Author's Note: This chapter is pretty long, compared to the latest ones. I hope you like it! I'm going to try my hardest to make the rest of this story as epic as possible. I really want to end this story on a strong note. I hope you guys like this chapter as much as the other ones!

To WildfireDreams: So do I. I hate when authors kill off characters that you like… it's a mystery why I like Death Note so much then, since pretty much every character I like dies. Go figure.

To RaspberryDiamonds: I like Matsuda a lot. He's so goofy!

To version15: I know, but I can't have B go all out yet. We need some more build-up first…and drama…and what have you.

Your second question will be answered in this chapter. :)

To CainToYourAbel: I felt the same way! For all the times Light pulled his demon face in the series, how the hell did no one manage to pick up on him being Kira? I feel like someone would have noticed that…or maybe he was just smiling in his head? Who knows?

Also, I just realized how fucked up I am to the characters. Well, I kinda knew that already, since I'm the one writing it, but I just looked back over what I've written so far and came to understand that they very rarely have a moment of happiness. Well, we can only hope that things will start to look up with Soichiro and Sayu in the picture!

To garnet86: I hope that you get your answers at the end of this chapter. (No skipping ahead though! That's cheating!) Enjoy the ride :)

To WhiteLadyDragon: It's nice to see you again! I'm glad you're still reading this story. I would explain more of what's going on, but I plan to do that in future chapters. So no spoilers! :) It made me sad to hurt Matt and Mello, but it had to be done. Well, not really, but for the sake of the plot! Thanks for reviewing!

Warnings: Blood/Gore, Profanity. (When is there not profanity in any of the chapters? Should I even bother putting this in anymore?)

Chapter 26: The Curtain

Smoke and fire continued to pour out of the radio station like water from a spigot, but to Light's surprise and frustration, none of the occupants had come out yet. He was becoming…not nervous, anxious. He was anxious, but he tried to keep the emotion off of his face. If he were to lose his cool now and give in to his temper, what good would that do? It wouldn't make Ryuuzaki or Emerson leave the building faster, and it would not solve any of his problems. As he had told Takada not long before, all they could do right now was wait.

So he did.

Light's blood started pumping faster when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned his vision towards the distraction, and was momentarily relieved when he saw a man run out of the building.

Upon first glance, Light almost dove straight for the door to his room. Ryuuzaki… He turned to leave, but hesitated at the last moment when his eyes registered something off about the man.

This man was a stranger. He lingered outside of the station for a few seconds, staring up at the building with a pensive posture. When he turned to face Light and Takada once again, the golden-haired man got a good look at him. He wasn't Ryuuzaki, but he certainly looked like him. The resemblance almost seemed intentional.

Then it hit him.

"It's him," he said to Takada, who was staring intently at the man across the street.

"Who?"

"The man from Agent Misora's picture."

The brunette took a closer look, and her eyes widened in recognition. "So he's still alive? I would have thought he would be dead by now."

"There must have been a reason an FBI agent was wary enough of the man to come after him," Light muttered. "If he's been able to survive here without knowing anything about the location, then he must be capable." The man pondered his options. "I should have known that he wasn't Ryuuzaki. I would think that the associate of an FBI agent would at least attempt to save some of his subordinates…but does this mean that the others, including Ryuuzaki, are dead?"

Takada swore under her breath. "I knew that Mikami wouldn't be able to handle this. He's definitely dead."

"And what would you have done differently, Takada?" he questioned her. "Besides, that doesn't matter right now. What matters is…" He trailed off when the Ryuuzaki impersonator dashed away down the street, and not a moment later, a television crashed through the glass front doors of the station.

"What in the—?" Takada sputtered, leaning in so as to be closer to the window.

Light watched intently, his body unmoving as he saw Ryuuzaki, Emerson, and a group of other people whom he did not know make their way out of the burning building. Among the strangers were a brunette male, whose bloodied form was being balanced in between the two objects of his hunt, and a boy with white hair and a disproportionate amount of bags hanging off his body.

