The word of the day today is: Larynx! haha, sorry guys, I just HAD to say that.
Well, here's chapter nine - I'd like to make a shoutout to 0mohni0 my most faithful reviewer. THANKS, I LOVE YOU! I'd send you flowers, but that's creepy.
And I love all you people reading this too!
And I love Near, whose birthday was yesterday! I'm still drawing his tribute which would've been done today, but I went on an adventure and bought too much stuff... And I would do it tomorrow, but I'm going on another adventure... So who knows when it'll get up.
On another note: here's your new chapter, in which you get to meet TWO new characters and theres some more Raine-kun action too! I love him. Haha, creeeeper.
And, as always PLEASE review once you've read it. I love hearing from you guys, not because of the ego boost or anything (REALLY, nothing to do with it AT ALL), but because I just love you guys. Haha.
Without further ado:
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Roger leads me to a room at the end of the second floor hallway. I am going to meet Marissa, number one at Wammy's house, who apparently has no apparent interest in L or detective work at all.
The teachers tried to prepare me, though they should not have.
One of them, a particularly kind, blond teacher had taken me aside. "Mr. Keehl, I should warn you about Marissa-"
"No, you shouldn't, Ms. Reid."
"But perhaps it would prepa-"
"I am prepared."
The woman had fallen silent after my stern, monotone answer. And half an hour later, Roger had begun to lead me towards the second floor infirmary.
Now that we're at the door, I note that the label on the door has been changed out since my days at Wammy's. Instead of reading "infirmary room 2" it now read "Marissa". There are muffled voices coming from the inside, and when Roger knocks of the door, an older lady opens.
"Ah, Mr. Roger. Just a moment, she's just getting ready." And then she mouths "she's nervous" as if hiding the action from the girl inside. After waiting a moment, a small voice from inside allows us entry and we step inside the room. At first, I notice the utter mess of the place. They say that a person's room reflects his state of mind.
Then I look around, and I see a pre-teen-aged girl sitting at a piano positioned by the open window. She wears very little despite it being February, just shorts and a t-shirt, and I can see her dark skin under it. She looks to be from somewhere in South America by the look of its colour. I notice that, although her skin is dark, there are large white patches of dry and flaking skin all over her body, and her dark hair is thinning, as if it had been falling out, piece by piece, for years.
Music begins to drift towards us from the piano. I had heard that she was a musician and so it's hardly surprising that she wants to play for me on our first meeting. If I was more sentimental, I supposed my breath would have been taken away from Marissa's playing as it was beautifully played with expert fingers. Every stroke of her fingers let out the notes that seem to sing. Louder, softer, attempting to bring me into her soul, but this is me. I don't particularly care about her musical abilities.
What concerns me is the rumor I had heard. This girl has no apparent interest in L. And this isn't like Miles who wanted it and pretended not to.
When she finishes playing she spins around and I can see her face. There are white blotches there too and a peculiar scar running up the right side of her jaw. I suppose she would have been pretty if she hadn't been so ill, but her ailment had caused her face, neck and other areas on her body to be swollen.
She looks me up and down. "You are... Mr. Keehl." She states, not asks.
I nod. "You are Marissa." I answer.
Her eyes flick from me to her bookshelf. "So why are you here?" She asks, as if she already knows. "They fed me some story about a project, but that's most likely a lie."
I don't react. Stick with the story. "I am here to study the intelligent children as a psychiatrist."
She sighs. "I see. You're the first supposed 'psychiatrist' that didn't fess up right away. Most are too impressed to attempt to cover up their surprise." Her tone of voice is deadpan, uninterested, dull. "I suppose they called you in to try and snap me out of my non-interest in L or something like that."
I walk over to her and sit on a chair nearby, bringing up a leg as usual. "I won't attempt to change you," I reply simply, earning a small protest from Roger. I ignore him. "I am here to observe and to learn, not 'fix' any child in particular."
"Observe and learn," she repeats. "What exactly are you trying to learn?"
