Hello, all! After months of waiting and revising, the latest chapter of "Of Memories Past" is finally here!
Now remember: I don't own Death Note or any of the characters featured in Death Note and the novel "Death Note Another Note: The Los Angeles BB Murder Cases." Those properties belong to Tsugumi Ohba, Takeshi Obata, and NISSIO ISSIN. And buggirl101 owns the names "Abraham Cicero" & "Angel" (aka: A's real and Wammy names). They are used in here with her permission.
The only things I do own in this story are Angel's description/character traits and the idea behind this story.
Oh! A quick note before you read: if you see anything that's bold and italicized like this, those are present day!Matt's thoughts about his memories (and Angel). These are usually at the end of the story.
Of Memories Past
Chapter 1 - Communication
The date was September 15, 1999.
A black limousine drove up and parked at the gated entrance of an old building that looked to have been around since the late 1940s. A plump, bespeckled man who appeared to be in his sixties got out from the driver's side and opened the passenger's side door to let a boy no older than nine out. The young boy, clad in a pale blue shirt, black jeans, red Converse sneakers, and a cast on his right arm supported by a sling, read a sign near the gates: The Wammy's House.
"Well, dear boy, this will be your new residence," said the elderly man as he opened the trunk of the vehicle.
The boy simply stared at the old, rather huge building. The bricks' once red color had now become orange thanks to Father Time and his friend the Sun. Its windows were made of stained glass; an unusual choice for a mere "house." But was it really a house? There's a cross atop the roof; perhaps it's a church? Whatever it was, this was going to be his new home.
The elderly man, setting down a suitcase, looked at the boy and smiled. "It's quite a sight, isn't it?" He then closed the trunk and started to unlock the front gate. "Well, come along, now. Let's go inside." The boy nodded and the two made their way to the front door.
As they reached the door, the elderly man knocked three quick times. After a few seconds, the door opened to reveal another elderly man who looked skinnier and a little older than the other man.
"Watari! So good to see you," said the skinnier man.
"It's so good to see you, too, Roger," said the man now identified as Watari, shaking Roger's had. "It's been too long, old friend."
"It certainly has. How is L doing?" asked the skinnier man, identified as Roger, as he invited the two inside.
"He's in the middle of a high-profile case right now, but he is doing well. He sends his regards to you and the others."
L? Others? the boy thought. What are they talking about?
"Well, knowing him, I'm sure he will solve it in no time." Roger then shifted his framed eyes to the little boy at Watari's feet. "And who might this be?"
"This is the child I have been telling you about; the newest member of the Wammy's House," Watari replied.
"Oh, that's right, the one you told me about over the phone. It's nice to meet you, young man," said Roger, extending his right hand to shake the boy's. The boy simply stared at the hand and looked at Roger as if he were saying "What the heck do you want me to do with that?"
After a while, Roger looked at the sling on the boy's arm and brought back his hand. "Oh, so sorry..." Clearing his throat, he asked Watari, "Have you given him a name yet?"
Watari then replied, "Well, I did have a name in mind, but I wanted to run it by him first. I was thinking of the name Matthew, which means 'gift of God.' Well, what do you think?" he asked the boy. "Do you like the name Matthew?"
The boy, a disgusted look plastered on his face, shook his head rapidly.
The two men were shocked at such a response, but each reacted differently.
"Young man, you should be grateful for having such a name bestowed upon you! Now just accept-" Roger stopped as he heard his friend laugh wholeheartedly. "W-Watari, how can you laugh at such a rude response?"
"It's okay, Roger. He simply doesn't like it. There's nothing wrong with that," he replied, smiling. "Perhaps he would like something...oh, what is it you children say nowadays? Something...'cooler'. Would you like a 'cooler' name?" he asked the boy.
The boy nodded.
"All right, how about...Matt? It's a shortened version of Matthew, so it retains its meaning. Do you like the name Matt?"
The boy thought for a moment, then shrugged and nodded. To him, it sounded much better than "Matthew."
"Wonderful! All right then, from now on, you will be addressed as Matt," said Watari. He then turned his attention to Roger, handing him the suitcase. "Now then, Roger, if you would please show him to his room. Afterward, I'd like to speak with you regarding Matt's admissions paperwork. "
"Of course, Watari," Roger replied. "Come along,...Matt." I personally wish he had chosen the name Matthew. It sounds more...distinguished, thought Roger as he and "Matt" went up the stairs.
