Disclaimer: If you still think, at this stage, that I own Death Note, then there is something seriously wrong with you (:

Rating: M

Warnings: The usual: Cursing, weirdness, sex, and references to death, suicide, and necrophilia...

Spoilers: Back at the club, I met this other chick... She's an amputee that looks like a T-Rex...

AN: Crappy McCrap, with a side-order of crap (:

Felly, you are almost there but not quite :D

If you're still trying to figure out what the hell's going on, this chapter should pretty much give it away...

I mean, if you read into it. Sort of.

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Not quite;

By Azar-Apocalypse

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Chapter Fourteen:

Don't be afraid; we'll make it out of this mess...

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Once a week, at Wammy's House, the orphans attended compulsory lessons on self-defence and how to survive in hostage situations. The lectures were given by specialists and professors, and though Near felt that most of them were a waste of time, he enjoyed the fact that most of what was being taught was either very simple to him or common sense.

When Near awoke alone in a cold room, his face pressed uncomfortably to something cold and metal, he lay very, very still and tried to remember what he had learned in his classes.

Was he restrained? He moved his hands minutely and drew in a sharp breath.

Handcuffed to a table.

Was there anyone in the room with him? He couldn't raise his head to look around; that would give his consciousness away, so he closed his eyes and tried to feel.

He couldn't sense anyone in the room with him, but it felt like he was being watched.

Cameras, then.

He felt sick.

He tried to assess his surroundings as best his could while still remaining still. The ground beneath his feet was hard and a bright light from overhead made it difficult to refrain from squinting his eyes shut tighter. It was extremely cold: he was in a metal room. The clinking of the handcuffs against what Near could only assume was the metal leg of the table did not echo; the room was small.

What had the lecturers told him? No sudden movements. Pretend to be asleep. Wait until someone communicated with him. Do not resist his kidnappers' demands.

Near could not feel his foot. His ankle was so swollen that he could feel the material of his pants pressing against the wound, the pressure almost unbearable. His head ached, as if it had recently been hit, and his whole body throbbed. He wanted to go back to sleep.

There was a small 'thud' and the sharp sound of footsteps approaching him. A searing pain in his scalp and his head was lifted up by his hair. It was too bright when he opened his eyes and he winced.

Joshua Lewis sneered, his police badge glinting in the light. Near thought that he looked rather idiotic, but decided against saying anything.

"Think you might be a bit more cooperative, this time?" Joshua asked.

Near tried not to indicate that he was in any pain, but it proved difficult when Joshua tightened his fist in his hair.

He debated commenting on police brutality, but ultimately decided that that was probably a bad idea.

"I'm... very curious as to what evidence you have against me," Near remarked. "I'm also very interested as to why you installed cameras in my bedroom." He smirked. "Or maybe I don't want to know."

The thought of Joshua watching him dress and sleep made Near want to vomit.

Joshua recoiled slightly, his cheeks flushing, and raised his hand. It was probably supposed to be threatening. Near rolled his eyes. Joshua seemed to think better of hitting Near and, instead, ran his hand through his hair, somehow managing to make it appear as if that had been his intention all along.

"So... the evidence," Joshua said lamely. He produced a manila folder from what Near hoped was his pocket. "Right here," he pulled out a paper, "is a conversation that one of our investigators had with one of the children at the orphanage. Let me summarise it for you. One of the kids said they saw you talking to Alex. Alex-"

Near cleared his throat, trying hard not to frown. "When, exactly, did this conversation take place?"

Joshua smirked. "Don't you remember? Two weeks ago. Anyway, Alex looked upset. You told him about tying something. The next day, he showed up dead, hanging from a ceiling. Do you see where I'm going with this?"

Near frowned. Something cold infiltrated his chest. His breath didn't seem enough; the oxygen wasn't making it to his lungs.

He didn't want to go to prison; moreover, he didn't want to go to prison on a false charge.

He had never had that conversation with Alex. Surely even Mello wouldn't sink so low as to falsely testify against Near.

Joshua leaned back and smiled, looking satisfied. He did not release Near's hair.

"I'd hardly call that evidence," Near said, his mind working so quickly that he wasn't aware of what he was saying at all. "Word of mouth, maybe. Do you have a lie-detector, Mr. Lewis? Would you be interested in asking me what happened while I was hooked up to a polygraph machine?"

He was surprised by how calm he sounded. He wanted to scream and cry and rage and shout that he didn't know anything and that he didn't know what was going on and that he wanted to see B, because he didn't know what Joshua was talking about and it scared him.

In any other circumstance or at any other time, it would not have bothered him very much. He would have been completely certain in his knowledge that he had not spoken to Alex in months, but the smallest part of Near doubted himself.

He was sure that B had watched while he and Linda had had sex. There was no denying it. It had happened. But how could Linda have missed B's presence; why would she continue if she loved Near and knew that B was there; and why would she lie about it later?

It simply wasn't like Linda to do something like that; however, Near was not wrong.

But now, he was being told that he had had a conversation with someone who he hadn't spoken to in months.

Maybe he just didn't remember the conversation.

Maybe it really had happened, and he was concussed, so he couldn't think clearly.

Maybe one of the children had given false evidence to the police.

Near drew in a deep breath. He was not fooling himself.

Joshua narrowed his eyes, but his smirk did not fade. "You're an obsessive compulsive, sociopathic orphan. It's not uncommon for people like you to be able to lie to a polygraph machine."

