Disclaimer! All fictional entities featured/ mentioned in this segment belong to Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata; except Erin Blogger and a few extra characters not from the canon cast, who I made up for the purpose of this fan fiction. The preceding quote is from Katy Perry from her 2013 album Prism.
Don't suppose much happens this chapter (it's another relationship-building one more than anything else), but trust me, the epic climax starts next one!
25. Odium
…
"Acceptance is the key to be,
To be truly free…
Will you do the same for me?"
- Katy Perry, "Unconditionally" (2013)
…
"No, no, you need to hold it like this, with both hands."
"What?"
Keeping a tight grip on his vexation with her, he gestured to the earmuffs on his head. Erin pulled her left muff aside to hear him better.
"I said you need to hold it with both hands to steady it. You have your dominant hand, your right, gripping the handle…your other hand firmly and squarely cupping your trigger-hand at the bottom. Your thumb should be on top of these fingers…rest your index finger along the barrel…and these fingers rest on the back of your hand…"
The old man carefully molded her hands from behind her to the correct position, giving her a moment when he let go to let it soak in through her eyes and sink into her brain. The practice weapon of choice was a semi-automatic pistol, scarcely bigger than either of her hands (it wouldn't be a handgun otherwise). Yet somehow it felt like the coldest and heaviest thing she'd ever carried in her life. The sheer weight of it, real or imagined, had almost turned her hands completely limp the first time she'd held it.
It may not have been the notebook, but…
She faced the target some dozen feet in front of her, the gray brick walls on all sides closing in on her. Why'd they have to make their targets shaped like people? What was wrong with regular targets with the circles inside each other? The pistol rattled in her clamming palms.
"A gun has one use and one only."
"It's not my place to decide who lives or dies. That was Light's whole problem."
For a moment she thought she saw someone standing there as the target. Either Misa or Mello, she couldn't tell. Whoever it was, they were small and blond and frail and dressed in black like they were already on their way to their own funeral.
And, oh God help her, smiling at her.
Shooting a little kid. Jesus Christ.
Tears singed the lining of her eyelids. This lousy hunk of steel housed a godly…or ungodly power of its own (ironically enough, considering its more mundane origins compared to the Death Note). She brushed the corner of her eye against her shoulder, squeezing them both shut to cut herself away from their accusing imaginary gaze.
Her finger, frozen against the sleek black metal by spasm after spasm, barely inched downward towards the trigger when Roger stopped her. "No, no, no! You mustn't shut your eyes, Ms. Blogger! You need to be able to see your target."
That's the point. How can I look into anyone's eye when I'm about to take their life? How do other people do it? Can you learn to harden your heart that much, until it's just a cruddy shedding of callused flesh sitting in your chest? Or do you have to be born that way?
Jeez, no wonder Light managed to kill so many people. He didn't look. Thanks to the notebook, he didn't have to. Fucking prick was a murderer and a coward.
"Stop, stop-stop-stop-stop-stop." Standing behind her, Roger took her hands into his and lowered the gun down towards the floor. He kept one hand over her trigger-hand as he pushed the muff back so she could hear him again. "Ms. Blogger—"
"Erin. Please, call me Erin," she insisted.
"Erin. With all due respect, I am already beginning to doubt this is a wise decision. You clearly aren't ready to so much as aim a gun—"
"No! I gotta do this. I promised. I-I'm sorry. I dunno what's wrong with me. I—I keep seeing Misa standing out there. Looking at me. Smiling at me. She always had the prettiest smiles. I have to protect L. I got to. But I…"
"I know. You don't want to kill anyone. I too hope for the best. This is one of my former wards we're dealing with, after all. But for these situations one must expect the worst, as well. And to respond accordingly. Don't…don't look at the target as your friend. Don't look at it as anyone. See it for what it is."
"Whaddya mean, just see it as a target? When we go over there, I'm not gonna be shooting at stinkin' paper targets," she snapped. "I'll be shooting at people. Real live flesh 'n' blood feeling people."
"You think I'm unaware of that?" retorted Roger. "You seem to be forgetting that these 'real live feeling people' are ruthless mobsters who've stooped to bombing an orphanage and kidnapping children."
"I know, I know," she conceded with a shiver out of terror, anger and cold. Lately almost every room she'd stepped into would be either too hot or too cold. No in-between. "They're bastards, there's no getting around that. And so was Light, and the whole Yotsuba Group was a circle-jerk of bastards. But even bastards are human beings. Most, shit, most all the problems we've got in the world right now—like Kira—are 'cause we've stopped seeing each other as fellow humans. A-as equals, who deserve just as much dignity and respect as the rest of us."
"Well, forgive me if I sound cynical, Ms. Bl—Erin, but it's been my experience and that of my dearly departed friend that some individuals—not many, but some—are human only in the academic sense of the term. They do not believe in basic decency, never mind compassion, nor do they respond to diplomacy or friendship. Their language is more…barbaric."
"So does that make it right to treat 'em like garbage?" she whispered, thinking back to Miguel Mora who likely had only tried to rob her because he was forced to, only to wind up dead anyway.
Thinking back to Misa who had spent nearly two months cut off from the outside world just because L wanted to scare a confession out of her.
Thinking back to Teru Mikami, a man who'd made a direct attempt on her life out of disdain for her defense of a school accused of child abuse.
Thinking back on L himself, whom she'd somehow found it in her to love in spite of his many frankly unheroic acts.
And really, how was she that much better? She could be self-absorbed, too. She had her pig-headed temper. She had cut people down with her words in the heat of passion. She'd thrown her hands—and Louie—around to hurt, didn't matter what for. Half a day had passed since Kimiko had checked into rehab and she still hadn't contacted her. Nor had she contacted Kimiko; she couldn't tell anymore if the reason for this was anger or shame. What authority did she have to talk about compassion or forgiveness when she herself couldn't practice what she preached?
Were humans naturally sick, selfish, short-sighted brutes like Light and Hobbes and Machiavelli and Rand and all those other yahoos had said since civilization began? Did they truly understand fear and violence better than they could ever, love and mercy?
Erin loathed to think so. She simply couldn't bring herself to believe that, not then and even after everything not now. She'd only read about all those guys because she'd had to for school and tossed them back in the return bin as soon as the bell rang. They pissed her off too much to take any more of her time.
Because who else but these "selfish brutes" came up with love and mercy in the first place?
Umbra, who had been hiding in the ceiling watching this initiation, poked his head out from the vent, staring at Erin upside-down. "Go on, dear," he said, quite gently for him. "It's all right."
Dear? That was new. Normally the least offensive term of endearment one can think of, but the fact that he had never called people by any pet names as L (at least within her earshot) threw her off that much more.
