A/N: Oh wow. Hiiiiiii, you guys! How ya been? How's the family? Is that a new hair cut? Gee, you look great.

. . . . . . erm. Yeah. In case no one has looked at the long excuse on my profile, I moved out of the 'rents house, started my junior year at college 5 hours away from home, etc, etc. Yeah. Major life changes, for sure.

Probably not good enough, huh? Yeah, figured.

Ooookay. Sooooo. To all my AoD readers, nope, not dead. I would be if certain AoD reviewers had my home address, but no, I'm still alive. And y'all should expect the update soon. Seriously. Me updating this story is a good thing. It shows I'm starting to get back into the swing of writing again. Yeah.

Uh but anyway.

Yay! Here's the next chapter to SoS! (It's been half finished for, like, a month. It was easier to update this one first.) :O


The Sound of Silence

Missing


"Hello darkness, my old friend,
I've come to talk with you again,
Because a vision softly creeping,
Left its seeds while I was sleeping,
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence."

- Simon and Garfunkel "The Sound of Silence"


It was quiet.

Light pulled the covers over his head, blocking out the early morning sun that filtered in through his blinds. His body ached and protested at every small movement, so Light tried to stay as still as he possibly could, but . . .

He couldn't hear anything.

The once familiar noises of his family getting ready for the day had ceased. He heard the front door slam an hour ago. That had been his father leaving for Headquarters. His mother had clanged dishes in the kitchen for close to twenty minutes, no doubt preparing breakfast for Sayu, but even those noises had bleed away when his mother had taken Sayu to school.

No one had knocked on his door. His father hadn't asked him when he'd be at Headquarters. His mother hadn't even offered him breakfast. This led Light to the conclusion that his sister hadn't mentioned him coming home. She was probably upset with him.

And while he certainly didn't want to see anyone, the silence of the house was unnerving, and Light didn't understand why it was so.

Light twisted his head minutely, trying to find a better place for it to rest on the pillow. He had a feeling that he was supposed to be doing something – something important, but his thoughts were disjointed.

Didn't he have plans? Didn't he have a plan?

It was a barely realized concious thought that flitted away to the dark recesses of his mind just as quickly as it came.

. . . And then Light found himself in the shower.

He didn't exactly remember how he got there, but the pain of the water hitting his knife wounds brought him back to an awareness he hadn't even realized he'd lost, and in normal circumstances, he would have been highly unsettled by this. But now? He just . . . wasn't.

The water was shockingly cold. Light stared blankly at the shower head for a moment before realizing what he had do in order to make the water warm. He twisted a knob all the way to the far left. Immediately the cold was replaced by hot, but the sudden warmth made him tired. So tired that he didn't even have the strength to stand anymore. He sank to his knees before gently easing himself in a sitting position. It hurt.

Light watched the water swirl around the drain dispassionately, and he felt a muted sort of kinship with cold metal. He felt like someone had pulled a plug somewhere deep within, and he was just . . . draining away.

It was strange, and it was numb, almost.

Yes. That was it.

He felt numb.


Light awoke with a start, striking out at an attacker that existed only within his mind. It took him a moment to realize that he was alone in his bed, and it took even longer for him to slow his shallow breathing, lest he hyperventilate.

Once he had calmed, Light soon began to shiver violently. The control which he had only just gained had slipped away just as quickly as it had come. Really, it felt like everything was slipping away, and no matter how hard he tried, he wasn't able to catch it.

Maybe there was something wrong with his hands?

Light held up a hand, looking at it with widened eyes. With no small amount of suprise, he realized that there was something wrong with his hand. It looked and felt almost alien – like it didn't belong to him, and it wouldn't stop shaking no matter how much he willed it to.

He felt a harsh twist in his stomach. Fear. He was scared. He couldn't stop the shivering, he couldn't stop the numbness, and he couldn't stop the fear – just like he wasn't able to stop –

". . . hush, little pretty."

Light gasped, and slammed his eyes shut. His shivering, if possible, only intensified.

It was close to an hour later, when his shaking had just about ceased, that Light felt a pressure in his lower abdomen. It was then that Light realized he truly had no control, and no matter what sort of delusions he may have entertained in the past, he never really had.

It was only more proof to the point. Light was not God. He was a lowly human, as much a slave to his body as every other human on the planet. God did not have to worry about the pressing matter making itself known in his lower abdomen, and Light would never truly be God as long as he was in this torn and useless body that demanded so much from him.

But why did it have to hurt so badly? And why did there have to be so much blood?

Light flushed the toilet and stumbled back to his room, only to crawl gingerly into his bed.

However, no matter how hard he tried, Light could not get back to sleep. Instead, he stared at the lazy swirls of the ceiling, determined not to think about anything but the patterns, and eventually the patterns began to fade away.

His mind was blissfully blank, lost in the senseless swirls.


