Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note, or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata. I only own any original characters that I choose to include, as well as any original plot ideas.
Chapter 7: Curves and Lines
The day is January 26, 2010. I don't know what will happen after today, but I hope that the outcome is favorable for us. We've worked hard to get this far, and we can't turn back. It's come down to a matter of all or nothing.
Even so, I have confidence in this plan.
We will find Kiyomi Takada, and we will kidnap her. Mello has evidence that she is in close contact with Kira. As our hostage, she'll have to tell us everything. If she doesn't, I'm afraid to say that we will be resorting to drastic measures. The information this woman holds within is what we need. With it, we will know Kira's identity, and how he kills. Although, I have reason to believe that Mello still hasn't told me everything. I suspect he already knows of the latter. Why he hasn't told me, I don't know. Perhaps it was to keep my attention focused on surveillance?
We're close. I can feel it. After today, Kira will be ours, and Near will be rendered obsolete. I just hope that he doesn't hold this against me, his defeat. If he does, then so be it. My allegiances lie with my family.
I saw the stars again last night, even after I thought that I wouldn't. They were perfect, pristine, like a crisp photograph. But they were real, seemingly alive. Maybe the dead do move onto something better than this. Maybe our world is the only truly tangible thing in this universe. That is to say, maybe there's something more after death. Maybe we have the joy, the adventure, of soaring among a sea of stars until we find our place among them. I hope that's what waits. If it is, then I have to say that I'm more than a little eager to die.
Maybe then I'll see my mother again.
I hope she can see this, read it. I hope she knows that I've done everything I felt was right, that I let no one sway me. I think that's what she would have wanted. I think she'd be proud of me.
With this as my last piece in this diary, I have to say that I hope someone finds this someday. I don't care if someone reads this and sees me as someone that I'm not. For all they know, I'm the man standing next to them at the bus stop, or the bestselling author operating under a penname. It doesn't matter if people know my face, my voice. At the very least, what they will know is that I've put a piece of myself, of my heart, onto each page, and in each bit of ink. They may look to be something silly, a waste, scratched out on paper by a boy with nothing left.
I have no idea what waits for me, what will become of us during this operation. But, no matter the outcome, I leave this book behind. It would be strange for someone my age to tow around a diary for the rest of his life.
Whoever you are, maybe you'll read my memories of the past as a sad tale. I just hope you read it.
