Chapter 4: Parting Ways

When everything goes to hell, the people who stand by you without flinching,

they are your family. ~Jim Butcher

…

Mai clutched the ceramic bowl of the toilet and heaved the meager contents of her stomach into the water, her breath coming in short labored gasps. She squeezed her eyes shut and curled her knees into her stomach. God, it tasted so awful, all sour, tea-colored acid mixed with chunks of purée toast. Mai groaned and vomited again, coughing violently. The sound echoed off the cream-colored walls of the bathroom, resonating so loud, she feared waking up her lover and him running downstairs to find her in this state. No doubt he would fuss over her like a mother with a worrisome child, a massive pet peeve of hers. She vomited one last time and took a moment to rest before flushing the mess away and collapsing into a heap on the floor. Her breath came in heavy gasps and her eyes were damp from the effort. One. Two. Three… A wave of nausea gripped her belly again, but she forced it down. There was nothing left to expel, so she calmly sat up and leaned against the wall, pulling her knees into her chest. That had been a surprise. It wasn't often she was upset enough to feel sick when thinking about her family. Letting out the most calming sigh she could muster, Mai dragged a hand across her perspiring forehead.

Now…where was she?

Oh, yes.

The end of her childhood.

…

Her aunt's funeral was a nightmare. With her last living relative gone—as her mother's family had passed away years before her birth—Mai didn't have the slightest idea what would happen to her. The task force was shocked when they found Sayu's body in the morning, and before Mai knew it, yet another formal send-off came and went. Black clothes, incense, pity, the same old story yet again. Except this time, there were no family members to accept mortuary gifts with her. She knelt alone by Sayu's casket, her eyes dry and quite empty, and spent that day wondering where she would go. She knew she was too young to care for herself. If none of her neighbors or the task force took her in, she'd be sent to the foster system. Although, she dearly hoped it wouldn't come to that. Surely someone would take her in.

So engrossed in her thoughts, she did not even notice the man until he stood directly before her, a truly impressive feat given he was all in white and blatantly conspicuous against the black clothes of the other mourners. Like chalk on a blackboard. He didn't smile at her or offer a word of condolence or even a gift. He just watched her with an unnerving pair of grey eyes and didn't say a word. Mai didn't like it and stared defiantly back. She was sick of funerals and mourning and endless pity. If this man offered her yet another empty condolence, she would hate him, too. As if condolences would change a thing. She scowled at him.

And he offered her a doll.

Awkwardly enough, he offered her this godforsaken doll. It was an ugly thing, a creepy antique that should've remained buried in the attic from whence it came. She made no move to take it, far too bewildered by the gesture and unnerved by its empty, blue eyes staring at her. The man in white, it seemed, didn't appreciate her silent treatment and cut straight to the point. Or rather, he was always like that, blunt and never wasting time. "Greetings, Yagami Mai." He told her and she flinched at the sound of his voice. "I was a colleague of your father's many years ago."

By this point in her life, any thought of her father had all but faded from her mind and she could no longer recall his face. Just a blurry memory of the suit and tie he always seemed to wear with the image of his photographed face cut out and slapped over it, like some grotesque piece of art. As she went about her childhood days, the very notion she'd even had a father had become virtually nonexistent. She never spoke of it. Her friends never asked. Her grandmother occasionally brought him up, but…well, he was dead, and sometimes it was better not to think about him. At least for her own peace of mind.

"I don't have a father."

"Is that so?"

"Near." Aizawa-ojiisan appeared at her side then, placing a hand on her shoulder but never taking his eyes off the strange man in white. "I see you received my message."

What message? She remembered looking up at the man in confusion, but he just tightened his grip.

…

Mai lowered her hand, her breathing calm again.

Her father had died in the investigation and apprehension of the mass murderer Kira. He died a hero, bringing justice to a psychopath.

That was the lie she'd been fed since she was a girl. It wasn't until she met Near and Ryuk that she began to suspect something was off about Aizawa's story. He spoke of it only once, and then never mentioned it again. Kira was dead. It was over. That was all that mattered. The only thing that ever mattered.

Lies were such delicate, little things. Well, I had a teacher that was really nice and she let me come and stay over at her house for awhile. That, for example. Mai grinned. It was a simple lie designed specifically to throw off unwanted questions, and yet it was not entirely untrue. Less than a day after her aunt's funeral…

…

"Mai, do you remember that man at Sayu's wake?" Aizawa-ojiisan asked her. "The one who gave you the doll?"