And, to Light's genuine shock, there were also two people carrying someone else, both of whom he had not expected to see again. Itzel Shankman…and Mogi.

My own ex-subordinate is working with them? What is going on?

"Mogi? And Shankman, too? You've got to be kidding," Takada mumbled. "How did they find them?"

"Irrelevant," Light told her. "It's clear that Mikami did not manage to escape. My guess is that he is most likely dead, which means that not only did he fail at his job, but he is no longer around to help us. It's no great loss…I believe I've determined a better course of action anyway."

"What is it?"

He turned to face Takada, his face a mask of calm rationality. "Since Mikami is dead, we no longer have a man on the inside. However, we do know of a man on the outside. I think we should follow that man—the one from Agent Misora's photograph."

"What?" Takada gaped at him, her expression aghast. "Why?"

"Based on his behavior and the sudden outbreak of the fire, it is clear to me that it was him who started it. He is a criminal, after all—a criminal who is being aggressively pursued by the FBI. It would be normal for him to lash out at those who are trying to catch him. He must have it out for Ryuuzaki—which means that he will do everything in his power to find him. Not to mention that he managed to make it out of that building without being taken down by the others. He's definitely formidable."

"But he is still a criminal," Takada stressed. "Agent Misora told us that he's extremely dangerous. If we were to approach him we would be putting ourselves in harm's way. You've just seen what he did! He tried to kill several people by burning them to death. What makes you think he would let us say one word before slitting our throats? I refuse to trust someone who murders indiscriminately."

"Takada, we put ourselves in harm's way every day just by going outside," Light countered her as he fixed his clothing in the vanity mirror. "Forming a partnership with a criminal would not be the most dangerous thing we've ever done. Besides, from what we've seen it looks as though his intent is to kill Ryuuzaki. I only want to use him in order to get what we want. Once we found Ryuuzaki, our alliance would be over." The golden-haired man turned around, facing Takada with a look of disapproval. "If we don't hurry, he might get too far ahead for us to catch up. Put on some clothes, Takada—we're leaving."

The young woman hesitated, but held her tongue and did as Light told her.

"…Okay, Light. I trust you."

While the woman's back was turned, Light smiled darkly to himself. You really shouldn't, Takada—but that's what makes you so valuable.

He had been so close—so tantalizingly close that he could almost taste it. It had been such a long time since he felt so alive in the presence of others; he had almost forgotten how exhilarating it was, even if most of the time it was merely a chore of societal expectations.

But how wonderful it had felt when he wreaked havoc on the radio station.

The scent of charred flesh didn't bother him; he found it made the blonde man more pleasant to look at, as did the expression of terror on his face in the brief second before the match dropped. He had felt the brunette's desperation as he feebly attempted to strike him down, and enjoyed every second of it. He was able to sense L's growing discomfort as he found himself unexpectedly cornered.

And B saw the woman's fear and hatred as though the emotions were his own. He saw them, and he felt them, and he relished them because they were real. They were not fabricated by a disease, or instilled in her by something other than his presence. All the attention was focused on him, his actions, and his goals. It may sound a bit egotistical, but that wasn't what B was about. No—his life revolved around the pure intention of instilling emotions in people, and wasn't that what everyone wanted to do in one way or another?

Besides, he was curious as to what would happen if he were able to connect with someone in ways he had previously ignored. That took a back seat to his major plans, however—and it was worth every minute he had spent in preparation.

Even so, there were still some things he had to do.

B arrived back at his current hideout, an abandoned building that was just down the street, and immediately made his way over to his belongings. He opened the suitcase with gentle precision so as to avoid jostling its contents. The vials sat inside their cradles, packed perfectly and filled to the brim for all but one. Only one of them was not filled with blood—blood collected from his subjects, all of whom had been too far gone to have any hope of getting away from him. They were too stupid and too clumsy to avoid his knives. At any rate, they were somewhat fun to play with.

