Disclaimer! All fictional entities featured/ mentioned in this segment belong to Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata; except Erin Blogger and a few extra characters not from the canon cast, who I made up for the purpose of this fan fiction.
I would start by giving y'all a long-winded explanation about why this took me two months to get out but let's be honest with each other. You don't care about that and neither do I. You click on those messages in your inboxes expecting a new chapter and darn it, that's what I'm giving ya! All the same, I do hope this makes up for the wait!
7. Attention
"Okay…here's another good word: 'challenging.'"
He sat on the couch with Yumi standing in front of him in her pajamas. As though she was up on stage in front of a microphone, she locked her arms behind her back, closed her eyes and answered automatically, "Challenging. Chal-len-ging. C-H-A-L-L-E-N-G-I-N-G. Challenging. In a sentence: You should give me more challenging words to spell." Her rich brown eyes popped open again and she grinned at him. That grin got to him every time. No matter what weighed on his mind at any given moment, Aizawa couldn't resist smiling back at her.
No. He wasn't Aizawa here. Here with his girls he was Dad, or Daddy, depending on which of them addressed him.
"Yumi, you seem to know your words pretty well already. Are you sure you want to spend what's left of your summer vacation practicing this?"
"I have to," she answered matter-of-factly. "If I have any chance to winning the Spelling Bee in November, I have to practice. I want to be able to spell the entire dictionary from cover to cover by then, and the dictionary you gave me for my birthday is gonna be a big he—no, it will be advantageous. Hm, that's another good word! Ad-van-ta-geous. A-D-V-A-N-T-A-G-E-O-U-S. Advantageous."
Wow. Yumi had just turned ten and she could already spell words off the bat that he still had to spell-check now and then, in English and their native tongue. Her teacher's encouragement had made her head swell, but generally in a good way. Then again, Yumi had always been good with words. It was facts and numbers she had trouble retaining.
"Come on Dad! Open it! Give me a harder word."
"Uh, o-okay. I'll see what I can find."
He thumbed through the new book and searched the top of the pages for a good word, the scent of fresh print rising up to his nostrils, though not as crisp as the day before. As he did this, Anika bounded into the living room with a fuzzy cowhide blanket tied around her shoulders like a cape and her bull-horn headband nestled in her dark wiry nest of hair. "Spelling is so boring," she piped up as she climbed over the arm of the couch and tumbled in under his arm. "Daddy, come play Moo-Moo Girl with me again! We always have more fun playing Moo-Moo Girl."
"Uh, I'd love to, Anika. But it's getting kind of late and—"
"He's busy with me right now, Anika," huffed Yumi. "We played all day, now it's my time. H-hey! Don't touch my dictionary! You'll mess up the pages that way!"
"This isn't a dict'ary, it's an evil magic book and you're the wicked witch that cast him under its spell! Now it's up to Moo-Moo Girl to save Daddy! Moo-Moo to the rescue!"
"Anika! You little—g-get back here!" shouted the older girl as she chased after her baby sister around the living room, the little one holding the book high over her head and squealing all the while. Meanwhile Aizawa stayed on the couch, wanting to join in but finding himself inexplicably shaken about Anika's mentioning of "an evil magic book."
Perhaps because there were evil magic books out there? And he dreaded the possibility, no matter how remote, of either Yumi or Anika getting one of those. After all, he'd lost his sanity, one of his best friends and his marriage in trying to keep these two from slipping into a dark world where one could lose his life for even the most minor infraction and somehow that would be treated as okay and even just.
But you won't always be there to protect them.
No. I'll always be there for them.
Really? You're not really there now. And who knows what's going to happen with these new killings? What if you get killed? Who will protect them then?
He shoved these thoughts aside with a defiant and almost desperate, Then I won't get killed. None of us are going to die on my watch. Never again. With that, he sprung off the couch in spite of the ache in his muscles from the day's excitement and followed the girls, stubbing his toe on the coffee table along the way.
Eventually Yumi did get her dictionary back after a vicious tickle-fight, and afterwards at 9:15 he deemed it time for bed. "Now Yumi, as good as it is to study you won't be able to retain anything if you don't get a good night's sleep, and Anika, Moo-Moo Girl won't be able to save the day if she's tired. Even superheroes need their rest."
Once all of the bedtime rituals had been completed—toilet flushed, hands washed, teeth brushed, kisses and hugs shared, covers tucked and stuffed cows retrieved from under the bed and dusted off—he found himself back on the couch nursing his still tender toe and pouring himself a cold glass of Asaki draft with ice added since he couldn't keep the beer in the fridge where the girls could see and get at it. As much as he needed this, he couldn't drink in front of the girls. Of course not, that would be setting a horrible example. Only after they'd gone to bed could he crack open a can.
Since he'd dedicated the entire day to them he hadn't had the chance to check his E-mails, so he fired up his laptop and logged in as soon as he could get into the Internet. Better to come back to work with as few surprises as possible.
Speaking of…
Huh? Eriko sent me a message? "No Subject"…
What on Earth would Eriko have to say to him, especially at this time of night? At one time, back when they were still dating and in the earliest years of their marriage Eriko would put a "3" in the subject line and a "3~" at the end of her message in the same way most might use X's for "kisses." That was so long ago, before reality seeped in. Now it was "(No Subject)?" He almost didn't want to click on it; what would she have to say to him that she couldn't say when he had come to get the girls?
Then again, maybe it was important? He wouldn't know unless he opened it. Taking a sip of his beer, he absently sloshed the light low-malt concoction around his mouth like mouthwash and was about to swallow when he clicked on the message.
