Chapter Nineteen
Insanity (noun) – Law Definition
Mental illness of such a severe nature that a person cannot distinguish fantasy from reality, cannot conduct his/her affairs due to psychosis, or is subject to uncontrollable impulsive behaviour.
Synonym: madness
These accounts come from Watari and L.
Quillsh Wammy's Account
31st October, 1986
A babe, younger than eighteen months, appeared on the doorstep of the Montreau Orphanage in Paris. The matron, Madame De la Mare, took her in. Her hair was singed, her clothing burnt, but other than that she was healthy. Apart from the deadness of her eyes.
The orphanage was not accustomed to caring for such young children. Their charges were usually paid for and between three and sixteen. This girl was a special case. Madame De la Mare could not refuse a child who already looked as though the world had hurt her beyond repair.
When we realised Valerie had disappeared, Light immediately went to the roof. I wished I had my own place to hide while I tried to stop myself from shaking in rage.
Valerie had given herself over to Mello, my impulsive, dangerous protégé, for her brother and Sayu. While not unexpected, Watari's involvement was like a knife to the heart.
He made it up to me by not saying a word when I threw the cake on the table at the apartment window. It hit the ground with a muted squelch. I gave him not one piece of attention as he cleaned it up. Valerie was gone and I had to get her back. I went downstairs to the task force and gave them their new task.
An hour later, Light reentered the room, sat at my side at the large bank of computers, and got to work hacking the survelliance footage to follow the car from the train station. Matsuda protested they had already done so. The young man ignored him. Light needed to be in control at that moment. He had to find Valerie's whereabouts personally, as a matter of pride.
It was the same feeling within me and I felt like racing him to find her first. Sense ruled that as pointless. Instead I focused on Mello, his personality, his thought patterns, his way of life. His relationship with Near and Quinn and Valerie and the newer boy to Wammy House; Matt. The two had run away at the start of the year and joined a gang in South London. Then France and then the Italian mafia before travelling across the Pacific to America's West Coast.
Then nothing. Mello had somehow found a way to fall off the grid in March and I had not paid attention, too wrapped up in Valerie and Light and Kira. I'd monopolised Wammy's time too, ensuring he wouldn't know that Mello was gone as well.
At least it told me one thing. Mello would not put the effort into vanishing if he didn't intend to stay.
"Check for flights to America," I said to Light. He gave no acknowledgement.
When I glanced over a minute later he was searching through flight plans to Los Angeles and New York City.
Quillsh Wammy's Account
August, 1989
The girl was just past four when her dreadful beginning took their toll. She would sit for hours, staring in fear at the world around her without a word. She shook like a feather a gale.
The staff could not help her. If she was touched she became violent, thrashing like a mad thing until sedation or strapping was needed. Sedation on a four-year-old left a poor taste in the mouth of Madame De la Mare, so often cuffs attached to her cot were used. There were no straightjackets made for so young a person.
At night she screamed. The other children awoke too and cried in fear. The orphanage was a madhouse for nights on end. Madame De la Mare was forced to place the girl in a room on the fifth floor where heating was seldom used and many did not venture. It was the attic level, decrepit and a warren of small rooms that had once been the servants' quarters prior to the staff house being built. Every sharp edge and point was covered. She ate food from trays brought by the maids instead of in the dining room with the other children. Like a princess in a tower, she was locked away. Only her cries at night reminded the other children she existed. She was named V after the floor she lived on.
Two weeks into V's imprisonment, a doctor was brought in on the account of a grocer's boy who had heard her screams. He demanded to see her and upon examining the girl, he ruled her only safe in an asylum. Madame De la Mare would not stand for it and called me. I was the benefactor of the orphanage at the time and had always shared a close friendship with Madame De la Mare. It was a surprise to learn about the child she'd taken into her care and that she'd kept it a secret from me for many a year.
I intervened and convinced the doctor that an asylum was hardly the place for a four-year-old girl. He eventually acquiesced on the stipulation that he was allowed to visit her weekly. I forced Madame De la Mare to accept.
