EDIT: 13th June 2016
This chapter was posted a couple of weeks before what happened in Orlando, but I've been in two minds whether to remove it temporarily because of some events mentioned in here. It was an upsetting chapter before, including the flippancy of the narration, but even more so in this rawness. The thing is, though, that it was always inappropriate and insensitive and there's a reason for that which is more relevant to me after a certain political wannabe has shown his usual disrespect and twisting of a hate-fuelled attack to fit with his own hateful bias in his campaign. So, I'm leaving this chapter online, but urge readers to use their own judgement about whether to read it or not.
A/N: This follows chapter 41, chronologically.
The Handler
"My supreme idea is to get on. To this idea I shall sacrifice everything... I am prepared to thrust even love itself under the wheels of my juggernaut if it obstructs the way."
~ From a letter from David Lloyd George to his future wife.
As I was driven towards Tokyo, the sunlight faded and died into the darkness, but the ghostly, luciferous blue mist rising above neon lights and billboards created a halo around the city. That's not important but I'm trying to set an atmospheric scene for the sake of the overblown kind of narration that's so fashionable these days. It was starting to get dark at 5pm, basically. Fucking October.
It was only a few hours ago that I'd been looking forward to a quiet night at home with my dear friends to maybe share a bottle of wine and sit on a bag of frozen peas while I caught up on newsworthy events, but then An Important Event! occurred. Since part of my role includes hijacking stories for political kudos whenever possible, I'm being driven to the House so quickly that I might register on meteorological charts as a small dark cloud formation. Sitting in that car, I feel as if everything is finally coming together for me, and about fucking time, I say. So, anticipating a busy night following my busy day, I prepare for anything by misting my face with Shu Uemura's finest when an advertising poster reminded me that I'd bought some. God knows that I needed to. I underestimate how even passably rough sex plays havoc with my skin hydration levels.
My driver — an absolute idiot at the best of times, which is why he's just a driver — puts the radio on without asking my permission. Well, my security guard next to him asked and I said ok, but it's not even the news; it's some sentimental torch song station. I can only stare at the back of their heads until they deform like there are creatures moving under their skin, so I stab my finger at the button on the console for the privacy partition.
Although there's now a barrier between myself and the two cretins, the music seems to be even more cocooned inside with me, which makes it almost impossible to focus on anything useful. In a break between songs, an inappropriately happy broadcaster on the radio talks about a house fire and reports of the discovery of 'two bodies devoid of life'. My mouth becomes dry and rusted. It could be unrelated, it could also be what I'm waiting for, but why only two when I planned for three? Maybe they just haven't found the third yet. Apart from that question, I reacted to the breaking news announcement in a way that I wouldn't have predicted. Suddenly it's true; they are really dead and not stock characters that I've written out of a fictional story. I composed their deaths, cold and determined in my objective, and found a unique satisfaction in apparently being naturally gifted at constructing the ending of lives. I cannot trust a single living person, and even dead ones are suspicious. I'm proud and horrified at myself and what I can do, and realise, maybe for the first time in any seriousness, that I can and will kill anyone to save myself. But I'd be stupid not to, wouldn't I?
Another love song is played. It's very distracting, but I try to turn my mind back towards something that's actually relevant to me. Only L will suspect me of any involvement in what happened today, so I suppose that I'll have to start thinking about how to deal with him now, but… I long for you so much it's maddening. Be with me always, so that we can't be separated… God, it's hard to think with this fucking music going on. My optimal thinking process requires an atmosphere of relative tranquility, fake or not, so thinking might have to wait until I get home. It'd be nice if L would shut the fuck up so we can pretend everything's fine until I'm ready. Like that would ever happen. He's so bitter, envious and self-obsessed that it's impossible for him to be supportive and selflessly happy for me when I deserve it more than anyone. The only thing in his favour is that he could recognise my potential, and I can imagine that feeling superior to someone like me would be a huge turn on to a despicable little fuck like him. It's a shame, really. We might have been happy if it didn't have to end like this… but I'm the most important thing, so never mind.
When my car stops at a traffic light, I notice a woman who's walking on the pavement close to my window. When her long white skirt billows and floats around her legs in the breeze, I imagine her hazy, cloud-like form folding in towards itself, darkening and disappearing like petals being incinerated. No, I saw it happen, but I couldn't have. I dip my head towards my lap to pinch the bridge of my nose until I'm convinced that I neither imagined or saw her. I made this isolation tank for myself but now the air is so close that loosening the knot of my tie will not fucking help. It never helps, it'll just make me look like a trainee bank manager ordering a kebab on a Friday night, so I fix it and make it tighter than it was before. A baby cries so loud that it sounds like it's from inside the car. It sounds like shattering glass. I think it's Kira, but, no; he's too old now and he's at the Kantei, not in this car or in the middle of the city. Even so, I look out the window again instead of at the papers on my lap, and catch a glimpse of a woman in white on the pavement, holding a baby. Both of them look like they can see me through the darkened glass, and a pain splits through my head, forcing me to close my eyes. A hard thud hits against my window, but there's no one there when I look up. It's just a torment to stop me from resting even for a moment. I don't know what's wrong with me, there's something wrong with me. B dosed me, he must have.
The car is moving again towards the next traffic light because they never end. Starting and stopping, held up, diversions, red lights for what seems like a lifetime and for no particular reason. Signs say 'men at work' with no men to be seen and no work either. Excuses. The air smells of Kiyomi. It smells of Shiori. It smells putrid like menstrual blood while I'm stuck in this glass case within a metal coffin. I can't breathe in here but the windows won't open because it's a security hazard. I want to either look everywhere around me in panic or hide in the footwell and cover my head, so I call the talking clock for a distraction instead. At the tone, the time will be… until the placid voice and beeps become increasingly faint and I can't hear them anymore. I'm not worried about that, though, because I don't feel like I'm alone here anymore. Someone is sitting next to me.
My eyes are drawn towards the seat to my left and lock onto charcoal trousers clinging to familiar legs, a suit and body which are drenched with water, and a downcast face that's peaceful and shadowed. I lower the phone when I see that not only has he appeared out of nowhere, but that he looks like he's only restrained by the barest hold of gravity. His clothes and hair move symphonically and silvered as if underwater, like I'd dreamt him to be in the indigo lake that I thought had killed him. I reach my hand towards his face, but before I can touch him, he raises his head slowly and opens his eyes to smile at me. Everything about him is gentle but there's a bitter pain to it, because I'd love for him to look at me like that again, even though it's only another lie. I've never been able to believe in anything he says or does because his soul is as dark as his eyes, but my soul is just as dark now.
His hand holding my hand is a jigsaw of discoloured skin stretched over his bones with leather stitches like fat, dark maggots binding the pieces together, and I hold it against my mouth so I can kiss his fingers. His face is icy cold and drained of all colour, his fingernails are a blackened purple, stained by dead blood underneath. His veins could be full of formaldehyde, but this mirage still makes my heart slow to a sleeping beat. Whether it's the idea of him or my ideal of him or of what he once was to me or one second which cored me, I am and I think always will be in love with him. All these things I've done mean nothing when he consumes the worth of anything else, and I realise that he still will even after he's dead. If only he had died that day. I loved him more for every minute of his absence when he wasn't there to ruin it.
Something suddenly pounds against my side of the car and I jerk away from it, towards L, turning to see two palms slammed flat against the window nearest to me. Shiori's drained face screams like a high-pitched howling wind, leaving no breath but a fine mist of blood on the glass. Her dark, open mouth stretches so wide that it looks like her jaw has dislocated, and her eyes are a misted and glassy pale blue with no pupil. She claws at my window, streaking blood down the glass. I look towards the driver and guard in the front seats, amazed that they haven't noticed what's happening, and during that time, she has disappeared along with any trace of her or L. I know that she wasn't ever there at all and neither was he. None of this happened, but who's to say that it didn't if I experienced it?
So. I take my place in my seat again, only looking straight ahead until I can leave the car. I don't turn back towards where L was, because I know that someone else has taken his place in the car beside me; drenched with blood instead of water, and looking at me like she hates me. It was me who took her life.
The drive to the House from there on passed from that ridiculous turmoil to something like excitement when the gates swung open. After my car drew up outside, a legion of aides swarmed around me when I walked through the pale lobby, and the news was broken to me in full. Several people were guardians of different pieces of information which were whispered into my ears for me to assemble like a puzzle. Made breathless by unnecessary details which built a powerful image in my head — like a film shot through a blood-spattered filter — I must have appeared so sickened by it that I was offered a glass of water by an aide. I've grown sensitive to bad news even if it's good news, it seems. My stomach turned, my heart raced, I asked for a white wine spritzer instead.
To summarise, it's thought that Tsukino brutally murdered two people in his home this afternoon while I was engaged in some brutal intercourse of my own. Cadavers shook from bullets like the intense full-body shaking orgasms that I've almost grown accustomed to, and souls soared simultaneously. Someone walked in on him in the middle of his massacre, the police were called, and Tsukino tried to set himself and the house on fire in the meantime. It was assumed that the victims were his wife, because that would be understandable for any man who has one, and the Deputy Leader of the Opposition, Sakurada, since no one could contact him and his car is apparently parked outside Tsukino's house. Truly, I couldn't have asked for more. Along with it being an excellent opportunity for me to reassert my electability while also ridding me of my main opposition, the press will be praising the 'if it bleeds, it leads' commandment. It's very sad, and I'm devastated, obviously. My thoughts and prayers are with the family and friends of those killed, and not forgetting the responding emergency services. It must be quite a mess in there.
Within the House, the rumour mill started turning quickly, and soon there was talk of a scandalous thread on an aides' forum which may have precipitated this unfortunate tragedy. All this was purely speculative though, and while I may listen to it intently, I passionately disapprove of gossip, no matter how lurid, revolting and accurate it is. I was as disgusted as anyone could pretend to be, so I quickly changed my suit for one I bought in advance for the occasion. It's by an up-and-coming designer who made me a sombre but hopeful suit full of subtleties and which only needed minor alterations. Quite inspiring, actually: me in this suit, and not least because of the exceptionally fashion-forward narrow peak lapels. The day I forget to give myself a second look when I walk past a mirror or reflective surface will be the day I'm certified blind.
Anyway, while I was waiting for the Chief of the NPA to arrive for a chat, I was conscious of the growing crowd of press at the bottom steps of the House. No information had officially been released at that point, so it's safe to assume that the police blabbed for a few Danish pastries and a bubble tea, as I'd expected. People carriers obstructing the road is always a good indication of how big a story will turn out to be and how much coverage I'll get. I thought to myself that I could do with a few politicians on hand to act as solidarity staging for the imminent photo opportunity. The problem was that, apart from myself, the sole minister in the building was the Head of Gender Equality: a ministry so boring and pointless that no one really knows or cares about it. I suppose that I should have chosen a female minister for that department, since they account for most of the whining about gender issues. The thing is, the few there are have to go into more prominent positions for the sake of diversity or representation or something; I can't remember now, it's just a thing I'm trying out. Something will have to be done about the ratio of penises to vaginas in this place soon, but it can wait until the run-up to the next election. In any case, Gender Equality was no use to me, whatever genitals they had. I needed Cabinet Ministers. I needed an ambassador of sorts from the Reds to stand next to me, maybe wipe a tear and applaud my speech to show the electorate how I've unified all parties in the face of adversity. I needed props, so I sent a few aides to trawl the local bars and restaurants to round the bastards up.
