Chapter Three
Clouds
"An earthquake achieves what the law promises but does not in practice maintain — the equality of all men." -Ignazio Silone
It was not the first time that Light had attended a sentencing hearing. It wasn't even the first time he'd attended one in this suit. After he'd realized how the system could fail the world so completely even when everything went well, he'd decided to take a more active approach. When he was not content to leave well enough alone, he came to the sentencing trial. When he was not certain that the criminal he'd handed them on a silver platter was going to be served the justice he deserved.
In the case of murderer, rapist and cocaine-addict Yuko Kamimura, there was more than a chance. No one wanted to be the judge that hung the first born son of a prominent family.
He'd made friends with more than one prosecutor during his short time with the NPA, and when he unexpectedly showed up for a hearing now and again, but none quite as eager or equip to help him as Teru Mikami.
However passionate the prosecutor was, however clever, book smart and good at his job, at convincing a jury, he came on too strong to appeal to the judge when it came time to decide on the sentense. He'd done so on more than one occasion, drilling the death penalty home so fervently that a few judges had become more lenient than they had originally been inclined to.
Which was where Light came in.
"Mikami-san," Light greeted, bowing just slightly to the Beta before him. "You're early."
"You're earlier," commented the bespectacled man, in the low, near-monotone that he'd had ever since Light had been introduced to him. His eyes were intense even behind his glasses, a cool gaze that didn't tone down the volume even when his own broke away. "I came to rehearse."
"You're a natural speaker," Light complimented graciously, and the stoic man straightened just slightly.
"I want to do your words justice, Yagami-san."
The wording was vaguely amusing, as 'justice' was one word that Light's speeches tended to center around. This would be the sixth that Light had written for Teru Mikami all out. Although in the beginning, he'd simply stuck up a conversation with him in order to implant a few ideas, subtly showing him how to rephrase his words, it had become standard for them to email back and forth. The first time, Light had merely written an email with his thoughts on the case at hand, expecting Teru to draw from it when he wrote his own argument.
He'd attended the hearing and was surprised to find that Teru practically repeated him word for word.
"You always do, Mikami-san."
"It helps that your ideals are almost identical to my own," continued the attorney, intent on flattery. "Your way with words helps convey our convictions in a way that my own do not."
"Anything to help put Yuko away," Light nodded, offering the man a smile with a hint of modesty, one that he knew was fetching and earnest. Designed to hide the fact that what he really meant was 'put Yuko down'.
It wasn't long after that they were joined by the Toya family, consisting of the deceased girl's mother, father and older brother. They were an ideal average family, with an Omegan father and Alpha mother. Their son had presented as Alpha—though Light could only smell him vaguely, and only because his scent was young and therefore potent. Their daughter had not yet presented. She'd been too young.
Light bowed to them, ignoring the tears that were threatening to spill in the father's eyes. The mother stayed by his side and the son seethed behind them, torn between misery and anger. Polite conversation ensued, condolences and reassurances, platitudes that Light was used to spouting in an effort to appear like the normal, kind-hearted detective that the family knew him to be.
It was not that Light did not feel for them. It was just that his attention had never been on the victims –if it had, he would have become a grief counselor. His focus was on the criminal.
The family of the other victim had chosen not to come to the hearing. Many families couldn't bear to look at the villain who had taken their child away from them. In fact, he was surprised that the Omega father had come, but it appeared he was trying his best to be strong, although it was taking a great deal of physical comfort from his Alpha to hold it together. She had not taken her arm from around his shoulders, and when they sat down in the pews a few rows ahead of him he saw the tender stroking of his hair. He could even hear the low cooing.
Although he'd blatantly lied to his family about seeing Takada today, it was not untrue that he had dated her throughout college. It was a casual thing, coffee dates and movies and dinners. Her interest in him had been uncomfortable due to the fact that, in essence, it could have actually worked out if he'd told her his secret.
If he'd wanted, the Alpha would have bonded him a heartbeat. It could have been an ideal coupling, if Light had truly been a Beta—no children for either of them. No real dynamics that might give her the upper hand.
While she'd always seemed somewhat irritated by the majority of typical, over-the-top Omega behavior, she'd adored him as a Beta (which was not saying much, Light was fairly used to the admiration of others), but she was quiet, almost regal about it, and for a while Light had been horrified that she might know. She'd never touched him the way an Alpha would an Omega, however, never stroked his hair or wrapped her arm around him or brushed her fingers over the scent gland in his neck.
He'd ended it when he'd left college and he was fairly certain, however high she'd held her head walking away from him, he'd broken her heart. A strand of disgust and muted longing twisted together within him, neither one truly winning out over the other. Pride stepped in, though, and cut them both down.
