Itsi-bitsy Note: Thanks for the helpful reviews, minna-san. Sorry for the late update. Thank you, The WRITER and her CRAFT, for encouraging me all the way. :)
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-: Chapter Two :-
-- Wammy's House --
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Dan looked from L to Roger, then did it again, as if watching a tennis rally. There was a very uncomfortable silence in the room, where his two other companions were locked in a very intense staring match. After another moment of awkwardness, he decided to shatter the quiet by coughing at his fist.
And it was effective; Roger looked at him distractedly, while L blinked back to his senses.
"So, um, you know each other?" Dan clarified.
L turned to him and frowned heavily, but did not say anything. It was Roger who replied.
"In a way," he said, in his usual mysterious air. "But he had known me not as the Head of Wammy's House, but as a—"
"Innocent old neighbor," L finished with distaste. He was clearly mad at something. "At least, that's what you've been telling me whenever I asked you."
"So you knew all along, am I correct? My true identity?" Roger said to L smilingly. "As expected."
"This Wammy's House is actually a secret organization, isn't it?" L said in a very low voice. "Nobody outside this orphanage knew where or even what it was, and when I searched in the web, there were no results—except, of sites profiling a certain man named Quillsh Wammy." He paused to let the words sink in.
Dan's mouth was slightly open. "But how can you access the internet? You're only eight years old and only those thirteen and above are allowed to use the computer. Unless—" he narrowed his eyes "—you used one without permission?"
L had perched himself on a chair in front of Roger's desk, his knees brushing his chin. His owlish eyes pierced into Dan's half-revolting face. "You can say that," he said matter-of-factly.
"And you let him?" Dan said, more incredulously, this time to Roger. "Everybody knows how tight security here is."
Roger's smile widened. "Oh, but sometimes it can't be helped that some would be able to slip in."
Dan looked like he was biting back a retort. He breathed deeply. "How did you know each other?"
It was a moment before anyone said anything. Finally, Roger said, "I used to work somewhere in England before I came here. I happened to live…ahh…across L's former residence."
Dan found the fact that L had a former permanent residence more shocking than the fact that Roger had a life before he became the Head of Wammy's House. "…L's former residence?" He looked at the shorter boy beside him and searched his face for any reaction. Even if he could interpret some of his movements, he still found him particularly hard to read. "You're with your family?"
L didn't reply as usual.
"Most of us here in Wammy's House just wake up and find ourselves as street children," Dan continued, as if just stating that day's weather. "In some cases, they were so deeply traumatized by whatever past they had that they end up amnesiac or mildly off their rocker." He shrugged. "It's just…weird, to know someone here knew who his real family were." He finished somewhat lamely.
Roger's expression was almost understanding. "Ahh…I get your point, Dan. But you are very much mistaken: L wasn't living with his family." He paused, catching L's eye, silently asking if he could continue sharing what he knew was something personal for the young boy.
Expectedly, L didn't like where the conversation was going, so he glared at Roger. "You called for us?" he said pointedly, changing the topic.
Lucky for him, Dan and Roger respected his privacy and obeyed him. "Yes, I did," Roger said.
There was a short pause.
"Well?" Dan said impatiently. It was obvious that Roger was buying as much time as possible.
L had to admit he was beginning to lose his cool, too. For two weeks he wondered endlessly of the mystery that was the Wammy's House, and he wasn't used being kept in the dark that long at all. It was disappointing to realize that he still couldn't put the pieces together. "How long do you still want to stall, Mr. Roger?" he asked monotonously.
Roger chuckled, but his face quickly reverted back to its exhausted, serious look once it died out. "Now I shall entertain questions from you, L, before I state your purpose. Blow it." He suddenly looked a bit grim.
"What is this Wammy's House? Where does it get all the great financial backup? Why of all orphans, they choose to admit ones like us? And why do people keep disappearing?" L said without pausing to breathe. "I have a right to know."
"Of course you have," Roger said. "Nobody said you don't." He sighed and rested his chin on his interlocked hands. "The Wammy's House as what was stated to you is an institute that aims for proper care and protection of welfare towards intellectually-gifted orphans. However," he quickly chimed in, seeing L's attempt of interruption, "you are right, L. This is more than that. Are you familiar with Quillsh Wammy's achievements?"
There was a short pause, before L said, "He is an inventor and had made many contributions to both the EU and USA, and he is the founder of Wammy's House."
Roger nodded. "But did you know that he had worked for FBI and CIA as a tactician and spy? That he is one of the masterminds of the investigation of the most celebrated cases?" He stared at L, who had taken into biting his thumb again. "And what was the reason why he established Wammy's House in the first place?" He grinned, more to himself than to anybody else.
Dan rolled his eyes. It seemed that he already knew what Roger was saying. "Quillsh Wammy is developing children that he hoped would be of use to various organizations in the future," he said. "Or, if not, to succeed him. For him, this job is better for those who don't have any living blood relatives, so that they wouldn't give grief to them or sometimes so that no one can be used against them. And orphans, the rejected people, are most fit to it, because of the sad fact that no one will get hurt when they die; no one's waiting for them anyway."
