Disclaimer: Sometimes I wish I could have the talent and discipline to create a manga this beautiful...instead I creating a work based off of something I do NOT own.

Story Arc 1: The Project

April 8th, 2004

Chapter 2

"Now that that is out of the way," Roger picked up his quill again, rubbing the nib against the lip of the ink bottle before settling it above the paper. "Tell me something about yourself."

I stared at him, "What?"

"Oh, anything dear." He smiled. "This is your time. We can talk about anything. Or everything, if you prefer." He set the quill down, leaning back in his chair, chuckling as if he were enjoying some private joke. "Some of the children use the time to vent, others for a sympathetic ear. A few just ask questions for research assignments."

I nodded, taking in the information. I was hesitant, but I still wanted to talk about my parents, so I moved my hands, creating the symbols for "I miss my Mom and Dad."

Roger nodded, his expression becoming grave, "I am very sorry." We sat for a moment in silence, the words hanging in the air.

I remembered, for a moment, the disgust I still had for that phrase. The words didn't solve anything, only serving to rip open the wound in my heart further. I was sorry. But being sorry implied that, being involved, you solve the solution using your mutual understanding of feeling and acceptance. Roger wasn't sorry, he pitied my circumstance.

"I dreamt of them last night," I sighed, bitterly refusing to look at him. "They were walking in the forest, holding hands."

"A memory?" He leaned forward, writing on the piece of paper.

I shook my head from side to side, desperately wishing it had been real. "Just a dream."

"Did they talk?"

I shook my head again. "Just walked." How I missed the voices of my parents.

"I see. It must have been nice to see them again."

Irritation rose in my throat, remembering his interruption earlier this morning. Had he not, I could still be in bed, watching my parents.

"It hurt more than anything."

I didn't blame Roger, and a logical part of my brain informed me of my inability of doing so. It knew where the dream would have turned—my beautiful dream, so full of love and memories, morphing into nightmares of. . .

I closed my eyes, allowing my hands to move on their own. "I wish I could see them again. I want them to be okay, to be safe—but something in the back of my head is telling me that they couldn't be, not after. . ." My hands froze, I couldn't allow myself to express this feeling into words.

"Of course," The voice was solemn, the deepness reverberating throughout the room. "It's normal to have doubts, but I'm sure they will find him."

I blinked at him, "How do you know that? Can you guarantee it?"

Roger chuckled, "Not only can I guarantee it, but I can wager with you. I'd bet my life." I felt a weight lift partially from my shoulders as he leaned forward, his quill resting in his hand, forgotten, ink dripping onto the desk. "Do you want to know a secret?"

I nodded, leaning forward. I felt silly, leaning as if he were going to whisper something scandalous into my ear.

"The person working on your case is a world renowned detective, named L."

I scanned through the list of names in my mind. I signed an 'L' to Roger, "Who would have a letter as a name?"

"Yes, Miss Flian. L." He nodded to my sign. "The greatest detective in world. His success rate is one hundred percent." Roger leaned back and began writing on the paper before glancing to the side. "Oh my." He squinted at the clock on the wall. "I have a meeting in a couple of minutes; would it be alright to end it here?"

"Yes sir," I signed, but on the inside I had so many more questions . . . there was so much that he still hadn't told me.

"Excellent. Don't be a stranger. If you need anything come straight to me. I'm almost always here." He stood, showing me to the door. "I expect you back in my office tomorrow tonight, at seven, please."

I nodded, glad to have the opportunity to come back to talk to him again.

He smiled, "Good, good!" Then the door closed, and I found myself out in the hallway.

Thoughts flew through my head. Who was L? A part of my brain provided the information Roger had given: L was the greatest detective in the world. Someone Roger thought could find my parents.

Happiness flowed through me at the thought, warming my heart as I walked down the hallway back to the grand staircase. If it were true, I would be home with my parents before I knew it! I felt a smile creep on to my face as I saw the familiar glow of the chandelier, and I rushed to stand beneath it, watching as the glittering lights danced above me.

I threw my head back to stare straight up into it and spun. The rotating lights were dazzling, small beautiful stars that circled around before my eyes. I giggled, basking in the simple pleasure this action brought me.

For a moment, I was reminded of laying beneath a Christmas tree, looking up to watch as the stranded lights sparkled. I could practically smell the pine—

"Hey, asshole!"

Something rammed into me, knocking me to the floor. I cried out as I fell face first, the hardwood painfully connecting with my nose. I stayed still for a moment, allowing the shock to go through my system.

Laughter echoed through the entrance way as feet pounded away. I hissed, clutching my face in both hands, attempting to gather myself from the floor.

God, what hit me? A train? I whined, the noise moving through my throat and nose, tweaking a damaged nerve; it grew quickly into a full blown headache. Frantically, I touched beneath my nose, searching for liquid and sighing in relief when I found the skin dry.

"Fuck, what the hell?!" A masculine voice lilted upwards, his voice breaking. I whipped my head around, searching for the source.

He was sprawled across the floor, clutching his head. Long, golden hair fell down around his face, the strands cascading through tanned fingers. His long limbs were confined in a loose tee and dark jeans, which hugged his frame.

"Fucking Matt!" He growled, flipping his hair back. Blue eyes glowed with anger, his features etched severely into a scowl. His glare pierced into me, "Who the fuck are you?"

I felt my temper rise. I shrugged, making to stand, wanting to put as much distance between me and the boy as possible. Why was he angry when I was the one who had been plowed into?

"Fuck you, don't just ignore me."

I huffed, rolling my eyes at his language and began to climb the staircase, using the banister for support.

"Hey, bitch!" I peered over my shoulder, watching him as he jumped up and strode up behind me. "What the fuck do you think you're doing, walking away from me?"

I continued up the stairs, his footsteps following along behind mine.

"I'm talking to you!"

I stepped onto the landing, turning to walk down my hall.

"Don't just walk away!" Was it possible to find a voice more piercing? The decibel made my head pound, the sound pulsating in my ears. My feet went faster, trying to carry me away from the boy trailing behind me.

"God, what are you? Mute? What the hell is—" A hand caught my shoulder, but I was already spinning around to face him, stunning him to silence mid-sentence.

I began gesturing wildly, my hands flying in front of his face, forming symbols. "Your language is offensive. Knock it off."

For a moment his eyes widened, not knowing what to make of what was happening in front of his face. Then, as his eyes flickered with recognition, his scowl crawled back onto his face.

"So you can hear!"

"Ya? Good job, goldilocks. What gave you a hint?"

"Fuck you," He crossed his arms, cocking his head to the side, squinting at me, his blue eyes calculating. "Then you should be able to talk, if you can hear me . . . tongue-less?"

I shook my head. Frustration replaced the happiness I had felt earlier and deflated my good mood drastically. "It's none of your business."

"Everything is my business," He crossed his arms, a smug smile stretching across his face.

I shook my head, "Like you could make me talk."

His grin turned devious. "You want to bet?"

"No." I frowned and walked away, eager to escape his arrogance.

"Secrets don't make friends, Miss Flian!" He called after me. A shiver raced up my spine. I froze and then whirled around but found no boy standing at the top of the stairs.

Edit 1/25/2015: This edit has been brought to you by the magnificent gamegirl07. I am eternally grateful for the work and dedication she has given to make this chapter that much closer to perfection.

Edit 7/5/2015: InkstainedHands1177 edited this chapter, fixed small imperfections and such! Go read what they have, their writing is awesome!