Disclaimer—Seeing how the DeathNote universe belongs to Tsugumi Ohba and the art of Takeshi Obata, I own nothing. Nothing. Besides, if I did, L –-(along with Alucard, Hannibal Lector, the Phantom of the opera, Jack Sparrow, Abel Nightroad, Jareth the Goblin King, Aloysius X. L. Pendergast, Gankutsuou and Argent)—would be chained up in my basement.
Title—GreyWalker
Synopsis—Even the dead have their way of making themselves known.
Rating—PG13 to R. Just be mature.
Chapter Title—Speculations and Truths
Chapter Synopsis—Mind against mind, L and Beyond exchange ideas—however like always, there is a price for the truth. Care to pay your fair share?
A/N—Sorry, that an update took so dreadfully long—but I am a full time nursing student and that said, I think that more than explains my absence. As you will soon tell, with the beginning of each chapter, I like to touch-up on what happened just previously. Just a reminder and perhaps, an embellishment.
OOOOver all, Life can be such a bore—especially seeing how we spend a majority of our expendable existence either sleeping, or waiting for something to happen. Occasionally life had it perks, like strawberry-jam. Plus, sometimes it could be unpredictable, which always added an ounce of excitement to otherwise dull day. A perfect example was the change of events at the Los Angeles Correctional Facility. Nothing like murder to cause chaos, Beyond Birthday mused with half-closed eyes, but then he corrected himself, Really not really murder, just a death.
It was not a murder, because the guy was already due—and Beyond merely eased his passing from this world into the next. Just like an angel of death.
First, it had just been an average day—with breakfast of lukewarm water-down oatmeal, looming in his cell with a day-old newspaper, crowded showers with shifting wondering eyes, crosswords in the desert yard, leftovers in the evening and then sleep, interrupted with whispers, dreamy moans and the occasional blunt screams. Quite simply, prison-life was one of day-in-and-day-out routine. If it weren't for the incoming freshies, ruckus and mysterious shanking, inmates would go mad with boredom. They would be dying for something to do.
For Beyond Birthday, Poncho—or Terrance Martin Delgado, served as nothing more than a humble diversion, and of course, a chance to reinforce his prowess as "Reaper," as his fellow inmates so appropriately named him. Plus, it rewarded him with a week in Solitary with the dreamy padded-walls. Now, it seemed that wasn't the end of things, and there was one more surprise yet to be opened. B.B., once a prized and promising protégé of the Wammy House, now turned murderer, peered at the laptop as an all-to-familiar sense crawled up his spine and lingered deep in his belly. Coming to life, the black screen disappeared and revealed a letter, Old English font—L. Despite its simplicity, it seemed to hold much more meaning to the prisoner locked in Solitary, than just being a letter in the English language.
His voice carried a strong mixture of calm and anger, "Don't hide behind that grotesque letter, my old friend," and then he finished, "We both know that I have already seen your face…and furthermore, your name."
OOO
"Yes, of course," the artificial voiced mused.
On the other side of the screen, across the Pacific ocean and on the other half of the world, L smiled grimly and took a sip of his sickly sweet coffee-tea, complete with the traditional 13 lumps of sugar and long silver spoon. Couching in the chair, he realized how redundant it was to hide himself, and play this pointless and faceless charade. Now, what did it matter, especially seeing how they had already met face-to-face in the small jailhouse, just outside the skirts of Los Angeles? From that point, Beyond had seen his name, his true given name, and probably burned into his brain—and if he had the eyes of a Shinigami—than he knew the day L was destined to die.
And more importantly, perhaps he could see who Kira was…
Speaking about death, it made L wondered if he did not have other purpose for calling on B. Maybe, and just maybe he had a hidden, personal agenda—next to the one was already plotting. Lately the concept of death had been picking at his brain, and somehow the detective felt that things were already set in motion to plot his demise, and it would not be at the hands of Kira, but rather at his manipulation. True Kira—whoever he was, Light Yagami or not—would love to have the satisfaction of writing his name down, but there would be much more pleasure watching him die. Perhaps, unconsciously he wanted to know when he was going to do, if it would today, or tomorrow or even years down the road. And that answer was sitting before him and even now, through the black seemingly endless screen, L could feel those strange luminous eyes piercing through him. Cutting deep like a knife. Burying themselves just under his skin.