Looking into the rest of his things, B found that he still had four knives—three regular-sized switchblades and one large one. Had had only brought one with him for the sake of tension; what fun was there in a game where his opponents had no chance of winning? And surprisingly, that boy—Matt, he recalled—was far tougher than B had given him credit for. Consequently, he had lost out on his chance to take the woman with him. He suspected she would have to be injured to a degree, or otherwise incapacitated, in order to go with him anyway. She was not going to come easily.

So now he had to do more waiting, of which he was beginning to grow extremely bored. Patience was a virtue that he had in spades, but that didn't mean that he particularly enjoyed waiting for months on end. So yes, B was growing impatient. He was filled with an urge to hack and saw, to perform more experiments with the organisms around him. They were no good for anything else.

But no matter. He could wait; it wouldn't be long now until he would get his way. He knew how to find them. It would be relatively easy for the shaggy-haired man to track them to their new location, and B wouldn't even need to use his deductive skills.

After all, in people's desperation, many things will go unnoticed by them—including the fact that they were leaving a very obvious trail. A trail of blood does make for an excellent set of directions, B thought, a grin blooming on his pale face.

"Emmy!"

Lana felt herself being weighed down now not just by Matt, but by a sharply grinning Misa as well. The blonde still had her customary pigtails, but now she wore normal clothes—and she seemed completely oblivious to the fact that there was a man beside them soaked in his own blood. It was probably insensitive of the scarred woman to think this, but she found herself wondering just how in the hell the girl had managed to survive this long.

Then again, Matsuda was here too, so the pair had probably escaped together—which only raised further questions, such as how Matsuda had managed to allow the both of them to survive. That wasn't to say that Misa wasn't smart, she was just…inattentive.

"It's so cool to see you again!" the girl continued. "We didn't know if you were like, dead or what!"

"Thanks, Misa," the dark-haired woman said, her limbs unable to reciprocate the girl's friendly gesture—not that Misa seemed to mind all that much. "Um…could you let go of me? I sort of need my limbs."

"Oh. Sorry!" The blonde girl broke away from Lana and shot her a winning smile. She then turned her piercing gaze towards the rest of them. "It's nice to see you again, too, Ryuuzaki! And you, Itzel!"

"Please don't hug me," the Hispanic woman commented.

"Okay! And is that you, Mogi? Wow, this is like a reunion, isn't it?"

Lana wondered with growing panic where Matsuda had gone off to. Misa could be quite overwhelming at times, especially for someone who was unused to such flamboyant behavior. Then, the woman's jaw nearly dropped when Matsuda came back in with a very familiar man in tow.

Is that…?

It was. The man was Soichiro Yagami, the Surgeon General—and he looked the same as ever but for a few extra gray hairs. He had aged well since she'd last seen him on TV.

He's alive? I mean, I guess I should have expected that. He must know how to survive this virus better than anyone, so it only makes sense. I wonder…does Light know that his father is alive?

"Hey, guys," Matsuda began, "this is Soichiro. He took Misa and I in." The young man stood behind him, his own figure being swamped by the more imposing one of Soichiro. "You might recognize him as being the Surgeon General."

Soichiro looked all of them over, his bespectacled eyes lingering on Matt and what little he could see of Mello's body—that was to say, a limp hand.

"Matsuda," he said quietly, "who are these people?"

"They're friends," the young man told him. "Just like Aizawa. They used to work with me." He said nothing about Mello or Matt, for which Lana was grateful. The last thing those two needed was to be thrown out for being strangers.

"You know full well there isn't enough space in this building for seven more people," Soichiro said sternly. "Let alone two of whom are injured. They need an airy room to rest."

Lana's hopes crashed to the ground when the older man finished berating Matsuda. Was he going to throw them back out? Mogi had told them that this place was safe—he had implied that they would be able to stay here. If they were turned away, where would they go? Matt and Mello needed medical attention now; they didn't have time to dawdle and try to find a new place of refuge. Was everyone from the Yagami family this heartless?

