A/N: I really appreciate last chapter's response. So here's some random trivia: Taylor Swift and Mello share the exact same birthday. Year and everything. LOL.
Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note, Nancy Drew or anything else that's copyrighted; research taken from Wikipedia's Education in England.
Note: This ENTIRE chapter (excluding the final line) is told in several chronological flashbacks. Beware of time skips (the line breaks) and subtle foreshadowing.
Chapter 54: Hello, L
The St. Mark Orphanage was old, but it was a beautiful kind of old, like a castle. Rue Ryuzaki, the odd boy that had not left my side since our parents' accident, was absolutely right. On the outside, St. Mark's looked like a dream come true. I nodded slowly as I took in the sight of its striped lawns and warm red bricks. This castle would be our new home.
I loved it already.
Guilt immediately tickled my brain. Was it wrong of me to feel happy so soon after losing my family? Was I being a bad daughter? Was I disrespecting their memory?
"Too bad they're giving us separate dorms." The Japanese adolescent sounded mournful.
The brown-skinned woman that was showing us around gave him a reassuring grin. "Rules are rules. Of course, you can still see each other during meals and on the weekends."
Ryuzaki very sweetly returned the smile. When the lady glanced away, he rolled his eyes and swooped down to whisper into my ear.
"We'll play by our own rules."
There was an older girl in my room who was always waking up in the middle of the night, wailing for her mother. Everyone else had gotten used to it, but as a newcomer, I was unable to drown out the sounds of her grief. She was especially loud on Fridays.
Hungry and unable to fall asleep, I snuck out of the girls' dormitory and made my way down to the kitchens where I knew he would be waiting. This had been going on for a month now.
A silhouette was leaning against the shadowy bulge of the fridge. I could hear a faint slurping noise and I wrinkled my nose.
"Pipe down or we're going to get caught," I warned him before popping open the door myself. I carefully slid out a plate of cold cuts. My toes curled in pleasure in my slippers. For a few minutes, I could pretend that my parents were still alive, pampering me with midnight snacks.
My nocturnal partner-in-crime chuckled. "Not if I can help it," Ryuzaki said thickly.
Spit was flying and I was pushed up against the wall, clutching my head. A little boy was dashing away from the scene, reclaimed teddy bear grasped tightly in his fist.
"Spoilsport!"
I refused to cry out while the older girls' hands continued to yank at my hair. They were crafty; they knew how to attack without leaving telltale marks of bruises and scratches. Eventually, the three of them grew bored and left. That night, I broke into the arts and crafts room to nick a pair of scissors. The next morning, I was sporting a boyish hairstyle, one that was similar to Rue Ryuzaki's.
Ryuzaki pressed the issue until I told him of my not-so-heroic rescue of the little boy's toy. He gently chided me for biting off more than I can chew.
Later that week, my three tormentors found live worms crawling at the bottom of their rucksacks. Ryuzaki's eyes were dancing as we joined the small crowd that had gathered to watch and laugh at the shrieking girls. The Japanese boy hummed contentedly.
I shuddered but smiled anyway.
Ryuzaki avoided the other kids like the plague, so he always insisted that we do our studying in the library rather than the study hall. It was fine with me, as I needed silence to concentrate.
I learned more from him than I ever did from my teachers. He shoved lesson after lesson down my throat, which I swallowed up willingly and eagerly. While my peers in Year One were still stuck on the three classical states of matter, I had already moved on to bigger things, such as minerals and rocks. Science was Ryuzaki's favorite subject, and he was (strangely) determined to make it mine too.
He succeeded.
Soon, I was learning about the stars and galaxies, the sun and the moon. The Japanese boy took it a step further and relayed to me tales of the Eastern zodiac, myths of the night sky's celestial bodies. That was the best part.
I was fascinated with the stories attached to his Asian culture, especially since my mother had always kept her lips sealed about her own. The only thing I knew about her past was that her traditional parents had disowned her when she dropped out of school to open a restaurant, where she eventually met and fell in love with Elliot Shire, a touring businessman hailing from London, England.
"What was that about?" Ryuzaki wanted to know.
"That's none of your business," I squeaked, trying to keep the embarrassment out of my voice. I had just been called in to be evaluated by the school matron. After being poked and prodded, I had finally been declared to be a tad overweight. I would have my meals regulated and portions minimized from now on – or as the nurse had kindly put it, mini-sized. As if that made me feel any better.
The older boy huffed. "Whatever. So, are we still on for tonight?"
I perked up slightly. "You bet."
Food reminded me of my family, and now the orphanage was threatening to take that very link away from me. I refused to stand for it.
Suddenly, Friday became my absolute favorite day of the week.