Staring at the screen, L wondered if he was making a mistake—however, it was too late for regrets now.
"Fair enough. Seeing how we are beyond pretences now," was his reply, and his voice was unnaturally calm in the presence of a murderer. Perhaps, it was more appropriate to say that the genius-detective was having a casual tête-à-tête with a friend, than an interrogation. From past experiences, respect went further than hostility.
And then, after years of hiding behind a screen, L reached out, and striking a single key lowered the defense of mystery and revealed the man behind the letter, L Lawliet.
L Lawliet, yes he was the mysterious genius detective who could solve any case, no matter how seemingly impossible. He was the chosen and foremost, the first protégé-son of Quillsh Wammy, but at first glance, L certainty did not look like a super-genius and that was something he heard quite often. Perhaps, freak would be a more accurate description. To the untrained eye, L looked like an awkward, uncomfortable man who couldn't get suited in his own skin. Or better yet, he just had a few loose screws and mismatched wires upstairs. Any yet, despite all his major accomplishments and age, L had the demeanor of a child. To explain, he exhibited curiosity, blissful ignorance, was very active and had a competitive edge that simply hated to lose, no matter what the cost. Not only did L act in a questioning manner, but looked odd enough to make you look twice at him, and then ignore him. Who knows how many people had actually seen L, and if they realized that they had met him face-to-face, they would not laughed or cringed at his poor posture. However, L could never afford to be known for who he actually was, as L.
Truth be known, he could never remember a time when he was not L. True he could assume the names of Eraldo Coil, Danuve, Ryuzaki or Ryuga Hideki—but in the end, he was the same person. He was still the world's greatest detective L—L Lawliet.
Secretly, L grew tired of the alien isolation and longed for some human contract beyond the letter on a computer screen. Then again, L could always retire when he was dead. Cringing at these morbid thoughts, he reluctantly turned his attention and dead eyes towards B—the second child of the Wammy's House, and more specifically, his personal doppelganger.
"Ah," he said, finally noticing how well his body managed after third degree burns, "it seems you have recovered nicely. Beginning to look like yourself again." Yes, all things considering, prison had been good to him—by putting some meat on his bones, his hair was longer almost reaching his collarbone and judging by that grin, he was having a jolly good time.
Tracing the thick bubbling scars Beyond joked, "Thanks to the miracle of plastic surgery." Smirking, B cracked his neck with a sickening pop. He grinned like a madman, a title that psychology deemed him worthy to carry, and no doubt he carried the title with a sense of swelling pride. Of course, B never saw himself as being just human, and having the label of sociopath made that belief more probable.
L would not be surprised if Beyond Birthday saw himself as being a Shinigami.
"Well…well, this is quite the surprise…" Again, those strange luminous eyes pierced at him like two daggers searching for a vital organ to penetrate. Then the smile melted off his face and he added evenly, "And a disappointment. No word from you in two years, not even a birthday card. No phone call." He finished with a crooked hillbilly smile, "Anyways, here you are. Perhaps not 'in the flesh' as the saying goes, but here nonetheless, wouldn't you say?"
"Funny how things turn out," L replied politely with a reluctant—but polite smile.
He licked his lips like a hungry wolf, and asked a bit too eagerly, "Speaking of turns, how are things turning out on the Kira-Case? By the way, nice touch with the dramatic demise of Lind L. Taylor. Read about in the New York Times. Bold move, only you would think about something like that."
Popping a sugar cube into his mouth, L said as plainly and as vaguely as possible, "Things are proceeding forward."
"Really?" Sitting back, he blinked and required with a playfully smile, "Is that why you are calling me?"