Once the Chief had arrived, he confirmed that Tsukino's victims were thought to be his wife and his deputy. This shocked me so much that I had to sit down even though I was already sitting. He patted my back in a gorilla-like way and got me a glass of water to sip through the trauma. It calmed a bubbling feeling in my chest which could have been horror, laughter or indigestion, so I recovered quickly enough.
After telling the Chief about Tsukino's strange behaviour that day, I asked if there was any way to find out who posted the defamatory poison on the internet. I'm glad that I mentioned it, because he didn't know about the forum posts when it was critical that he did. A long phone call later, he told me that the experts were currently working on it, but it appeared that whoever started the thread used a maze of proxies and firewalls to such effect that it's only been seen coming from top hackers. Damn straight. Needless to say that I have no idea what a proxy or firewall is and neither did the Chief, unsurprisingly, so we laboriously googled it and were still none the wiser. I used a Linux live CD on a dead man's laptop to run a bare bones browser through a proxychain and Amnesic Incognito Live System routed through Tor to make those forum posts, but I humbly admit to him that I'm a luddite when it comes to computers.
Since he seemed eager to go to bed, I invited him to help himself to my second-best whiskey while he shot questions at me to round things up. He asked me whether Sakurada was known to have any knowledge of 'computery' things. I told the truth, in that I believe Sakurada had a programmy computery company before entering politics like a throbbing cock with a smile. It is a possibility that he had something to do with that thread, but I really couldn't say. I casually pointed out the age gap between Tsukino and his wife, how the relationship was arguably incestuous, how his first wife pressed charges against him for assault and battery, how he had several rifles and hunting paraphernalia that I know of, and how I once saw a wild boar in the boot of his car with its head cut right off, I couldn't believe it. There were rumours in the House about Tsukino's controlling, violent nature leading to some instability in his marriage, and I might have drawn attention to Sakurada's playboy reputation. The Chief frowned throughout and closed his notebook like he'd just solved the case. As a good citizen, I'm glad to be of service if I can help an investigation in any way.
I am all amazement, thinking of Tsukino being raving mad in a burns unit with his wife's blood trailing behind him, and now at how the police suspect that Sakurada was involved. It's hard to comprehend, but I cope. Despite what Tsukino's done, I hope he pulls through. I can't think of a greater suffering for him than having to live and realise that the only bad thing that Shiori and Sakurada ever did in their lives was to meet him. Sometimes you meet someone and know they're either going to change your life or end it. How happy we might all have been if we'd never met those who'll be the death of us.
After the Chief left to find a drive-thru somewhere, I remembered that I have a new pair of shoes from Italy which I had delivered yesterday. On lifting the lid, a Pandora's box of polished leather and brogueing is revealed, encased lovingly in a tissue-lined nest. It's so enrapturing that I almost didn't notice my door open to let Mikami inside without etiquette. He looks chicly windblown, as usual. A theme of his life seems to be that the weather is determined to unleash its worst on him.
"Ah, Mikami," I say, gasping as my foot slides into my shoe like it's lubed. "I thought that you were out of town tonight. Thank you for coming."
"You make it sound like a party," he says, throwing his coat on my leather Chesterfield before throwing himself on it as well. I'm trying to decide at what point I should stamp my authority down, when there's a gentle knock on the open door, followed Kiyomi's face appearing around it looking like she thought that she might catch me out in doing something perverted.
"Kiyomi," I say, stunning her by remembering who she is and also by standing up for a lady because that shit has been drilled into me. She loves it and tries to hide how pathetically happy she is.
"Light," she replies huskily. "Oh, hello, Mikami," she adds upon noticing him, and her whole demeanour changes to something more solemnly businesslike. "Light, I just wanted to let you know that I'm here."
"I appreciate it," I tell her. Well, this is awkward. She must have broken off in the middle of a hairdressing appointment, because her hair looks wet and slick against her head like… well, like L, actually.
"Ok. Then. Good luck," she says sadly, starting to close the door. I impetuously call her back without having a good enough reason to except for the seed of an idea I haven't fully planned out yet, but why do tomorrow what you can do today? She peers back around looking hopeful but holding the door in front of her like a shield. Her eyes are dead focused on mine and I struggle to find a reason to offer her.
"Is this a new look?" I ask her, gesturing towards her and then to my hair, smiling reassuringly. "It's nice." It's weird as fuck in reality, but it wouldn't help me to ignore such a dramatic change which is obviously intended for me to notice and admire. She blushes as much as a woman her age is capable of before the menopause kicks in, and opens the door a little wider so I can see her black trouser suit teamed with a deeply cut white shirt. It's the 'Le Smoking' trouser suit by Yves Saint Laurent, I think, and original if I know Kiyomi, because she's never been one for knock-offs. I blink a few times and my mouth gapes open a little, while Mikami breathes out an "you can't be serious!" when he must catch sight of her. Yes, she's definitely trying to say something.
"I just threw it on when I was called in," she lies self-consciously, since her makeup alone probably took at least 2 hours. I have a feeling that I caught her trying out a cosplay. "Anything else?"
"Oh, yes, I wanted to ask you something," I say, trying to think of what that might be. I see Mikami's head turn towards me cynically out of the corner of my eye but I ignore him. "It might be better left to another time to discuss it. It seems inappropriate to mention it now, after what happened tonight."
"Yes, it's awful from what I've heard," she says. Her eye contact is so intense that I might need some eye packs after this to reduce swelling if I'm going to keep up with her. "Are the rumours true?" she asks, not sounding or looking vaguely interested.
"If the rumours involve murder then, yes," I tell her. "It's terrible."
"Oh, I am sorry, how tragic."
"Yes, at times like this it's difficult to reconcile the unfairness of how quickly life can be snatched away by one evil act. We can only let their deaths not be in vain by strengthening our awareness of domestic violence, promoting anger management therapy and tightening gun laws to prevent a tragedy like this from happening again on our shores."
"Oh, that's good, you should use that in your speech," she nods. I nod. "I'm heartbroken and my thoughts go out to the families, but what were you going to say?" she presses. Fuck, I don't know.
"Just that I might need to postpone the school visit with you and Kira on Monday," I decide. Yes, good one.
"Oh," she sighs. "He'll be disappointed but I'm sure he'll understand."
She begins to close the door again, but with the attitude of a kicked puppy. I need to think of something better.
"I'll call him to tell him myself," I add, which draws her back. "Once he hears about the details of this tragedy and the importance of my campaign then he'll understand."
"He won't understand that, Light, he's only a child," she tells me. "You can't talk to him about election campaigns and mass murder. I have enough trouble getting him to sleep as it is."
"I see what you mean," I say. "Then I'll just -"
"Leave it to me, I'll talk to him."
"Thank you," I bow gratefully, but again she starts closing the door behind her, so I suddenly land on something she'll like. "Kiyomi? I want to give you Gender Equality."
"About time," she smiles snidely. Oh, give me a break, woman.
"I mean that, and this is premature, but in the event that I win the election and you keep your seat, there'll be a reshuffle. I was hoping that you'd consider being the Head of the Gender Equality Department."
"There's a Gender Equality Department?" she asks.
"Apparently," I answer. "I thought that you'd be the best choice to make some impact in that role and let people know that, you know, that it exists."
"But what about when you told me that you couldn't give me a department because you'd be accused of nepotism?"
"Hahahaha, yes, well, let them accuse me. I know that you'll prove to them that your appointment is based solely on your capability... even though I might be slightly biased," I smile with an attractive degree of shyness. She always responded to that if it was well-timed, and I'm always well-timed. "So, we should discuss it, if you'd like?"
"Yes, I'd like that, thank you," she says, coming a little further into the room, smiling towards the floor. L has never been this easy. "Oh, Light," she laughs affectionately, "your shoelaces are undone."
"Oh. Yeah," I agree with a soft laugh to match her tone. Yeah, I'm cutely quirky and can't even tie my own laces without a strong woman behind me, whatever you want.
"New shoes?" she asks.
"Yes."
"Very smart," she says, which somehow makes me want to throw them away. She appears to fight with something but must decide to just give up, because she comes out with the closest you can get to a come on between a couple going through a divorce. "You know that you're welcome to come over any time. Stay over, anytime. Kira would love to see you, and it might do you good to have a break. We'd both love to see you."
"Thank you. That would be nice," I reply with a small bow. Good of her, considering that the Kantei is my official residence and she's living there rent-free. "And thank you for your support."
"You're still my husband and I'm still the First Lady. It's my job to support you, and I've always taken both of those roles very seriously," she says like she's rattling off her personal statement as a reason for me to hire her. I smile again, and though I feel like I'm getting lockjaw from all this smiling, it's not all pretence. Sometimes it's a relief not having to work so hard to put plans in action.
"God, will you two just go out for dinner or something?" Mikami groans loudly. Both Kiyomi and I turn to look at him lying on my couch and spouting at the ceiling. "Have a date, have a fuck and kick out the lawyer, but in your own time, yeah? Some of us are here against our will because some fucker just killed some people, not to listen to you two play verbal footsie under the table."
I'm shocked, not least because he referred to L, but because he's so disrespectful when he would ordinarily kept his mouth shut or excused himself. The door clicks shut, so that's Kiyomi gone. I glare at the cause.
"This must be so inconvenient for you, Mikami," I snap at him.
"You're telling me," he replies, tucking his hands under his neck and stretching out. "Naomi and I were going away for the weekend but my new PA is too shitting competent. No matter how many phone calls I ignored, she just wouldn't give up and dragged me in on your orders, apparently."
"It's unfortunate that it ruined your plans but part of our work here is responding to unforeseen events like this. I thought that you'd know that by now," I say, which is very restrained. If I called him in here for any reason, like to make me a fucking coffee and hum the top 50 singles chart from 1973 in the middle of the night, then he should do it. "I didn't specifically ask for you, but I need as big a turnout here as possible."
"I told her that you didn't need me," he says bitterly, but I won't respond to the embarrassing cry for attention and he moves on. "Anyway, you got your wish: it's a thoroughfare outside. I haven't seen so many MPs in one place since the vote about whether we should accept the 10% pay-rise."
"You sound very disillusioned with politics today."
"Not just today" he sighs. "No, they were good times; when we used to be able to vote on our own wages."
"It's more appropriate that it's decided by an independent body," I remind him robotically, because that's my official view and should be his also.