"With all due respect, sir," Lana interjected, the term of endearment feeling strange in her throat, "can't you just treat our friends before throwing us out? I mean, I get that you don't have an obligation to the public or anything—"

"Emerson!" Mogi objected, staring at the scarred woman as though she were crazy.

Soichiro, on the other hand, appeared to be more amused than anything else. "Don't concern yourself about her behavior, sir," he told the burly man. "The young woman is in fact correct—however, she did not allow me to finish my speech." He cast his amused glance in Lana's direction. "I said that we don't have enough space here—which is true. However, there is more than enough space for all of you to stay in the laboratory next door. It's been empty for quite a while now, and I'm certain you would all find the size to your liking."

Lana—and everyone else—was pleasantly surprised by the man's offer. The scarred woman flushed a deep shade of red, embarrassed by her hasty accusation.

"Now, it looks as though two of your friends are in need of urgent medical attention. Bring them to the back room—we have a medical station there."

With a universal sigh of relief—except from L, who merely nodded his head in assent—everyone followed him. Near stayed behind with Matsuda and Misa, setting down the bags that he had been carrying on the sofa. As Itzel and Mogi walked past them with Mello's body, Misa took one look at the burned flesh and let a out loud squeal of fear.

The back room was nothing like Lana had imagined. She was still stuck on the old remnants of society; she had pictured a hospital bed, complete with tubes and overly complicated machines and whatever those weird plastic pans were called. She should have realized that that would be stupid, considering how they weren't even in a real hospital.

Instead, the room looked much like a chemistry lab—or what little she had seen of them from sci-fi shows and movies. There were two lab stations, both stripped completely bare, and a series of assorted bottles, brushes, metal utensils, and packages littered around the room. What they were all for, Lana had no idea.

When all of them entered the large facility, someone was already there. A girl was standing at one of the stations, studiously taking notes while alternating between glances into a microscope. She looked up when everyone came in, seeming to be at a loss for words.

"Get that out of the way, Sayu," Soichiro told her, motioning to the microscope. "We need that space for two patients."

As the brunette did as he said, Soichiro turned back around.

"Set them down on the tables," Soichiro told them. "I'll take care of this boy." He motioned towards Matt. "Sayu will treat him." He gestured to Mello.

Lana and L carefully set Matt down on the table, unhooking his arms from around their necks. The brunette grunted as they did so, uncomfortable with the sudden strain on his abdomen.

"Don't lie down," Soichiro informed him. "Let me look at the wound." He took a pair of small scissors and proceeded to cut off the brunette's shirt. As he did so, Lana suddenly felt a wave of guilt; she didn't want to see the proof of her cowardice stained on Matt's side with blood.

"Will you be okay?" she asked him, and he smirked crookedly at her despite the pain she knew he was in.

"Sure thing," he said. She returned his sentiment with a lopsided grin of her own.

"I'm going to go check on Mello."

Lana waltzed over to the second station, cringing when she saw just how bad the blonde man looked. Half of his face was horribly burned, and the dark-haired woman knew that he would have a scar for the rest of his life—just like her. Though the noxious odor of burnt flesh had died down somewhat, it still made Lana somewhat nauseous. Put simply, the man was in awful shape: his skin was a charred, angry red. His hair on the burned side of his face had been reduced in length, and it was now just above his chin. His arm and leg had also sustained damage; his pant leg had been burned through, leaving welts on the pale skin of his thigh. His arm was in similar shape, if not worse due to the lack of sleeves for protection.

Sayu worked silently as she cut off the rest of his pant leg, exposing his burns to the open air. The young brunette seemed vaguely familiar, but Lana couldn't quite pinpoint where she had seen her before. Was she an apprentice of Soichiro's?

In an effort to distract herself from Mello's disfigured body, the scarred woman asked, "Have we met?"

Sayu glanced at her and shook her head, a small smile on her face. "No. But I'm sure you've seen me before. My father is…well, was pretty well-known. There aren't a lot of people left around nowadays to know."

