Ruby: First and last time we do this: We do not own Death Note. We did not create Death Note. We are not affiliated with it in any way. If you want to get angry with us for writing about it, there's thousands of others on this site who write worse than us. Go flame them you nazis.
Raye: Hey! I just thought I should warn you again: This contains spoilers for L's real name. If you don't want to know it, don't read the last word/sentence.
The night had been cool, moisture clinging to the leaves and dripping off of the dew-glistened windows in the dark of night. It had not rained and it had been unlikely to do so in the near future, but the humidity of the day was heavy and intoxicating. Although it was still technically summer, there were heavy signs that soon autumn would approach and frost would soon enough replace the dew.
That day had been dreary, but at the same time tolerable. It was not nearly too terrible weather to participate in outdoor activities, but any outdoor activities would have not been the most popular decision due to the uncertainty of the weather. Some parents had ultimately refused to do anything because of the overcast sky and the hatred of starting an activity and having to end it early because of rain. Many parents, however, were the ones pushing their children out the door and telling them that if it rained then they would play in the rain. Regardless of the once watchful and caring parents, they were forgotten and now gone.
The small boy required no coat even though he was technically standing outside. Whether or not this was due to the heat coming from all around him, the effect of the toxins and gasses in the air, or the unforgettable image of his parents was unclear. Although it was unfortunate that the majority of the eloquent artificial sky had collapsed, in turn the natural beauty of the sky was showing and it gave one time to contemplate important things, regardless of age.
Important things; what were they? It was difficult to remember much. Important things a while ago meant that he had to remember his manners at the dinner table or only speak openly to his mother while asking his supposedly confounding questions to his father. Importance had a different meaning then; it mean what others were thinking of your stature or of you as a whole being. Since he saw the ceiling collapse on either side of him, things seemed different. The important things no longer meant everything if anything to him. The meaning of the word had changed as a whole. Important now had no meaning or at least the meaning was something that his small mind could not grasp.
He knew it was all gone, now. His mother and father, their room and individual studies, their small tokens and articles that had personal significance had all diminished once the fire had licked the room clean of value. His articles, toys, room, clothes, and all had been destroyed long ago. The sanctity and security of their home had been violated before the fire even started. He'd witnessed it all, unfortunately. He was only thirsty for a drink of water and he heard scuffling down stairs.
Upon investigating, he saw his fair-haired mother on the wall opposite the stairs still wearing her beautiful outfit from the evening dinner at a co-worker of his father's house. He was never one for falling straight asleep, so he had heard them come home a long time, perhaps a few hours, ago. The noises of his parents going through their things were a little more harsh than normal, but he did not question it. After a while, he had heard a more familiar sound of a garage door opening. This had confused him, seeing as how his parents were still downstairs, but he did not open the bedroom door until he heard something break. His excuse to see the current affairs untangling downstairs was that he was thirsty; it worked whenever he wanted to see a relative past his bedtime.
His father was fighting some sort of oddly-dressed man while wearing his fine, black suit. His mother had now noticed him and urged him to stay up the stairs. The young boy ran and hid in the linen closet; the
darkest and softest place he knew. Nobody could find him in here. His parents could not even find him in here; they had said so numerous times while they were looking for him to take him places against his will.
"Where is he?" They would ask, sometimes to one another and sometimes to nobody in particular. "Where is my little boy? I wonder where he could be hiding. I hope he isn't lost..."
It would be difficult, but he could always stifle his giggle. It was for the sake of not doing whatever he did not want to participate in.
"Well he's not here, and he's not under there..." The parent looking for him would be searching under the picture frames and behind the tables in the hallways. They would sigh at this point and start to slowly walk away. "Well I simply cannot find my son. I hope he hasn't run away! I would have obviously gotten him a large ice cream on the way home, but I cannot find him. I shall have to give the ice cream to someone else."
At this point he would remain in the linen closet, but he would not move. He would wait a full five minutes before slowly creeping out of the closet and finding said parent. After the dreaded miscellaneous outing, the promise of ice cream would always ensue and all would be well in their house for the time being.
The boy hid, waiting for his parents to come, but they never did. While hiding more carefully than he had ever before, he awaited the sing-song melody voices of either his father or his mother. Neither came. Instead, he heard footsteps a long time later—longer than he had ever waited before. The small child nearly ran out to hug his parents and apologise for hiding so well, he stopped when he noticed the footsteps were heavy and clumsy. His father was a tall man, but careful and cautious, while there were times where he could barely hear his mother move in her graceful, elegant patterns. This man was neither friend nor family so he waited in the closet until the footsteps had long gone and he felt safe again.
After more time, he realised that breathing became more of a chore than a liberty, so he escaped the closet and found the house uncomfortably warm. He noticed a fire coming from his parent's room and nearly panicked. Fortunately, he had a large fascination with firemen like most little boys do and thought of what he should do. He got on his hands and knees and crawled down the stairs to find that the front entrance was up in flames as well. Carefully avoiding all of the fire, he made his way to the kitchen to escape through the back entrance. Upon discovering the broken door to the kitchen, he noticed the bloody figure of his mother collapsed over his unconscious father. The strange man he had seen before had bruises on him and was collapsed by the sink. The back door was completely open and the burlap sack he had seen the oddly clad man with was missing.