As the two went up the foyer stairs, Matt noticed a strange, huge window at the top. It was made of stained glass like the other windows, but, unlike those, this one was totally white and had a black Old English capital "L" in the middle. He looked at the strange window until Roger interrupted his thoughts and hurried him along. After going down a long hallway and climbing up a short flight of stairs, they reached a hallway with doors on each side of the walls. Roger then led Matt to the third door on the left.
"This is your new room, Matt," said Roger as he set the suitcase down to open the door.
A rather drab room, it had yellow walls, two beds on each side, a chest at the foot of each bed, a desk with a lamp and a chair in front of a big window (not a stained glass one, much to Matt's relief) with pea-green curtains, a clock on the wall of the left side of the room, and a waist basket near the desk. Matt wondered why there were two beds if this was his room.
As if he read his mind, Roger answered, "One of the beds here is reserved for your roommate, but seeing as you don't have one at the moment, this room is all yours."
Matt, a little weird-ed out by the sudden answer, took the suitcase with his left hand and chose the bed on the left side of the room.
"I'll leave you to unpack. Breakfast will be ready in forty-five minutes. I'll send someone to show you to the dining hall, where I will introduce you to the other residents. Don't be late," said Roger as he left the room. Matt then started to open his suitcase.
As Roger closed the door to Matt's room, the door behind him opened, startling the poor man. Out of the door came a young man who looked to be in his early teens. His dark orange hair was a tad disheveled. He wore a forest green robe and light gray pajama pants.
"Good morning, Roger," the boy yawned, his voice thick with an Irish accent.
Roger, grabbing his chest, replied, "Oh, Angel, it's only you. Please don't startle me like that again."
"Sorry. I heard you talking outside the door," Angel explained as he rubbing his eyes. "What's going on?"
Roger sighed, "Well, I was just showing the newest resident of Wammy's House his new room."
Upon hearing this, Angel perked up. "Someone new is here? That awesome! What's he like?"
"You will find out during breakfast like the others. Now go back to-" Roger stopped, an idea forming in his head. "Angel, might I ask you a favor?"
"Sure, what is it?" Angel asked.
"Well, I have to speak to Watari regarding the lad's paperwork," Roger explained. "Could you show him the way to the dining hall?"
"Of course! I'd be happy to!" Angel replied happily.
"Wonderful. His room is across from yours. Just give him a while to unpack," stated Roger as he started to walk off.
Angel, pumped up at the idea of being the first one to meet the new kid, went back into his room to clean himself up; it is always important to make a good impression when meeting someone new. After about three minutes, he opened his door, ready to meet the newcomer. His hair, now neatly brushed, was tied in a long ponytail with a burgundy ribbon. His bangs framed his freshly-washed face and almost covered his glasses, which magnified his chocolate brown eyes. He wore a red turtleneck sweater with a black buttoned-down waistcoat and black corduroy pants. His dark brown penny loafers completed the outfit.
He came to his new neighbor's door and knocked a few times.
"Hello? May I come in?" he asked cheerfully.
No answer came from the other side.
"Anyone in there?" he asked again. Still no answer.
"I hope he's alright," he muttered to himself as he proceeded to open the door. He found Matt, sitting on his bed, looking at him blankly.
"Oh, good, there you are! Wow, you've got your own room? You're so lucky! I have to share mine. Anyway, welcome to Wammy's House! My name's Angel. What's yours?" he asked, bending down to Matt's level.
Matt just stood there, looking away from him this time.
Angel, cocking his head, looked at him confusedly.
"What's the matter?" he asked "Cat got your tongue? That's okay! I understand if you don't wanna talk right now. If you do, my door's always open. Actually, my room's across from yours."
Angel then eased himself up and headed for the door.
"You probably want to be alone. I'll come back to show to the way to the dining hall in a little while. See you then!" he said as he was leaving.
"...Mail."
Angel heard a voice say in an annoyed tone. "Did you say something?" he asked as he turned to face Matt.
"Mail," the voice, which belonged to Matt, repeated. "My name is Mail Jeevas."
"Mail?...Oh, your REAL name." Angel replied, finally understanding what he was talking about.
"But those old guys said that from now on my name is Matt. Why are they changing my name?" Matt asked.
"They aren't changing your name. Your 'new name' is more of a nickname, if anything," Angel explained. "Like mine, for example. They call me Angel, or sometimes A, instead of my real name."