It took a moment for Sayu's words to sink in, but eventually the scarred woman figured out what she meant. Her face, her stature, even the way she presented herself…

"You're Soichiro's daughter!" she blurted out. "Yeah…I remember seeing you on the news a few times with your father. You look a lot different now, though."

The girl giggled, smiling fondly as she deposited charred cloth in a bin under the lab station "Yeah, well, seven years does a lot to change a twelve-year-old. Besides, I never liked being on camera anyway. My brother was a lot better at that kind of stuff."

The blood in Lana's veins ran cold. So this was Light's sister…how old was she now? Nineteen? Sayu was not much younger than some of the girls at Waterfront had been. The thought of Light using girls just like his little sister in order to turn a profit…it made her sick. She had thought that it was impossible to hate another human being any more than she already did, but once again she had been proven wrong. Still, something that Sayu had said struck her as odd.

"Your brother? As in Police Chief Yagami?"

The brunette nodded. "Yeah. He was kinda like my role model…both he and my dad were. But we haven't seen him at all since Mom died a few years ago…Dad and I both accepted that he's probably passed away by now, otherwise he would've come to see us."

"…Oh. I'm sorry to hear that."

"It's okay…oh no."

"What is it?" Lana asked, not liking the tone of Sayu's voice. "Is it Mello?"

"Don't worry. I'm sure he'll live…but his burns are pretty severe," Sayu told her. However, despite the young girl's assurances, she herself sounded anxious. "The layers of skin that are burned have a higher risk of developing an infection. If we bandage the wound without removing the destroyed skin cells, he could die."

"So that means…"

"That means I have to peel off the burnt skin and clean the wound. All I can do aside from that is hope the burns don't run too deep, or else we would have a problem. He's going to have permanent scars, though. There's nothing I can do about that…"

As Lana watched with horrified eyes, Sayu grabbed an assortment of metal tools from a tray that was sitting on the other side of the room. Among them was a scalpel, a pair of plier-like devices, and some small scissors.

"It's a good thing he's unconscious," Sayu commented, and the scarred woman felt her stomach sink. After all was said and done, the blonde man was probably going to look way worse than her.

"Yeah," was all Lana said in response.

As Sayu set to work on removing Mello's skin, bright red was all that Lana could see. Blood filled her vision, and she inhaled quickly at the morbid sight.

"Lana?" Matt's pained voice called from across the room, pulling the woman out of her momentary trance. "What's wrong with Mello?" The brunette sounded concerned; the dark-haired woman didn't blame him in the slightest. He had every right to be upset—just as he had every right to blame her for what had happened to the both of them. Guilt was a double-edged sword, she thought.

"Hold still, son," she heard Soichiro say from behind her. "I have to remove the knife, and I can't have you moving around."

"Lana," Matt said again, more urgently this time.

Not savoring the very real possibility of her vomiting, the scarred woman went back over to the brunette. When he saw her, his green eyes lightened in relief. It took Lana a moment to realize that L was no longer there; he had probably left Matt's side as soon as he could. She had at least hoped that he would have the decency to stick around and see if the others were okay. I guess I was wrong, as usual.

"Well? Is Mello okay?" Matt asked again, pulling Lana out of her reverie.

The young woman grinned, but the false gesture hurt her cheeks. "He's going to be okay. Sayu just needs to do some work on him…bandage him up. What about you?"

"Well," Soichiro cut in, "the knife would already be out by now if the boy would stop conversing."

Matt looked flushed. "Is this going to hurt really badly?" he asked.

Lana shook her head. "You'll be fine, Matt. Getting stabbed in the eye was a walk in the park for me, so you shouldn't even feel it," she lied. "Just grit your teeth, okay? It'll be over before you know it."

"I know that," he snapped, and Lana was certain that he would have blushed if he hadn't lost so much blood already. Instead, he had a sickly white pallor. "But it hurts like a bitch."

"Hold still, and it will be over sooner, Matt," Soichiro reassured him as he rolled a pair of latex gloves over his hands. "Lana, can you do me a favor, if you wouldn't mind?"