"Unfortunately, I am unable to share that." I move my gaze from Marissa, who had begun to chew on her fingers, to the window. It is a clouded over day, three days from the funeral. That is not something I am looking forward to, but for now I have to try and stay in the moment or else I won't be able to function properly.
Remember, you're probing Marissa; who is she? What does she really want? Right, it's time I started asking the questions.
"Why are you here at Wammy's House, Marissa?" I ask blandly, turning my eyes back onto the girl's face.
She shows no emotion, no reaction. No wonder the nurse had attempted to let us know what she was feeling. There is no hint of nervousness, curiosity, joy, sorrow, anger or the like. She keeps her face in check, careful not to let people in.
She hasn't had an easy life.
Upon my question, she thinks. "I suppose the correct answer is to become a potential successor for L," she replies, not instilling any form of feeling into the statement.
"No, Marissa," I didn't want the correct answer. I want into her head. "Why are you continuing your existence here at Wammy's? What is your reason for being here?"
Finally, some kind of reaction, if only a small one. Her eyes drift to mine warily. "My reason?" She asks before falling silent again. It's now I notice that there are little scars all over the right side of her face. "I am here because I probably couldn't survive anywhere else, physically, emotionally, or mentally."
There we go. She needs Wammy's because nowhere else can support her. There is no need of L, just of supporting hands and hearts; a place to satisfy her high need of mental stimulation; a place she could be free to be whatever she wants.
Thinking over her statement from before, she was nervous that I'd come and force her to be something that she didn't want to be. It makes sense of course. But I won't try to change her.
"Very well, Marissa." I switch my eyes to Roger. "Roger, I believe we can go." Marissa's eyes travel back to the ivory of the piano, to which one of her hands goes to and her thinning fingers caress the black and white keys. I stand back to my feet. "Thank you for your time, Marissa."
She nods and positions herself back at the piano as Roger and I leave the room and once the door is shut, we can hear a song once again being played.
"Matt," Roger whispers as we walk down the hall. "What are you thinking?"
I am silent. There is much to think over. After meeting all twenty of Wammy's inhabitants, I am unsatisfied. "That girl is not to be forced into successorship," I state blandly. "She obviously has no interest in L."
"How did you come to that conclusion?" Roger asked.
I sigh. "Roger, I wary of explaining myself all the time." He falls silent, but I can practically hear the smile on his face. "I meet with Jamison today, correct?"
"Yes, Matt."
And with that, I say nothing else. Instead, I head back to my own room, mind so full that my lips are sewn shut.
Upon arriving at my room's door, I note that it is slightly open. Someone has been in there recently or is still in there. It turns out to be the latter as, upon stepping inside, I see a lanky pair of legs protruding from under my bed, the other half obviously struggling with something.
I step closer, and the body under the bed freezes. "Oh dear, I'm sorry Matt-san," a voice slinks from a pair of thin lips.
Raine slides out from under the bed, a long piece of thread that was attached somewhere underneath the bed was in his mouth and he was covered in some kind of clear liquid. "I meant to be out of your room before you returned."
I had hoped to get away from people, and now this. Raine has a peculiar habit of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, I have noticed.
I don't reply but instead stare at him, raising a hand into my hair to twirl the locks. Upon my non-reply, I see Raine become slightly sullen. "I apologize, Matt-san. I noted that you haven't been sleeping very well and I have recently created something to help with such problems."
So that's what he was doing. "I suppose, then, I can't be very angry with you, Raine," I state dryly.
Raine snapped his head back to look at the mechanism he was installing. It was entirely under the bed, save for the string that he now held in his hand. "Many human beings find lavender and chamomile to be calming. Matt-san seems to be tired and turns over in his sleep. He is anxious or worried."
Now that's a bit creepy, but expected I suppose. Raine is obviously a curious child, so a new body at Wammy's would be an object of interest to him. I scuffle over and squat next to Raine who now dives back under the bed. "Please sit on top of the mattress, Matt-san," Raine requests, his voice muddled.
I oblige, climbing onto the bed. Everything seems normal until I note a small shift in the mattress. It becomes softer, suddenly, and contours to my position. Strange. I move slightly and there is a sudden subtle explosion of lavender scent that comes from the crevice between the bed and the wall. It is indeed calming.
