Chapter 50

What's My Name?

SYDNEY

I walked for a really long time.

I had no particular direction in mind. I didn't have anywhere to be, I just knew I needed to get away - far away.

So I limped along, arms hanging at my sides, and the world just seemed to turn around me. It was like I was at the centre of a spinning top. I felt sick and dizzy, but if I stopped moving the world would fall over.

One more step. One more step. One more step.

No matter what street I took or how far I went I couldn't seem to escape the tall, looming skyscraper L had cast me out of. It's roof was always just visible around every corner. Like an unblinking eye, following me around.

L sat at the top of the eye, what if he could see me? A tiny ant among other tiny ants. Is that what he thought of people, I wondered briefly.

Then tried not to wonder.

Forget about him.

The cold morning turned into a misty shower, and people transformed into black umbrellas.

I barely noticed, and let the water slowly dampen my hair and clothes, leaving little drops on my arms and down the back of my neck.

Every so often a flash of red eyes would pass through my mind, or a splash of blood, or the glint of a knife, and my shoulders would jerk in opposite directions, trying to shake it off.

A rogue umbrella bumped into me and my limp leg gave out. I tripped over the curb into a gutter of grey water. My hand flung out to brace myself and on impact a shudder travelled up my wrist and jarred my teeth.

The umbrella muttered apologies and hurried along.

I sat back on the curb, sneakers soaked, and covered my face with one hand. What am I doing? I thought, tiredly.

Yellow headlights glinted between the raindrops and glared past my fingers, a horn honked.

A kinder umbrella bent over to ask if I was alright.

I watched a discarded wrapper slowly glide down the makeshift river next to the curb and disappear down a steel drain.

I wished I could disappear too, I sighed. Instead I was broken and thrown away, left out in the open for everyone to stare at.

The horn yelled at me again.

What is wrong with me?

But no one answered.

"What is wrong with me?" This time I said it out loud, more to the sky than anything else.

It merely looked down on me with quiet judgement.

Just like L in his tower.

Another memory, sharp and painful, momentarily blinded me. I ground the heel of my palm between my eyes, trying to drive it out. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it.

The kind umbrella started asking if I had hit my head. Did I needed an ambulance? How about a blanket? Injured people always needed blankets wrapped snugly around them, didn't they?

The horn honked, long and loud. But I didn't hear it. I just heard the echo of BB cackling at me. 'I got you, I got you.' He taunted. 'And I didn't need to kill you to do it. You're all twisted up. I win! I win! Hahahaha!'

Suddenly, I jumped to my feet, startling the herd of umbrellas that had gathered in concern.

I hit the pavement at a breakneck run. Faster, faster! I turned a corner, then another. The world was a blur. But the nightmares followed, dancing up and down behind me.

I crashed into someone square on.

We both fell in a tangle of limbs and apologies. He was a portly man with round glasses and a rain-poncho. He nodded at me over and over and then hurried on his way.

My legs sprawled out, chest heaving up and down, I noticed his wallet had fallen open by my knee.

I grabbed it and stood up. "Hey! You forgot your-"

The words fell from my mouth unfinished. The man was already gone.

My thumb rubbed the fabric familiarly. My body was trembling, but my hands moved smoothly, fluidly. They remembered what to do. I didn't think about it. It was instinct.

I opened the wallet and expertly flipped the cash out, the paper rough and colourful. I quickly scanned and palmed one of the credit cards as well, committing the numbers to memory already.

And for five seconds, I felt like me again.

Tokyo stopped spinning. The buildings were different, so were the people. But one thing never changed.

The pockets.

L

After the girl had gone, Watari stepped out from his place in the shadowy hall of the hotel room, hands held stately behind his back. His three-piece suit crisp and pressed. "Was that cruelty completely necessary, sir?"

L rummaged two long fingers in a jar of identical sugar gummies, finally found the perfect one, and plopped it in his mouth. "Whatever do you mean, Watari?" He asked, cheek bulging.

"I realize it was a long time ago, but I thought since Madame Renaux you learned to be a bit more ... tactful ... with women.

L paused, swallowed, then looked sideways slowly from behind his bangs back at Watari.

Watari stiffened. It was not an expression he was used to receiving from L.

"Ambrosine has nothing to do with this." L said quietly.

Watari bowed his head and gently closed his eyes. "Of course, sir. I just thought..."

"You thought wrong." L interrupted.

"Sorry, sir. That was indelicate of me." Watari looked like he had more to say. "It is just ... it has been many years since I've seen you so relaxed since ... she who will not be named."

L gave Watari a look that said he did not appreciate the old man's sense of humour.

