Secondary Sources
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Tsugumi Ohba, Takeshi Obata, and Viz Media.
Author's Note: Written for the prompt "Chicken Pox" at DN Contest on LiveJournal. This takes place when L is a child, before he even becomes L and speculating on what it would have been like if he had a normal childhood. I have given him the name Liam for story purposes.
December 14, 1985
Leduc, Alberta
One patch of waxy, fluid-filled scabs rested on bright red skin on one area of his shoulder.
He leaned into the cabinet mirror a bit more, one small hand resting on the blue toilet bowl cover to allow the single light bulb over the sink to further illuminate his torso. Another patch was a few centimeters down, then another one. It was almost spreading across the length of his chest.
Liam's face twisted into a sour expression, though the fever that had woken him up was now telling him standing on the toilet seat may not have been a good idea.
Both hands grabbed the top of the tank, one foot safely finding the floor and the other one following in a light hop. He steadied himself against the toilet for a moment, feeling a mild wave of dizziness and an ache forming in his legs.
Liam took a few breaths, making a running mental note of each one of his symptoms. He slowly reached down to the floor and grabbed his nightshirt, putting it over his body like he normally did. Every fiber of the shirt seemed to dig against the itching patches of his skin, causing him to flinch and gently rub his chest in reaction.
His hand stopped right over the image of Tweety-Bird and he instead gently patted the area. Scratching would probably be a bad idea; scratching could tear the skin, potentially making his condition worse by causing an infection or breaking the blisters and spreading more fluid.
Not scratching was easier said than done, though he casually walked out of the bathroom, pulling his long black hair through the collar of his shirt and determined not to take any harsh actions until he sufficiently learned what his condition was.
Liam walked down the hallway, his chest itching even more now and the temptation to scratch even greater.
The sound of the theme song to G.I. Joe was now faint, but obvious as he walked toward the main living and dining area of the trailer and provided a nice distraction to his discomfort.
The table was now in view as was his older brother Alonzo looking down at his third grade math book and copying equations between peeks at the TV.
"Liam, I left cartoons on for you," Alonzo said in a happy tone as if he was doing his kid brother a huge favor.
Alonzo was just using his brother to cover himself; dad said no TV while doing homework, dad also said that Alonzo needed to use his Saturday morning to improve his math grades.
Liam looked at the ancient TV with the streaky color and rabbit ears, seeing some kind of cartoon tank rolling through a cartoon jungle and coming under heavy cartoon fire. This was one of the four channels this thing actually got; two of them were regular programming stations out of Edmonton, one of them was in French, the other was a community bulletin board.
Liam's hand came to the channel dial, turning it a few notches to a two women in their best shoulder-padded suits sitting around a newsdesk and speaking in French, the banner "Canada Aujourd'hui" behind them.
He snuck a glance back to Alonzo, who looked like he would yell at him for a moment before rolling his eyes behind his huge, metal-rimmed glasses and grudgingly going back to his homework. Hiding a smirk was just as hard as not scratching his rash-laden chest.
The volume was the one that was in his hand next, the audio for some kind of gum commercial now a few faint whispers. There was serious research to be done and Liam wanted little distraction.
He walked to the large bookcase by the window, looking down at the wider section of shelves where some of the larger books were kept.
Dad was a light book collector and an avid reader who usually got his stash from yard sales, thrift shops, or simply picking them up from wherever in his travels.
His high school reader edition of "The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes" was now on Liam's own shelf in his room; the best Christmas gift to a then-four-year-old who had already read through it twice and shyly, yet perfectly read excerpts out loud to his amazed father.
The book Liam was looking for practically stuck out on the shelf; a blue bound hardcover of at least a thousand pages. The words "Physician's Guide to Household Ailments" was printed on the spine.
One hand tugged on the top of the spine and met heavy resistance. Both hands were on it now and slowly pulling it out. An activity like this reminded him again of his fever and the overall malaise he had felt. He stopped to take a few breaths before giving one hard yank and pulling the book out on the floor.
Alonzo looked up from his homework, giving a curious look before shaking his head and looking back down.
Liam grabbed the book, managing to pick it up for a moment and let it rest on his chest. The searing, itchy burn that resulted made him drop the book, though moving his bare feet just in time.
"You really shouldn't be picking that up," Alonzo said.
Liam gave his brother an annoyed glare before swiveling the book right side up on the brown throw-carpet. Little fingers marked a page in the back of the book and both arms pried it open.
He took a second to catch his breath, fully aware his energy was waning as his body felt warmer and his chest burned a bit more than it did. He brought one wrist against his chest, rubbing it lightly and hoping that would be enough to make the itch subside.