"It was just one of the many quirks about politics when we voted on it, Yagami. Only a dodgy bastard who'd hooked up with some rich fuck and was getting money under the table would ever say: 'Oh no, I couldn't possibly accept a pay rise. Let it be distributed among the needy,'" he says with a dramatic sweep of a limp hand, holding it in mid-air and grinning when he appears to remember something. "Oh, wait. You say something like that, don't you."
I feel my face set into some kind of death mask before I look directly at him and reveal it. I don't know where this has come from, but he's been distant with me since I left Kiyomi and long before. He seems to be expecting and wanting me to throw home truths back at him, but if I started then I probably wouldn't run out of things to say until next week, so I smile like a bird just shat on me but I didn't notice.
"Would you like a drink?" I ask.
"I wouldn't say no," he replies.
"You never do," I mutter. "Help yourself." And he does. Meanwhile, my disappointment in these shoes escalates when I try to flex my foot inside what feels like a concrete block. "God, these shoes were supposed to be broken in."
"Don't you just hate that when you thought you were getting something special but it turns out to not to be what you thought it was. Life's such a struggle," Mikami says in his decidedly bitchy tone. I preferred him when he was pliable, snorting coke all day. "Well, this is unexpected, isn't it? Who'd think that Tsukino would go all Battle Royale right before an election he had a chance of winning? If it was any other time i wouldn't be all that surprised, but this doesn't seem like the best campaign strategy I've ever heard of. "
"It is quite extreme," I admit disinterestedly, trying to avoid the subject altogether. "Who else is outside? Any Cabinet Ministers."
"I don't know, I saw a few."
"Yes, but which departments?"
"Why does it matter?"
"We have to have a meeting," I explain, though I shouldn't need to. "And I might need a few ministers present for the statement," I add quietly when he goes back to pouring himself a whiskey.
"You're giving a public statement tonight? Surely we're not all going to speak."
"No, but it'll be expected that a few of you are there when I speak on behalf of you."
"Oh yeah, the old publicity machine is still in full force, I forgot. Best make the most of the situation. The fire's spread to a church nearby, by the way. You might want to add some message of condolence to Christians who'll need to find somewhere else to pray," he says. That's not a bad idea, actually. He suddenly clutches the Chief's unfinished glass of whiskey from the table like a bear catching salmon. "Oh, someone didn't finish their whiskey. Spoken to the Chief already, have you? Well, waste not, want not," he says, knocking it back. That's disgusting but I'm more concerned by his sarcastic attitude and disregard of my status.
"Do you have a problem, Mikami? I apologise that you've been pulled away from your dirty weekend."
"Not at all," he smiles on his way to the couch again. "I have no problem with being window dressing for a speech by the captain of the team."
Now, why would someone make it so obvious that they don't respect me if they're not stupid? Mikami, for all his faults, is not stupid. I would have said that he was the most faithful and useful among my ministers, especially after my forgiveness and finding him a safe seat to win and a job when no one else would, but now I wouldn't trust him to hoover my floor. He doesn't ask my permission if he can smoke in my office, but he offers me one which I decline in favour of leaning down to lace my shoes. As I calmly loop the leather cords, I think of the obvious conclusion that I should have: those I cannot trust can only be liquidated, so it looks like I'll have to do a lot of liquidating.
"Multiples of three look best in lineups," I tell him. "I was hoping for six Cabinet Ministers for the backdrop, and I was only going to ask you if there was no one more suitable. What with your reputation being, should we say, shaky?" I say with a final pull on the knot of a shoelace.
When I look up at him, he watches me light one of my own cigarettes but has no expression on his face. Only an almost undetectable flaring of his nostrils give his true feelings away.
"I understand," he says slowly, though I doubt that he does. After another moment of silent contemplation of each other, I walk to my dresser to choose final touches. "So, what did you talk to Tsukino about when he was in your office this afternoon?" he asks.
"I hardly know. He was a babbling mess; you saw him," I reply, looking over the selection of cufflinks I keep here like a drawer in a jewellers. "All I made out was something about his wife and how he thought Sakurada was plotting against him, and he made me call some cheap hotel in who knows where for him. Then he left. I thought something didn't seem quite right with him but with Tsukino it's hard to tell because he's never seems right," I say, tapping my fingertips against my head. "I talked with my secretary about whether I should put a call through to his office to see how he was. You can ask her if you want."
"Why would I need to do that? Your word is good enough for me, surely? Anyway, she told me before I left that you were very concerned about him. It got me thinking. Is it true that his wife was called Shiori?"
I release a shallow breath and fasten my cufflinks, looking in the mirror and holding my hands near to my face to see how my rose gold cufflinks compare to my skin tone. It compliments the youthful flush of colour in my cheeks which I slapped myself to achieve earlier on, but I don't wish it to be exaggerated. And while trying to make a decision, I catch a glimpse of a hulking dark shape in the mirror's reflection. For that split second, it looked as if something was walking in the room, blurred and juddering like footage from an old VHS tape. I turn quickly to look behind me, but Mikami is still sitting on the couch at the other side of the room and there's no one else here with us. Somehow these occurrences don't cause me any panic and never have to any great extent. It's become normality for me, and is only unsettling for the threat that it would try to interact with me while another person was present. Any panic is momentary, though, because of how fucked off I am with Mikami.
"I don't know his wife," I say.
"You know everyone. You make it your business to," he replies, making me turn to look at him. That might be true but who the hell is he to tell me who I know and don't know and what my business is? What a fucking nerve.
"That's simply not true, Mikami," I enunciate, clearly enough just in case he has trouble understanding me. "If I met her, I forgot her. Her name could be Ricardo for all I know."
"She was a mousey little thing. We all laughed about how they probably had twin beds. You wouldn't forget her. Like I wouldn't forget that she had the same name as my ex-wife."
"Are you sure about that?"
"Absolutely."
"Well, maybe that is her name, but I don't see what difference that would make."
"Let me help you with the issue here. Why did you call me in and ask me about Shiori?"
"Oh, that. Ok, yes, I can understand why you'd want to know that," I say, turning around. "It's not my place to tell you this and I don't want it going any further than between us and the NPA, but Tsukino was upset and confided in me that he suspected his wife of infidelity. I called you in to give him an example and show him that in comparison to Shiori, he had nothing to worry about. Look at you; you're fine. People play away games occasionally, we all know that, and that's all I was trying to point out to him. If his wife is a Shiori then it has no importance at all, and if you think that I was trying to make him think that you were talking about his wife then that's ridiculous. He knew that I was talking about your ex-wife."
"With the greatest respect, Yagami, that's bullshit," he tells me. And that's the end of him. I return his stare defiantly, and it could well have continued for a long time if the door didn't open when it does.
Touta's face peaks around the edge of the door, and both Mikami and I groan loudly. Touta must be used to this and may take it for a sigh of relief, because he walks in smiling.
"Matsuda, don't you know that you should knock before walking into the Prime Minister's office?" Mikami says without looking at him. The irony is that that's exactly what Mikami did.
"Oh," Touta says, walks back outside, knocks on the door timidly and looks at me. "Is it true, Light?"
"It depends on what you're referring to," I reply, straightening my already straight tie in the mirror.
"They're saying that Tsukino chopped his wife up into tiny pieces and made a spit roast out of her. And Sakurada, too."
"No, Matsuda, they're not saying that," Mikami sighs a world of sighs. "They're only saying that to you because you'll believe anything."
"What? Why do people keep doing this to me? I'm not stupid! I was accepted into the NPA, and they don't accept idiots."
"That's a matter of opinion," Mikami mumbles as he drinks so that the words create a hollow echo in his glass.
"Sayu says that it's because of my horoscope. I'm too trusting and people take advantage of me," Touta says while looking at me for a reaction shot. I tilt my head to one side and smile in empathy. Being cursed with a bad horoscope sign must indeed be a terrible cross to bear. "Why would they say that Tsukino killed his wife and Sakurada, though?" he says. "That's not funny."
"Oh, no, that part was true," Mikami explains. "The particulars were a lie."
"I don't understand," Touta says, and he really doesn't, so I tilt my head a little more. If this carries on I'll look like I have a broken neck and might pull a muscle, so I give him a mint from the compliments bowl on my desk to take his mind off Mikami's exasperated swearing instead.
"Fuck's sake. He killed his wife, he just didn't chop her up and roast her," Mikami tells him.
"But Sakurada's ok?" Touta asks.
"No, he's dead, too," is the answer, but Touta looks so unashamedly shocked that I freestyle a comforting manoeuvre I only employ on rare occasions. I put my hand on his shoulder.
"As I just said to Mikami, we don't know the details yet, so we shouldn't speculate," I tell him slowly and clearly.
"You know the details, Yagami. You've spoken to the Chief," Mikami caws from his too relaxed, resplendent pose on my couch.
"Yes, and you didn't, so you don't know anything. I'll discuss what was said in the Cabinet meeting but not before," I reply. "Touta will hear about it on the news after I speak to the press. We'll all go to bed with the basic facts, gentlemen."
"But has he or hasn't he killed them?" Touta asks, big eyed and bizarrely similar to a baby lemur in a cheap suit. "You can tell us, Light. We're your friends, and friends don't keep secrets. Did he chop them up? God, I thought it sounded weird when they said that he'd made a spit roast out his wife. I mean, you can't chop someone up and make a spit roast out of them. The whole idea of a spit roast is that the body is in one piece. What they described would make her more suited to being pan fried, isn't that true, Light? I knew something smelt fishy."
"Nah, the fishy smell was probably Shiori on the barbeque," Mikami laughs uncontrollably, so I walk away to let them get on with it.
"Shiori?" Touta asks. "Oh my God, how can you think it's funny that Tsukino married your wife and barbequed her?"
"No!" Mikami yelps, flinging his arm against the back of my couch to prop himself up, though he's barely keeping his shit together at this point. "Different Shiori. And he didn't barbeque the other Shiori. And neither of them are my wife."
"But you just said that she was Tsukino's wife, Teru!"
"Yeah that's Tsukino's Shiori! The name's not fucking copyright, you know. She's not my Shiori and neither is my Shiori because I divorced her."
"But…" Touta says, pouting in unending confusion. I haven't got the fucking time for this.
"Sorry to break this up, but nothing's official until I say so. Until then, the only thing that's known for certain is that Tsukino's house is on fire, so let's leave it at that. Touta, if you're still confused tomorrow, I'll get the whiteboard out and draw some diagrams for you, just ask."
"Hmm," Mikami sulks, moulding himself against the couch and staring in front of him with fierce concentration. He's worked it out and he's not going to keep it to himself. He's a problem. Whenever I get rid of one, another always shows up.
"If anyone's dead, it must have been an accident," Touta says, looking to me for confirmation.
"I'm not sure how shooting two people with a rifle, strangling one and beating their heads in could be accidental, but, as we've been told, it's not official yet," Mikami grumbles and broods in the corner. "I have a friend in the NPA," he explains with a grin. His suit is a fucking mess and he's tormented by demons. He needs to be put out of his misery. It's the most merciful thing. If he was in his right mind, he wouldn't want to live like this.