For someone who had treated Misa's cutesy antics with indifferent curiosity at best and passive-aggressive derision at worst, he was starting to act more and more like her since he'd died at a rate she, needless to say, hadn't anticipated. Well, not quite like her—he had yet to start wearing black lacy things, not that there's anything wrong with dressing however one pleases in itself and the Gothic Lolita style was a neat take on fashion—but this was no good. She would need to talk to him about this later.
But for now, she twisted her neck to crack the stiffness out of it, planted her feet as far apart as her shoulders, stretched her arms as far out as she could, and raised the gun back up to point the barrel at the chest of the target.
Come on, Erin! It's now or never. You've got to hold your own. If you can just do this one thing, no one will have to worry about you. Especially not Umbra.
Everyone's counting on you not to crack.
Don't think of Misa. Don't think of Mello. Don't think of nobody.
See it for what it is.
See it for what it is.
She slowed her breath—or rather, held it—as her numbing finger wrapped around the trigger.
See it for what it is.
She squeezed.
Even with the muffs over her ears, the resulting blast split the air like the most thunderous POP she recalled hearing in her whole life. Not that she would know for sure but she imagined a hot-air balloon to sound something like this when burst from high up in the sky.
Otherwise her first shot turned out to be, to the surprise of no one, far from graceful. With her heart slamming against her chest, the kick that rattled up through her arms knocked her off-balance (no one had bothered to tell her about that part, or perhaps she hadn't caught it with all her navel-contemplating), sending her backwards into Roger. Luckily he had the sense to catch her before she could crack her head on the floor (or crack the floor with her head, depending on who you asked).
"H-h-h-holy shit," she gasped, all she could think to say for the moment. How did Matsuda get so good at this? She'd have to ask him for pointers, next time she saw him. Maybe hit up Halle and Anthony and Stephen for extra tips?
Was it normal to smell something burning after a shot? The scent scorched her nostrils and throat, acidic and faintly metallic like how the city would smell after one very spectacular Fourth of July fireworks show. Except worse somehow. Oh, much worse. But otherwise she could think of no other way to describe it. What do they put in guns, sulfur?
One thing for certain: she wouldn't forget that awful smell any time soon. Too bad, too. She used to love fireworks.
"Good shot," exclaimed Umbra, this time materializing directly overhead. "You got the stomach."
The stomach? Oh jeez. She sure had her work cut out for her.
But at least she'd done it. She'd gotten her first shot over with. It could only get easier from here.
Right?
"That may be but you mustn't lose your balance like that," grumbled Roger, pushing her back onto her feet like one puts a dolly back upright. "You could lose your weapon and give your target an opening for attack."
He took a moment to regain his own footing and clear his throat. "Let's try again. Use what's left of your ammunition so you may get used to firing it, and then I will demonstrate how to reload your pistol. Here, it helps to put your non-dominant foot in front of you, like so…in your case, your left foot."
…
Erin's ears were still humming on the ride back hours later, their tune either one of relief for the end of her first round of practice, or a warning of what would come next. No matter how many times she washed her hands red and raw under the boiling hot water in the bathroom sink, her fingers reeked faintly of lead. Was all this also normal? She was too scared to ask. What if the task force took her concerns for weakness? As in, too weak to go with them?
She tried to take her mind off this by buying dinner for Stephen. Not well-versed in the Jewish vegetarian way (it wasn't like they'd ever had time to talk in depth about it), she settled on the least offensive things she could find: a Caesar salad with a single packet of ranch dressing, a large bottle of mineral water with his favorite flavoring drops (tangerine), and a bag of fruit and nut trail mix. Hopefully that would be enough. Hopefully.
For Umbra and Sidoh, she grabbed two bags of chocolate drops. Then grabbed two more for good measure. Might as well; they were on sale.
For herself, she got a strawberry-banana smoothie. It was all she had the stomach for.
Back at the hotel, her knocks on the door were softer than was normal for her. Her mother never turned down an opportunity to remind her she was not hammering a nail and she was not going to pay for any holes she punched in someone's house.
When all you've got is a hammer…when all you are is a hammer…
Erin had to stop thinking about Mom, or anything related to her family, lest Stephen catch her tearing up upon answering. "Oh hey! What's up, Erin?"
No words could express her gratitude for his patience with her—yes, she was probably beating a dead horse at this point but considering Umbra's relentless assholery towards him for the past two days it was a wonder he still found it in him to keep talking to her.
"Uh, hi. I, um, I brought you some munchies. Carbs, proteins, essential…fatty…acids…you're…your clothes aren't back from the dry-cleaning, yet?"
"Huh? Oh, oh yeah, I've got clothes to wear again, thanks. And thanks for the food! You shouldn't have; I could always get room service."
"Then why are you still in that robe?" Umbra asked, his tone clipped and quiet.
"Because I like to be comfortable while I work. And you can't get much better than microfiber in that department. Is that a crime?" Stephen shot back, before diverting his attention to Erin. "Care to come in?"
"Y-you sure? I thought you were super-busy—"
"Normally I would be. But for you, I've got time to chat. I mean, if you want to. I want to know how practice went."
Erin cracked a smile to answer his and, though unsure of what to say about her day, accepted his invitation. Umbra, suspicious of Stephen's intentions, followed them into the room. Locking the door would have meant nothing to him, anyway.
"Holy shit! The bogus notebook's looking great so far!" Erin exclaimed, admiring Stephen's magnum opus in progress on the desk, basking under the magnificent white light of a single fluorescent bulb from a reading lamp.
The artist in question cleared his throat in humility that was only partly feigned. "I'd prefer to call it a replica, or reproduction. But that's just me. Once again, thank you." Taking her offerings from her sweaty hands, he pulled out an extra desktop panel on the far left, sat down and began to dress his salad.
"Seriously, Steve! How'd you get so good at this?" Without thinking of it, she plopped down on the edge of the neatly made bed. Either Stephen liked to make his own bed or he hadn't slept at all. If the latter were the case, however, he concealed his tiredness masterfully.
"Many years of practice," he said warmly. "I started out small like most of the greats: copying my parents' signatures on permission slips and report cards…then fake IDs for my friends so we could get into all the clubs and be cool. A boy is capable of most anything when he's desperate enough to get what he wants without getting in trouble."
Neither saw Umbra fold two of his arms, support two more of them on his narrow hips, and press the thumb on his fifth paw to his rags. He only managed to steal back some of Erin's attention by covering the hand supporting her from behind with his sixth paw. His blank piercing eyes never left Stephen's chest, which resumed sneaking back and forth teasingly behind the robe as it had yesterday.
