Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note, if I did, L wouldn't have died. I also do not own any tv shows, video games, books, or movies to which I will most likely make a reference to in this fic.
I see their pain . . . On some level, I even understand their pain . . . I just can't feel their pain"
Dexter Morgan (Dexter; Season 1 Episode 2: Crocodile)
"Why do you trust me?"
"I don't know . . . can't we just . . ."
"That's not rational!"
"Nothing's rational!"
"Everything is rational!"
"I was raped. Explain how that makes sense to you."
". . . We are selfish, base animals crawling across the earth. But 'cause we got brains, if we try real hard, we can occasionally aspire to something that is less than pure evil."
Greg House and Eve (House; Season 3 episode 12: One Day, One Room)
"You see the knowledge of death changes everything: If I were to tell you, the exact date and time of your own death . . . it would shatter your world completely . . . I know . . ."
"Can you imagine what it feels like to have someone sit you down . . . and tell you that you're dying? The gravity of that . . . that the clock's ticking for you . . ."
"In a split second, you're almost cracked open. You look at things differently, you smell things differently . . . you savor everything, be it a glass of water or a walk in the park . . ."
"But most people have the luxury of not knowing when that clock's gonna go off . . . and the irony of it is, that keeps them from really living their life, it keeps them sleepwalking . . . it keeps them drinking that glass of water, but never really tasting it."
"You can still fix this John . . ."
"Yeah, but can we fix you?"
John Kramer (Jigsaw) and Detective Eric Matthews (Saw II, 2005)
Vision 45: Misa
May 19, 2003
It was night. Mr. and Mrs. Amane were in the kitchen, the husband sitting at the table and poring through files from work while the wife cooked dinner. Mr. Amane was American, blonde, with light brown eyes and pale white skin. He wore a white button-up shirt, beige pants, and white socks. Mrs. Amane was Japanese, and had short black hair that curled up at her ears, light blue eyes, and pale skin. She had on a light blue sweater, with a white shirt underneath, as well as a dark blue skirt. The missus was a bit on the slender size, while the husband had an average build. Mr. Amane worked out on a regular basis, but only for the sake of keeping in shape and staying healthy, at the insistence of his wife.
I stood outside their window, far enough away from the light and their line of sight so that I wouldn't be spotted. It had rained recently, and the clouds were slowly disappearing from the skies.
Suddenly, the sound of a door opening and slamming.
"Moooooom! Daaaaaad! Guess who's hoooome!" A feminine voice called out cheerfully. Misa Amane skipped through the door. Her hair was blonde, and drawn up into two buns on each side of her head. She had a couple of stray locks loose, which framed the sides of her face, and her bangs were worn down. Her eyes were a light brown, and had a little bit of eyeliner surrounding them, along with a touch of mascara. She wore a white dress shirt that had white flat buttons on the cuffs, and wore over it a red corset that an intricate design of swirling black lines on it and small black gauzy fringe. She wore a black skirt that from where I stood, looked like it had three layers. Best way I can describe it is: Longest strip of fabric goes first, then the shorter one, then the shortest one. Under the skirt she wore white pantyhose and a pair of black Mary Jane platform shoes. In her hand was a purse shaped like a bat.
"Misa! Darling!" Mr. Amane said, getting up from his seat, and laughing as the 18-year-old girl jumped into his arms for a hug.
"Hi Daddy! How are you?"
"Misa!" Mrs. Amane said sternly. "What are you doing? You know the rules: Shoes Off!"
Misa sighed. "Yes, Mooom." She groaned, and walked out of the kitchen to put away her shoes. The parents followed. "How is my baby girl?" Mrs. Amane asked, a smile in her voice. "Great, Mom! My apartment is fantastic, and my manager has managed to get three different companies interested in having me in their commercials and magazines!"
"Aren't you supposed to be at a shoot right now?" Mr. Amane asked.
"Oh, it got canceled! Apparently the photographer had a fit because he didn't get the cameras he wanted to use for the shoot. My manager tried to convince him to use the ones he already had, but he said "No!" and dumped his cup of coffee on her shirt! Then he stomped out of the studio, saying that we were all "ruining his artistic vision" She giggled.
"Is that right?" Mr. Amane said skeptically, raising an eyebrow and looking at his wife.
"But it's OK! Cuz now I get to hang out with you guys! Oh, it's been forever since the last time I was here!" Misa sighed, extending her arms out to the sides and spinning around in a circle as she came through the entrance to the kitchen.