Little boys had fascinations about firemen, but not crime scene investigators. Most little boys would have run over to assure his parents safety—or in this case death—but instead all he could do is gawk in the sturdy doorframe. The kitchen was also in flames, so the matter of the ceiling collapsing around him was only a matter of time. Once it had collapsed, he stood and made his way to the rubbish that crushed
his parents and stood over them as the flames grew and grew till the point where they had peaked. Afterwards, he just stood in the open area until the flames died around all of them.
Although it was not clear why, the firefighters, medical staff, and police did not arrive until the house had nearly completely succumbed to the flame. The neighbours had called at the first sign of smoke on the mansion, fearing for the welfare of its inhabitants and their estate. None of the neighbouring men, what with their oversized stomachs, or the neighbouring women, harbouring with their fine hair and clothing, dared enter the once grand mansion the moment fire had shown through a window. Instead, they gawked and questioned the whereabouts of the family inside and they gossiped about how this was likely a publicity stunt.
Obviously they had been wrong to assume the innocence of a stunt once they noticed all of the cars and signs that the family was still inside, perhaps unawares or even dead in the chaos. Once the fire men had arrived, they had already deemed it an unworthy cause to go into the house and search for survivors. The flames had completely devoured the house and were menacingly willing to consume more mansions if given half the chance. They had the hoses and tools ready for aim when a woman shouted that she saw somebody inside.
After a minute of discussing a plausible entry point, they sent in two men to search where the woman had allegedly seen a person still alive. The boy had struggled when they seized him, it was only natural for him to assume them foes and not friends, and he tried to get back to his parents. They immediately left after seeing the remains of the delicate legs of his mother and sturdy hand of his father under the remnants of the ceiling. They ignored the man in the corner, now a figure of burnt muscle and flesh.
Upon their escape, the rich gentlemen's wives gasped at the little boy's appearance and the gentlemen murmured their sorrowful prayers to his parents. The audience of the magnificent flame stood amongst the tragedy for they did not need to see the end of the play; act one had ensued and they knew the ending. Some of the weaker hearted left to their homes and the fire fighters barely needed to struggle to eliminate the fire.
The course of actions through the night had been harsh to the small child. He had remained alive while both his parents and one of the criminals entering his home were killed and their bodies maimed. The emergency medical staff gave him clean oxygen and cleaned his burns and mostly untouched body. They discussed "what a miracle" it was that he had remained alive and was mostly well. The toxins and gasses from the burning materials in the house had barely affected him and he would likely need little time in the hospital if any. There were no fractures, major wounds, concussions, and few contusions on him; the bulk of his physical body was completely unharmed.
However, he refused to speak and his once considered cute smile and curious eyes had been replaced with a blank and vacant stare. Yes, he was mostly unharmed on the outside but on the inside he had his heart ripped out and replaced with a feeling of nothingness and loneliness. Both of his parents were dead; there would be no more promises of ice cream. There would be no more trips or adventures outdoors with them. There would be no more laughing, games, or learning from them. They were gone and so was the young boy.
The police knew the inhabitants of the estate (knowing their wealth and fame, it was not hard to do so) and contacted a personal friend of theirs to deal with the child. At the moment a few of the closest neighbours had offered to take care of him for the moment, staying with him and comforting him until he was accounted for by the older, close friend of his parents. The neighbourhood was extremely vacant of children, so the only two that lived in the area had surrendered their most valuable possessions to the empty child. He had not spoken to either of the children, instead keeping his blank visage steady, and the children eventually could not handle the state of their once close friend and they left to their homes.
Eventually the older man came to the scene. He was indeed one of the closest friends to the parents and it was to him that they had entrusted their son if anything should happen to them. The boy recognized the somewhat unsure English in the deep, somewhat Asian accent. He ran to the trusted man and clung to his leg, the vacant stare brimming tears as realization was finally hitting him.
An acquaintance of his father's, this one a close neighbour who lived across the street and two houses left, approached the older male with a curious gaze. He was unsure of the man as he had only seen him a few times before.
"Excuse me, sir," The fat of the acquaintance moved and indented as he spoke. The older friend looked at the acquaintance, a sullen look on his face from the knowledge of the tragedy that had occurred to his dear friends. "I was wondering what you will do with the boy. I have seen you few times before; I want to know your intentions with that boy."
The older friend knew the intentions of this man immediately. The boy's father was a reputable and wealthy business man with many political connections; taking the boy in would have likely amounted to political standing, a little more than fifteen minutes worth of fame, and eventually a large sum of money. The friend frowned at the fat man and picked up the boy, who was sobbing into the old man's leg.
"I intend to keep him at my secluded estate for a few days for him to recover. Afterwards, I will have him sent to a boarding-school in Southern England for his education. I believe he will be happy there; the boarding-school is highly regarded and he will enjoy it there. They will look after them and he will find other children that had their parents suffer the same fate of death," The older man turned away took the sobbing boy to his car before the fat man could ask another question. "I bid you farewell, gentlemen. May you have a brighter day than Lawliet."
Raye: Please leave your comments. I appreciate constructive critisism, but please don't bash me. If you don't like it then just say it politely; no need to hurt anybody's feelings. And by the way, the next chapter shall be written by the other author sharing this account, rubysapphire.
Her style of writing is different than mine, but she's still quite good. We hope to have the second chapter up soon and I hope you like it as well if you liked this chapter. This event in L's past was inspired by go-devil-dante up on deviantart and I suppose the credits for the fire idea go to him. By the way, please do not steal this and claim it as your own.