Erin could avert her gaze, albeit barely and for different reasons.
"So when d'ya think you'll be done with it?"
"At the rate I'm going, tomorrow morning." He stabbed his salad with the plastic fork Erin had courteously provided. "How did it go at the shooting range?"
Erin glanced down at her sock-feet, massaging the back of her neck. "Uhm…it was okay, I guess. Not as bad as I thought it would be. I managed to avoid blowing anyone's foot off—"
If she had anything more to say, she forgot it upon seeing Stephen make a face seconds after chewing his first forkful, pure disgust contorting his features like he'd just eaten a used bandage.
Oh no! Did Stephen not like Caesar? Was it rotten? It'd looked fresh when she'd picked it up. She shot back up onto her feet, pulling away from Umbra. "Stephen! You okay?"
He spat the offending morsel back into the plastic bowl, quite undignified for him. Erin peered over his shoulder to check it out, and when she saw the familiar fleshy pink aberration her eyes grew to about the same size as his.
"I—is that meat? St-St-Stephen, I swear I thought I got a plain Caesar salad!"
The rags over his face hid the twin smirks creeping through Umbra's frozen lips, unable to resist gloating over this clever little sleight of hand. Now who was the cool one? "Ha. You just ate ham," he deadpanned. "So much for your keen eye."
Erin had never before seen Stephen look as sickened as he did then when he staggered back out of his seat. "Excuse me. I…I need to use the bathroom."
To wash out your mouth, thought Erin as she watched him disappear, beaten with dismay. Why wouldn't he, when he'd just violated his most precious principles against his will? She slapped a palm over her face like she was swatting an imaginary mosquito buzzing with schadenfreude about her head.
Then again, was said mosquito that imaginary after all? No. And unlike his past incarnation, he didn't bother hiding it. "If you asked me, he tries much too hard to seem impressive. It only hurts him in the end."
Whap!
Something in his words snipped the last thread inside Erin's brain that had stilled her hand, and before either realized it her right hand had fallen numb and limp on her arm while Umbra cupped a puzzled paw over his left cheek. He must have been caught off-guard by her assault or else her hand would have phased through him.
"You! Me! My room! Now!"
Did it hurt a shinigami when you slapped them? Or was it more the shock of having her lash out at him in itself? It was a small fortune they weren't in a cartoon, lest Erin burn holes on the floor under her charging feet.
Sidoh, always terrified of displays of anger regardless of whether the aggressor could see him, yelped and ducked under the coffee table, spilling Anthony's third coffee pot on the floor. "Aw, fuck me," he grumbled, forgetting his social graces and reverting to his military tongue as some often did under duress.
Once in her room, Erin struggled not to slam the door but depending on who you'd ask failed. "What the fuck is your problem?" she roared. She'd warned him.
When Umbra didn't answer right away, she continued to rip into him: "Ham, Umbra? REALLY? Stephen freaks out over this shit! How would you like it if I—I put spinach in your cheesecake or something?"
"I could have done worse. I could have snuck bacon, instead. Then he'd have clogged arteries, too."
"Coulda done wor—wh-what'd you have to go and make me look like an asshole for? This has gotta be the dirtiest thing you've done yet, or a'least it's way up there on the list. God, I never took you as the type to hate Jewish people that much."
"I don't hate all Jewish humans. It's mere coincidence that I hate a man who happens to be Jewish. And I didn't do it to make you look bad," he muttered. "If I wanted to make you look bad, I would have done it and not said a word."
Hoo boy. No more "I don't like him." The shinigami man had officially upgraded to "I hate him."
"Why do you hate him?" she asked, breathlessly this time. One knows how out of shape they are when just standing around being angry makes them have to stop to catch their breath. "Please, answer that for me."
Umbra peeked down at his massive feet. The thick sharp toes on his left foot scratched lazily along the top of his right foot. "Because I love you."
Erin sat down in her chair, raking her fingers through her unkempt hair. "It's hard enough to love or hate by themselves. Doing both at the same time? No matter you're messed up." And so am I.
"Apart from that, I'm starting to find it hard to believe you love me that much when you—you disrespect me every chance you can. You can't love someone without respecting them."
"I do respect you. I just don't respect Stephen. He's a pathetic little man masquerading as a hot-shot who'd be in prison for forgery without his family's money and influence." Should she take that as another anti-Semitic remark? Her brain rattled with frustration as it is. It baffled her how such biting words could carry on an otherwise bland tone. For now, she'd just have to take it as an anti-Stephen remark.
"And you're not?" she blurted, only to stop upon remembering who she was speaking to. Umbra didn't recall his old life as L, and all the similar absurd privileges he had enjoyed himself. Insults don't work so well when your opponent loses the self-awareness necessary to know what you're talking about.
"I-I mean, back then you weren't that much better." Not like you're any better now from then, either. "And that's the problem. When you dis my friends, you dis me too. Wh-why should you loving me mean you have to hate on Stephen? We cannot be having this drama when we're supposed to rescue the kids tomorrow night, Umbra. We need to all be working together.
"Are you…are you jealous of him?"
…
…
…
"Of course not. I just wish he'd stop trying to steal you from me."
Bam.
"What? Steal me? Stealing is when you take something—as in an object—from someone who owns it without their permission. You can't own a person—w-well, technically you can in certain circles but that's slavery and slavery is bad. I'm not an object you can own, any more than you are to me. So by that definition, no one can steal me. Didn't we talk about this the other day? People are not things, so you can't treat them like things in any aspect. I'll hang out with whoever I want, and by all means I'd encourage you to do the same."
She didn't anticipate his soft response: "Ah. That's…what I'm afraid of."
She'd never heard him use the word "afraid" before, not in relation to himself. Then or now. She lowered her voice in kind. "Wh-what d'ya mean?"
His movements and voice remained idle and calm but on the tongue of anyone more expressive, his words would have been anything but. "You love Stephen. I may still be learning about how feelings work, but I can feel how much happier you are with him than you are with me. I fear one day you'll only want to be with Stephen. You won't love me anymore. And then I'll be all alone again."
The crack in her chest snapped her heart in two, and both halves sank to her feet like rocks to the bottom of a murky lake.
"Oh."
Oh my God.
Who hurt you? Who fucked you up to the point where you think I'd totally dump you for someone else, in every sense of the word? Was it Light? Your parents? Watari? Oh God forbid, Watari.
Was it me?
But she didn't ask out loud. She couldn't. He'd have had no answer for that, not anymore.
Is this how Misa felt about Light? She told him she loved him no matter what, and he didn't answer her. I wonder if she remembers that much?