"You were here last week." Mrs. Amane pointed out.
"And the week before that, and the Sunday before that . . ." Mr. Amane teased. "And then three days before that . . ."
Misa paused. She laid her hand over her mouth and peered guiltily over her shoulder before admitting "Weeelll yeah. But it's only because I miss you all so much!"
I had to have been hearing things, because there was no goddamn way that somebody could be this nauseatingly happy all the time! She reminded me of a character in a video game I'd played once, though I kinda forgot what her name was. All I remember is a blonde cheerleader, a fucking chainsaw, and lollipops.
Mrs. Amane shook her head and hugged her daughter. "Oh, sweetie . . . it's only been a month since you moved out. You'll get used to living on your own, I promise!" She pulled away. "In the meantime, why don't we have dinner? I was just about to set the table."
"Yaaaay!" Misa shot her hands up in the air and kicked up her leg back.
I'd found out that Misa had been into the Gothic scene for quite awhile. It had started with a fascination with horror flicks, and then it got jump started after she watched a Gothic cult film. She'd experimented with several different styles and facets of the Gothic culture before she finally settled into Gothic Lolita. How she managed to get into this and still retained her bubbly personality is beyond me. I'd have better luck trying to wrap my brain around peppy cheerleaders, fucking rainbows, hearts, jock boyfriends, shopping, and all things girly, nice, and cute working harmoniously with fucking zombies, decapitated heads, shit blowing up, awesome gothic villains, insane siblings, and a perverted mentor. Something which I have never successfully done . . . Have I mentioned the fucking chainsaw?
Lollipop! Lollipop!
Oh lolli, lolli, lolli
Lollipop, lollipop . . .
NO! NO! No! We are not playing that! Unless you plan to put on Three 6 Mafia, TURN THAT SHIT OFF!
. . .
"All right everyone, it's time to say Grace." Mr. Amane said as they all sat down.
"Aw, do we have to do that Dad?" Misa complained, propping her elbow on the table and resting her cheek against her palm. "Can't we just say "Itadaki-masu" and get on with it?" She pouted.
"Misa, I thought we'd gone over this."
"Well, yeah, we did, but I just can't see the point! I mean, God doesn't exist, so why should we say thanks to something who's not even around to listen to us?"
"I told you honey, God does exist. He exists for all of us. Even if you can't prove that, you can't prove it the other way, can you?"
"Weeeell . . ." Misa trailed off.
"Look, I know it's hard for you to understand, but . . . humor me a little. It won't hurt, will it?"
"Mmmm . . ." Misa frowned. ". . . Alright."
Then they all grasped each other's hands. Mr. Amane started off the prayer: "Our Father, who art in Heaven . . ."
Huh, that was new. I had never realized that Misa didn't believe in God before . . . also, I just noticed, Misa hasn't been referring to herself in Third-Person at all since I first saw her. I thought that was a tic of hers, calling herself "Misa-Misa" or just "Misa" in place of every "I" she would have to use in a sentence.
They finished dinner, then watched some TV together. It got late, and her parents offered Misa to stay the night, saying that one of them would drive her to work tomorrow morning, since she didn't have a car yet (she'd come here by taxi). She accepted. Before she went up to bed in the guest bedroom, which had been her old room, her parents pulled her aside.
"Misa . . ." Mrs. Amane started. "Your father and I just wanted to say . . . how proud we are of you."
"Not many girls have been able to accomplish what you have." Mr. Amane said, "You're a very lucky girl."
"So, before you become some famous idol or something . . ." Mrs. Amane began.
"Oh come on, Mom, I'm not gonna be that lucky!" Misa rolled her eyes, smiling.
"Yes you will," Mrs. Amane insisted. "You're talented, you're hard-working, and you've got skill . . . which is why the both of us want you to remember a few important things."
Mrs. Amane brushed her fingers along Misa's face, and cupped her cheek in her hand. "Don't ever change. Please, please stay the same sweet girl you are now."
"Don't let the popularity get to your head," Mr. Amane put in, "You can get some pretty cool friends among us little people.
"And you know what, whenever you decide you want a boyfriend, be smart about it. There are a lot of guys who would like to use you because of your position. Try to find a nice guy, someone who's . . . smart and sweet."
"You're gonna have to check in with me first." Mr. Amane interrupted, irritation lacing his voice. His arms were crossed.