Watari's small, teasing smile quickly disappeared behind his moustache. "Ahem. I apologize if I am crossing a line but Miss Krispy seemed ... well, good for you." He said with an innocent shrug. "Different than the ... other one."

"All part of the case," L responded, returning his attention to the jar of gummies. "A simple but ultimately pointless ruse. The Krispy girl," he stopped, mildly irritated. "I really do need a different code name for her, something more professional." He mumbled.

"Would you like a list of suggestions, sir?"

L said no with two quick waves of his hands. "As I was saying, the girl is just a runaway." He glanced over. "Unless there is something you are neglecting to tell me, old friend?"

Another tense silence.

Watari cleared his throat. "I have done my best to fill in the gaps of your missing memory, sir. Though ... She does have a deep history with Beyond. As you've already deduced."

L, either on accident or purpose, tipped the jar of gummies over. They tumbled out like dice on the floor. "Yes, but not relevant, now that he is..." He inhaled sharply, cold air on his tongue. "Now that he is gone."

Watari blinked, sad and slow. "Yes. Speaking of, would you like to know where he is buried?"

L arched his knee in the air and carefully nudged a gummy on the floor with his toe. "No. Although the Americans want his body extricated for his crimes in Los Angeles."

"They are welcome to spend years on paperwork and due process." Watari said solemnly.

L was silent for a moment. "Are you angry with me, for what I did? For killing him?" His voice was barely above a whisper.

Watari's face was dark, except his glasses, their white reflection hiding his eyes. "...No. He was a monster."

L turned away and distracted himself by attempting to pick up a gummy between his toes. He always knew when Watari was lying.

"And monster's should be slain, should they not?"

The gummy squeezed out of his grip and fell out of reach. L ran his tongue along his top molars. Sometimes he wondered why Watari insisted on all the 'sir' business. It was very clear who had the real power in their relationship.

"Beyond was not a monster, Watari. He was just a man ... as is Kira. Justice will find a way. I ... I will find a way."

He said so with such conviction that even the greatest skeptic in the world would have nodded along in agreement. It was simply fact to L. Good triumphed over evil.

Watari bowed his head. "Of course, sir. You always do."

L looked up at the ceiling. "Penny." He half-whispered.

"Pardon, sir?"

L's gaze looked far away. "I think I'll call her ... Penny."

"Very good, sir. I will change the code name in her file. Any particular reason for that name?"

"Not at all."

SYDNEY

Twirling, spinning, dancing.

Slip here, between there, tap the shoulder, nudge the hip. Trip forward, stumble to the side, lean back. Brief smile, apology, head down. Move on.

Next one.

Another.

And another.

The movement came back so naturally, it was like learning how to breath again.

I was waltzing through the crowd, wings on my feet, lighter than air.

My dancing had lulled the bad memories to sleep, no red eyes peered at me from doorways, I didn't smell burning or blood, only crisp paper. Beautiful paper. My footsteps were like a beat to a melody I had almost forgotten.

I was in my element.

I didn't stop until my pockets were fat with cash and I had a string of credit cards up both sleeves. By then the rain was gone and stars hung over my head, glittering in the black reflections of wet puddles on concrete, I wished I could steal them too.

Now, I thought, out of breath. What to spend it on?

My stillness signaled the nightmares return, grasping for my attention, a buzzing sound creeping back into my ear.

Can't stop. Don't think about it. Can't stop.

I swung into the nearest designer clothing store, a small hallway-sized space with a gold-trim window display and a tall ceiling, hanging from it were two crystal chandeliers. The first intended to provide warm lighting, the second to accentuate the expensiveness of the first.

After all, nobody needs two chandeliers.

Immediately a short-haired saleswoman appeared like magic in front of me, wearing a pantsuit and a forced smile. She was pressing her teeth together so hard I could hear the CREAK.

"Can I help you?" She asked through said teeth while simultaneously gesturing to the door for me to leave.

A little smile crept on my face and nested there. This was familiar too. Off with the riff-raff, wot-wot! To be fair to her, I did look like a crazy homeless person.

But my smile was the kind that knew something hers did not.

When I pulled out my cash and started fanning my face, her eyes shot to it as if magnetized. Now her smile was big and sparkly, and two more sales people transported to her side (the only thing missing were puffs of cartoon smoke).

They hopped to quick, wot wot. And after much fussing and offerings and presenting of goods I emerged from the store draped in a gigantic fur coat, wearing a shimmery pearl dress, leopard-print sunglasses and strappy sandals made from leather of a sacrificial virgin cow for the shoe gods (I assume, based on its deliciously outrageous price).

When the door shut behind me, I stopped short.

Blood, an ocean of it, climbed up through the cracks in the sidewalk and began pooling around my ankles. It was thick and warm. So real I could smell it. A metallic tang that tickled my nose.

