I've been neglecting my lovely readers a little too much as of late, so I'd like to throw a party in the honor of everyone who has favorited, followed, reviewed, PMed, or given me other means of support over the three(-plus) years I've been writing this pile of crazy. I'd also like to dedicate this chapter to the one and only kronoan who made my day by reviewing EVERY SINGLE CHAPTER and the ever-so-awesome NorthernMage who's been reviewing this story [and predicting a good chuck of it] for so long that I've forgotten when it all started. All in all, each and every one of you are super-fabulous, my dearest readers. Thanks for the support, and enjoy your party! *throws confetti*
NorthernMage: Thanks! Hopefully it'll continue to grow into a story worthy of your attention. *bows deeply*
kronoan: I'm glad you like it!
Guest: I was about to recommend you look at how my other stories turned out to get kind of a reference of how I like to end things... and then I realized that all of those stories are actual novels so they wouldn't be posted here for people to see. XD Instead, I shall offer you words of wisdom granted to me by a very close friend: Life is full of surprises, and even when I'm behind them, the result may come as just as much a shock to myself as to you.
DrLevoda: The next installment, as promised, so your threats hold no water now. (I hope.) Mwahahaha!
Notes/Warnings:
- blatant sexism, insanity, teenage drama, and over-referencing of Jewel's strange fear
- shits and giggles - the modern way of saying "just for the hell of it"
- my own inability to stay in present tense -_-
- I would strongly recommend NOT doing anything mentioned in this chapter. Ever.
I own every volume of anything remotely related to Death Note except for the thirteenth volume because Barnes & Noble apparently doesn't carry more than one copy at a time in a city where literally HUNDREDS of us are huge fans. Sadly, none of this equals me actually owning Death Note. A girl can dream.
Shits and Giggles
Jewel's POV
The very second after I finish explaining things to Jack, the psycho goes and grabs me by the front of my shirt, shaking me so violently I swear I feel my internal organs bouncing off of themselves.
And why do we say internal organs when "organs" kind of implies internal?
"You told a mass murderer you're psychic?" Jack practically shrieks. He continues to shake me like a British nanny, as though giving me a concussion will miraculously fix anything. Or is the correct terminology a contusion at this point? Can you even get brain damage from being shaken?
"What was I supposed to do?" I all but wail. "'Hi, Light Yagami. Here's my full name and occupation. I'm from a world where this one is a freaking manga which is how I know everything about you and what you're about to do for the rest of your life!'? Like that would go over well!"
"Did you mention me?" he demands.
"I never had a reason to!"
"Name: Grace. Occupation: insane fangirl," he mutters as he finally releases me. Well, I say releases but it's more like throwing me across the room. I hit the couch and slump onto the pillows, eyeing Jack as though he may change his mind and jump me at any moment. "Jesus Christ, Grace... Can you please think before you act? It's like you're trying to get us killed."
"Trying to get us killed would have been me saying 'Julia Cueva, professional klutz, and this is my sidekick who's named after an alcoholic beverage'," I shoot back, mostly because I want to have the last word. "Also, you owe me a big thank you."
His mouth falls open in outrage and he lunges towards me. I let out a girly shriek and throw myself around the coffee table. Jack puts his hands on the tabletop and starts to go the other direction, but I counter, keeping the table between us at all costs. After a few minutes of ring around the rosy, or whatever it's called, he finally slows down long enough to ask, "And why the hell should I be thanking you?"
"Because he almost came into our apartment!"
This stops him dead. "What?"
"I know that he hasn't seen your face yet, so we need to keep it that way. I told you that he helped me carry the groceries, and he was keen on walking me the whole way. In other words: coming here to drop them off. Then he got a call from his home—something about Sayu—and he left before we ever reached this street. Talk about a lucky break..."
I still sweat just thinking about it. Eiesh... On the bright side, he hasn't been corrupted to the point of abandoning his family. Yet. The fact that he ditched me for Sayu meant that Light still has a heart.
Right?
Why couldn't we have ended up in the pilot Death Note instead? Granted, meeting thirteen-year-old Taro Kagami wouldn't have been half as fun as meeting seventeen-year-old Light Yagami, but at least I know Taro wouldn't have killed anyone on purpose.
