Little Thoughts
He was rather tall, dark-haired, and clean-cut. It was a typical white man in a suit who came to meet her that day, on a typical bus stop in New York City. For others, their meeting would seem like a rendezvous that would lead to a date, or maybe just a dinner between two people who did business together.
"Ms. Ridner? Where are your bags?" he asked.
She shook her head. No bags, just herself and the clothes on her back. "I did what he asked me."
"Well then. The car is ready," he said curtly.
She nodded and walked behind him. She looked straight ahead, but was wary of what she saw from the corners of her eyes. For the moment, no-one seemed to mind her. After all, nothing about her—save the way she towered over everyone else, maybe—set her apart from all the other blonde women in the vicinity.
The typical man opened the door to an ordinary-looking black car for her. Apparently there was no-one else inside. Only a neatly-folded blanket occupied the seats at the back.
At that moment, she felt a wave of uneasiness come over her. What the hell was she doing, deviating from regulations like this? Numb as she was from a certain apprehension, she saw herself going in the car and quietly sitting at the seats. The man sat beside her and closed the door.
"Let me just put this on you." The man systematically put a piece of cloth over her eyes and fastened it at the back of her head. And instantly, the car went off.
The men in the car didexplain to her that they were not going to simply take a plane going to their hideout. Halle decided not to ask questions on how they were going to get there, and instead cooperated with them when they switched vehicles and went on helicopters. At some point, she suspected that they were probably going around in circles, so that it would not be easy to guess where their hideout was. They never took off the blindfold.
Finally, they boarded an aeroplane. On board, they offered her a hamburger and tetrapack of juice, but she silently and politely declined.
"We are almost there," the man said.
Halle nodded. It was hard to keep track of the time when she had no sense of sight, but she guessed that it had been 17 hours since they left New York. It had also been 17 hours since she last spoke.
"When we arrive there, we'll have to make sure that no-one from your group knows where you are, or that you are missing. So we'll isolate you from the rest of our group for 12 more hours."
Again, she nodded.
"After we're sure that you won't be able to do any harm to our group, we'll let you see him."
Was it worth the effort to go through all of that just to see this certain person? This doubt ran through her mind momentarily. However, she managed to rationalize things for herself, and decided that there's no turning back now. "… I understand," she said.
"… all right. We're landing now," said the anonymous man. "… I've got to hand it to you. No food, water or bathroom break. You're quite a lady," he added as an afterthought.
Halle did not respond to this remark. For her, it was just another mission.
As promised by her 'captors,' she was detained in a small room (or more accurately, a jail cell) in their hideout for exactly twelve hours. She spent the first of those hours sleeping, the next, eating what was given to her, and finally, keeping herself awake by forming scripts in her head. While she never expected this encounter to unfold itself this way, she still wanted this to go as smoothly as possible…
The first minute of the thirteenth hour, a huge man with dark skin opened her door and motioned for her to get out. Once she did, she was escorted through shady rooms and dark hallways that, for a while, did not seem to end.
Finally, they reached one of the largest rooms in the hideout. Halle could see that this was where the leaders of the Mafia gathered, since everything was decked out expensively. In sharp contrast to the filthy furniture that she saw in the other rooms, this one had luxurious sofas, tables, and décor. It was easily the brightest one, and understandably so: besides the lights on the ceiling, computers, television sets and pinball machines contributed to the lighting.
On the sofa, there were seated three men and two women. The women, young and clad in small and shiny pieces of clothing, were obviously there for the men's pleasure. Two of the men were black, probably more than thirty years old, and looked very hedonistic, with their rings and expensive clothing and glasses of expensive liquor on their hands.
The last one was quite different from the two men, as well as the others in the room. He was noticeably younger than the other people in the room. His black leather attire contrasted with his shockingly pale skin and blond hair. And instead of a glass of wine in his hands, he had a half-consumed chocolate bar. For the moment, he seemed to not pay attention to the new persons in the room, but was instead staring at the television screen across the room, which seemed to show news live from Tokyo, Japan.
One of the black men looked up at Halle. "Ah, here's our guest. What's-her-face."
"Sir, she calls herself Halle Ridner," said the man who fetched Halle.
