+Part 24+

January 22, 2010

5:42 p.m.

For the next couple weeks, I continued to tail Takada's every move, observing that Halle was truly her constant right hand, and seemingly earnest companion. Takada also kept a tracer on her person at all times that she had Halle remove once she was home at night. I would have to take that into account. My preliminary plans were all working out, and I researched as much as I could ahead of time so nothing would catch me off guard. Meanwhile, Matt continued to monitor Light's meetings with Takada whenever they happened, learning that the case on their end was also closing in. Time was rapidly running out.

"23 days…" I muttered aloud sometime in the evening of the 22nd, when I had nothing pressing to attend to for at least a few hours.

Matt was playing some game on his PS3 where he was a muscle-bound Spartan warrior tearing mythological beasts to shreds, and he didn't look up when he murmured, "Huh?"

"Near had Gevanni touch the notebook on January 1st," I said, "which means if he's not dead tomorrow, Near will move ahead with his plan."

"23 days…?"

"Yes. One of the rules of the murder notebook is that you can control a person's actions within a reasonable limit for up to 23 days before they die."

"23 days, huh? That notebook sure has some random rules. Like how you gotta write the cause of death in 6 minutes and 40 seconds, and if you don't write a cause, they die in 40 seconds from a heart attack… Weird."

"Yes… Shinigami certainly have an interesting, somewhat inconvenient way of doing things… Do you know how much easier things would be if you could use the notebook to have one person kill another person for you? It would almost obliterate suspicion. Of course, it's not inconvenient while you're watching our lowly little human world from above, carrying no worry of death or consequence. It's only inconvenient for mortals."

"…Do you really plan to take all the notebooks and use them for yourself, Mello?"

"Yes, I do, if the situation allows for it. That is my ideal outcome, anyway—my best-case scenario. I'll probably only use one, and just keep the other as insurance so no one can use it against me. Of course, I won't write in it personally."

"Why not?"

"Because one of the rules is that once a person uses the Death Note, even to write a single name, they can neither go to Heaven nor Hell when they die."

"…Is that a bad thing?"

"Don't try to be funny, of course it is. I already know I won't go to heaven but I'd rather burn in hell than simply vanish. To disappear as if I never existed… No, I can't allow that."

"…I could use it for you," he said after a while.

I looked up from where I was absently gazing out of a tiny hole in the window curtain at the street below. I stared over at him. He'd quit playing his game, and his character just stood in the middle of an open field on the screen. His hands weren't moving on the controller, just suspended there between his knees.

"What did you say, Matt?"

"If you wanted me to, I could use it for you. I could write the names you want in it."

"…Why would you say that?"

"I told you before, I'll do whatever you need me to do. As long as I'm useful to you I'll be satisfied. So if you want me to write in the notebook…"

"No," I barked, standing abruptly from my chair.

He looked over at me. "Why not? It's not like writing a name down is hard or anything. Even I couldn't mess THAT up—"

"Just shut the fuck up, Matt!" I hollered, and then bit my tongue and clenched my fist.

"Mello? Uh, what's wrong?"

I stormed off and he turned his head to follow me. "I need a shower." I slammed the bathroom door and leaned my hands on the sink, feeling a strange, driving sting in my chest. I shook my head over and over before I looked up at myself in the dingy mirror. What the hell is wrong with me? What is this…? A new feeling—hard and cold and razor-edged, the complete and utter opposite of the way Matt usually forced me to feel. With regards to new sensations, most of them had been physical of late. The night he saved my life from the mugger, perhaps there had been a small shred of sympathy, and definitely gratitude. But this…I simply didn't understand.

I ripped off every article of clothing except for my Rosary and cranked on the shower. I stood beneath it, dousing my face immediately in the hot spray. I rubbed my hands over my eyes and then pulled at my hair, soaking it. I hardly washed myself at all, I just stood in the bath and brooded, confused, irate. Why did I continuously question myself? It was new to me, unwelcome, and I had even told Matt myself that questions between us weren't worth a second thought, while hypocritically I continued to do so myself. Why? Always with that question—why? A single, tiny word, yet the gravity of its possibilities was unbearably heavy.

Were the concepts of Heaven and Hell so meaningless to him? What's more, why was it so important to me? It's not like I entertained delusions of virtue, or purity. I had allowed Matt to sodomize me several times and I'd even done the same, which was against the Bible right along with lying, stealing, and decapitation, to say the least. I'm no saint; I'm not even an ordinary sinner. I'm a monster, just slightly smaller in scale than Kira himself. So why am I so concerned? It's just in my blood, I supposed at last.