Honestly, I just hope to God that Light wouldn't read too much into my little slip-up there at the end. After all, direct objects in the Japanese language are really hard to keep straight.
During this entire thought process, Jack had stood up straight—and I realize this when he suddenly falls backwards onto his couch. His head drops into one hand that slowly massages his scalp, and he releases a heavy sigh before uttering the barely-audible words, "Holy crap."
My thoughts exactly.
"You're welcome," I say again, and sit on my own couch.
Speaking of the other Death Note, it's kind of a shame we weren't teleported into it. I could have used that Death Eraser to save Beyond Birthday if Light still tried to kill him. And then I could definitely keep L safe. And also right the wrongful deaths of innocent people and holy mother of sausages what am I even thinking?
Now it's my turn to sigh.
Easy, Jewel. No need to go overboard. This is the manga of the mainstream Death Note because it's 2004 and Light has a Death Note. Think about... all the ways you've really messed up and how to redeem yourself.
Because that's such a happy train of thought.
Ugh. I thought being stuck in my favorite work of fiction would be a lot more fun than this.
Shadows trickle around the beams of light cast by the computer screen and the desk lamp. The only sounds are the voices in his head as he mulls over the memory, a cat on the prowl. He's missed something—something crucial—and he can't quite put his finger on what was said.
"I will protect you!"
He had hesitated, only for a split second, but it was a hesitation none the less.
"Oops, sorry. I meant 'I will protect him,' because if I don't, who will? It isn't of any consequence to me, since I believe that Kira's not a bad person. Maybe I should work on my direct objects a little more..."
She couldn't already know. She couldn't be that close to the truth... right?
There is a notebook on the desk, marred by names and dates and hastily-scribbed things things that might have been doodles were he an absentminded sort of individual. Some dates are circled. Some names are marked out. Curiously, one name is jotted in the bottom corner of the page.
"Julia Cueva," he says aloud to the empty room.
The crunch behind him reminds him that he is never alone, and Light leans back in his seat, struggling not to shoot Ryuk an annoyed look. The shinigami is munching happily on an entire basket of apples that Light picked up on the way home. They were on sale, and Ryuk's complaining had been too distracting as of late. Besides, Sayu's "emergency" had been no more than a matter of vanishing toilet paper. (It was under the bathroom sink, like always, but had been "hidden" by a misplaced jug of cleaning solution. If a six-hundred milliliter container was that efficient at making smaller objects invisible, Light would have used it to hide the Death Note.)
"Interesting girl, isn't she?" Ryuk probes.
He can never really tell when Ryuk is laughing at him or when it's just humored. After the incident with Misora Naomi, Light is more suspicious of the shinigami than he lets on to it.
"For once, interesting may be the right word," Light acknowledges, balancing the chair on two legs.
"You're Japanese is fine, considering that you only started learning a few days ago. In fact, you're vocabulary is rather impressive!"
He had considered making her fall for him, but something now told him that her seeming fascination with him involved her psychic abilities more than her hormones. That could make things difficult. However, on the off chance that she got to be too much of a hassle, Julia did appear clumsy enough for one of her less coordinated moments to prove fatal.
She knew enough about my "stalker" to call it by name... If I could get her use her powers in my favor, though, I wouldn't necessarily have to kill her.
Were L not around, he wouldn't have to watch his back so closely, and he would have fully been able to focus on what to do with this girl.
"Thanks, Light-senpai! If I keep this up, hopefully I can make you proud!"
She's almost too innocent...
Eve's POV
I spend a full week working for the hospital before Mrs. Cueva awakens. It is a full week of what I imagine hell to be like. People run around. People talk to me in a foreign language. People ask things of me. People. People. People.
Then G comes running. And I go with her.
Mrs. Cueva is already standing by the time we get to the room. Standing, and loudly ordering a nurse to stop telling her to rest and get her something to drink. I want to cry in happiness. Instead, I throw my arms around her and grin into her dressing gown. The nurse sees this as an excuse to flee the room.
"Hello, girls," Mrs. Cueva says cheerfully.
She seems far too happy for someone who was run over.
"Welcome back, Mama." G joins the group hug before all three of us pull away.
"So, I hear it's January..." She fumbles for a moment.
"January the eighth," I supply effortlessly.