"Really. Knowing the likes of her, that's probably not her real name," said the other one on the sofa. "Where are you from again? NYPD? CIA?"
"I'm from the FBI," answered Halle.
"The Feds, huh. Criminal investigation, I'll bet." He lit up a cigarette and stuck it in his mouth. "And from what you told my boys here, you're not here for business or anything."
"No."
"No-one from your side sent you here? Plant some bugs, ambush us, all that shit?"
"No-one. Currently, I am not working as an FBI agent."
"That better be true, girl." The man blew out smoke from his nose. "If you got some funny business up your sleeve, we can just blow your head off with one of our guns here. And we've got big-ass guns." He gestured towards a guard at their side, who indeed had a 'big-ass gun': a rather threatening-looking submachine gun.
Halle nodded. "I understand."
He looked at her eyes. "Hm. You're not the chatty type, are you? You're hot, though. Maybe we can have some fun once you're done."
No response.
"Nah. On second thought, you're too frigid for me. I guess we'd better get this over with," he said, shrugging. He turned to the blond seated at his left and motioned towards Halle.
The boy frowned. "What?"
"Er. This girl here. She wants to talk to you, it seems." Suddenly, the man's voice transformed. It seems that he tried hard to sound respectful.
The blond glared at him. It seems that given the pair of eyes he was born with, that was all he was capable of.
"What is it?"
He narrowed his eyes at them. "Obviously, I can't have you all hanging around here, can I? Things will get hideous if I lose my temper. And I'm pretty sure that it will, in this case."
"Oh. I see," said the man. He forced the girl next to him to stand up, and all of them quietly left the room. Surprisingly, while some of them looked mildly irritated, most of them acted as if it were standard operating procedure.
Halle was rather surprised at this. While the tough-looking men of the Mafia left the room meekly, she stood there in stunned silence, partly in amazement of the boy sitting in front of her.
Once they were gone, the boy bit of a huge chunk of chocolate from his bar. The crunch was loud enough to rival the sounds of the TV set.
For a moment, no-one moved. The boy, with his perpetual glare, stared at Halle. And Halle, in turn, studied every detail presented to her by the boy. The leather, it seemed, was accessorized by all sorts of crucifixes. His hair showed signs of obsessive care, and it fell in a straight curtain around his head. Around his neck was a rather surprising detail – a rosary, which was slightly aged and lacked shine or luster. It has probably been used more than once or twice.
"Right. Halle Ridner, from the FBI. Why did you want to see me?" he asked.
Halle looked at him, studied his eyes one more time. Then, she closed her eyes and sighed. "I have to confirm something for myself," she answered.
"What for?"
"A personal matter."
He narrowed his eyes at her.
"They call you Mello here, is that correct?" asked Halle.
The boy didn't move.
"Mello. Like the name you gave at Whammy's House, in Winchester, England."
A pause. And then, he spoke. "How the hell do you know about Whammy's House? Is it some information you pulled illegally out of the information gatherers from your group?"
Halle shook her head. "I told your men before, I am not here as an FBI agent. Whatever information I've gathered about you, I found it by my own means," she explained.
"That's interesting," he said. He took another crisp bite from his chocolate bar and chewed on it thoughtfully.
"Is it now?" Halle took a few steps nearer to him. "It's not that hard, finding information about an orphanage in England."
"But it's next to impossible, finding information about the children who are housed in this particular orphanage. I know that you know that," he said.
She nodded.
"So why are you insisting that the Feds have nothing to do with your little visit to me? You aren't a Whammy's alumni. I would have recognized you if you were," he said. His eyes looked dangerous now.
Again, Halle looked into his eyes. It was an earnest attempt to appease her curiosity. It was as if she wanted to confirm something for herself.
He found this rather annoying. "What the hell is it? Speak up. I'm not a very patient person, you know."
Halle sighed. "The FBI has nothing to do with my visit here." She closed her eyes and tried to push away the last remnants of hesitation in her mind. Then, she put a hand inside her blazer and searched for something.
The boy frowned as she handed him a piece of paper. He swiped it from her hands and glared at it. "A baby picture."
"Yes."
"And I suppose that's me. This baby with a tiny ass."
"Yes, it is."
"And I suppose you're here to tell me that we're related. Brother and sister."