Light grit his teeth, averted his eyes and shoved the stupid, stupid feeling away. Suppressants could not account for all things.
The proceedings went on in their formal fashion. Yuko was brought out by two large Alpha guards, as he was a rather large one himself. The handcuffs were not removed, but he was allowed to sit next to his attorney while the security officers stepped back. Even from behind him, Light could tell by Yuko's posture that there was not an ounce of regret in any fiber of his body. Next the judge entered through his private entrance and seated himself behind his wooden throne.
The prosecution spoke first, which could be a disadvantage, and often was. He turned his attention to Teru as he stood up, not bothering with notes, speaking concisely but also sincerely.
"I did not come to speak of vengeance for the Nimura or Toya family." It was important to put a name to the girls, rather than just calling them the victims, and to gently prod the word 'family' into the judge's mind. "I'm here to impress upon the facts, so that we may all reflect on the seriousness of the murderer's crimes so that justice is served."
A passive way to say it. As if justice could serve itself.
As if the man behind the bench and the lawyers themselves held no responsibility, like nothing they could do could change the outcome. It implied justice was not a truth, that it was a meaningless, malleable concept with no ties to reality whatsoever.
However, it sounded much better than 'this man must die'.
"And so what do we know about this particular murderer?"
Humanize the victim, but dehumanize the assailant. Perhaps that would drill it into the judge's head how insane it would be not make sure this man suffered for his crimes. It wasn't fighting fire with fire; it was fighting fire with water. He would put devil out.
"We know that this murder was premeditated."
Light had proven that by finding the second cell phone, filled with pictures of each of the girls from months prior to their deaths. That had been his claim to fame, so to speak. The other members of the team had completely discredited the idea of a second, and not only had Light figured out that there was, he'd found it.
"We know that it was cruel beyond measure."
That part was more about appealing to the judge's sympathy. It had been a methodically brutal assault of two teenagers, so he wasn't exactly stretching the truth. Only one of them had presented, just barely, an Omega fresh out of her second or third heat.
"We know that he fled from police. We know that he has destroyed two families."
The father made a pitiful sound and buried his face in the neck of his wife. In turn, she tightened her hold on him and whispered into his ear, in the tone that Alphas used to sooth supposedly 'hysterical' Omegas. Even as immune as Light was to the rest of his biology due to his medication, that tone had always struck a chord in him.
He loathed it.
"It is our responsibility, in turn, to make sure that they do not live in fear that their daughter's killer may be released now, or ever."
There was a quiet after Mikami spoke that nearly rang throughout the room. It was good, he'd done well, but the defense attorney did not seem phased. The judge thanked him for his input, and then allowed for the defense's closing remarks.
It was always the same. Deep regret to the families, he wasn't in his right mind, it was the drugs that did it, please take into account the good he has done for society…
Blah, blah, fucking blah.
Light sat in his place at the back of the room, closest to the aisle, still, regal and completely focused on that bastard Yuko as he leaned back in his chair, as if he didn't have a care in the world. The defense's speech ended and the judge excused himself for deliberation.
He was gone for five minutes.
When he returned, his vision narrowed to the old man as he looked over what he had written down, keeping his eyes on the paper like the coward he was. He read out his verdict and Light saw red.
The wave of fury that swept through him was so intense that he felt a migraine forming deep behind his eyes, and though he did not shake with it, had anyone been looking they would have noticed he was far too still to be completely natural for several seconds. He heard the father sob, heard the son curse as the judge left once again.
Fifteen years.
Fifteen years? Some had gotten more for murders of passion. This was a calculated, veritable slaughter of two high school girls. If Yuko managed to behave himself, he could he out in ten. Even life sentences were not absolute in Japan, as most of them got out in twenty-five if they were well behaved. That had been something that Light had prepared himself for, as it had happened on two other occasions. He hadn't been happy then either but this was nothing short of a disgrace.
As the one closest to the door, Light was the first out, unable to stand listening to either the Omegas whimpers or the Alpha's comforting hums.
He walked in long-legged, swift strides, keeping himself as poised as humanly possible, but he did not immediately seek to exit. Light was aware that he should get back to work, that if his 'lunch with Takada' took too long then his father might actually be inclined to speak to him about it.
Or tell Matsuda in an attempt to explain why he was so late, which would be even worse.
Light found himself around the corner, in a nearly empty hallway with several doors that lead to judge's chambers. He knew this courthouse well enough by now where Judge Tadasuke would be exiting from, and he positioned himself near the door. He wasn't sure why he had come, as he had no intentions of actually speaking to the man. Perhaps he'd just wanted to see the man's face up close, to remember it for the future so that when he thought about what was wrong with the justice system he could recall the wrinkled features, the bald head, the black, beady eyes, and direct his anger at one of the many people that was making it that way.