Wonder if that has to do with why she ran off with Mello? And why Mello took her on?
What about Light himself? Did he ever feel a mite of conflict of being Kira? What kind of odds must that have put him with his dad?
Is that why he wanted to kill all of us? Because we were all calling him…evil…?
Huh. The more I learn about people, the more we all start to sound the same.
She felt her body relax, her fury tempered by sympathy in notches. "Hey. Hey. C'mere."
Umbra perked up at the command and bounded over to her without hesitation or protest. She feared for a moment that Umbra might try to jump into her lap, but instead he came to a stop in front of her and took her hand when she offered it. She let him press her palm against his cheek. Apparently the slap hadn't made him averse to having her hand against him. If anything it seemed to make it all the more appealing.
So then what had been the point of doing it?
Did the poor fella just crave her touch that much?
Come to think of it, Umbra had very few opportunities to make friends compared to most folks, herself included. He could only interact with humans who touched his notebook, and honestly how many people would want to go bowling or out to a murder mystery theater dinner with a creature like him? He'd had only one friend among his own kind and even that guy wasn't working out, to the detriment of everyone.
Boy, did she feel like a jerk again.
Erin excavated her mind for the right words to explain this without digging herself into another hole. "I—I'm sorry I slapped you. I try and I try but I ain't exactly the most patient person in the world. But you gotta understand something. Y-yeah, I do love Stephen, as a friend. And, uh…we do have an attraction to each other. I think. We've acknowledged it, at least."
This was not a normal conversation two adults (well, relatively speaking) ought to have. This was the sort of talk a mother would have with her insecure four-year-old son to assure him that she and Dad were not going to put him up for adoption just because they now had a new baby bogarting all their time. (Yes, this actually happened between Mom and Farley, back when Erin had just popped out fresh from the oven. Actually, maybe being the little sister wasn't so bad after all? She had plenty of experience for such a role.)
But nothing about these two was normal to begin with, was it? Whatever they'd had back when he was L bore no semblance to normal either.
"B-but, i-it's kinda soon to say that I, uh, love-love him. That's number one. Number two, whatever happens between me and Steve has no bearing on how I feel about you. That's not how love works. Do you not like me having other friends besides you? Matsuda, Halle, Wedy, L, Watari? What about my family?"
"No. Everyone else is fine. It's only Stephen I have a problem with."
…
Aw nuts. She was hoping she wouldn't have to say it aloud but it seemed like the only way to clear the air. "Umbra, when you say you love me…in what sense do you mean? 'Cause you know there's like, four main kinds when it comes to people. Family, friendly, spiritual…romantic…"
Umbra scratched his chin. "Hmm…I don't know. Do you mean romantic like Kiyomi and Teru? They went on lunch dates practically every day. I think I'd like to go on dates with you, too. That would be nice."
Erin blushed. "Well, uh, yeah, that's part of romantic love. But friends go out and do stuff together, too. I guess the big thing separating friendship from romance is the, uhm—"
She drew a blank.
Damn it! How can I not know the difference between the two? I know there is one! How do I explain it? Me and Matsuda are just friends, that's a fact. We've never been physically attracted to each other—hey, yeah! That's it! That's the difference! The level of physical intimacy—
Wait.
Even that's not entirely true, is it? Friends can also live together and hold hands and cuddle…and even kiss…you can even find a soulmate in your best friend…
Then on the flip side there's the whole "friends with benefits" thing…
Gah! This is no good. All I'm doing is confusing him, and myself. At the very least I can assume he doesn't want to sleep with me. Ugh…
She had to close out that boxcar in her train of thought lest she make herself ill. Thankfully, what Umbra lacked in tactfulness, he more than made up for with patience.
But I can't flat out tell him whatever he feels for me otherwise is invalid. Even if it is, I doubt he could change his mind. He's dead. I can still change, but he's stuck like this.
…
…
Oh fuck.
So that's it then, huh?
She waved her free hand in the air. "Wait-wait-wait-wait-wait. Forget it. I'm going about this the wrong way. Haha, I told you I wasn't a guru. I'm still figuring this crap out for myself. Thanks for nothing, C. S. Lewis," she huffed to the ceiling above them. "The problem here, from what I'm getting, is you're compelled to be an asshole to Stephen because you feel threatened by my relationship with him. Am I wrong? 'Cause you know I've been wrong before."
Umbra stepped closer, rubbing his cheek against her palm. "I can think of no argument to refute you."
"Then I'll just get straight to the point: I'd never stop loving you. Regardless of what kind you feel, love is…it's the toothpaste you squeeze from out of the infinite tube that is the human heart. You can't put it back, and there's plenty to share with everyone. And if I gotta tell you so a thousand times over until you believe me, I guess I will.
"Now, having said that…what you did to him was cruel, and I can't just let you off with another warning. It's like baseball, my friend: three strikes, you're out. No chocolate drops for the next 24 hours. There're 65 drops in each bag I bought, which makes…uh…65 times four…"
"260," said Umbra, hoping this bit of help would soften whatever punishment she was brewing. Erin never could do math well in her head. Mental math required more concentration than she could muster most days.
"Yeah, that's right, thanks. If you wanna prove to me you respect me, stay out of the candy 'til tomorrow night. If I see any of 'em opened, I'll know it was you. And I…I won't get you any more junk food for a week."
Nausea permeated her gut at the thought of depriving Umbra of food. She had to remind herself that shinigami technically didn't need food and therefore couldn't starve. Food to them was like cigarettes or alcohol to people: they took it because it felt good.
Besides, it wasn't like she was forbidding all the other food groups. She just couldn't let him think he was above consequences.
"And don't go getting anyone to sneak you any sugar on the side," she added, trying to sound firm. "I mean it."
Umbra considered asking about Sidoh but decided against it. Erin would probably think he was searching for a loophole in his punishment. What was it she'd said? Love is when you care enough about someone to tell them when they're wrong.
Instead, he tilted his head and asked something he'd been toying with on occasion since seeing Erin again: "If I kissed you, would it change your mind?"
"Wh-what? N-no! No, it wouldn't! What makes you think it would? A-am I just rambling into one invisible ear and out the other with you?"
She should have known. Umbra had a long way to go.
"Oh…no, you are not. Okay. I accept your conditions. Still, can I please kiss you, anyway?"
Was it just her or did her heart miss a beat there? Well, that one came out of nowhere. "Wh…why?"
Umbra shrugged. "It's something I've been meaning to try for some time. I've seen many humans kiss each other from my world and I wish to know what it's like. Also, I hope it will show you that I'm…sorry. Besides abstaining from the chocolate drops. But if you're too angry with me and don't want me to, I will not."