I clutched the crucifix of my rosary, pressing the shape of it into my flesh almost to the point of breaking skin. I was born under God and I would die and be punished according to His laws. As long as I was still in His realm, I would be satisfied. I could not simply disappear! If I did…then everything I'd fought for and lived through would be utterly meaningless! No!

As long as I have this rosary—the evidence of my plight—then I cannot abandon this holy mission. And it was holy, wasn't it? I would be taking down a god on earth and replacing him with my own divine judgment, or else I would burn in hell. This was my personal Holy Crusade. And as long as I have this rosary…there is no escape from that.

I stood there for nearly half an hour before I finally turned off the water, wiping my sopping gold hair out of my waterlogged eyes. I heard a knock on the door and looked over. "What?"

"Hey, uh…I'm gonna step out for a minute," Matt told me.

I swabbed a layer of water from my eyelids and upper lip. "It's not a good idea to go wandering around right now," I reminded him.

"I know. Just going to the garage for a minute… Might tune up your motorcycle or something." I heard him walk off before I could say anything. I listened to the front door open and shut.

I got out and dried off slowly, combing my hair and then getting dressed. I wandered over to the corner window in the bedroom, the one that faced the lot behind the building. Sure enough, he was propped on a stool beside my motorbike, fiddling with the engine. His vest was flung over the car hood. I continued to watch him for a while, trying to use logic to analyze my inexplicable new emotions. He loosened something with a socket wrench and then removed a section of the motor. He only paused to execute the necessary actions of his chain-smoking.

I continued to observe him as he tinkered around for a good hour, putting everything back together before he took off his gloves and stood, leaning against the car door and lighting up a fresh cigarette. I knew doing something with his hands was the only way he could vent his feelings, just like the only way I knew how to vent mine was to lash out with cruel impulses. Was he frustrated just as I was? Distracted? On edge? Were we feeling these same, strange things at the same time without knowing it?

I didn't like this—this not knowing myself. I'd always been completely aware of my every thought process, even if they were impulsive. My brashness itself was a part of me and was to be expected, and accepted. Lately however, my impulses were starving and dying, and my words and actions had dulled substantially. I would never go so far as to accuse myself of being gentle, but I had definitely been lenient; slack. Where Matt was concerned, anyway. So why?

I put on my jacket and shades and went outside, walking over to the garage and standing near the front bumper of the car, watching the spiral of smoke twist upwards from the end of his cigarette. The cinders burned, reddening with each intake of air from his lips. "Your motorcycle should run even better now," he commented through his pursed lips when I didn't say anything first.

All I did was nod with my hands in my jacket pockets. We stood there silently for a long time, the only sounds coming from the backdrop of the city beyond us, away from us. A noisy, crowded city that had all but bowed to Kira. A maze full of scampering rats without an exit. A glimmering new Babylon. Rome before the fall. How much time was left?

"Matt," I finally said.

"Hmm?"

"I…want you to tell me something honestly," I finally managed to say.

"Sure. I've never lied to you."

I paused at that. I had lied to him, more than once I'm sure. And I had also kept things from him—was still keeping things from him. Did he know that? Did he mind? Why did I keep doing it?

"I want to know what you think of me." Was that what I had really planned to say? I wasn't certain, but it was too late now.

He looked over at me, plucking the burning cigarette from his lips and exhaling smoke. "What I think of you?" I just nodded once. "Uh…well, I'm not sure how to answer that exactly... How do you mean?"

I turned to lean against the grill of the car, shaking my head. "I'm not even sure," I grumbled. "Never mind."

"…Mello? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I snapped automatically. "I'm just impatient. My mind is wandering when it shouldn't be… I'm finding it difficult to stay focused for some reason and it's making me inefficient."

"If you want to know what I think about something just ask, although it doesn't really matter, does it? It's what YOU think that matters."

"Yes…"

He walked over and I felt his hand grasp my shoulder. "But if you really wanna know what I think of you, that's easy." I turned to look up at him just as he leaned down to plant a kiss on my mouth. He pulled away not long after, leaving me staring at him. "It's not complicated, really, just hard to put into words for some reason. Words have never been my strong-suit, y'know."

He was right. He hardly ever spoke as a child, unless I persuaded or forced him. Even since we'd reunited he hadn't really said much of anything substantial…excepting the same occasions. Whenever he did speak though, it was always in fragmented sentences crippled by slang and improper grammar. He wasn't like me or Near or L in that regard. He operated either entirely in his head, or actively with his body. It wasn't the words that he cared for, so he didn't bother. Instead, he occupied himself with the things he enjoyed, the things he excelled at. There wasn't much room in him for anything else. Like me.