A moment of clarity found Light back in the bathroom. He cautiously prodded his rectum, grimacing at the stinging pain, and applied a healthy dose of antiseptic cream. He washed his hands vigorously afterwards, and tried to quell the urge to strip his clothes and take another shower. He had already had two, and while a third was appealing, Light didn't have the energy.

Tackling the cuts on his back was a whole nother issue, but he managed. The wound screamed at him with every minute movement, but it already scabbed over.

He went back to bed.

As he eased himself back under the covers, taking special care where his wounds were concerned, Light suddenly wondered what was happening back at Headquarters. His father, at the very least, was probably worried. L was more than likely suspicious of his absence. Hopefully they would think that Light was taking a well deserved break. He had been handcuffed to L for months, after all. It was only logical that he would want some time away.

Besides, for all intents and purposes, the Kira case was virtually solved. Since the other notebook was still buried, there would be no more killings.

Maybe that was a good thing. Only God should have the power of judgement.

And Light was not God.

Nevertheless, he sent his father a text message, punching the buttons with shakey, but determined fingers.

He was at home, and he was sick.

Breif, to the point, and hopefully allowing him his peace.


The sound of a door slamming jarred him awake.

One look at the nightstand, and Light knew that it must have been Sayu home from school. She usually walked herself home in the afternoons. His father would still be at Headquarters, and Light wasn't sure if his mother was home or not. If she was, he hadn't heard her come in.

Light briefly wondered if he should try and eat something, but the thought of food made his naseous.

Instead, he gingerly turned onto his other side and closed his eyes.


Night had fallen hours ago.

Light was staring at the ceiling once again.

The small beams of street light that bled through his blinds created shadows in his room, and if Light let his mind linger, then the shadows would morph themselves into terrifying figures.

When this happened, he'd close his eyes and find a distraction before the whispers began.

When trying to find the convert polar to rectangular coordinates, if given equation B, then R = sqrt [x^2 +y^4] = sqrt [23.2 + 1.292] = (32) = 21 sqrt (5). If F of X is equal to or greater than -

Light would continue to solve trigonomic equations in his head for some minutes until the fear abated, and this proved to be a good way for Light to regain some semblance of control. He sighed, opening his eyes to the shadows yet again, feeling more tired and defeated than he ever had before.


It was morning. Again. His second day at home, and he hadn't seen a soul since the night he arrived. It was like nobody knew he was up here. Light figured that it wasn't so farfetched that this was the case. It had to be, or otherwise his mother would have been up here yesterday morning.

He knew Sayu wouldn't mention him. More than likely she was under the impression that Light had left. His father was another story altogether. He had expected the man to at least call once he had received Light's text message.

He checked his phone, frowning when he realized that it had gone dead. The charger was back at Headquarters.

But then Light decided that he didn't care. He didn't care that no one had bothered to check in on him. He didn't care at all, and he even preferred it that way. He didn't want anybody to see how broken and useless and disgusting he was. Nobody at all.

He stared at the ceiling.


On his third day at home, sometime in the afternoon, Light decided that he was going to eat something. He still wasn't interested in eating, per se, but he felt that it was worth a try nonetheless.

However, his new found resolve took a hit at around the fourth bite of leftover pork cutlet. He vomitted in the sink.

"Oh my God! Are you okay?"

Light wearily lifted his head. His sister was staring at him wide eyed, still holding her school bag in one hand. He hadn't heard her come in. Light let his head fall back into the sink, feeling the nausea roll through him.

"Yeah," he mumbled, his voice muffled.

Sayu came up behind him and gently rubbed his back in soothing circles. Light tensed at the unexpected contact. She was too close to the cuts, and having someone touch him was . . . hard. But Sayu didn't notice how rigid Light had become.

"When did you get back?" she asked.

"I never left," breathed Light. He squeezed his eyes shut as another bout of nausea attacked him, and this time he was sure that it was from Sayu's gentle hand on his back.

"You never left?! You mean you've been upstairs since the other night? How come you haven't come down? I thought you left again," prodded Sayu, looking for an explanation.

Light stood up fully, grabbing a kitchen towel to wipe his mouth. His movemet caused Sayu to stop touching him, and he moved away from her reaching hands. He sat down at the kitchen table, suddenly too weary to stand, and grimaced at the plate of leftovers still on the table. He pushed it away.

"Yes, I never left. I've been sick."

"Obviously," shot Sayu, her voice sharp and hands going to her hips.

This move startled Light. When had Sayu become so much like his mother?

"Well, since you're sick, you need to go back to bed. I'll bring you up some water and crackers. And some Tylenol," added Sayu, as an afterthought. She ushered him up from his chair, seeming to ignore the way Light flinched away from her hand on his arm.

Light didn't protest, besides extracting his arm from his sister's grasp, and let himself be led back to his room. He climbed into bed, and his sore body protested. Sayu delivered the promised amenities and then quietly excused herself.

