"No matter what, don't make the same mistake I did."

L knew that the day help arrived it would diminish just as quickly.

He stared at Aunt Josephine then back to Mrs. Coppernil. He kept at it as they kept talking.

He couldn't keep up anymore as the talking quickly turned to shouting then to hysterics and then threats.

"You can't do this to me! You have no right!"

"Not me, but the court does! And so does he! Or have you forgotten he isn't a machine?"

"Oh…" This was when L noticed a horrible glint in her eye. "I do."

The same glint she had when she first came…

He hid under the piano. He hoped they would just forget about him.

They didn't.

He felt Aunt Josephine's eyes bore a hole into his back.

"I am sure you do too," Aunt Josephine said, her voice icy-chilling the air and raising the hair on the back of L's neck.

He knew something horrible was going to happen.

Unfortunately, Mrs. Coppernil didn't get the hint. It would have been too late if she did, anyway.

Aunt Josephine was already beyond reasoning.

"Miss Juniper—put that—NO!"

"I will once you promise me that you will not give any of the information you have received—" she sneered, not holding back her tongue as it went rapid fire—"to anyone. If I find out there will be consequences. And dear little L won't be so lucky next time."

Aunt Josephine shifted her hold on L's neck as her other hand holding the gun pressed harder into the back of his skull. L gasped inwardly as the iciness of the metal seeped through his skin.

"Understand me, Coppernil? Or do I have to fire once?"

"You—"

The gun went off as L fell to the ground.

It was after those intense seconds that L found himself swimming.

His vision was swimming, dark colors and bright all held together with a single hairpin.

His whole body felt limp but light at the same time, like he could float.

Float away from all the evil he had witnessed.

"For good luck."

"I don't believe in luck."

"Do you believe in anything?"

"I believe what I see. Facts, evidence…"

"That's funny. I can't see half of the things I believe."

But he couldn't float away just yet.

He did not want to float away from all the good he had seen.

All the good he had enjoyed, with every sound that came from the droplets of rain, the music of Celia's giggling, and the bells of his mother's existence.

The music of the magic bells, the music of the simple crinkling of wrapping paper—the crinkling of candy wrappers as they piled up next to his prison and his guardian at the same time.

The music of his own laughter.

But they were slowly covered by the sounds of the cackling of his aunt's dry laughter, the trembless of the archaic keys of the piano playing before his fingers pressed down from years of wearing down of his routine—and the sound, the explosion of noise from the cold, metal of the gory humor Aunt Josephine fired from the palm of her hand.

Then after the stream of fire blew away from his ears he couldn't hear anything.

"…experience."

All of a sudden, he couldn't see anything.

Anything but a faint silhouette.

His vision was fading. Just the shadow of his aunt looming over him as another fell down the stairs.

Hold on! The shadow was not falling down the stairs…

It was being carried away. Mama? What are you doing?

Why did you do that?

Why did you shoot?

Why did you hurt me?

Celia is next.

"Do you believe in miracles?"

"Yes."

"But I thought…you can't see miracles?"

"But they are happening all around me."

It was the numbing day after that he specifically believed Aunt Josephine couldn't be his mother.

His mother was not a murderer.

"That's what you want to believe."

Another haunting smile.

L shivered.

He did not understand why he was still alive and Mrs. Coppernil was dead.

Was not Aunt Josephine angry at him? Did she not threaten to kill him?

Then why did she have to pull the innocent social worker in?

Was it a different way to kill him?

Or was she so…different to think killing could be solved with a gun?

There is always the evidence.

The evidence that lead to the murder.

The evidence that was him.

It was the hours after he first awoke that the pain was blinding.

Blinding madness, so mad he could not work his anger and so angry he could not forget its tremors down his spine.

"You'll forget about me."

I'll forget about you.

"You'll forget about what happened."

I'll forget what happened.

"You'll forget the murder."

I'll forget the murder.

"You'll forget the gun."

I won't forget your smile.

The little girl came two days after.

She had a face of distress over the mask of happiness that had caricatured her features over the years.

"Forget the pain. It won't last much longer, I'll get you out of here and into a hospital!"

L had told in as much words as he could form what had taken place. He didn't need to go into details.

She knew Miss Juniper was a very bad lady.

She called in the police herself didn't she?

"It's too late, I fear it is over for me."

The little girl started rubbing her hands together and then wiped them off her dress.

"No it isn't!"

The determination in her voice was almost amusing to L.

"She is going to kill me, Celia."

The resignation in his voice tore the little girl apart.

"No…"

Yes.

"But…how did you know my name?"

A rather peculiar smile from L, the lids of his lips skimming over his teeth just barely. "It was on your hairpin."

"You noticed."

"I always notice."

A tilt from his head and a sliver of a smile from Celia. The hair tied into two thick braids on both sides of her head bounced as she started giggling airily.