"I thought," Raine crawls out from under the bed and rested his chin on the top of the mattress, "that Matt-san would appreciate lavender. I noted that, at breakfast, he was not fond of the chamomile tea that Roger-san had brought him."
This child... his blue eyes stare holes into me, thin blond hair the same hue that Mello's had been... he has been watching my movements ever since I stepped through the front door.
I smile softly. "Thank you, Raine. You are very kind."
A grin creeps onto his face, contorting it. He had meant it to be sweet, but it just creeps me out. "Not at all. If Matt-san wishes it, I should like to show him my other inventions."
So he's an inventor. It seems to fit him well, though I thought a mad scientist would become him better. "Yes, that would be agreeable. But for now, Raine, I should like to rest."
Raine nodded in his two distinct motions and walked out of the room, hunched over like Quasimoto, and shut the door behind him. I rub my eyes and look around the room. I unpacked my things last night, and now my room looks just as it had when I was a student, save for quite a few new toys and puzzles.
The hand in my hair falls to the rosary around my neck and begins to stroke them. I hear my voice muttering, "Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy Name…" I pause, wondering how those words came from my mouth. On the odd occasion, I had heard them being muttered under Mello's breath, but aside from that, I had never really heard or participated in any sort of prayers or religious doings. I've never thought of myself as the type to be interested in such things.
But Mello had been.
Why does that matter so much to me?
"Thy Kingdom come. Thy will be done on earth, as it is in Heaven." Heaven? Did such a place exist? Surely, if Shinigamis exist, then Heaven is not completely absurd. But...
"Give us this day our daily bread," better worded as "get me through this day without falling apart."
"and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us," as I had forgiven Mello countless times.
"and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil." Yeah, that would be nice. To not have to be justice, but live in a peaceful world where people didn't have to die. This was Kira's vision, though his mania had turned him into a murderer.
I drop the beads from my hands and slide off my bed, shaking my head. I have to snap out of this; I have to be prepared to meet Jamison, after all. That isn't going to be an easy task, but it is necessary for my conscience. And so, I gather up a few items for the long car ride ahead, place them in a backpack, and leave the room. I wanted to lie down and rest for a few moments, but being on my own seems to have proved a bad idea.
The last time I'd seen Jamison was just before they had carted her off to the mental institute. A kindly looking lady had escorted her to the van, and I remember Jamison had been crying so much that her long brown hair had stuck to her face. She truly did look insane from the window where I had watched. I remember that after the pond incident, they had locked her in her room until the day she left, but I don't think she was a threat to me after her first attempt on my life. If anything, she had become a threat to her own life. I vaguely remember the night before she left that she had attempted suicide by slitting her wrists, but she had failed.
The hardest thing about killing a person is actually killing them, especially when you're trying to kill yourself.
I had heard about five years ago now that she had moved to another institution, one that was not so full on. However, I had a hunch that she should have been released at least a year ago but wasn't due to me, her secret younger brother.
So now I feel that I have the responsibility to correct that. Without my pushing, it is possible that the higher ups will never let her out of the institution, though she's completely healthy.
Our car pulls up to the front gate. Commander Rester has decided to join me, despite my request he not. I had much rather he stay on his mini-vacation with Gevani and Lidner, but he wouldn't be swayed.
An older lady greets us at the front door. "Welcome, Mr. River. My name is Ms. Watsons."
It's odd being called my real name, though I know it's safe here. "Thank you."
She leads us into the older building, which is very colourful inside. The walls are painted bright yellow and the furniture I see as we walk through is all different in colour. "Jamison is currently in the hot house," the lady informs us. "She shall be back inside in a moment; would you like to wait for her to?"
"Yes, thank you."
We continue walking down the main hall until we come to a specific door. "This is where your meeting with Jamison will take place," she says as she opens the door revealing a small room with two couches, a fireplace, a small coffee table, and a window wall allowing a view of the grounds.