What he saw had him spitting up most of it all over the front of his shirt.
Mr. Shuichi Aizawa,
For safety and convenience I borrowed your ex-wife's address so that I may contact you. I apologize for doing so, but surely you understand the need to stay confidential. I would like your assistance on a case that I am working on. If you are willing to assist me please access the fourth block of the fourth section of the Manga Kissa server tomorrow at 09:00. The line will be open for five minutes and you'll have to break through the firewall yourself.
L
PS: Please destroy your computer within twenty-four hours of reading this message.
…
He didn't know what was more mind-boggling: the fact that L who was supposed to have been scattered ashes for four years now had just sent him a message asking for his help, the fact that he'd used Eriko's address to do it, or that he was making him contact him at a café called Manga Kissa, break through a firewall and destroy his brand-new US $400 laptop by tomorrow night. Perhaps a combination of the three?
Aizawa hastily put the glass back on its coaster before it could slip out of his hand. What the hell? This couldn't be L! At the same time, this message sounded way too elaborate to be a simple prank, from Eriko or any ordinary trouble-maker ("trolls," Matsuda called them). This had to be from the person who made that broadcast and had called himself L. Who was he, and what could he possibly want from him?
Was it safe to just ignore this message? His constricted gut advised against that more and more with every befuddled second. Not if this guy was serious, and chances were he was. He would know if Aizawa ignored him. What if he retaliated?
He pinched the place between his eyes to ease the pressure building up behind it. It looked like this was the only way he could finally get some answers to the questions that had been plaguing him ever since this all started. But it was Sunday tomorrow, wasn't it? He couldn't just leave the girls home alone while he ran this errand, not when he had no idea how long it would take. He certainly couldn't take them with him. He'd have to take them back to Eriko's first thing before setting out to this task.
But what about breakfast? I was really looking forward to breakfast with them tomorrow.
Exhaling through his puckered lips, he picked the glass back up and took another sip. I guess I can put it off and can eat with them afterwards. Maybe invite Eriko along. It's been a while since we ate together as a family.
His eyes squeezed shut tighter than they should, the longer he mulled over it. He and Eriko had been amicable enough around each other, or so he liked to think. Sometimes though he wondered how much of it was genuine and how much of it was a front for the girls' sake. Since they split, Eriko had become more aloof to him; he could hear it in the tone of her voice, see it in the look in her eyes where her smile didn't reach as often as it should when they were in each other's company. He supposed that it was her defense mechanism, to keep her from getting reattached to a man who had practically gotten remarried to his job. A dangerous job at that, one that could take his life any day if he wasn't careful, and had on a few occasions come close.
And not just on her end. He found himself in question, too. Not that he didn't wish her happiness and security, but sometimes it felt as though she had abandoned him, at least in spirit.
Or did I abandon her first? I-I never meant to. Oh hell, what difference does it make, who abandoned whom when? It takes two to tango, doesn't it? We're better off this way, no matter how I slice it. If we'd have stayed together, who knows how much worse things would have gotten?
He'd heard stories from many divorced parents who said that they only stayed and put up with the strife as long as they did for the kids. But now that he'd joined the club, he wondered if staying when you knew it was over and letting it drag on actually hurt the kids worse in the long run. Especially when even the kids could see it, like Yumi and Anika had seemed to.
He punctuated his musings with another large gulp of his beer. His shirt was starting to feel sticky against his chest from where he'd spilled his drink. With a sigh, he got up and hobbled towards his room to change, switching his thoughts to how he was to dispose of his computer and carry out the task asked of him, never mind his reluctance. On the way he passed the half-open door of the girls' room, and he peered inside to see the two of them nestled in their respective beds, their faces soft and blissful with sleep. One almost would've never guessed how much these two bickered and chased each other around when awake.
He saw Moo-Moo lying on the floor under Anika's dangling hand. Holding his breath, he crept into the room, picked up the plush cow and her arm and gently tucked both by her small round face. In the shadows her dreamy smile seemed to broaden a little at the gesture as she drew the toy closer to her, and a warm, protective familiar feeling swept through him. One that only a father could feel for his little girls.
He hurried back out before he could make a noise that might wake her or Yumi up.
No matter what happens, I'll always be there for them.
So he kept telling himself.
…
"Well Aizawa, this is an unusual place to meet for you," said Ide with a bemused frown as he surveyed the business standing before them. A mug of coffee was clutched in his hand, a liquid battery to wake him up early on a day that he normally spent sleeping in and reading his novels.
"I know, but I didn't exactly have a choice on the matter. I called you because your hacking skills are better than mine; it'd take me a lot longer than five minutes to get through the firewall."
"Do you mind if I ask why you need to do this, anyway? Or should I wait until after we get in for answers?"
"The latter, I'm afraid." L never said that he couldn't bring someone from work with him. Besides, if he was looking for assistance on a case as he'd said—and if it was the one Aizawa had guessed—then the other detectives from the former Kira task force would inevitably get involved no matter what.
The first thing he noticed as they stepped inside was that the café was unusually under-occupied today. Virtually no one else was here, and Aizawa had to wonder briefly if "L" had somehow arranged that. The man allegedly had more power than all of the governments and investigative bureaus in the world combined, which frankly sounded like more natural power than any one man could or should be trusted with.
And that assumed that a man didn't also have a killer notebook.
Once the two found their cubicle, Ide sat down, set his coffee next to the monitor out of the way, and lightly cracked his knuckles. No time was spared for small talk. "All right, let's get to work."