"How long have you known?"

"Not long. I guessed for a few weeks but it was confirmed when you left it with me."

"For good luck."

He didn't need to say anything to assure her he appreciated her presence and her sincerity. He just nodded and smiled again, but this time he did not let it stretch to show his teeth—which were in rough shape, not the pearls he admired about Celia. He just let it lay on his lips as it tingled upwards to form a curve that was enough for a childish perspective to take over his features.

It was enough for Celia to have relief, knowing he hadn't given up all hope.

She smiled back at him and reached up through the bars of the chairs surrounding him to touch his hair—just barely, her fingers lightly dangled over the tips. She drew her hand back and let her smile drop with ease as she admired her handiwork.

"You don't have to wear it. I just wanted to see how you would look like with it on."

"Isn't it…weird for a boy to wear a female's hairpin."

"Yeah, but it's unexpected all the same."

They stared at each other for a while before Celia broke it off to gaze at his confinement. Metal and wooden chairs were stacked around him to form a sort of cage—fit for an animal.

L was no animal.

The darkness of the room made her strain her eyes as she took it all in. She wanted to be able to document exactly where he was held for evidence against that horrible lady in case the murder was not taken right.

She walked across the attic floor as she caught a glimpse of a car through the small window positioned just above her head. There were even more bars—all made of wood with tiny roses dotting across it. The bars were thin, very thin—like chopsticks that were memorable as a souvenir from a foreign restaurant. The hazy pink of the background of roses taunted her.

She couldn't see it but she could taste. Taste all the torment behind those roses, behind the essence of those bars.

Taste all the horror that came from it.

She whirled around to face L just as she caught another glimpse of another car—but a familiar one, with a devilish taste of red. It was the first time she was able to taste red but the sudden force of wind exhaling from that car got stuck in her throat that she had to taste it.

Then she remembered she tasted it before—she had to run away before the husband came after her. The taste left her since she ran so fast and her pigtails were bobbing harder and harder as her neck jerked from being tossed everywhere—her legs skidding to take a turn and her head whipping back to look behind her so she would be able to tell if he was gone or not.

Gone or not.

Not gone, it was that woman's car.

L gingerly picked the hairpin from his hair and held it between his thumb and finger. Before he could hand it to Celia she shook her head.

"I want you to keep it, okay?"

"But it is yours."

"And now it is yours. I want to be at least a memory. I know it is hard for you to hold on to those."

She took the hairpin from L and lightly placed it over his heart while it thumped so fast as the footsteps of Aunt Josephine slammed on the concrete outside.

"It's something for you to see. For you to believe that I was real. You don't know how much I want to be real, L, okay?"

She smiled again, her heart and soul displayed in that last movement of affection.

He stared long and hard at her as the smile faded and ran out the door but with silent slippers.

He watched for a long time as her figure dashed out of his sight with only her smile lingering in his mind.

He knew that'd be the last one he'd get.

It was those days that were the hardest of his life, the days his back hurt so bad that he couldn't sit up straight, or the pain he was developing in his eyes that made it hurt to keep them any less closed or even blink.

But still he blinked, unless his aunt was staring at him again.

He didn't want to blink in those times—because if he did he might miss the ever subtle but present action of her fingers pulling on the metal trigger until it fired at him.

He would dodge, but sometimes he wasn't so lucky.

First, the explosive noise dove at his head. He ducked so it hit the chair behind him. But the chair deflected it back at him—back at his leg.

Pain, considerable amounts of pain added to the brewing flavor of his aunt laughing.

Laughing at him.

Laughing as she pulled again and again until he no longer had the strength to keep on calculating where the noises would stop next.

Then she'd get up until her hot breath melted the hairs on his brow and snarl, "Get up, wench." A few other colorful words would be added or wasted as they rolled off her tongue and badgered his ears. Get up so I can kill you again.

And again.

And again.

And again, again, again, so I crush what little you have left in you. What little your mother gave you.

What little is worth the trouble I have been through.

Bang. Again, and again. What's wrong? You can't get up?

Pull. Push. Shove. Aren't so brave when I'm the one pulling the strings huh, L?

A different voice, "Stand up. You can do it, she can't kill you if you fight her!"

I cannot.

"Yes you can! Remember."

Tug. Slap.

"Please."

Okay. I'll try.

Whimper.

I'll try.

"I'll be there, L. I promise."

"But can you promise me you won't get hurt?"

"I don't know."

"Please, do not come if you cannot promise that."

"No one can promise that, L."

"Please."

"Okay. I promise I'll try."

Try to promise?

"When I hear the gunshot, know I'll be coming. Remember that, okay?"

"All right."

Smile.

"All right."

Promise.

"Okay."

Don't break it.

"It will be all right."

Don't worry about it.

There was more than a gunshot that night.