A/N: The answer to the previous challenge was that the MI6 agents' aliases began with L, M, N and W.
Disclaimer: The usual!
Note: The Brompton Cemetery mentioned is based on its real life namesake.
Chapter 53: Lament for the Fallen
The moment the waterworks were finished, the expected outpouring of questions began.
"How is your family? Are you alright? How are you doing in school? Why are you here? How did they find you? Do you remember anything at all?"
Roger seemed hell-bent on jamming the ten minute ride to Brompton Cemetery with as many questions as he possibly could. I couldn't blame him – although, I did feel a little flare of anger that our former caretaker was showering Allie with more attention than I had earlier received. But then again, I hadn't exactly expected – or deserved, for that matter – a warm welcome.
Roger was a shrewd man. I knew, without being explicitly asked or confronted about it, that the old man had some inkling of my less than savory activities during the last five years.
I swallowed my bitterness and focused on the road ahead. Matt was driving, as I was unfamiliar with the downtown area of London. It was all so pleasantly different from Los Angeles: the comfortable curves of the streets, the abundance of historical structures, even the trademark red phone booths with buses to match. Maybe I was biased, but compared to California, England was like a breath of fresh air – figuratively speaking.
The smog that famously filled the skies seemed to shroud the land in a protective shadow, isolating it from the horrors of the rest of the globe. Aside from Japan, the United States was the first nation to publicly declare acceptance of Kira. After Kira's notorious annihilation of the Mafia, which had ironically been just a by-product of his real intentions – to smoke me out – America had, as a whole, bowed down to him.
England, on the other hand, had yet to shift in Kira's direction. I could feel it in my bones; there was still resistance. Hope. Traditional crime and law enforcement were still alive and well in this nation. It was almost as if the country was secretly aware that she had lost one of her greatest minds and heroes – Quillsh Wammy – in the war against Kira, rather than a natural heart attack as the official obituaries stated, and as a result, was determined to stand its ground against the world's new god.
I nibbled on a corner of my current chocolate bar, a Cadbury Dairy Milk that I had purchased at one of the airport's duty-free shops after Roger had sprung me out. My thoughts drifted to my own revolt.
Which country, I idly wondered, would claim the right to execute me once Kira is captured?
Deep down, I already knew that leading a normal life after Kira was an impossible dream. I would always be on the lam, looking over my shoulder, running and hiding until I was finally caught.
I would never be able to…
To…live a normal life.
"We're here," Matt suddenly announced. "Allie, are you sure about this?"
I glanced up into the rearview mirror and caught Allie's eye. She looked relieved now that Roger had obligingly ceased his incessant grilling. "Yeah, I recognize the gate," she responded, gazing outside the window at the tall, brown-bricked arch.
Erected A.D. 1839, West of London and Westminster Cemetery, the outdated engravings proclaimed above the entrance.
Matt ran his gloved fingers through his reddening hair. "I wasn't asking whether this was the right place or not…"
"I know," Allie whispered before Matt could explain himself. "I appreciate your concern, but I've been ready my entire life. I'm sure about this." With that, she stepped out of Roger's car. I quickly climbed out after her and into the pale sunlight, snagging her right hand. Matt ended up being Roger's arm support.
Allie's grip tightened around mine as the four of us walked past the wrought iron gates and through the burial site's looming archway.
The graveyard was otherwise empty and quiet, save for the rhythmic crunching noises underfoot caused by the light sprinkling of salt on the wide strip of pavement. Thankfully, the massive evergreen lime trees that lined the park provided us some shelter against the full brunt of the biting wind. Our footfalls became softer and more reverent as tombstones of varying shades of grey, white and salmon came into full view.
Roger was wheezing slightly as he hobbled between Mello and Matt.
Up close, the man looked even older than I first thought. Wrinkles creased every inch of his seventy-year-old face, and the tufts of hair that sprouted from his temples were more white than silver.
According to Mello, Roger was notorious for disliking kids. He preferred spending time with his books rather than young company, and favored entomology over childcare. The thought of the old handler toiling away resentfully, trapped by his duties, filled me with an unfamiliar longing and sadness.
My first impression of Roger was that he was an incredibly lonely man. I couldn't even picture growing old and settling down without a family to look after, much less despise the lifetime career I would soon invest my time and savings into. I couldn't imagine living a life of solitude. I didn't want to.
Of course, none of that would matter anymore if we all failed to take Light Yagami down.
I pushed all thoughts of Kira aside. Now was not the time to be brooding about a mass murderer. I had long-overdue respects to pay, tears to shed, prayers to say.
Row after uneven row, snow-kissed headstones protruded from the hard winter soil. My stomach began to churn as I took in the sight of the countless war memorials, marble statues, granite angels, rusty iron crosses, the old toys and framed photos and rotting bouquets nestled between the short blades of dead brown grass. In the heart of it all was a domed gothic chapel, situated at the end of the dividing pathway.
