Apple of Thine Eye REDUX
"Boston Street Banger's identity has been discovered, Nicolas Thompson aged 20 has been arrested today on thirteen counts of rape and murder..."
A young woman slowly reclined in her seat, delicate hands placing a bowl of pommegranate seeds onto a dirty side table littered with ash and cigarette butts, empty Coors Lite cans and sticky rings from sweating glasses.
"Nicolas Thompson..." A gentle voice, that was smooth as chocolate, was easily swallowed up and drowned out by the whirring of an air conditioner and muffled screaming coming from another room in the dingy apartment.
Jezebel Blackheart stood up from her seat, her ivory flesh sticky with sweat thanks to the sweltering New York heat and stained brown leather couch. Manicured nails raked along the smooth fabric as she strolled into another room, peeking into her younger sister Akane's room—sighing in relief that the six year old wasn't startled by her parents' yelling and screaming and continued to play with her Barbies, on the way.
Clicking her tongue, Jezebel walked into her own room, slowly shutting her door and placing a butter knife under the trim of her door—to make sure that her parents couldn't come in due to the door being one that you pushed inwards—as they had broken the lock on her door. Chartreuse lanterns narrowing at the sight of an aubergine notebook on her desk, which was a wobbly TV table underneath a tacky lamp that was most likely purchased in a resale store that was trapped in 1982 that sat beside her bed. Her bed was just a ripped stained mattress on top of a box spring that was older than her, with torn up sheets that smelled of cheap perfume and FeBreeze.
"I love you, I love you, I love you..."
Her voice was small, barely above the volume of a hushed whisper, but it sounded like a chorus of sirens trying to charm their unlucky prey to the blood stained rocks below.
Lime green nails rapped against the leathery, it had honestly felt like dried human skin, cover of the notebook, scratching against the shimmering silver writing near the top and centered on the surface that read two words in plain English;
DEATH NOTE.
The notebook was flipped open, slender fingers flipping two or three pages before stopping.
"I love you, I love you, I love you..."
She continued to sing as she made her way to the closet, standing on her tiptoes to reach onto a small box on the back of the top shelf, pulling out a single object; a black light. Quickly, while still singing, she unscrewed the lightbulb from her lamp and placed the black one in. The main lights in the room were immediately turned off before she turned on her black light.
On the pages were several paragraphs and names and times that glowed under the light.
"I'm going to kill you tonight."
She continued to sing while writing down "Nicolas Thompson- March 20th 15:43 PM: Chokes on his own tongue and dies while masturbating in the shower room" in her invisible ink—which was simply lemon juice.
"Arrested American serial killer found dead in the prison showers. No foul play has been considered or reported by witnesses, other inmates said that 'he had just started choking while jerking off'. More at 11. Back to you Minato-san..."
The TV was shut off before the news could switch to another reporter.
Light Yagami sighed, russet hues rolling towards the open notebook that had sat on his desk.
"Ryuk... I think someone else has been doing my work, how nice of them."
"Do you think that it's Misa?"
"No, she would have made a big show about it-"
At that moment, Light's phone began to ring—the sound of a visual kei band that Misa seemed to love echoing throughout his quiet room. Sighing heavily, he answered it;
"Yes?"
"Light-kun! Did you see the news!? That American killer that you were investigating was dead! I thought that you were planning on him dying next week!"
"It seems that we might have another Kira... Don't worry, Misa. There will only be one God—and his Goddess, of course."
"Oh Light... You always have everything in control!"
"When don't I? Now, get to sleep, Misa. Didn't you say that you had a big photoshoot tomorrow?"
"Oh! Yes, yes! Thank you for reminding Misa, mwah~!"
"Mother... where did you get all this money?" Jezebel asked, glancing over at her sister's door as Akane closed it shut. She hoped that the little girl was beginning to barricade the door before hiding in the room like she was told. "Is any of it going to rent? We're... a bit short... The landlady is asking questions-"
Jezebel's mother, Momoka Blackheart, stomped towards her daughter; her nut brown eyes blazing like an inferno, ready to burn everything in the area to charcoal. A heavy smack was heard, echoing in the dirty apartment, which was followed by Jezebel falling to the ground in a heap, her porcelain cheek feeling like it was on fire.
An angry red mark was left on her cheek, which clashed like wine against ivory sheets. Her silken midnight locks were gripped tightly and yanked upwards, thanks to Momoka tangling her bony fingers in the ebony tresses before she was slammed onto the ground again.
"Why don't you mind your own business, skank?! It's not like you do anything, fucking piece of trash!"
Jezebel braced herself for the flurry of kicks and stomps from her mother; ugly shades of purple, green, yellow and brown would decorate her flesh, along with deep red welts that would take days to heal.
After what had felt like hours, Momoka stumbled out of the room, mumbling about getting more vodka and where her good-for-nothing husband was. Jezebel laid on the floor, bruised cheeks becoming wet with tears while she flinched at the sound of a door being slammed.
"...Save us..." She muttered, closing her eyes as she rolled onto her back.
Thoughts about this violent cycle ran through her mind, about how this could all change if she wrote her parents' names into her notebook, she and Akane would be free from all this abuse. But, the money she made at her book keeping job wouldn't be able to support the two if her parents were gone.
Even if her parents were thieves that held up liquor stores and cheap jewellery stores in the Bronx.
"NEW YORK CITY BANK HELD HOSTAGE, NOW ENTERING DAY THREE."
Light stared at the screen in faint interest, the blue glow of the screen making his pale skin refract the light to the rest of the room. His lips pressed together in a hard line, a black catridge pen spinning in his fingers as he contemplated doing something about this.
Rarely would he settle for such a lowly crime, his favourites to wipe out were rapists and killers. But, thieves that held hostages... those were scum. Scum that needed to be obliterated off of his perfect world.
"WE HAVE IDENTIFIED THE SUSPECTS; MOMOKA BLACKHEART, AGED 43, AND EDMUND BLACKHEART, AGED 50. BOTH WERE ARRESTED SEVERAL YEARS AGO FOR ROBBING A CONVEINENCE STORE AND WERE LET OUT ON GOOD BEHAVIOUR..."
Light grinned, it was like something from the movies, a couple of criminals served to him on a silver platter.
He quickly scribbled the two names into his Death Note, russet eyes now staring at his watch. His heart slowed down with the ticking of the second hand on his watch, before pounding loudly and so hard that it felt as if it was going to burst from his chest.
Thirty.
A young woman is shown on screen, pushing through the crowd and trying to get past the police barricade.
Thirty-five.
She's screaming, her viridian crystals for eyes sparkling with tears as she was pushed back by officers.
Forty.
"WHAT'S THIS?! THE HOSTAGES ARE COMING OUT OF THE BANK, SEEMINGLY UNHARMED!"
Light frowned once the camera flickered away from the young woman and back to the entrance of the bank. He was glad that the threat was taken care of... but who was that woman? Why was she crying?
He needed to know.
"MOTHER! FATHER!"
Even if they were abusive fucks that needed to be killed... the fact that they were gone...
"We have just received word that Momoka and Edmund Blackheart have both died of a heart attack."
Kira...?
"It's possible that it is the mass murderer, Kira, that killed the two."
HE MUST PAY.