"Ryuzaki?"
He smacked his lips. "Yeah?"
"How do you stay so thin?" I was grateful for the kitchen's cover of darkness; my face felt like it was on fire. I was too young to sound like I was fussing about my appearance, but this was different. It was a matter of health.
There was a thoughtful pause. "Good genes, I suppose."
"Genes?"
"Ah, that's right… we haven't gotten that far yet. Well, they're what you get from your parents when you're born. For example, I got my nose from my father and bone structure from my mother. You," he gulped, swallowing another spoonful of what I knew to be his usual fruity goop, "have your father's eyes."
My lips parted in a silent O. "How about you?"
"I don't know," was his curt response.
The Japanese boy was completely obsessed with riddles, brainteasers and puzzles – Sudoku, in particular. Many of his weekend afternoons were spent in the computer lab, which only the older children had access to, generating grid after grid of numbers. Later, when he was finished, he would print out copies for us to try together. Looking at the gaping squares always gave me a headache, but I didn't want to disappoint my friend.
Sometimes we were interrupted by a few of his classmates who were seeking assistance with their maths homework. It would only take him a single glance to solve an equation, and another glance to scatter the deeply impressed masses. I was in awe of all the attention he received.
"One day," Ryuzaki insisted, "people will look at you like that, too. You just have to work really, really hard."
He also seemed to be pretty popular with the ladies. He received secret admirer notes on a weekly basis, which he chucked out after sniffing the lightly perfumed surfaces.
On Halloween, he received three anonymous Candy-O-Grams.
"As if. Not a chance. In her dreams." And then into the nearest rubbish bin they all went. I felt sorry for the pumpkin-shaped chocolates.
"Give it air and it will live. Give it water and it will die."
Ryuzaki raised his head from the decade-old paperback cupped in his palms. Nancy Drew was one of my favorite series, although some of the vocabulary was a bit advanced for my age. That was why I had the older boy read to me when he wasn't busy with his own assignments.
"I have no clue," I said sheepishly.
"Come on," he urged me. "It's quite simple."
"Give me a hint," I whined.
"Nope."
"You are such a meanie. In more ways than one."
Our heads whipped around at the new voice. A gorgeous, curly-haired brunette was leaning against the bookshelf, fluttering her lashes at the Japanese boy. "May I borrow your brother for a sec, darling?" she cooed, obviously addressing me.
My eyebrows almost shot off my face. "Okay..."
Ryuzaki stiffened. "First of all, she's not my sister," he snapped, "and secondly, no, you may not. You just can't take a hint, can you?"
The girl turned bright as a tomato. Without another word, she turned on her heels and stomped away.
"Who was that?"
"A girl from my English class. She's the one who's been leaving me poems all month. To be fair, they weren't really poems, just plagiarized song lyrics." His nostrils flared in contempt.
"She's really pretty."
"Pretty isn't good enough," he said calmly. "When you're older, you'll understand. Now, where were we?"
When I was called in to be re-evaluated by the school nurse, she was pleased to learn that I had grown an inch in height, while retaining the same weight as before. Mathematically speaking, my so-called diets were working. Boy, if only she knew my dirty little secret...
"Studying hard?"
"Mmhmm." I refrained from boasting about the gold stars that were now tacked up beside my name in every single one of my classes, save for physical education. Too bad hide-and-seek wasn't in the curriculum.
"An old patient of mine once said that using your brain is just as effective as exercising. What do you think about that?"
I thought for a moment. "That's interesting," I declared.
"Well, I think it's just plain silly." The bony matron gave me another once-over. "Anyway, I think I can trust you to stay on track. Behave yourself this Christmas, alright? God knows how much sugar goes into all those cookies and cakes and..."
I tuned her out as tears began to prickle my eyes. Christmas used to be my parents' favorite holiday; it had been good for business.
Decorations were popping up everywhere we looked. Sprigs of holly would be peeking out at us from every nook and cranny possible. There were strings of fairy lights, popcorn and berries twisting through the dining and study halls, classrooms, bathrooms, dorms, and even the playground outside, where the snow-draped baby firs stood twinkling underneath the moon.
The caretakers, teachers, nurses and kitchen staff were busier than ever. There were rumors swirling about the secret arrival of a certain special guest – "Yeah, I heard that he was going to dress up as Father Christmas and hand out presents!" – though the supposed jolly fat man had yet to be sighted.
The idea of a mystery guest was intriguing, of course – but we were more excited about indulging in the wonderful scraps that would soon be stuffed into the fridges and pantry. Bowls of mashed potatoes, boats of gravy, plates of turkey breasts, trays of cranberry and strawberry tarts, boxes of gingerbread houses...