Halle fell silent. He threw the photo back at her. "How the hell am I supposed to believe that? A picture of a blonde baby isn't good evidence. I mean, for all I know, you just got this from the internet. And you call yourself a criminal investigator."
She closed her eyes. "I know."
"You know, what?"
"That this picture isn't enough evidence."
"So why are you showing that to me?"
She didn't answer. He laughed. "This is ridiculous. I can't believe I'm entertaining this shit." He stood up and walked past her. "I'm telling the rest of the Mafia to come back here. Believe me, you've been lucky so far that I told them to be courteous to you, because I had a notion that you were going to tell me something important. Now, I am not giving them such commands."
Halle paused. She watched him walk towards the door, and at that moment, something clicked. That form really seemed familiar. Out of nowhere, an old name surfaced in her mind…
"Misha," she said.
He stopped in his tracks.
Moments of silence dominated. The TV made curious sounds. Rapid Japanese.
"Misha," he echoed.
Halle didn't speak.
He turned to her and narrowed his eyes. "Where did you pick that up?" he asked.
She pulled another photograph from her blazer pocket. "He used to tell me that I lost a younger brother. He was pretty weak, but he was confident that Misha inherited something else. Something fiercer, from his mother," she explained.
He took the picture from her. It was a picture of a man. A blondie, had a rather thin face, pale yellow longish straight hair and wide eyes. They were sharp, like his own were, but for some reason, they seemed kinder on this man.
"That father of mine," Halle continued gently, "told me that Misha was born to his second wife. Shortly after birth, the two of them left us for some reason. She insisted that it was due to finances, but perhaps she wasn't happy enough, living the hard life of a crime lord with him. They moved to England, and we never heard from them again. That is, until news of her death reached us a couple of years later."
Mello threw the picture back to her. "And you have reason to believe that thisMisha is me?" he asked.
Halle nodded. "I wouldn't be here otherwise."
"And you are certain of this. Why?"
She closed her eyes. "Of course I'm not certain of this. After all, I have been searching for this brother of mine for five years now. I have met quite a few boys who turned out to be completely unrelated to me," she said.
"But, all the same, I'm here now. It will not be such devastation to me if I am wrong. If you're not my brother, I can take your punishments and leave. I'll just continue my search elsewhere."
"I see," said Mello. He paced around her and started observing her from all possible angles. It also seemed that he was thinking things through, sorting confusing bits of information in his head. (As if it weren't already filled to the brim with information about Kira.)
"What will you gain from all this," he suddenly asked, after moments of uncomfortable silence, "if you were right?"
She fell silent.
"I mean, if I were your long-lost brother, what would you do? Will you ask me to go back to New York with you? Live in your apartment? Have brother-sister bonding time? Spend weekends together in the park? Reminisce about your days with father, and my days in the orphanage? Compare and contrast lives? All that shit?" His eyes really were not capable of anything else but glaring. This time, they conveyed even more negative messages: mockery. Annoyance. Despair. Sorrow.
She didn't answer.
"Hah. I guess you never thought about things like that, sister dear.Dear sister," he said. Again, those same messages from his eyes, but this time, they were made more apparent by the tone of his voice. "So I guess this little mission of yours is pointless, regardless of the results. You should spend more time fighting what little crime is left, after all that judging that Kira does."
"Would you be disappointed if I was wrong about you?" asked Halle.
Mello froze. He narrowed his eyes at her. Glared.
She smirked. "I thought so," she said smugly.
"What are you smirking for? It was just established that this little adventure of yours was pointless."
"I know. Coming all the way here, from New York—no money, no ID, no phone, nothing. Going around in circles for seventeen hours, and then getting incarcerated for twelve hours in some warehouse in the desert, full of men with submachine guns. I barely ate anything since yesterday. I think I can safely say that I've gone through a lot just to say a few words to you," she said. "But you have to realize that I'm not doing this for myself only. I'm curious about the truth, all right, but I also thought about my brother, who may be experiencing the same thing. Or worse."
He laughed. "Don't act so messianic. Your brother does not need salvation. Your existence won't grant him salvation."
"I'm not talking about saving anyone here," she answered. Her golden eyes flashed sharply.