"I'm upset about it, too, Teru," Touta commiserates, "but like Light said, we don't know what's happened yet and we can't believe anything PR says because they're liars. You heard what they told me. I don't believe Tsukino would do something like that. I don't believe anyone could do something like that," he adds, getting quieter and quieter the more he speaks. It's clear that the concept he tries so hard to deny is definitely a possibility. It does happen. It happens too often, and not even his innate and irrepressible positivity can deny that. There's something arresting about his tone when coupled with his expression and body language that I just can't place. His sadness is almost like an invisible mist, but it's his honesty which makes it so magnetic, so I watch him, inspecting him and isolating the elements to see how he makes this work. "Has anyone been able to contact Sakurada?" he glances up at me for a moment, but allows his head to droop again as he vainly clutches at unfeasible excuses. "Maybe he's out of range at the moment. There's bad reception where he lives. I hope he's ok."
"Why are you sad, Touta?" I ask him, and though it seems like a reasonable question to me, he seems surprised by it.
"He's nice," he replies. "He's always been nice when I've seen him. You know; different. And he remembered my name the last time I met him. People don't remember Civil Servants' names these days."
"Did he send you a bottle of wine because you went to his birthday thing?" Mikami calls over, pouring himself another dose of my whiskey. His voice was apparently so unexpected that Touta's head turns towards the sound like he's heard a gunshot in a thicket. "He sent me one too. And not some cheap shit either. That was another weird thing, because why would a Red invite Blues to anything? And why would he invite you? But this isn't something to be sad about if it's true. With him and Tsukino gone, we've won the election, and for the foreseeable future as well." Hold on, 'we'? I've won it and I fucking worked for it. All Mikami's probably done today is sleep through it.
"God, Teru, there's nothing good about this! It's a tragedy," Touta exclaims, bringing my attention back to him and his responses. His emotions are so close to the surface, even this soft anger, that it feels like a rare lesson in subtlety which has been otherwise lost to the ages.
"Yes, Mikami," I say, checking my watch. "And I would have won the election, anyway. Whatever Tsukino's done makes no difference to anything apart from for the Reds. Because, yes, they're done."
"True," he replies. "Tsukino hasn't just taken out a couple of people, he's killed his entire party. Still seems strange to me that he'd do something like this, especially now. Maybe we should ask Lawliet. He might know. We could do with his experience and advice to gain some insight into this and how we should respond. You know, to use it to our advantage for the election. But you seem to have that covered, Yagami," with a sly smile and a quick gulp from his glass. Our eyes lock across the room again, and I'm conscious of my chest filling with air to repress any instincts which aren't advisable in this situation. He's saying that I'm not who he thought I was. He's known it for a long time. He thinks that L has done this on my command, but suspects that what he sees as a weakness of mine is his way into power. He thinks that he's worthy enough now, and I suppose that he thinks that it's only right that he should give me due warning in the hope that I'll just accept defeat and step aside for him. Danger might be dimly flashing in his mind that's marinated in whiskey, but unfortunately he can't stop his judgement of me from being clear. He's just like L and B and everyone else who's stupid enough to think that they know me.
"Maybe it would be a good idea to ask Lawliet," Touta says, shattering the tension in his obliviousness. Every time L's name is mentioned I want to kick someone. He's a non-person in this place and no one should mention his name ever again. "Not that we should use this to our advantage though. That's sick."
"This whole thing is sick," Mikami laughs. "I wonder what made the old boy snap. What were you saying Tsukino was babbling about when you saw him this afternoon, Yagami?"
"You saw Tsukino?" Touta asks me, so along with Mikami's bastard face looking at me, I also have Touta's eternally shocked eyes on me.
"Touta, get a list of the Cabinet Ministers who've signed in at the lobby and bring it to me," I say quickly, and though I sense him leave and that he might even had said something, it's as if it's from inside a box and in a language I don't understand. I stare at Mikami, imagining him being pulled by one leg to hang in the air by an unseen force for me to slit his throat. Today has proven that unbelieving failures are disposable. Everyone is disposable. With my life hangs the future of a new world.
Once Touta leaves, I look to Mikami, who seems to cower beneath the weight of it.
"I meant that Lawliet should be consulted because of his experience and links with PR, clearly," he attempts to backtrack unsuccessfully.
"Of course. Clear as crystal," I say with a completely set face.
"So…. how is he?" he asks. Oh, please.
"The last time I saw him, he was very much alive, thanks for asking. How's Naomi?" I ask in return, smiling when the question makes him flinch. So it's a sore topic. "I haven't seen her since the party at the Kantei."
"She's been busy," he says cautiously.
"With work?
"No, she's taken some time off."
"Is she sick?"
"Nothing serious," he says, starting to edge towards the door. "I better round up the Cabinet for you while-"
"I thought that she might be avoiding me."
"No, nothing like that."
"So it's nothing to do with L then?" I say bluntly. His eyes widen, but I think less from this being news to him, because it's not. It's because I've said it out loud.
"You know how women stick together. She might be trying to support Kiyomi but there's no favouritism, really. It's for Kiyomi's benefit if she's keeping some distance, but she hasn't mentioned anything."
"Mikami," I sigh, "This sudden politeness from you is a nice change, but after all you've said tonight, don't you think that it's rather fake? You've suggested that I was involved in whatever Tsukino did this afternoon and you've more that made me aware of what you think of L. You believe that he had something to do with the deaths here in the government, and I told you then and I'll tell you again that it's impossible."
"I don't know how he did it," he says towards the floor before looking at me directly with a fierceness I wouldn't think he was capable of. "But he did it. I had enough evidence against him to warrant an investigation and you know it."
"Ha, do I now?" I laugh. "Look, it's ok to dislike him and disapprove of my personal choices, but fixating on this crazy idea you have and putting ideas in Naomi's head about Penber is unforgivable. To go against my orders with that report was unforgivable, but I forgave you. I've forgiven you time and time again out of loyalty and all you do is throw it back in my face. Do you think for one minute that anyone else would have made you Minister for Justice and Deputy Leader? With your reputation? And, let's face it, you weren't ever the most outstanding minister. I put my name on the line to support you, but now you're accusing me of all kinds of shit, Mikami. How am I supposed to take that? Naomi, you, me, we've been friends a long time."
"Oh yeah, we've been friends a long time," he smiles off to one side like it's hugely amusing.
"I thought that you knew me well enough to know that I couldn't have anything to do with what happened today, and that I wouldn't associate with a murderer, which is what you're accusing L of being. He left because of you and your insane fucking theories!" I shout suddenly, pointing my finger at him and everything, which takes me by surprise as much as it does him. "But I forgave you," I add, collecting myself. "You have Naomi to thank for that. You should thank Naomi and Kiyomi for making me go against common sense."
"Oh, you mean two women who are in love with you?" he asks, and his eyes hold a peculiar blend of sadness and suicidal bravery at how shocked I must appear. "I know that Naomi loves you," he clarifies. Well, yes, but that's old news and nothing particularly noteworthy.
"As a friend, maybe," I say carefully.
"No, more than a friend. I should now; I'm engaged to her. But, yeah, you're right. I should thank her for fucking you for your forgiveness, because that's what she did," he says like it's a fact, and so convincingly that for a moment I wonder whether it did happen. Then he starts pacing and rambling, which is always a reassuring thing to have going on in your office. "I understand why. You were both close to Penber. You've got that charm thing and you're well-kept. Girls like that. Ha, and men, too, it seems."
"What are you talking about?" I ask quietly. This curve ball came out of left field and smacked me in the back of the head. What has Naomi got to do with anything? I haven't even thought of her for months. I can't be dealing with people's trust problems; I've got enough of my own. Kiyomi and now Mikami have accused me of having an affair with Naomi when I've never had the time or inclination. Apart from, well, post-Penber comfort, but that doesn't count. I was just being friendly.
"Shame that Lawliet's around," he carries on. Can't argue with that. "Kiyomi and Naomi must be devastated. Well, I know that Naomi is. She'd drop me in a second if you told her to. She puts on a good act and she might even think that she loves me, but with a gallery of you and Penber on the wall like some kind of fucking shrine she worships at, I never stood a chance, did I. I mean, she married Jeevas, so she must be desperate. But what's the common factor between me and Jeevas?" he asks, stopping only to catch me checking my watch. "Think about it! Go on!" he says loudly.
"Don't shout at me. Who the fuck do you think you are?" I ask him.
"Just answer me!"
"I don't know. Rehab?" I suggest.
"No. You. She hates Kiyomi, but between me and her, we were a connection to you, weren't we. To keep her in this little... sphere!" he says, waving his arms when he decides on the word 'sphere' and reaching the strangest mania I've ever seen. I haven't seen him much lately, but this sounds like it's been cooking for a while.
"Mikami-"
"It's ok, I know there's nothing going on between you now. You're busy with Lawliet, after all. But since you're so concerned about her, she gave up her job and just paints fucking awful paintings now. Never sells any, never leaves the house. They're just piling up, all these Francis Bacon knock-off canvases of men in suits with no faces. It started when Lawliet came back. Go figure."
"I think that you're reading too much into this," I say calmingly.
"No, I don't think I am. Don't tell me to thank her because she put in a good word and who knows what else so you'd forgive me. Anyway, retrospect is a funny thing, and I know more than most. Now I have some idea of how far you might be willing to go to secure this office and that plaque on your door. You and Lawliet," he says spitefully. I have to admit that I didn't anticipate this. A hundred other things, but not this.
"Well, if that's how you feel then we'll have to talk about your position here as my Deputy," I tell him a few moments later.
"Yes," he nods, but I feel his attitude is regretful, and it's that's slither of regret and ambition that I'll latch onto. With his flapping mouth, he's done himself in, but it'll be on my terms. I can't have my deputy resigning in the aftermath of Tsukino and before an election, and his bitterness may make him talk to the press and anyone who'll listen, especially if he blames me for his relationship problems.
"Mikami… Teru," I sigh, drawing closer to him and trying to assume a comforting and understanding expression rather than the angry one that's trying to force through. "There's never been anything between Naomi and me; not like how you're thinking, I swear to you. Naomi loves you. If there's any truth in these rumours about Tsukino, surely that should be a lesson to you not to let insecurity create jealousy and distrust."
"Yeah," he says, but not in a way that makes me think that he's buying it.
"Is it too late for you to go on that break?"
"Naomi said that she won't go. I said that I was going, anyway."
"Did you have a fight? Did you say to her what you just said to me?"
"Not exactly."
"Good. Maybe it's best to have a break apart so you can think clearly. Think about this. Work it out, see sense, and meet me here on Monday at nine. I can go through every suspicion you have about myself and L, because you know you're wrong, you know it."
"Mmm… but you would say that."