On the doctor's orders, V was allowed to wander the orphanage on Sundays, while the other children went to church. It was one of the few days I had found time to visit her, between searching through other orphanages for likely L-successors, and helping L himself become the detective I knew he could be. He was turning ten in a few months.
November twelfth was one of her few lucid days. Her eyes were as dull as usual, deadened by the pain she told me haunted her nightmares and hallucinations. Seldom she spoke of them. In the time we'd spent together, I gathered that fire played a heavy part. The doctor suggested it was a result of her mind twisting a traumatic experience from when she was very young.
"Mr. Wammy," she said as we walked through the hallways of the Montreau Orphanage. She was staring up at the large protraits of the orphanage's previous matrons and benefactors. They were cold, unsmiling protraits, done in dark oils with eyes that glared at the children who dared enter the fourth floor. Not many of the them did.
"Yes, Miss V?"
"Why do people make sad pictures like those?"
I mulled over the question, unsure of how to answer. Portraiture had never been my strong suit. Fortunately, she didn't need my reply.
"I'm going to make happy pictures. Ones with people who smile." She nodded to herself. A small spark had alighted in her eye. "Everyone is always so sad when they see me. I want to make them happy."
After breakfast with Earl Grey tea and scones, I sent one of the maids to purchase the best art supplies money could buy and a series of books on the subject, one edition for every birthday as she grew.
Mello knew how to cover his tracks, that was certain. Valerie had left over twenty-four hours ago, would certainly be in Mello's grasp by now, and we were only marginally closer to finding her than before. The survelliance route was a dead-end. He had managed to loop the footage in the airport and none of the flights reported an unexpected number of passengers. It was cleverly done. Months of planning had been done for this day.
Light was getting progressively more anxious with every passing hour. With Mello's uncharacteristic silence there was little we could do. Light spent his time hacking into every airport server between here and New York City, trying to find any mention of a tall girl with brown hair, most likely unconscious. There was nothing. Watari suspected Matt, who had always shown an aptitude for electronics, was behind it.
Kira only killed three people in the days after Valerie's disappearance.
Quillsh Wammy's Account
23rd December, 1990
Days before Christmas, the Montreau Orphanage took in their youngest ward yet. A boy only a few months old. The mother was sobbing as she laid the child in Madame De la Mare's arms and ran off into the night. She left him with only a name: Quirinus. The god with two faces. The god of beginnings and endings. Madame De la Mare thought it did not suit him. Quirinus became Quinn, since the other children found it too hard to pronounce his full name. Quinn was a better fit by far, the matron told me.
That day was a Sunday and as such V was with me when they brought the boy in. Together we saw him being taken to the nursery. V watched him go, curious for the first time I had seen.
Two days later V was allowed out of the fifth floor for Christmas. As presents she received the next art book from me and a new brush from Madame De la Mare. Trinette, one of the maids, bought her red paint.
Madame De la Mare later told me how V had disappeared that afternoon while the children were playing around the Christmas tree. There was a building-wide panic until they found her in the nursery. Trinette was the first to laugh.
V had set up her easel beside Quinn's cot and was painstakingly painting him, using her new red. Her brow was furrowed, her shoulders set as she used only red, with black and white for differing shades.
Trinette volunteered to stay with the two children. From what I was told later, the first painting of Quinn was the best V had done since starting her hobby. Our new Sunday routine was always punctuated with an afternoon of depicting the baby Quinn in some way, whether in colour or pencil. Her nightmares lessened and when she became catatonic it would last only a day at most. When she was with Quinn, it was as though all the hallucinated pain and fire vanished.
Quinn's first word, on the first of April, 1991, was 'V.'
Six days into the hunt for Valerie – we had found nothing, nothing, other than knowing they had to be in America but in a country that large, where could we start? – a letter finally came, left at the police headquarters. It was addressed to the task force.
Inside was a newspaper cutting of a flight that had crashed two days earlier. The article included a list of those who had lost their lives in the crash. Someone had added two more at the end of the list.
Quinn Catearro
Sayu Yagami
My first thought was Kira.
Then Light Yagami stood up so fast his chair crashed to the ground. The entire task force jumped at the sound. He looked almost wild, shoulders shuddering with every breath, fingers clenched into white-knuckled fists. Watari, I noted, was in a similar state of disquiet, though much less expressively.