Actually, should she be that surprised? L did have quite an oral fixation in life and clearly it'd passed on to his new identity, who continued to stare into her eyes with resolute longing. Or his stunted version of it. Equally clearly, he'd lost what inhibition he still had as L in the transition.
She scratched the base of her burning neck. If she said no, would he take it as the rejection he feared?
If she said yes, would it get him off Stephen's back?
…
"Wh-where would you wanna kiss me?"
"Your face. I rather enjoy your face. It's my favorite part of you."
"Um, thank you. Same here. But I mean, what part of my face?"
"Your lips. Or your cheek, or your forehead, or your chin, or your nose or eyelids or ears or hair. To tell you the truth, I may want to kiss every part of your face at least once at some point. But for this one, I think I would most prefer your lips."
…
"Er…sure. I—I guess one wouldn't hurt. The…the lips, it is. But I mean it, man. This ain't getting you off the hook. Afterwards I want you to go apologize to Stephen for being a prick to him. And say it like you mean it."
"Don't worry. I know. I will."
Umbra clutched her right hand that much tighter to his face, while another paw slowly took her left hand to press it on the right side of his face. A third paw slid up to the rags obscuring his face, a finger hooking into the top to pull them down to his large unnaturally pointed chin.
"From what I've observed, a proper kiss requires each partner's lips be exposed to one another."
Whoa. Every day she got a little more used to his looks, but the sight she beheld was expected and yet unexpected: not one, but a pair of broad mouths, one on top of the other, with a triangular hole divided in the center by a single spine where his nose would have been. His bottom mouth stretched up to his hairline on either side of his skeletal head, while his top mouth stretched up to his prominent cheekbones.
Was he imitating a scene he'd watched on TV or real life? Who knew? For reasons dubious to her, her hands began to shake again to the rhythm of her quickening pulse.
Oh shit, those teeth. Those long, jagged, yellow, rotten-looking teeth. He could rip her jaw clean off with those things. But Umbra must have caught her staring at his dentition because he then pursed his gray, cracked lips to hide it.
"Please, don't be afraid. I would never hurt you."
Not on purpose, at least.
His face swam up to hers (or was hers swimming up to his?), and with eyes locked and her breath hitched in her throat, he brushed the lips of his bottom mouth on her top lip before moving down to lightly knead her bottom lip between them.
His top mouth caressed the tip of her nose.
Objectively, the gesture was long, graceless and a bit gross. His lips were chilly as glass and coarse as sand, and though he had no breath the scent of his skin had never been more pungent: dirt, rust, mold and formaldehyde. At one point Erin's nose might have poked tentatively into his nose-hole when he tilted his head to test a new angle.
But to Erin the whole moment was a haze. Did she kiss back? She didn't know. Something about the shy, surreal, simple and yet profound intimacy of the act pulled out all the words from her throat, breathing into her in their place a warm, sickly-sweet perfume that froze her brain and stopped her heart.
Could she expect any less from sharing a kiss with Death himself?
But this wasn't just Death. He was Umbra. He was L. He was her weird friend and part-time frenemy. A man who could be your worst enemy and your best ally, sometimes at the same time. (Then again, comparing their relationship to his with Light, they could have had it far, far worse. At least they'd never hated each other enough to want the other dead.)
He was…someone important to her. Someone who from a rational perspective should not be but was all the same, because love more often than not spat in the face of reason and commonsense. Misa was a living testament of that.
He had come to mean so much to her, she wondered how it hadn't killed her yet. Or perhaps like him with the Death Note, it was merely killing her slowly?
Umbra finally pulled away with a tiny smack to rub his forehead against hers, obscuring her vision with his wild itchy mane. "Hmmm…thank you, Erin. That was nice. We should kiss more often." He slowly let go of her hands, letting them hang limp at her sides. Good thing he hadn't torn off her lips.
She blinked a time or two. The first word she could think to say once that noxious scent dissipated was, "And?"
"Ah. I'm sorry I upset you. I will apologize to Stephen right away. And…I will make an effort to be more civil to him. I promise not to sneak pork products into his salads ever again."
"Good. You better. I—I love you, Umbra. I still love you."
She could see all four corners of his giant mouths curl upward slightly. His version of a smile. "I love you too, dear."
"Dear?"
"Yes. Because you are dear to me. Do you not like it when I call you dear? I'll stop if you don't."
"No, no, it's not that, it's just—whatever, it's fine. 'Dear' is okay." There were many worse pet names he could go with, all of which she refrained from reciting so as not to encourage him. Let him find those on his own. He always did like the thrill of the hunt.
Only after Umbra turned and bounded through the wall did Erin slump over, one hand over her forehead and the other touching her dry, irritated lips.
Maybe she shouldn't have said yes to the kiss?
She stumbled up on her feet to put that smoothie in the fridge for later. She could give it to Stephen later as a peace offering. Suddenly she'd lost her appetite again.
She felt disgusting.
…
Umbra had just pulled his mask back over his jaw when Sidoh pulled himself out from the coffee table by his spindly claws. His massive size lifting it off the ground, it clattered back to the floor behind him. "Holy cow, Umbra. What's wrong with that human? Sh-she's scary…humans are scary when they get mad."
He scanned the room to regard Anthony on his left and Halle on his right, both of them regarding him with a conspicuous degree of distrust. "Yes, she does have a bit of a temper. But it was not unjustified. I did something bad to Stephen."
Naturally this shot both agents out of their seats. "Something bad? What's that mean?" said Anthony.
"What did you do to Stephen?" demanded Halle.
Without a drop of shame, Umbra pressed his thumb to his bottom mouth. "I mixed ham into his salad." Yes, truth be told, he mainly regretted his action because Erin hadn't liked it.
Anthony placed a hand over his broad chest and huffed in relief. "Oh. Is that all? I thought you meant you'd killed him…"
Halle on the other hand narrowed her eyes at him. "What would you do that for? He's never done a thing to you that I could see."
"My motives are of no consequence now. I'm going to apologize to him."
"H-hey, so, did you bring back any chocolate while you were out?" asked Sidoh.
"Why yes, we did. But we can't have any until tomorrow night."
Sidoh shot up like he'd just been electrocuted, even though technically electricity couldn't harm shinigami either. "WHAT? Why?"
Not that anyone could see it but Umbra's bottom lip on his bottom mouth poked out in a restrained pout. "Erin's punishing me for antagonizing Stephen. And since I can't have any chocolate, you can't, either."
"Are you being serious? H'ooohhhh, it's not fair!" Sidoh commenced to spinning in place like a top. "Why do I gotta always be punished for something someone else did? First Ryuk, then Lumen, and now you too? Didn't you tell that human I need chocolate? It's the only thing keeping me sane these days!"