I blew my air through my nose and shook my head. "And I really don't understand that either."

"What?"

"This." I grabbed him by his shirt collar and pushed my lips against his, making his eyes pop open behind his goggles. I shoved him away after a few seconds and licked my lips. "It really doesn't make any sense."

"…What doesn't make sense? I mean, I AM damn sexy, after all. Who could really hope to resist me?"

I growled. "I swear you're delusional."

"C'mon, I know you have higher standards than that."

"What are you taking about?"

"You must like how I look or else why would you ever touch me? That's just how you are. The way you dress, act, and carry yourself…they all show how aware you are of your image, of how you appear to other people. Why would you be attracted to me if I WASN'T good looking?"

"…Again, your logic is moronic." But sound.

He shrugged. "I don't have a problem saying I like the way you look."

"Which doesn't make sense either," I grumbled.

"Why not?"

I bared my teeth at him briefly, not wanting to emphasize the obvious factor of my mutilated face and body. "For one thing, you've always been after women. Why would you suddenly change your preferences?"

"Eh, I think I've always thought of you that way."

"What? What way?"

He lit up a new cigarette and scratched his head. "Uh…y'know, THAT way. Like…mine, I guess."

I frowned severely. "Yours? You'd better have a seriously brilliant explanation for this if you want to keep your teeth."

"Well, uh, kinda… I mean, it works both ways too—I've always thought of myself as yours too, y'know? Girls are hot and all and I like hooking up with them, but I've never been interested in one for longer than a week or so. But…you were like the first friend I ever had, so…I just always kinda imagined we went together, like it just fit. It sounds kinda weird, I guess."

"…So when we were trying to out-dare each other that one night…and I had dared you to nail Roger's door shut…and then you came back with the hammer and dared me to kiss you…"

"Yeah, I just really wanted you to kiss me, that's all. I'd planned it for months ahead of time but it took me that long to work up the balls."

"You sneaky, perverted bastard."

"Heh, maybe, but it worked. First person I ever kissed was you."

Same for me. "You jackass."

"Yeah, I know. But it worked for getting you into bed too. I gotta be sneaky or I'd never get anywhere with you in that respect." I sighed. That was probably true. "I just…for a while I thought maybe we'd stick together, but I knew it wouldn't last forever. Nothing does. Usually I don't mind because things start to get boring after a while…but it's never boring with you…" He plucked the cancer stick from his lips and sighed smoke. "Oh well."

It began to rain after a while, the drops of water pattering the aluminum roof like tiny bullets, loudly echoing in the small garage. I watched it crash to the ground, splashing into muddy puddles soon enough.

"…Why did you say you would write in the notebook, Matt?"

"Because you need someone to do it and we both know it'd be better if it was someone you could trust. Hell, if you wanted I'd even make the Eye Deal so things would be easier. It's just half my life… I never leave the house and I'm not exactly a health-nut but it's not like I have chronic diabetes or something… I should have plenty of time to spare."

My face went taut and shriveled in on itself. How could he say all these things to me so easily? "But didn't you hear me when I said that when you die, you can't go to heaven or hell?" I demanded.

"What's the difference? When you're dead, you're dead. No matter what, it's all gone."

"Do you really feel that way?" I snapped, turning to him. "Is there really no God to you? No afterlife worth living? No souls?"

He scoffed. "Not especially, Mello. I think my mom took me and my brother to church sometimes but I was too young to really remember, and then she died and it didn't matter. I'm still not sure how it happened but my brother was convinced it was my dad's fault. Church never did anything for me personally and I've never been able to sit still through that kinda stuff anyway. It's all too much of a hassle. I don't have the energy for believing in anything. I can't even remember what she looked like…"

"But look at the bigger picture, Matt! You still have Heaven left for you!"

He chuckled, puffing out a cloud of smoke. "Get serious, man. I'm not exactly a model citizen."

"At the very least you'll go to purgatory where you can eventually ascend from."

He chuckled again, shaking his head. "I don't get all that mystical Catholic shit," he insisted. "It's all just voodoo to me. The only thing that matters to me at all is the here and now, the time we're alive. After that…who cares?"

"I do. I'll find some worthless criminal to write in it for me again and you won't do more than touch it."

"Okay. Whatever you want, Mello. I was just trying to help. I don't know why you're so upset over it."

"I'm not upset!" I yelled.