"Light-san?" said Matsuda nervously, toying with the photo that had slipped out of the envelope. Light held out his hand wordlessly. Matsuda handed over the photo, worry lining his young face.
Light took one look at the photo and then threw it at me. He stormed out of the room, heading for the roof.
The photo fell to the floor like a dying butterfly. It landed face-up.
It showed Valerie kneeling in the middle of a warehouse, mouth open wide in a scream that reverberated in my soul.
Quillsh Wammy's Account
8th April, 1995
V's worst fit hit in the middle of Spring. At the age of nine, she was allowed more time to roam the grounds with Quinn, who had attached himself to her side. Following in the artistic footsteps of his surrogate sister, he found solace from the world in music, playing the piano with almost transcendental ability. It was a common sight to find V and her paints in the music room with Quinn while Trinette patched clothing for the other wards of the orphanage.
We discovered too late that there was a downside to her painting. It was not a cure, merely a way to hold off the demons of her mind for as long as possible.
On the eighth, she was hit with her worst case of psychosis. It lasted fifty-three hours and in that time she would not eat or sleep. Anyone who attempted to care for her was attacked. The other wards were taken out of the orphanage for a trip to the seaside in one of my country houses. Quinn was the only one who stayed back. He refused to leave his sister.
Madame De la Mare and I had perhaps not given him enough credit. While we called for doctors and tried to force food into her throat, the young boy demanded she be brought to the music room. Young Trinette was his support. With no other ideas, myself and two orderlies called in from the nearby hospital carried her to the room and strapped her to a cot that was brought down.
I cannot forget what Quinn did in that moment. At the age of four he showed more compassion and mental strength than any man or woman I have met since. He approached his sister and laid a steady hand on her head. She hissed and screeched for him to get away and yet, with determined kindness, he stroked her hair. He whispered something to her that I did not hear. A smile gracing his features, he went to the old pianoforte in the corner of the room.
He began to play and, to all of our monumental surprise and delight, she stopped writhing like a girl possessed. She relaxed into the bed and began to sob, crying for her mother. Trinette held her hand.
"It's hurts," she cried. "Make it stop hurting." Trinette unstrapped the girl and held her, whispering "Valeria, my dearest Valeria," while Quinn played a simple, charming lullaby of his own creation. I have not seen anything to equal the love and affection of those two in my days since then. In my darkest moments I still call that memory to mind as a reminder than humanity is not always so corrupt.
Three days later, both of the children were on their way to Wammy House. I implored Trinette to work for me. She insisted her place was in Montreau.
I introduced the two to BB and L. L was intrigued, having heard stories of V from me. BB was also curious. I see now his curiosity was a result of his obsession with all things L was interested in. At the time I only hoped they would be the family she'd never had.
I named her Valerie, hoping she would remember Trinette's kindness. Unfortunately, her wish to forget the traumas of the orphanage extended to blocking out nearly everything else as well. That included our Sunday breakfasts and Trinette and the sullen protraits that had inspired her to paint. Quinn became her entire world and her muse. Her reliance on the boy was worrying to me for as long as I could spare time to think of her. My time spent training L took every part of the day. At fifteen, he hardly slept and was already solving crimes that had the police world baffled.
With L occupying my attention I could not spare the time to check up on my other wards. To make up for this I had Roger Ruvie, the Wammy Orphanage manager, send me reports on them. His reports never included Mello's bullying or BB's stalking. I had not asked to know about the private life of the children under my care, only their progress.
To Miss Valerie
I find myself regretting how blind I had been back then. My inability to see past my nose condemmed Valerie and Quinn to a less than a half life of misery. The fault of BB's actions and, indeed, Quinn's unfortunate passing, lie solely on my shoulders.
Miss Valerie, you have shown the incredible ability to forgive numerous times already. I ask that you can find it within yourself to extend the same to me.
You have my sincerest apologies.