I blinked and the blood was gone.

The cold air played around my bare legs, I pulled my coat a little tighter, but even when warm my hands wouldn't stop shaking.

I visited a salon next and got a mani-pedi spa treatment where tiny fish ate the dead skin off my feet, my hair washed and trimmed and man-handled into a dazzling up-do.

A woman approached me with a tray of champagne flutes. "Would you care for a beverage?" She asked with a tiny bow.

I shook my head. I was no longer against it, but I was underage, and the last time I drank it didn't go so well.

I and stopped to admire my hair in the mirror, it had never looked so soft.

My smile waned.

Mikal was back. He stood behind me, hand on my shoulder, closer than ever. Except this time he wore a hospital gown, his skin was grey in death, his lips icy blue.

I whipped around and reached for the champagne. I hesitated for half a second. Then downed the entire thing.

It was sweet, and bubbly, and the hairs standing up on my arms after seeing Mikal started to relax. I still avoided looking into any mirrors, though.

My next stop was a jewelry store. It was a really strange feeling entering one during the day. It looked different with the lights on, and I kept having this nagging feeling at the back of my mind that I had forgotten to disable the alarm.

This time the merchants welcomed me immediately. I looked high end now. There was a gaggle of interestingly dressed people. They were young, one man had his hair dyed blue, the woman draped on his arm was chewing gum and wearing fishnets. The rest were scattered between looking like socialites or grungy pop stars.

They were loud and rambunctious, but clearly had lots of spending money as the sales manager was gladly putting up with them.

When I flashed a gold credit card this store also offered me a complimentary sangria. I sipped it while trying on a handful of necklaces, diamonds and gemstones of all colours, couldn't decide, then bought them all.

Normally, I would have to convince people I was the owner of said credit card. But when you walk in with a designer mink fur coat and the hair of a movie star, people don't really question you.

When I tried on the tiara, the gaggle of strangely dressed people took notice. They started whispering and looking my way.

When I BOUGHT the tiara and wore it out of the store (along with a multitude of silver bangles), they followed me out.

"Who are you, darling?" One asked, feathers in her hair, chewing on a false nail.

"Yes," the blue-haired man chimed in, rubbing his thin moustache thoughtfully. "You look very familiar. Are you visiting Japan?"

I was on TV after being wrongly accused of murder once. I thought.

My favourite part of any scam was pretending to be somebody else. Perhaps because it wasn't fun being me.

Especially lately.

I'd been playing the role of jilted fangirl, or injured victim for too long. Time for a change.

"I'm Ellanor. Ellanor Krispois. Canadian." I said in the smoothest, fanciest, I'm-better-than-you voice I could muster, with a I'm-too-rich-for-you raise of an eyebrow. "I'm sure you've heard of me, I invented GoPro."

"...I thought that was Nick Woodman?"

I didn't even pause.

I gently touched my chest and laughed. "Oh, Nick. He loves to take credit for things." I leaned in close and lowered my voice. "I drew up the schematics in bed at a B&B in Vermont, after we - well, I can't tell you that." Another laugh. "I own 40 percent shares. He calls me from time to time to go over business matters. But I'm a free spirit. Board rooms should be called boring rooms, you know?"

This time they laughed with me.

Got you.

"Now, tell me, what's the most expensive, thrilling thing we can do in the next five minutes?"

LIGHT

This is a problem.

Light sat inside his university classroom, gripping his pencil tightly. It was an afternoon class, the deep orange sun was already going down behind the city skyline.

He wasn't listening to anything the professor said. He already knew the course by heart anyways, he was just attending to appease his father's wishes.

That idiot girl had some crazy person after her, then has some kind of shoot-out on a rooftop. If only L had died. He thought wistfully. But no, L comes out a hero, as usual. The man after Sydney must have been the same one who killed those two men in the alley. Figures. Her irritating face would drive anyone insane. And she dragged L into it.

Now he has some kind of amnesia.

Or he's faking. Drawing me into a false sense of security. It's exactly the sort of nonsense he'd try.

Either way, Light knew he was in serious trouble.

L still suspected him, even without that stupid Canadian whispering in his ear. He documented all their encounters. And if he really didn't remember her, than she was utterly useless now.

Before he could have used her against L. But if she didn't matter to him…

At least he didn't remove me from the investigation.

Light had gone to Aoyama with Matsuda in search of the Kira copycat, but had found nothing. A complete waste of time.

He had hoped that when the second Kira demanded L show his face on television it would mean L's death and his victory, but Light knew L would never comply. He isn't as noble as he pretends to be.

Everything is going wrong.

And worse. Sydney knew his secret. And she had some weird relationship with the Shinigami. He had to get rid of her. But he couldn't kill her with the Death Note!