"So, what's your real name?" Matt questioned.
"You know, it's been so long time since I've been called by my real name. I don't remember," Angel replied, embarrassed.
"Well, why do they do that?"asked Matt.
"I don't know. Probably because it's easier for everyone to remember nicknames than real names," Angel answered. "There are quite a lot of us here."
Matt sighed. "Whatever. I think it's stupid."
Trying to change the subject, Angel noticed the sling on Matt's arm. "Hope you don't mind me asking, but what happened to your arm?" he asked as he sat next to Matt.
"Car wreck," Matt simply replied.
"Goodness, that's awful!" exclaimed Angel.
"It's alright. I'm left-handed anyway. And this cast will come of in a week." Matt explained. "Besides, I'm just lucky I didn't end up like my parents in that wreck."
"Why? What happened to them?" Angel asked.
"They're dead," Matt replied. "They were killed instantly."
"Oh, I'm so sorry," Angel said compassionately.
"Yeah. They died and I was in a coma for a week and a half," Matt remarked, sighing. "I didn't even get to say my last goodbyes to them at their funeral."
"But you still have your memories of them. In fact, you're one of the few residents here who actually remember their parents. Most of us here were either brought here at birth or were too small to remember them. You should be lucky you got to spend time with them," Angel stated.
"You don't remember yours?" Matt asked
"Uh-uh. My father died before I was born. He was fixing some machine at a factory in Dublin when it somehow turned on and crushed him. My mother died giving birth to me. I was raised by my grandfather, a pastor in Ashford, until I was five, when he died of pneumonia. He was such a wonderful man," Angel replied, a tinge of sadness in his voice.
"Wow, that's...so sad," said Matt.
"Aye, it is," Angel replied. "But I know he's always with me, thanks to the memories I have of him. Memories like how he taught me to read and write, reading stories from the Bible to me every night before bed, and even taking me to the creek outside of the cottage we shared."
"Sounds like you had a great grandpa," Matt said. "I wish I had one like yours."
"You don't?" questioned Angel.
"Nah. My grandparents on my dad's side died when I was a newborn. My only surviving family members are on my mom's side in London and they want nothing to do with me," stated Matt.
"That's terrible!" exclaimed Angel. "You're all family. Why would they do that?"
"Because they're still mad at my mom for moving to America and marrying my dad," Matt stated matter of factually. "See, they wanted her to marry this snobbish rich guy they knew but she didn't want to. Then, she met my dad when he was vacationing there and they fell in love. This really ticked off her folks, so they disowned her. So, she left for America, married my dad, and I was born two years later."
"Then, what brought you back to England?" asked Angel.
"Well, they thought it'd be a good idea to show me where my mom grew up, so we vacationed there. Of course, it was cut short thanks to that wreck..." Matt trailed off.
Silence filled the room for what seemed like an hour but, in reality, was a minute. A muffled growling sound interrupted the silent atmosphere which caused Matt to clutch his stomach.
Angel chuckled lightly. "Ya hungry?"
"Yeah," Matt nodded.
"Well, breakfast should be ready soon. Wonder what time it is..." Angel proceeded to look at the clock; it was 8:10 in the morning.
"Whoa, look at the time!" Angel exclaimed, bolting up from the bed. "Five minutes 'til breakfast time! Come on, I'll show you where the dining hall is."
Angel proceeded to make a beeline toward the hallway until Matt got up to stop him.
"...Angel, wait!" Matt shouted.
Angel froze as he heard his name being called. He turned to Matt.
"Yes?" he asked.
"...Thanks...you know, for welcoming me here and talking to me," said Matt.
"Oh, you're welcome! I can already tell we're gonna be good friends," said Angel, smiling.
Matt nodded, also smiling, as he followed his new friend down the hallway.
At first, I didn't want to be here. I hated the idea of being in a new place with new people and a new identity. But since I met you, I found that it might not be as bad as I thought it'd be.
And that's Chapter 1. Yep, A's Irish in this story. Why, you ask? Well, 2 things:
1. There's nothing that says he isn't Irish.
2. (Main reason) It's a tribute to someone I knew when I was little. My dad took me to his work one day and he introduced me his work buddy, an Irish guy named Michael. Years later, he moved back to Ireland to be closer to his family after his sister died. Well, last year, he died in a hit and run accident; they still haven't caught the guy who hit him. Michael was such a nice guy.
Please read and review. Constructive criticism is welcomed.