AN: READ THIS BEFORE CONTINUING. I WILL NOT ANSWER DUMBASS QUESTIONS IF I'VE ALREADY ANSWERED THEM HERE. Thank you.

Now that that's out of the way, I am going to outline a few key concepts. My readers from the first time around should know that I like to talk alot, so bear with me. I'll try to make this quick.

This is RED, my first Death Note fanfiction. It was finished Febuary of last year (holy shit it's been a year!), but as I continued to expand I became dissatisfied with my own quality of work. Sorry it took so long, I have been majorly distracted, and have been struggling with motivation and/or writer's block. I'm almost done now, but I feel confident enough to start posting the early chapters. For those of you who've already read the story, there is new content and I've changed up some events (dudes, I've completely rewritten chapters). The format is also a lot better, and I've filled in a lot of plot holes, cleared up the unnessesary angst and gave my OC's more character development. I've changed a few names: Toshiro is now Makoto, because everytime I saw his previous name I flinched because when I created his character I was too lazy to come up with a name so ... Bleach fans will understand. Mr. Helver, the FBI agent, is now Mr. Andrews, because I made up his last name before and it sounded lame.

Now, before the new readers close the window, yes, this is a story focused on an OC. She's my main character and will remain the main character. So let me say this:

The only pairings are cannon ones (marriges and such) and a pairing between my two minor OC's, as my previous readers know from the ending. ;-;

This story is my way of ... changing the course of Death Note, as my motivation, more than a year ago, was to write a story in which L DOESN'T FREAKING DIE. He's one of my favorite characters ... ever, and I was very upset when I had to watch his death.

Speaking of which, I haven't really bothered to read the manga, seeing as I already know the story really well. I watched the anime, and I watched it in ENGLISH. YEAH, that's RIGHT, I WATCHED THE DEATH NOTE DUB. If you got a problem with that, you can kiss my ass. So in the first good number of chapters I will directly quote the show, because the plot for this story doesn't change much from the origional show until Misa's arrival. This is fanfiction, so I didn't feel the need to completely rewrite the entire show. I've tried to keep this as realistic as possible though.

This said, I'm Canadian and really lazy, so I haven't bothered reading up on Japanese law. So there are some laws (like the legal drinking age) that I have no idea about over there, so I'm going to bullshit my way through that. Same with the whole premise of hacking. This is fanfiction, not a book that I'm going to publish, so I think I have the right to bullshit some scenes. I mean, it could very well be MUCH worse. The naming conventions will also be in english format, so first names are first and no suffixes, and Light will be Light and not Raito.

Next, there's something key that I have to adress before I continue. THIS IS IMPORTANT, SO READ THIS NEXT BIT BEFORE COMPLAINING.

In this story I've played a lot with many of the elements in the origional story itself. One such example is the Shinigami eyes. When I first wrote this I hadn't watched the second season in a long time, because hey, I wasn't as big of a fan of that story arc. The eyes in this fic only show the name and lifespan of a person if they meet them in person (through glasses, windows or binoculars are fine), or they see a LIVE recording. By the time I'd realized that I'd fucked them up last time, it was too late, so I decided to screw the rules and went along with it. Get it? Good. Another thing I've messed with is some minor rules to the Death Note, which you'll see later on.

To my readers who've stuck with me this past ... what, year and a half, I thank you for being patient with me, because I'm so lazy and I procrastinate and ... well, yeah. CRIMSON will go back up eventually, but since I have three major writing projects other than that one (plus school and work to attend to), don't count on it being up for a while.

Someone mentioned to me last time that they'd found a theme song for my main character, and I thought that was pretty awesome. The songs that I really listen to when writing this are generally the Death Note themes (including the soundtrack), plus different music from people of heavier rock or people like Pink Floyd and Radiohead. Mainly Pink Floyd and Radiohead. I've even picked out a themesong for this fic, if anyone is interested (you probably aren't), it's 'Just', by Radiohead. You should check that out.

I write the peoms at the beginning of the chapters, thank you.

I think that covers everything ... Thanks for reading this uber long (and probably misspelled) author's note! I'd give you cake, but I like pie better, so have some virtual Pumpkin Pie.

Your not dead and now red-headed Author, who's super excited about this,

- Delta Wish

P.S. I will be posting a new chapter every few days or so, so I won't keep you too long. This is to give people time to comment, and I'm just a lazy troll sometimes.


Chapter One - A Note Left Behind

Tears,
They fall,
Like the ever falling rain.

Blood,
I
t flows,
In the heart of this world.

Emotion,
It pulses,
In this never ending dance.

Insanity,
It creeps,
I
nto the minds of the vulnerable.


I refuse. I will not shed a single tear. It's against everything I believe in. I will remain dignified, no matter how much it hurts me. Yet, despite myself, a single tear runs down my face. It is raining lightly, so nobody notices my moment of weakness. A hand squeezes my shoulder reassuringly. I do not look up at her, for fear of what I might see, or what she might see.