Light's pencil snapped in half.

He blinked. One of his classmates was giving him a weird look.

"Whoops." He said calmly, and pulled another pencil from his pack.

The student looked away.

His expression instantly darkened again. I have to find a way to get rid of her without arousing suspicion. There can be no trace back to me, or it will only confirm L's theory.

But the longer she lives, the more dangerous she'll be.

He placed his hand on his forehead, staring daggers at the blank page on his desk through his shaking fingers.

She has to die!

From the back of the classroom, behind Light's shoulder, Ryuk floated calmly, expectantly.

Waiting.

SYDNEY

We ended up going to karaoke at the most exclusive club in the city. There was a line down the street to get in, but the bouncer opened the door for us right away when I palmed him a very large bank note.

It was a building full of white lights and purple carpet and dark rooms full of people smoking. Oh, and lots of sparkling wines.

I sang loudly and off key, I was surprised there were so many English songs I knew. I picked Bad Reputation by Joan Jett and got a standing ovation. But I was too dizzy and my insides too swimmy to remember why singing it gave me deja vu.

As the day turned into night more and more people showed up, drawn to the magnetic energy that floats around interesting people with lots of money.

Everyone showered me in compliments - I learned it was easy to make friends when you paid for everything.

The blue haired man with the terribly grown moustache was a guitar player for some popular punk band. One of the women danced in music videos. Some of the others did make-up for movie stars or worked at maid cafes. Lots of selfies were taken. Someone posted #KrazyKrispois. Another mentioned our party was trending because a celebrity retweeted it.

"I don't have twitter!" I shouted over the noise.

The room freaked out and three people immediately set up an account in my false name. I just ignored them and asked for more wine.

A song was playing when the television fizzed.

The lyric video snapped out of existence and was replaced with BB, grinning, a red hole in the middle of his chest. He was holding a strawberry between his teeth. He bit down and red juice dripped down his chin. "You let him kill me. You're a murderer. A murderer. A murde-"

I jumped to my feet. "Hey! Where's the hottest restaurant? Let's take this party on the road!"

Everyone cheered and hooted.

I swayed back and forth, the floor was tipping like a boat at sea. Don't think about it.

L

L was stirring at but not drinking his sixth cup of coffee. He was reviewing the alternate Kira tapes, looking for anything he might have missed. Now his eyes hurt.

A small notification popped up in the corner of his screen. He wrapped one arm around his legs, which were bent at the knees up against his chest, and clicked the mouse with one finger.

A video opened of Kris...Penny, singing karaoke (and terribly). He almost didn't recognize her, she was dressed completely different, wearing what looked like a genuine Van Cleef & Arpels tiara (which was crooked) and a fur coat she nearly drowned in.

"A girl can do what she wants to do and that's what I'm gonna do! And I don't give a damn about my bad reputation!" She yelled into the mike, the glass of wine she held in her hand sloshed as she nearly fell off the platform.

He experienced a slight deja vu from the music, but quickly dismissed it. He found trying to recall his memories gave him a headache.

He clicked again. Another video of the group go-karting the streets of Tokyo. She was cheering with her hands in the air.

Then another backstage at a concert, she was sparkling in front of a famous band dressed in black leather. Then she was pulled on stage and tried her hand at playing electric guitar in front of a packed stadium.

Another of her standing up through the sun roof in a limousine, arms spread as they drove past neon lights, shouting "I'm queen of the wooooooorld!"

The rest of her simply being charming, easy-going, and throwing cash at people like confetti at a parade.

There were tweets and tagged photos online.

"Best night of my life! This girl is fearless! #KrazyKrispois"

"Nick Woodhouse eat your heart out. #KrazyKrispois is lit!"

"#KrazyKrispois please marry me!"

Then there were the less positive ones.

"Is that a real fur coat? #KrazyKrispois is a mink killer! #SomebodytellPETA

"How dare #KrazyKrispois hang out with YUTA! He's mine! She's not even a real fan!"

"OMG! #KrazyKrispois was totally wanted for murder! Look at this news report from a few months ago in Japan #KrazyKrispois #Whoiskira"

L closed the tabs slowly and deliberately.

He briefly wondered how Penny knew the creator of GoPro, why she was wearing 800,000 Yen worth of jewelry and clothes, and how she had turned into an internet sensation in less than a day.

The memory of him offering her charity crawled into his mind.

He stared down into his cup of coffee, the KIRA tapes sounded muffled in the background. He was sitting on the bare floor, alone.

Suddenly the room felt very big.

And he very small.

AIZAWA

"Yes. Table for two. I am supposed to be meeting someone. Under the name Aizawa."

The waiter nodded and gestured grandly. "Of course, this way. I am afraid you are the first to arrive."