"Because it's the truth," I tell him, then draw away after a moment just to give it a chance to linger in the air. Maybe he'll believe it, maybe not. It doesn't matter much now when it's all going to end the same way. "You're not needed for the press call. You can go, but one last thing: don't make another mistake. You've got a good thing here. Don't ruin this for yourself; not with Naomi, not with your career, not with me. As far as your career goes, the Deputy has a head start in succession as Leader. You don't know how long I'll be around. Someone will have to take my place, and I hope that it'll be you. You won't get another opportunity like this one that I gave to you against everyone's advice; even L's. Don't throw it away."
Whether that statement made any difference remains to be seen, because he just leaves when I walk back towards my mirror. No thank you for taking up so much of my time with offensive accusations, no bow; he just walks out. Fuck him. All the way to Nairobi and back.
As he opens the door, the noise from the department is so loud that it's like a white heat that floods the room for a split second, only to be muffled as soon as the door is closed again. I stare at that door until I feel as if I might see through it, and in that time, I storyboard my ad lib, unfocused plan for what will happen in great detail until I feel so secure in it that it's as though it's already been done. I have created fate today. People have woken up this morning, only to die when I say so. I've created it all, and I've chosen ones to follow. It's strange that I feel less about what is to come than I might have expected, but it's a resolution and necessary. I must see what I have to do as being as simple and redecorating my surroundings and throwing away things which I no longer have a use for, so I adjust quickly once I know that it's for a logical, good cause.
My watch is set to beep at quarter hours, so with fifteen minutes left, I approach my full length mirror. It's been said in periodicals of some note that wherever I go, the air is charged with sex. I try to laugh this off because I prefer to be taken seriously as an sex icon, but occasionally I get a shock from it myself. I'd definitely do me, but in a respectful way, and that's saying something because I'm very hard to impress. However, the occasion doesn't call for radiance at this time. I have to throw some camouflage over this glow.
I concentrate on different areas of my face, trying to make the muscles mimic Touta's expression from before. I have a brief flash of admiration for him for performing this so easily, because it turns out to be more complicated than you'd think. When broken down, if one element isn't pitched perfectly, the overall appearance can look overwrought, unnatural or more suggestive of someone suffering from sciatica. I've found that the key is always in the eyes, so all of my attention goes into making them look as shiny as possible. This is best done by not blinking for as long as necessary and being careful to stop before it looks over the top, like when choosing the moment to use windscreen wipers on a car. The eyebrows are ever so minutely raised in the inner corners, but less pronounced than when 'disgusted' or 'quizzical,' because that's not what I'm aiming for here, obviously.
After building up the individual expressive components which make up this look, with all things combined, it makes my top lids look slightly puffy, as if gorged with emotion. I've identified that apart from my brow, my whole face must be slack, but I spend time trying to find the appropriate level of how upset I should appear to be, because I must avoid looking suspiciously emotional. This takes the most time, but when I'm pleased enough with the outcome, I cough, glance down, look back at myself and say quietly in perfect imitation: "There's bad reception where he lives. I hope he's ok."
Though I'd suffered a setback in the form of Mikami, I felt optimistic and in an excellent frame of mind for the emergency Cabinet meeting which followed. As you'd expect, a cover-up of sorts was actioned immediately. Disregarding standard protocol, I'd invited members of the Shadow Cabinet to sit in and contribute their pale with shock faces, and at the end of it, it was decided that though everyone knows that it's pointless, the election will go ahead. The consensus was that we might as well see it through, considering how much money has been spent on campaigning and sending out postal votes already. The man I expected to succeed Tsukino has unofficially stepped into his shoes. He's even more repulsive to look at than his predecessor, and has a strange twitch in one of his eyes which makes him appear to be a psychopath at breaking point. The Reds must know that their best chance of ever defeating me went up in smoke with the Tsukino house, and added to that, I'm suddenly the only one who can save us again. It's exactly what I needed to lift myself back up from L's squalid perversion and corruption of my reputation. I feel the forgiveness for my personal crime flow in waves, so along with Tsukino, I doubt that L will be spoken of here again either. In politics, problems which can't be easily and inexpensively solved are best ignored, so for all intents and purposes, L will just be a stain which people will step over and avoid, pretending he isn't there.
After the meeting, I watch them all walk out with the absolute knowledge that I've as good as won this farce of an election. Granted, I made an error of judgement in allowing my political sanctity to be compromised by a lawyer with a moral deficit, but I stopped short of killing my wife and that must count for something. However, in these days when a politician can be ousted on his regrettable taste in shirts, I am still disgraced, no matter how much I deny it. Officials such as me hang from the thread of public opinion. We're expected to resign for the sake of honour like a modern Bushido, and smaller parties deadlock the government until they do. I'm expected to resign and have been for some time because of L, and though tainted, I'm an exception in that my popularity has remained fairly high despite L's best efforts to fuck it up. I can recover whatever I may have temporarily lost.
Years ago, I read a political think tank report which suggested that an adverse event would be beneficial in creating a dominant force, leading to world peace under that country's domination. It was critiqued as being a rallying cry for a neoconservative, New World Order, hegemonic, Orwellian nightmare, and rightly so. It would be a horrendous misuse of power by anyone else, but I found it quite influential all the same. It makes sense to me to exploit Tsukinogate in every way possible, including burying some of my recent bad news and lessening the impact of any to come. My job is to be the only person anyone could ever consider voting for until the end of fucking time. To do that, I need to dictate what should be thought in a caring and suggestive manner so that everyone accepts it as common sense and thinks that they came to that conclusion themselves.
Most Japanese Prime Ministers lasted a year in this political theatre of constant reshuffles and resigning leaders, plunging the country into a crisis of some sort to avoid foreign pressure for Japan to take on unwanted policies. That is, until The Lady, who wouldn't let her iron grip loosen on the balls of this country. Of course, she was dramatically booted through sinister means in the end also, and that was useful, but I don't intend to let L or anyone else do the same to me. I'll fight for this through orchestration and win, because if I ever leave this sorry state then it'll be because I choose to. Maybe my leaving would be what it'd take for them to truly realise that I'm the best thing that ever happened. It's like what L said to me once: that I'd realise how much he meant to me when he was gone. I know now that he was right, but no one likes a smartarse.
It's pitch-dark and starless by the time I give a statement to the press outside the House. I pause during my speech when my heart pounds against my chest, because I see the even darker silhouette of the Shinigami sitting on the top of a streetlamp, backlit by the moon. He swings his dangling legs happily, like a charcoal sketch of a rickety, grotesque overgrown child on a tall chair.
Then I realise. Ryuk said: 'There,' and I'm standing exactly where he'd pointed. My muscles feel like tightly strung cables while I try to see the faces in the crowd. I look for someone who could be an assassin, but I can't make anything out because of the blinding lights in my face as cameras take a thousand photographs over the few seconds. The vulnerability is something I've never experienced before — not quite like this. I regret how my guards might be too far away to throw themselves in front of me, and how kevlar vests are too conspicuous for me to wear under my style of suiting. I regret a multitude of stupid things, including how any of them could be my last thoughts. The most desperate sadness would be to die regretting anything, and for a moment I regret everything.
I anticipate death, being not at all ready to make my peace with anything because I'm so fucking angry that I practically deny the concept of it being an ending, but nothing happens. Ryuk spreads his wings of thin, charred skin stretched over a framework, and flies away, hulking and graceless. As though I was hypnotised only by seeing him, I immediately collect myself and continue from where I left off like there was no pause. At my side is Tsukino's successor, who nods along with every saddened and heartfelt word I have to say as though he's a puppet moved by the strings of my will.
When I'm finished, I'm guided through the crowd in a zig-zagging scenic route towards my car. Journalists shout questions and stick microphones in my face while I'm hurried on by some heavily-set guards. There's something dreamlike and slowed down about when I'm the most special, the most adored, though I can't be seen to enjoy it. I'm reminded of how I can imprison people without them realising they're held. I'll pass through the sacred corridors as the monarch of righteousness and stability, chosen by the people and sanctified to do what's right. I am the star which people use to navigate their course through life and moral dilemmas, and soon, they won't be able to contemplate a world without me.
Solemn and pained with a duteous burden which is too much for one man, but beautiful with it, I lower my head so my hair hangs over my face, hiding my smile in a shadow I cast myself. I've spent my life hiding in plain view. What makes a good man is no formula of insipid, civilised attributes, but one who lives and fights with the darkness within him, only a hair's breadth away from being the most savage of murderers. Through reining it, he sacrifices himself for others. That's who I am, and no one will ever know it because it would destroy the illusion that I walk among them. There is no right or wrong for me. I am the definition of what is right, so how could I ever be wrong when it's impossible for me to make a mistake? I don't feel guilt. There's nothing I can be guilty of. Evil as a definition can only be applied to people; not gods. All gods have to do evil things if they're judged by those same simple standards. I'm no different.
The scent of stale blood is like incense in the air which coats my skin and lungs. I can taste it, I can smell it, I can almost feel it drying and cracking between the webs of my fingers. I feel like I've just woken, having slept for too long. Sounds are deadened as if heard through a wall. I'm dampened by tiredness but sensations linger like a kiss of acid, and burn.
Once my car pulls up outside my house, it looks as if only one lamp has been left on to make it look occupied to deter burglars, but I'm confronted with L and the bitter scent of tobacco as soon as I walk through the door. There's no sign of the love that I saw on his face in the car earlier, but then, he was underwater in my car while being driven through Tokyo, and I think that he might have been a zombie or something. I'm starting to think that it didn't happen. It shouldn't disappoint me, but I've been holding onto that image in my mind like a comfort blanket only for it to be torn to shreds by reality. He's sitting on the couch in front of the TV in the lounge with one arm bent at the elbow to lift a cigarette into the air. His other hand is in a bowl of multicoloured sugar-shelled chocolates next to him, and when his eyes meet mine, a trail of smoke escapes from his lips for a few seconds in the grieving light. And even though it's a cold feeling to know that I'll find no peace in the one place where I could possibly find it, my heart moves in its dormancy like a pupae in a chrysalis when I see him. For the most worthless, most undeserving, most treacherous of people.
Any sense I might regain through distance is always lost, pulling me back like a bungee cord so the confused, scalding feelings can take up from where they left off. There's nothing impressive about him, and that's what makes me wearily angry, because I think he's so impressive. He has the shape and aura of someone who has seen and done too much, knows too much, has no wish to know or see anymore. He seeks an end with disinterest and lazy hedonism, but confident that he'll survive because he is who he is. He takes a handful of sweets and lets them fall through his fingers back into the bowl, and we watch the ruined but captivating editorial images of each other until I open my mouth to say something I haven't decided upon yet. He doesn't even give me the respect of time, because he suddenly stubs out his cigarette, stands, walks past me and into the kitchen.
He leaves the TV on, so I can see that he's been watching the news. I see myself talk on the House steps more than an hour in the past, feeling as if I've aged considerably since then, though I probably appear to look the same. My face has that certain expressionless symmetry which people admire, and I sound convincing — as if I really am sorry and deeply upset. Amazing.
Then the screen cuts to a photograph of Tsukino and Shiori. She was with me all the way to the House, along with all my other nightmares, so any feelings I had about her have been exhausted. She had to die and it was nothing to do with me, so I feel absolutely nothing now and turn the TV off as I follow L into the equally dimly lit kitchen.