"That's right dear" Mrs. Amane said, glancing over her shoulder at her husband and smiling at him. "And be careful with how much money you spend, dear. The last thing we need is another family member going bankrupt! But don't be afraid to help out those in need as well."
"So . . you're saying to donate to charity?" Misa asked, tilting her head to the side and gazing at them quizzically.
"Donate to charity, lend a few bucks to a hobo . . . whatever suits your needs." Her mother smiled, and hugged her.
"I love you, honey."
"We love you, Misa." Mr. Amane came around and hugged his daughter from behind. It was a tender moment, one you could probably take a picture of and put into Hallmark cards. Misa closed her eyes and reveled in the warm moment, before they all broke apart and went off to bed.
.*.*.*.
3:30 AM; May 20, 2003
Misa jerked upright in bed. She could have sworn she heard a loud noise in the darkness. She listened intently, but could hear nothing else. Curious, she got out of bed and peeked through her door. Nothing. She walked down the hallway and turned the corner into her living room, where she saw a tall stranger in black wearing a ski mask over his face stuffing an old painting her parents had bought years ago into an old bag. The door was open, the handle had been broken off and lay on the floor abandoned.
She froze. Dear God, they were being robbed! What if he was armed ? ! Misa took a deep breath, trying to be as quiet as possible as she attempted to calm herself down.
Okay . . . okay . . . she had her cell phone. It was in her room in her purse. All she had to do was to quietly slip away before the robber noticed, call the police, and everything would be all right! Shaking, the young Lolita stepped backwards, quietly, cautiously, praying to God, if there really was one, that the man wouldn't see her.
At that moment, the robber looked up. Misa gasped. He dropped his bag and ran after her. She screamed, and ran to her room, but couldn't make it in time before he grabbed her, pinned her arms behind her back and covered her mouth.
"Shhh! Shut up, shut up!" The robber whispered angrily as she continued to scream into his hand. She squirmed in his embrace, tried to kick him, but failed. It was then that Mr. and Mrs. Amane ran into the room.
"Misa!" Mr. Amane yelled.
The robber looked up, and as Misa's father advanced toward them, with the intention of attacking the man who held his only daughter hostage, he pulled out his gun and aimed it at Misa's head. "Not . . . another . . . step!" He said lowly.
Mrs. Amane gasped, and held her hands over her mouth. Her eyes were wide, she wasn't sure what to do.
Mr. Amane stood still. After a few moments he said ". . . Put down the gun."
"I don't think so." The robber responded. He cocked the gun.
Misa was frozen stiff. Oh my God, he was going to kill her wasn't he? He was going to kill her! She didn't want him to kill her! Oh God, help! Daddy! She stared anxiously at her father, afraid to move or speak.
". . . Put down the gun." Mr. Amane said slowly "We'll do anything you ask, just put down the down."
Mrs. Amane shot a surprised look at her husband. She wasn't too keen on the idea of negotiating with someone who was threatening to kill their daughter, but she figured that her husband was working on an idea to disarm the robber and was trying to stall him for as long as possible.
The robber glared at them both warily. Mr. Amane held up his hands. Empty. No tricks. Mr. Amane took a few cautious steps towards the two but immediately stopped when the robber's finger twitched on the trigger. After that, the robber took several steps backwards, moving over to one corner of the living room, his eyes never leaving the Amanes for a second. He stopped at a door leading into a small closet, and quickly released Misa's arms from behind her back, while wrapping his other arm which held the gun in a chokehold around her neck. After that he opened the door, shoved the girl in, and closed it, then turning his gun on the man and woman in front of him.
"You get in." The man growled.
"NOW!" He yelled when the two didn't move. The both of them flinched, but complied, maintaining a safe distance from the thief until they came to the closet. Held at gunpoint, Mr. and Mrs. Amane were forced into the small space with their child. Once inside, the robber shut the door behind them and locked it.
Misa was shaking, her arms were wrapped around herself and she was trying not to cry.
They waited there in silence, listening as the robber rummaged through the rest of the living room, occasionally leaving and reentering the room as he took a bag of stuffed goods over to his car and came back with a new bag. Finally, he finished, and left to ransack a new room.
"We-We're gonna be okay, right Dad?" Misa asked, trembling as she looked up at her father. "He's not gonna come back . . . right?"
"No sweetie." Mr. Amane answered, caressing her face as he tried to comfort her. "But we can't stay here. Someone's gotta call the police."