I enter the room and sit on one of the single plush chairs in the usual way and proceed to wait. I note that Rester has disappeared, more than likely watching over me from the surveillance room. What the conversation will hold, I have no idea. I know that she probably has questions for me, as I have for her, but the main subject that I wish to discuss I know I mustn't. She must never know that I am L's successor. I very much doubt that she even knows about L period, but if she were ever to know who I was, both our lives would be at risk.
After about five minutes the lady returns with a tray of tea, places it down, and rushes back out again. I begin to stack the sugar cubes in a miniature version of a castle I had constructed out of boxes yesterday.
However, before I can even stack ten, the door opens and in walks a relatively tall girl. Long, dark brown hair tied back, rosy cheeks from being in the cold, and rather ridged features. Not to mention eyes that mirror my own, save for the colour. She stalks over to the chair opposite me and collapses into it, her grey eyes staring out the window.
And there is silence. Neither of us knows what to say. Instead, Jamison fixes herself a cup of tea and I sip mine silently.
"I don't actually like tea," she said absently. "They just force tons of the stuff down your throat here. Ms. Watsons believes that it's 'good for the soul.'"
I consider. "I suppose."
She finishes putting in sugar and cream into her tea, takes a sip and sighs. "So, how have you been the last thirteen years, Nate? Nice of you to finally visit."
There was a tinge of regret colouring the statement.
But I say nothing in return. I don't wish to make her feel worse than I suppose she does.
"I know they let you know when I moved to England," she says, her eyes shifting from her cup to the grounds outside. "But I can't say I blame you for not coming to see me."
I nod. "Yes, I am sorry. My own circumstances prevented it."
"Still as quiet as before, I see," she observes. "You never grew out of that?"
"I prefer," I begin, hesitantly, "to keep my observations and comments to myself. I do not feel the need to explain myself to those who do not care."
Was that a wince? Her eyes narrow slightly at my answer, but relax after a moment. "Fair enough," she agrees, rubbing her feet together nervously.
It's now that I notice; she's wearing two different kinds of socks, one striped in rainbow colours, the other covered in skulls and crossbones. However, the mismatched teenaged socks on my twenty-five year old sister are the only things that appear out of place.
"So, Nate," she says with an air of professionalism, "to what do I owe your visit?"
A hand fixes itself in my hair. "I had two problems I must resolve, one as a matter of conscience, the other is a simple question."
A thin eyebrow rises on my sister's forehead. "Oh?" is her response.
I nod. "First the question. How did you sort out your emotions about mother and father's deaths, and what were your emotions at the time?"
Her eyes freeze on me. "Obviously, I didn't deal with it well," is her immediate response. This girl doesn't think before she talks, I see. Well, that's not a surprise; most people don't. But she pauses for a moment, her eyes drifting back to her teacup. "At first, I remember wondering when they'd come home. They had died in a plane wreck so I don't think I quite understand what had happened at first. But once I had realized that they weren't coming home..." she trails off thoughtfully, placing the teacup onto a coaster on the table and begins biting at a nail. "All I could do was cry."
Crying, huh? Sounds like something she would do, as an emotional human being. But for me?
There was that one time, in Mello's apartment. I had cried a little, not that I had meant to. Tears have always been elusive to me. I never cried when I was sad or scared, though I have heard that those are the two most common reasons for the action. However, I am not dead-set against such displays of emotion.
Now that I think about it, I was close to tears when I had explored Mello's room yesterday. So even the infallible Near is susceptible to tears? Infallible, logical Nate River.
"I see," I reply shortly.
"I remember," she continues slowly. "It was really painful, as if my sadness was actually putting my lungs under pressure. I was really scared and I remember wondering who would take care of you." She smiles slightly, her eyes turning to me. "You were smart and all, but you were only two, after all."
I smile back slightly. "And you were nine?"
She nods. "Right, which made things harder. It took a while for us to get into the orphanage, and by that time our foster family had discovered your... special-ness, and began prizing you. I guess I hadn't dealt with my feelings well at that point because all my anger and fear began to get aimed in your direction." She laughed to herself. "Then it went to my head, and, well, the rest is history."