Umbra shrugged to his accomplice. "I'm not supposed to open the bags or ask for sugary snacks, but she never said you couldn't seek them out." He passed him by to phase into Stephen's room.
To his slight surprise, Stephen was nowhere to be found. However, Umbra spent little time pondering his disappearance, for he quickly picked up on the hiss of rushing water. So he was still in the bathroom.
That sounds like quite a bit of water for hand-washing. He must be taking a shower.
Mustering all the decorum in him, he phased through the dampening bathroom door to find the shower curtains pulled over the tub and the man's illegally attractive silhouette swaying behind it, appearing to be scrubbing his skin with what smelled like…some "manly" brand of soap. Old Spice™? Axe™? It mattered not. Shinigami had no need for bathing and anyway Umbra liked "lady" soap scents better. They were generally more soothing and reminded him of fruit and sweets.
Umbra rolled his eyes. Eager to get this over with, he approached the tub and pulled back the curtain. "Hello, Stephen."
A bewildered flurry of suds and water ensued that dampened the floor and nearby toilet.
"HAH! U-Umbra! What the hell are you doing this time?" His smooth, toned legs twisted around each other. His loofah dropped to the floor of the rub, rolling over the top of his foot.
"Erin wanted me to come back to apologize. I'm sorry for the salad."
"You couldn't wait until I got out of the shower first?" Stephen, his skin shining with water and soap, made a frantic grab for the curtain with one hand. The other cupped the spot between his legs to hide it.
But it was too late. Umbra had seen everything in that last second when he'd had his guard down. Personally, he never understood why humans put so much regard into the dimensions of that particular appendage of the body. The act it was specialized for—besides elimination—looked grotesque and uncomfortable to him.
Presumably it felt good to humans and was their primary means for continuing their species. In the latter aspect, he supposed shinigami benefited from it as well.
Still, he'd watched humans for long enough to know how much value males invested in their physical masculinity. Zeroing in on yet another opportunity for attack, he tilted his head and deadpanned, "Ah, so that's what you're compensating for. That tiny mutilated thing."
His rival's face bled red with rare but spectacular anger as he ripped the curtain out of Umbra's grasp, glaring at him all the while. "Wh-what? Hey, fuck you! At least I've actually got one!"
This was true. Shinigami lacked certain anatomical parts that humans possessed, no matter what their gender. But this did nothing to faze him. For one thing, Erin never expressed much interest in the activity herself, often becoming flustered and evasive when the topic snuck itself into a conversation. Stephen was no threat in this arena.
Instead, he acquired a pinch of satisfaction at his success for piercing his armor. What would Erin think to hear Stephen curse? Then again, if he or Stephen told her about this, she wouldn't give him any candy or pastries for a week. He doubted Stephen would say anything.
Should he tell him about their kiss?
No. Let that stay between them. Their first kiss was too special to disclose to outsiders and besides, one must not give their opponent an opening to strike back.
"Ah-ah-ah, Stephen. That sounds vaguely sexist of you. And transphobic. Erin would be displeased to know that's how you think."
"Oh, I don't have time to play games with you. Now get out of here! And don't bother me again! You're making me waste water." He yanked the curtain back over, returning him to obscurity.
"Very well. I've said what I had to."
On the way out of the steaming room, Umbra accidentally-on-purposely grabbed the lever and flushed the toilet.
"GAAAH! Damn it, Umbra!"
He pulled back the curtain far enough to toss his sopping loofah at him. A valiant but vain effort, as it passed through Umbra to smack the wall in front of him.
…
Nnnnnn…Nnnnnn…Nnnnnn…
"Amane Kimiko here! I'm so sorry if I missed you. Please leave a message and I'll call you back the earliest I can. Thank you!"
Eep.
Damn it. The third time Erin had called her that night, both her cell and her room number, and she still wasn't picking up. Was Kimiko still mad at her for those things she'd said at the pet hospital? Was she too scared and ashamed to talk to her after what she'd done to Lawliet? Was she praying for Misa?
Was it all three?
Whatever she was up to, it'd better not be anything stupid.
"Uh, yeah, hey Kimiko. It's me, Erin. I—I'm just checking in to see how you're doing. A-again. I guess it's late and you're probably in bed or something but…well, I've sent you two messages and a text already and I haven't heard back on any of them. Please Kim, I need to know you're okay. Call me. That's not a suggestion. Good-night."
Click.
Pitching her phone into the open drawer of the nightstand, Erin lay on her back staring up at the peach-cream ceiling. Her arms hung limp over either side of the mattress, her legs too heavy to so much as kick them.
With shit set to go down tomorrow, she ought to sleep. But like Kimiko, sleep refused to answer her calls. Or perhaps she couldn't hear it over the maddening buzz of the rest of her thoughts.
Am I really ready for this?
What if I screw up?
What if Mello goes and kills all those kids after all? And all of us?
Will I get to see Misa? Will she listen to me if I talk to her?
…
…
…
How long have I been in love with him? When did that happen? And why?
Had she caught these feelings during all those double-dates? Which one? Which argument had set the spark?
Or did it happen after he'd died, after he'd given up his life to save the task force? To save her?
She gulped. What was worse: that A) she had sucked face with a literal monster, B) she had done it with a dead man, or C) she had done it with a supernatural undead being who used to be L?
No matter what the answer, she was a sicko. Her skin writhed with this sentiment in waves of goosebumps, as if it wanted to jump off her body, fly out the window and never come back. How stupid could she be to not even know the difference between really close friendship and—
She couldn't tell anyone about what had transpired between her and Umbra. Especially not Near, or Stephen. The former would never let her live it down, and the latter…as cool and understanding as he was, even he had limits. After all, this same shinigami had tricked him into eating ham just to what, "put him in his place?" Whatever that meant.
Erin was Stephen's friend. Friends have each other's backs.
She'd betrayed him. Erin would have never considered herself a traitor before. Then again, she hadn't realized she could love-love L after all until now, either.
Or maybe she'd just been denying it all this time to preserve what sanity she still had? She grabbed a pillow from behind her to shield her face from the world. He'd see her as the revolting freak she was and never talk to her again.
Maybe it was just as well—
Okay, stop! Get a grip. You're not a traitor. Traitors are assholes who play with everyone's trust in the name of their own selfish interests. That's not you. That's never been you. You're an asshole but not that kind.
You know what your real problem is? You wanna make everyone happy. Your heart is an open house with no doors or gates. You let everyone into it and let them take whatever they want.