Looking up at the ceiling, L weighted his next words carefully and then decided to just plainly say, "Yes." A short pause followed. "And that is the motivation to my visit. To put it simply, I am inquiring after your opinion."
Beyond mocked, "What, me and my powers of acute observation?"
Well, that was certainty one way to put it.
"Precisely." Exhaling a sigh, L gnawed on his thumbnail and mumbled, "I just need your eyes."
Your Shinigami-Eyes…
"Why the sudden change of heart? Socializing with the likes of me? Perhaps you are here to gloat," Beyond Birthday hissed with equal malice that matched the intensity of his eyes. "Beyond Birthday is nothing more than an expendable asset, and always second place to the best, the L Lawliet."
L shook his head innocently. "Not at all." Pausing he looked up and the light only exaggerated the lines under his bulging eyes. They were so dark, people wondered if they actually done in makeup. It was like he hadn't slept a wink in days—no, like hadn't slept a day since he was squeezed out in the world. L had heard that some believed it was because of his prevailing and endless sense of justice, which could not permit him sleep. All things considering, it might as well be a fair description.
Never before that L had been so intimately or so obsessively involved in a case, as of that of the Los Angeles BB Murder Case. He refused to assigned himself to case unless there were than ten victims or a million dollars at sake—otherwise every case would itself piled on his desk, and despite his genius, L was still human and only capable of doing so much. But, the Los Angeles BB Murder Case was neither of these. It was personal.
The killer was challenging the man he copied, the century's greatest detective, L.
The Wammy House was quite simply an orphanage that produced geniuses, prodigy-children gifted in investigation and the arts. The only reason it was created was because when Qullish Wammy/ or Watari found L, and saw his boundless and incredible talents from the perspective of an inventor—he wanted to perverse it and create a copy. Or more specifically, a backup. The Wammy-family, mostly orphans were successors, or L's alternatives. Even for Watari, creating a fake L was easier said than done—because the more you became like L, the further he was. It was like chasing a mirage. The first child, A, was unable to keep up with the demands of measuring up next to L, and took his own life thanks to a swinging rope. But things turn promising with the second child, BB or Beyond Birthday.
When B first came in to the Wammy House, Watari felt that he was as different and as unique as L, and the genius-detective felt the same. But despite of the fact that Beyond Birthday would be his unofficial heir, he had nothing to do with him. Never even met him—but instead, he was simply aware of him.
B stood for backup.
Still, there was no denying Beyond Birthday of his genius and his unusual quirks—and would have a perfect, not to mention a convincing L save but one detail, he tried to a surpass L, not become him. B was naturally competitive, and second place never tasted as good as claiming the prize. Of course, finding out as the first-generation-child, he was nothing more than an experiment, and thus expected to fail—that notion spurred him into a frenzy. Through bitterness or admiration, Beyond molded himself after L, so much so in appearance and mannerisms that he could fool everyone, including Watari. It was playful at first, and then it grew into a full-blown addiction.
He was L's doppelganger. Nevertheless, that was Beyond Birthday. Childish. Arrogant. Competitive. Just like his creator; just like L.
But, he would never be L.
And so, he came to one logical explanation: "For as long as there was L, B would never be L. As long as the original existed, the copy was nothing more than a copy, and expendable."
And thus the killing sprees began: the Los Angeles BB Murder Cases.
L could solve any case, no matter how impossible or difficult—however, if Beyond Birthday could create a case so challenging that no one, including L could solve it, than B would have defeated L. The copy would surpass the original.
The Los Angeles BB murder case literally meant L.A.B.B, or L is After Beyond birthday.
However, regardless of how careful and finicky he was, B lost.
Losing the Wammy House civil-war, did serve one positive purpose—B finally met L, face-to-face. And upon meeting him, saw his name and his deathday.
Draining his cup dry L licked his thin lips and said, ""Regardless of your incarceration and mental state—you are as brilliant as you are deviant. It would be such a shame to waste it, wouldn't you agree Beyond?"
