A/N:Hola. Revised version of chapter 2. Last of the revisions. Little explanation about the revisions. I wrote up a profile of Mello's captor then read back over this and went "Mello is taking this waaaay too well." You'll see what I mean as the story goes on. Thanks for your patience. Also, the underlined stuff in quotes is Mello speaking in Polish. I don't speak Polish and I doubt that many of you do either, so it's in English to make things easier for all involved. And the King James version of the Bible is in Shakespearian English. On with the chapter.

Thank you to Nanairo Suishou for reviewing!

Warning:Name spoilers for Mello.

Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note.


The first thing Mihael, or Mello as he supposed he was now called, did when he was sure Roger was gone was wrench the mirror from the back of the door. It wasn't an easy task and he nearly dropped it, but he got it down. He then opened the door, ignoring his shock at finding it unlocked, and pitched the mirror out into the hallway as hard as he could, listening with a small amount of satisfaction as it shattered. He did not want a mirror in the room, did not want to see his reflection. He looked too much like all the others and he couldn't stand the sight of himself anymore.

The next thing he did was to sit down at the desk and read over a few of his favourite bible verses to calm his nerves. This Bible was one of his most prized possessions. The other was his rosary. He had come from a Catholic family and both of these things had been gifts. The rosary had been his mother's. His father had given it to him on his fifth birthday. He had said that Mihael should have it because that's what his mother would have wanted. He had never known his mother, as she had died due to complications in childbirth, but his father had always likened her to an angel. That was why Mihael had been given the name he had. It was the name of one of the archangels. The Bible had been a gift from his father on the last birthday they had spent as a family. It was in Shakespearian English and it had been a challenge of sorts. Mihael's father had known his son was brilliant, so he had begun teaching him other things besides what he was learning in school. Part of that was English and Latin. Latin because they were Catholic and English because his father insisted it would be useful someday. If only he had known how right he was.

Mello didn't feel like translating at the moment, so he chose the green lines of text over the blue lines or the printed lines. During his two and a half year captivity he had managed to procure pens in different colours and had spent most of his time translating the Bible into Latin and Polish, his native language. The following year in the asylum had been spent checking and rechecking his translations, since he had done them without any references.

Quietly he skimmed through the pages until he found the verse he was looking for. He could have recited it from memory in Latin or Polish – he could only read and write English fluently and still had trouble speaking and understanding – but he preferred to read it from the Holy Book instead.

"The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want," he murmured as he read. This verse wasn't his favourite, but it always made him feel better. "He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; He leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul; He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His name's sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil, for Thou art with me. Thy rod and Thy staff, they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies. Thou anoinest my head with oil, my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever."

He finished the reading with a whispered "Amen" and closed the Bible before he set to unpacking his few possessions.


Mello found himself feeling more than a little apprehensive about dinner. The house and the children had brought back a multitude of unpleasant memories and the sight of his reflection had only made things worse. He couldn't repress a shiver at the thought of the meals he had been given during his captivity. The very thought nearly made him retch as the faces of several of the other boys came to mind. There was no way to rule out the possibility that the food was drugged, or poisoned, or worse.

Silently he resolved that he would go to dinner, but he would not eat anything. Mostly he wanted to get a better look at the house and see exactly what he was up against should he need to escape. He would have to be watchful, though, he reasoned, as he was already on the caretaker's bad side. That was because of the shattered mirror in the hallway. He had known it would be stupid to break the thing, but he had done it anyway and now he was seriously regretting his decision. Also, he wasn't sure if he could trust the other children. He had, on more than one occasion during his captivity, betrayed one of the other boys in order to save his own life.

Then there was the language barrier. He spoke Polish fluently and Latin very nearly so, but his English was broken at best. He could read the language with ease, but he didn't speak very well. He was certain he would have trouble communicating. He doubted very many of the children here, if any at all, would speak Polish and speaking to the adults was out of the question until he was sure of their motives. Latin, he reasoned, was a dead language and would therefore do him absolutely no good unless he wanted to spook a would-be attacker. It had worked before and he knew there was always a possibility that it would work again.

Finally he gathered his resolve and as quietly as he could he made his way down the hall to the stairs, trying to remember where the dining hall was. Once he finally reached the large room, however, he quickly changed his mind. There were too many people. He didn't feel safe there. He turned around and headed back to his room before he even made it across the threshold. The only good thing was that the corridors seemed deserted as he made his way back. He only ran into one person, that strange white haired kid he had seen earlier, and the kid seemed content just to ignore him.

He did see one other person, but he only caught a glimpse of them. All he saw was stripes and a pair of goggle covered eyes peering at him from beneath a mop of auburn hair in an open doorway down the hall, but when he blinked the door was closed and the kid was gone, leaving him wondering if he had even been there at all. Mello just shook his head and went into his room, closing the door on the rest of the world before turning once again to prayer.