Luckily this wasn't something that Ide couldn't handle with his basic training. Just as it looked as though he had gotten access to the server, the entire screen became stark white, with the exception on that lone black calligraphic letter floating in the center of the screen, one that Aizawa and Ide had come to associate with some of the most loathsome things in existence.
"Shuichi Aizawa?" The synthetic voice sounded exactly like the one L had used. Already this felt way too surreal for Aizawa's liking, and probably for Ide's too, given the stunned look on his face.
"This is him," he answered over Ide's shoulder when he found his voice again. "And I brought one of my partners from the NPA, Hideki Ide."
"I don't recall saying that you could do that."
"I didn't read anything in the message that said that I couldn't either," said Aizawa, a thinly suppressed growl in his voice. As much as he didn't like L, there was something profoundly disturbing about having an imposter take up your identity after your death and act exactly like you. Aizawa couldn't wish that on anyone.
Although given what L had once said about going by at least two prominent detective names that likely did not begin as his own, maybe this was karma paying him back?
"And anyway, I'll be upfront with you: we're not inclined to trust you at the moment, not when you call yourself L. The first man who called himself L died four years ago on a case. So what does that make you?"
"I figured that you would say that. The truth is, the man you worked with on the Kira case and myself are both part of an organization of detectives that all share the title of 'L.' After he died, I was chosen to take his place."
He and Ide bit back a collective gasp. They shouldn't have been surprised that L never told them that, but still, how could they be sure that this "L" was telling the truth?
"How can we be sure that what you're saying is true?" said Ide, his dark eyes narrowed in suspicion.
"Simple. I have someone here that can verify my claim. It's someone that you may know and who I assume that you trust."
Someone that they may know…
Wait a minute.
The two heard crackles, like someone was thoroughly clearing their throat on the other end. Then a meek, faintly nasally voice greeted them: "G-g'mornin', guys."
Aizawa got too close to losing his grip on the swivel chair and falling on top of Ide, whose hand had frozen in mid-air while reaching for his coffee.
Blogger! That IDIOT! I told her not to go to anyone!
"Blogger? Is that you? What are you—what are you doing over there? Where are you? Did you—"
"I-I know, I know and I'm sorry! I swear I didn't go to anyone first! But then the party and Misa and Stephen and Halle and—and then one thing led to another thing…wh-what this guy's saying is pretty much true. Eh, more or less. Like, 70 percent. Maybe 65."
Ide looked ready to facepalm. Frankly Aizawa felt the same way. But besides being annoyed as hell with her, he still worried a little. The first L had taken her into custody after she saw their group arrest Misa Amane in front of To-Oh campus. None of them could really do anything about it then no matter how much they disagreed with the arrangement. They had to keep the details of the case under wraps and as an aspiring newshound there had been no guarantee then that she wouldn't go and blab about it the first chance she got. She wouldn't even accept hush money, or so they'd been told when they first got word of it.
If L had never done that, would she be in this position today? He doubted it, and he hated how there was nothing he could do that would change things now. Mad as he was, he couldn't help but pity her.
"L" regained the connection. "Don't get the wrong impression, Mr. Aizawa. As big of a mouth as Ms. Blogger has, the blame is not entirely hers. There was a mix-up, a series of interactions of context and coincidence that one could tentatively call contrived. I assure you, though. She's not being held captive or anything of that sort. We have made an agreement, which ties into the reason I requested to speak to you in the first place."
Request? More like command, even though it had been worded as a request. The first L had been the same way; no matter how politely he asked it, no was never an acceptable answer unless it came from him. Such was the attitude of spoiled brats, egoists and psychopaths.
Come to think of it, Light was sort of that way himself. He just hid it better. Perhaps one of the worst things about this observation was that Aizawa made it based on hindsight; that alone rendered it utterly useless, at least as far as Light was concerned.
"Well, what is it that you want?" he asked, finding this stranger undeserving of politeness when nothing he had done had warranted it.
"Tell me, Mr. Aizawa, that you've noticed the steady increase of stories circulating over the news and Internet about criminals dying again."
The men exchanged apprehensive glances. How could they not? "Lately we have noticed signs of widespread suspicious activity, not unlike what we saw on the first Kira case," he answered. "We think there's at least one person somewhere in the world using…Kira's power, maybe more."
We hope that there's only one person, but when was it ever enough to hope, then or now?
"A smooth deduction, Mr. Aizawa. Next question, who has Kira's power and where are they?"
Aizawa's teeth gnashed in tightly restrained fury. He'd often thought that L was to put it mildly insufferable, but this guy…
"We're still looking into that. Given how more under the radar this new killer is compared to the first Kira, we believe that he has considerably more savvy; he probably watched the first Kira and is trying to avoid his mistakes. If that's the case, we don't think using a public broadcast like the one the first L used will help to lure him out."
"I don't count on this new killer to fall for the same tricks Kira did, either. I made that broadcast to at the very least call attention to his activity."
"By telling everyone in America that there was no killing and that you weren't going to help?" scoffed Ide.
"Now gentlemen, I'm sure you know as well as I do that Kira's killing method mustn't be disclosed to the public, if we can help it. If our unsub has been so careful about carrying out these new judgments—or at least he thinks that he's been careful—the fact that there is someone, or a group of people out there who have even the slightest inkling about what he's doing could put pressure on him."
"And you think he'll do something to give himself away then?"
"I hesitate to say that he would immediately do something to screw himself up. Instead, he'll attempt to cover his tracks, such as pass his power on to someone else. Someone who could and would easily take the fall for him."
That didn't sound that different from what Light and Misa had done on the first case with Higuchi and the Yotsuba Group. Then again, it had fooled them for the longest time…
Why couldn't Aizawa shake the feeling that this L already knew someone who would use the notebook in the way that the unsub had? On the other hand, L didn't even make Light's acquaintance until later on in the investigation and he'd managed to zoom in on him fairly quickly.