"Sure. What do you want me to do?"

Soichiro handed her a bucket, which the young woman stared at with furrowed brows. But as soon as the older man told her what it was for, she resisted the urge to drop it.

"Hold that beneath his wound," he said. "I want you to try to catch as much of the blood that comes out as possible. We shouldn't waste any of it."

Though the thought made Lana feel ill, she did as he said, and immediately heard the drip, drip sound that accompanied the bleeding wound.

"I'm sorry," Matt said to her as Soichiro placed his hands on the knife.

"For what?" Lana asked in disbelief. "You didn't do anything wrong, Matt." She saw Soichiro counting silently out of the corner of her eye, and against her better judgment, took Matt's hand in her unoccupied one. "Just keep looking at me, okay?"

The brunette took a deep breath, and Soichiro started pulling. Instantly, Matt's hand tightened on her own, almost cutting off the young woman's circulation. She didn't say anything, however; she allowed Matt to squeeze her hand to death, knowing that he was in much more pain than she. Her stomach turned over as she heard the prior dripping of the bucket turn into a steady stream.

There was a grunt of pain, and the sound of metal hitting metal as Soichiro threw the knife onto the metal tray by the station. The older man quickly grabbed a towel and wrapped it around the brunette.

"That's enough, Lana," he said, and the woman set the bucket down. "Lie on your back, Matt. I have to give you stitches now."

Matt did as he said, wincing as he stretched out onto his back. He never let go of Lana's hand.

Soichiro grabbed his tools and went to work, sewing up the long wound with practiced ease. Lana relaxed when she saw Matt's horrid grimacing die back to mild winces; at least he wasn't in so much pain anymore. She couldn't think of one other person who deserved it less, aside from Near. (She had a soft spot for kids, she freely admitted.)

After a few minutes of keeping the brunette company, the scarred woman's attention was called elsewhere by the creeping sensation on her spine. It felt almost as though someone was watching her…

She glanced up at the doorway, only to see L staring back at her with coal-black eyes. His posture was slouched as always, his hands buried in his pockets. He seemed perfectly normal, aside from the fact that he was staring at her with an intensity that she didn't quite understand. Was he upset with her? Did he just not like the fact that she was paying attention to Matt, as he had warned her against some time ago? Or was it something else?

Either way, Lana still found herself wary of the detective's previous actions, as well as his apparent disinterest in taking down B when they had the chance.

So, she thought vindictively, if he was angry that she was with Matt, he could go fuck himself. The brunette was still her friend, even if he wanted her to be more than that. There was no way that she was going to leave him alone when he needed someone to keep him company. His best friend was in mortal danger, and it was partially her fault.

She wouldn't fail him again.

Lana frowned at L, and looked away. Right now, she had more important things to deal with.

L watched her as she purposely ignored him, and raised an eyebrow at her obvious aggression. So she was angry with him, if the glare she sent his way was any indication. She clearly didn't want him to be here. She was focusing all of her attention on Matt, even after L had explicitly warned her against encouraging his advances. Lana had seemed to be receptive to the idea, and gave the impression that she understood the necessity of dispelling the brunette's romantic illusions.

So why was she now acting like a concerned lover? He couldn't comprehend it.

"Ya know, starin' at her won't make her pay attention to ya," an amused voice said from behind him.

The detective turned around to see Itzel standing behind him. The large woman had a knowing smirk on her face, and her arms were folded across her chest in an authoritative manner.

L cocked his head at the brusque woman. "I do not intend to gain her attention," he told her. "I am merely curious as to her motivations. When I am trying to read someone, it helps to look at their facial expressions in order to deduce their point of view."

The Hispanic woman stared at him as though he were speaking Chinese, and sighed dramatically. "Come on," she said, all joking manner pushed aside. She grabbed ahold of his arm and began to drag him away, and L allowed her to; though he was more invested in deciphering Lana's strange behavior, understanding the perspective of the scarred woman's best friend could also be of some help. He might as well go along with it.