At once Beyond burst into laughter, "Ha ha ha—no, it should be like this, Ke ka ha ha. Oh, this is precious. I don't remember you being such a sentimental sort of guy—" Chuckling, B fished around in his jumpsuit and pulled out a packet of cigarettes that he snatched off Poncho's cooling, dead body. Dangling one off his lips, he lit it and inhaled the cancerous fumes and could practically feel the seconds draining from his clock. Smoking dancing from his nostrils he added dryly with a wisp of acid-smoke, "But if you are looking for comfort, you may abandon it. I am what I am."
L noted with a spark of interest," Smoking is terribly unhealthy, you know."
"Believe me, I can see that," he said, laughing at his own personal joke. "But—it is a different currency inside these walls. Basically, cancersticks and warm flesh."
Yes, it was a different set of economics inside prison-walls. Cigarettes and warm flesh were the main currency in prison, and since B certainty wasn't up to be selling the second, he settled with the latter. Despite Solitary protocol, L predicted that B was able to smuggle them in, simply because no one especially the correctional officers would be fond of touching, or feeling up another man's groin. Perhaps, he would pawn off the cancersticks in exchange for his favorite dish, Strawberry Jam straight out of the jar.
"So, you want my help, but why should I help you?" Beyond asked very business-like. "Sounds like Kira needs an applause, seeing how he is making your job much easier. Crime rate is an all time low."
L violently shook his head, and wagged his finger at him as if scolding a child. He chastised with a firm tone, "No. He is a murderer. There are no partners in Kira's chess game, only pawns and victims. If I die, you'll soon follow me—and everyone at the Wammy House." He paused allowing Beyond to digest his words. Heaving out a long sigh, he nibbled on his thumb with his ebony-black eyes glazing upwards at ceiling. Perhaps, he wondered other eyes were watching him, other Shinigami eyes. Returning to the business at hand L offered, "This is a one time opportunity and expires at the end of this visit. In exchange for your cooperation, I will reduce your sentence by 10 years. You will have reasonable permission to books, and possible computer access," L added, "all under supervision, of course."
"All that sounds nice," the murderer added, "but, you haven't explained, why me? Surely Mello could help you. Or even Near?"
He shook his head. "Not for what I am about to ask. This is fitting only for you."
"I feel as though is something you're not telling me," B noted with a stretching grin.
"You know, I find nothing more useless, or as tiresome as explanations," he explained.
Nodding his head, Beyond smirked and replied, "Yes, you like to keep people in the dark."
He replied in a low whisper, "Ever since the Los Angeles BB murder case, something has been brothering me. It wasn't what you did—but rather, what you said." As others openly remarked, his obsidian orbs were cold as the depths of space and even lifeless. They were so uncommonly black that all the light—florescent and daylight seemed to fly into their endless embrace, never to return again. O While investigating a case, L was reduced into nothing more than an abstract gaze, forever observing and forever watching. Sometimes, it seemed that his body was a fleshy disguise in which to harbor those insomniac-ridden eyes. But now, he found himself defiantly staring down at those strange luminous eyes. Those Shinigami-Eyes. "It was something you said. You said that you weren't guilty of your crimes. Said that, even if you hadn't killed them, they were bound to die anyways. They were fated to die that day, and for some reason, logically or morally, their deaths were unavoidable. Beyond, you said that the numbers were dwindling low."
Beyond smiled innocently and confessed, "I say a lot of things. Might have been the morphine talking. Third degree burns make you irrational."
His ebony black eyes like coffee grinds and held as much warmth as his words, "No, you can see the names of anyone you met, as well as the day they are presume to expire—their deathday."
Hearing this, L watched the smoking cigarette hang limply from B's gaping lips.
"Killing people who were fated to die is no effort at all—not for you, especially if you could see when they were going to die."