Everything was so serene, so peaceful, so fitting for the forever-sleeping occupants buried six feet into the earth.
I forced myself to keep going, relying on the magnetic sensation embedded into my motor senses rather than my actual consciousness. While I couldn't remember attending my parents' funeral, I must've visited them at least a hundred times in the past for my feet to know exactly where they were supposed to be heading. My throat closed up.
No... not now... not yet...
I could feel Matt's goggled eyes burn into my back as I warily guided my three companions through the markers. It was as though he actually expected me to collapse on the spot in grief. No, I was going to stay strong. I had to.
We eventually came to a stop in front of a pair of identical-looking, hauntingly familiar tombstones. I tentatively brushed the snow off the first one, and then the second. The shopping bag that I carried in my left hand crinkled loudly when it crashed to the ground.
The deep-set inscriptions stood out in stark contrast against the dirty white marble:
Sunny Shire (June 12, 1967 - August 30, 1997). Loving mother, wife, community figure.
You will be missed.
Elliot Shire (October 7, 1965 - August 30, 1997). Loving father, husband, community figure.
You will be missed.
Hot, scalding tears spilled over my cheeks before I could even finish reading the words. Vision blurring, I jammed my wet face into Mello's shoulder, frantically breathing in his faint but comforting scent of soap and leather.
They will be missed.
They were. They were sorely missed, every single minute of my forgotten and remembered life. John, Monica and Amanda were amazing people, but they could never in a million years be able to replace my first family. It was all I could do to keep from dropping to the snow-covered ground, where I would be even closer to their once-warm bodies, where I could curl up and weep and wish to see them just one more time.
"Just let it all out," Mello murmured, sliding his arm around my hockey jacket and squeezing my waist.
And I did.
As I cried, Matt tactfully tended to the gifts that I had bought at the square downtown while waiting for Roger to arrive. He scooted down and sifted through the bag, taking out two wrapped parcels. He untied the decorative ribbons, revealing the bowls inside.
Matt set the oriental ceramics at the foot of the markers. I couldn't even muster up the strength to verbally thank him, so Mello said it for me instead. However, Matt didn't appear to hear his friend. He was too busy staring at a nearby patch of ice stretched across the dirt.
"What are you looking at?" Roger wanted to know.
"There's something beneath that ice," Matt replied slowly.
The three of us followed Matt's outstretched finger. He was right. "It looks like a card," Mello murmured.
I blearily locked eyes with Matt. "Do it."
One sputtering flame and thirty anxious seconds later, the frozen patch had melted away to reveal a very soggy piece of paper. The card looked handmade. Matt continued to use his cigarette lighter to dry the folded note, careful not to cause it to catch on fire. We crowded around to watch the working teen.
"What does it say?"
Matt squinted at the smudged ink. "It's in Japanese," he declared, stunned.
No... it can't be…
"I'm sorry," Matt translated, "that you had to share in their fate, but I had no choice. I promise to look after your daughter. Rest in peace... Dragon... Blossom." He lifted his head to meet my gaze. "This is going to sound twisted, but the first part sounds like some kind of confession."
For a moment, I could've sworn my heart stopped beating. I felt as though I was being simultaneously stabbed in the chest and stomach with an ice-cold dagger.
"Dragon Blossom? What kind of name is that?" Mello asked curiously, taking the decade-old card from the younger boy. "Ryuu – saki...?"
The invisible blade twisted.
"Ryuzaki?" Roger muttered, looking disgusted. "That was Backup's name before he came to the orphanage."
Mello dropped the card as though it had really caught ablaze. Without thinking, I picked it up and slipped it into my pocket.
"What are you doing?" Roger asked, shocked.
"I'm taking it with me. Beyond Birthday's trash doesn't belong here," I said steadily. But on the inside, I was falling apart.
It had been more than a simple accident.
Rue Ryuzaki's foster guardians had apparently overdosed on ecstasy, which had led them to their fatal collision with my parents. Yet this message suggested otherwise.
Backup killed them all.
"He drugged his own parents," I voiced out loud, "and then framed them for abuse."
The other boys gasped, but Roger didn't even indicate the slightest of surprise.
I rounded on the elderly caretaker. "You were aware of this?" I accused the man that I barely knew.
"So were you," Roger spluttered in his defense. "Alter – Alexandra, you came to me with your suspicions after L took you both in. But... but you admitted that you didn't have any court-worthy proof to support your theory, so... don't look at me like that, those were your exact words!"
Court-worthy proof?
The three of us stared at Roger in mounting horror.
"I own you, A. You owe me your livelihood."
That would explain B's abnormal possessiveness toward me in the past. That would explain our sudden fallout, my constant rejection of the older genius. It had been, without a doubt, sick, delusional remorse that had propelled him into, as Beyond Birthday had put it, "protected me from the snot-nosed prats at St. Mark's... tutored me until I was at the top of all my classes."
And it had been fear that kept me away once I had discovered the truth.
But how? How had I managed to figure it out?