Aizawa adjusted his bright green tie, which he found too tight and a bit itchy. But Eriko had bought it for him for their fourth anniversary, so it was a small sacrifice. He was holding a bouquet of flowers and was recently shaven.

The waiter guided him through the extravagant restaurant, with crystal tables, blue lights and orchid centerpieces floating in bowls of water.

He sat down, adjusted his chair, and ordered the wine the waiter recommended (he didn't know a good wine from a bad, more of a beer person himself, although he heavily suspected he was conned into the most expensive one).

Other well-dressed people with high-priced haircuts chit chatted and laughed daintily to each other. He tried to ignore the old men with obvious escorts. He was off the clock. A group of girls giggled and leaned close together, using a selfie-stick to take a photo.

Aizawa shuffled in his chair. He felt squarely out of place.

His cellphone rang.

A little confused, not expecting a call, he answered. "Hello?" ... "Oh. The babysitter cancelled?" ... "No, it's alright, I have a lot of work anyways." ... "Yeah, I haven't even left the office yet." ... "Don't worry about it." ... "Love you too."

He hung up just as the waiter returned with a bottle of chilled wine. He sighed. "You married?" He asked.

The waiter smiled. "No."

"So that explains why you look so damn happy."

"Err ... dinner for one then, is it?"

"No, I'll just go," he started to stand up, when Aizawa noticed he wasn't the only one who looked out of place.

Across the room, in a corner table, was the Krispy girl.

She had huge platters of food surrounding her, a pack of violinists playing her songs by candlelight, and a napkin tucked into her dress- which must have been a good call, because she was eating through her meals like a wrecking ball.

Sitting around her were a group of people dressed very avante garde. 'Eriko has to stop watching those fashion shows, I should not know what avante garde means'. Some were sitting on each other's laps, making out with each other. The rest were slumped, asleep and snoring, and one man with greasy blue hair was trying to teach a girl with too much ganguro make-up 'Soccer, I should be watching soccer' how to play guitar.

"What the...?" Aizawa, still holding his (now slightly droopy) flowers, walked over. "Miss Krispy? What are you doing here?"

"Hey, man." The guitar player held his hand up. "It's Krispois."

She paused, fingers stuffed in a bowl of tempura shrimp. Crumbs tumbled from her mouth. "Oh, iff's fwew." She said, mouth full.

Aizawa pulled up a chair, much to the annoyance of the guitar player. "You look really good." He grinned earnestly. "Last time I saw you I thought you were a gonner."

She swallowed. "Not my fault. You never visited me...after." Then tackled a plate of top of the line kobi beef strips, dipping them shamelessly in leftover shrimp sauce, not even bothering with utensils.

Aizawa rubbed the back of his neck, a guilty sensation washing over him. "Sorry about that. Ryuzaki kind of...he had his reasons."

"I didn't realize you did what HE tells you to do, Aizawa." She sniffed.

He felt taken aback. She sounded a lot colder than usual. He then noticed the big fur coat, large diamond necklace she wore, that didn't go with her plain clothes at all. Big sapphire earrings dripped down to her shoulders, and a tiara was placed on her head, lopsided.

Then there was the mountain of shopping bags piled at her feet with unopened designer labels.

"Did you...get a job or something?"

"Something like that." She paused, as if she was listening to someone, then giggled.

Aizawa raised an eyebrow. "You sure you're okay?"

She grabbed a large wine glass and took a huge gulp. She burped. "Does it matter?" She asked, so cheerfully it was almost creepy. "I can talk to whoever I want to. I can talk to this-this breadstick if I wanted to." She held it up, shaking it at him. "Who is my new best friend, since you've all decided to pretend I don't exist." She raised her nose in the air and took another, very deep, swallow of wine.

One of the girls stopped kissing a bleach-blonde boy. "I thought we were your new best friends."

Ella looked startled, as if she had forgotten the gaggle of people attached to her at the hip. "Oh, you are." She reassured. "And," she solemnly placed the breadstick on the table and stared at it. "This breadstick. I think I'll call him...Vincent."

The girl giggled. "You're so funny, Krispois."

"I AM funny! Aren't I? Thank you for noticing!"

"Are you...drinking? Are you even of age?" Aziawa could feel himself starting to heat up.

"Only the stuff over 30,000 yen."

"WHAT?! Do you have any idea what that costs?!

A pause.

"...No."

Another pause.

"BUT it doesn't matter. I heard you can't get drunk on the really bubbly ones. I know I said I would never drink again but Light isn't here and Uncle's in another dimension so I think I'll be fine. I kinda understand my Uncle better now, why he drank so much. It's nice. Nicer than the . . ." Her face clouded, she changed topics. "And so what if I'm under age? Geez, don't be such a cop, Aizawa."