She knew exactly who he meant without him mentioning that monstrosity. He was the only one at the funeral unknown to her. As an obvious foreigner, he clearly wasn't family. In the village she grown up in, everyone knew everyone, and she hadn't heard about any newcomers moving in. He was too young to be an acquaintance of Sachiko, and Sayu had shut herself away from the world for years. He was a ghost. Something she couldn't explain.

Mai simply nodded.

Aizawa cleared his throat. "That man is L."

She raised her head in surprise. The most she knew of L came from what the task force had told her. He was a brilliant detective, tackling the world's 'unsolvable' cases, and he and her father had worked together to apprehend the mass murderer, Kira. In one of her trippy half-memories, she recalled seeing that letter on a computer screen. Or was it the letter N? She didn't know for sure. In fact, the basics of what she remembered there was crawling into her father's lap and playing with his tie or headset.

Then Aizawa explained that L, Near, would be taking her under his wing. And try as she may, Mai could never remember her exact thoughts at that announcement. Her mind drew a complete blank whenever she tried to recount it. There was nothing. No confusion or fear. She should've felt that, but Mai didn't remember feeling that way at all. Or feeling anything for that matter. Maybe she was just numb from her grandmother and aunt's consecutive funerals and the general dirge of tragedy that seemed to narrate her young life.

What she did remember was a blur of packing up everything she'd ever owned, all her books and clothes and other choice belongings she couldn't bear to leave behind. The task force and her home village threw a going away party for her. That was a night to remember. Good food, hundreds of goodbyes, a beautiful evening. She bid her neighbors farewell one by one, and the local priest conducted a ceremony to bless her for luck. After dark, her best friends and the other village children played one more round of each of her favorite games. She fell asleep in her backyard sprawled out in the grass with them.

In the morning, she said goodbye to that village for the last time, and everyone in it. Even as she drove away in Mogi-ojiisan's car, there was a sizable crowd waving goodbye from her childhood home. They didn't dissipate. She watched them until they were an undistinguished blur in the rearview mirror before the car turned onto the highway.

She was driven straight to the nearest international airport where Near and three others were waiting. Two men and one woman, all of them foreign and standing like statues. Mai immediately didn't like the look of any of them. It was as though she were being exiled from her birthplace and these people were here to escort her to a stranger's land. She said nothing as she approached them, warily keeping her eyes trained on all of them, especially the man in white. The infamous and elusive L.

As the car came to a halt, she stepped into the sun, carrying a backpack on her shoulders, and approached her new caretakers. The task force followed behind her, and for that she was grateful. L stared at her with those unnerving grey eyes of his, like a hawk eyeing a rabbit in the fields. Mai came to a stop before him and tried to speak, tried to greet him politely, but any sound refused to leave her throat.

"Near." Aizawa suddenly began, his hand on Mai's shoulder. "I just want you to remember, no matter what happened in the past, no matter who she is, Mai is still our girl and she's very dear to all of us. Please, take care of her."

"I understand." L nodded immediately. "You have my word, Aizawa."

At that, the lone woman in his entourage stepped forward. "Hello, Yagami Mai." The lady said in perfect Japanese, kneeling to her level and offering her hand. "My name is Halle. It's nice to meet you."

"Pleased to meet you as well, Miss Halle." Mai said back in perfect English.

Halle smiled at her, clearly impressed, then stepped aside as the two men, Commander Rester and Stephen Loud, introduced themselves. "We're very pleased to have you, Yagami. You'll like your new home. I guarantee it." Loud assured her.

As she reached out to shake L's hand as well, his grey eyes suddenly darted toward her opposite hand hanging at her waist. "What a nice watch."

"Thank you, it was my father's."

"I see." His hand clasped hers, giving a firm shake. "It's a pleasure to meet you properly. Mai, daughter of Light Yagami."

-0-0-0-

Author's Notes: Okay, it's ridiculous how long this chapter was sitting around, a paragraph or two away from being finished. Not the best chapter this story will see, but the next one will be better. Man, I can't believe I let this one go for a year without updating.

Ghost Hunt is owned by Fuyumi Ono and Shiho Inada.

Death Note is owned by Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata.