Disclaimer! All fictional entities featured/ mentioned in this segment belong to Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata; except Erin Blogger, who I made up for the purpose of this fan fiction. Any other unfamiliar names may be either others original characters or allusions to real-life people, as referred to by the trademark abbreviation.
Longest chapter, so far. Sorry if Erin comes off as too emotional, I tried to be as realistic about that as possible. When you're caught up in the scandal of the century, and your friend is in danger…
14. Stones
I always told Matsuda that he'd get his chance to shine, someday, if he'd just keep hanging on for an opportunity and jump on it when he saw it. Otherwise, it'd never come around, again. "They treat you like a klutzy intern now," I'd said. "But just wait. You'll show them. And when you do, they'll call you a hero! You'll bring all of us rookies justice, and the women will sing your praises! Shucks, maybe they'll even ask you to do an encore! This, I prophesize."
Of course, I was just messing around with him when I told him that, to cheer him up. No one else would. Although I really did believe that he could do it. He just needed a big break.
Well as it turned out, Matsuda took me seriously. He was about the only one who took me seriously. Or all of that flack he got from the rest of the team might've finally made something in him snap. Whatever went on through his head when he went through with it, I only knew this much: when I found out what he'd gone and done, I started to wish that I hadn't encouraged him. At least, not like that.
It was early October, Friday, just after the day had ended. Mr. Yagami had noticed a while ago that most of the murders committed by Kira, the ones benefiting Yotsuba, were concentrated around the weekends. Like Kira had some daytime job that was too important for him to quit for his cause. Most people capped off a hard work week with margaritas or a sleep-in, or both. Kira capped it off with murder.
(This is me trying to be funny in order to cope, and failing miserably.)
Matsuda and Misa were still out shooting for that new movie she was starring in. With everyone else working, I'd been left to my own devices—namely, the TV, to polish my Japanese. Even with the little time we spent together anymore, I still had to keep practicing Japanese if I didn't want to lose my ability to speak it. New skills are funny like that. If you don't practice them on a regular basis, the brain performs an enema on itself and flushes it out. Kinda like what happens when kids get off from school for summer vacation.
I'd been watching TV for a while, idly surfing through the channels for something that could rein in my spotty attention span, when all of a sudden, I started to feel weird, kind of tingly. Not the good kind of tingly, either, like I felt when I sensed a great story on my hands. I mean the kind of tingly that made me feel like something was wrong. No details; just, something.
I didn't pay much attention to it, at first, being it too vague to give it any real thought. Besides, ever since I'd gotten wrapped up in the case, I'd picked up the habit of feeling that way quite often, to a point where I wasn't sure if I could take my own intuition seriously anymore. Only when the tingle started to manifest itself in fidgeting did I lose interest in the TV. No matter how tightly I clung to my pillows, it wouldn't stop.
When my foot began to rattle, I got up to pace around the room to make it stop. But when I did that, the fidgeting only shot up into my hands, which I had taken up wringing. God, did I feel strange. I've kind of always been the nervous type before Kira, but sometimes I found it a miracle that I hadn't turned into a complete basket case after all this time. I guess I owed most of that to my buddy, Matsuda.
Matsuda…
When would he and Misa come back from the shoot, anyway? Boy, did I miss him. Had he called yet? I had no means of calling him myself, so that left me little choice but to go downstairs and ask L if he had. Anything to ease my state of mind. Staying in my room sure as hell wouldn't help my nerves.
I even took the stairs. I was never particularly built for steep climbs, but I just couldn't bear fidgeting around in the elevator. I needed something to burn off the excess energy.
I had just gotten down to the top step of the last flight, just above their heads, practically out of breath but none the more relaxed, when I heard Watari speaking to the gang through the computer.
"Ryuzaki?"
L set his plate of cake down on the table. "Yes? What is it?"
"Detective Eraldo Coil has just received a private request to investigate and reveal the identity of L."
Coil…I'd heard of him, vaguely. He was supposed to be the world's second-greatest detective, right? While I stayed clear back, daring only to peek over the railing, everyone dropped everything to huddle around the Cloister Black "W" on the monitor. "Isn't Coil supposed to be the second-greatest detective in the world?" asked Mr. Yagami. "After L, himself? Who on earth would send such a request?"
A window featuring the image of a cold business man in glasses popped up in place of the "W." "The man who sought out Coil's services is Masahiko Kida, the head of the Rights and Planning Department of the Yotsuba Group's headquarters in Tokyo. 100 thousand dollars up front, and one million, 400 thousand if successful."
How many zeros was that, again?
"So it is Yotsuda!" exclaimed Mr. Yagami. "It's said that Coil is the go-to for tracking people down, and will take on any case as long as the money is good."
"We know that Yotsuba must be linked to Kira," said his son. "If they're trying to find out L's identity, it's probably because they want to kill him and need that information to do it."
Mr. Yagami shook his head, the creases on his brow deepening with anxiety. "This is bad. We're already short-handed enough as it is, and now we have to deal with Coil, too…"
Couldn't say that helped my mood, either, Mr. Yagami. My grip on the railing tightened, my knees suddenly buckling under me until I was kneeling on the steps. What lengths would these yahoos take on their quest to strike it rich?
Naturally, the only one who wasn't breaking out into a sweat about it was L, who continued to shovel chunks of shortcake into his mouth, as nonchalant as could be. "It's quite all right," he murmured with his mouth full. "The detective known as Eraldo Coil is me."
I swear, if I hadn't been hanging on so tightly to the railing, I might've rolled right down those damn stairs and broke my neck. In the meantime, everyone gasped.
Ignoring the stifling atmosphere of the room, L gulped. "It's simple, really. The three greatest detectives in the world—L, Coil, and Deneuve—they're all actually me. It's been my experience that people who try to find me usually fall for this. Watari acts as an intermediary between the other two."
He reached over to pick up the strawberry he had been ignoring up until that point, and held it out to the team. "I'll give you this strawberry if you keep it a secret, okay?" A strawberry, for Christ's sake! The guy is made of money, and he bribes them with a strawberry! A strawberry from his little piece of cake, at that. That killed me. L: he was no ordinary jerk. It killed me even more when Moji—whose real name was Mogi—wound up pocketing the fruit in his jacket, like he would with a fat stack.
"I'm impressed as always, Ryuzaki," marveled Light. My mind was sure blown out of the water. "Three Greatest Detectives All the Same Jerk!" What a headliner! How exclusive! As exclusive as exclusive ever had been or could be!
…And at the same time, yet another juicy tidbit that I would never get to share with the world. In spite of my anxiety, that kind of depressed me. More than I could describe. Not only because I'd never be believed, not only because L would never let me talk about it, but because…in a way, it'd feel wrong. I mean, if people really had tried to go after him in the past, and he had that set-up to protect himself…
As soon as they got a look at Kida's employee profile, Mr. Yagami asked, "Do you think Kida could be Kira?"
"I don't think so," said Light.
"Are you sure? Why, wouldn't the fact that he's Kira mean that he could just extort money from Yotsuba?"
"That would mean that he helped to raise Yotsuba's stocks and got money out of it. There are a lot of ways to get money, Dad. If Kira were desperate enough, he could just contact Yotsuba's CEO and threaten him into giving him more money."
"That's true," noted L dryly. "The mere fact that Kida issued this request to Coil does not implicate him."
The team had already begun making a plan to use old Kida's request to their advantage. Aiber was assigned the role as the detective decoy. "All right. I just have to get close to them, right? Leave it to me."
Wedy held a lit cigarette up to her lips, taking a long, cool drag. "And you want me to make sure that we're able to breach the security and override the surveillance cameras in the Yotsuba Group's head office…is that all?" she asked smugly, like she felt that her workload was too light for a lady of her talents. Even from my spot on the top step, the sickly sweet smell of burning tobacco stung my nostrils. Only went to show how much she cared about common courtesy.
She never took her shades off while indoors, either. Which wouldn't have bothered me any if it weren't for the fact that L let her get away with it, but would get anal if I had my hat on indoors. L was the king of double-standards.
L crouched in his swivel chair in the middle of the huddle. "Yes. At this point, it's safe to assume that Kira and the Yotsuba Group are connected in some way. We're going to investigate Yotsuba to determine who holds Kira's power, and if there is more than one person who has this ability. We need a clear understanding, quickly."
More than one?
Oh, right. There were supposed to be two Kiras, or something. As if one weren't enough…
That tingly feeling that sent me down the stairs in the first place began to flare. I badly wanted to ask L if Matsuda had called yet, but how could I? Not while they were striking up a plan, I couldn't.
"Keep in mind that Kira's power depends on his knowledge of someone's name and face, and that it's transferable between people, so we cannot let anyone from Yotsuba discover that we are investigating them. Please realize that if they do notice, it means that we won't be able to catch Kira."
Like we didn't already know that, I thought with a huff. When the hell is he gonna stop talking?
"...We need concrete evidence that whoever is acting as Kira does in fact have his power and has indeed been killing people. This will be a dangerous mission, so please be sure not to act impulsively, out of panic or haste, and don't take matters into your own hands."
Bee-beep!
"Ryuzaki?" Watari cut in.
L threw his weight to whirl his chair around so he was facing the monitor. "What is it?"
Then, Watari said the very last thing I'd wanted to hear: "I've just received an emergency signal from Matsuda's belt."
L stared at the "W" with a glazed face, like he hadn't appreciated the interruption. He didn't like it when people cut him off (though he could cut you off with no problem), since he loved talking so much, it being part of his oral fixation. Especially if it concerned Matsuda. One time, for instance, he used the belt when we got a flat on our way back from shopping for Mogi's birthday, and we didn't have a jack. Like this were just another instance of Matsuda's normal antics, he asked, "Oh, where is he?"
"It seems…that it's coming from within the head office of the Yotsuba Group."
Mr. Yagami turned pale. "He's where?"
Everyone seemed to huff in agitation. I must've been the only one who didn't. In fact, it took until L swiveled back around to glare out into space to realize that I'd stopped breathing.
"Disregard everything I've just said. We need to rethink our strategy. Matsuda, you idiot," he growled, like he suddenly had the hankering to kick the guy the next time he'd see him…if any of us got to see him again.
The idea of otherwise had me flying down those steps without a mite's worth of consideration; it was a miracle I hadn't slipped and snapped my ankle. "He's at Yotsuba? Oh man, he didn't get caught, did he? Please tell me he didn't get caught!" I shrieked, my knees colliding with the arm of the sofa so I could collapse into a blubbering heap on the cushions. Not my most graceful entrance.
Everyone glanced back at me like the yappy dog who'd somehow managed to scuffle back in the house. "Where'd you come from? Does…she do that a lot?" Aiber asked.
"Yes. She does," said L.
"Matsuda sent an emergency signal," said Light, his face darkened with worry. "That probably means that he has been caught."
Aiber folded his arms across his chest. "Then I guess that means he's toast," he sighed.
"NO, he can't be toast! H-h-he's got so much going for him! R-Ryuzaki, you can get him out, cant'cha? G-get 'im outta there! PLEASE, get 'im the hell outta there!" I wailed. I was so shaken up, I was practically bawling, too fearful of my friend's fate to try to hold back. I mean, whether the team would do anything to help him entirely depended on L, and he didn't seem like the type to take action just because some girl begged him to. A girl he called a nuisance, no less.
Naturally, he remained stony. "Please settle down, Miss Crocker. Mr. Mogi, sit down with her. Mr. Yagami, the only items Matsuda should have on him when he goes out are his phone and his business cards with his alias. Is that right?"
"Yes. I've distinctly told him that those are the only things he needs to carry around," said Mr. Yagami, suddenly looking doubtful. "You don't think he's brought Misa with him, do you?"
"Unfortunately, we can never be sure when it comes to Matsuda," muttered Light. I wished they'd stop talking trash about him behind his back, especially when he was in danger. If Matsu really had gone to spy on the Yotsuba Group, he wouldn't be that stupid as to get Misa in trouble, too. Had these guys any faith in him at all? I didn't count on L to—he never seemed to have faith in anything or anyone—but surely Mr. Yagami and the others did?
"In that case, Mr. Yagami, please give me your cell phone."
Mr. Yagami handed L his cell phone, while Mogi sat me down on the couch, whereupon I felt his grip on my shoulder slacken. He didn't say a word—he always was the strong, silent type—but judging by the stiffness of his face, I could tell he had no real idea how to provide comfort. I'd put him in an awkward spot. I didn't blame him. If I had to sit with myself like that on the couch, I wouldn't know how to handle me, either.
L punched in a number on the keyboard, pinching the phone by the top as he lifted it up to his ear. "Before we can make any moves, we must first assess his situation."
"Isn't calling Matsuda right now a little risky, Ryuzaki?" Light questioned.
"I'll play my cards right."
Waiting for poor Matsuda to pick up had to be one of the longest moments of my life. With my knuckles clenched white in my lap, I kept my burning eyes fixed on L, to see how he'd go about this.
Come on, Matsuda…pick up…please pick up. What if those Yotsuba guys had already done him in? No! Don't think like that, Erin! If you think that way, it might happen.
Somehow over the howl of my pulse, I heard a shaky voice answer: "H-hello?" Just hearing his voice was enough to relax the clench in my fists, however slightly.
You wouldn't believe how L answered back. "Yo, Matsui!" He managed to tweak his voice so that he'd sound like a frat boy, happy-go-lucky and giddy from too many cold ones. That killed me, but in a way, it kind of scared me, too. I don't know why it scared me, it just did. I guess because I didn't think he had it in him. That L: every day, he found a new way to freak me out.
"Ah, it's me, Asahi! It's been awhile, buddy."
"Asahi, yeah, it's been a long time!"
"Doesn't sound like you're out, right now; don't tell me you're home, already."
"Y-yeah…"
"So, you by yourself?"
"Yeah. I'm by myself. What's up?"
L lowered the phone and cupped a hand over it, returning to his normal monotone as abruptly as he had dropped it. "He's not with Misa Amane, right now," he whispered. "Matsuda must be on his own." The others nodded in understanding.
Oh, I got it. Was this some kind of sophisticated code he'd made up off the top of his head to ask Matsuda what was going on? Damn, was he good. How good, though, would depend on whether we could still save Matsuda.
He lifted the phone back up to his ear, adopting his pseudo-voice again. "So, like, do ya wanna go out drinking t'night?"
For a so-called "idiot," Matsuda didn't miss a beat, either. "Huh? Right now? Oh, sorry. I'll have to pass tonight."
"Aww, what'sa matter? Don't tell me your wallet's in trouble, again."
"Yeah, that's right! Biiig troubles with money! You know me way too well," Matsuda tittered. By the way he sounded, someone must've been there with him, listening in on everything. Probably one of those Yotsuba bastards.
L lowered the phone. "Matsuda says he's in big trouble," he whispered. Apprehension scrunched everyone's faces as he spoke back into the phone. "Aw, what a drag. Guess I'll pull ya out some other time, m'awright? See ya, buddy!"
Click. The sound of L's hanging up sounded like the slap of a coffin lid in my ears. I'd been wringing my hands around so much, it was a wonder I didn't rip my fingers out of their sockets. Meanwhile, Light pulled out his own cell phone, to call Misa. By the look on his face, she must not have been picking up.
"Misa, it's me. Call me back as soon as you can, I'll have my cell on." Click. "Misa's cell is on voicemail, right now. I've left her a message and told her to get back to me as soon as she can."
"W-well, are we just gonna sit around, or are we gonna get 'im the hell outta there?" I squeaked.
"What are you planning to do, Ryuzaki?" Mr. Yagami asked, trying to rein in his worry. "He's all alone over there, and from the sound of things, someone was there with him listening in."
L whirled around to face the monitor, hands cupped over his knees. "Well…we have to consider that if Matsuda dies," he said thoughtfully, "our suspicions about the Yotsuba Group would be confirmed."
WHAT? Whoa-whoa, wait a minute!
Of course no one else was too keen on that idea, but I was the only one who voiced our objection. I sprung out of the sofa like I'd sat on a tack, a fresh coat of tears stinging my eyes. "Are you kidding? Y-you wouldn't dare! You wouldn't dare ditch one of your own!" I barked, voice cracking like an egg. "If you were over there with your melon on the chopping block, he wouldn't have ditched you!"
The thing was, maybe he would leave Matsuda with the wolves? He'd had no qualms about chasing poor Aizawa out of the task force, or at least, he hadn't shown any. Ukita had died trying to stop the Second Kira, and he hadn't lifted a finger to stop him from going out there in the first place. Whether he felt an inkling of guilt about any of it had yet to be seen.
What made it worse, L was talking about ditching Matsuda right after he'd called him, after giving the poor guy hope for salvation. Who calls someone when they need help, and then decides it would be better to just leave them out to dry? Who does that?
L just grunted. "That's because I wouldn't get into such a position in the first place. Miss Crocker, with all due respect, your outbursts are not conducive to finding a solution. Please be quiet."
Translation: "Shut up, quit being such a pain in my ass."
Yeah? Likewise, L.
Mogi guided me back into my seat. By that point, I'd resolved to staring down at the cold linoleum, suddenly unable to keep my head up. My face smoldered, like I'd gotten chewed out by a principal, or just someone in general who had more authority than I could ever have, however unreasonable.
Light shot L a reproachful look. "He doesn't mean it like that. He only meant that it wouldn't be wise for us to make any big moves just yet."
"Indeed. I don't recall ever saying that that was our final decision. Let's just watch the situation, for the time being."
I opened my mouth to protest, but Mogi just squeezed my shoulder, shaking his head. A wise man, Mogi was. He knew that once those two got an idea, you couldn't shake them from it, no matter how bad you thought it was. All you could do was keep quiet, hope to God they knew what they were doing, and have a backup plan in case things didn't work out (and given the type of plans they made, hopefully you wouldn't need to come up with a backup).
So, I waited with the rest of them. I swear, I could hear every second ticking by like a footstep: Death's footsteps, drawing closer and closer to Matsuda with a machete raised high over his head. For a while there, I thought I liked L's party-dude persona better, even if it'd been phony baloney.
Minutes later, Light's phone rang.
"Misa?"
"Light! I'm sorry I've been working so much! I'll be finished soon, 'kay?"
"Misa, you're not with Matsuda at the moment, are you?"
"Him?" she huffed. "He's a total jerk. He just ran off and left me here."
Boy, did that piss me off, all of a sudden. See? That was exactly why he'd gone and jumped the gun like he did! He felt like dead weight compared to everyone else. All he'd wanted to do was prove himself…to prove that he had stones.
"Oh! Hang on, I'm getting a call on my work phone…oh, hey, it's from Matsu."
Light turned to the rest of the gang. "Misa's just received a call from Matsuda."
"Matsu?" I yelped, springing out of my seat, only to have Mogi sit me back down. I'd become a real pain in the ass about that, hadn't I?
"Tell her to hold her phone so that we can listen in, as well," ordered L. Light gave her the instructions. I couldn't say how much of a relief it felt to hear Matsuda's voice again. Those Yotsuba guys must've been taking their sweet time. I hoped they'd take forever. Literally.
"Misa-Misa, when you're finished filming, come over to the Yotsuba Group's head office! It's still tentative, but there's a chance you may be able to appear in Yotsuba's commercials. We're working it out, now."
"Whaaat, for real?" Misa squealed with delight. "You're amazing, Matsu! So THAT'S what you've been up to, all this time! Don't worry, we're wrapping up soon."
"Great! It's just a short trip by taxi. When you get here, ask for...Hatori, from Marketing!"
Didn't I always say that Matsuda was a sweetheart? He must've used his manager ploy to cover himself when the Yotsuba guys had caught him. Plus, he'd helped to further Misa's career! Two birds with one stone!
"Oh, Light, did you hear that? Misa's gonna appear in Yotsuba's commercials!"
"Misa, wait. I don't think you should go to Yotsuba."
"Huh? Why not, Light? No matter how big or shiny of a star I become, I'll always be Misa..."
"No, it's not that, it's—hold on."
Just then, I saw L reach up to tug at Light's shirt sleeve, just when he was about to explain his objection. Once he got his handcuff mate's attention, he said, "Listen to me, Light. There is a chance that we may be able to save Matsuda. But we won't be able to do it without Misa's help. Let her go to Yotsuba. She'll listen to you and do anything you say, won't she?"
Hoping mostly for the sake of hoping, my eyes began to dry. So…L would save Matsuda, after all?
Huh. Maybe there was a glimmer of hope for the guy, yet?
…
The plan, as it turned out, was to lure the men to Misa's apartment—the headquarters—for a reception, a party with food, drinks, everything but the kitchen sink, hosted by Misa-Misa and her buddies from her modeling agency. The girls would use their feminine charm and stuff to distract them while old Matsuda made his great escape. All well and good—
…until I somehow wound up getting involved.
I had to twist my pinkie around in my ear just to clear any blockages. My ears had been thundering quite a bit since this whole problem had started. "Uh…sorry, I don't think I caught that. You want me to what?"
"We're really sorry, Elin," said Light. "We need everyone from the agency for this to work, but one of them is out sick. We think it'd just be easier if you stepped in as a replacement. Just until Matsuda gets the chance to escape."
I blinked at them all. "So…you want me to get all dolled up, and hang out with a bunch of sleazeball businessmen that you think are murder suspects?"
"…Well, not exactly how I would word it, but yeah, pretty much," answered Light with a funny look.
Naturally, I didn't put much thought into my answer; more hand-waving than anything else. "Whoa, whoa, what d'ya take me for? I'm sorry, but I—I'm not exactly model-material. You'd be better off driving a bus through the freaking building, I mean it."
For some reason, I could've sworn I saw Mr. Yagami cringe a little.
I quick pointed at Wedy. "You want a model so bad, get Wedy to do it. Look at her, she's a—she's a freakin' bombshell! Plus, she's a con."
Wedy took a drag of her cigarette, eyeing me from above her shades. "Actually, hon, I'm a thief. Aiber's the con around here. Besides, I'm too old and mature to walk around with those girls."
I threw my arms in the air. "Then get Aiber to do it, for Christ's sake! Slap a dress on 'im and send him out. I don't care! I'm just not doing it!" I folded my arms over my chest like a shield. Look, I wanted Matsuda saved and all, but…I don't know, there was just something about the concept of getting dolled up for a bunch of seedy businessmen that bothered the hell out of me, scared me, even. I had nothing in particular against make-up and whatnot; I just didn't do it often. I always felt that special occasions called for that stuff. This particular occasion didn't exactly match what I'd had in mind.
"Ryuzaki, you're not gonna have me do it, are you?" I asked, expecting him to refuse me any form of social contact with outsiders, especially suspects.
But here was the extremely squirrely thing about L: it seemed that no matter what I wanted, he had to go in the polar opposite direction. No joke. "I don't see why you would refuse to do this. All you have to do is serve refreshments and engage in trite conversation. Distract them: something you are fairly talented at."
Was that supposed to be a compliment? Even when L tossed a compliment—something he generally didn't do, anyway—it still sounded like an insult.
"Besides, you do want to save Matsuda, don't you?"
My hand found its way up to the collar of my shirt. I should've guessed that he'd use my friendship with Matsuda against me. Manipulation was his game. "W-well, yeah, I do. But I—"
Just then, Aiber walked over to kneel down to my level and take my hand off of my collar, holding it in his own. "I think I see what the problem is," he said with a warm smile. "Elin here would love to go up there to help Matsuda. She just doesn't think she's pretty enough to do it."
I turned my head to look away, but Aiber reached up to press a hand against my cheek and turn it back. I wanted to tell him to take his dirty hand off my face—only God knew where that thing had been—but what squeaked out of my throat instead was, "Shut up, that's—that's not it. It really isn't." I shook my head in an attempt to get him to let go. His hand burned against my cheek, or my cheek burned against his hand, as the case was.
Then he moved downward to take both my hands in his own, and really started laying down the butter: "Listen. Your insecurities are completely unfounded. Right now, your friend Matsuda needs you. The girls up there could use a pretty, smart and friendly girl like you to get those guys off of his back. How's about going up there to show them what you got?"
I don't know if he meant any of that. Most likely, he was just buttering me up into doing what they wanted. And believe it or not, my stupid sucker self fell for it. As someone who had been called high and crazy and whatnot for most of her career, I had an extra-sensitivity to compliments or something. I ate them up, like chocolate. Compliments and flattery are a lot like chocolate, if you think about it: they make you feel pretty good for a while, but too much of the stuff will rot your brains out, as chocolate rots out your teeth.
That's not a good excuse for being a sucker, though. I should've thought myself lucky that they'd just asked me to take a lipstick for Matsuda and not something like a bullet. Because the way I felt at that moment, between Aiber's buttering me up and Matsuda's facing down the barrel, I probably might've.
"I…I won't have to give 'em lap dances or anything, will I?" What a stupid question, I'm not even sure why I asked that. Misa and her friends were models, not strippers.
My superpower: saying the darndest things with less than ten percent thought put into them, and that's being generous.
"Not at all," said L. "Simply to serve refreshments and to talk to them."
Finally, I felt my knuckles crack in foolhardy conviction as I stood up from the sofa. Matsuda needed me. All the rookies in the world needed me to clear their name. "Okay. I'll do it. For Matsui."
L turned to face Mogi. "Mogi, please escort Miss Crocker to Misa's room to get ready." He must've sent the toughest guy to go with me in case I'd get cold feet and try to back down. "Matsuda and the Yotsuba Group will be here soon, so I would suggest that you don't waste time. Remember: we cannot let them know that we are investigating them, so I would recommend that you don't say anything suspicious. Be careful."
"Hm. Way to turn on the charm, Aiber," Wedy muttered with a smirk.
…
The girls from the agency were already up in Misa's room, setting up platters and everything. Once we'd told them that I'd come up to give them an extra pair of hands, they welcomed me with open arms. Two of them even guided me into the bathroom to help fit me into my outfit. From the moment the bathroom door shut behind me, I knew there'd be no turning back. Panic was no longer an option.
I'd had this worry in the back of my head that I'd have to walk around in skimpy lingerie or something, with fuzzy cat or bunny ears and my boobs hanging out and all, but luckily, that was far from the reality. The get-up they squeezed me into was much more conservative than I would've guessed. Well, for the most part. I mean, the skirt was kind of short for my tastes, it showed off more of my midriff than I would've liked, and the sleeveless top had a heart-shape cut into it to display a little cleavage. Plus, the entire thing felt tight as hell, even though it stretched. But yeah, it could've been worse. Leave as much as you can to the imagination, it's sexier that way, isn't it?
Everyone dressed in pretty much the same thing, but in different colors; I got the orange one. One girl divided my hair into two braids, while the other applied the make-up. They were awfully nice about the whole deal. I wouldn't open my eyes until the transformation had been completed. To be honest, I was a little scared to. I was scared of what I would see. If I hadn't liked it, I might've tried to wiggle them off.
As soon as one girl set down the brush she'd been using to apply blush, she cheered, "Okay! Open your eyes! Aww, you look so kawaii!"
My eyes popped open. "What'd you call me?" Before I ever got my answer, however, my eyes caught the reflection in the mirror. The reason I'd say "the reflection" instead of "my reflection" was because I could barely, if at all, recognize the bewildered girl staring back at me through the glass. She looked like me, and yet, she didn't. She looked pretty, cute, foxy, even. Like one of those leading ladies in the movies.
I pointed at the girl in the mirror, as she did the same. "I…is that me? Is that really me?"
The girls nodded. "Do you like it?"
Ha! Like it? Boy, my ego must've shot up right through the ceiling, all the way up the following floors, and clean through the roof of the whole damn building. I didn't even want to step away from that mirror. Sure got my imagination running wild. Erin Blogger: bumbling crackpot journalist by day, foxy undercover journalist by night, I thought with a smirk teasing my lips. Yeah. I could get used to that, probably.
"I think we should get going. The guests will be here any minute," the girls said.
I waved them off. "Yeah, yeah, hang on a sec. Gimme a minute to survey the paint job, will ya?" In that moment, all I wanted to do was turn and twist and admire the reflection that was supposed to be mine, like a little girl playing dress-up as a princess. That's how mad I was about myself, I swear to God.
At least, that's how I felt until I got a look at the back. What I saw back there pretty much all but killed my buzz. My ass was hugene.
I've kind of always been on the plump side: not morbidly obese, or else they would've never asked me to go out as a model, but not slender, either, like the other girls in the room. That used to bother me, when I was growing up. My parents first told me that it was "just baby fat; it'll come off when you get older." When I got older, and not much changed, my parents changed their rationalization: they told me that my appetite for life was too great and wouldn't allow me a more trim figure. "But that's okay! Guys dig full-bodied girls; the bigger their appetite, the better! I would know!"
(Cue Dad nervously assuring Mom that no, he was not calling her fat, he swears.)
I wanted to believe them, so I gave up on trying so hard to lose weight. I wasn't that heavy, and I'd found more important things to occupy me, anyhow, so for the most part, the subject didn't cross my mind again.
Until now. Somehow, it looked like all the dough in my gut had been squeezed into my butt. Right now, it looked like I'd had a microwave oven shoved into my skirt. I could've carried snack trays on that thing, if I felt like it!
In short: the dress made me look fat. Oh, that age-old dilemma...
"Yeah, I don't think this is gonna work," I blurted. My face faded into a bright pink, and not just from the rouge.
The girls blinked at me in confusion. "What's wrong? Don't you like how you look?" They must have thought I didn't like the effort they'd put into prettying me up, and right away, I felt sorry for hurting their feelings. I hadn't meant to.
I sat on the toilet seat, arms folded and legs crossed. Japan had pretty fancy toilets, the kind with seat-warmers. Perfect for when you need to visit the throne in the middle of the night. "Do I have to say it? Please don't make me say it. Y-you guys can do it without me after all, can't ya?"
"But didn't you say you came up here because you were thinking about going into modeling and wanted to see the ropes?"
Just then, we heard somebody's knuckles rapping on the door. "Is everyone ready?" called Misa. "Misa's got the Yotsuba Group waiting just outside the door!"
One girl opened the door for her. "Misa, we have a teeny problem. Your friend won't come out of the bathroom."
Misa poked her head into the bathroom, already in her pink variation of the uniform. "What? Why?"
"I don't know. She just won't come out."
Well, Misa would have none of that. Before I could establish a grip on the toilet seat, she came charging in there to yank me off by the forearm. "I swear, Elin, you pick the worst times to turn wishy-washy!" she huffed. I didn't say so, but I agreed with her, from the bottom of my heart.
"I can't go out there, Misa! I'm not decent!" Not "fat," just "not decent." My fingers fumbled for the doorknob as a kind of anchor, but I was no match for Misa. Girl almost dislocated my arm as she and her peeps dragged me out.
"Nonsense! You look beautiful. Look, do you want to help Matsu escape, or don't you?"
That was enough to drain the resistance out of me. At that point, I'd become more hesitant than resistant. This was pretty damn selfish of me, ducking out just because my tush was a little big. "Y-yeah. But I dunno if I got what it takes to distract those guys. I'm not a femme fatale like you are." I couldn't help it. What if I screwed us all over? No, more importantly, why had L agreed to have me here, in the first place?
Misa shoved me out into the den, where the other girls were already in formation. "Every girl has charm, Elin. You just haven't unlocked yours, yet. Don't worry, just follow Misa and do what she does."
With that, Misa left to beckon our suit-clad guests and Matsuda inside.
"Good evening!" we chorused. "We're very pleased to meet you!" I said my line with my eyes shut. If I'd been looking at those guys while I'd said it, my tongue would've gotten stuck on the roof of my mouth, never to be peeled off. While I did, I tried to access my memory on the chicks I'd seen in the movies, how they held themselves with men and everything.
Misa stood at the front of the room with her most dazzling smile. "Tonight, Misa will be entertaining you as our special guests, along with the girls from the agency."
The eight of them stood there for a while, bemused as hell. Matsuda flanked their left side, tittering the whole time as he tried to remain friendly-looking. Poor guy: he looked like his stones had ducked into his abdomen. I wanted to run over there to hug him—I also wrestled with the temptation to rough him up some for this stunt of his—but couldn't. Now was the very worst time to do that.
"Hey," I heard one of them say. "Is it just me, or is this getting weird?" Tell me about it.
"It can't be helped," said another. "Right now, we can't afford to leave Misa's manager alone for a second." My hands twitched with the urge to clench into fists. Did he think that no one would catch that? The other girls must've thought he meant that they wanted to get to know Misa and her manager more to see if this deal would work, but Matsu, Misa and I, we knew better...
"Oh, let's just go with it," resigned a third member of the pack. "I'm going to enjoy myself." With a murmured chorus of agreement, they shuffled in with fuzzy pink slippers on their feet, an outlandish contrast to the cold jet black of their suits.
Never did I feel more grateful that I hadn't had to wear high heels for the occasion, what with everyone in their socks and slippers. With all the scuttling around that I did, I was thanking God for such a little favor as cultural idiosyncrasies. I felt too nervous to talk to any of them, but too nervous to stay in one place. I felt trapped, and not just because my top was squeezing the wind out of me.
Just to do something, I had resolved solely to passing out sushi rolls and pouring sake, a native alcoholic drink. I felt like I was doing something illegal, to be honest: serving older gentlemen drinks when I myself wasn't technically old enough to drink. But I was going by the American drinking laws. They were probably different in Japan. They had to be, or else Misa wouldn't be doing it to further her career.
About ten minutes into the shindig, I found Matsuda standing flustered by the vanity, a drink clutched in his hand in order to hide how petrified he really was. With bottle in my own hand, I ran up to him, whispering under the hum of the room, "Matsui, you're okay!"
"Ahaha, I sure am! F-for now, anyway."
I couldn't help but scowl. I wanted to let him have it for making me worry so damn much, but circumstances wouldn't allow it. I'd have to wait until we were all safe and sound. I did, however, tell him as I refilled his cup, "Well? What'cha waiting for? Go on! Make your grand escape. Nobody's lookin'!"
"I-I can't do anything right now. It's too early."
"Too early? I say that you're getting later and later with every second you waste hanging out with these yahoos," I hissed. "Yahoos who are, need I remind you, trying to—"
"Oh, there you are!" Misa came up from behind me to pull me away, sneaking a wink at Matsuda on the way. "Everyone wants some sake. Don't—oh, what do you say?—don't bogart it. Tell you what: Misa will take over on drink duty, while you spend some time chatting up our guests."
I bit my lower lip as I stole a glance of the men lounging on the couches. None of them were doing anything particularly perverted, but I couldn't say that their energy was too pleasant, like a bunch of hot-air balloons inflating themselves to impress the ladies. "Do I have to?" I asked lamely, like she'd asked me to take out the trash.
Misa shrugged. "You're a journalist, aren't you? Aren't journalists supposed to be able to mingle with people?" She got me there. Besides, I had to do everything in my power to distract them until Matsuda got his stones back to make his escape. Ah, the sacrifices you make in the name of journalism! And friendship.
I gulped, shuffling around in a crab-walk as I scanned the room for a guy who didn't already have a girl under his arm. I found one behind the couch, keeping to himself. He looked like the very cool and imperial type, too high above everyone in the room for small talk.
But, Misa did say that I had to talk to somebody. So I scurried my way over in my little sporadic crab-walk. "Hey, how's it going?" I asked him, then remembered that I'd forgotten the bow. "I-I mean—"
I hastily bowed from the waist. "I hope you're enjoying yourself, Mr.…?"
"Namikawa," he answered, like he'd expected me to already know his name. "And yes, I am enjoying myself, thank you very much." He paused to brush a lock of his long black hair behind his ear. In the meantime, from behind him, I caught a glimpse of old Matsuda slinking into the bathroom, a giddy grin sprawled over his glazed face. The tipsy face.
Yeah, Matsuda! Flush yourself down the toilet, if you have to. They'd never see it coming!
"How are you in sake? Are you juiced enough yet?" Okay, maybe I shouldn't have said it like that.
Namikawa arched a tweaked eyebrow. "I beg your pardon?"
My hands fiddled behind my back as I resisted the urge to rock back and forth. "Ah, would you like more sake? You look parched. Running a company like Yotsuba must make you awfully thirsty."
"Not necessarily. Not when you know what you want and how to go about getting it." Old Namikawa was polite and all, but something about how he said that made me wonder if he knew that I was new to this (hopefully in the sense that I was a new model in the agency, not some shmuck who'd never gone undercover before). Nobody likes newbies. Even if they were newbies too, once.
"Do you have any role models, Mr. Namikawa? Mine's Misa-Misa; I'm learning everything I can from her. She's awesome. And I'm not just saying that to get you to consider having her for your campaigns."
Sweat and make-up do not mix.
"Role models are good to have. I have my father, who's president of our company's American division. But I like to think of myself as more of a self-motivated man."
America. Home sweet home. My own mother is into business, but has been accepting of the fact that her kids won't be following in her footsteps ("Hey, it's your life, not mine. I don't feel the need to live through my children. That being said, try not to do anything stupid or illegal. Depending on what you did, I may or may not bail you out.")
Oh, Mom. What would you and Dad think if you could see me then?
"Wow, self-made? That must make you really thirsty, then."
"Well, thank you for the offer, but..."
Even with my foxy looks, I was still dopey old Erin Blogger under the mascara. You can slap a tuxedo on a monkey, but that won't civilize it.
Speaking of sharp-dressed monkeys, while Namikawa brushed off my offer, I saw something that drove me crazy. One of the Yotsuba guys was sitting with Misa on the couch, giving her a feel while keeping her trapped under his arm, and Misa just sat there chatting and smiling adorably at him, enduring it. I didn't trust any of these men, but this one…he looked like a real heel, if I'd ever seen one. A pale, skinny one, with dark hair that stuck up like lousy shag carpet and a sleazy glint in his matching eyes. I could see his hand creeping down her arm like an albino tarantula, his fingertips ghosting along the side of her chest.
He made L look like an angel. I mean it.
"Awright! More sake, comin' right up!"
"Huh? Excuse me, I don't recall asking for—"
I took off, anyway. What a rude blockhead I was, but I couldn't help it. As soon as I reached the snack table to snatch up the bottle by the neck, I accidentally-on-purposely swung my elbow into the drink in the guy's hand. Klutz maneuver 6.
Splash! The splatter of foaming alcohol bleeding into the fabric of his shirt and tie came close as the most triumphant noise I'd heard all night, so far. Everyone who happened to be on the same couch at the time suddenly drew away like I'd spilled some acid on the guy. By the dirty look that guy fired me, I might as well have. What killed me was how he'd tried to disguise his chimp-like sneer as a friendly grin, like he was a real forgiving fella.
"Ohmygosh, I'm soooo sorry!" I squealed. "I'm such a klutz! Are you all right?" I was lying, in a way, but in another way, I wasn't. That look he had on scared hell out of me, enough to make me feel almost sorry I'd done it.
Misa only had enough time to pass me a funny look before reaching over the table for a handful of napkins. "Don't worry, Mr. Higuchi, Misa will clean you up!"
"Ah, well, thank you, Misa-Misa," chuckled Higuchi. He had an awful chuckle, the kind that could make your skin crawl. "It's all right. This was my best shirt and tie, but it's not like I can't buy a new best shirt and tie."
While Misa had that covered, I hurried around the couch with the bottle for Namikawa. When I reached his spot, though, he was gone. He's rotated way the hell to the other side of the room, by the balcony. I figured that he didn't want to talk to me anymore, but was too "polite" to tell me that. Understandable…I think. So, I didn't chase after him.
I peeked back towards the bathroom. Jesus Christ, Matsuda was sure taking his sweet time in there. Maybe he really was trying to flush himself down the toilet?
A hand gripped at my shoulder. Yelping, I turned around to find Misa frowning at me. "What was that?" she asked.
"Wh-what? What're you talking about? I'm just mingling, like you suggested."
"Misa saw you. You did that to Higuchi on purpose. What are you trying to do, blow Misa's chances of landing a deal with the Yotsuba Group?"
"Wh-wha-what am I tryin' to—? Our friend is in danger, and all you care about is tha—"
Misa wagged a finger under my nose. "It's called flirting. You know, distracting them? Like we're supposed to do?"
"F-flirting? Don't tell me you liked him feeling you up," I hissed. "That's not flirting. That's full-blown harassment."
"Well, Misa didn't like it, either. In fact, Misa thinks Higuchi's a big pervert, too, but he's also a client. It comes with the territory. Misa's been doing this for awhile; she can take care of herself. Now go sit down where you can't misbehave, anymore." She wouldn't even give me the liberty of seating myself; she forced me to sit next to the guy sitting across from Higuchi—Takahashi, I think his name was. Misa introduced him to me before thrusting me into the couch.
Oh, I'M misbehaving. Go figure: when I turn yellow, no one likes it. But when I actually act like I have stones, they STILL don't like it. I can't win.
Boy, old Takahashi looked as happy as a clam, being sandwiched between two girls, even when one of them was listening intently to another Yotsuba man's discussion on their company. Rather than focus my attention on him, I kept my eyes trained on the bathroom door, wondering if Matsuda was okay. The more I thought about him, the more my guts writhed.
Takahashi picked an awful time to try to wrap an arm around my waist. I did try to make a conscious effort to make it seem flirtatious when I swatted him away, but with the mood I was in, it came out more as a downright slap than a playful swat. I couldn't flirt. Not like Misa. I have to like a guy, really like a guy, in order to flirt with him, and even then, I'm not a master at it. You need a kind of subtlety to flirt with people, something I didn't exactly have in spades. But at least that got him off me. He looked like he'd never been slapped by a girl before, like I'd bitten him or something.
Step off, buster, I wanted to say. Instead, I flashed him a pained smile and told him, "Sorry. Shoulders. We've just met, after all. Now if you're looking for a great girl, you really should talk to Misa-Misa. She'd be great for your business."
Jeez, I was killing myself, here. If I wasn't anxious before, my heart was hammering, now. The room had suddenly gotten too hot to bear, my outfit way too tight.
But before Takahashi could say a word—
BAM!
The bathroom door slammed into the wall as it gave way to a man's raised sock-foot. Matsuda's sock-foot. The laid-back soiree-ish atmosphere of the apartment caved under the startled gasps and mutters of Yotsuba members and models alike. Everyone turned to see Matsuda staggering out of the doorway, giggling and grinning to himself like a drunken skunk. "Awww, I am so-o-o-o drunk," he slurred, fumbling his way past the rest of us, all of whom immobilized on the cocktail of surprise and apprehension.
He waved an uncoordinated arm to the crowd. "H-hi, ev'ryone," he snickered. "Ev'ryone havin' fun?" He killed me, sometimes. He really did. Or, he would've, had I not noticed that he was making his clumsy way towards the balcony. Then sliding the glass door open.
He stepped outside into the night, stretching his arms out as far as he could as though basking under an alcohol-induced hallucination of a spotlight. "Now ev'ryone, the moment you all been wading for…the Taro Matsui Show!" he chortled.
The instant he started hoisting himself on top of the balcony railing, time seemed to slow down, like my perception of everything around me—light, sounds, smells—had begun to swim. Misa dashed up to the front of the room, an encouraging fist pumped high into the air. "Yaaaay, you can do it! Go, Matsu!" she cheered.
What the hell, Misa? Don't ENCOURAGE him, I wanted to scream at her, but words had failed me. My mind had become as blank as a blackboard on summer break, like it refused to accept the reality of Matsuda teetering across the railing right in front of me, like a tightrope walker with a terrible case of vertigo.
Unless…
Was this his great escape?
One of the Yotsuba men, Shimura, rushed over to try to reason with him. "Hey, get down from there! You're drunk! That's way too dangerous!" Imagine that: these guys were probably thinking about cutting his throat on the drive over here, and now they were yelling at him to get the hell off the balcony, like they were concerned about his safety. That killed me.
"Don' worry, I'm jus' fine," Matsuda shook him off. "I do this all the time!"
I—and everyone—finally sprung to our feet once Matsuda somehow hoisted his legs way the hell up in the air, supporting his weight merely on the heels of his quivering hands. By now, the Yotsuba Group, all eight of them, had rushed up to the front to roar him back down to safer ground.
"I-it's awright," my buddy grunted. "N-no prob…" He didn't sound quite as drunk as he had before. More uncomfortable than drunk, and scared as all hell. His eyes stayed focused on the dark streets he hovered at least thirteen stories over.
Without even moving out of my spot, I reached out to him, like I could yank him back to safety by his ankle. Goddamn it, Matsuda, hold still!
I missed.
Screaming. All I could hear was his helpless, bloody scream, as he disappeared into the other side of the ledge, limp to the unwanted help of gravity that carried him down. I couldn't even hear my own pulse howling in my ears.
The squishy clunk of flesh and bone against concrete, like a melon getting smashed, punctuated the echo.
…
You know how you might find yourself caught in the middle of a nightmare, or something that you wish were just a nightmare because it hurts too much to accept it as reality? Or when you tune out a horror movie when the action gets too intense?
I started to tune out upon faintly hearing a woman cry outside, "No! I heard a thud, so I came out! This is horrible! Someone call an ambulance!"
Long after everyone else had cleared out of the room, coats flying and shits scared clean, I stayed by the balcony, peering numbly over it to stare out into the dark but no longer vacant street, at the silhouette of a body once oozing with life within the newly-formed circle of horrified rubbernecks, as the wail of an ambulance—might as well have been a hearse—parted the crowd to pick it up. I couldn't bear to go down there with everyone else. In fact, I searched in vain for a sense of comfort from up there on the balcony; from up there, the scene remained far away, like a nightmare I kept waiting for to drift out of my consciousness. Or for me to wake up so I could kick it out myself.
You wouldn't believe what Misa's last words were to those guys when they started filing out. "Look, everyone, I think you should leave this for us to take care of and go home. Don't worry, we'll handle it. And don't forget about me for your next campaign, okay?"
"Let's go," said one of them, Mido. "If the press sees us, we're in trouble." Someone had just fallen to a concrete death—a friend, my friend—and what were they more concerned about? Their reputations, their job opportunities. God, how could they be so…so…selfish?
Just hearing them say that sapped the strength out of my knees, and I collapsed into a pitiful, shivering, gasping heap onto the floor, forehead pressing against the balcony as the flood gates in my eyes tore open. I was in so much pain at that moment, I'd forgotten all about pride or shame. They'd fallen off the balcony along with Matsuda.
I could almost hear bugle taps ringing in my head. He deserved a hero's memorial, for all I cared.
This was why I didn't wear much make-up. Crying is a messy ordeal all on its own.
"Elin?" Misa asked softly, kneeling down to my level. "What's wrong? Why are you crying?"
Why am I—?
Without even thinking about it, I lunged at her, my nails digging into her shoulders as I rattled her around in front of me. "Why am I crying? Matsu just fell thirteen goddamn stories to his goddamn death," I howled into her face between peals of sobs, "and you ask me why I'm goddamn crying?" I was scaring her, I could tell, and in a way, I felt so sorry for lashing out at her like that. Not quite enough to stop bawling, though. I couldn't remember ever using the word "goddamn" so much in one sentence before, either.
"He was so young…he was gonna do great things…he didn't make it…and all you care about is the goddamn fucking campaign! With the enemy, no less! HOW CAN YOU BE SO SELFISH!" Like a volcano, I erupted again.
"Hey-hey-hey, coming from the girl who wanted to camp out in the bathroom because she thought her tushy looked a little big? Misa's not selfish!" she shot back, gripping my shoulders in turn as she helped me to wobble my way back up on my feet. "And for the record, Matsu's not dead. He made it. Everything went as exactly as planned."
Looking to her left and right for a beat to make sure no one was listening nearby, she whispered, "He pretended to be wasted and fell so the others could catch him on the floor just below us."
At first, I didn't say a word. I couldn't. I wanted to believe her words, I really did. But…
"Then who the fuck was that out on the street?"