I process the story. She went insane due to unattended sorrow, huh? Human emotion is a powerful thing.
"Does that answer satisfy you, Nate?" Jamison asks listlessly.
"How did you eventually end up sorting through your emotions?" She had forgotten that part of the question.
"Oh yeah," she said, rolling her eyes, assumedly at herself. "Well, that process was started when I went to the institution back in Canada. First they put me through a bunch of tests, and once they were sure I didn't have any real medical problems, they started making me dish everything that I was thinking at any point in time."
I blink. She talked about it. Well, of course that makes sense. But was that all?
She continues. "Eventually, I finally got to talking with a real psychiatrist who began to get to the heart of the issues. He was kinda creepy, though." She laughs at the memory. I say nothing. "But I guess he helped a bit. He helped me find an avenue to express myself in a healthy way."
"Which was?" I ask, curiously.
"Woodworking."
What?
I stare at her incredulously. I did not see that statement coming at all. But I see her hand come down to the table and she strokes it.
"I made this," she says proudly. I note the intricate detailing in the legs and the table edge. She must have spent a lot of time on it.
"It is impressive," I compliment.
Jamison smiles and holds her palms out for me to see; they're very worn and calloused. "Thanks. It's the product of several years of practice."
I nod and turn my gaze out to the view to the grounds. It looks as if it's about to snow. "The second order of business," I begin, "is to make sure you are released from this place."
Jamison tilts her head, brow furrowed. "Really?" she asks, obviously not completely convinced. "You think they'd listen to you?"
"After speaking with you, I'm convinced that you no longer need to be here, though I had expected this to be the case. You should have been released from here three years ago, really."
I see her jaw drop from the corner of her eye. "What?"
"I can't say much about it," I begin, keeping my voice as uninterested as possible. "But I am involved in top-secret government affairs and they feared that, though you have improved, and at this point I'd say recovered, you might betray me to Kira. However, Kira has been brought to justice and there is no need for you to remain here any longer."
She shakes her head and brings a hand up to hold her head. "Okay, what? How do you know this, Nate? And what shit would you be involved with to keep me here for three years after I needed to be?"
"Like I said, I can't tell you much, for your safety and for my own."
At this she falls silent, but I can see her overwhelmed eyes blinking and staring.
"I apologize, Jamison, for their mistreatment of you."
I stand to my feet and step towards the door, turning my back to Jamison.
"So you're just going to leave, then?" She blurts out disbelievingly. "Are you just going to disappear for another thirteen years, without so much as a hug?"
I turn around, hand still in my hair pulling at it, head tilted. "I cannot promise that I will see you often." I admit.
She's angry, obviously. I've offended her; I can see it in her grey eyes. But she's also... sad? Hurt? Disappointed? I can't quite tell.
"I shall do my best to keep in contact with you," I drawl. "Though, I can't promise much more."
She sighs, frowning, and sinks into her chair again. "Well, I don't even deserve that much," she mumbles. "I guess, then, this is it for a while then, huh?"
I nod. "Yes, I'm afraid," I mumble, beginning to step towards the door when I hear a scuffle behind me and I'm suddenly being hugged. Tightly. By my sister, the same person who had tried to kill me the last time we had been face-to-face.
"I missed you, Nate," she whispers sadly. "Please, try to call me often, okay?"
Oh dear. How does one handle this situation? I can't hug back – she's got me from behind. I can't say I missed her; that would be a bit of a lie. I can't promise anything that I won't keep.
"I shall try." I reply simply, frozen in my place. She squeezes me tighter, attempting to fuse into me, and a grunt accidentally escapes from my larynx.
"Oh, sorry," she says hurriedly, releasing me. "I keep forgetting that not everyone likes that."
Not knowing what else to do, I nod. "I-It's fine," I stutter before exiting the room, meeting Rester in the hall who promptly escorts me to the car outside. I decide that it would be best to arrange for Jamison's release upon my arrival back at Wammy's House after I've regained the breath that my long-estranged sister hugged out of me.
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Alrighty, then, please do review! Love you guys!
