In The End
Prologue
The memory is vivid, the memory of walking across that road, towards the detective, seeing that grin etched so perfectly on his face, and then hearing the blaring horn of the truck only too late.
Green-blue eyes widen in shock, as the truck collides with the body, cracking several ribs on impact, and skidding for a good minute or so before coming to a halt at which he can finally fall back onto the road.
His clothes have become stained, and something sticky is matting his hair, though he doesn't dare think about what it is. There are people yelling, people crowding around him, but all he wants to see, all he cares about, is the detective, standing on the curb and laughing.
There's a thumping in his head, and it sounds like his heart. Thmp-thmp. Thmp-thmp. The detective doesn't care. Thmp-thmp. The beat is steady, but slowing. The pain which stretches across his entire body is slowly ebbing. Thmp-thmp. The black notebook in the detective's hands falls to the ground, and he stares stupidly at the dying man. Thmp…thmp…the beat is so slow now. Thmp….thmp…and then there is nothing.
The detective stands there, shocked, unable to say anything. The blue-green eyes are still open, staring, and though the man has ceased to move, he can imagine what he would be saying about the detective's recent actions. "Stupid," he sobbed to himself, "how could I have been so stupid?" He fell to his knees, and stared at the black notebook sitting on the ground beside him.
Brown eyes locked on the notebook, and were on the book even as he wrapped it in cloth two days later, hiding it from the world, and locking it in a makeshift plywood box, painting on the lid a very obvious message. 'Never Open' Not friendly, but necessary.
He handed it to the funeral home, asking for it to be put away safely for the family of the man. Put away with that man's belongings. Forever, he hoped. He asked one thing of the clerk, though.
"Don't let anyone else ever take that away. Don't let them open it."
"Dare I ask why, sir?" The clerk wondered. The detective stared at him for a moment, and sighed.
"Because it contains his most dangerous secret." And this was enough, but in his own mind, he added, 'Because we don't need another Kira.'
He had hoped there would never be another Kira, had prayed there would never be another Kira. Took control of the police station and rounds to assure there would never be another Kira. Made the new chief of police promise to make sure there would never be another Kira when he retired. Kept praying there wouldn't be another long after. Cried when he picked up the newspaper one morning, fifty years after the incident, and spied Kira's name in the headline once more.