Chapter 20

Light's House

Light stormed up the stairs to his room, flung open the door and slammed it shut. He threw himself in his desk chair, causing it to spin full circle. He leaned back, covering his eyes with his hands and growling at the ceiling like a primeval sabre. "I'll find a way to kill her, Ryuk. Her and her boy-toy."

Ryuk chuckled darkly, showing off a row of small, pointed teeth. His lips were blue, the color of oxygen deprived blood. His chalk-white skin was riddled with creviced shadows in the dim lighting, and his yellow eyes bulged from his massive skull like ping pong balls dipped in mustard. He appeared to float in mid air, his wings retracted because of the small space. "Boy-toy?"

"You couldn't tell?" Light began fiddling roughly with his pen, imagining stabbing it repeatedly in the girl's soft neck. "He's a good actor, but I'm the best. That temptress has L, if that's who he really is, wrapped around her finger – and she knows I'm Kira. I'm sure they're working together, planning on how to make me slip up." He spat.

The fur stitched around Ryuk's neck ruffled, like a shiver. "Human love disgusts me."

Light ignored him. He had become used to Ryuk's complaints about the human race, which were frequent and usually poetically descriptive. "What I need is a weakness. Something that will bring her to her knees." He groaned. "But I can't find any documents or records on her. It's like she doesn't exist!" In a surge of anger, he whipped the pen across the room. It collided with the wall and exploded, the ink creating a dark, shiny blotch. It slowly dripped down, like streaks of black blood, and puddled on the carpet.

Light's face reflected in the shine of the ink, distorted and warped, like a Picasso painting. The image of Ryuk, who floated just behind him, was strangely absent, similar to vampire lore.

A breeze drifted past the crack in the window, nudging the curtain aside. The red pupils of Ryuk's eyes narrowed, they were slightly off centre, as if he was a chameleon focussed on two things at once. He sniffed the air, then his gaze pinpointed a corner of the room. "Ah, looks like we've been followed."

Light jumped out of his chair. "By who?"

Ryuk's smile grew wider until it looked as though his blue lips had cut a section off his face, like a doll. "Another Shinigami."

Light relaxed, but he followed Ryuk's line of sight with suspicion. "A friend of yours?"

Ryuk snorted. "Hardly."

Light paced back and forth, placing his hands behind his back. "What do they want?"

"A word."

As if from mid-air, a small piece of ripped paper fluttered to the ground. Light hesitated, then reached down and picked it up. Immediately a second floating figure came into focus. A Shinigami. Compared to Ryuk, he was much more worse for wear. Covered from head to toe in stitches (which appeared to be the only things holding him together) the half sized Shinigami's grey skin seemed to be melting. His eyes, a similar bulging to Ryuk's, but three times larger, rolled around madly in his skull. Tufts of neon-pink hair sprouted at various places on his skeleton-thin body (certain areas I'll refrain from mentioning). His elongated fingers were extended, and his sharpened nails clacked together, almost obsessive-compulsively.

The new Shinigami opened his mouth and a rough, high pitched voice came out, like the sound of a cat scratching on a post. "Light Yagami. You're famous on the other side, you know. Quite lovely to meet a human with such – Shinigami sensibility." The Shinigami nodded his head. "Scab, advisor to the King."

Light's eyes flashed. "The King?"

Ryuk spoke up. "King of the Shinigami; rule maker, enforcer, and glutton." Ryuk lowered his voice. "I heard he eats the souls of misbehaving Shinigami, and some human's too, though rumour has it you're a little too salty for his taste."

"Silence!" Scab screeched. "What the King does in his free time is none of your business, Cheater-Ryuk!"

Ryuk shrugged innocently. "I prefer 'entrepreneur'."

Light took a step towards Scab, separating the two. "Why have you come here?"

Scab scratched some dandruff from the bare edges of his scalp, letting it fall like snow. His eyeballs stopped rolling and he drifted closer to Light, who refrained from plugging his nose against the sweet-sour smell the half-sized Death God emanated. Scab tilted his head to the side, his lipless mouth curving in a creepy smile. "The King wishes to grant you a proposition."

"And what..." Light started, speaking carefully, "would the King want with a human like me?"

"We have a common enemy. The King would like to strike a deal. A soul for a soul. One life for one life."

Light appeared emotionless for several seconds, and then he started to laugh. It began as a small chuckle, but evolved into a guffaw. Ryuk floated behind him, silent and ominous, but equally entertained. Light held his stomach and threw his head back. "Your King wants to hire me as a hit man? Why not another Shinigami?"