Besides, Itzel did not seem like the type of person who took no for an answer.

The large woman brought him farther into the hallway, out of sight of the scarred woman. The pair stared at each other, and L wondered just what she could possibly have to say to him. They had never exchanged more than a few words, after all; the most poignant memory he had of her was back at Waterfront, when she commanded him to save her best friend.

She did not disappoint.

"Ya better quit acting like a dick."

This was unexpected; L's ears perked up. "What do you mean?"

The large woman sighed again. "Are ya sorry?"

"For what?"

"What do ya think? That those two boys in there almost died—still might, unless the Yagamis can patch 'em up."

L pondered the woman's question for a moment, then answered with an inquiry of his own. "Are you?" he asked Itzel, curious as to what she would say.

To his surprise, the Hispanic woman didn't hesitate. "Course I am. Who wouldn't be? So are ya sorry or not? It ain't a hard question."

"No, it is not," the detective said. "Or, at least, it should not be. However, I did allow both Matt and Mello to get hurt in the name of a greater purpose. The proper time to confront B was not in a burning building."

"Bullshit," Itzel said. "I may not a been there, but even I know that line's bull." L raised an eyebrow at the severity of her tone. "Don't try to act like this was some grand plan. Nobody's perfect—not even you. And ya may act like a damn alien sometimes, boy, but yer still human. Ya ain't gonna get everything right all the time."

She is quite persistent. Perhaps she sees more than I think she does. Indeed, she is much more intelligent than I give her credit for. L glanced heavenward, biting on the tip of his thumb. "It is true that the attack was unprecedented. It is possible for me to be caught off guard."

"Mm-hm. So why is girly so pissed at ya, then?"

"Because she most likely blames me—and herself, to some extent—for not taking action against B when we had the chance. And now Matt and Mello are hurt because of it."

"And why didn't ya take action?"

And this, the core of Itzel's question, was where L drew the line between rationality and emotion. Why hadn't he moved when B was at his most vulnerable? (Granted, B's most vulnerable was still quite dangerous.) True, the serial killer would have probably still gotten away, but that didn't mean L couldn't have tried. But no, he was much more methodical than that, right?

Perhaps not—because Lana had wanted to do something. She had wanted to shoot B herself. This would have been the perfect opportunity for a methodical ploy on L's part. While B was distracted by Lana, L could have used that moment of vulnerability to take the serial killer down.

So why hadn't he encouraged her to do it? Why had he stared at her so intensely when she was practically begging him with her eyes to do something? Why had he stood idly by and allowed B's charade to continue? Why had he been so distracted? He wasn't supposed to allow himself to hesitate—he was supposed to take action, regardless of the risks imposed on others. And certainly, he was never supposed to favor one person over another. Lana knew what she had signed up for—so why couldn't L take advantage of that?

"I am having…a difficult time processing the situation," the detective told Itzel, who merely scoffed at his pitiful answer.

"No shit," she said. "It's cause ya feel bad."

"Are you implying that I blame myself for what happened?" he asked, the idea sounding foreign to him. He knew that he hadn't been the one to hurt Matt or Mello…but thinking about the situation still made him highly uncomfortable.

"Yeah—cause ya do. She don't think that, though. I can always tell with her." The large woman started to walk away, but L called her back.

"Tell what?"

Itzel turned back around, the expression on her face incredulous. "For a smart guy, yer kinda stupid, ain'tcha?"

First off, I would just like to reiterate that I am not a doctor. So don't take any medical advice from this story!

Oh, we have a bit of tension between L and Lana right now—and clearly some miscommunication issues as well. If only L were more accustomed to dealing with emotions, then maybe this wouldn't be a problem. But then again, if L were more attuned to people's emotions, he wouldn't be the oddball that we all enjoy from Death Note. So I'm glad he is the way he is. (It also provides me with copious material with which to make a shitload of drama.)

As always, I hope you all liked this chapter, and be sure to drop a review! :)

—Vicious Ventriloquist