The language of dressing is an art of cold reading which is lost on most, but like with anyone, L's appearance is a good indicator of his mood at any given time. Right now he's wearing a thin black sweater and ankle-grazing black chinos, and it hasn't escaped my notice that it's like the casually chic shit he'd wear when Stephen was around. This speaks volumes to me. A flash of pale skin above his black, sock-less, suede moccasins makes him look like an exclamation mark. I remind myself that I'm supposed to love him and should act that way, but for the life of me, I can't remember why. I watch him suspiciously, silently hating him as he pockets his phone. He hasn't been off that thing since he found that police scanner app. Between that and the news on the TV, he probably knows more than the press know about Tsukinogate. The great L must make sure that he's informed.
I stand behind him, noticing how his shoulders tense up from my closeness, like Ryuk's wings did before he took flight. Murderers are so tetchy these days. Taking in the picture: his taut back in front of me, the wisps of hair grazing the back of his neck, the sound of him rooting through bottles on the counter, the knife block to his left, and the table behind me. I could have him anytime I want. I could have him on that table right now. Part of me wants to keep making a fucking mess.
"Sorry I'm late," I say, staring with a kind of mild adoration at the dark watercolour of a bruise just above the collar of his sweater. It's erotically placed, like the bare nape of a geisha's neck paint. It's the kind of interesting mark I'd expect to see in autopsy photos, and yet he's still alive, so I kiss it and whisper against it. "Ooooh, did I really do that?"
He doesn't reply but shirks his shoulder away and glances back at me when my hand leaves him. There aren't many marks on his face; just some closed burgundy scrapes and a bruise near his eye, but he's none the worse for wear than usual, really. He always looks like a week-long coma would do him good and I think some people believe that he smokes heroin on his lunch breaks, anyway. The shadows around his eyes make any additional bruises look like a lightweight surrealist pattern of my vengeance. Fuck me if I was ever going to make this easy for him.
"You had to go back into work?" he says quietly, but I can hear the rigidity of his jaw is through it. He dumps a handful of ice between two glasses. I could have him on that table.
"Yeah. God, what a day," I sigh dramatically.
"But you seem very happy all the same."
"Mmmm… I have no reason to complain, thank you," I say against the bruised, goose-pimpled skin which is like a wedding band around his neck; just mouthing it, wetting it with my tongue and breathing against it until we both shiver while I think of how close to the surface the sour blood is. I push my hand down the front of his fucking monstrosity of sweater to hold him around his chest and press my cheek against his. "You're very good at a lot of things, Mr Lawliet. But sometimes I wonder why we're not just fucking all the time."
"Somehow I don't think either of us would live very long if we did that," he replies, looking straight ahead but rebelling against the tight band of a grip I have on him.
"What a beautiful way to die, though," I say with a sigh, releasing him to lean against the counter and watch him. "But you're absolutely right, of course. I'm still married, and out of the 2% of sudden deaths attributed to coitus, unfaithful men are 75% more likely to die during sex. With you, I think that chance is more of a very risky gamble, even at my young age. For the country's sake, I should try to stick around for a while longer if I can manage it, don't you think? So, you should keep away from me, " I tell him, jabbing my finger into his chest not so playfully. He just glares at me for a second and then acts as if I'm not here, so after an overly long pause, I give up and look through the papers on the table. "Have you got the Times? I left mine at the office and didn't get a chance to read it."
His briefcase is unlocked on the counter in front of him, so I'm opening it, perfectly innocently, before he slams his hand down on the lid.
"No, I haven't got it," he says with a small smug smile, locking the case and sliding it away from me. If the Death Note is in there and he thinks that I won't be able to crack his combination then he's more stupid than I thought. I make a mental post-it of this behaviour and sigh as I lean against the counter again. He holds an empty glass in front of his face and turns it, polishing the rim with a swipe of a cloth. I doubt that there's a reason for him to suddenly be a perfectionist other than to have something to focus his attention on that's not me. I feel like a living machete tonight. Every movement I make feels sharp, precise and defensive, including how I glare at him.
"It wasn't delivered?" I ask.
"Yes, but I took it to the office and I left it there when I finished reading it. You'll have to read it online."
"Read it online?" I ask, shaking my head like I cannot even conceive of such an idiotic thing. "Look, L, I'm trying really hard but I'm struggling to see a point to your existence."
"Yeah," he sighs despairingly. "So do I sometimes."
"Don't sulk, you twat. It doesn't matter. I'm guessing that it was just about that Prime Minister doing a stupid thing, anyway."
"Yes, you were in it quite a bit, but then you're always doing stupid things," he says, huffing air onto another glass to polish.
"Not me, shut up."
"You mean that guy and the pig when he was at University? It's how the rich boys get their kicks, y'know. No one really questions it and they usually end up being politicians. But yes, bad press for him, poor soul."
"I've had worse," I grumble, swaying from how mightily pissed off I am. "If he wanted really bad press then he should have fucked you instead of a pig's head."
Oddly enough, L doesn't appear to find that very funny or flattering. He lowers the glass he's holding so that the base chinks on the marble worktop, and from the sound you can hear the quality of both the crystal and the worktop, because it isn't some cheap formica shit. There's a moment of trepidation when he lifts his face upwards like he's preparing for something, but it becomes evident that he's actually just looking up at the hand-blown glass accent light fixture with the bronze finish above his head. I have to say that they did turn out very well and were exactly the architectural and masculine look that I was going for in this particular space. I knew it would work because it had the high ceilings for something dramatic in a restrained and expensive way, so I took inspiration from the central pillars of the 'floating' torii gate at the Itsukushima shrine at high tide. Through working closely with the designer, as in we had a phone conversation, of course it's a stunning installation, but I still think that L's very rude in being so easily distracted. I reach for my cigarettes, light one, and watch his jaw set solidly. Truth be told, the added tightness and contouring at his jawline does wonders for his profile, but he doesn't give me much opportunity to admire that or take pride in my rapier wit which so often goes unnoticed.
"Are you looking for a fight?" he asks me, which makes me laugh and cough on the smoke I've just inhaled before I can reply.
"Me? With you? Always," I smile, I'd like to think seductively, but he groans and turns his back to me to pour wine for himself. What's strange to me is that I don't often feel more alive than when he's critical of me. It can be an immense and almost spiritual anger. On the flip-side, it always makes me want to leave the room when there's no force behind it, like now. That in turn makes me wonder why I'm in politics, since that's all I hear all day.
"I tried to call you," he says mournfully. "I don't know why. I knew that you wouldn't answer."
"I've been in meetings since this afternoon and had enough people talking at me without adding you to the mix," I reply quickly, tilting my head to look at the curved jetted back pockets of his chinos. Unusual. "Did you see the judge about the case?"
"Yes."
"Everything's going to go your way then?"
"What do you think?" he throws back, finally facing me. Of course. I should just presume that it always will. "But my work isn't important in comparison to yours: running the country."
The air is heavy with almost mocking feelings and all the unspoken questions and answers, yet I still have the knowledge that I could have him on that table and make all this go away for both of us for maybe an hour.
"You know, that bruise really brings out your… eyes," I confess awkwardly, then take an easing drag of smoke.
"I'll take your word for it. So, why don't you tell me about your day?"
"Oh let's not do that 'how was your day?' shit. No B or Ryuk?"
"No."
"You mean I actually have you all to myself?" I sigh at my nails. "I saw Ryuk today."
"You did?"
"Yeah," I reply, holding his gaze for a few seconds to identify any emotion in him. "I don't see him much these days, which is strange since both he and B are virtually stuck to you. Did you leave any food for me?" I'm so close to punching him that I look around the kitchen, hoping I don't find anything so I can have something to shout at him about instead of what I would actually like to do. After a cursory glance inside the fridge, I now have reason to shout at him. "You didn't leave anything for me, you selfish bas – "
As I'm walking, my foot is lifted by some obstacle against my shin and I tip forwards. My hands flail out to catch hold of something to stop myself from falling, but a hand pressed against my chest pushes me back against the edge of the counter, knocking the air out of me. When I look up, L's right there. He's the obstacle that stares into my eyes coldly while offering a glass of vodka to me. My shoulders sink and hunch so I assume the pose of a guarding wolf on two legs while he looks down on me, straight-backed and cooly autocratic. His face is so unfathomable and his voice so dull and measured now that I can't read him.
"Careful," he tells me with the smallest of smirks. "I'll look after you, Light. I can understand how you must have been too busy to eat after all the meetings and press you've had today, because you're so important. I bought you dinner from The Blue Note and kept it heated in the oven. That's how much I love you. You like The Blue Note, don't you?"
"Yes…" I reply questioningly, and he smiles for a shocking millisecond.
"So do I. I had a good fuck outside there once," he says so casually that it feels like an unexpected bite. My eyes flutter down to the glass he's still holding between our chests, hating to be reminded of some deep-seated feeling of degradation I shouldn't feel. He almost completely destroys the blossoming, fragile pride I've been rebuilding. "I got you the lamb. It's your favourite still, isn't it? Oh no, sorry, you don't have such things as favourites, do you. I don't expect you to like it but I'm sure you'll eat it all the same. You deserve a drink, Sir."
The glass is pushed towards me so the ice chimes against the sides. I want to smash it into his face and he knows it, so this feels like a test to see whether I will or not.
"Thanks," I say, taking the glass.
"There's nothing I wouldn't do for you. Keeping food warm is nothing. You'd do the same for me, wouldn't you?"
"Yes."
"Because that's the kind of relationship we have. I do things for you, you do things for me, and we ask about each other's day. Because we love each other. We've reached that nirvana of maturity and our missing halves at the end of the red threads. This is supposed to be what it's all about, Light. And then we die." There's something equally charming as it is sinister in how he says this, and his stare is the kind that forces you to nod whether you agree with him or not. It's only when I do nod that he moves back to his bottle collection with my untrusting eyes on him. "With that in mind, please tell me about your day."
"You mean, this afternoon? When you came back? Yeah, that was —"
"No, not that. I imagine that you've had quite an eventful time."
"Hm?" I sound out in my childlike ignorance, and he responds by turning on the TV behind me. I reach a high pitch of sickness which ironically burns itself out when I see the footage, because I haven't been able to see much of it until now. The flames from the house appear to have spread so that the trees have caught fire, and the spindly arms of branches reach up to a dark, uncaring sky. No one cares. The fire service seem to have decided to let everything burn apart from one area of the house because they're fucking useless. The news captions along the bottom of the screen read: 'Two confirmed dead on scene of major fire at the home of Leader of the Luck Egalitarianism Union Party, Akuhei Tsukino.' Yes, but why isn't my speech being televised?
"Oh my God, what's happened!? Tsukino's house is on fire?" I gasp through what I have to admit must be a very convincing display of shock, but once L rolls his eyes, I can't keep my face straight anymore, grab the remote from him and turn the TV off. "Ha, ok. You've proven that you're up to date with current affairs. Yeah, you could say that it's been eventful. It's been a fucking nightm — "
"How did you do it?" he interrupts me.