"Well said, Dan."
"Cheers."
"Wammy's House is connected to various government agencies throughout the world," Roger continued. "Because of Quillsh Wammy."
L's scowl deepened. "So this institution is supported by the government?"
"In a way," Roger said. "This is still a private property, thus we generally get our funds from Quillsh Wammy himself, but we do receive ample donations from the government."
"And by ample donations, he meant the up-to-date technology that was supposed to be solely for the military," Dan piped up.
"In exchange," Roger said, "we send out some of our lot to different military bases to be of service. And that explains the disappearances of some of the children here."
There was a short pause.
"So where was Khai assigned?" L asked, finally.
Roger blinked. "Khai? Let's see…" He thought for a while. "Ah. He's in Russia right now, housed and trained by the Russian Federal Space Agency. Your friend has an exceptional talent in rocketry, L."
He's not a friend, L thought, and restrained himself from saying it aloud.
Another moment of silence ensued, where everyone was lost in their own thoughts. L's train of thoughts was running in the speed of light. If that's the case, the reason why we're called here is…
As though he had read his mind, Roger suddenly said, "I guess we'll get down to business, shall we?"
Dan raised his hands in mock celebration. "Finally."
"You might have guessed it already," Roger said. "But I'll still say it anyway." He smiled, and this time, it was warm and fatherly. "I offer my congratulations. In six moths' time, both of you will be meeting up with Quillsh Wammy to talk about which agency you will be most fitted to be in."
o x o x o x o x o
L was sitting on his bed in the awkward position he preferred, his dark wide eyes boring on the high ceiling of the plain room. He had this quarter all for himself, even if another bed was positioned across his, patiently waiting for his never-coming roommate. The walls were white and solid; L even thought it was sound-proof. A desk stood against the wall across his right; it was heavily loaded with one-foot stacks of papers. Other than that, the large closet, a bedside table that was between the two beds (which held a lamp, a cordless phone, and some paper and pen), a wall clock, and Venetian blinds next to the unoccupied bed, the room was void of anything. It was neat and organized-looking though; the AC unit hummed lowly from a corner.
It had been three days since that encounter with Roger. The moment he and Dan went back to the foyer, which was some sort of hang-out for the Wammy children, the others seem not to notice them, though L distinctly saw some of them give them short glances, and some unnoticeably follow their progress out of the corners of their eyes. They must have known, he had concluded, what had transpired.
Suddenly, the speaker, which was fixed at the farthest corner up against the ceiling, crackled into life, and a female voice rang throughout the room, bringing L back to his senses. "Dinner will be served in ten minutes. Children, please proceed to the dining hall immediately." She told the same statement again, and L didn't wait for her to finish and hopped onto his feet, slipping in his sneakers and lumbering out of the room.
Once he reached the buffet table he immediately went to the desserts and sweets corner, and practically raided all the mousse cakes that were that evening's dish. He paused when he felt someone stop short behind him. He looked back, and noncommittally took a step backward.
It was Madame Crane, the chief chef. She was a beefy woman always seen wearing a horrible pink apron, like right now. Her sharp eyes were eyeing L testily.
"You shouldn't eat all of those, boy," she said in a booming voice. "The cakes are divided evenly among all the children. One could only have until two slices. And I see you've got eight."
"But I didn't get from the Main Course table," L said defensively, peering up at the woman. "That should make up for it."
Madame Crane blinked, mildly surprised at being answered back by a child. "Too much sweet is no good," she said, nevertheless. "Continue like that and you'll die of diabetes in two years. Now be a nice boy and eat proper food." She made to grab the cakes, but L suddenly scooted away from her, wearing an indignant face.
"Cakes are delicious," he said coldly. "What makes them improper food?"
"It's improper because you haven't eaten anything else yet!" Madame Crane screeched, and it gained the attention of those nearby.
"What's the difference?" L retorted, and stepped farther when Madame Crane stepped forward. "I'm not eating grass, if that's what you want me to do." He pointed an accusing finger to the appetizers table, where they served Caesar Salad.
Madame Crane closed her eyes, as if praying for more patience, and in a quick movement launched forward and grabbed L's shoulder. Being a large woman, she was able to keep him in place using one hand, while her other one confiscated L's cakes. L fought, but still lost in the end.
Madame Crane clicked her tongue as she leaned back, all cakes in her arms. "What you need is discipline, kid. Look at you! We don't want outsiders having misconceptions as to how we treat children here, do we?" With that, she walked away.
L balled his fists. In frustration, he stomped his foot and stiffly walked back to his room, head bowed and hands deep in his pockets. He was murmuring words that sounded like empty threats, and not until he had left the dining hall that he angrily gripped his dark, messy hair and said out loud, "I want my cake back!"
At the same time, in a dark room where countless monitors showed every corner of the Wammy's House, Watari, who was sitting and watching the particular screen which showed L whining about his confiscated cakes, chortled amiably.
"At least I can tell that he's really only a child," he said to himself, before sipping on his lemon tea.
o x o x o x o x o
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