"But the door's locked."
"I can pick it. Honey," he said, talking to his wife. "Scoot over a bit so I can grab that wire hanger?"
"Do you think it'll work?" She asked as Mr. Amane fiddled with the hanger.
"It should, hopefully." Mr. Amane murmured under his breath. "Otherwise, I may have to risk kicking down the door."
"Maybe we should stay here." Misa said in a small voice. "Wait until he leaves . . . I . . . I don't . . ."
"Misa, I'm not gonna let this man get away with this. He's broken into our home, stolen our valuables and belongings, and he's attempted to murder you and leave us for dead in a closet! If we wait, the police may not find him. We don't know who he is, what his name is, or where he came from. Heck, we don't even know what he looks like! And it's possible that the police may not be able to scan for fingerprints since he's been wearing gloves this whole time. We need to get a hold of them now, when he least expects it."
"But how are you gonna keep him here?" Misa asked.
"You let me worry about that sweetie." Mr. Amane responded, shoving the fixed wire hanger into the lock with a grunt. "Good! It fits! Now listen closely Misa" He looked at his daughter, "When I open this door, go straight to your room, grab your phone and call 110. Nara, I need you to cover me, alright?"
Nara Amane nodded. Carefully, as quietly as he could, Mr. Amane unlocked the door and opened it. He peered through the doorway, searching the room for the robber. He found him, bent over in front of the refrigerator in the kitchen. Knowing the coast was clear, he whispered urgently to his daughter "Go . . . Go!"
Misa nodded, sidled past her father and darted towards her room.
She found her bat purse on the floor next to her bed, got down on her knees, and opened it hurriedly. Hands shaking, she rummaged through its' contents.
Meanwhile, Mr. Amane crept over to the kitchen, motioning to his wife to cover the other entrance in the hallway leading to the front door. Looking through the entrance from the living room into the kitchen, Mr. Amane saw the thief's profile. His ski mask was rolled up so that he could see his mouth. The man was tossing a red apple up into the air and catching it in his left hand as he closed the refrigerator door and opened the freezer door. With his face concealed behind it, he couldn't see Mr. Amane coming after him until he closed it, turning his face towards the angry, middle-aged man in surprise as he was tackled to the ground.
The two men rolled around on the ground, wrestling each other, each trying to land a good punch, but failing. At one point, the robber managed to pin Mr. Amane on his back, and reached for the gun he had tucked into his belt. The minute he pulled it out, however, Mr. Amane broke free and struck him on the side of his face. This caused the robber to drop his gun, which spun away from them as it slid on the floor.
Quickly, Nara ran into the kitchen and picked up the gun. Holding the weapon in both hands, she tried to aim for the intruder, intending to disable him, but couldn't get a clear shot.
As this was happening, Misa was finishing up her call with the authorities.
"Yes! Yes! . . ." Misa said shakily. "My parents are in the kitchen right now, they're . . . I don't know what they're doing, just please get someone over here quickly! He has a gun!"
On cue, the sound of a gunshot went off. Misa jumped, and looked fearfully over her shoulder.
"MOM! DAD!" She yelled. Turning to her phone, she finished "Please! Hurry!" before shutting it off and running out of the room.
Knives had been spilled onto the kitchen floor. The robber and Mr. Amane faced each other, having broken away from their fight after Nara had shot her husband by accident. Mr. Amane held his hand over his shoulder, attempting to stem the bleeding and quell the pain, prepared to fight again if he had to. The thief, meanwhile, held a long blade in his hand, which he had grabbed from the knife holder that he previously knocked over. He held it out in front of him, threatening to kill Mr. Amane if he came any closer.
Mr. Amane edged towards the side, moving out of the way so he could give his wife a good shot at the thief. Mrs. Amane let off two shots, which missed as he jumped away from the bullets and ran after Mr. Amane, who was able to catch the other man's wrist just in time before he stabbed him. The thief tried to punch him, but got his other hand trapped as well, so instead he swung his leg out in front of him, causing Mr. Amane to fall and land hard on his back.
Once more they fought, rolling around on the ground as each tried to get the best of the other. As they struggled, the robber managed to land a good hit on Mr. Amane as he tried to pin him down, stabbing him deeply in his right hip. Mr. Amane cried out in pain, and fell on the tiled floor, grabbing his side. Again, Nara shot, but the man managed to quickly roll away just in time.