"Yeah!" The guitar player shouted. "Cops are lame!"

Aizawa had no idea how to untangle anything she said. "Have you completely lost your mind?"

"Maybe, I didn't need to use it much this past month, being handcuffed to a hospital bed and all." She looked at him pointedly, then her nostrils flared. "Not that any of you care, clearly it's so easy to just forget me."

Back to that again. He thought.

She stopped, half chewing on Vincent, hurt crossed her face. "Lots of people forgetting me lately." She said quietly.

Aizawa felt a PANG in his chest. "Oh. Oh. I'm sorry, kid. Look, the whole thing with Ryuzaki, it's hard on everyone. I know you guys were close, or something. I'm sure if you talk to him-"

"Oh, I TALKED to him, alright. He said I was useless. USELESS. And just a-a criminal!" Her face was an angry red and she swayed slightly. "If I'm just a criminal then I'll be the most extravagant criminal in Japan. Kira can't kill me and I'm small fish to L." Her eyes clouded. "I don't need him." She said. "Right?" She looked to her posse, who were ignoring her again. Then nodded. "Right."

Aizawa stood up and reached for her arm. "Look, whatever this-" He gestured at the table of luxury (he was now certain were either stolen or paid for with stolen money). "-IS, it's clearly not healthy. Let me take you...wherever you're staying, ok? You're pretty sauced, kid."

She yanked her elbow away, knocking over a glass. People were starting to stare. She crossed her arms defiantly. She started to hiccup. "I'm not-hiccup-staying-hiccup-anywhere-hiccup - yyyet! But I-I will be! I will be in the most expensive, most prestigious penthouse suite in all of Japan! I've earned it!" She slammed her fist on the table. "Hiccup!"

The maitre'd started to run over. The violinists stopped playing with an off-key screech.

"I should be living large like CERTAIN SELFISH millionaires I know..." She stopped, looking confused. "He IS a millionaire, right? He never seems to care about money." She then became incredibly angry again. "Like he doesn't care about anything! Or anyone! He's a jerk!"

"Right! Sing it, girl! Nick Woodman IS a jerk!" Shouted one of the girls.

Aizawa felt so confused.

But Ella was still going. "Hoarding all his cash to himself. Like that-that dragon from that book. Smoog? Smig? Smug? YEAH! THAT'S IT! He's SMUG!"

Aizawa tightened his lips. Well, she's not exactly wrong. He thought wryly to himself. "Come on, kid, that ain't fair. You haven't bought this stuff honestly, have you? I heard all about your pick-pocketing abilities from Matsuda."

Now the poor maitre'd looked like he was about to faint. Not that he cared if the money paying for the meal was hers or not, but if this policeman arrested her who would settle the bill? Let alone the tip! She had ordered fugu, and not one but three square watermelons for goodness sake! His waitstaff started to fan him rapidly with napkins.

"What are you talking about, cop?" The guitarist rolled his eyes. "She invented Gopro. Get your facts straight." He said.

Aizawa had just about enough of them. He rounded on the man and pointed a finger. Using his best I'm-the-dad-and-you-better-go-to-bed voice. "You're drinking with a minor, and who knows what else. If you people don't clear out of here in five seconds I WILL arrest you!"

Ella's 'friends' disappeared in a flash.

Her expression barely registered the sudden mass migration. Now it was just her, Aizawa and half of Vincent.

"You're judging me." She stated flatly, then hiccuped again.

"God! You know what?" He slapped his bouquet of flowers on the tablet. Red-faced. "I am! What happened to using your crazy thieving powers for good? Like you did trying to save Ukita?! You're better than this! I've seen you be better."

She stiffened.

By now the entire restaurant was leaning in to eavesdrop on the drama. Selfie-sticks and escorts long forgotten. A few were filming with their phones, excited to spot Krazy Krispois in a public fight, knowing they'd rake in the views.

She pointed a shaky finger at him. "You don't know anything about me." She said quietly.

Aizawa ignored the warning in her voice.

He braced his hands on the table, hanging his head, nodding. "Maybe. And maybe that's my fault. But I do know you know right from wrong. And there's so much wrong about this. You're hurting. You should talk to someone. If not me, then, well, anyone. Look," he lowered his voice, "there's this victims of assault group thing a few girls I know go to. Maybe-"

"Please." She whispered in disgust. "Like...like having a bunch of sad people in a circle cry to each other is going to make it easier to sleep at night. Make me stop seeing him everywhere I go."