And then you wonder why you're going crazy. One of these days you may find you've got nothing left to give. Is that what you want?
Except, that's not what she'd told Umbra hours ago. She'd given him the corny bottomless toothpaste tube analogy. Which was the truth? Did the tube have a bottom or not? The fabric over her eyes began to moisten and burn.
What should I do now? You heard Umbra. I'm all he has now. And even then, for how long? Every day he can literally see how much more time I've got. I could die tomorrow, or maybe I'll die ten years down the road? I'll go out in thirty, if I'm lucky.
One day his sacrifice will turn out to be for nothing.
For a second it yet again surprised her how little these thoughts on her own mortality registered to her. Years ago she was fucking terrified of dying just like everyone else. Now that fear had been numbed to passing disappointment. The kind you might feel to see it pouring rain on a day when you wanted to go to the beach, or when you don't have the money to buy a ticket to that one concert everyone's going to. Or when you're bowling and your ball falls into the gutter without laying down a single pin.
The kind that made you go, "Aw, that sucks. Oh well."
What happened?
No wonder he's nuts. He's even nuttier than he was as L. Or was I just looking at the top of the house the first time and now I'm seeing the basement? There's a reason people keep what junk they can't fit in the attic down in the basement. And it's usually the only thing left after a twister.
What am I supposed to do, turn around and tell him I don't love him anymore and fuck off? First of all, that's not true—sohelpmesomeone, it's not true—and second, like that would help. What would that do to him? Would he snap? Would he kill Stephen?
Or kill me? He said he'd never hurt me but…
Erin tore the pillow off her face and, clutching it to her chest, mustered all her strength to shift her weight and turn onto her side to face the window. The city lights flickered beyond the translucent curtains like stars captured by a telescope. Somehow the incoming storm clouds made their orange and white contrast against the darkness that much sharper.
Like stars, one day these lights would all go out forever.
What was the point of saving the world when it would end someday anyway? Either by the sun blowing up or a meteor crashing into it or some other random thing…
I thought I got over all this.
Or is it that I just stopped thinking about it when I didn't have to? And now I have to, so now I'm fuc—
"Erin?"
She jolted at the sound of her name, more so because of the voice saying it. Now what did he want?
"Umbra? What's up?" she croaked, hiding her eyes in her forearm. She'd rather not let him see her cry. She always hated crying in front of anyone.
Not that it stopped her from doing it. Often.
"You haven't eaten. Are you not hungry?"
"If this is a ploy to get me to open the chocolate drops, forget it. I ain't falling for it. Plus, I'm not in the mood for chocolate."
"Again, clever girl," he said in that fond tone that make her recall that enigmatic double-smile from earlier. "But no, that's not why I asked. Your brain needs sugar to function. As does the rest of the human body but particularly the brain. Would you like me to fetch you something?"
"No…no, thanks." She couldn't find the energy to look back at him.
For someone with such enormous feet and claws, it astounded her how quiet his footsteps were. They pitter-pattered slowly across the floor like how Lawliet's paws did as he approached her. Nothing about shinigami made sense.
Well, almost nothing.
Oh God. Don't think about Lawliet, not now.
Her fingers clenched the pillow under her head tighter.
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah. Now g—"
Erin stopped herself before she could utter "go away" or "get outta here." She couldn't say it like that. She couldn't afford to make him her enemy. Not again.
"Pardon?"
"Uh…nothing. It's fine. I'm not hungry. I just wanna sleep. Got a big day tomorrow."
She felt the mattress collapse slightly behind her, and in a single blink she found Umbra staring at her from upside-down. His rags were back over his face.
"Are you all right?"
She considered saying yes, only to remember their promise not to lie to each other. She sighed. "Actually, since you're here…can I ask you something?"
"Anything. What is it?" He leaned in closer, two arms shooting down to the edge of the mattress in front of her.
I don't want to think he's manipulating me. He was so upfront about it I find it hard to believe that. Upfront wasn't exactly L's style. Maybe he just has no sense of time and place…not like I helped that at all, though.
But there's only one way to know for sure. I don't see why he'd lie about this one. His filter is gone. So, here goes…
"H-how come you really wanted to kiss me, earlier?"
"Ah. It's as I said. I've always wanted to know what kissing is like, and I can think of no better person to try it with than you. No ulterior motives beyond that. Why? Did you not like it? Did I do it wrong?"
"Did I do it wrong," he says. Oh man, you're killing me here. Yeah, you kinda did. But not in the way you might think.
"I was just—well, considering what you said before that about why you don't like Stephen, were you—are you trying to drive us apart?"
…
…
Should she worry that he took more time to answer this question than the last one?
Her heart sank another inch for every second of his silence. "Please, don't lie to me. This relationship ain't gonna work if you start lying again."
"Well…I can't say I wasn't hoping it would confirm the strength of our love compared to his. But, I mainly did want to kiss you for its own merit."
Erin's eyes almost popped out of her sockets. She'd forgotten to tell Umbra to keep this between just her and him. "Oh my God. Y-you didn't tell him, did you? That we kissed and all?"
"No. The temptation did cross my mind but ultimately I decided he needn't know. Some victories are best kept secret."
What the—did he just say—
"Victory? What, is this a game to you? A-am I just a trophy?"
On one hand, she shouldn't have been that surprised. The guy did have a mean competitive streak in his past life. Most people did when they sought to compensate for something. On the other…
Her fists now clenched so tightly she could feel the circulation cutting off in them. She stuffed the knuckles on her left hand into her mouth.
Umbra seemed to wilt like a decomposing sunflower above her. "Oh. You're angry with me again, aren't you? You're eating your own fist."
All right, stay calm. Getting riled up again won't solve anything. Of course it'd take more than a couple days for him to learn better, and for right now it looks like I'm the only one who's got the will to set him straight. And the only one he actually trusts and listens to. Of course.
Be kind to him. Kind, but firm.
She made a raspberry through taking a breath with her knuckles still in her mouth before getting the sense to remove them. An undignified but simple and effective way to relax the atmosphere, plus she found something soothing in the way her lips vibrated as she made the sound. Say, she ought to do this more often. Better than flying off the handle all the time.
"Well, I can't say I appreciate being compared to a trophy. Once again, people are not things. 'Specially not things to compete over."
Umbra shook his head. "Oh no. I didn't mean to imply that's all you are to me. You are worth more. So much more." Another paw slid over her head to stroke her hair. His paws could crush her head like a grapefruit and yet so far he'd only raised them to hold and caress.
She briefly shut her eyes. "Maybe you didn't. But that's how it sounded in my ears. You gotta watch what words you use to describe things. I-I can kinda understand why you're inclined to think the way you do—"
Or so I think, I could always be wrong but it's not like he could tell me either way…
"—but love isn't a contest. I-it shouldn't be, anyway."