"Really now," he said. "Then what are you talking about?"
"Presence." She spread her arms, as if presenting herself before an audience. She dropped them to her side again. "I would just like to let him know that I am here. He has a sister."
"That's a lot of trouble you went through, to just say that to him."
"I know." She did not falter at all when she said this. Just her same, stoic self stood before the boy, who was rather surprised at her performance so far.
"Too bad I'm not it. Sorry, you messed up on this one. I'm not Misha," he said.
Halle again closed her eyes in thought. "I have one last piece of proof with me. I hoped that I wouldn't have to use this, though," she said.
"Show me, then," said Mello.
She handed him a small, black book. Mello grabbed this from her and opened it. "A passport," he muttered. Upon looking at the name, his eyes widened.
Halle let him flip through the rest of the pages and also let herself be amused by his growing bewilderment. "That one was owned by my step-mother. Cecilie Keehl – that was her maiden name. She left it behind and had a fake one made when she moved to England to escape my father."
Mello froze. "I don't believe it," was all he could say.
She looked at him. "I didn't want to show it to you because I know that you have to keep your name a secret. But I think if you're looking for evidence, that's it. I bet that you never told anyone another name besides Mello—not even the Mafia, nor the other children at the orphanage."
Mello muttered the same phrase for a number of times – "I don't believe it. Not now." He realized afterwards that he was muttering nonsense to himself, and forced himself to calm down.
"Right, right," he said. Without warning, he pulled a gun from his pants and pointed it at her.
Halle froze.
Click, went the gun. It was ready to shoot bullets now.
"What's this about?" she asked. Her voice was necessarily calm.
Mello stared at her for a few anxious moments before he answered. "That is, indeed, good evidence, Ridner. I'm convinced now. I am your half-brother."
Halle blinked. She felt how anxious Mello has become these last few moments. She fought to keep herself calm. "And that is a problem for your personal investigation on Kira," she said.
"Right. You're pretty smart, figuring things out," he said. "I know you people have been investigating this case, for a couple of years now, maybe. You do know that Kira needs a name and face to kill."
"Yes."
"So, you understand me, right? I don't want any risks. My name shouldn't be known to anyone." His eyes were wide and manic. "I won't win if that's the case."
"Right." Halle closed her eyes. She tried to think of a way to negotiate with this bothersome brother of hers—she can't be found with a bullet on her head now, she has gone this far already. "Mello, listen to me first before you shoot me," she said.
Pause. "I'm listening."
"First of all, if you are correct, then I am the only other person who knows your name besides. Do you think I am Kira?"
"No. You're definitely not Kira."
"Do you think I am affiliated with Kira?"
Mello blinked at her. "It does not seem likely." As an afterthought, he added, "In fact, it would seem that you are fighting against Kira."
So far, so good. "And I am, really. I am actively participating with the FBI to search for Kira. And now I know that you are also only participating with the Mafia in an attempt to put a stop to him. We have the same goals now."
Mello's gaze softened. It was strange for her to see such a change of expression. So, such things are indeed possible.
"I am satisfied, knowing that you are my brother. I have no reason to even mention your name to anyone else," she said. "Do you trust me to not say anything to anyone else?"
His teeth were bared in anxiety before, but now his mouth was closed. After a few more moments of apprehension, he silently put down his gun, put the safety on and put it back in his pants pocket.
Halle breathed in deeply, in relief.
"Not so fast. You're not off the hook yet," he said. He touched the handle of his gun, as if deciding whether to use it again or not, and decided against it. "I'm… not exactly comfortable with just letting you go like this, you know."
She nodded.
"So…" Again, as he ruminated, he got his chocolate bar and took another big bite from it. It was softer now, compared to a few moments ago. Instead of a sharp sound, its softness made a smacking sound in his mouth. He sounded like a kid from grade school, eating a snack during recess.
After that, his eyes showed a different sort of clarity. Now he's decided. He pointed a finger at her, as if he were in command. "I'll send you back to New York. You will work for FBI again. Make sure to play a big part, solving the Kira case…. You will work on the Kira case. And you're gonna keep updating me about the things you find out about it. The things we can use, I'll ask from you."
Halle furrowed her eyebrows. "In other words, I'll be your connection to the legal side of the investigation," she said.