I actually see the flicker of sadness pass across her face before she corrects herself. I know she is trying to hide her feelings. I do not understand why.
"Evie here has a job," teases G.
I sock her shoulder lightly. "It's not a big deal. It's just enough to pay for food and a few other necessities."
"You have a job?" This seems to come as quite the surprise to Mrs. Cueva, who actually pulls back long enough to scan me head to toe with wide eyes. "How did that happen? Isn't a green card necessary for any foreigner working in Japan?"
I shrug and reply honestly, "I don't know. Out of the blue, they asked because they were short-handed. So far, so good. Now that you've woken up, they don't seem to be taking back their offer. For all we know, they might have assumed this was a permanent thing."
"This obviously wasn't going to be a permanent thing," sniffs Mrs. Cueva. She runs a hand through her matted hair. "As soon as we get our feet under us, we're going back to America where we can settle this out once and for all, and then never have to look back on this horrible situation again."
"But wouldn't we need money for plane tickets?" prompts G warily.
"Yes, but I don't like the idea of either of you working to make that happen. You should be in school." The disdain in her voice rings so clearly that she appears almost disgusted by the mere suggestion.
"It's not like we can attend school in a country where we don't speak the language," G says.
Now I turn to stare at G. Who rarely speaks up for herself when a situation gets stressful. Who falls victim to peer pressure more times than she likes to admit. Who just countered Mrs. Cueva twice now without repercussion or hesitation.
We are all changing, I think numbly.
"I meant getting your education in America." Her tone has turned callous. "It would be pointless trying to enroll you in any sort of school here. I highly doubt Korean schools are qualified anyways."
I do not bother to tell her that this is Japan. Working in the hospital for a week taught me that much, if not that Japanese people are very. Well. Intense, is a more polite way of wording it. Blame my heritage if you will, but the sheer politeness of Japanese culture caught me off guard more than a few times during my working hours. On the other hand, it was rather refreshing. I almost wish Americans understood that kind of honor system.
"But until we have enough money to return home, is it okay if I continue working here? It's a public facility that's very easy to find, it pays good money, and I can quit at any time if we need to leave abruptly," I prompt. And hope that Mrs. Cueva will not blow up.
"I'm afraid you'll have to," she says quietly. "In fact, I'm afraid you'll have to get your own job, Gabriela. Until I can find Juliana, I won't be able to concentrate on any kind of work. I have to find my daughter, and we have to get out of here. I hate to throw you two under the bus like this, but... I'm afraid we don't have much of a choice."
"I'm afraid." Mrs. Cueva said that twice in the same speech. Had the accident done more than just change her?
I grab the hand of the woman and look her dead in the eyes. Both Jewel and G called this woman their mother, and over the years, I had come to know Mrs. Cueva as another mom too. In the times when my own grandparents could not be there for me, Mrs. Cueva had picked me up, dusted me off, and gave me a push down the path. She treated me as though I were a part of the family from day one and I had never found the proper means by which to repay her. And now, she had already lost one daughter, and I sure as hell am not about to let her fear losing another.
"There's always a choice, Mrs. Cueva. We'll find Jewel. I know we will," I say in a soft tone.
Mrs. Cueva laughs quietly, and I frown. She regains her composer in a matter of seconds and says, "Please, Evangeline, you don't have to be so formal."
I smile. "Okay, Mom."
Jack's POV
January eighth, 2004—Grace never fails to surprise me. And scare the crap out of me. And concern me on a number of levels.
I am rudely awakened by a hyperactive teenager's elbow crushing one of my kidneys. I let out a wheeze and tried to roll over, but Grace has grabbed both my shoulders and pinned me face-down on my own bed.
"Jack, what do you look for in a woman?" Grace demands as my sleepy self tries to piece together what's going on.
"What time is it?" I groan and fumble for the alarm clock on the nightstand.
Grace slaps my hand away and promptly flops down on my back. I wheeze again and gasp for breath, but she doesn't seem to realize that between her butt crushing me and the pillow smothering my face, I'm seriously lacking in the oxygen department.
"No, seriously, what do you look for in a woman?"
"I don't look for anything in a woman," I grunt and struggle to arch my back enough to get her off of my lungs.
"Okay, then what do you look for in a man?"
