Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note or Ghost Whisperer. If I did, L would not have died and Andrea's ghost would've stuck around instead of crossed over.

For those of you who read the manga, parts of this won't make since because I watched the anime and based this prologue on the anime ending. Also, this fic is based on the anime timeline (making the year 2013).

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Prologue

Five years he had waited for this moment. Five years of anticipation, of imagining what it would be like, of watching anxiously, five years of fearing it may never come. Five long and dreadful years he had spent waiting for this moment. Now it had finally come. And now that it had finally come, he felt… bored.

How could he possibly be bored? Surely the tension should be unbearable as he listened with the others to Mikami's breathless counting of the seconds, the countdown to either Near's victory or Kira's, a countdown to certain death for someone.

"Thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine…"

Perhaps it was because he was at least ninety-five percent certain of the outcome.

"Near, it's my win!"

"Forty!"

"Ha!"

"Fool," L whispered. He could've shouted it without the risk of alerting living ears to his presence. Of course Light-kun probably thought he was safe, that those around him in the dank warehouse would take his confession to their respective graves very shortly. L himself couldn't figure out exactly how Near had managed to win, but he knew he must have sabotaged Light's plan somehow, or else he would not risk this.

"We didn't die." Of course it would be Matsuda who made such an obvious statement. As everyone but Near expressed shock and relief, L watched Light. He saw the glint of desperation enter his eyes as the reality of the situation began to take hold. He still watched Light as Mikami was restrained, but found himself looking away as Light-kun began to make his painfully feeble arguments: it was a trap set by Near to frame him, why would no one in the Note die? He'd never seen that man before…

"Almost too painful to watch, isn't it?" said the same voice that had provided humorless laughter as commentary moments before, "Almost," He repeated with a wicked grin. L gave no response to Mello's statement, but absently wondered how unsettled Near would be to know that his former rival had apparently been haunting him since death. He watched the white-haired boy now as he said, "Yagami Light, L," his eyes narrowed, "Kira, You have lost."

Again L wondered how the boy had done it.

"It was all thanks to Mello."

"I see…" L murmured as Mello sighed wistfully. He remembered when the man had kidnapped Takada. Light had known almost without thinking that once he was sure she'd carried out her orders for this situation his only option was to kill Takada and destroy all the evidence she'd had with her. So had Mikami. When he'd contacted Light he must have gotten the impression that his "god" was unable to act at the time, so he would see no choice but to act in his place. Of course Near had had the man under surveillance, the entire operation was practically too easy from that point forward. The operation Mello had put into motion.

"He acknowledged you," the third ghost in the area said to Mello as Near explained what L had just finished deducing.

"Alone, neither Mello nor I could surpass L…" Near said, toying with his fingerpuppets of himself, Mello, and L, "But together… Together we are as able as L. Together, we can surpass L!" L narrowed his eyes but said nothing as Mello again laughed mirthlessly. Puffing on a spectral cigarette, Matt stared over Mello's shoulder at something only he could see.

"If you can talk your way out of this one," Near said to Light, "by all means please do…"

And of course Light had to talk. L knew the man's mind so well by this point that if he'd had the desire to he probably could've recited the speech in unison with Light. What it all boiled down to was that he was Justice, therefore he must judge; the world had nothing more to keep itself from rotting. At the end of it all Near rejected it completely, told Light he was nothing more than a mass murderer, an insane killer. It reminded L of Lind L. Tailor. How the announcement that he was going to find Kira and have him executed didn't seem to disturb Light but the declaration that Kira was evil had immediately brought on his wrath. Would Light-kun react in the same way now? Would Near's accusations push him over the edge? Not quite. Now Light-kun had a half-baked bluff for Near: How did he know he held the real Death Note? After all, Light was only one who could really know for sure.

"If you fall for this Near, you're no successor of mine," L said darkly. He didn't have to look at Light to know he was in the process of killing Near with the page he kept in his watch. But he was caught. Through all that came next, the gunshots, Light's ranting and screaming, Matsuda coming so close to killing him right then and there, L stared at his toes. Five years he had waited for this moment, and now that it had finally come, he couldn't bear to watch.

He did at last look up in time to see Mikami stab himself. Within seconds the man's spirit was standing over his body, a horrified expression on his face. Before he could say or do anything however, he- "What the…" Mello muttered while L simply stared. It looked as if someone had tied an invisible rope around Mikami's waist and tugged him through a hole in the wall behind him. He'd let out and agonized scream as he bent double and disappeared.

"Hey Mello," Matt said shakily, "That's what it looked like when you… died and… went… where you went."

"Really. I'd thought it had something to do with that notebook. I guess he'll be back soon enough then."

"What?" L tried to make sense of Matt and Mello's conversation.

"None of your business," Mello said mildly, "Besides," he gestured at Light, who was running out the door, "Looks like you have more important things to worry about."