Scab's eyebrows rustled, as if being hit with static electricity, in annoyance. "This soul cannot be taken by Shinigami hands. There are cosmic rules to follow, but loopholes exist. If you kill this person, we will kill one for you."

Light wiped a mock tear from his eye. "And who are these people you speak of?"

Scab raised two, bony fingers, and folded one down with a CRACK for each person he named. "I believe you know them. The Pennypocket girl in exchange for the detective, 'L'."

Light's laughter cut short. His eyes streaked red, but he silenced his bloodlust with an indifferent expression. Casually, he reached inside his pocket and retrieved the apple Ella...or should he say 'Sydney', had tossed him. A bold, risky declaration, and proof that she knew much more about the investigation than she led on. He wiped a smudge from its smooth, spotless surface. By now it was soft, but it shined in the dim light like a large, fragile ruby. Without any indication, he crushed the half-rotten fruit in his hand. The juice dripped down his fingers, and he let the pieces fall to the floor – one by one. "Tell your King," Light looked up, his eyes black, bottomless wells of dark fire, "he has a deal."

In the Usual Hotel Setting

"Is there no end to your insubordination? Must I insist a thousand times for you to follow orders before you listen? Do you understand what you have done? Not only have you put yourself in a potentially dangerous situation, but you have revealed more than you should. If I were sensible, I would lock you up until this investigation has ended."

I hung my head, but I couldn't suppress my smile. My fingers, held submissively behind my back, twitched nervously. I shifted my weight from foot to foot, rustling the long white shirt (from L's personal stash) that I wore as a dress (it's fashionable). My lashes fluttered with each sentence he whipped at me, as if his words attacked me like a cold wind, but my eyes twinkled. Was I bold? Was I daring? Was I badass? Hell yes. But most of all – I was cooler than cool whip. I was down right glacial.

L sat in his chair in his usual position, showing no mercy to a chocolate slice of cake. He ravaged it with his fork, stabbing it with each declaration of my reckless behaviour. His words were mumbled as he ate, but he didn't spill a single crumb. To be honest, I think he ate that chocolate in front of me as another form of punishment to go along with his statements (my stomach was growling the entire time).

"Come on, L! You have to give me points for style!"

L licked his lips. "No, I certainly do not have to give you anything. I kept you locked up for your own safety. Now you have Matsuda's sympathies too. I warned you, Miss Ella. I told you if you disobeyed drastic measures would be taken to keep you out of harm's way. And it is Ryuzaki, as I have said many times before, when we are in the hotel room."

"Don't be silly, L, no one else is here. Besides, I think I've proven difficult enough to harm. I'm the safest one on the team!" I was, of course, referring to Jerry's earlier confession. According to him, I was impervious to damage. Already Misa, Light and Scab had written my name in their Death Notes, (some more than once, those jerks) and each time I survived. I was the Superman of the Death Note world, deflecting strokes of a pen like speeding bullets!

I sat down in a huff on the sofa, twirling a strand of my dark hair between my fingers. "Come on, L, I'm useful. I can help with the investigation. Put me out there, we can catch Kira together!"

L didn't meet my eyes, but started scraping bits of chocolate from the plate with his fork. "Unacceptable. You may have forcibly thrown yourself into the team, Miss Ella, but you are still a civilian. I will not . . ." He frowned, troubled ". . . use you. Do you understand?"

I smiled coyly, leaning forward in my seat. "You make it sound like I'm asking you to tie me to a post and put a flashing neon sign that reads 'LIVE BAIT' above my head. I just want to be involved, that's all! You need me to solve this case." I pleaded.

"Absolutely not. I did warn you, Miss Ella. It is time to face the consequences of your behaviour. If I cannot control you, then I will put you in a place that will. You start tomorrow." He stood up and carried his plate and fork to the kitchenette.

I turned and kneeled in my seat, looking over the back of the sofa, perplexed. "Start where . . . ?" I asked slowly. I don't like where this is going.

"Hibiya High School, one of the best secondary educational facilities in Tokyo. You will be late in the semester, but I am confident you will make do." L placed his dishes in the sink and strolled around the corner, whistling. "I expect daily reports of homework and tests, of course." He called from over his shoulder. "And I took the initiative to sign you up for their annual play. Oh, also," He peeked around the corner, as if on second thought, "your uniform is sitting on your bed, ready to go for the morning." He disappeared again.