Near yanked his head from Joshua's grip and sat up as straight as he could, his scalp stinging and throbbing. He still could not feel his foot. "My ankle's broken," he said, "and I need to see a doctor. What would it take to get me some medical assistance?"

"Confess," Joshua demanded.

Near was not shocked in any way, shape, or form, and he replied disappointedly, "This isn't going to make me confess to something that I didn't do. I haven't killed anyone. Do your job properly or don't attempt to do it at all."

Joshua glared at Near when he asked, "This is a let-down to you, is it?"

With a small shrug, Near answered, "Frankly, I expected more from you. Evidence? Hardly. I'm disappointed. You got me all excited for nothing."

It was growing colder in the room. Near shivered, though he tried to hide it, and bit down on the inside of his cheek.

He was certain that he had not had a conversation with Alex for months; moreover, if this conversation had taken place and Near, for whatever reason, couldn't remember it, why would he speak to Alex about tying things?

He knew what Joshua was implying. He also knew that the 'window' on the far side of the room was not a window at all, but a two-way mirror.

He smiled at it and said very clearly, "The attention is flattering, really, but I hope you're not going to watch me while I shower or anything."

Something in the pit of his stomach was icy; the chill travelled up his spine until it was in his chest and he found it hard to think.

People were watching his every move.

Joshua had installed cameras in his room.

Alex had watched him shower.

B said so, and Near knew that there was no reason for B to lie about such a thing, so it had happened.

Alex had taken photographs of him showering.

How could Near have possibly missed that? How could he have continued to bathe without noticing that Alex was peering under (or over?) the walls of his shower cubicle and photographing his wet, naked, and soapy body?

Near felt used and hollow, as if he was somehow betraying himself by thinking about it. Something in his mind screamed at him to turn away and stop while he still could, because he could not comprehend the impossibility of himself being so stupid and Alex watching him shower, but he could (or would) not stop - not until he understood.

He wished that B was here; he was glad that B was not.

Something suddenly occurred to him and he addressed the mirror again, trying to sound as casual as he possibly could: "You found me and brought me here, right? There was a boy with me. Where is he?"

The mirror did not reply, Near had not expected it to, but that didn't prevent him from feeling disappointed.

If the police had B in isolation again, Near knew that they would have found the bloody knife on the boy's person, unless B had been smart enough to throw it away at the first opportunity.

But thinking about it wouldn't get them out of gaol, and he did not want to think about B.

It seemed vital to Near that he should think about Alex, instead. He had betrayed the boy and, while feeling guilty about his part in defiling the body of a pervert made him feel ill and oddly amused, his mind almost seemed to reel away from Alex, incapable of comprehending that he had actually done something so disgusting to Near.

Near felt horrible and betrayed and disgusted and repulsive and sick of his own skin; he felt dirty, and found himself thinking about what Alex had done with the photographs...

Suddenly, Near felt as if he had fallen away from reality; it seemed like he had gone to a place where there was nothing resembling anything - a place so devoid of reason and light and spirit that he simply could not grasp it on any sort of conscious level; so utterly immense and jagged that if he even tried to understand it, his mind would reel away, unable to process the intensity of what was inside him: the knowledge where he was, what he was doing, what had happened to him, what Alex had done to him, what B had done to Alex.

It was so clear and real and integral to him that it was entirely abstract in its purity. This was him; this was the raw essence of his humanity, where nothing seemed to matter but the abject loss of his ability to trust and function. Reflection was useless; the world was senseless.

He felt violated; he wanted to tear away his skin until there was nothing left of himself, nothing that Alex could claim to have seen.

Of only two things was Near completely aware: the weight of manacles around his wrists and ankles, and bile rising in his throat. He was almost overcome by self-pity, then disgust, then anger, frustration, confusion, and, finally, denial.

This could not have happened to him. He heard about this on the news and on television shows, awful things somehow falling perfectly into the shape of events on a screen. He could almost hear the dramatic swell of an orchestra; could almost hallucinate the camera panning low around him; could almost feel the cheap, grainy image of a young, teenaged girl falling to the ground, her painted lips parting as she wept and the subsequent murmur of 'I feel so violated' in Dolby Digital sound. But Near felt frozen and numb against the table, and his mind was empty - maybe he was gibbering nonsense or even sobbing - and he realised, at first distantly and then with greater clarity, that the havoc raging inside of him was real, that this had happened to him, not a nameless face on a television screen.

He found that thinking, at that moment, was too hard, because his mind would inevitably stray to Alex - to things the boy had done with him, to gestures that seemed kind at the time but now had almost sinister undertones, to off-handed comments the boy had made that now seemed more than slightly perverted - but he couldn't seem to stop. He closed his eyes and could see nothing but Alex, and then B and Alex, which was even worse, and his fingernails dug at the table until they bent backward, away from his fingers, and began to sting and bleed and ache, and he was choking back bile and maybe crying, too, and he looked up at the mirror. His reflection flickered and he saw Joshua and other detectives that he did not recognise staring back at him and a moment of understanding passed between them, and then his reflection was back and his face was wet - it didn't look very attractive and he could only imagine (oh God please stop) what Alex had found attractive in it - and he retched.

Near couldn't do this.

So Near went away.

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Late update is late.

And fail.

I'm flooded in, at the moment.

I'm updating because it's been a month and a half since the last time I did so. It's too long a wait, I think, but I haven't been writing much lately, so the update is crappy :D

As for lying to polygraph machines: Yes, it is possible. Just like any other machine, they are not fool-proof.

Don't leave comments on how crappy this is, please, because I already know. Ugh. It's horrible.