A/N: I obtained permission from WhiteLadyDragon to write this fiction after she had read Memory Serves. She had asked what Erin Blogger's life might have been like if she had perhaps never met L and gotten so tangled up in the Kira case, so knowing me, I just had to wonder what would happen if Mello took Erin hostage. Also, please note that the events regarding Erin and L have never happened in this fanfiction. They have never met.

On the Arrow

Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note in any way, shape or form. I also do not own the character Erin Blogger who belongs to WhiteLadyDragon. However I do own the situations entitled here and the character Layla Levandi. Please do not use her without my permission.

Chapter One – Hell

The very first thing Erin Blogger could remember was the distinct taste of metal in her mouth. The coldness pressed tight against her tongue and every time she inhaled, the taste of bitter sulfur was on her mouth. It choked her, burning her throat and she coughed against the intruding object that had been placed on her lips.

"What do you know?" a voice said calmly, and she was suddenly reminded of velvet because that's what this voice sounded like, velvet. But, it sent a cold shiver down her spine, like ice cold water.

She opened her eyes and stared up at the man who's gun was in her throat. The shadows in the room were dark and the faint light from a dangling lightbulb only illuminated half of his face. She was surprised by how angelic he looked with his long blond hair and blue eyes that looked like the beginning of daybreak.

The clink of the metal against her teeth is the only sound in the room as the blond man slid his gun out of her mouth in a way that seemed both slow, and deliberate.

"You're a reporter for the LA Sun, are you not?" he asked quietly in that smooth velvet voice.

She hung her head, light brown strands of hair dangling in front of her eyes. Erin couldn't stand to look up and see the harsh lightbulb light reflected on the man's pale skin. She shut her eyes and gave out a slow shuddering gasp, "Yeah."

When the man leaned over and wiped his gun off on her shirt she could see the faint outline of a cross on the handle etched in gold.

"And you were trying to infiltrate the mafia? Correct?" he asked.

Infiltrate wasn't what she would have called it exactly. Two years ago after Kira had begun to get attention from the americas, strangely the crime rate in Los Angeles went up twenty percent, and these crimes were big. Huge money busts, and several shootouts had occurred and like any big crime that happened in Los Angeles people blamed it on the mafia.

Erin was technically still a rookie detective, and it was somewhat obvious upon seeing her willingness to get any story, and that's what had gotten her in so much trouble in the first place.

A big bad gang leader who called himself Top Cat had gotten himself killed. Top Cat was feared throughout California and known for his love of three things; cocaine, whores, and power. But one day, someone had killed him, and you had to understand that Top Cat was seemingly untouchable, not even Kira could have killed him. And then, one day, bang he was dead, and it wasn't just any kind of dead. Someone had cut his head clean off his shoulders.

It didn't take long for the rumors to spread around that a sixteen year old kid had done it, somehow snuck into Top Cat's hideout and killed the bastard. That's when the crime rates went up, and people were saying that this child was now the head of all crime syndicates in California.

She'd initially thought it would be the story of a lifetime, to get an interview with this child who'd cut off a mafia leader's head. It had seemed so glamorous in her mind's eye to sit and talk with the child who might eventually run the world. Erin could see herself achingly listening to this story, mad with desire to go home and type it up on her old fashioned type writer that she kept because of the novelty it had. It would be huge, she would win awards. She would be moved out of her tiny, cramped closet and into an actual office, with a real desk not just some wobbly old bedside table.

Of course, it never really played out that way and she had spent an entire year tracking down various mafia members like Ill Rat and Daft Dog. It hadn't been easy either, but she'd had a few associates from college who helped her find out who and what was alive and what wasn't.

But, word got out around the office about Erin's plan for her big story, and someone, who had been an associate of the mafia had heard of her plan. Boom. Next thing she knew, a pistol was being shoved down her throat and it wasn't at all like things were on television.

"Answer me!" the man roared, suddenly impatient. The velvet in his voice was gone now, replaced by what sounded like rusted metal that was being rubbed together.

"I-I-I...I just wanted a-a story!" she wailed, her shoulders shaking limply, hating how she couldn't play it off like actors did in movies. How they would shrug the gun away with their cheek and say something biting to their captors.

Suddenly, the blond man's hands were digging in her shoulders and he tilted her head upwards so he could look in her eyes. Erin gasped, the other side of the man's face that had been hidden in shadow was covered by a large scar, the edges of it jagged, like mountains. She leaned away from him with a whimper and strangely, his breath smelled like chocolate. Sickly, and syrupy sweet. She'd always imagined someone in the mafia would smell like beer, or maybe even pot. But never chocolate. It seemed strangely childlike.