But for now, we had to make do with the usual: jam for Ryuzaki and dinner leftovers for me.
"Someone's coming!" my accomplice hissed, and ushered me into the walk-in freezer.
We peeked through the window, teeth chattering. The kitchen doors swung open to reveal a lanky, shadowy figure. Swiftly but stealthily, it crept toward the fridge and stuck its head inside. The stranger's face was briefly illuminated by the inner light bulb; he had skin as pale as paper, and eyes as dark as ink.
We watched in silence as he rummaged through the shelves like a raccoon on the prowl. And then, just like that, he was gone.
"Well, well, well," Ryuzaki muttered. "Why, I never…"
"Do you know him?"
"Not quite..." He opened the freezer and we hopped back out. "I think I saw him talking to the librarian last week. He must be a new teacher or something."
Quillsh Wammy cordially invites the following students to tea:
Year 1: Alexandra S.
Year 2: Joseph E.
Year 3: Tabitha N.
Year 4: Patrick C.
Year 5: Munro G.
Year 6: Thomas K.
Year 7: Sabrina D.
Year 8: William Y.
Year 9: Rue R.
1600 hours, West Wing Lounge.
Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.
"What possible reason would he have for calling us here?"
"Wait, isn't he that stinking rich dude who opened this orphanage?"
"Not just this one, Sabrina. The librarian told me that Sir Wammy opened at least one in every country across the world!"
"Blimey!"
"Well, we are the top students in our respective years," Ryuzaki remarked, trying not to look too proud of himself. So instead, he beamed at me.
All nine of us were seated in the lounge, waiting impatiently for the late arrival of our supposed host. I was dressed in my best clothes – a black long-sleeved dress that I had worn to my parent's funeral. Similarly, Ryuzaki was donning his only suit, the one that he had worn to the mortuary. His parents, on the other hand, had been cremated; there had been no service for those horrible drug-and-child-abusers.
The ornate door cracked open, and everyone immediately clammed up.
"I hate it when that happens," a soft voice floated towards us. It – he – sounded amused.
The person stepped into the room, pushing a trolley of desserts. Behind him was a much older man.
I recognized the elderly person straight away. There were portraits of him hanging in the nurse's office, as well as the study and dining halls. He was the man that my parents and their goodwill had practically died for: Quillsh Wammy.
A little cry of surprise escaped my lips when I turned my attention to his young assistant.
He was the mystery thief from the kitchen.
"You're all early," Mystery Thief droned.
A few people tittered, but no one said anything. We were too frozen with intimidation. Quillsh Wammy looked friendly enough, but his teenage companion was staring as down as though we were rodents. Although, in truth, he was quite the unsightly creature himself. His hair was ruffled, just as much as his offensive sweater and jeans.
St. Mark's founding father broke the silence. "Where are my manners? Welcome! I am Quillsh Wammy, and this is…"
"Lancelot. Like the knight."
Ryuzaki suddenly snorted beside me. Very carefully, he tipped his head in my direction, his mouth barely moving. "I don't trust this guy."
"Why would you say that?"
There was a flurry of activity as the dark-eyed person beckoned our group of fellow orphaned students to the cart of food. One by one, we shyly shuffled into a neat line.
"For one thing, he's lying about his name. It's really L Lawliet."
"L!"
The inhuman howl jerked me out of subconsciousness. For a moment, the world tilted as my brain hastened to readjust to the smell of damp and the sight of Mello's leather-clad body draped across a marble altar tomb.
A/N: Allie will only be regaining her St. Mark's memories for now. It'll take much more than mental stimuli for her to recover her Wammy life (hint hint, nudge nudge).
As I have tried to portray, she had not been a natural-born genius like Near probably was (shown by his lack of effort, especially beating Mello without even trying), hence the elevated level of pressure that ultimately cracked her after B died.
Special shout out: to akatsukifan who was first to review the last chapter! You're all-around an incredible reader :P
Thanks to all you wonderful readers/alerters/favoriters; special thanks to the latest reviewers: akatsukifan, annee loves sasusaku, Can'tContainIt, C. Holywell-Black, flygirl, I Love Bleach, Kira the Wolf, LilPadfootChicky, MaskedAngel18, Mello's Yellow Jello, moonfleur, Neckocat, OhMyGeePinkSucksAss, Ovalord of da Empia of cookies, -patterns-at-dusk-, RWolfe94, Sailormercury117, Saya Hikari Uchiha, ShadowedSerenity, shinigami777, TheCatchingLightAlchemist, VennaKitty, Who's There and YuukikuranxD ~
Thanks so much for reading!