Beyond cracked his neck with a sickening pop, and with his head hanging at an old angle, looked at the wall with a venomous glare. Then, his features softened after a long drag from his cancerstick and the smoke leaked out of his nostrils. Putting his fingertips together he replied delicately and reluctantly between tightly clenched teeth, "You have my attention, L."
"And your cooperation?" L asked eagerly, leaning towards the screen.
B inhaled sharply and said, "For the duration of this visit. Not a moment longer."
"Excellent! Than shall we get started? I imagine with the lack of stimulus," Popping a sugar-cube into his mouth L mumbled out of the corner of his mouth, "your talents might be a bit rusty…so shall we start with a simple exercise?"
His smile, said he was more than ready.
Swallowing L asked nonchalantly, "Beyond, what do you know about Kira?"
Smoke leaked out of his nostrils like a dragon and he said as plainly as possible, "Regrettably I can only speculate. Seeing how my resources are severely limited. I hear about it, here and there, from the so-dramatic news, and the occasional gossip. The inmates here practically piss in their jumpsuits at the very mention of the name."
L demanded eagerly, "And what have you personally concluded?"
"He's playing God…" the murderer concluded with conviction.
"And?" L prompted.
Sucking on the cancerstick Beyond said, "L, are you asking me to profile? You know that is more an art, than an actual science."
"No," L corrected simply, "You are a Chameleon, so get in Kira's skin."
Beyond Birthday was what the Wammy House called a Chameleon; and basically just like the reptile he was able to blend in anything, especially as someone else. Sometimes, and more than often his performances were convincing enough to fool friends and family of the intended 'original.' Of course, prosthetics and makeup created wonders. A majority of the times B.B. never even met them face-to-face, and only required a few personal items to sink down into their character. Often he would gloat, "It's all in the little details," and like evidence to a case, it was small, seemingly insignificant details that said everything. He was proficient masquerader, and took great, sickening pleasure-dissecting personas like an artist clipping away at marble sculpture. Or perhaps a better illustration was a mad-scientist slicing and dicing a specimen. However, as said before he took his ability to a frightening new level during the Los Angeles BB Murder Cases—as Beyond Birthday started to dismember and scrutinize L himself.
As much as L hated to admit, his analysis—save but his own creditable madness, was frightening accurate.
With black opaque eyes, L watched Beyond closed his eyes as he slipped into nothingness, a black void. Basically, creating a blank slate. A full minute passed and when Beyond opened his mouth a different voice slipped out, the voice-box of Kira, "I have a strong, unfathomable sense of justice…male…young, probably a teenager or in early 20's. Despite my age, I am intelligent. Top quarter of my class. Excellent social skills, and thus a perfected manipulator. Very creative. The world should be a better place. Everyone is going to know that I am here…that somebody is passing judgment on the wicked—a God." He added more forcefully, "No—I am God!"
Apparently, B had not lost his touch. L himself had come up with similar conclusions but hearing this from B made his convictions more concrete—that Kira wants to create an absolute dictatorship and name himself the monarchy. Anyone, and absolutely anyone who resisted was his enemy, and such a crime in his eyes, was punishable by death. As evidence in history, absolute tyrants never worked. People go mad with power and eventually society crumbles into dust, leaving behind shadows of a decadent past. Like a cycle, a revolution of new ideas would come, and the world would be back to square one and Kira would be nothing more than a chapter in a history book.
"Well," B asked with a gloating grin, "how did I do? Did I pass?"
L nodded, "With flying colors. What about the Second Kira?"
Beyond scoffed, "Probably a fangirl. Definitely female. Completely loyal, and the submissive type. But enough about that—Honestly L," B said with a sigh and casually leaned against the padded walls of the cell, "I am less interest by the who, rather than the how. How is Kira doing it, killing people? Not a virus, and he certainty cannot go from victim-to-victim. It could be that he has a special ability to kill people just by thinking about it."
L replied nonchalantly, "Perhaps."
"Whatever it may be, is killing method is unique, if not peculiar. I can hardly contain my curiosity as to how this Kira is doing it. It borders the," B paused, scratching the corner of his mouth and finished, "paranormal, wouldn't you agree?" Beyond watched L answered with a definite nod. "If so, that opens the door to whole new realm of possibilities."