He got up, and before Mrs. Amane could realize what was happening, he tackled her to the ground and knocked the gun out of her hand. He pinned her where she lay, trying to keep her still as he held up his knife. Valiantly, Nara fought back as hard as she could, beating against him and at one point managing to rip off his mask. It didn't do her much good. The thief's hand locked around the housewife's throat, holding tight as she stabbed the woman through the chest once, twice, then three times, and then slashed her throat.
By this time, Mr. Amane had tremulously managed to pick himself up, and was staring in shock at the body of his dead wife. The thief turned to look at him over his shoulder, and grabbed his gun from where it lay next to the woman he had just killed. He aimed it at the other man's heart and, looking him straight in the eyes, never blinking once, shot him dead.
Mr. Amane fell to the ground with a thud, and the robber lowered his gun, almost relaxing for a moment . . . right before he heard the sound of a stuttering gasp right in front of him. He looked up.
Misa stood in the doorway, her hand over her mouth, shaking, tears spilling out of her eyes.
Slowly, the robber stood up. Misa never moved. She stared at the man with wide eyes as he walked over to her. For awhile he didn't say anything . . . and then:
"You never saw me." He murmured.
The next thing Misa knew, she had a five to six-inch-long blade lodged in the middle of her chest. She stared at it for a few seconds, not comprehending. She felt . . . detached, almost as if she were in a dream. Then she turned her gaze upwards towards her killer, and fell.
.*.*.*.
It'd be another half hour before the police arrived. Marcus Amane was dead. Nara Amane was dead. However, by some strange miracle, Misa Amane had managed to survive! According to her doctors, her stab wound, while deep, had missed the vital organs in her system. They expected a full recovery in about two to three weeks, and with any luck, there wouldn't be any scars.
There wasn't. But you know, one doesn't normally watch their family get murdered in cold blood and come away with nothing.
For weeks Amane didn't say a word. She sat in her bad, gazing out into space. Her eyes were blank, empty. Psychologists were called in to help her, but they couldn't get a response from her. They may as well have been talking to a mindless doll.
The medics did all they could to help. They stuck tubes in her so that she could eat and drink. The nurses would put on the TV now and again to entertain her. They would also fluff her pillows, change her sheets, and gave her baths.
Tragic . . . simply . . . tragic.
Never moving, never speaking, eating . . . she would sleep, but even then, it was only for a few hours at a time, and those were few and far in between.
Her wound healed, and then Misa Amane was moved to the psychiatric ward, where she continued to lie in her bed everyday.
One day, there was a breakthrough. A nurse had turned on the TV. The news was on. Apparently some guy had been captured. He'd been arrested after he'd been found standing next to a dead businessman. The police suspected that he'd been trying to rob this man blind right before he'd been caught, however at the moment all they had was circumstantial evidence.
They showed the man's picture on screen. Misa looked at it. She could hear her heart pounding loudly inside her head. Seconds rolled by . . . minutes, an hour.
And then she screamed. She threw random objects around the room: Desk Lamps, books, chairs, pillows. She tried to break the television using one of the lamps she'd broken, swinging it hard against the screen again and again until it cracked, and it was forced out of her hand by a member of the staff. Two men held her arms, trying to force her into her bed as she kicked and screamed and struggled.
Her psychologist came in, and tried to calm her down. She wouldn't listen. She managed to wriggle her arm loose from one of the orderlies holding her down and tried to hit her doctor in the face.
"YOU MONSTER, YOU BASTARD, YOU TOOK EVERYTHING FROM ME!" She screamed as the orderlies subdued her again. "I HOPE YOU ROT IN HELL YOU MISERABLE EXCUSE FOR AN APE!"
The psychologist pulled a nurse over to him as Misa continued to fight against her captors, and ordered her to find some more orderlies who could hold Misa down while he got the tranquilizer to subdue her.
"LET ME GO, YOU ASSHOLES!" She continued to scream. She tried to bite one of the men, but the orderly managed to get out of the way just in time while the other forced her down into the bed. "I'M GOING TO KILL HIM! I'M GONNA KILL HIM! I WANT THIS MAN DEAD! LET ME OUT OF HERE, I WANT THIS MAN DEAD! DEAD! LET ME GOOOOO!"
After awhile she was subdued, and she slept. The next time she woke up, she had guards standing around her, prepared to hold her down again in case she had another episode.