He pulled his arm away, feeling the burning return though this time aggravated by the itching and the contact with the book. Liam pulled his focus forward even though all he wanted to do was lie down and take a nap.
His fingers flipped through the index as he debated whether to start with "skin conditions" or "pediatric medicine." Considering he was six-years-old, it might have been best to start on the "pediatric medicine" section first.
The back of one hand flipped the long pages, one finger resting on the "pediatrics" section of the index and trailing down through the column. He knew he was looking for something related to skin.
"Sunburn?" No, this was definitely not a sunburn. "Scalded skin syndrome?" Maybe. He lifted the top part of his shirt and looked down at the mass of puffy, blistering red. Maybe that was worth looking up.
"Poison ivy?" Another possibility, though he tried to be careful around the small brush area around their mobile home park. He remembered when his sister Sharona, ever the perpetual tomboy, walked through there barefoot last summer and woke up with leaky sores all over her feet.
"Smallpox?" Definitely not, he read over his immunization record and knew he had been protected from that.
"Chicken pox?" That sounded familiar.
He remembered hearing Mrs. McCafferty next door talking about how Tricia was home from school with the chicken pox…just three days after she and her annoying sister decided to forcibly "invite" him to play tea party.
Liam pouted slightly, turning the pages to the one number he wanted. The entry on "chicken pox" started off the page.
His eyes skimmed the details of the small print. Usually affecting children under the age of 10…check. Fever…check. He put the back of his hand on his forehead just to be sure, though he was already positive there was some fever present. The thermometer was high on the shelf in the linen closet and somewhat out of his reach, though there were ways to work this out later.
Alonzo's glance could be seen out of the corner of his eye. Liam didn't make it obvious, though he carefully took a better look to see Alonzo giving him what looked like a concerned glance.
Red rash with raised pustules? He looked down his shirt again, looking back to the book and flipping forward to a black-and-white photo of blistered skin. Yes, that definitely looked familiar.
Liam looked up to see Alonzo get out of his seat and walk out of the room, math book still wide open and the pace of his step rather urgent. The creaking of the front door was the next sound as was the predictable calling with the word "Dad" quite clear.
The open door also let in dad's voice in regular conversation followed by that of their other next door neighbor Don and dad's girlfriend Cheryl.
Liam couldn't quite make out what was being said, though the sound of work boots hitting the wooden steps was the most obvious.
Liam's attention went back on the section, reading something about the rash starting out small and having the potential to spread across the body. That didn't sound appealing.
The smell of cigarette smoke, axel grease, and cold air was now a bit more apparent. Dad must have been working on his motorcycle that morning.
"Watcha reading there, bud," dad said.
Liam looked up, seeing his father come to his knees; the black braid down his back now resting on his shoulder and his goatee and cheek still slightly smeared with grease.
"Just looking up some information," Liam said. "I woke up to find this on me this morning."
He lifted up his shirt to expose the red rash across his chest, looking up to see Alonzo standing behind dad and make a disgusted face.
Dad's hand gently grabbed his shirt as he took a better look at the rash with a nod.
"I'm also feeling kinda warm and I am not feeling very well in general," Liam continued. "According to this book, I believe my symptoms more closely match those of chicken pox. Seeing how this is a disease that's really contagious and Tricia McCafferty has it now, I think that's where I contracted it."
Alonzo was now watching in interest. Liam typically didn't say much, though when he did say something it was typically hard to understand and very smart-sounding. Dad simply nodded, gently lowering his son's shirt and feeling his forehead with the back of his hand.
"You are a little warm," he said. "Do you want my opinion on this?"
Liam nodded.
"I would say after having chicken pox myself when I was about eight and having to nurse your brother and sister through it, I would say it makes sense," his father said, "but I'm going to give a call to Dr. Wilson just to be sure."
"That sounds reasonable," Liam said. "I would rather have a doctor's opinion on this matter and know the best way to treat it."
"You treat it by soaking in a tub full of oatmeal and putting oven mitts on your hands to keep from scratching," Alonzo said as their father stood up and walked to the beige phone on the wall, removing his ripped leather jacket and putting it on a coat rack. "It's seriously going to suck."
"Alonzo, watch your mouth," dad said, picking up the phone and dialing. "Yeah, hi, Dr. Wilson, this is Emil Lawliet. Sorry to bother you on a Saturday, but Liam woke up with this rash on his chest and he's a little feverish."
"But you do get to stay in bed for a week, which is pretty cool," Alonzo continued. "And you can make Sharona get you stuff."
Liam put both hands on the books cover and closed it, slightly rubbing his chest as the itch returned with a vengeance. It was probably going to get worse, but then being waited on didn't sound too bad either.
Taking things as they came was probably the best idea.