"Well, we've been building a profile on the unsub on our end. Based on the information we've gathered so far from the media, we've created a time-table on the criminal deaths—"
"Mr. Aizawa, surely you realize how pointless that is? Kira can control the time and conditions of his victims' deaths."
"Every criminal has some kind of M.O. Some are better at hiding it than others, but they all still have some kind of pattern in their activity."
"Even if you could find a pattern, it's completely possible that he created that pattern just to throw you off. Let me guess, does the time-table fit a schedule that a high school or college student would have?
"Come to think of it, Mr. Yagami has a surviving daughter that's going to college. It would only be natural for her to want to follow in her big brother's footsteps, wouldn't it?"
You son of a bitch. You…you fuck.
Thank goodness Soichiro wasn't here to hear this. Aizawa could only imagine how badly he might have flown off the handle if this comment could piss him off this much as a friend of the family. Not to mention that if he knew this much about the Yagami family, then he really must have had some kind of affiliation with L that would grant him access to such information about them and the case.
"L, do you really want our help or did you drag us here just to insult us?" he demanded.
Suddenly the feed became fuzzy, and then there was drop-dead silence though L's insignia remained on the screen. "L? L, are you there?" asked Ide. "Hello? He's not answering…"
"His screen is still up. We can't leave until he finishes talking to us," Aizawa muttered. "He must have momentarily turned off his voice connection. Or…"
…
Erin situated herself between him and his computer, her hand over the microphone. "Hey kid, I'm not gonna put up with you talking to my friends like that," she said sternly. "You have no idea what they and their families have gone through."
Unfazed, Near rubbed a lock of his pale hair between his two fingers. "Oh, don't I?"
"Well, you wouldn't be treating them like this if you did."
"Whatever they 'went through' in the past is irrelevant, Ms. Blogger. Such is the case for everyone. What matters is here and now."
"What kind of PS are you spouting? I thought you were a genius. The past helps to shape everyone into who they are today. You oughta know that."
"The only thing anyone should take from the past is their mistakes, so that when they make mistakes in the future, at least they won't be the exact same as from the past. The same mistakes over and over get boring to watch before very long."
Erin threw an exasperated hand into the air before slapping it back against her side. "Jesus Christ, were manners not in the curricula over at Wammy's House or did you flunk out of that class? I thought you were going to ask them for your help? You're not gonna get their cooperation this way, that's for damn sure. And if you think they're that stupid, why are you even bothering to talk to them at all?"
"Etiquette was an elective and I was exempted from taking it. When I'm given a reason to respect someone, then I'll respect them. Just because the Japanese task force are relatively clueless doesn't mean that they aren't still useful. If you'd let me finish—"
Anger sizzled through her like a long lit fuse about to trigger a bundle of dynamite. Not even L was this vicious, or at least he didn't make it so painfully apparent. That last comment about Mr. Yagami's daughter Sayu was simply uncalled for, spoken completely out of spite. Right then, whatever self-restraint she had cultivated slipped from her fingers. "C'mere, I'm about to give you a crash course on manners!"
As physically weak as Near appeared to be, she easily managed to wrestle him into a headlock so she could give him a noogie, vigorously scrubbing her knuckles against his scalp like scrubbing a stubborn food stain off of a china plate. That is until Roger hastily bounded over to pull the two apart, this scenario all too familiar to him from his days as caretaker of the House.
Near reached up to nurse the top of his head. The only evidence of distress he gave besides that was a few more blinks than usual. "She touched me inappropriately," he deadpanned.
"Oh, hush! All I did was gave you a noogie. Roger you saw that, didn't ya?"
"You put my face up to your breasts, Ms. Blogger. What else am I to make of that? I don't see how that's supposed to teach me good manners. Besides, shouldn't you be doing things like that to Gevanni?" Taking a lock of hair into his fingers, he nodded towards the exit. "Please show her the door, Watari. I have no more use for her at this moment."
Not of the opinion that a lady should do something so undignified anyway, Roger started to guide Erin out the door. Despite the momentary shock from that last comment, she recovered quick enough to put up her arms to block the doorway. "W-wait, I wanna say something to Aizawa."
"What would that be?" Roger grumbled.
"Don't worry, I won't be longer than a minute. I just need to clear the air."
She scrambled back around a frustrated Roger and towards the small computer sitting on the floor. Before Near could get to it, she turned the microphone back on.
"Yo, Aizawa? This is Erin, again. You still there?"
"Yes."
"Listen. Don't take what he just said too personally. He's a sh—he's a stinky diaper to everyone. Hold on, I'll put him back on the line…"
She thought she heard a faint, choked-back chuckle from the other end before stepping over Near, probably Ide taken by surprise by her remark. Aizawa wasn't generally the type to chuckle at stupid comments, especially these days.
…
While Ide tried to recover from having accidentally forced coffee down his windpipe, Aizawa took over. In some ways it seemed that Erin hadn't changed in the least. Still unafraid to be childish and belligerent with people of authority. But then, weren't most Americans like that?
"Pardon that interruption," said "L" as though there hadn't been one, or even that he had been so rude to them just moments ago. "As I was saying, while I understand that you would think building a profile of the killer or killers would be helpful, what you really should be doing in the meantime is keeping your eye on the news. The first Kira used the media to his advantage and it wouldn't be too far of a stretch that this new killer would as well. In particular I want you to keep an eye on the reporters. Who they are, who they work for, and their type of coverage."