"Oh, really?" he muttered doubtfully. "I don't see what the big deal is. With the way you're talking we're not gonna end up in the same place after we die anyway, so what do I care?" My eyes opened wider in surprise, but he wasn't looking at me. "Might as well just disappear. Maybe I don't wanna linger around in purgatory or wherever the fuck it is. Just sounds like more waiting to me. Boring. I'd rather feel nothing—I'd rather just end."

Before I knew what I was doing, I was marching up to him and my hand was flying across his face. I knocked the cigarette right out of his mouth and it tumbled to the ground. He clamped his hand to his cheek and winced, his eyebrows lifting. "Fuck, man!" I slapped him again on the other cheek, jerking his head in the opposite direction. "Shit, ow! What the…?" I glared at him with both fists in his shirt collar, pinning him against the car before I realized.

I was in disbelief of my own reaction for a time, just looking at my fists, and then at the red marks on his face. I bared my teeth and stormed off. I left the garage, entering the downpour and being immediately battered by cold water.

Matt rushed after me, grabbing hold of my wrist. "Hey, wait!"

"Let go of me," I ordered, pulling away, the raindrops assaulting me as they became heavier.

"What the hell?" He reached out with his other hand and snatched my other arm. "Just wait!"

"Stop it! Fuck off!"

He dragged me back into the garage despite my protests, and I didn't want to openly attack him in case I might attract attention from the other tenants or any passersby. I struggled, but he wouldn't release me, so once we were under the cover and dripping with water I reared back and punched him, making him stumble back against the car. I wasn't at all sure why I was reacting so viciously.

"Jesus, would you calm down?" he exclaimed, spitting up a little blood. "What the hell is your problem? You haven't hit me like that since the first time we did it… Not that I hate it, but… Why are you so angry all of a sudden?"

"I don't know!" I roared, finally lowering my hands and tightening them both into brutal fists. I heard the leather of my gloves crinkle and crease loudly as my teeth gritted. "You just—piss me off! Your reckless nonchalance—pisses me off!"

"S-Sorry…"

"Goddamn you, don't apologize! You don't even realize you do it! You're just being honest when it happens, and it fucking—!" I hissed through my teeth. "I can't be that honest, not ever! And I do care what others think of me, and I do care where I end up! But you don't, you never have, and it makes me sick! You just stand there and calmly say that you'll give up half your life for Shinigami Eyes and it's no big deal—that you'll compromise everything your soul could possibly become just to write names in the Death Note for me! You'd take on all of that responsibility just because I vainly hope to end up burning in hell where I belong! Don't you know how fucking ludicrous that is coming out of your mouth—but how much sense it makes for you to say it? Your lack of self-preservation makes me so goddamn SICK!"

He wiped the blood from his mouth. "Uh, I—I…dunno what to say…"

"Don't say anything!" I whirled around and pressed one fist to the car window, wiping the wet hair from my face with the other. "It's what you say that upsets me! It's always the stupid, straightforward, selfless bullshit you say! I wish you'd just shut up! You aren't good with words but when they come out of you all it does it get under my skin! I wish I could just sew your fucking mouth shut!"

"Hey…" He put his hand on my shoulder and clenched. "It's okay, Mello… It's okay." Why was he saying that? "It's because we're near the end, isn't it?"

"…I don't know." Maybe. Probably. I wasn't sure.

"It'll be okay."

"How can you say that when you have no idea?"

"It's just…something people say to each other…y'know, to comfort each other?"

"No, I wouldn't know. I've never comforted anyone."

"You have."

"When?"

"Every time you touch me, even when you punch me, it's comforting."

"What the hell kind of deranged sense could that possibly make?"

"It lets me know you give enough of a shit about me to exert the effort. Like you said, you hate touching people, or getting touched by them. But I've always been the exception. And that's comforting..." He turned me around to face him, pressing us together by leaning against the roof of the car with one hand. "…Even when you hit me just to take out your own frustration, like just now. Even when you make me bleed—no, especially when you make me bleed…it's comforting."

"Matt… I don't know anything about what you're saying."

"Yeah, I know." He grabbed me close before he yanked open the car door and then flipped the front seat forward.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Take a guess." He lifted my whole weight by my shoulders and tossed me across the backseat. I barely caught myself with one hand before my head knocked against the cold leather.

I sat back up after hitting the musty upholstery, immediately lashing out. "How dare you?" I moved to get off the seat but he crawled in after, blocking the way. I glared in anticipation of his next move.

"Good idea. Let's play that game again," he suggested.

"What game?"

"The dare game. Remember, we always left out the truth part, and just kept daring each other with crazier and crazier ones until someone got in trouble."

"Are you out of your mind?"

"Come on, let's go for it. Me first." He shut the car door behind us. "I dare you to strip."

"I am not going along with this," I growled.