Umbra stopped in mid-brush. "Erin? Have you and Stephen kissed before?"
What? Man, that's none of your damn business! But, again, I can't lie…d'oh, what'd he have to go and ask me that for?
Wait. Maybe I can turn this around?
Her entire face burned. "Y—yeah. I kissed him, not long ago, actually. Before you and me started talking. B-but that wasn't his fault! It was all me! I came at him first. Mello had just whacked basically everyone on the task force except the seven of us and I was scared and sad and glad to see him still alive—"
Erin paused to recollect her thoughts, and to check Umbra's reaction. When he gave none—was that a good or bad thing?—she inhaled once more.
"Now before you say anything, kisses are nice. And they're better with people you like and care about. But they—people do it for a lotta reasons. Greetings, good luck, comfort, gratitude, and of course affection. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar, and a kiss is…well, just that. It doesn't mean I love one of you more than the other, or that I'm gonna magically stop loving either of you. You are both important to me. That's why I kissed you both. And that's why you can't look at this as a contest. That's how relationships go sour. And when they go sour, boy, do they sour…"
…
"But…just the other day, you said you missed how much we bickered and argued."
Crap.
"W-well, yeah, I did. But that was more like, uh, friendly contesting." More or less. "Like, 'Which one of us can eat the most oysters without puking?' or 'Which of us's got the best moves on Dance-Dance Revolution™?' Or 'Is a panda white with black spots, or black with white spots?' Those kind of contests and debates are fun, even if no one wins in the end. They bring people together.
"The kind I'm talking about here isn't fun. This is 'Which one of us does Erin love more?' No one wins in that one, and it…it just drives us all apart. Know what I'm saying?"
Goddamn it, must she start crying again? Erin rubbed the corner of her eye with the heel of her hand. Thinking about the good times always killed her. Considering who her friends turned out to be, sometimes she had to ask herself whether her adventure in Japan—and now this—was all just a bizarre dream. Or a nightmare. If this was in fact a dream, her mind couldn't seem to make itself up on which to go with.
But as much as Erin would rather not look at them that way, her tears did have one small, limited use.
Umbra wove his fingers into her hair, and once more she found herself overpowered by his smell (to think at one time this scent of mold was one of fresh cotton) as he scooped her into his other arms and gently maneuvered her onto her back, like she was porcelain and one false move could shatter her to pieces.
Unsure whether to be enchanted or wary by his beyond awkward tenderness like last time, she allowed it, only cutting the silence to blurt, "Whoa, watch it, don't poke a hole in my stomach," when he climbed up on the bed and perched over her eagle-like, a giant foot and two paws on either side of her. How they managed to fit on the same mattress flew over her head like most things.
He leaned down to an unnatural angle, lifting her head upward at the same time so they could touch foreheads. He seemed to like that, as though he hoped to absorb her thoughts through the thin skin of their brows and share his thoughts in return. Erin found herself reaching up to loop an arm around his neck.
Heh. Hey, this is kinda romantic. And weird. Mostly weird, but still.
Just goes to show what a weirdo I am, she thought, that shame creeping back up her spine. And here I was thinking all this time L was the bigger weirdo.
"I hadn't thought of it that way," he said at last, an inflection to it that sounded like regret in Erin's ears. As regretful as he could sound, at least. Yet somehow his default monotone made even small emotional changes in his voice—which, granted, they mostly were—that much more amplified.
Indeed, one had to listen to his voice to gauge his mood rather than look into his face. What part of it that was exposed. His eyes, deep and hollow, yielded nothing.
Outside, rain started to patter against the windowpane.
"I'm…sorry for making you feel like a trophy. I assure you again, you're not."
Although he didn't pull off his rags this time, she felt one pair of lips press against her hairline through the cloth. Despite his temperature, this gesture sent a jolt of warmth through her head and into her heart. "You are an absolute treasure," he murmured. "Now I wonder if I'm even worthy of your love in the first place."
"H-hey, don't start thinking like that," she stammered. "Everyone deserves to be loved." She pulled him to her in a hug, now with her other arm on his smooth armor-like back. Not unlike how she'd touched him the last time she'd seen him alive. She trembled with nostalgia and a sorrow she barely kept at bay.
Had no one ever told him that?
She grunted as she held on to him, "You know what the problem might be? You don't know Stephen that well. You haven't given him a chance. I mean, now's obviously not the best time what with him needing to finish the replica—"
"I prefer to call it 'fake notebook.'"
Erin narrowed her eyes. "There's my point, right there. As I was saying, when this is all over, and we've caught Mello and rescued the kids, you and him should go out and get a drink, maybe work on a ship-in-a-bottle together. You know, get to know each other. Then maybe you'll start to get along and you won't feel so threatened by him? Hell, maybe you guys can end up friends?"
There was that pause again.
"A-at least think about it. Stephen's cool. He doesn't hold grudges, as long as you really make an effort."
"Very well. I will consider it."
"Good. Thanks, Umbra." She yawned, her grip on him loosening. He caught her and placed her flat on the mattress. "I gotta sleep, now. Gonna wake up early in the morning to go with Halle back to the shooting range. Or Wedy. Whoever's up when I am. Chances are it's gonna be Halle."
"Are you sure you aren't hungry?"
"Yeah. I'll just eat a big breakfast tomorrow."
Umbra rose up and fluttered off the bed to pull the blankets over her, up to her chin. "Would you like me to hold you?" he asked, clicking the lamp off.
"Uh…actually, I'd like to be alone for a bit. At least until I fall asleep. B-but you can come back afterwards."
"Okay. Good-night, dear Erin. I love you."
Unable to recall grappling with as much sentiment as his words had triggered in her all of a sudden, she smacked her lips against her palm and tossed her kiss to him. "Same here."
Umbra lifted a paw to catch it like one would catch a firefly, clutching it to his chest as he saw himself out.
Now alone in the dark, she listened to the beat of the rain, erratic as that of her own heart, and tried to distract herself by watching the shadows lounge about the walls and ceiling. If she let her mind wonder too far, the shadows would take on faces. The ones haunting her from the past, and the ones stalking her from the future.
Perhaps she could keep practicing this way? Erin made a gun with her right hand and aimed her pointer finger at the rippling shadow overhead that looked like Misa.
See it for what it is.
See it for what it is.
See it for what it is.
Tears resumed their place on the border of her eyelids, one leaking out every time they forced her to blink.
"Bang."
Though imaginary, the kick made her hand twitch hard enough to knock it back on top of her forehead.