I clench my hands and keep my face emotionless as it passes. I breathe sharply, and this does not go unnoticed. My Aunt, for she is the one standing behind me, places another hand on my other shoulder. I want to break down and sob.

For it, is the casket:

In which my father's body lays.

His face is calm, with an eerily restful expression. In death, he finds more peace then he ever did in life. He was a stressed man, having to raise me all alone since my mother died; working with horrible bosses, low wages and long hours. I found myself becoming more like his wife than his daughter, and I had studies to attend to as well.

He wanted me to reach as high as I could. And I did … I do.

But now he's gone.

One month ago, he was admitted into the hospital. A week and a half ago, he died of a chest infection. He drowned in his own blood.

His death scares me – it shakes me to my core. I've lost the last pillar supporting my life. He was also the only person I couldn't tell the death date of. When I was younger I used to childishly think of him as some sort of immortal. And even into adolescence until now, I've somewhat hoped that he couldn't die. He promised that he wouldn't leave me, and I believed him.

I know when everybody around me is going to die. Above everybody's head are their true name and a set of numbers telling those who can understand them when that person is going to die. I've been this way for a while now: since my Mother's accident. After that, I have seen the red letters and numbers floating around people's heads.

It was eight years ago, on March the Seventeenth, 1995. I was nine years old. I had been in the car with my mother, but miraculously survived. I remember crying with both emotional and physical pain, clutching the back of my Mother's shirt and begging her to wake up. When the paramedics arrived, I was unconscious from blood loss. I was lucky, they said, that it was divine intervention. I didn't feel lucky, I felt as though I shouldn't have been alive.

Ever since that day, I had changed, and in many ways, so had my father.

Death is not new to me, I see it every day. What hurts the most is that broken innocence, the reality of the situation crashing down on me. I couldn't know when he was to die.

He broke his promise.

(Even this is only the guilty, childish grievance of a teenager on the verge of adulthood.)

It has been a long time since I went around not knowing when somebody is to die, even if I've conditioned myself to ignore it. I've become … accustomed to it, in a sense. I have forgotten how life without it could be like.

My name is Kurai. Kurai Itsoku.

I was born in America and lived there with my parents until my Mother died. She was American, and my Father was Japanese. For the past few years, I have lived here in Japan. For the last month, I've been staying with my Aunt, who lives in Tokyo, and I will stay with her now that my Father has passed.

The casket is lowered into the dark, damp and lonely earth, forever sleeping. I feel a knot forming in my chest.


I slip into the back of the car. My Aunt grumbles something and sits in the passenger seat directly in front of me. My Uncle sits in the driver's seat. He looks in the mirror at me, and a pained expression crosses his face.

"Are you alright?" he asks. His voice is layer with concern, but he has distanced himself from me. It feels more like a formality than actual concern.

"Not really," I reply quietly, not wishing to speak.

"Are you sure?"

"I already answered your question." My Uncle grumbles something under his breath, and my aunt shoots him a glare. Her lips are tight and eyes still misty. It was her brother, after all.

The drive back is quiet; nobody speaks. We don't even bother to pretend that we're okay anymore. I pull the elastic from my hair, letting the black locks fall against my shoulders.

I remember. I remember all of it, both good and bad. The dark circles under his eyes were even more prominent on his corpse. The doctor on the other end of the phone stuttered, one of the most shocked by his sudden and unprecedented demise. My Aunt said nothing to me as she dragged me to her home.

It starts raining harder. My Uncle hesitates, and then flicks on the radio. He turns the knob so that it's a little louder.

'There were more unexplained deaths among criminals today. The police have reported that they have all died of heart attacks-'

I welcome the distraction.

People seem to think that the chain of deaths is the work of a murderer. That is probably the biggest load of bullshit I've ever heard. It's just not possible. Could it be a virus spreading through prisons? I don't know.

Either way, people are in a real panic. It's all over the internet; Kira is all over the internet. The name was taken from the English word killer. People are happy that these people are dead. It's sick. I don't understand how death is a happy thing. Human beings are complex, and we only have once chance at life. We are not inherently evil. No one deserves to die.

My thoughts drift back to my Father, and my mouth presses into a thin line.

No one deserves to die.


We arrive at my Aunt's place. I am bunking with my cousin, who just happens to be one of those people who subconsciously go out of their way to be pests. It annoys me to no end. I quietly close the door to our room behind me; she's talking on the phone. I quickly take off the suit I was wearing, and slip into some more comfortable clothes. Lying back on the bed, I stare up at the ceiling. The talking stops and I hear the beep of her cell-phone. It's off.

"Are you alright Kurai?" she asks. I glance over at her. She can be a real pain sometimes, but other times I can appreciate the fact that she does indeed possess sympathetic emotions. Although, even though my Father is her Uncle, they were never really close to him. There's a bunch of resentment wafting in the air because they are under the impression that he abandoned the family to marry my Mother. I guess they were only at the funeral to take control and dictate my life, to mold me into a suitable person fit for society – trying to mend bad blood.

"Not really," I sigh, closing my eyes and rolling my head back to where it was.