"You cheated on the entrance exams. You used your... your gift... to solve those cases!"
"First you accuse me of not being human, yet now you're calling it a gift?"
"It's a curse!"
What curse? What gift?
I could feel the bile rising in my throat. "I need to get out of here," I mumbled, turning to flee the cemetery, leaving the tombs, the trees, the gates, my parents and my friends behind.
"Allie, wait up!"
Matt promptly raced after the sprinting girl. I, however, lingered at the graves for another minute before unhooking the crucifix from my gun and placing it gently into Elliot Shire's porcelain bowl. Roger stayed silent.
I wasn't even sure whether Allie's parents had been Christian or not; their headstones bore no distinctly religious markers. Nonetheless, one of my most prized possessions would be my tribute to her parents, my attempt to redeem the atrocious scene that had just unfolded.
Allie was waiting for us inside Roger's car. She was sitting in the backseat, red-faced and visibly shaken.
Now it was Roger's turn to accuse Allie. "You jimmied my door?" The old man examined his precious, ancient "Ben" with hawk-like scrutiny.
"No, you forgot to lock up earlier."
"Oh. My apologies..."
In a month's time, Allie would tell me that Gevanni had indeed taught her how to pick basic locks as recommended by Near. And in a month's time, our lives would change forever.
But right now, I had no way of knowing that.
Without being told, Roger was aware of our next destination. We reached Winchester in just under an hour and a half. The drive had been extremely somber. Despite sitting up front with Roger, Matt had sensibly refrained from making snarky comments about the seventy-year-old man's driving. Meanwhile, I had given Allie bits of chocolate, since she had not eaten since her flight and looked close to keeling over in exhaustion... which she eventually did. I had also dozed off for a while, until Matt shook us both awake.
Roger quietly informed us that after the Japanese Task Force had shipped over Watari's body back in 2004, Quillsh Wammy's corpse had been returned to his family for safekeeping. L's body, on the other hand, had initially been arranged to be randomly buried in Abney Park, another one of London's Magnificent Seven cemeteries.
That particular grave now sat empty.
A few months after I had left the genius-rearing institution, Roger had successfully transferred L's corpse back to the orphanage. While this was not news to Matt, I was completely floored. The surviving caretaker had taken it upon himself to fulfill L's wishes and had buried the world's greatest detective close to home – literally. A mausoleum had been constructed in the orphanage's own backyard, deep within the neighboring woods, out of sight but not out of mind. I had to admit, the seclusion suited the secretive recluse who was my idol.
"Technically, these grounds do belong to Quillsh – me," Roger corrected himself as he veered around the bend. Although it was only noon, the shadows cast by the towering trees made our surroundings look as dark as night itself. "But no one ever comes in here. The children think this place is haunted." He chuckled darkly. "They're not entirely wrong."
We pulled to a stop in front of a modest-sized sandstone structure. The rust-colored bricks of the mausoleum were stained with snow and moss; Roger evidently had difficulties in maintaining the building by himself. The steps were slicked with ice, so we had to take great pains to ensure Roger didn't accidentally slip.
"Does Near know about this place?" Allie inquired, her voice hushed as we made our way through the entrance hall.
Matt nodded. "How do you think he managed to make L's finger puppet?"
I almost puked up my chocolate; the thought was sickening.
"Huh, that reminds me." Matt pulled out his mobile and speed-dialed a number.
Roger and I simultaneously scowled our disapproval.
"Near? Yeah, we're here. Mmhmm, sure. I'll pass that along. Oh? Oh really?"
Matt glanced up from his call. His eyes flickered briefly to Allie. "Near wants us to say a few words for him, for L. For L… L Lawliet."
A grin broke out onto my face. I just couldn't help it. Mogi had obviously come through for us just in time. "Tell Near that it's not a problem."
"Tell him I said hello," Roger added.
Matt nodded and quickly finished the conversation. After the offending cell phone disappeared into the redhead's vest pocket, he gestured for us to follow.
So occupied and eager was I to finally pay my respects to L – L Lawliet – that I didn't notice that Allie's eyes had suddenly glazed over.
A/N: On a lighter note, they're finally in Winchester! On Wammy's property, at least.
Special shout out: to Saya Hikari Uchiha, who was first to review the last chapter! Thanks for being so cool.
Thanks to all you wonderful readers/alerters/favoriters; special thanks to the latest reviewers: akatsukifan, annee loves sasusaku, Can'tContainIt, C. Holywell-Black, Dai Uzimaki, Echo1317, flygirl, Kira the Wolf, MafiaGirl14, MasaJeevas, MaskedAngel18, Mello's Yellow Jello, mima1216, moonfleur, Neckocat, OhMyGeePinkSucksAss, Ovalord of da Empia of cookies, -patterns-at-dusk-, RWolfe94, Sailormercury117 (your reviews are hilarious xD), Saya Hikari Uchiha, ShadowedSerenity, shinigami777, VennaKitty, Who's There and YuukikuranxD ~
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