"I figured you wouldn't." He shoved his goggles up onto his head. "But we can at least do it while we're back here. That'll be comforting for both us, right? No words necessary."

"I'm not doing this in the fucking car," I growled. He crawled across the seat to hover over me. I scoffed, shedding spit through my gritted teeth. "Just get away from me and let me out of here. It smells like motor oil."

"Doesn't it turn you on?" He kissed me abruptly so I punched him again on reflex. I still couldn't quite withhold my anger with him. He wiped his mouth and chin of the blood I'd caused him to shed and then shoved his arms at either side of me. We were close enough to feel each other's breathing and I could smell the scent of copper on his. Droplets of rain from his hair dripped now and then onto my face. "Can't you tell that I like it when you're rough with me?" I scoffed right in his face. "And why should I let you go anyway? It's all ending soon, right? Let's have fun while we can, huh?"

"Fun?" I questioned.

"Yeah, fun. Y'know, enjoyable activities that make you feel good?"

"I fucking know what the word means—this just isn't my idea of it!"

"Tell me what on earth could be more fun than getting lucky in the backseat of a '69 Camaro."

"…You don't want to know my answer to that."

"Maybe not." He reached down and slid off my sunglasses, tossing them before he started on my zipper.

"Damn you."

"No fair. You already said I was on my way to Heaven."

"I take it back. I was sorely mistaken."

"You're an asshole, but I like it."

He grabbed me by my jacket collar and hurled us together, this time searching with his tongue. I held onto his arms, fighting to resist the stabbing feelings as they collided within me. On one end, there was the cold stinging I couldn't decipher, but on the other end, there was the raw, sweltering lust, the need for momentary abandon he could offer. In moments I tasted the wet iron spice of his blood still pooling in his mouth and for some reason it motivated me. Why not? So many questions and there was really no reason to answer them. Forget them then. Push them away. Drown them out. Kill them! I'm good at that by now, aren't I?

"If we're doing this, we're doing it my way," I told him, jerking back with his blood on my lips. As I expected, he smirked. He took his hands from me and knelt back, holding them at either side of his head to show me I could do what I wanted. I rubbed my lips together, cleaning the blood off them with my tongue, before I reached up and shoved him back, making him hit the other side of the car. I got up onto my knees and removed my jacket, gloves, zippered shirt, and belt. "Well, what are you waiting for?" I hissed. "Strip."

He barely hesitated before he tossed away his goggles and then yanked his damp shirt over his head. His wallet chain and belt came next, but I didn't let him get any further before I ripped open his jeans and bent down, starting to lick him slowly, watching his torso bunch and flex. He moaned in his throat, trying to adjust his position since he was jammed up against the inner wall of the car. I didn't budge, forcing him to remain folded uncomfortably as I rolled my tongue in circles around his cock, feeling it fill in with heat as it lengthened and hardened, still partially marveling me as it did so at my coercion, under my power.

His hand darted forth to clamp the back of my head, his fingers tangling in my hair until I could feel his blunt fingernails against my scalp. He opened his mouth to let his breathing in and out, and I continued, using my hands now, feeling the battering fire under his flesh with my bare fingertips. I ventured to the softer tissue below, making his lower body leap forward with a start, his voice freeing itself in a ruddy groan of encouragement. His hips and legs lifted shakily, trying to pressure himself closer to me, so I took him in my mouth at last and pumped it full and empty, over and over.

"God, fuck…!" Matt sputtered, his nails digging into the skin at the back of my head. "That's good… Keep…going…" I pulled away, causing him to outright whimper with a heave of air from his chest.

"You don't give the orders around here," I said, licking my lips and sitting back up.

"You really are…an asshole," Matt mumbled, and wiped the sweat off his face before he launched himself forward, tumbling us onto the seat together. I hit my head on the seatbelt clasp and cursed, but he was already ripping open my pants and groping inside them, freeing me and immediately stroking. I snapped my teeth together and slammed my hands against his biceps. "The worst kind," he concluded.

"Something…wrong with that?" I growled through my teeth.

"Never said that." He manipulated my cock with one hand and then slithered his other around into the back of my pants, bringing my pelvis closer to his body so he could search my buttocks. My skin there stiffened in protest, but he found his way between and then his finger was breaching. I gritted my teeth even harder together, trying to keep my voice contained, even now, even when I openly gave my consent, even after we'd come this far. "What I said was…you're an asshole but I like it." He felt me out with one finger and then two, still jerking me off in sequence. "So, you gonna beg me for more?"

"I don't beg," I protested. "Dogs beg—and you're the dog."