"We know everything about you Erin Blogger." He stated, looking at her cruelly though his bright blue eyes. "You're an Aries. You grew up in New York City, you have a brother named Farley. You graduated from the University of California with a degree in journalism. You made mostly B's with a few A's squeezed in there. You work at the LA Sun as a part time writer. I can go on, if you like?" he sneered, tapping the edge of his pistol, that was still slightly damp with her spit on her temple.

Erin had moved away so fast that she'd ended up yanking the chair she was tied to. She clattered to the floor, her head hitting the concrete floor hard enough to see stars. When the pain ebbed away enough for her to open her eyes she saw the man's boots striding away from her and out of the door. Tears blurred the edge of her vision and she found herself wondering in a morbid, obscure fashion if she was in hell.

When Erin woke up again, she felt a pair of cool hands on her wrists, gently untying the rope that bound her wrists together. Someone had obviously moved the chair back into an upright position. When they were free, she pulled them into her lap, rubbing the skin that had rubbed off from the friction.

"What do you want with me?" she whimpered, trying to fight back tears, "Gonna shove another gun down my throat because it gets you off?"

"No guns sweetheart," the voice said softly, this time in a lilting british accent.

The owner of the voice walked in front of her and she was startled to see a young man with shaggy red hair a pair of silvery goggles perched on his forehead. His bright green eyes were the first thing she had seen in this place with any hint of kindness in it.

"My name is Matt." he said softly, smiling at her. Then he stood, fishing around in his jean pockets. He pulled out a small packet of cigarettes and tapped one lazily on the edge of his wrist.

"Who was that?" Erin asked softly, "Th-that guy with the g-g-gun."

She could barely say the word as he mouth recalled the strangely bitter taste on her tongue that made her desperate for a toothbrush and about a gallon of toothpaste.

Matt looked almost as if he pitied her, and lit his cigarette, inhaling deeply. He held in the breath for a few moments, then expelled the smoke through his nostrils in such a way that he reminded her of some kind of messed up dragon.

"What guy sweetheart?" Matt said gently, pulling the cigarette from his lips. "There's a lot of guys with guns in here."

"You know," she snorted, "Scarface."

Matt snorted, a few flakes of ash falling from his cigarette. "That's Mello, and don't ever let him know you compared him to Al Pacino. He's more of a Marlon Brando kind of guy."

The romantic image of Marlon Brando didn't seem to fit this man called Mello, he seemed more like the kind of person who'd have a pile of cocaine on his desk and shove his face into it. He seemed crazy and ruthless enough, the kind of man who said, the world is mine.

Still though, it felt good to laugh with this redheaded man and she sighed when her stomach grumbled.

"Hungry eh?" he said, exhaling. "Don't worry, we'll feed you soon."

Then he reached upwards and stroked at her temple. The gesture frightened her and she thought almost vulgarly that he intended to rape her.

"Don't touch me asshole!" she snapped.

The red haired man held up his gloved hands in a gesture of peace. "Look hun, raping you would be as torturous for me as it would be for you. I don't go for ladies. Sorry."

It took Erin a few moments to realize what he meant and she wrinkled her nose in slight distaste. Matt let out a small laugh, "Hey, kiddo. Don't knock it til you've...never mind."

Then he pointed to his own temple, "You've just got a knot right there, I guess from when you fell over, right?"

She nodded, knowing she might be pushing her luck as she spoke, "That guy is pure fucking evil..."

Matt blinked seeming surprised, "Mello...he's just...look, this really has nothing to do with you deep down, he's just taking precautions. He's trying to-"

Then, Matt's phone rang, and she realized with a sudden jolt that it was the Mario theme. Didn't seem very mafia-like.

He heaved an annoyed sigh as he answered the phone, "What? … She has to go again? But we just got back from there like two days ago!"

Erin could hear the person on the other end of the phone screaming obscenities as Matt held the phone away from his ear.

"Why can't you take her? But she doesn't need- … Bloody hell mate, okay. Okay. But I doubt she's going to be- … Fine, fine! I'll take her."

He shut the little red cell phone with a snap and heaved a sigh. He flicked what was left of his cigarette on the ground and put it out with the bottom of his boot. Matt gave her an apologetic look, "Sorry sweetheart, I have some errands to run. When I get back, we'll get some food in you, okay?"

He strode behind her and began tying her hands up again.

"Wait, wait!" Erin exclaimed, "Do you...do you have to do that? I won't try to get out...I promise."

She could hear Matt sigh, as if something pained him, "I'm sorry kiddo, but you've seen what Mello's like, I can't risk it."

She hung her head and let out a small sniffle of frustration.

"Hey now, don't cry. I'll be back with some food okay. Chin up kiddo."

Then he shut the door, leaving Erin alone in the room that she had come to associate with the deepest level of hell.