And Aizawa noticed the bags under her eyes, and how thin she was - previously hard to see in the dim candlelight under the giant fur coat. How could L let this happen? She should be in therapy! Not hosting one-woman dinner parties and drowning her sorrows in wine. She reminded him of his toddler, dressing up in her mom's big hat and oversized heels and pearls thinking she was grown up.

"I'm going t-to burn bright, and if that means I burn out fast then who cares? Not you. Mikal did but he's dead. Definitely not L. It's Sydney Pennypocket against the world all over again." She wiped her eyes with her bare arm.

Aizawa blinked. "W-who's Sydney Pennypocket?"

She froze. "W-wha...who?" She squinted her eyes, straining to remember. Her body swayed again. "What did I say?"

"You said...oh, thank goodness. I felt like such an idiot calling you Krispy. That's the dumbest alias I've ever heard."

She stopped swaying, suddenly. Her face turned green.

Aizawa quickly flashed his badge at the wait staff. "I've got her, gents."

The maitre'd, as dramatically as he could muster, fell into a chalk-white faint.

Sydney's cheeks bulged. "Oh no."

She then proceeded to puke in the wine chiller.

The audience that had gathered all gasped and looked away in horror, then looked back through their fingers.

Aizawa carefully held her up by the arm, and as soon as she finished puking ushered her quickly out of the restaurant.

As they left she was waving her half-eaten Vincent like a sword at anyone along the way.

LIGHT

Light had left his pencil-breaking anger back at school, playing the good son for his family at the dinner table. He discussed his lessons, teased his sister about boys, and reassured his mother he was being safe walking home at night.

The phone rang in the kitchen.

"I'll get it." His father said, wiping his moustache neatly with a napkin and standing up.

His mother turned her head to look over her shoulder. "Who could be calling at this hour?" She asked in such a way that implied whoever it was should buy a watch.

Sayu retrieved their mother's attention by excitedly squealing how Hideki Ryuga was coming back to Tokyo and couldn't she please have a ticket and she promises she won't ask for anything at Christmas OR her birthday if only...

Light kept an ear open, glancing sidelong at his father, who cycled through being startled, to concern, to grim solidarity.

He hung up the phone on the wall with a CLICK and paced back to the table.

"Sayu, Light, do you mind going upstairs? I need to talk to your mother alone for a minute."

Sayu and Light exchanged looks. She puffed up her cheeks and widened her eyes, miming the question. Light shrugged. They both did what they were told and wandered upstairs, despite the strangeness. Sayu was bouncing with curiosity, but Light managed to get her to go to bed, telling her if it was important their parents would let them know in the morning.

Then he snuck back down the hall and perched at the top of the stairs, listening intently. Was it about the investigation? About him? He racked his brain. Did he make a mistake? Was he caught?

"I don't know, Soichiro." His mother said reluctantly. "Aren't there shelters or charities that can help her instead?"

"Yes, but she's been through a lot. And part of that is our fault, or at least Ryuzaki's fault. She doesn't know anyone in the city. It won't be forever-"

"But-"

"It's the right thing to do." He said solemnly, as if that settled it.

Light couldn't see his mother's face, but the electricity in the air told him that it was not completely settled, no matter what his father said.

Then he heard footsteps approach, so he hopped back to his room as quickly as he could, shutting his door softly.

More footsteps. A pause. Then a knock.

When his father opened the door Light was sitting innocently on his bed, reading a magazine. He looked up. "What is it?"

"...We're going to have a guest."

Light blinked slowly at his father. "Who is it?" But he already knew the answer. He restrained himself from smiling.

Once in a while, Kira did get lucky.

AIZAWA

Orange rectangles of light swept through the car as they passed beneath streetlamps. The nissan was quiet aside from a gentle huuuuummm.

Sydney was lying down in the backseat, arm draped over her eyes, using her fur coat as a blanket, feeling like her head was hit by a hammer. I can't handle alcohol. She thought, groaning inside. Maybe it runs in the family.

"That was so embarrassing."

"Yes, yes it was."

Aizawa was driving, eyes facing straight ahead. He liked driving, it always calmed him down, gave him time to think. Once upon a time he used to want to be a professional race car driver. When he was a kid. That was a long time ago.

"Please don't be mad at me for stealing all that stuff." Sydney's voice cracked. "I was just-"

"I know."

"No you don't." She whispered.

"Try me."

He almost didn't think she would speak again. Sydney was staring at the ceiling of the car, her body gently rocking back and forth.

"Have you ever eaten dog food, Aizawa?" She asked quietly.

Aizawa blinked, taken aback. His guard dropped. He glanced at her in the mirror. "W-what?"

"It was my third foster home, I was six. They had twelve other kids - for the checks, you know? Well, they liked to put a lock on the fridge door. I went to bed so hungry sometimes I'd chew on my shoes just to taste something." She forced her lips to stop quivering as she took a deep, shuddering breath. "One day they put a bowl in the floor and dumped a can of dog food in it. And I-I was...I was just so hungry."