"On reporters? Just the ones here in Japan? Why?"
"I'm afraid we're running out of time. I only intended to speak to you for a few minutes; you can thank Ms. Blogger for cutting into most of it. Besides, I'm sure you can figure out the rest for yourselves. I will contact you again as needed, most likely in the same way as before."
The two had no choice but to concede, finding it pointless to argue with this new detective as distrustful as they still found him. Although before the connection was cut again, Aizawa had to ask: "Hold on. What sort of 'agreement' did you arrange with Blogger, if I'm allowed to ask?"
"Don't worry. She won't be doing anything terribly dangerous as long as she holds up her end of the deal and does as I say. Blogger is conducting some surveillance for me."
"Surveillance? On who?" He didn't like the sound of that at all, and from on Ide's face neither did he. What business would someone like Blogger have to watch anyone that extensively?
"Who do you think? Surely you wouldn't have forgotten after all this time."
Those were "L's" last curt, dispassionate words before the screen blinked back to its normal desktop image.
The first thought to come to Aizawa's head after this abrupt parting of ways was, Asshole. Somehow he's worse than the first L.
His second: Wait a minute.
"He must be talking about Misa Amane," he muttered.
"Amane?"
"It can't be anyone else. With Amane in America right now working on her new film…it'd make sense that he'd want to keep an eye on her."
"Except when it doesn't. You don't really think Amane would be at it again, do you? And either way, is getting Blogger involved the smartest thing to do?"
Aizawa groaned. Given the girl's past they couldn't entirely rule out the idea, but at the same time it didn't sound likely. This new killer's M.O. didn't match Misa's style when she was still the Second Kira. Misa tended to go after people who so much as spoke out against Kira. These days she had become one of the brave masses who did the speaking out, having lost all of her memories and turning against Kira's ideology after Light's death.
But what if this was wishful thinking on his part as he didn't want to think that Misa would fall back into her old ways? Looks could and did deceive. It would be foolish of them to forget that after all they'd witnessed. But then, would Misa go that far in covering her tracks if she truly had any involvement in these new murders? Blogger could be in grave danger, whether Misa was guilty or not.
Anyway, what could they do about it now? "L" and the girls were over in America and they were here; from what he had said, they might have to stay here for a bit longer.
Was he trying to tell us that our unsub is or is involved with someone who works in the media here in Japan?
"So what now?" grumbled Ide. The two stood up and stretched the ache from their joints, neither of them as flexible as they used to be.
After a moment of hesitation, he exhaled. Brunch with the family would have to be moved back, again. This, here and now, was far too serious to put aside for another time. "We're going to have to call Matsuda and Mogi in for an emergency meeting. Let's see what they can make of this. Besides he didn't say we couldn't do that."
…
"Whoa! Sh-she did what? Get out!"
"I admit I've made crap up in the past because I thought it'd be funny to see how you'd react, but…I wouldn't make something like this up. I wish I was."
Erin didn't like the pause over the line, but she was so taken aback by this news she had found herself at a temporary loss as to how to break the silence. Farley broke it first with a pained chuckle.
"You know, I'm actually kinda glad I found out when I did. I finally got the guts to pop the question to her; I was just about to do it when this whole shitstorm blew in." This was Farley for you, cracking lame jokes in the face of adversity, even betrayal.
"Oh my God. I—I'm so sorry, Farley."
"What are you apologizing for? You didn't do anything."
"Aw Farley, not even you deserve that. Man, I oughta call her up myself and give her a piece of my mind! How dare she go and—"
"N-no, no don't. It's not your problem. I don't need this to escalate any more than it already has. Besides it wouldn't look good on me if it got out that I cried to my baby sister about how—uh, you know what? This conversation never happened. I'll chat you up later."
Click.
Even when she heard him hang up Erin called out his name into the phone against her better judgment, for some reason expecting him to pick up again. When the dial tone started beeping she hung up in turn, pinching the place between her eyes and shaking her head. As she slipped the cell phone into her pocket she could see her brother hammering a hole in the wall with his head as he tried to remember what he could have possibly said or done—or didn't say or do—that would drive Penny into the arms of another man, never mind humiliate him like that. Personally Erin couldn't see it. Farley had been joking, and only to her, when he'd talked about having kids in the future and he was a total puppy-dog when it came to Penny. Unless that was Penny's reason for doing it…
Either that, or Penny had started to get cold feet about things between them becoming more serious. Whatever her issues had been, she sure picked a horrible way to address them.
"Is everything okay, Erin?"
She turned to find Misa standing behind her dressed for another successful day of filming.
"Oh, it's my brother. He just found out that his girl's been messing around behind his back. And just when he was gonna propose to her, too…"
Misa clapped her fingers over her lips, gasping in shock. "Oh no! That's terrible! Is he gonna be okay?"
"I dunno. He didn't sound okay when I talked to him. He and Penny, they've been together for almost two years. I wonder why she would do something like this now…"
"Hm. Well, maybe there is a bright side to this," said Misa as she ran her fingers through her blond locks that still glistened from the shower she'd just taken. "As least he found out she was a slut before he got too entangled with her."
"Misa!"
"What? Don't tell me you're not thinking the same thing."
"Well, I've certainly lost a lot of respect for her but I—at the same time, I don't like using that word."
Misa put her hand on her hip. "Oh, really? You'll use other four-letter words and call people other names but you won't say 'slut?'"
Erin scratched at the back of her neck. "There's just something about that word that never sat well with me. I mean, if you wanna sleep with anyone and everyone that's willing and able that's your prerogative. But don't promise to be faithful to somebody and then be everything but. I think that's a lot worse than just sleeping around."