"Do what?"
"How did you kill three people?"
"Hey?"
"And why did you kill three? You asked me to kill Tsukino and I said no, but now he's out of the picture."
"He's not dead, as far as I know."
"He's not?"
"No. Haven't you seen my speech? Fuck, what are they doing? PR are useless now, L, completely shit. If you'd seen my speech then you'd know that… well, he's actually in hospital, but he's in custody under suspicion of murder. Nothing to do with me. I was with you when he did it, but obviously you'd think it was my fault because you blame everything on me. And what I couldn't say in my speech is that, from what the NPA told me, it sounds like he went home and found his wife with Sakurada. I don't know, they must have been at it or else he put two and two together and came up with seven, but, anyway, he killed them both and set the house on fire with himself inside it. Really," I almost laugh. The extravagance of it all only adds to me recapturing my shaken couldn't-care-less humour, so I try out the vodka. "You have to hand it to him though. He was a terrible politician and he never failed there, and now he's a murderer and he went all out with that as well. Police had to taser him before he could shoot himself. They shouldn't have bothered, if you ask me. The murdering bastard isn't worth saving. They should have just shot to kill, like they should when dealing with a rabid dog. I might need to look into gun control again, though. You think you've got things covered but then some nut turns up and —"
"Stop there for a minute," L says, staring into space and tapping his middle finger against his palm anxiously, so I set pause and let my eyes look around the room while I wait. "Brandy," he says urgently, and he spins around to clink bottles together until he finds what he's looking for in the collection which we officially keep in preparation for guests and parties we never have. A big slug of it is poured out into a glass, he downs it, shakes the grimace out of himself, then pours himself another one.
"Why bother with glasses when you could set up an intravenous line?" I grumble.
"You're saying that he killed Sakurada? Sakurada, his deputy?" he asks.
"Well it'd surprise me if he killed another man with the same name and description, but stranger things have happened. You remember Sakurada. His campaign for office involved cherry blossoms being thrown from a bus, remember? Crass. You said that he had nice legs… which he didn't, by the way. I think he was bow-legged, myself. When you were there he was Shadow… I don't know what now, I can't remember. Probably Transport or something insignificant."
"You were Transport once," he reminds me, and I blink a few times. What? How does that correlate?
"A long time ago. And not in the Shadow either."
"You should have stayed there," he says under his breath, but I hear him well enough. My back straightens, even more like a rod than it already was. What the fuck does he mean by that? "Ok, that answers one question I had. The press haven't said that it was Sakurada. They're just saying two victims — one male, one female. It's assumed that the female is Tsukino's wife."
"Goes without saying that Sakurada has to be formally identified and his family have to be told before that's released, but everyone must have worked it out by now. He hasn't been seen or given a statement, and he'd be acting leader now if he wasn't dead. The Reds have appointed an acting leader and it's not him, so…"
"But Sakurada wasn't having an affair with Tsukino's wife. He'd have to get near her for a start."
"I wish someone tried telling Tsukino that before he created yet another sex scandal, because everyone knows that we haven't had enough of those," I say, leaning to one side to roll my eyes. There was already the start of a low warmth in me even before he looked at me like he is now — like he totally despises me — so I reach down to massage my knee. "You really hurt my knee. I've got a massive bruise there now."
"How sad," he replies moodily. If I listened to him, if he would actually discuss anything with me, I might find out that I may not live long enough to be without this bruise, not that I actually believe in his overheard doom scenario. Knowing that he could easily kill me and that I'm always only forty seconds away from death creates a raging bloodlust in me, and my eyes shower his face with appreciation because we're so close I can't take it all in. It's always been a great part of my attraction for him, I think; knowing how easy it would be for him to end me in various ways, and the challenge I've had in avoiding it. Just him entire calls to me like a limited edition suit from YSL that has a hybristophilia effect. Eyes, mouth, eyes, mouth.
"I'll have to show you what you did," I tell him, but it's clear it'll take more than that. He leans back and crosses his arms, not at all interested in my bruise or my eyes or my mouth or that table and he's not accepting my offer of a distraction.
"I'm not a sex scandal," he tells me, which I find so funny I want to laugh, but I inspect my nails again instead because they're looking spectacular, despite what they've been up to over the last few days. No one would ever suspect what these hands have done.
"Unfortunately, you are, L. You know that. You've been rolling in your infamy like a pig in shit and dragging me into it, but I couldn't say that I'm a real politician until I'd been involved in a sex scandal at some point, so I suppose I've done everything now. And one good thing Tsukino's done is to deflect attention away from us. All we've done is partake in some homosexual acts, which I know is unforgivable. Y'know, with us being two consenting adults and all."
"It does seem abnormally beneficial to you that your archnemesis decided that at this pivotal point in his career he wants to become a murderer. And as you say, murder trumps affairs with me and my gay infamy. You're still mad if you think they're just going to forget about the whole unfaithful dirtbag and shitty father part of your character though, Light. Also you're wrong if you think the whole gay issue doesn't matter in this business. You're not what they signed up for. And what's worse is that it's so fucking obvious that you and Kiyomi didn't just wake up one day and decide that your marriage was as dead as Tutankhamun and that you wanted to live with your ex-PR in some celibate bromantic bliss, as you'd have them believe. Oh, the stories I could tell."
"Well, actually, it was kind of like that," I say.
"Shut up."
"We didn't have an affair. You and me. At least, not until after I'd separated from my wife and your fuckboy tragically died too young, too young! Anyway, my cock's business is no one else's concern and I'm an excellent father, for your information. My son idolises me."
"Yes, he does," he says, and I feel like it's a reprimand that I don't know how to react to.
"Yes… So, whatever we're accused of are rumours and lies. It's not like we've killed anyone."
He heaves out a laugh like a sly fart under a blanket, but officially we haven't killed anyone and that's what matters. He's referring to an idea I've been toying with that I state publicly that I'm simply a gentleman bachelor living with his gentleman friend as two professionals to share bills, petrol costs and to reduce our impact on the housing crisis. It's not my fault that people have dirty minds and presume the worst. I love him like a brother, officially. That's all. Nobody asked me to specify the precise meaning of my statement in regards to him. Well, maybe they did, but I was too busy to answer. The breakdown of my marriage was unavoidable due to Kiyomi's incompatibility with anyone, so I left for the sake of my child's emotional health and to dedicate myself to my country. Maybe I'll find love again. God, what a horrible thought.
"It sounds very unfair then, if you're the injured party here and completely innocent," he says. "I wonder if I can forgive myself for dragging you into my homosexual acts against your will while I roll about like a pig in shit."
"Don't be sensitive, L. It's only the public's perception of you. I wouldn't say that you roll about in it exactly. You paddle in it, maybe."
"Would you like a brandy, Light?"
"I haven't had this vodka yet."
"No, I mean would you like this brandy bottle up your arse, you flapping cunt?" he asks, holding the bottle at an intimidating angle.
"I'll decline on this occasion, thank you," I reply after nervously swallowing, then open the oven door to groan at the inedible remains of some carcass. "Anyway, horrific as it is, it's not all bad news. The Reds have effectively collapsed. I'm not going to lose now. It's all very damaging publicity for them, isn't it? Makes what I've done with you look like a one-off average grade due to illness. Suddenly people want me to talk about something other than you again. I almost forgot what it was like to be Prime Minister."
"Yes, I thought that would be another positive side effect for you. I'm sorry. Being with me sounds like a debilitating disease someone should set up a charity for," he says sardonically, because he's the most sarcastic shit I've ever met in my entire life.
"It means a lot to me to hear you say that. It must infuriate you that though you've tried so hard, you've failed to dismantle me completely. You're usually so good at destroying lives, Lawliet-san. What went wrong?" I ask. He looks to his left and hugs his arms closer to his chest as if there's a sudden cold draught, but there is no draught. I have a mild coughing fit and 'you bastard' might be said in the middle of it while I practically throw the burning hot plate on the table and sit down. The food is actually alright under a cremated-looking surface, but I couldn't tell you what it is, it's a mystery. He says it's lamb but I'm not convinced. "Anyway, that's all I know, L. Sorry if it's not enough for you, but I can't admit to things I have no involvement in. So, where is B? Is he dead or just hiding under the bed again? This lamb looks familiar. Are you sure it's not B's calf muscle?"
"B's staying at a hotel for a while to think about what he's done," he says. Clearly this isn't news to me, since I heard their conversation about B being sent packing to The Royale, but L doesn't know that. He has an inflated view of his sexual prowess leaving people unconscious, so doesn't see me overhearing anything as being a possibility. I'm not about to make him think otherwise.
A string of fried seaweed hangs over my open mouth.
"You sent him away? Because of me? Do you feel threatened, L-sama?" I smile.
"Don't call me that. What exactly have you done today?"
"Today? Well, you fucked me something rotten and then Tsukino killed some people and set his house on fire, so I had to reassure the masses that this isn't how the government thinks conflict should be resolved. The usual. Oh, and my party won the Yamanashi Prefecture District 3 seat in that bi-election. Not sure if you saw that on the news since no one's interested at the moment, but I can take that as a safe seat for the election."
"What I meant is what did you have to do with Tsukino going batshit?" he asks. I love hate seeing his anger repressed like a pot of boiling water with the lid left on. On one hand it's foreplay, on the other it's like a gossamer-veiled painting you like well enough unless you've seen the full overwhelming colours and beauty of it.
"I didn't do anything. I told you. I just went to work and —"
"And?"
"Worked? If I didn't oversee this personally then the campaign committee would have me expecting to win the election through a tap dance routine. So I worked and then I came home to see you, which was an excellent decision of mine," I grin lasciviously, but it gets little reaction. "The rest has just been Tsukino, Tsukino, Tsukino, NPA, meetings, PR running around, press. Actually, it's been quite a nice day. Apart from the horrific murders, obviously. Have we got any Pinot Noir to go with this shit or have you drunk it all?"
A bottle is grumpily slammed in front of me, and while I move it to one side, L switches the TV on again, standing next to the images of the flaming house scorching red and yellow against the night sky.
"Turn it off, L. I'm done with Tsukino and his killing spree," I sigh, sneaking glances at the screen while I eat, occasionally pointing my chopsticks at the screen. "God, talk about overkill of these aerial shots of his house. Why aren't they showing my speech? I better phone PR and see what the fucking problem is. This never would have happened when you were running PR. I hope you've been thinking about that, by the way. That was a serious offer. You were exonerated of any link to…uh…to Penber. I'd love to see you stalking around the Kantei again," I smile at him, but it falls as I look back at the screen.
"I wouldn't worry about that at the moment.," he says. "I'd worry about explaining to me how you did this."
"Hey? Oh, not that again," I groan. "You know, it sounds to me that it's like you want me to have had something to do with this. I'm sorry if that's the case, but this is a straight-forward domestic homicide, and there could be another one in this house if you don't stop harassing me. Shut up and let me eat this shit, please."