It seemed that was all she needed in order to start talking. She told her psychologist everything. How her parents died, how she felt right now, and what her parent's murderer looked like. She would stay in the hospital for a few more weeks before she was released. She would go to court. The thief would somehow get released, and Misa would be forced to cut out her own path in life, trying to find a way to live with the fact that her would-be killer had been set free. She would be force to try to find a way back into the old normalcy she had, when everything was perfect and could only get better.
Did she succeed? She appeared to. And for some odd reason she had taken to referring to herself in third person, occasionally calling herself "Misa-Misa." She never had another episode, and her doctor had cleared her, saying that she was perfectly healthy. Scarred, hurt maybe, but healthy. Though sometimes I wonder . . .
.*.*.*.
I watched it all happen, and I didn't do a single, goddamned thing.
Vision 46: Break
Why did I watch? I'm not sure. Probably because nobody else did, but that doesn't make me a better person, does it? I could have saved them, but I didn't.
Every day, I would come back to whatever apartment or penthouse L, Watari and I were currently living in, feeling numb. I felt an odd sensation in my chest, like someone had reached in and was attempting to squeeze all the blood out of my heart, but . . . it didn't hurt. It just felt . . . stifling.
I note this event as most significant, because it was the longest amount of time I had spent without interacting with L or Watari in some way. L, especially. I'd say about six weeks passed with me walking around like a zombie, never looking at L, and avoiding Watari whenever I could. If Watari tried to talk to me, no doubt he'd try to find some way to make me feel better, but the thing was . . . I didn't want to feel better.
Even if it was the Amanes' time to die, I should have done something, spared Misa the pain and trauma from watching her family die. Even if it wasn't the first time I'd let someone die (and it probably wouldn't be the last), I wanted to hurt. I needed to. I should hurt! Because if I hurt, then that means that a part of me is still human right? If I hurt, then that makes it okay right? Right?
. . . No . . . no, that doesn't make it okay. You had your chance, and you let it slip away.
I didn't expect any sympathy. I'd told myself multiple times that I didn't want it.
After Misa's Great Tragedy had ended, I'd holed myself up in my room, curled up into a ball with my arms wrapped around my legs while I sat on my bed. I'm not sure how long I'd stayed in there. Long enough, I suppose, for L to come in and see why I'd disappeared. The minute he walked in, the flood gates opened.
"I-It's not the first time," I stuttered. "A man and his wife died . . . they died because I didn't save them, because I thought it was okay to let them die, because they were supposed to die."
I rested my head against my knees. I'm not sure if L came any closer to me than from where he stood at my door, but I kept talking, not exactly sure why, knowing that L could easily leave and I'd be talking to thin air. I hoped he wouldn't. I hoped he could find it in his heart to listen to me, to help me. I wanted his compassion, I wanted his presence, I wanted his silence . . . what the hell do I want?
"It's not okay . . . it's not okay . . ." I murmured, "Why is it okay ? ! Why is it okay for them to die like that ? ! Why now? Why not later, when she wasn't so god damned clingy ? !"
"They . . ." My voice shook, "They are just another man, and another woman. They died, and it's sad, but we need to move on . . . so why do I feel like shit ? !"
I gestured wildly with one hand as I continued in hysterics, "Why do I need to feel sorry for them? Why do I have to mourn them? Because no one aside from . . . aside from her did? And why in the God Damn Hell do they matter more than those guys BB killed? Why do I need to cry? Am I some kind of masochist?"
"Am I mourning them because of you?" I asked, referring to L. "'Cause this girl's gonna come back with a vengeance and you're sure as hell not gonna like her when she does, I . . . I . . ."
I paused, curling in on myself again as I pondered . . .
"I'm fucking useless." I murmured. "I . . . have got to be . . . the most fucking useless human being on the planet. All the power in the world, and I can't do diddly squat! Half the skills I have now I could have cheated by stealing them from some nameless man or woman. Hell, in the past, I actually did do that! Whenever I needed to know important information right away, I stole them off of someone else! How is that fair, compared to how most people acquire their information! Even the superpowered ones!"
"You wanna know why there are no stories written about people who can do just about fucking everything ? ! It's because it's impossible! There's no story there! If a person can do anything, then where's the challenge? The only thing left in the world for that person is to become freaking God, and be done with it! But once they do that, they're gone! They stop giving a flying crap, and eventually lose their identity! They're gone, they're fucking gone, they don't exist! And no one cares . . ."
I paused again, this time trying to catch my breath.