Annoyance creeps into her tone, "I was just trying to help. There's no need to snap."

"Yae, please be quiet." Shut up already, you're giving me a migraine. I am not ready to deal with the chaos that is everyday life.

"Fine, I'm getting something to eat," the older girl grumbles, getting off her own bed and storming out into the hallway. I stay silent, but mild amusement flickers across my face. So easily put off, that one.

Then I remember why I'm here, and that smile fades.


Ten days. That's how long I've been out of it. Reality sunk in. The first stage of grief maybe: denial? No, I'm not in denial anymore. I cannot bring myself to describe these past days. He is undoubtedly dead.

I hear the faint calling of my name, but I do not want to leave the false comfort of the bedroom. I miss my father terribly, but I do not want them to see my tears. The voices are calling louder. I suppose there must be food for me; I've been rather moody lately.

Before I head down to face my relatives I take a look at my own reflection. I look a mess.

My eyes are empty.

People have described them to me as dilated. My Mother said that they were so I could see the light in the world easier. Some have said that they are unreadable, or dead. They automatically assume my eye color is black, but there is a small ring of hazel around them. I do not see this though. Since the accident whenever I look in a mirror my eyes are red. However, it seems I'm the only one who notices this. Maybe I'm schizophrenic. The thought makes me smile.

I turn away from the mirror, and continue heading down the stairs. My cousin motions to a pan on the stove with some sausages. I help myself to them and the other things littering the counters. My Aunt then enters the room.

"Kurai, there was a package a few days for you," she notifies me and points. On the counter there is indeed a package. Picking it up, I size it up in my palms. It's light and looks like a book could be in it. There is no return address and my name is printed neatly on the front.

I give it a small shake. There is no rustling. With skill, I peel the brown wrapping off. It's a black notebook, without any writing on it whatsoever.

"What the hell?" I mumble, and turn it around. Nothing there either. I flip through the pages and a small envelope falls out. I notice my name on it and underneath it says: read when you are alone.

That's awfully strange. I pick up both the notebook and the envelope and head back upstairs. There's a faint indentation on the page it slipped from. Obviously it was there a while. I seat myself on the edge of my bed and open the seal.

It reads:

Kurai, I apologize to you.

I had to say that before continuing. If he hasn't already, a Shinigami, a God of Death will show himself to you. Do not trust him. I repeat, do not trust him. He's a despicable creature, and does as he pleases. His name is Vile for more proof to that. For everything you want of him, he will either take or trade something that he wants from you, and he will twist the situation to suit his own personal interests.

God, this person can't actually be serious. I shake my head and continue reading.

Years ago, your mother was killed. I don't have time to write down all the reasons for her demise, but let me make it clear that it was all my doing.

How the fuck is that possible? It was a car wreck stupid. My thoughts continue to become more and more sarcastic and disbelieving.

The book that you just received is a cursed notebook. If you write a person's name down in it while thinking of their face, that person will die.

Load of bullshit. Is this some sort of prank? What disgusting person would do such a thing, especially since my father recently died?

There are more rules that I have come to learn of. Next to the name, if you specify the cause of death within the first 40 seconds, it will happen. In the 6 minutes and 40 seconds following that, details can be written. If nothing besides a name if written, the person will die of a heart attack.

Hold up, that last line sort of sounded similar to the Kira killings … this has creativity, I'll give them that.

You can see the name and lifespan of any person you meet. This does not apply to those who own another of the Shinigami's notebook: a Death Note. They are known as Shinigami Eyes, and are very deadly combined with the notebook. I was such a fool, and Vile managed to trick me into trading for them, and handing the Eyes to you. I never knew until afterwards what I had done.

… Does this person … know me? And how the hell did they know about the eyes?

I'm sorry. So, so sorry. By now I should be dead or very close. I wrote my own name down and all the details to my death. Maybe I will finally receive what I deserve. You are old enough to take care of yourself, and I trust you completely.

The Death Note is yours now.

- Your Father

I am shaking by the time I finish reading the letter. Skimming over it twice more, I am extremely reluctant to believe it. How is it possible to kill somebody by writing a notebook, let alone before they are destined to die?

Cut off somebody's lifespan? Impossible!

However, the sheer shock of what I just read comes rushing in like a tidal wave. That was his fucking signature at the bottom. Tears stream down my face, and I suddenly feel repulsed by the small black notebook. I throw it across the room, where it hits the wall and lands pathetically on the floor, open and upside down.

The letter disgusts me even more, but I can't let anyone read it. They're the ramblings of a madman. With unsteady hands, I take the note and quickly stuff it in my suitcase. I need to get it out of my sight.

I lie back on the bed, but my gaze shifts to the 'Death Note'. It draws my attention like the darkest part of the shadows, or that motion in the corner of your eye. I grab a pillow, and throw it at the book. Diving under the covers, I hide from the monsters of my past, trying to block out images. I sob into my arm.

"Keh, are you really that pathetic?" a voice says.

I stiffen from my hiding place, and peek out from under the blanket.

I stare into the face of something truly evil.