Mello grinned. It was manic. Rather insane. Fitting for a villain. "You will cooperate, of course. It's a fight against Kira. Both of us have to use all of the resources that we can! We can't pretend to be righteous now. We will lose if that's the case!" His voice, giddy with excitement, echoed in the room.
Halle sighed. Actually, it was not such a bad idea. The FBI already lost a good number of suspects because of Kira. Due punishment was never given, and some people that they believed to be innocent were also not spared. Notorious criminals who were hard to capture before now sank further into anonymity because of the name-and-face requirement of Kira. In other words, Mello was right: at this day and age, no-one can afford to be picky to get help where they can find it. "I agree to your condition," she said curtly.
"As you should," said Mello. "It's for justice."
She nodded. At that instant, he was not looking at her. Instead, he rushed to one of the computers at the side and started typing out intricate plans, as they mapped themselves out in his head. And at that instant, she marveled at this boy's childlike motivation. It seemed that Kira was a game, but at the same time, not merely a game.
She was amused by this. Here was the little brother that she has always wanted—that strange, younger boy with extraordinary talent. And now, she was letting herself become the older sister who would do anything to let this potential reveal itself.
It was an amazing moment for Mello when he found out that his sister eventually worked for the only person that he considered a rival—Near.
"The game is on," he would keep telling her, like an excited child prepping himself up for a championship. He kept bugging her almost daily for updates: what was Near up to? What did he find out so far? What's with the Japanese men today? And Halle freely gave him the information that he wanted. She kept thinking to herself that there will always be someone who will keep him away from harm, in case the information that she gave him was too much or not enough. First, there were his faithful Mafia men (although she was never comfortable with how freely they played with their weapons); and after things turned out badly with that group, she put her trust in Matt to keep a close eye out for him.
He and Matt were of course always welcome to stay in her place. She kept a close eye on them during evenings, as they watched the movements of the Japanese men through their laptops, as they muttered prayers together at 9 in the evening, and fighting sleepiness and exhaustion during the early hours of the morning. It was hard covering up their existence while working so closely with Near, but she somehow managed it. She just kept telling herself, "keep him safe from harm." No matter what happens, and no matter how irrationally Mello acts at times, she forced herself to be the calm and collected one. At one point, she even had to shield Near from gunpoint, just to remind him to keep his cool and to think rationally about things. "Don't be too rash," she would tell him repeatedly.
However, it seems that Mello wasn't the type of brother who would listen.
It was a black day for her when she received that phone call. "I am the only one who can do this," were the last words that she heard from her long lost brother. He had berated her before for being messianic--
But it was not her who ended up burning in the church.
Presently, she works for Near, who transformed clandestinely into L just recently. The risks were the same as ever. One moment, she believes that she can die. The next, she feels invincible, as if the powers of deduction at work in her boss protected her. Halle never feels a great sense of panic every time these risks happen. Now, when she is calm and collected, she really is calm and collected. There is no more apprehension, no more worry that she will lose a great deal if she fails. That confidence turned her into one of the most reliable soldiers that L has.
But certain little thoughts invade her from time to time.
Every now and then, she will treat herself to a chocolate bar, just to keep those vulnerable thoughts intact.
- end -
Author's notes: Whew. That was longer than I wished it to be. (9 pages!)
Because I love minor characters, I wrote this Halle fic. It had been an inside joke with me and my friends that Mello and Halle could pass as brother and sister. And since it seemed like a good idea anyway, this thing happened.
I suppose I ought to explain: 'Misha' is a nickname given to people namedMikhail, which is a Russian name. I understand that Mello's real name, Mihael, is the Slovene version of the same name. Er. I don't know of course whether actual Mihaels from Slovenia would be called Misha by their friends and family, but I don't know. It seemed like a good idea at the time.
Finally, apparently I am still not good at the art of crafting endings for fanfiction. Also, I confused my verb tenses and pronouns a few times back there (e.g., using 'her' more than once to refer to Mello—oops!) I think it's a little better than my last few stories, though. So, with that, I sincerely hope that you enjoyed my little work of fiction here. I would genuinely appreciate comments and suggestions from you, harsh and seemingly trivial as you may deem them to be. :)