"I don't look for anything in anyone, Grace! Now can you quit trying to crush me and tell me what the heck you're going on about?!"
Grumbling irritably, Grace slides off of my back and I roll onto my side, glaring up at her.
"Most people start with a nice, simple 'good morning,'" I tell her, rubbing my lower back as I mourned the plausible death of my kidney.
"What do you look for in a significant other?" Grace insists.
"How is this relevant?" I ask in a deadpan.
"I figured out how to save Light. Just answer the question."
"So what, you're going to save that nutjob by hooking him up with the perfect woman?" I raise my eyebrows.
She lunges forward and knocks me onto my back, sitting down on me again and pressing her face so close to mine that I'm tempted to headbutt her. "Answer the damn question, Jonathan Daniels!"
I sit up, inadvertently sliding her onto my lap, and snap, "How am I suppose to answer any question when it's the crack of dawn and I just got woken up by having the breath crushed out of me? And don't call me Jonathan!"
"Crybaby..." Grace crosses her arms, and I suddenly realize she's wearing my over-sized sweatshirt. Gucci. I practically gave an arm and a leg trying to tease it from the bejeweled woman's shopping bag. (There was a train and I was sneaking along the tracks to pickpocket people from below. Enough said.)
"Do you have no concept of personal space?" I ask, poking her between the eyes. "Also, I want my sweater back."
"Answer the question properly and I'll give it back," she counters, pauses, then adds, "I like personal space when it suits me."
I shake my head. "Look, can I get back to you on the question? It's not something that commonly goes through a person's mind."
Grace inhales slowly, an angry flush coloring her cheeks, and mumbles, "Fine, fine. But I need to know."
"Why?" I ask again.
"If we're in the manga, then Light is slightly more emotional and impulsive than in the anime. The anime cut out so many of Light's more "human" scenes or bits and pieces of his more human self, but the manga has all of that intact. For example, in the manga, there was this one panel in the first volume after Light had killed these two people for the first time with the death note, where he first started to get the idea to use the death note to kill bad people. HOWEVER, he curled up in a burrito blanket when he got home that night and worried over whether or not he would have the guts to create a new world."
"And this relates to assaulting me... how?"
"Later, when he first meets Misa, she explains exactly how her eyes work by sketching examples for him in the manga, and Light has to remind himself not to fall for her, because 'that's how people get caught.' My hypothesis is that if I can portrait myself as Light's ideal woman and play up this psychic angle, I might be able to seduce him."
I don't know if it's because I'm still half-asleep or if Grace's absurdity is somehow killing my brain cells, but all I can do for a moment is stare with my mouth half open.
"That sounds like the worst plan I've ever heard of," I tell her honestly.
"That's why I need your help," she says earnestly, poking me in the chest. "I need to start with what all men look for in a woman, and then go from there. Obviously, I'm not a man, so I need a little help on that front."
"Isn't that sexist?"
"We're trying to save the world, here!" Grace exclaims, throwing up her hands in exasperation. "Look, if we can save Light, then by default we'll be saving every other character in Death Note! Misa won't turn into a mindless killing machine who won't realize she's just being used, Rem won't be forced to obey Light because his happiness equals Misa's happiness, L won't have to die, the Wammy's House won't have to get involved so then Mello and Matt won't die, and then Soichiro won't be killed by Mello's men and Sayu won't be kidnapped and-"
"Okay, okay, okay! I get it, jeez!" I scrub my face with both of my hands. "But this is still the stupidest plan I've ever heard. You are aware that in order to get home, you kind of need to be alive?"
"Where's your sense of sacrifice, Jack? Or adventure? Or justice? We're literally saving the whole freaking world by saving Light. Isn't this the kind of thing people dream about?"
"No," I grumble. "I dream about sleeping. Or eating. Or selling priceless jewelry I lift on a whim."
Grace tries to flick me between the eyes, but I catch her hand. Instantly, she blanches and I can already hear the words "Don't rape me!" before they ever leave her mouth. Quickly, I put a finger to Grace's lips with my free hand and glower at her with what I hope isn't a sleepy expression. That would kill the effect a little.
"Just because you want to go off and get yourself killed doesn't mean I want any part of it," I state.
She nods and mumbles around my finger, "Promise I won't get you involved."
I make a face. "If I leave you, you're still going to do this?"