She turned her head away, hiding her face in her coat.

Aizawa's shoulders fell.

"The funny part? They didn't even have a dog." She almost laughed. Almost. Then looked back at the front of the car, eyes wide and wet. "My point is...I was just...really hungry today. I'm sorry."

"It's...It's okay. Okay?"

"...okay."

"I'm surprised you were able to spend so much from just pickpocketing."

"Well...there was the insurance scam too."

"WHAT?!"

"...And the illegal chinchilla race."

Aizawa looked at her through the mirror in amazement. "Wait, what neighbourhood did you hit?"

"Oh, mostly Kabukicho. A bit of Shibuya - I read up on Tokyo a bit more when in the hospital. I hate being lost." She said casually. "It's high traffic, and I like the neon signs."

Aizawa guffawed. "I don't believe this! I know of at least two officers posted in Kabukicho." He shook his head. "I'll have to discipline them." He muttered under his breath.

Part of him felt awed at how successful Sydney was when unleashed on the Tokyo populace. I should ask the department to issue a warning PSA about pickpocketing or something…

He glanced at her in the mirror again. If Sydney was capable of this in a single night, and drunk on top of it, what could she do when using her skills with purpose? Aizawa paled. She'd take over the world in a week.

Her face screwed up in pain as if she was holding back more vomit.

"Do NOT puke in my car." He ordered.

"No promises."

They drove a little further, Sydney's eyes shut, focused on not puking.

"I'm returning what you took, you know."

"Yeah...I figured." She said, petting her fur coat mournfully. "Are you taking me to jail?"

"No."

"But you're a police officer? Isn't that your job?"

Aizawa sighed. "Being a police officer isn't just about throwing bad guys in jail." He said. "It's about helping people. So this is me, helping you."

"But you don't like me."

"I help lots of people I don't like." He said, making a left turn.

"Well," Sydney rolled weakly onto her side with the movement of the car. "I think that makes you a pretty terrible police officer."

Aizawa said nothing.

"But a pretty good friend." She whispered.

There was a moment. A very tiny one.

"That...was the cheesiest line I've ever heard." Aizawa said gruffly.

"Screw you, you liked it." Sydney muttered.

The corner of his mouth twitched into almost a smile.

They drove a ways in comfortable silence.

"Can I at least keep the tiara?"

"No."

SYDNEY

They rolled into a quiet driveway on a quiet street. All the houses down the road had black windows, except the one they pulled in front of.

Sydney had her face pressed up against the glass window, enjoying the coldness against her cheek. "Where are we?" This place looked familiar.

She sat up a little straighter, peering between the two front seats past the windshield.

Standing in the arch of the doorway, leaning with his shoulder on the brick wall under a yellow porch lantern, trying not to look extremely pleased with himself, was Light.

Her eyes flicked to Aizawa's, reflected in the front mirror. "You're kidding."

"Nope."

FLYING OVER CHINA

A beautiful woman, no older than thirty-five, stared out the plane window from her first class seat. There was a calm, effortless air about her. She had blonde hair down to her waist. An intelligent mouth and a glossy french manicure.

Her back was perfectly straight, her nylon legs elegantly crossed showing a pair of Louis Vuitton black heels, and her hands rested in her lap.

A stewardess walked over, holding an unopened bottle of Riesling. She glanced at her passenger roster. "Would you care for another glass, Mrs-wow, what a beautiful name. Ambrosine Renaux? Is that French?"

"It is just 'Miss' now, and thank you." Ambrosine uncrossed her legs and leaned forward, accepting the drink once poured.

"Will you be in Tokyo long?" The stewardess asked.

Ambrosine touched her lips to the glass and took a small sip. She smiled. "I should think so. I'm visiting an old friend."

Chapter End

Author's Note

Hey, Satchelle here. I made it extra long for you guys as a thank you for the wait. To reexplain what I said in 49, I've split the story in two parts because of the length.

I wanted to make sure the lasting effects of what happened to Sydney was/is being shown. I think it would be weird for her to survive all that and not have a little PTSD.

And I think the story (and my other work) has come a long way since that first chapter. I hope you liked all the twists and turns. It's been a while but I tried to keep everyone still in character. I also tried to keep the humour in there as much as possible.

As for me? I've gone through my own little series of trials. We keep calling it 'the bad year'. But sometimes it feels like 'the bad decade'. I won't go into it, but I gotta catch a break sometime.

What are you guys up to? Let me know your thoughts on Sydney and the gang, if it's still worth writing etc etc

Thanks for reading!

Forever your Faithful Fan,

~Satchelle