The encounter had exhausted him. Emotionally more than physically, but exhausting all the same. Light still couldn't shake the feeling that if he had been around Sayu long enough, she would have been able to tell. She'd see what was wrong, and then she'd know.

He didn't want anyone to know.

Light spent the rest of the afternoon trying to think logically about his situation, which proved to be easier said than done. It was easy to stare mindlessly at the ceiling, numbing the despair and horror that caressed the edges of his mind, rather than attempt to come to terms with it. But three days had given Light a chance to regain a small semblance of control, and no matter how much he wanted to, he couldn't hide in his room forever.

There were things he knew now – things that had alluded him before. First of all – and a small voice in the back of his head took sadistic pleasure in contantly reminding him – he was not God. He had no right to be Kira anymore, because he was human, and a human's judgement was inherently as flawed as the human himself.

And if any human was flawed, it was Light. He saw it everytime he looked in the mirror.

Kira was dead. The Death Note would stay buried. L would take care of the second notebook, and Light would shut this chapter in his life. He would go back to college and figure it out from there.

A soft murmuring started in head, phantom pains tingled, but Light stopped it before it could take hold. No. He would not let that bastard fuck him over again. He was nothing but a cruel, taunting memory now.

Light may not be God – Kira – but he was still Light Yagami, and Light Yagami would not be beaten again.

He felt better, now that he had a plan.

Much better.


Light jerked awake, barely stifling the scream that threatened to escape, and sobbed.

"No, no, no, no, no . . . ."

He could feel it. Hands. They were everywhere. Touching, pulling, caressing – Light shuddered, his sobs violent now, muffled by the pillow.

". . . little pretty."

His wounds burned. His body ached, and his stomach protested. He felt dizzy, and his heart was fluttering, but he could only hold onto his pillow, his breathing shallow and gasping, sobbing out the fear and pain that woudn't leave him be.

He didn't feel better anymore.


Soichirou Yagami was, by nature, a patient man.

This changed when he discovered that his son had gone missing.

And it didn't help that his son's disappearence just happened to coincide with the disappearence of the Death Note.

"He really was Kira, wasn't he?" asked Soichirou, his head bowing in defeat.

Mogi and Aizawa exchanged uneasy looks. Matsuda stared down at his shoes. L's eyes never left the great wall of computer screens, each one showing a different angle of surveillance. However, one screen remained persistently grey.

"I have been under that impression for many months now," murmured L, his eyes narrowed at the blank screen.

Soichirou grimaced.

"Damnit, Ryuuzaki. You could show a little more tact," growled Aizawa, stepping forward with fists clenched.

"Whether I possess tact or not is irrelevent. What is relevent is locating Light and the Death Note before he picks up where he left off, and the body count rises," replied L, rolling a sugar cube between his fingers, his eyes never leaving the grey screen.

"So we don't have any idea how that camera went out?" asked Matsuda at length, once the man became uncomfortable at the tense silence that had followed L's reply.

"I had Watari check the camera when nothing proved amiss with the computers. It appears that a piece of wiring in the walls connecting that particular camera to the suveillance system is missing."

"So Light somehow jerked the wires out, cutting off the feed?" asked Matsuda.

"No. The wall is intact. Light left here the other night, and he did not come back. I have checked the surveillance system myself. There is no signs of tampering besides the obvious. I suspect that Light had help, possibly on the inside," said L, dropping the sugar cube that had been preoccupying his fingers into his tea cup It made a small 'plop.'

"Wha – What? You mean someone here helped him get the Death Note?" gasped Matsuda.

L cut his eyes, regarding the shocked man with an air of impatience. "Not quite. The shinigami is gone. I believe that it had a hand in disabling the camera and retrieving the notebook."

"That makes sense," mumbled Aizawa. Mogi nodded his agreement, and Matsuda breathed an exaggerated sigh of relief.

Soichirou hadn't lifted his head once.

"I want tweny-four hour surveillance on Amane. Aizawa, Matsuda – I don't want her to know you're watching. Light may contact her, or vice versa, and I hope that she can lead us to him. Watari has a car prepared for you both. He's waiting in the garage," said L. He stirred his tea slowly.

Aizawa nodded brusquely, and left, Matsuda stumbling after him.

"Mogi. I need you to continue as you have been on the criminal database. And Yagami –"

Soichirou looked up.

" – Go home. Take a few days to come to terms with this turn of events, and then come back," ordered L.

Soichirou sighed, but stood up to leave anyway, only glancing back briefly at the man who had gone back to staring at surveillance video.

He didn't know how he would tell Sachiko.


A/N: Whew. Okay. Now that THAT'S over with, I gotta go study for my Japanese midterm. Ugh, damnit. It's almost 3AM. FML.

AND say something you guys!!! :D