"Yeah?" He doubled the effort in both his hands, sending repeated bolts through my spine and every one of my limbs and every last neuron of my brain. I turned my head away, fighting not to let out my voice as it urged me to. "What about if I…" He retracted his hands, peeling my leather pants off my hips and down to my knees. After that he grabbed me around the shoulders and yanked us upright together, all but hurling me into his lap and onto his erection, piercing me deeply with no hesitation. I cried out in a shock of pain and exhilaration, unable to stifle it. "Feel like it now? We could switch for a day… You could be the bitch and I could be the master… How's that sound?"

"Shut up…!" He aided me in removing my hooded undershirt, discarding it thoughtlessly before his warm, slightly callused hands returned. I threw my arms around his neck, making fists in his hair and halfway tearing it out as he forced me to ride him, clasping us together too tightly for me to maneuver. "Damn it!"

"What?" He started to kiss my chest, licking and biting in some places, making it even more impossible to shackle my groans. "Don't you like it this way?"

"I said we were doing this MY way," I grunted. "And that's never changing!"

"Guess you're right... Once a dog always a dog." He released me a little, and I propped one boot on the floor of the car and thrust over him with my hips, moving myself on him as he moved in me, refining the process to improve it for both of us. "Mmm…I like it when you boss me around, Boss," he chuckled into my neck. "You're a sick fuck when you wanna be… Treating me this way…but I can't say I don't like it…"

"I hate it when you talk," I breathed, bracing myself on both his shoulders to get more leverage. I pressed one knee more firmly to his hip and then pushed more forcefully against the floor with the toe of my boot. "I hate everything you say…!" Every single one of my muscles were twisting thinner and thinner, trying to destroy me from within as my lungs wrenched themselves and my mouth brimmed with saliva. "I hate it!"

"But I like it when you yell at me," he whispered at the base of my left ear, before he nipped at it. "And I also like it when you moan all feeble like this…" I tore more fiercely at his hair as I felt myself ending, towering, the pulsating demand in me urging to claw itself loose.

"Fuck, I'm…!"

"Go ahead, Mello." I growled under my breath before I couldn't withhold it anymore and came against him, arcing my spine but unable to catch my breath because he still wasn't finished. "My turn, Boss." He lifted me off himself and spun my body in his arms, slamming the front of me back onto the seat beneath us. I all but bit my tongue as my chin made contact, one of my arms folded awkwardly underneath my chest. He heaved my lower body up by my thighs and then rammed us back together, stabbing deep and rough and then recommencing his actions eagerly.

I could hardly breathe, tasting nothing but my own drool mixed slightly with his blood. My wet hair was pasted to my face and neck and my arms were aching from my fists clenching so tightly. "God," I hissed, unleashing my drool and staining the fabric under my face. I reached forward with my free hand, looking for anything to grab onto, and ended up coiling it in the seatbelt strap. How could he go from demanding I fuck him with authority to treating me like this? There was more to him than I realized, but I couldn't deny that I was the same way…simultaneously enjoying dominating his every move and being penetrated like a dirty slut. How could I be both? And how could he be both? Damn it!

Matt lifted me up so I could free my arm, and I held myself up on all-fours as he continued, never slowing. "Matt," I exhaled.

"What is it, Mello?"

"I'm not begging…this is an order," I clarified.

He snickered. "Sure thing. What you wanna say?" He leaned down closer over my body with his own, until I could feel his breathing rustle my hair.

I couldn't stop myself from salivating or making noise, and my other hand shot forward, sliding against the tiny back window. I felt the dampness of condensation and glanced up to see all the glass in the car was fogged over. "Matt…"

"Still waiting," he uttered lowly behind my ear, a couple of his fingers brushing through my hair before he gripped a clump of it, snagging it away from my face. "What?"

"…I hate the way you do this to me," I hissed angrily, infuriated suddenly. I was frustrated with myself all over again, because I couldn't rightly be frustrated with him.

"Do what…? The way I fuck you? The way I make you come? The way I

make you scream?"

"Yes, all of it! No matter what I've said, no matter what the circumstances, no matter how it ends up…I want you to know that I hate it! You'd better know, and you'd better remember!"

"I'll remember," he laughed faintly, still thrusting and heaving until I felt his entire frame wrap tautly around me as he emptied his fluids inside, moaning fervently with it. He slumped heavily on top of me as I went limp, as if my skeleton instantly turned to liquid in my molten flesh. The only sounds now in the crushing blanket of damp silence were our lungs struggling, and our heartbeats blurring together—and then far off, seemingly an eternity away, the rain pummeling the roof.