I blinked, then leapt over the back of the sofa and ran after him. "You did WHAT?"

On an Inter-Galactic Golf Course, Located on the Remains of an Asteroid Belt Many Light Years Away

"FOUR!" Jerry shouted, swinging his club with cocky ease. He shielded his eyes from the sunlight reflecting off the ice fields that floated around a stationary planet in the 74th century – in the Dancing Dwarves System. The gravity ball zipped down the oxygen sealed tubes and landed on the next asteroid, rolling to a steady stop on the green, a few inches away from the glowing flagged hole.

Jerry high-fived his furry golfing buddy in the trunk (a species evolved from prehistoric anteaters) and packed up his clubs. He wore a 20th century outfit custom for golfing, including diamond patterned socks, short stockings, shined shoes, a sweater vest and a flat cap. The cap sat awkwardly on his dreads, but fashioned his feather, which drifted in the artificial breeze.

A loud POP sounded in his left ear, and familiar cackling erupted. "What are you wearing?" The voice asked, giggling with abandon.

Jerry sighed and nodded his anteater friend ahead, saying he'll catch up with him. "Don't you have sewers to bathe in, Scab?" He asked, sighing.

Scab nearly doubled over (and for him that meant his spine snapping in half). "Even for a human those socks are stupid!" He pointed, sniggering.

Jerry tapped his club in the palm of his hand, mulling over the possibility of using Scab's skull for a hole in one.

Scab controlled himself, but continued to snort every so often. "I came to tell you – I'm winning this game."

Jerry spun his club in a cavalier manner, testing its weight. "Is that so?"

Scab wiped a sticky glob of dripping snot from his nasal cavity. "Your pawn is about to be kicked off the board, old man."

Jerry prodded the earth with the club absentmindedly. "You and I both know she's impervious to your notebooks. Unless she's in her own time, her own world, you can't touch her."

"Maybe not a notebook, Jerry. Or did you forget to tell her that?"

Jerry paused, then spoke slowly, meaningfully. "I mentioned she could die like an ordinary human, back in no man's land." Jerry stared at the ground, sullen, "I also told her of the loophole, of giving up her traveller's status. But . . ."

"You wiped her memory of it, you sneaky gatekeeper you," Scab finished, thoroughly enjoying himself. "Way to rid yourself of your guilt, pretend you've done the right thing, and keep her ignorant at the same time." Scab continued, his elatedness glowing more and more as Jerry seemed to shrink a few inches shorter with each word. "You tell every newbie the same thing – they can't die. I can see how well that's worked out thus far. How many did you lose in the Dragon universe? Fifteen? Or was it fifty?"

Jerry swung his club, but Scab ducked. "It's not your business what I discuss with new travellers." Jerry said, his feather drooping, as if sensing his mood.

"Oh, I already know why you do it, Jerry. You lie to them to keep them happy, keep them working. You make sure they see you as their protector, that they'd do anything for you. But this time it's different. She's different. She'll figure it out, Jerry, if she doesn't die first, and that's looking more and more likely as of late."

Jerry didn't reply, instead he looked up at the stars. His eyes reflected the tiny white dots, swirling chaotically above. "Your notebooks are instruments of fate," he said softly, "I didn't lie. Travellers are wild cards, they aren't affected by fate,they walk between its lines. They don't grow older, their bodies remain suspended, and they can't be killed by Shinigami or your subordinates. You and I are perfect examples."

"But everything else is fair game." Scab summed up. He shook his head, his forked tongue tutting against his large, square teeth. "All those innocent fan girls you've brought into stories. All lost, left behind, pushing up daisies – you're just as bad as we Shinigami, only you lie to your victims. We at least admit we're monsters – in the human sense."

"I'm not a monster." Jerry whispered.

"Oh yes you are, Jerry. And you're the worst one. I can't wait to see the look on the girl's face right before she dies, that betrayal. It's priceless," he said giddily.

"Did you come here just to gloat?"

"No, I came mostly to gloat. I also bring a message from the King."

"Give him my usual response, Scab. I don't associate with soul eaters." Jerry said, resting his club on his shoulder.

"Fine," Scab stuck out his tongue, which was covered in rotting bits of mould, "don't come crying to me when time and space turns upside down." And with another POP, he was gone.

Jerry sighed and looked at his reflection in the crystallized bubble that surrounded his asteroid. I'm a . . . monster?

Hotel Room, Early Morning

"I hate you, L." I said grumpily, my shoulders slumped.

"I think it looks very flattering."