Misa was quiet for a moment, somewhat unusual for someone as chatty as she was. She always was sensitive about relationship stuff. Or was it something else? Erin didn't want to ask too many questions or ask in the wrong way lest she arouse her suspicions. For these past few days neither Erin nor Steve had seen anything strange; if Steve had noticed anything that she hadn't he would have shared it with her. Then again, he couldn't be around Misa nearly as much as she could. As far as Misa was concerned, he was just a "maybe" new flame of Erin's.
Her fists clenched when her frustrations toward Penny crawled back into the forefront of her mind. "He told me to stay out of it but God, it's hard not to want to get involved. This is my brother who just got his heart broken."
"I know how you feel. But maybe he's right? What can you say to this girl that probably hasn't been said already? You do sometimes say stuff when you get mad that makes the problem worse. I think the best thing you can do is just be there for him. He'll find someone better eventually when he stops hurting."
Erin sniffed. "Yeah. Maybe you're right," she conceded, recalling the incident with Near not too long ago. He hadn't allowed her back into the room with him since then. Not that he was pleasant company to begin with, but it did make things unnecessarily tense and put her out in the dark. On top of that, a stipulation had been put on her that she could no longer contact her friends from the NPA independently until this case was closed, and Erin couldn't be sure of even that much. How could she be sure that Near would treat them right if she wasn't there?
No matter how she looked at it, a peace offering seemed to be in order. She would work that out later before her next appointment with the task force. Until then, she could leave a message for Farley, let him know that she would be around when he felt ready to talk.
Still, she never saw someone have such an extreme (if delayed) reaction to a simple noogie. Had he never gotten one before? Or had he gotten too many in his short lifetime for him to bear? She could only imagine how the other kids treated him when he still lived at Wammy's—even kids could be unforgiving of those that were different—and in spite of her dislike of him a lump of sympathy started to clog her throat at the thought.
She didn't want to admit that he was right about her being a teddy bear, but nothing she said or did exactly contradicted his accusation, either. She did like to think of herself as a decent enough person, but not a complete teddy bear. It made her sound like everyone's sap, everyone's plaything just by virtue of being nice to them.
Misa reached over to bat at one of her earrings with her pinkie. "You sure do like these, don't you? You've been wearing them every day, practically."
Swallowing down the lump at least partly out of anxiety Erin said, "Sure, why not?"
"Personally they look kinda tacky on you."
"Well I like them."
Misa smirked. "Do you wear them 'cause Steve likes them, too?"
She glanced down at her feet as her face flushed. "W-well, he hasn't said that he doesn't."
A look flickered across Misa's soft face as though she were about to say something vaguely catty, but for whatever reason decided against it as she said instead, "Well, when we both get time, we're going shopping for more earrings. You should at least mix things up."
Erin smiled. "Whatever you say, Miss Fashionista."
Misa beckoned her with a wave of her hand. "Until then, let's get going! Don't wanna be late!"
"Okay, hang on, I'll catch up."
As the two started for the door Erin dialed Farley's number again. He didn't answer. So she left him a message:
"Farley? Hey, it's Erin. You hung up on me kind of abruptly. I get if you don't wanna talk right now but…when you're ready, I just want you to know that I'm here. You know where to reach me. Love ya, big bro."
…
It hadn't slipped by Misa that Erin had been spending more time with Stephen since the party, when she wasn't working on an article or spending time with her. Today she was going to accompany her to the set to get some material for an article she'd offered to write about her, "Y'know, to get your name out there."
Years ago Erin had gone to college with the hope that one day she would become one of those hard-hitting journalists who exposed lies and conspiracies to a public that had every right to know about them. Now here she was writing about local news, celebrities and animals in need of adoption. No gossip, though; that hadn't changed in the slightest.
Misa could only imagine that her experience on the Kira case had scared her into the opposite direction. In a way she couldn't really blame her. What could be worse than being thrust into the middle of one of the greatest most dangerous stories the world may ever hear, and then coming out of it unable to even tell it to anyone?
That case had changed her, too.
She would never admit it, but sometimes for the shortest of moments she found herself jealous of Erin and Steve. Not because she wanted Steve for herself, oh no, handsome as he was she was telling the truth about him not being her type. She was jealous of the relationship as a whole, of the fact they'd hit it off so quickly and seemed happy together.
And so she would have expected. After all Misa had been the one to, literally, push them together so that they could build that attraction in the first place. As foolish as she knew it was to get jealous, she couldn't help herself. She never could help herself, could she? From what Erin had told her their first night together had been wonderful: cruising around the city all night in his car and talking before stopping by the water to watch the sunrise over fast-food coffee and donuts.
It almost sounded too good to be true. While it wasn't the soft candlelight, roses and satin from the covers of those supermarket romance novels that Misa was so fond of, it sounded romantic all the same. The kind of moment that she herself yearned for but had never shared with any of the men she'd been with.
Not even Light.
Misa sat down in front of the mirror with a rare gratitude about the lack of necessity for conversation and closed her eyes as Leslie broke out the make-up kit. Hearing Erin talk about her brother's relationship troubles had made her think about him. No one would have known it to look at them but even without the whole Kira mess theirs hadn't been as wonderful of a relationship as it'd seemed. When they had just started dating Light had seen other girls. He insisted that he'd had to. They couldn't appear to be that close to each other, he'd said. It was for her reputation's sake and his. She didn't think that he became too…intimate with those other girls, the way that he would never be with her—or at least she hadn't wanted to think so. The idea was simply too unbearable.