"I . . . I let people die. Sometimes . . . sometimes I-I would try to save them, and then . . . my powers would inexplicably disappear . . . I'd try to tell people, but no one would believe me. They called me a cold, heartless bastard and abandoned me . . . I've lost a few friends that way . . ."
I hugged myself, feeling a chill come over my body.
"I know you don't like me L." I said softly. "I know you don't trust me. Sometimes I wonder why I keep trying to make friends with you and . . . and you know, I can't help it! I'm fucking alone here, L! Most of my friends keep dying on me, and I haven't seen my family in over a millennia! I . . . I can't stay by myself."
I started sobbing. "I need to be human . . . but I can't be human . . . I don't wanna be human . . . fucking alone . . . all my fault . . . heartless bastard, need to feel something, anything . . . why do I let this happen? Fucking masochist . . ."
"Do you know how it feels to have everything you love and cherish become completely torn away from you? Huh? Do you?" I muttered to myself, "Do you know what it's like to see their faces every night, to remember the last expression they had on their faces right before they died? Do you know what it's like . . . to catch the face of their killers . . . and drown in a hate so powerful you think you would die in minutes from the burn? No . . . no you don't . . . you don't . . ."
I cried. I cried long and hard. L didn't say a word, if he had decided to stick around. I cried until I couldn't humanly cry anymore. I sat there, heart aching, mind a befuddled mess, wondering where I should go from here. Should I continue? Business as usual? That was the most important thing, right?
I didn't have an answer. My mind was blank. Probably because I didn't want to think anymore. Now if I could only shut off my emotions . . . if I only wanted to.
I sat there in the quiet for an immeasurable amount of time. I was tired, and was considering falling asleep like that, curled up into a ball. I had the bed under me if I fell, and the floor was carpeted, pretty damn comfortable if I do say so myself. There was only one problem . . . something . . . I smacked it away . . . something, whatever it was . . . was poking me.
The foreign object poked at me again, and I slapped it away again. When the thing started prodding my head, I slapped it hard, turned to my offender and yelled "GOD DAMN IT, CUT IT OUT, WILL YOU ? !"
Only to come face-to-face with a large, rainbow swirl lollipop. I blinked in surprise. stared at it for a few seconds, then drew my gaze up to the person holding the candy.
L-kun?
What the hell?
He offered it to me again, his other hand stuffed into his pocket, his eyes deep, his face blank. No expression, no emotion . . . my L.
I looked questioningly down to the lollipop and then back up at him again. He didn't say anything. If I could make any guesses, I could either take this thing, or I would leave it, and he would walk away with a new treat.
I looked back at the sweet, feeling uncertain, but grabbed it anyway, figuring it couldn't hurt. I pulled off the wrapping and started licking, watching L out of the corner of my eye as he pulled out another lollipop from his back pocket and hopped up onto the bed next to me in his usual crouch. I smiled a little as the detective began consuming the candy with ardour, feeling a little of the weight I'd had on me for the past few weeks ease a little.
We ate the lollipops in silence, finding a sort of comfort and companionship in the event. L still didn't say anything. He didn't offer me advice, or try to convince me of anything. He was just there, and oddly . . . I was okay with that. Even if he never turned out to be the friend I wanted him to be, or expected him to be, he was still here and, I was happy with that. As useless as I may be, that didn't mean that I could just drop what I was doing, that didn't mean that I had to stop trying, even if the Fates themselves decided to intervene, even if I wasn't totally capable for the job, because . . . because he was important. He was special. That was enough.
"It's been five months since my family was killed. I don't see ONE man in jail."
"Obviously you're upset . . ."
"Upset? Is that the word? . . . I used to get upset, when I got a flat tire. I used to get upset when a plane was delayed . . . I used to get "upset" when the Yankees won the series. So if that's what upset means, then how do I feel now? If you know the word, tell me, because . . . I don't."
Frank Castle and Police Chief Morris (The Punisher, 2004)
A/N - Okay, I'm not sure if any of you can tell, but I basically pulled the robbery out of my ass, and would appreciate any help you guys can offer. Meant to post this yesterday (on L's birthday) but I didn't have time to finish it, so I suppose el Dia de los Muertos will have to do!
Sen's Playlist:
Misa - Death Note Original Soundtrack
Dark Light - H. I. M.
Precious - Depeche Mode
Kyrie II - DN OST
This is Halloween - Marilyn Manson
Halloween - A. F. I.