"As much as I think bowties are cool, L" (if you got that reference, you're my new best friend) I tugged at my collar; the fuzzy sweater making my neck itchy, "Nobody looks good in this."

I stood, in all my glory, in a traditional Japanese schoolgirl outfit (hold the whistles). I pulled at my short grey skirt, trying to lengthen it. Complete with a blue sweater vest, white dress shirt, knee high socks and the ugliest, largest, yellow and red bowtie I have ever seen in my life. My hair, recently brushed, was kept back in a loose bun, and slung on my shoulder was a brand new book bag. I look so . . . shojo. I made a face.

Birds tweeted just outside the small row of windows, signalling the start of the day. Cyclists rang their bells, cars honked and a steadily rising cloud of smog made its way through the streets.

I had argued with L most of last night until my voice became hoarse. In my world I saw school as a waste of time, I doubted it would be different here. The political workings in a high school, the sociality, all the stereotypes – all true. I preferred my lonely, thrilling pick pocketing occupation compared to (bloody) fractions. I had gone through twelve schools in New York alone, and teachers feared getting stuck with me. Once, when our English class was studying Romeo and Juliet, I sabotaged the mock screen-reading using hot glue, a tape recorder and a bucket of cafeteria casserole soup (I didn't even get a mark for creativity).

"Watari will drive you. Ah, and this. . ." L pulled out a small, red rectangle from his pocket, "is for you."

I held the standard sized flip-phone in my hands, opening and closing it, listening to the digital toll as it turned on and off. "Wow, thanks, L. I can't wait to run up the minutes—I'm kidding, I'm kidding."

"That is for emergencies." L looked down at me, speaking with a serious tone, "call if you need help. An officer will not be far away, I promise."

I blushed. "Worried about me already?"

L paused, then turned and strolled over to his computer, airing away my comment with a wave of his hand. "It is standard procedure."

"Right." Suuure. I adjusted my shoulder bag and pocketed the cell phone. "Well, I guess I'll be on my way." I waited, hoping L would suddenly change his mind and ask me to stay with him – but he didn't. He made his nest in front of his laptop and didn't make further eye contact.

"Um, L? What about shoes?"

"Check with Watari at the car, he has some for you."

You're being so cold, L. "L. . ." I said, my voice sounding small, "I'm . . . sorry. I just wanted to help."

L sat solemnly for several seconds. Finally, he said "I know."

Little was I aware, just after I turned to leave, that L's eyes followed me go.

Once the door shut, L speed dialled Watari. "Miss Ella is on her way downstairs."

"Very good, sir."

". . ."

"Is something wrong, sir?"

"No, never mind." L hung up, silently brooding as he stared blankly at his computer screen. The bird calls outside felt hollow and the hotel seemed strangely quiet. Never before had a room felt so empty. L sighed, and covered his eyes with his hand, welcoming the feeling of cool skin. He wondered if he was catching a fever. What did you do to me, Sydney?

Downstairs

I hurried over to Watari. Traffic speeded by as the sun rose above the office buildings, and an ice-cream peddler rolled past, ringing his bell. The buffed silver and black finish of L's car gleamed in the morning light, accenting the sleek design of the rims and hood. "'Morning," I said gloomily, and tossed my bag in the back seat.

Watari shut the door behind me and started the car with a healthy ChugaChugaWhirrrrrr. "Ah, before we depart, don't let me forget." He reached in the passenger seat and lifted up a simple, white box. He handed it to me over the seat. "From Ryuzaki."

I opened the lid. Inside was a pair of the most expensive looking, ruby red slippers I ever laid eyes on. The toe curved down to form an elegant, attractive curve. The lip was accented with crisscrossing gold-buckled straps (real gold too, trust me, I've stolen enough jewellery to tell), and the bottoms were signed by a French brand name in curvy, loopy letters. Speechless, I started to slip one on, but my toe jammed. I inspected the shoe and found a tiny, folded note inside.

Carefully, I opened it.

Dear Ella,

These are for you, so that when you inevitably run off and disobey my orders, at least your feet will be safe.

Ryuzaki

I folded the letter again and tucked it safely into my breast pocket, close to my heart. I put on the shoes, not surprised that they were a perfect fit. I clapped the heels together three times and made a wish.

The wish I made?

Shh. It's a secret.

End of Chapter 20

I know it's been two months, but I've been busy writing my book! (40,000 words in, woot). As always, I love reading your reviews, so write down your thoughts if you get a chance (hold nothing back!) :)

~ Satchelle