Making a note to further interrogate the other two deceased Wammy's children should he ever get the opportunity, though this seemed unlikely, L followed Light out into the evening.

Light's painful stumbling journey couldn't have lasted more than half an hour, yet every step seemed like a long and unforgettable moment. L walked at his side, slouched over as he had always been in life. He fell in step with Light-kun, as he had many times over the past five years of haunting, shadowing him more effectively than even Ryuk ever had. Five years of waiting. For what would come to pass… now.

Unable to walk any further, Light sat on the stairs and leaned backward. With barely enough will left to draw his final breaths, his eyes began to close. But before they did he saw him, standing there at the bottom of the stairs, watching him, his face hidden by shadow but his silhouette unmistakable in the blazing evening light.

L could tell that for the first time in five years, Light could see him. He thought of trying to speak to him, but before he could, Light's eyes widened in shock, a choked gasp escaped his lips, and then his now lifeless eyelids closed for the last time. A heart attack? It had certainly looked like one. The irony was nothing short of brilliant if that were true. Was it? Perhaps he should ask Light's spirit, who now stood awkwardly next to his corpse.

"Light-kun…"

"L-" the specter's voice was cut off by a startled gasp. To the departed men's mutual horror, Light's spirit was promptly sucked out of this world the same way Mikami's had been. L stared in silence for a while at the space Light's ghost had so briefly occupied. After a while, to verbally shrug it all off, he murmured, "There was nothing I desperately wanted to say to you anyway." He immediately felt childish for saying it, but when had he ever claimed not to be?

Besides, none of that was important now. Now, he had to look for it. It had to be near now. By now he must be able to see it. After all, by the time he'd died, his life had been fully devoted to the identification, capture, and execution of Kira. That had all been fully completed today. So now he must see it. He'd spoken with a handful of other spirits about it. They'd all been very knowledgeable, it had to be true. His life's work had been completed. His unresolved issues had been resolved. It was time to see it. The light. That's where spirits went when they were out of unresolved issues. Those peaceful spirits were the only ones who could even see it. Now it was his turn. Where was it? Why couldn't he see it? Where was the light?

He hadn't felt this depressed since that point in the case where it became a "certainty" that Light-kun was not Kira. There was no "light." The only Light he saw was the bloody corpse on the stairs and in the face of apparent eternal condemnation on this side of "the light" that Light held little comfort.

Closing his eyes, he allowed himself to drift to the only logical place to go now…

--

One month later, he wasn't quite sure why he'd allowed himself to end up here. He'd thought his afterlife would be relatively peaceful spent at Wammy's. When he arrived he was reunited with Watari's spirit. The deceased inventor had been quite content watching over the institution these past few years, and apparently no one there had been bothered at all by the presence of the old man's spirit. This was not the case with L.

The day he'd arrived, a few of the children, perhaps they were more sensitive to supernatural presences than the others L had reasoned, had become irritable, one even prone to tantrums. They'd either lose their appetites or indulge in gluttony until ill. Their odd behavior had progressed and worsened by the end of the week. The effects began spreading to the other children, even adults. Five times a night a child would wake his fellow borders screaming from nightmares. Many test grades began slipping as concentration became more difficult. Their teachers and guardians became prone to insomnia and anxiety. At first L decided to handle the situation as scientifically as possible, there was a chance, however small, that it was not he who caused these strange occurrences. Through experimentation he found that the more time he spent within viewing distance of a child, the more emotionally perturbed that child would become. If he decided to occupy one room for several hours, children and adults alike would soon enough be avoiding entrance to that room at all costs.

Watari tried to console him once he'd drawn the conclusion, but he was at a loss for what to do now. Certainly it wouldn't do to stay at Wammy's and continue to disturb the children. After all, one or more of them could be destined to carry on L's legacy one day; Near wouldn't live forever.

So he'd ended up here.

It had been odd decision. The current staff of Wammy's had found cause to milk some extra cash from L's inheritance, so they'd gone through the contents of a warehouse he'd once purchased as a prop to close an investigation; not unlike Near's purchase of Yellow Box. When he'd acquired it there had been some antique furniture left behind by its previous owner. L didn't know the previous owner's name, but among the furniture had been an oak rocking chair with a stylized W carved into its back. Just like Watari's signature W. It was perfect. L had always intended to bring it to Wammy's, the place needed more rocking chairs anyway, with statistics showing autism's steadily rising commonality, but he'd been working three cases at once at the time and the warehouse and its contents had been lost in the shuffle and forgotten.

Now he occupied that chair, clung to it, in a way. He'd found that after a few days of keeping himself attached to it he found it difficult to leave it for more than an hour or two. He had not intended for this to happen, but was there anywhere better to haunt anyway?

Wammy's had gotten 400 for the chair from a collector who, for some ironic reason, died a week later and now he was here.

What was this place again?

