There was a chapel attached to Wammy's House, and it was always empty.
They didn't conduct services there. They cleaned it and maintained it, but for what purpose? Most of the children at Wammy's House held nothing but disdain for religion. They had no wish to practice it so openly.
It was a Catholic church. And usually there was no one in it.
But Mello always liked to be the one exception.
He was in the pews, on his knees, his hands pressed together. He was murmuring quietly – it was impossible to even distinguish whether or not he was speaking English without getting too close. His hands were around something at his neck. A rosary? Really. How unique.
It had been a long time since L visited the chapel. Indeed, since he had visited Wammy's House. He had never been too religious, but he had always been drawn to the quiet of the church, surrounded by symbols and icons. No one would dare disturb him when he took time to sit in the silent pews. Perhaps they all thought he was going on some spiritual journey to discover his faith. No such journey had taken place in the five years he had lived at Wammy's House.
He had never had a rosary, though.
The boy was sitting in one of the front pews, on the left. L slid into a pew near the back, behind him, so as not to disturb the boy.
How old was he? Ten. No, older than that. Twelve, perhaps. At the very most.
Fascinating.
L watched the boy finish praying. Having studied the Catholic religion before, he noticed a few blaring violations of the regular protocol – but why? Was the boy doing it on purpose, or did he really not know? Whom would he have learned it from?
The boy stood up and turned to leave. He saw L sitting in the pews and stopped.
There was no way he could have recognized L for who he really was, but no one – no one – ever used the chapel, especially not while Mello was there. That in itself deserved an explanation.
"Good morning," called L.
The boy just looked at him.
"What is your name?" asked L.
Nothing. There was a cold, stony look in the boy's eyes. Then he replied, "They call me M."
M. The closest any child at Wammy's House had ever been to L. Somehow, this didn't surprise him.
"Tell me, M," said L, his thumb at his mouth. "What were you doing a moment ago?"
The boy shifted slightly, scowling, as if he knew what was coming next. "Praying," he said bluntly.
"And who do you pray for, M?"
"Why do you care," said M. Silence. "Well?" he demanded. "Answer me!"
"Who do you pray for, M?" repeated L.
"Everyone," replied M. "Humanity. God knows we need it."
"M," said L. "Have you ever thought about doing something for humanity, instead of just praying about them?"
"If you're going to mock my faith," said M through gritted teeth, "then I'm going to leave right now." He started to walk, but before he passed L, the older boy continued speaking.
"Forgive me if a mockery of your faith was implied," he said. "I was merely asking a question."
"And why should I answer any of your questions?"
L looked at him. "If you don't know that by now," he said, "then there's really no point in talking to you further. You may go."
Silence.
Then Mello said, "You're L, aren't you."
"Correct. Does my appearance surprise you?"
"No," replied Mello. "I knew you'd be one of us."
L felt an awkward, warm feeling in his chest. He didn't like it.
"Will you now answer my question, M?"
"You can call me Mello now."
"No," said L. "I'll address you with your title, just as you'll address me. After all, like you said, I am one of you."
Mello said, "I wouldn't be at Wammy's if I didn't intend on doing something for humanity, L."
L surveyed the boy slowly.
Then he said, "You should take a seat, M. I have a few stories to tell you."
"This isn't going to be another one of those rabbit-and-the-hare type stories, is it? I've memorized it all." A pause. "My favourite is the frog and the scorpion."
L laughed, and then, surprised with himself, he quickly silenced, the echo in the small church disconcerting him. "That happens to be my favourite as well," he told the boy. "But I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. It's quite the appropriate choice for a Catholic."
Mello, who was about to sit down, stood up straight. With a low fire in his voice, he asked, "Who said I was Catholic?"
L raised an eyebrow, then said, "The way you prayed. Entirely Catholic."
"Nobody's Catholic just because they pray."
Silence.
L asked softly, "Do you believe in God, M?"
"Do you, L?"
"No."
"Oh," said Mello, a little taken aback at this. "Dammit, I had a really good answer if you'd said yes."
"And that answer would be?"
"That we're raised as little copies of you, L. It's no surprise we both believe."
"You say we but you imply you're the only one who's quite like me."
Mello looked at him as if he was being stupid.
"Of course," he said, and there was no more arrogance in his voice, just a quiet puzzlement. "Because I'm going to be your successor."
L stared at the child for a little while.
And then he laughed again, and he didn't silence himself immediately. He let himself laugh for once, and he realized how long it had been since he laughed like that and it made him, for some reason, sad.
"Sit down, Mello," he said finally, pressing the balls of his fists to his eyes. "Like I said, I have some stories to tell you..."
When he walked out of the chapel that day, an old man was waiting for him, as he always was.
"Watari," said L. "I choose him."
"What?" asked Watari, startled. "I was under the impression you had already chosen the other boy. Near."
L watched as Mello walked past the gates and back to the orphanage. "I think I can say, without regret, that I was wrong. I think this child may be smarter than I am."
Watari was stunned. "Why do you say that?"
"Because," said L softly, looking up at the steeple of the small church, a half-smile on his face.
"He's found something that I have yet to discover."
I am thoroughly obsessed with the idea of L being very, very interested in religion. He'd never find what he was looking for, though. It isn't in his personality to be satisfied. On the other hand, Mello has enough passion to think outside the box. And that sort of genius is what makes him the best, in the end.
Just my interpretation. What do you think?