"Yeah, eat shit," he spits at me, which me look at the plate of food suspiciously. "Did you take a page of the Death Note?" he asks, now leaning across the table and into my face like he's a part-timer with the Spanish Inquisition. The information is a nice bonus.
"You mean the paper does work even when it's ripped out of the book? You said that it didn't. But then, you lie."
"Don't play dumb with me or I will fist fuck you out the fucking door," he hisses. "I was wondering what you were doing on Stephen's laptop, because what's wrong with yours all of a sudden? How many have you got now? Three? So when I came home, it was just lying around and so was I, and it was a good clean up job, apart from that you really shouldn't SAVE A BOOKMARK FOR A FORUM YOU'VE BEEN SPAMMING WITH SHIT!"
What? I wouldn't have done that. Did I actually do that? Oh, fuck, Firefox. I was only checking!
"What are you talking about now?" I ask.
"You did this. You've been spreading lies about Tsukino's wife and Sakurada and you used a piece of the Death Note to make him kill them, didn't you."
"I…" I start, then push my plate away while laughing. What is this? A come to Jesus talk from Satan? "Ok, how could I have done that, L? Tsukino's not dead, so, you know, I couldn't have made him do this without him dying, could I? Or did I misinterpret the rules?"
"Maybe it wasn't him who did it," he says, "There are two dead people. They could have killed themselves."
"Except that there's a witness who saw Tsukino do it. Explain that, Detective Oxford Comma. Another flaw in your case is that you wouldn't even let me touch the notebook and I don't know where you've hidden it. I've had no opportunity to use if it even if I wanted to. And I saw that forum, yes, but I don't know why you'd think that I'd post those messages. It's an aide forum and it's been a long time since I've been an aide. I didn't even know it existed before now. Someone told me about that thread, so I just had a look to think about whether I should tell Tsukino or not."
"And you did tell him?"
"No, because I'm not suicidal. I was going to tell PR to leak it, like any sane person would in my position. I was just keeping an eye on the gossip, but thank you for thinking the best of me, as always. I don't think my heart can take all these feelings of trust and respect. Wait there a minute," I tell him, leaving to get my briefcase from the hall. Back in the kitchen, I pull out a folder of papers and dump them on the table in front of him. "But if we're talking about suspiciously beneficial deaths, why don't we talk about these? I have a book's worth of them in this little scrapbook which is… oooh, all about you!"
"You made a scrapbook about me?" he asks, sitting down and worriedly looking at the folder.
"About you? Not exactly. In fact, your name isn't mentioned once in any of these articles, although you are the link between them. Do you want me to go on?"
"I don't care what you do, Light. But you've clearly gone to a lot of trouble here, so go ahead."
"Ok, here we have ex-clients you defended in various court cases once you came to Japan. There are also politicians, lawyers, editors, journalists, a selection of criminals, and some no-name one-time colleagues and acquaintances of yours, all of whom inexplicably died, and in some cases quite inventively."
"So far all you've got are a pile of people I might have met as a matter of course through work."
"Yes, except that when you look into it, as I have, it seems that you might want all these people dead for some reason. For your benefit or mine. Mostly yours. And there are a damn sight more than forty-one people here," I say. We look at each other across the table until he breaks away to light a cigarette in the silence. He offers it to me, which I take as an admission that I'm on the right track here and he's impressed that I found a connection to murders no one knew existed. "You said that you'd killed forty-one people before the cabinet deaths, so it must just be a coincidence and not another factual discrepancy of yours. It makes interesting reading though. One of my personal favourites is this one about a man who'd had a fantastic day doing what business executives do, which apparently involved two prostitutes and a water bed. The man must have got his viagra prescription, because he'd made arrangements with another lady that night at his house. When she arrived, he'd somehow managed to kill himself with carbon monoxide poisoning in his brand new white Ferrari, which had just been delivered that day. Expensive coffin, eh? Strange actions for a man who'd hired the dream team of legal representation to get him exonerated in a murder case."
"Who's to say the reasons behind why people do the things they do?" he says tiredly. "I assume that you're accusing me of causing his death? You'll have to remind me of what reason I'd have to want him dead, apart from that he chose white for his Ferrari, though I'm not saying that's not a good enough reason."
"I'm not accusing you. I know that you killed him. And I don't disapprove of it."
"That's nice to know but —"
"I looked through your past cases and saw that you represented this guy, defended him, won the case, he paid you a lot of money, and why would he bother if he wanted to kill himself less than a week after being exonerated? I get it, L. It's justice. True justice, unlike what there is on earth. You make a joke of the legal system to show how flawed it is because you can, but you give the guilty true justice. I think it's almost admirable."
"That's an unusual way to describe it," he says, sweeping some crumbs from the table so he can lean on his elbows on it like a bored schoolboy.
"How would you describe it?" I ask.
"Murder. It is what it is. Not pretty enough a word for you? It's not pretty, Light, but unlike you, I've never needed to excuse it as anything greater. 'Justice,'" he laughs sharply down at the table like he can't control himself, then lifts his head again and combs his fingers through his hair. Still smiling.
"Don't laugh at me, you bastard," I say.
"Sorry, but justice is such interesting terminology coming from you. I suppose that justice is what you make of it, isn't it? I made it mine," he tells me, looking straight into my eyes like it's the truest thing he's ever said. I feel the cold ruthlessness in it which makes me blink quick fire for a second until I stand tall to look down on him, seeing him for what he is. "I find it easy enough to live with what I've done," he says. "I don't know what it says about me that I have been able to live with it, but I can. Whether you can live with the truth of what you've done is another matter."
"What do you mean?" I ask innocently, and he bangs his fist on the table.
"God, Light, just admit that you're behind what happened today! We're the same. I know why you did it."
"Don't compare yourself to me. We're nothing alike," I tell him. Chopsticks roll on the plate from when he smacked the table, and the sound is like the dull echo of a singing bowl. It's probably that sound which prompts me to lean towards him and touch his face as tenderly as I do, and it's why the words I whisper to him sound so loving, like a hushed confession. "You said that I didn't need the Death Note to get what I want. You've executed people. You executed Raye, but I still saved you. You know, sometimes I look at you and see the hole the bullet left when it went into his head. You're the last person to accuse me of anything. What does it say about me that I know these things about you and I lived in this house and I still let you fuck me? I allowed you to. Are you as pure as snow, L? The only kind of snow you know about is the kind you snort up your nose, and everyone is someone you have or haven't fucked or killed. Make something out of this if you think you have a right to preach and condemn me. Otherwise, I'd advise you to leave it the fuck alone."
I press my thumb against the centre of his forehead to push his head back. Exactly like how Raye was shot, yes, right there in his head. Just as quick as it would have been for him, whipping him back from the force of it. When I pull away, I see how L's eyes are closed because I've shown him as the shameful god of deceit that he is. Even with his glistening lies, he's worthless unless I find some worth in him. For the first time, I can't find any worth except for the book of death that he's an owner of.
"You're a murderer now, Light. You can't attribute these to me, like with the three from the Cabinet because I wrote their names. I know how you excuse yourself of blame," he says as I walk away from him. The words loop in my head, and I stop for a moment to stare at the view in front of me. I don't know whether the walls are shaking or if my vision is. My hands suddenly feel like they're on fire, clenching with hatred I want him to feel and suffer for. I could only give him that if these hands were around his neck. "Why do this to Sakurada and the girl? Why kill the girl?"
That's a good question. There wasn't any other way. I simply had to do it because I could not fail. The possibility of failure cannot exist.
"I didn't kill them; Tsukino did. Jealousy makes people do desperate things," I reply. Not to him, not over my shoulder, but straight to the wall in front of me like I'm giving an emotionless explanation to an invisible audience.
"Do you think that the more you say it, the more you'll believe it?" he says.
He knows, and in no small way, I want him to. I want him to have worked it all out and be impressed, and for once in his goddamn life acknowledge that I'm better than he is. It doesn't take anything special to write a name in a book. What I've done takes brains.
So I tell him something that I hadn't planned on admitting to, but my longing to hurt him in any way possible is too strong for me to deny. He talks about the dead as if they were innocent victims when they were practically implicit in their own downfall; one for neediness and stupidity, the other for ambition. Both were a means to an end.
"I slept with her, you know. Tsukino's wife."
His silence draws on, and I wonder whether it is really just confirmation of what he already suspected or if this actually is a surprise to him. He's arrogant enough to be surprised. He's a great believer in 'why go for hamburgers when there's steak at home?' monogamy, since he considers himself the best steak money can't buy. Either way, if it stabs at his heart even a tiny amount, it's worth it to me. Somehow it's worse to hear it come from the mouth of the person in question, as I know from experience.
"I didn't doubt it," he replies eventually, and sadly, I think. Good.
"It was a while ago. It's not what you think."
"Oh, that's such a relief, Light," he says with a sarcastic edge. "And there was me thinking that you used her to make her look like a whore. I feel terrible for thinking that you were capable of creating that forum thread and leaving every comment to reinforce the lie and make Tsukino go completely insane and do, I don't know, something like what he's done."
"She slept with anyone. She was a whore, and Tsukino killed her for it. It was his choice."
"No. You fabricated this whole thing. It has you all over it. The only way you know how to deal with people is to play on insecurities and manipulate them in whatever way you can to get what you want, and you wanted Tsukino out of the race so you could win this election. Why leave it up to chance when you can make it a certainty?"
"I told you that I had nothing to do with this, but you're determined not to believe me."
"I know you too well to believe you," he says, which makes me smile. "I do believe one thing now, though. There was no Death Note involved. You don't need it. This is just you and your conniving, sordid methods. You're pure evil."
He says it quietly, and for some reason it has more effect because it sounds so sure and convincing, but I can't believe that, I can't accept it. He twists things and won't take into account the reasons. It's pure, yes.
"I think that you should get out of my house."
More A/N: You know not to trust me now because I think that for at least the last 10 chapters I've said that the next update will be the last. This chapter obviously isn't the last either. I hope you won't be pissed off with me, but since starting to write this after a break, there are a few things I want to add in because I won't get the opportunity again. I appreciate your patience and hope that you'll think it was worth it in the end, when that does finally happen. I'm not estimating anymore because I'm laughably bad at it, but I'm hoping that it'll be soon because I live in hope of getting my life back/start another story. I'd like to see if this can beat the word count of The Bible, though. Socialising is overrated, anyway, so idk. xxx
Disclaimers: I believe that "The possibility of failure cannot exist," is a Queen Victoria quote that I heard via a Margaret Thatcher quote. The hamburger vs steak quote is by Paul Newman. The lyrics in the opening scene are translated lyrics (by Bleu) from Finale by L'Arc~En~Ciel because I wrote the scene around it, as I'm prone to do. I know nothing about how to be invisible on the internet but Light would, so I relied on the internet to tell me. The info might be outdated or incorrect.