Light was frantic. For a person who was usually so obsessive over his appearance, he paid little thought to it now. He spent an hour at a time pacing the room, muttering to himself. At times I thought he was in conversation with a phantom. The rest of the task force had caught his desperation even though they didn't know Valerie personally. Two more days passed. I contacted my numerous acquaintances (men and women I hadn't reported to the authorities in return for their loyalty and help) throughout America, Italy and France to see if anyone knew where Mello and Matt were. The rest of the task force were attempting to track down the warehouse through the police and satellite imagery. Frustratingly, the photo showed precious little in the way of clues.
We were at our breaking point. Dead ends, false leads, looped surveillance footage. All of it closed in upon us. We were fighting against a very real clock. Watari had told me of Valerie's episodes as a child. How they would be in the wake of Quinn's death . . . the idea did not bear contemplation. Worse still, I knew Mello. I knew Valerie. Solving this case went beyond professional interest and duty. I was emotionally invested. If we did not find her soon, I might snap.
Day nine signalled a turn around. I had managed two hours of near-useless sleep and arrived in the main room to find Light hunched in his chair, muttering to himself once more. This time he did not hide his words. He didn't realise I was there.
"I know, I know, alright? But I can't let you." He paused, as if in conversation with someone I could not see. There was no phone in sight. He groaned, fingers wound painfully tight into lifeless bronze hair. "I know that," he said sullenly, spitting the words. Another pause. He softened, shoulders losing their strain. "I know that. Fine. Go. Find her."
Silence reigned for a long time. Then, so soft I almost missed it: "Damn you, Minerva. You will be the end of me. I know it."
I decided to make my presence known. With a small cough, I entered the room, saying, "Good morning, Light-kun. How was your sleep?"
Light knew full well that I was aware he hadn't slept a wink. His gaze was shrewd, itching to know how much I'd heard. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction and remained silent until the rest of the task force filed in within the hour, yawning and drinking from oversized coffee cups.
Three hours into another day of fruitless calls, Light missed a letter on his keyboard. It was the first time I'd ever seen it happen. His eyes became glazed. Suddenly he switched over to the satellite mapping programme the task force had been using and typed in an address. The image of docks falling into disrepair filled the screen. He zeroed in on a specific warehouse. For a minute he just stared at the building's roof.
Then, "Ryuzaki."
"Yes, Light-kun?"
"I know where she is."
All activity ground to a halt. Matsuda's head snapped up and he gasped in delight. "How did you find her?" he asked, jumping up from his seat on the couch to peer over Light's shoulder. Aizawa joined him next, and Mogi and Ukita. Ide remained where he was, seated on my other side at the computer bank. Watari was downstairs in the control room.
"How do you know?" asked Aizawa suspiciously. They all knew of my assertion that Light Yagami was Kira.
Light ignored the others and turned to me. "Ryuzaki, I promise you she's in there."
"I must repeat Aizawa's question, Light-kun. How do you know that?"
Light's mouth twisted. He was fighting some internal battle. For a fascinating moment his emotions were written on his face and I could see everything. In amongst the frustration I found a wealth of guilt that was all the confirmation I needed of his hidden self. The triumph of the moment was hollow. Somewhere in the world, Valerie was screaming, helpless. Knowing the girl – who, for whatever reason, had sat by my side while I solved cases, and listened to me rant about justice for as long as I liked – was going through such pain put everything else in perspective.
Kira could wait. Valerie needed me. I refused to fail her again.
I flipped open my phone and pressed the 2 key. Watari picked up on the first ring.
"Ryuzaki," he said in greeting.
"Ready the jet, Watari." The rest of the task force started talking at once, incredulous. I only had eyes for Light. The tangled flurry of emotion had disappeared. In its place was tentative, fragile hope.
TOWRTA: Wassup.
Turns out I've been spelling 'Wammy' wrong the entire time. Well, eventually I'll re-edit these chapters and fix all of that but for now, you guys will just have to deal with the spelling change. Seriously, what sort of name is Quillsh Wammy anyway? (An exciting, exotic one, that's what.)
Hope you guys enjoyed the chapter, I'd love to hear your thoughts (especially for the last chapter too, ehehe). By the way, only one more chapter and an epilogue to go! Woo!
Next time: the endgame
Yours Truly and God bless
TOWRTA