Misa shrugged. "I dunno. Aiber in disguise, probably. The lady crying for help was just Wedy. And stop swearing so much; it's uncouth and unprofessional. Look, if you don't believe Misa, why not come downstairs, see for yourself?"
…
The whole way Misa helped me down to the monitor room, all I could think about was how much I wanted to beat someone's ass. Naturally, no one's ass got beat.
That didn't keep me from having a lot to say, though. The minute I saw a shaken but breathing Matsuda sitting on the sofa, I torpedoed across the room into his chest: one arm squeezing him almost to the point of snapping his spine in half, the other beating on his shoulder in the form of a fist as I sobbed into the fabric of his not-so-starched shirt. I shouldn't have done that, unload more drama on the poor guy when he had just barely gotten away from Death with all the hairs on his head. But I wasn't thinking about that. In some respects, I wasn't that much better than Misa, huh?
"You're a brave, brave guy, Matsu," I hiccupped, pressing my cheek against the hollow of his shoulder, "but sohelpme, you dumb monkey, if you—if you go pull something like that on me again, I'll—I'll—"
I wanted to say, "I'll murderize you!" Except, considering the dire circumstances he had just escaped from, that would've made no sense whatsoever. I resolved to more crying, instead, almost every shred of coherent thought or word thrown by the wayside.
Matsuda's timid arms fumbled around, as he tried to give me a hug out of comfort, to get me to stop bawling. "Hey, it's okay, it's okay now," he stammered, half-stroking, half-patting my back.
Before I knew it, I ripped myself off of Matsuda to glare forks and knives at Light and L, pretty much everyone. "And you! If you jerks didn't push Matsu around all the goddamn time, he wouldn'ta done this in the first place! Have some appreciation for each other, for once in your lives!" Anger can make you do and say a lot of dumb things. But hey, if I didn't say it, who else would? Not Matsuda. For a screwball, he never made excuses for himself, no matter how justifiable. He would've gotten thrashed for it, anyway.
Matsuda coughed, placing a sheepish hand behind his head. "Aw now, don't say that. Going to check out Yotsuba on my own was completely my choice."
Naturally, I don't think they took too kindly to my blaming them for Matsuda's stupidity. "All right, that's enough," said Light. He and L were dressed up as paramedics, for some reason: part of the ruse, I guess. They must've been the ones taking Aiber into the ambulance. To see L in anything other than his usual white shirt and jeans was kind of disturbing, to say the least—a doll, he was by no means—but I was too far out of it to appreciate the freakishness of it.
"I think you should go to bed. You've had a rough night and you're not thinking clearly. We've all had a rough night." Like he was trying to shame me into shutting up by pointing out that no one else had lost their head. Only I had.
"I've never thought clearer in my whole life! Leggo of me, asshole!" I snapped when he tried to help me back up. Imagine that. I flat-out call Light an asshole. That only went to prove his point. I really wasn't thinking that clearly. My brains were practically draining out of my ears. I didn't put up much more of a fight than that.
In spite of myself, I couldn't help but notice how quiet L was, the whole time. I expected him to contribute some kind of snarky comment or something, but he didn't. He probably just had nothing else to say to me. As if he'd ever had much to say to me, in the first place.
I found it a miracle that I still had the energy to wash my face and change into my PJs, sighing with bitter relief as I managed to wiggle free from my costume. I folded the outfit up into a semi-decent pile and placed it on my vanity, deciding to return it to Misa the following day, when I'd gotten a few nerves back. As I flopped down on my bed, I clung on to a pillow, too tired to do much of anything else, but seething too much to even consider sleep.
Lying there like a freshly baked potato, eyes sore and head throbbing, I brooded on my feelings until I could see that they were too stupid to dwell on and let them go. I hated Matsuda for jumping the gun like he had and faking us out and making me worry to the point of tears. I hated the Yotsuba Group for all of their seediness, for ever thinking of touching a hair on his head. I hated Misa for her pushy selfishness. I hated L and Aiber and Light and just about everyone on the task force for treating Matsuda and me like they had. I hated Kira, whatever his issues were, for ever coming up with the terrific idea of killing people and putting everyone through all of this.
Of course, I hated myself, for being yellow and self-conscious and selfish and for hating everyone else and so on and so on. I couldn't exactly blame them for sending me to my room like a kid pitching a tantrum. If I'd had to handle myself like that, I might not have thought of anything better.
The rapping of knuckles against my door shook me from my hate-fest. I reached up over my head to flip on a lamp. "Who is it?"
"It's me, Matsu."
It took me a while of groaning and squirming, but eventually, I got around to opening the door. Matsuda stood outside, waving at me, but looking nonetheless flustered. "Hi, Elin. I'm sorry, were you sleeping?"
"No."
"Oh. O-okay. Listen, Elin…I'm—I'm really sorry about what happened tonight. Can you forgive me? Will you be all right?"
I worked up enough effort to put into a shrug. "I dunno. I'll have to wait 'til tomorrow to know for sure. Thanks for asking, though. You're pretty much the only one who's asked. Besides," I mustered a feeble chuckle, "it's kind of my fault for believing that the guys would leave you hanging like that."
But could you totally blame me? L had talked about ditching him in order to confirm the Yotsuba Group's guilt, however briefly, and maybe he didn't mean it. You couldn't tell when it came to L, though. Either way, I didn't tell Matsuda this. It wasn't necessary, plus he probably wouldn't have taken it well if I did.
"Just…try not to do anything like that again, awright? Don't stop trying, but don't throw yourself in front of the train, either. I mean, don't do it i-if you can help it, please." I should've been grateful just to have him alive so we could talk like this.
Matsuda tittered back, then jolted up as though remembering something. "Ah, that reminds me. I was supposed to give you this." He stretched out a hand to reveal a small plate of shortcake, with a fork and a handful of napkins.
I sure could've used a slice of comfort food at that moment. I know I'd been freaking out earlier about looking fat but in the end I like food too much to go on a diet, or at least stick to one. Besides I hadn't really gotten a chance to eat at the party. One piece of cake shouldn't hurt. Maybe a full stomach would help to simmer me down. I took it gratefully in one hand while the other reached up to rub out my eye. "Well how thoughtful of ya! Thanks, Matsui, you're a regular peach. Don't you ever change that," I sniffed.
"You're welcome. But, that cake's not really mine. I was asked to give that to you. But I hope it'll help you feel better."
"You don't say. Well give 'em my regards when you go back down, will ya?"
"Yeah. Hey, before I, you know, jumped off the balcony...did you see anything weird about any of those guys from Yotsuba?"
"I noticed that they're all tools in one way or another. But I don't think that's surprising at all. I'll just take your word for it that they're up to no good."
"Oh. Okay, then."
"G'night, Matsu." Before I shut the door I balked.
"Oh wait. If I'm allowed to ask, who sent you up here with the cake?" I asked. "Just wondering."
"Uh…Ryuzaki, actually. Good-night, Elin," he answered with a bow. "Thank you for, uh, everything."