When we were both recovered, he sat back and lit up a cigarette. I replaced my pants and laid back. There was no real room on the seat, so I had to rest my head on Matt's lap. He didn't seem to mind, and just lounged back, puffing smoke into the car interior, blanketing us both in a humid mist of nicotine and sweat. He went through a whole cigarette without us saying a single word, and then started on another.

After a long while like this, I discovered I was absently running my fingertips over the marred half of my face, catching myself a little late. I lowered my hand away from my face and instead fiddled with my rosary. I had to keep hold of my resolve, no matter what. This rosary would be the contract to keep me walking down this path without reservations.

Matt was halfway through his new cigarette when he noticed, and picked it up by the crucifix, looking it over. "…Do you really think I'd go to heaven?" he asked quietly.

I glanced at his hand and then up at him. "Maybe not, but you wouldn't go to hell."

"Why not? I've done some bad shit."

"You are not wrathful, violent, or a heretic, nor are you a mortal sinner."

"What's a mortal sinner?"

I looked fully up at him now. "Someone like me," I answered. "Someone who commits egregious acts of violence against others and feels no remorse. Someone without guilt."

Guilt? It hit me then, like a ton of fucking bricks. That new feeling—iced and hard and lancing painfully deep in the pit of my meager humanity—that feeling was guilt. I blinked and my brow creased as I stared at his calm, careless expression. This was guilt, it had to be. I had never felt it before in my entire life but I had now…over Matt. Over what I had put him through, and what I still intended to subject him to.

"But you've felt remorse before," he was saying.

I snapped myself out of my daze, trying to hide my discomfort. "What are you talking about? How would you know?"

"Soichiro Yagami," he said, and I bit my teeth together behind my lips. "Every time you've mentioned him…your voice fell and your face got all tight. You didn't want to kill him. You regret it."

"I don't," I disagreed. "You're right, I had no desire whatsoever to kill him. He was truly a good cop, and a righteous man, and it's a shame that he put himself in that position. But if I hadn't killed him, I would be dead now. I had no choice, and I do whatever it takes to survive. If I could do it over again, the outcome wouldn't change—which means I don't regret it."

"But you still feel bad."

"Yes, perhaps I do, but that doesn't make up for anything else I've done." Or the things I'm going to do.

"Well, it's not like I've ever done anything especially nice for other people. I only care about myself, and I always break the rules. I'm not a good person like you think I am."

"Wrong, Matt. All you've ever done to sin is steal and take advantage of ignorant people. You've broken the petty laws of man several times, but you've never truly harmed anyone out of spite or anger or vengeance. Hell wouldn't waste its time on you."

"…So what if I killed somebody? Would I go to hell then?"

"...That would depend on the context. If it was out of cold blood and completely unwarranted…and you didn't desire forgiveness…then probably."

"Hmm…"

"Anyway, I don't want to talk about this anymore. I'm finished with the subject, so there's no need to concern yourself."

"…Okay. If you say so."

"What we need to do is concentrate on the task at hand. The time has almost come."

"…Right."

All I could do was listen to him smoke as the rain outside continued to fall. His fingers still fiddled with my rosary on my chest, letting me feel every callus, every tiny scar, every blemish. His hands, as I'd more and more observed, were scarred fairly consistently up to the wrist. I imagined they were the results of anything from soldering slips, welding accidents, tool incidents, metalwork, or simple cigarette burns. He worked with his hands the way I worked with my mental facilities. We really weren't alike in many ways at all. Virtually incompatible. I really hadn't meant to keep him here, with me, for so long into this mission. I'd had to recalculate, but the more I thought it over, the more I realized I had unconsciously planned everything around him, to include him. Why? That question again…and the only thing there to answer it was the pattering of the rain on the cheap metal above us.

January 25, 2010

1:04 a.m.

"To hell with Kira.

What matters to me is L.

L."

I stared at the words I had typed up on the document in my laptop, pausing just long enough to take a quiet bite of my chocolate. Matt was passed out on the sofa, the television still on, and I sat in my chair with the screen glaring at me, determined to at least accomplish something of a last word here at the end. It had been longer than 23 days now, and Halle still hadn't called me to let me in on Near's plan. If she didn't do so today, I would make my move without her information. I continued to tap away at the keyboard, just letting it pour out of me as easily as if I were speaking it.

"…Well, I may not have been able to succeed him, but I want to leave this behind.

So what you're reading now are my notes about L. It's a dying message, not from me, and not directed at the world. The person who will most likely read this first will probably be that big-headed twit Near. But if that's the case, I will not tell him to shred or burn these pages. If it causes him pain to discover I knew things about L that he did not, that's fine."