Of course that changed when they both got pulled into the case; after that Light was lucky to find time to go out at all, never mind meet other girls. Whatever girls who might've been interested in him besides were repelled by Ryuzaki's maddening presence. He had literally chained himself to Light's side because he couldn't let go of his suspicions about him.
Then Light's attention turned to Ryuzaki. They argued together, conversed together, worked together, ate together, slept together, probably showered together. Not that they had the kind of feelings for each other that Misa had for Light, she would have noticed if that were the case, but in private the arrangement drove her insane. The first person she felt any sort of connection to in the longest time, the first to give her consistent attention however slight, and here he was being stolen away by someone who, as much as she hated to admit it, understood him almost as well as she did. Maybe even more.
That was why she had been so pushy about setting up Ryuzaki with Erin. To divert his attention so she could take back what she believed was hers. Never mind if the two didn't get along or that Ryuzaki would end up hurting her somehow. Looking back Misa couldn't remember dwelling on that for very long. She was selfish then.
And I'm just as selfish now.
She used to be in denial about it, but after getting time to think about things she'd decided it better to embrace her nature, not fight it. She didn't know anymore if fairy-tale endings were still possible outside of books and movies, if they ever were. All she knew was that she'd given up her right to one a long time ago.
Leslie pulled away to give Misa a chance to check herself out in her reflection. "Viola! Looking fab, if I do say so myself!"
Misa twirled her chair around and made an array of her best faces: cute, funny, serious, enticing, the entire array. None of these necessarily reflected her feelings at the moment, but she had always been billed as an excellent actress. If she concentrated enough, she would adopt the mindset to go with the face. An actress could be anything she wanted. Or what anyone else wanted. Sometimes she could be different people to audiences at the same time.
When she was satisfied, she tossed her hair and gave two thumbs-up. "All right, let's do it!"
…
Erin's hand drew away before her fingers brushed the handle. I don't know if I can do this.
But you have to. Come on, the longer you stand there debating over it the greater chance you have of getting caught. Her hand inched back over…only to dart away again. She wiped the sweat dotting her brow with her wrist.
But it's not right to look into people's phones—
Oh fuck, Erin, make up your mind! You're just gonna look at her texts and voicemail. That's it. She will never know about it and then you can at least say that you've been thorough.
She took her deepest breath until her chest felt like bursting and exhaled slowly, her lips puckering as though she were blowing out a candle. Clutching the handkerchief, she turned the knob on the lock according to the combination Steve had given her during one of his own escapades on surveying Misa. She hadn't been happy about hearing this, but all Steve had to reply with was, "I did what I had to. I never found anything, but it couldn't hurt to check again. Since you'd be coming with Misa, it would look a lot less suspicious if you did it."
12-25-24. Right-right-right. Left-left. Right.
Click.
Her heart drummed so violently that her sheer pulse seemed to make her hands tremble. Peeling the cold steel door of the locker by the top with her finger, she found Misa's leather purse sitting inside. Misa had several cell phones, each with a different purpose. Erin thought to start with her "personal" phone, the dark blood-red one with the keychain attached to it that looked like a voodoo doll version of its owner. She took another breath and flipped it open, taking care to place the handkerchief between it and her clammy hand.
Upon going into the voicemail, an automated voice asked her for a passcode. Damn. But this all by itself didn't incriminate Misa; most people had codes on their phone, didn't they? Her body tightened bit by bit as she strained to come up with what numbers Misa would use for her code.
First she entered 1-2-2-5, the month and day of Misa's birthday, December 25th.
"Sorry, that is not your passcode. Please enter your passcode and press 'pound.'"
Her tongue poked out from between her lips as she tried again using Kimiko's birthday this time, September 25th: 0-9-2-5.
"Sorry, that is not your passcode. Please enter your passcode and press 'pound.'"
Come on, think! What other combination might she use?
…
Well, there was another. But for some reason Erin kind of hoped that wouldn't be it. Though what choice did she have except to try it?
0-2-2-8.
February 28th. Light's birthday.
To her discomfort, it must have been the right one. Because then the robotic voice announced, "You have no new messages. Main menu…"
Following the prompts, she found there were no saved messages either. Erin didn't know whether to worry or be relieved over this. She backed out of voicemail and returned to the phone's main menu to find text messages.
The shock of what she found there slackened her jaw, leaving her mouth open to the dust mites dancing in the sunlight pouring down from the one window above her.
…
Matt was just outside the locker room with another cigarette dangling from his lips. He had enough time to enjoy that warm, soothing first puff before a girl in a Fedora burst out pale and shaking like she'd just seen something ghastly. Perhaps a little something that someone had left in the crapper and forgot to flush?
"What's the matter?" he asked her coolly.
She tugged at her shirt collar like it had gotten too hot underneath it. "Uh, nothing. I wouldn't go in there for at least fifteen minutes, just a heads-up."
"I didn't realize that I looked like a lady from where you were standing," he said. "I wouldn't have a reason to be in there anyway unless I was."
"Ah, sorry, I didn't mean it that way, I just—oh, never mind!" With a hand over the top of her hat she made a mad dash back for the pool to watch Misa and her costar Dick do their next scene.
Matt hung his head and took another drag, already getting an idea as to what she might have seen that freaked her out this badly.
…
"Hey Mello. When did we start getting interested in killing criminals outside of the mafia?"
"We haven't."
"The news and Internet say otherwise."
After what couldn't have been more than two minutes of scanning the results of Matt's search on the engine Mello flashed a sneer, taking another chunk of chocolate off the top of his bar with his teeth. "Well, well. Looks like there's some idiot out there who somehow got a notebook of his own. From the looks of it he seems to be trying to pick up where Kira left off. Isn't that right, Lumen?"
