaware of the boy watching him.
Watching his every movement; soaking in his entire being. The artist had found his muse. He would mold a nameless lump of clay into another being.
L was his first and only love. If one could call it love at all. It was controversial as to whether he was even capable of feeling true love for another human being. For it was something he had never bothered to learn. An emotion he had instead learned to live without. He loved L without ever wanting him. He loved L without holding any compassion. He loved L without having a heart. Of course a heart, he reminded himself was simply an organ beating to keep one living. It had no correspondence with a person's emotions as so much of the world liked to believe, he told himself. So loving L without a heart to do so was merely an artistic allegory.
His thoughts traveled on as the door of the room slid open with a soft squeak. Beyond did not bother to open his eyes. The air in the room grew thick. Soft footsteps trailed from the door to the side of the bed where they ceased, although whoever made them felt no desire to introduce themselves for a long minute.
"B…I don't know if you are listening, but that is of little consequence. That fact is irrelevant in what I have to say." L did not much care for idle monologues or expressive speeches. They were never any aid and very seldom made a difference in one's reasoning. However, for the moment he was taking the chance of throwing away his title, pulling back the curtains, and showing off the human that resided somewhere beneath his skin. "As it is simply for my own fulfillment that I say this."
The exact words that truly expressed his feelings did not exist. L pressed his thumb against his lips staring down at the creature on the bed. Creature was the word he chose to use as he pondered. The man wrapped in bandages could hardly be called human, but was not quite a monster. Although anyone else may have thought so L could not agree. Backup he had once been called. But words like Broken or Blemished or possibly even Betrayed fit much better under the circumstances. L saw little more than a wounded animal.
"When I first heard of your disappearance I regrettably admit I was not surprised. Even though I never intended to fail so miserably you were never expected to succeed."
So L was admitting he failed at something? No, the way he worded it may have denoted such regrets but he was in fact insinuating that Beyond or rather Backup had failed. It was a failure that carried on years later. That notion was like spit on his grave.
"I never wanted to break or twist you. I suppose that if anything is my only regret. But I do not truly regret anything I did that may have affected your choices. Who you are now is entirely the consequence of your own doings... But I will admit that it is a waste. You were not taken in so that you could build up your own downfall. You were brilliant and creative; it's a pity that you couldn't really make something great of yourself. You wasted yourself. You wasted your own brilliance on something that wasn't to be. I won't take any blame for that."
Beyond could almost feel himself twitch. Why didn't L just say it? Say what he really meant.
"I realize everything I just said is already manifest, but truth needs to be voiced. It is the truth and it is my feeling as well. I tried to show you the way, but in the end you didn't listen. You have only yourself to blame, you created this hell yourself. I would like to go on name every thought I had of you every step of the way, but I'm afraid they are far too late to have any meaning. As it is now you are nothing more than a botched experiment, and there is not much I can say other than how disappointed I am. Not that you failed to become a worthy successor, but that you destroyed your own chances of becoming anything at all."
There, he had said it. Despite how he could dress it up, drag it out by detailing his observation L was simply disappointed and nothing more.
Disappointment.
A repulsive feeling, one that ate a person from the inside out. Harmless to observe but absolute in its completion. L was disappointed. Knowing that would have been enough for Beyond. But it was not enough for B. However regardless of who was satisfied and who was not Beyond Birthday simply did not care anymore.
"That is all."
The hollow voice of the detective echoed.
L was in fact conceding remorse. In time the contrition would fade and he would disregard ever feeling anything towards Beyond Birthday. What more was there to say?
Beyond had never hated L. Not before, but now there was no better word for the sensation the spread throughout him as he listened to the gentle rhythmic footsteps dwindling away.
Then he dared. To gradually open his eyes to catch a secret glimpse of the man that centered his every move. The same face that he had once idolized was stopped only feet away. The steel grey eyes were looking back from behind dark bangs that dropped around his face. L turned his head forward and continued his travel out the door giving no indication that he saw the other man looking back at him. Beyond closed his eyes as the small click from the door signified its closure.
As quickly as it had come, the hate seeped out leaving him with the absolute despair he had befriended.
…
Let's not burden our remembrance with a heaviness that's gone.
-William Shakespeare, The Tempest.