"It would seem."
"So what are the rules in this chess game?"
"Kira needs a name and face," the genius-detective explained.
"A name and a face," Beyond repeated with a lopsided grin. This was getting interesting, so much so that he could feel it crawl up his spine and feed his brain with such thoughts. As if his curiosity could no longer contain itself, B strained against the iron-bars to peer at L and he asked eagerly, like a greedy child, "So, I must know—how is he doing it?" he asked eagerly, like a greedy child.
"Thoughts still gruesome as ever, I see." Beyond watched as L pushed away, and rolled on the floor in his swirling chair towards the island metal table, and sat beside the item, which was the cause of so much chaos, havoc and death—the DeathNote. Nothing to the detective was as baffling as the notebook itself. Caressing its glassy prison, L wondered whose bright idea it was to create the revolutionary weapon in the universe in the form of an innocent, ordinary notebook. He answered plainly, "The murder weapon is a notebook."
Beyond leaned back and exhaled with a twinge if disappointment. "What, a killing notebook?"
"Yes" L said, picking a sugar cube between his thumb and forefinger, and examining it before popping it in his mouth. Sucking on it he explained stiffly, "It has the power to kill anyone whose name is written in its pages—but you must have the person's face mind when doing so…"
Exhaling a wisp of acid smoke B asked, "Is that why you want my eyes, L? Do you feel like killing someone?"
L dropped his tone degree and warned, "I am nothing like you, Beyond."
"Oh, we are more alike than you think. Just opposite sides to the same coin."
Beyond Birthday, murderer of three known souls smiled, and it was a haughty and insolent smile. Finally stubbing out the cigarette the murderer declared, "Or perhaps you want to know when you are going to die?"—As a human, L knew that he was mortal and would inevitably perish. He found it ironic that man as the highest and most advanced organisms on earth could create art, advance medicine and even put a man on the moon, and despite all our major accomplishments, it counted for absolutely nothing—"No you don't," he remarked, apparently changing his mind.
L's ear perked up at the sound of this.
He impassively shrugged his shoulders and replied with a gleam in his shimmering Shinigami eyes, "You don't fear death, you acknowledge it. Accept it—but what you do not accept is failure. Failure and defeat. That's a fate worst than death for you, for the world's greatest detective L." A short pause followed. "Kira is very much the same way. He cannot lose, and neither can you.
In any other case, like the Los Angeles BB Murder Case, failure meant incompetence—however for the Kira-Case, failure would literally mean his death, his untimely demise. And then, soon everything he knew and had come to treasure would follow him, would inevitably share his fate. No, failure was not an option. L would never surrender the world to Kira. Power is like a drug, and once Kira got a sampling, he found it addicting. His target goal no matter how rational and understandable, became unless at the death of Lind L Taylor, who was masquerading as L. As someone resisting against him. After that, he become even more of a killer with the malicious massacre of the FBI agents, all of whom were specially assigned to the Kira-Investigation. Then, followed by the disappearance of Naomi Misora…
Did he really want to leave the world in the hands of such a man—no, of such a murderer, of such a monster? And he refused to leave his unfinished business with the Wammy House, his heirs. So, now he concluded that sometimes evil can only be recognized by another type of evil.
Even now, when their charade was drawing to a close L reassured himself that now, he was performing a lesser evil for a greater good. Between Kira and Beyond Birthday, the detective much prefer the insane one, or the one that actually knew, and openly admitted what he was—a murderer. He wanted Beyond Birthday—but, L noted with building frustrating that you couldn't just ask for him. Quite simply, L had to bait the hook to catch the fish.
B cooed with unbelievable anticipation, "I can't wait to see who wins."
Hearing this, L secretly smiled to himself—he was reeling in the fish and now, it wouldn't be just Kira and L, soon, and very soon Beyond Birthday would be added to the game.
