Restless nights were never Ilya's favorite. Switching positions once again, Ilya Ryder plunged her dark-haired head into the pillow. She usually caused restless nights by over thinking something.
And that she was.
'Mello . . . I've met you before, haven't I?' She couldn't shake the feeling of recognition, but she wasn't sure, as it was very long ago.
A very petite child stood next to the iron, spiraling gates of the orphanage. An older man, wearing a black trench coat, pushed her forward gently.
"This is your new home for now, Miss Ilya."
He unlocked the gate as lightning flashed, silhouetting the gate and fencing of the home. A home for orphaned geniuses.
Shutting the ornate front doors, he led her up the equally ornate stairs to a hallway. Just as he was unlocking an oak door, a little boy came behind them.
"She can sleep in our quarters"
He rubbed his wide blue eyes, and brushed his mope of blonde hair
from his face, the elderly man Ilya had come to know as Quilish Whammy smiled.
"You shouldn't be up at this time, but yes, our new occupant can sleep with you, Matt, and Near for the night. Please make Ilya feel welcome."
And with that, he pushed the bruised youth forward. She stumbled a little, and blushed at her own clumsiness.
"I-I-I'm Ilya Ryder. It's n-nice to meet you!"
"Uhm, I don't think you're 'sposed to tell me your name . . . ?"
He looked up at his senior, silently questioning him. The man smiled down at the two again.
"That's right; here you have to have an alias. This is only a precaution because everyone housed at 'Whammy's House for Orphaned Geniuses' is in the running to become the new L!"
"Eh-eh-L?"
The dark-haired female questioned, eyes growing wide. The blonde male grinned and nodded energetically.
"Uh-hunh! The L!"
"W-who's he?"
The little boy's jaw dropped, but was quickly brought to its proper place. He shook his head, letting his almost girlish waves of blonde brush his nose.
"You're 'gunna have a lot to learn, Rider!!"
And with that very true statement, he took her hand and ran down the hall to his room.
OHMIGAWD, ILYA, YOU DID MEET MELLO!
Pipe down, baka-onna above me!
Ilya Ryder's memories were vague, but she did remember her first encounter at Whammy's. Everything was a blur, but she did remember that she didn't spend much time there. In less than a month, her aunt took her from the foster home.
The criminal winced at a memory prior to her arrival at Whammy's. Back when she lived with her father. That was even more of a blur than her short stay at the orphanage, but was so painful she couldn't help but recall . . .
The slurred calls of her father. The bash of Whiskey bottle against the walls. The thump of Ilya tripping on her way upstairs. It was all too vivid for a memory which should be forgotten.
"You look too much like your mother!!"
The bash of the remains of the Whiskey bottle on the pale canvas called Ilya's skin resounded. Her cry and the drips of tears on the wooden floor came soon after.
"Why don't you get cancer and drop dead too?!"
It hurt, it hurt, it hurt. Her father's words stung even more than her wounds.
"Katherine was the only woman I've ever loved!! Why did you let he be t-taken away, god dammit!!"
"I-I-I-I'll try harder next time, Daddy!! I really w-will!"
Tears choking her throat, Ilya was picked up by the collar of her nightshirt and thrown against the wall. She was only 7, how could she be responsible for her mother's demise? She wasn't, but with his drunken conscious her father needed something to blame.
"There is no next time, Ilya!! Your mother is already dead! My Katherine is dead, idiot!!"
He repeatedly shook her back into the wall. Young Ilya began to notice everything becoming fuzzy, kind of like a dream you are desperate to remember. She desperately clawed at his large hands, which held her throat tightly.
And then everything became too fuzzy. Fuzzy fuzzy, like Ilya's now slightly bloody teddy bear . . .
Fuzzy, fuzzy, fuzzy . . .
Oh dear, poor Ilya . . .
Waking up with a start, sweat beaded on the woman's forehead. She sat up right, chest heaving up and down.
"Just a dream, Ly . . . just a dream." Oh but it wasn't.
Dj vu, but this time Charlotte wasn't there with Hot Coco. No one was there. Ilya was on her own once again, wasn't she?
Yes, she was.
Closing sparkling eyes to prevent tears, she laid her head on the wall. But the same fuzzy, yet lucid, images lurked behind her eyelids.
Ilya bitted her lip, letting her trembling pale hands massage her temples. All her memories were giving her a panic attack.
But if she chose to ignore her memories, they would still find her . . . burn her.
"Hey you alright?"
A familiar voice was tuned out. Maybe she wasn't alone tonight, maybe she wasn't on her own.