--

"You know Melinda, you were right. This is totally worth the road trip to Erie County." Delia couldn't help but be a little exited, in all the years she'd known and worked with Melinda, they'd barely ever gotten the chance to go to an estate sale together.

"I knew you'd like it," Melinda said, smiling and looking around. She almost always found them at estate sales... Ah, there he was. She pulled out her cell phone, which was switched off, and flipped it open so she could look like she was making a call if anyone noticed her talking. "Hello," she said quietly after approaching the spirit.

"Who, me? You can see me?"

"Yes," Melinda said with a friendly smile, "Your collection is very impressive; my name's Melinda, I run an antique shop in Grandview."

"You came to the right place, then," the deceased antique collector said, somewhat wistfully, "I spent twenty years traveling the world and putting this collection together, but I guess you really can't take it with you. At least the kids found a good company to mark all the stuff, I'd hate to think they not only sold my collection but got cheated on it too."

"You don't seem overly upset about them selling your life's work."

"My daughter, bless her heart, is just like her mother was, never understood the fascination with old things, always wanted everything shiny and new, and my son never got the point of keeping a collection when it could be sold for a profit. I saw this coming. As long as they spend the money in a way that makes them happy, I guess I really don't care."

"What's keeping you here, then?"

"I'm still rather proud of my collection. Call me egotistical, but I wanted one last chance to watch others admiring it before I have to leave it behind. Then I'll have a closer look at that light," he said with a wink.

"Glad to hear it," Melinda said honestly, the last estate sale she'd been to had ended in tears due to a message she'd had to deliver on behalf of a trapped spirit. "Since you know your collection best, anything you recommend I have a look at?"

"In the ballroom is some very nice furniture, mint condition, the lot of it. I bought it all in England, just last week."

"Thanks, good luck." She snapped her cell phone shut and began to look around the sale.

Wandering around the four-floor mansion, Melinda wondered if the man had started collecting antiques just to get rid of the spare money, the house was huge and yet somehow managed to be crowded by the size of his collection. His family was obviously very well off. Also, his collection seemed to have everything: dolls, dishes, artwork, appliances, if she could afford everything she saw here that she wanted, she'd never be able to fit it all in her shop.

It took her a while to finally make it to the ballroom, and when she did, she was surprised to find Delia already there.

"I didn't think you'd be interested in the furniture, Delia."

"I'm not, but some of this stuff is so pretty, and I always kind of wanted a nice rocking chair for the living room."

"Rocking chair?"

"Like that one over there," she pointed.

Melinda looked in the indicated direction and gasped.

"What is it, Melinda?"

"Sorry," Melinda immediately turned back to Delia and tried to focus all her attention in her direction, "I just didn't expect to see one."

"What? Melinda? Do you mean that..?"

"Yes, that chair's occupied." She'd been startled at first because the spirit's appearance bore some characteristics of the average Kira victim: unkempt hair, bags under the eyes from losing sleep due to the terror of being a criminal in Kira's era, the paleness of his skin had especially shocked her. She noted the odd way he crouched in the chair and the intensity of his facial expression and wondered if he'd been insane as well. But no, she realized now, he wore jeans and a sweatshirt, not the outfit of a prisoner or a patient.

"Really? Wow..." Delia said, sneaking a look over at the chair in question though she could see nothing unusual. Then she remembered something. "Wait a minute, Mel, I thought you said that they haunt people and sometimes places."

"Well, sometimes a spirit will attach themselves to an object that had some deeper meaning to them in life, it gives them strength."

"So this one has nothing better to haunt than an old rocking chair?"

"Maybe he's lost, confused," she stole another glance at him, he looked more listless than anything else.

"Well," Delia said with a shrug, "I guess I'll just leave him alone then. Thanks for the heads up."

"Yeah..." Melinda looked thoughtful.

"What are you thinking?"

"I don't know..."

"You're not thinking of buying the thing and trying to cross him over are you?"

"Well..."

"Melinda," Delia shook her head, "The daughter told me the guy bought this stuff in England last week."

"I know..."

"That means that's probably where he died."

"But-"

"But what? Crossing them over usually involves talking to their relatives, doesn't it? It's not like you can just hop a plane to England if that's where his unresolved issues are."

"You're right," Melinda said with a sigh, "But still..."

--

L avoided eye contact with the dark-haired woman the same way she did with him, in case her knowing he knew about her proved to be a disadvantage, however unlikely this seemed. He really wouldn't have thought to bother with a medium, or whatever she thought of herself as, if he hadn't overheard her talking with her friend about "crossing them over." That fact made it a ninety-eight percent likelihood possibility that it would be in his best interests if she bought this rocking chair.

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Chapter 1 will be up as soon as I can possibly get it up, and for those of you who want to know more about what L did right after he died, that will be revealed in later chapters. Reviews are deeply appreciated and (sometimes) replied to!