The shinigami's gaping jaws were just as occupied, with the last fistful of consomme chips from the bag. "Gotter ber," he mumbled between spit-firing bites. He swallowed loudly. "A shinigami from my world probably dropped his notebook here on accident," he said with no trace of sympathy in his voice for his fellow god of death. He wiped the crumbs off of his skeletal face with the sleeve of his coat and let the aluminum bag flutter uselessly to the floor.
It didn't take either of them long to realize that they should hunt this guy down. "He could be useful to us; he's already useful in that he must be distracting the police from us," said Mello from over Matt's shoulder. "But we won't know until we find and get a hold of him. Lumen, how can you tell if a person owns a Death Note? Would you be able to tell if you saw him?" Matt didn't answer him. He was just about to lean his head back into his chest when Mello pulled away to face their otherworldly accomplice.
Lumen snickered. "Sorry, I couldn't tell you if I wanted to. Shinigami aren't allowed to point out other Death Note owners any more than we're allowed to give you anyone's real name. Besides, if you're as smart as I've been led to believe I think it'd be much more fun to see you try to figure it out for yourself."
Mello huffed. He should have expected Lumen to say that. All of the consomme chips in the world couldn't make Lumen be at his complete beck and call. So now what? L didn't mention much about how the Shinigami Eyes worked, but he assumed that on the first case the Second Kira was able to find the First Kira with them. And after what Lumen had told him the first and only time he'd offered to make the deal, the "marker" had to be one's lifespan, or lack thereof.
But making the trade for himself was out of the question, and he couldn't get someone else to do it without giving up ownership of the Death Note and transferring it to them. Or he could, but he didn't trust anyone here enough to do it, for if they did have the Eyes then they could see his real name and out went his advantage over the others.
Yes. Yet another thing to consider. They couldn't yet tell if this person had the Eyes. If he did he certainly would be useful to Mello if he could get him on his side, but at the same time if he ever saw his face and found a reason to kill him…
So history repeats itself.
He'd just have to track this person down the old-fashioned way. It wasn't as though he hadn't been taught to do so.
…
"What're we taking this way for?" whined Lumen. "The usual route is quicker!" He was of course talking about their route to meet their men with the next delivery of chips. Otherwise he wouldn't have cared less.
"We'll get there, don't you worry," said Mello from the seat next to him. "I felt nostalgic and wanted to take the scenic route. Besides, shinigami can't starve so I think you can stand to wait."
Lumen cocked his head. "Nostalgic?"
"Yeah. This is a piece of history we're visiting. Well, my history, at least," he said with his gloved hand under his chin. He wouldn't expect the spirit to understand what that word meant. Indeed, most people wouldn't know it to look at the city, but they were driving through an old battlefield.
To Lumen's chagrin he didn't explain himself any further nor would he look his way. He started to hum and huff and make all sorts of obnoxious noises to get his attention. He certainly got that of the driver, who made his irritation quite apparent in his reflection in the rearview mirror as he tried to keep his eyes on the road. Eddie cursed under his breath for writing in the notebook himself, if only because if he hadn't he wouldn't be able to see or hear this asshole at all.
They passed the apartment on 3rd Avenue, where Quarter Queen was bludgeoned to death and her eyes crushed in. From what he knew, the girl's mother never returned there since then. Not that her fate was or had ever been his concern.
His elbow propped against the door, he peered out the dark tinted windows to see that now vacant little house on Insist Street, where Believe Bridesmaid was strangled and carved up. Before long the Metrorail Glass Station came into view, along with it the townhouse where Backyard Bottomslash had had the most gruesome death of the three: strangled, stabbed, beaten and then dismembered, and probably not in that order. If he closed his eyes he could see all of these murders unfold beyond his eyelids. Not that he was there for any of it; what he knew of the LABB affair L had told him himself and he had done extra research based on the news. But for him it wasn't difficult to imagine. Most people might be deeply troubled by the deaths of three innocent and unrelated people, but to Mello they had simply been unfortunate casualties in the war Beyond Birthday had declared upon L.
The condo in Pasadena rolled by then, now renovated. He imagined Naomi Misora rushing down the pathway on level 4 to room 404 just as Beyond was setting himself on fire, his final anguished battle-cry piercing the night and haunting the street for at least a year afterwards.
In hindsight, it was rather telling that B had to kill people just to get L's attention. The man had been constantly plagued by the fact that death was inevitable and that most of humankind's endeavors would prove futile in the grand scheme of things, and he'd still gone for it anyway. If B could take any comfort from his failure before he died in prison, it would've been that this applied to L, too. His fall just hadn't been as soon as he had wanted.
Attention. Attention. Attent—
A blazing streak of realization rattled his mind, burning his skull from the inside-out.
Yes. That's it. This other killer isn't as obvious about it, or so they like to think, but they crave attention too, on a global scale. As a god, like Kira himself. Hm. Or even better, they want to surpass Kira. And like Kira they can't stand people who contend with their points of view.
But they are currently modeling themselves so closely from Kira's M.O.…they must be a Kira admirer. Maybe someone who comes from a prominent family or has an occupation that puts them in public view often. Like a reporter. The killings may be spread out, but it wouldn't hurt to look back to the country of Kira's origin first. We need to watch for who is reporting on the deaths and how.
And who else dies around them.
He never saw Lumen leap so high or soar so quickly across the lot as soon as the car came to a stop and everyone got out. He watched the shinigami crash down on the mooks carrying the crates out of the truck with little interest. His mind had gone elsewhere, by then.