I paused to take another bite, listening to Matt grumble something inaudibly and roll over, flinging an arm off the couch. It was fine to let him sleep while he could. Soon this case would break wide open, and no one would be able to tell the outcome—not me, not Near, not Kira. I began typing again.

"There's also a chance that Kira might read this…and I hope he does. If these notes tell the murderer, who only got by with the help of a supernatural killing notebook and an idiot of a Shinigami, that he was, under any other circumstances, not even worth the dirt beneath L's shoes, then they have served their purpose."

Even doubly so, because L hardly ever bothered to wear shoes. I smirked to myself and took another bite, seeing it was nearly 2:30 in the morning. Almost as soon as I checked, I received a message that Halle had attempted to call me. I got up and walked into the moldy back storage room that had thus far been unused by us, so as not to disturb Matt. The female mannequins were still piled up all over and caked with dust in the corner behind the single measly lounge chair. I sat myself down on it and called her back.

"Mello," she said softly. "Takada is asleep and I just got off my conference with the SPK."

"I'm listening."

"Near's plans have all come together. He says he's planning to bring an end to this case with his own hands."

"…He's planning to face Kira?"

"Yes. He says he's made all the necessary preparations, and on the 28th we are all supposed to meet with the members of the Japanese taskforce…and have our names written in the notebook."

I felt my hand grip the phone so tightly it hurt. "…Near plans to end this case…by having his name written in the notebook…?"

"Yes…that's what he said… I'm worried, Mello… What could he be thinking?"

I slumped forward, dropping my elbows to my knees and staring hard at the dirty floor beneath my boots. This is it. This is the end. I was ready to plan around each and every possible outcome—except for this. Damn you, Near! Damn you and your fucking sense of lofty justice! You demented little fool!

Having his name written in the notebook…just to prove that Light Yagami is Kira… Near would never knowingly throw his life away, so he definitely had a failsafe set up…but there's no way Kira would fall for something like that. Not when it came to the notebook. He had a devil's intellect, the Shinigami, and a damnable amount of wicked luck on his side, and Near was far too naïve to do what had to be done… He was fucked, and so were the rest of us. If I didn't do something first, then Kira would win. I couldn't let that happen, it wasn't an option. And I couldn't bow out and let Near take all the credit without a fight. If this was his plan, then…

"…Then I guess I'm going to have to do it."

"Mello? What do you mean…? Mello?"

I hung up on her and dropped my phone to the floor, leaning my forehead in my hand and then making a fist in my hair. With each second that passed, I found myself fortifying my final resolve. I am going to win this. I am going straight to the top, by any means, no matter what, and no one is going to get in my way. Not anymore. This is it.

I'll be Number One even if I have to die to do it.

I returned to the living room to finish typing up my final report, my only report, my recording of what really went on during the Los Angeles B.B. Murder Case—the schism that had sent ripples through every room at Wammy's House, and changed things for L forever. My mentor… Though I hardly ever saw him in person, he had taken me aside and told me personally of three of his most pivotal cases, the one about B being the top of his list despite its small scale, and it had been the only one that had him visibly perturbed. I still wondered, to this day, why L had deigned tell ME these things he hadn't ever told another soul, except perhaps Watari. With reasonable deduction, I'd like to think it was because I was the only one of his unfortunate heirs who would know what to do with the information. Near would cling to it as further evidence for worship, and Matt would absorb it as no more than a good story from a man he admired.

But I… I knew it was more. I knew it was the cause for everything to change—why L no longer came to Wammy's House in person to speak to the children, why his lessons were taught scarcely and through a computer, why our true identities were kept masked from the very instant we entered the door—and why they stayed that way, unknown to the world and even each other. And why I was almost completely certain that L had wished for his legacy to die with him, and not pass on, because with just the right twist of fate or happenstance of judgment, any one of us orphans could become just like B.

And L never wanted a tragedy like that to reoccur, ever. So he separated himself from us, carefully cultivating only our strongest points, so that we might grow to live our own lives, not covet his. L knew that he could only tell me, because only I would understand. So writing this now…was the absolute least I could do.

It took me seven straight hours to complete, no time or need for revision, and then I printed it out, watching the machine banish page after page of my last words, almost mocking me with their neatly arranged letters and predetermined font. I placed the manuscript in a manila envelope and sealed it, simply signing "M" on the front. I slid it into a drawer in the kitchen, where it would be easily found by anyone searching the place. If they bothered to read it, they would know my words… L's words…

My last will and testament as Mello of Wammy's House.

"Good memories and nightmares."