Her mouth falls open in indignation and I whip back my finger before she can do something crazy, like try to bite it.
"You're leaving?! But Jackie, I thought we had something special!" She throws her arms around me and looks up at me with giant brown-and-white eyes.
What the hell? I try not to roll my eyes. "Like I'm actually going to leave an escaped patient from a mental hospital. You'd probably go in debt and hook up with some loan sharks or mobsters without me, and then you'd get raped when you couldn't pay them back."
She frowns. "So... you're staying?"
"Apparently," I relinquish reluctantly. "Besides, mobsters would actually rape you, you know."
"Yay!" she cries and pulls me into another hug.
Her timing... I sigh. It's like she excited to know that someone would actually... What is it with fangirls that make them act like this?
"Independent, intelligent, confidant, and maybe a little bit vulnerable."
"Huh?" She pulls back with a curious expression on her face.
"You asked me what I looked for in a woman," I say, somewhat uneasily. "And I'd also like her to have common sense."
"Huh. Okay, so I get most of that, but why include the vulnerability part?"
"It's kind of embarrassing when the woman constantly wears the pants in a relationship. How's a man supposed to feel big and strong if his girl is a freaking amazon?"
A devious grin cleaves Grace's face and she pounces, pinning me against the bed again. She leans in so closely that I can feel the tickle of her hair brushing against my face when moved by her warm breath. "So you'd not only like a partner on par with yourself, but you'd like to be her knight in shining armor every once in a while. Jack Daniels wants a damsel in distress~"
"If you don't stop molesting me, I will remove you with force." I glare up at her. "And how come you can jump me without repercussions but the minute I so much as look at you, you scream rape?"
"I'm hardly molesting you," she sniffs. "Besides, I'm a woman."
"Now you're just being blatantly sexist."
"But do a lot of guys really want to protect their woman that badly?" Grace asks, mostly to herself, and I feel a spike of annoyance when she starts to wiggle around as though drawing energy from the sheer insanity spewing from her mouth.
"Grace."
"I mean, Light from the later part of series would have definitely liked a woman capable of acting independently so long as he could still manipulate her, but I'm not sure if that would just make them easily influenced or vulnerable. Maybe seduced woman just see what they want to see. See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil—like that."
"Grace..."
"Maybe I could portray myself as an up-and-coming-somethingorother to seem more appealing, like I have high ambitions but no experience. Would he be inclined to teach me the ropes? I already hinted that I wanted to become a detective whenever I grew up, but he would probably soon realize that I lack that kind of brain power."
"Grace-"
"Or maybe I wouldn't even really have to craft a new persona for myself. Obviously, he'll know my alias which he thinks will be my real name, so he'll assume I'm at his mercy. He may even try to blackmail me... but that isn't the point. Light may try to manipulate me because of the whole psychic ordeal, or he may just come out as Kira since I kinda-sorta support Kira's ideals even if I don't support his methods."
"Grace!"
"But how am I supposed to get him to trust me on a more personal level? And if I fail, I'll definitely need some kind of backup plan. Maybe I could wait until he gives the notebook to Higuchi and when he gets captured, I'll just make sure that Light and L never touch the notebook. If the notebook is never found on Higuchi's person on that bridge, I may be able to psychic up an explanation, or even be able to convince Rem to help me since I'm trying to save everyone, Misa included. Or maybe-"
"FOR CRYING OUT LOUD-!" I roar. Grabbing Grace by the shoulders, I shove her off of me and onto the other side of the bed before leaping to my feet and streaking to the lavatory. "Don't bounce up and down on a man's bladder when he hasn't gone to the bathroom!"
"Do you mind?! I'm thinking here!" she yells back.
"That must be difficult for you without a brain," I retort, slamming the bathroom door in my wake.
"That's why I stole yours!" screams Grace through the door, which I promptly crack open because frankly, that statement makes no sense, only for her to cover her eyes and wail, "Put your pants back on!"
Whatever brain cells had been surviving Grace's antics up until now simply keel over dead. "I never took them off!"
"I don't care! Just shut the stupid door already!"
January eighth, 2004—this is because Grace is a deranged fangirl intent on seducing a murderous psychopath in the hopes of saving the world. I'd hate to know what became of her first psychologist.