"Yagami-san."
The voice grated on his nerves, but Light turned to face him just the same.
"Mikami-san," Light greeted, a little terser than he'd meant for it to be. "You followed me."
"You seemed upset," explained the dark-haired man, stepping closer as if he were going to touch him, to put a consoling hand on his shoulder. In the end, he didn't go for it. Light was glad he didn't have to pretend to be alright with such a thing.
"Did I?"
There was a pause, before Teru amended. "No, you were actually quite composed. But you must be. I am."
"You're quite composed yourself."
"It would be unprofessional not to be."
"I agree."
The silence was uncomfortable, and Light knew he should leave, but the judge had not yet exited. No doubt there were reporters in the main hall right that second letting all of Japan know just what had occurred, and he was waiting it out for a few minutes to let security shoo the parasites away.
"I apologize," Mikami said after a moment, straightening his glasses in what Light had come to find was his only self-conscious tell. It could be difficult to determine between the times when he was truly uncertain, and when was actually just fixing the alignment of the frames on the bridge of his nose.
"You have nothing to be sorry for." Light gave him a smile, all the while resenting him for making him do this. Now he had to console the man, reassure him, instead of sulking and stewing at the injustice of what had just occurred. "You delivered the speech brilliantly."
"It was your words that were brilliant." Adulation could get truly tiresome. "I have no doubt that if you had been the one saying them—"
"Even I can't single-handedly fix all of the corruption in the system, Mikami-san." Light interrupted him, a hardness to his voice that he couldn't bring himself to soften for the man at the moment.
There was another moment of quiet in which Light wished that he could just will Mikami to leave him be.
"Perhaps not," Teru finally admitted. "But you're certainly trying more than any other person I've ever come across before. You've gone above and—"
A shriek cut the prosecutor off this time, one that was so high pitched that it actually took a moment for Light to decipher the contents.
"Oh my God, he's got a gun!"
Light turned in time to see a figure sprinting down toward him and Mikami from the opposite end of the hall, laughing maniacally and shooting at the ceiling. Everyone he passed on the way forward cowered. Security officers appeared behind him, shouting at him to halt. He did not.
It was then that the door to the judge's chambers opened. Tadasuke exited, completely oblivious as to the man currently running toward him.
In an insteant, the judge met Light's eyes, and the look in them struck him as if a cold fist had just closed around his innards. There was no light in them, though he was still moving, walking and breathing just like anyone else. They were glassy and unfocused, the eyes of a doll. Light realized, with an absoluteness that sunk down through his stomach like led, that the man he was looking at was no longer the same one who had sentenced Yuko Kamimura to only fifteen years in prison.
That man was already dead.
Then, seconds later, he was actually dead.
All Light saw was red for the second time in less than twenty minutes, but this time it was not due to overwhelming rage. There was a resounding bang and then blood was splattering over him. Light jerk back in disgust and fear, stumbling in his alarm. The judge's face suddenly had a hole in it.
Light was terrified, frozen in place with his breath locked in his chest. He had never liked guns even though his job sometimes required him to carry one, and somehow this convict —he could see the handcuffs now that he was close—had gotten a hold of an officer's revolver and had murdered the judge right in front of him.
And now Light had blood all over him. He could feel it trickling down his chin.
He thought he might vomit.
The judge had barely hit the ground when he felt arms tugging him aside, pulling him onto one of the many benches that lined the hallway and partially covering him. It was Mikami, he realized, but he was in too much of a state to truly comprehend it. He could die. He could die here and now and that was unacceptable, but didn't think he could move, petrified into place as the madman drew closer.
He saw, from the corner of his eye, that it was Yuko Kamimura himself that had killed the very judge that had sentenced him, but he only caught a glimpse before he passed them by.
There was another gunshot that had tension curling through him coldly, but this one was from elsewhere and hit Yuko in the leg. He barely made it another ten feet before collapsing. Officers were on him in seconds, beating the still laughing, struggling man into submission with their batons.
Only the sudden spike of irritation at actually enjoying the arms around him was enough to break him out of his shock.
Taking a deep breath through his nose, he shrugged off Teru's hold and the man released him immediately, allowing him to move away. Light didn't dare speak just yet. His face was wet with the judge's blood and he didn't want to take the chance that any of it got into his mouth. He noticed after a moment that Mikami wasn't even looking at him, but at the judge that lay dead in a broadening pool of his own blood.
It was then that Light heard a word slip out of Teru's mouth, not in his usual flat, unchanging voice. His tone was one of awe, of reverence, a murmur that might as well have been a prayer.
"Kira."
A/N: I'll just leave this here.
