Beyond Birthday hummed. "You shouldn't."

I rubbed the bridge of my nose, exhaling deeply. "Care to tell me what Naomi Misora's escaped convict is doing in my house?"

"Nope," he said, popping the 'p'. "By the way, you're out of jam." I don't recall him being this . . . frivolous in the book, I thought. Then again, I don't think I paid too much attention to Death Note's spin-offs, rather than the actual manga.

"Strange, considering Dad bought a whole jar of it last week," I said, raising an eyebrow. "Look, you're cool and all, but I'd like you off my property, or I could call Naomi and let her know exactly where you are."

He just laughed to himself in that odd, manufactured way of his. "I'm impressed you were able to get on Misora's good side that easily," he appraised, "but I don't think you want to kick out the man who hacked into the FBI and NPA databases to get her off your trail."

"The . . . you . . ." He did what? When? Why? How did he even know about me? I shook my head and took a deep breath. "Okay. Give me a moment." Closing my eyes and sighing, I continued, "I'm going to need you to explain everything, right now."

"Everything as in everything?" he asked, poker-faced as though he hadn't been cackling just a moment ago.

"Right from the beginning," I affirmed.

"Sit down then, we'll be here a while," he said, pulling out a chair, and I finally stepped through my own door, took off my shoes, and sat down. I wasn't sure how to feel about this—if his reasoning for being here, in my house, was going to be longer than 'your best friend is Kira' or 'you're friends with my captor and I want to stay hidden', that meant there was something bigger at work.

Nonetheless, I nodded.

"So, it all started when I was a child—"

"Fast forward to the part that's actually relevant to me, please," I groaned. Was this all a joke to him? "Actually, first, tell me what I should call you."

"Just B is fine," he said, and somehow I could tell he was just amused by the entire exchange. Looking down on me. "And," he continued, "I can't share all the details yet, but I'm only here to help you." He placed a box wrapped in gift paper down on the table in front of me.

"Why?" I asked, not looking at it.

B looked thoughtful. "Think of it as . . . me repaying a debt. I helped you out with Misora when I escaped from prison, by cancelling her appointment and getting the FBI to bring her back. She's safe in Los Angeles right now," he said.

So . . . even when I thought I helped Naomi, B had a hand in it, huh? Right, she was willing to let me deal with the task force and pass on her information, but she had booked an appointment and would have been contacted about it eventually, I realised.

B seemed to be thinking about how much to say. "We've met before," he said, after a while. "I've seen you once and spoken to you once, both on separate occasions."

What. "Shouldn't I have remembered meeting you of all people?"

"I didn't make a point of introducing myself," he admitted. "The first time, you probably wouldn't have remembered anyway, since it was, what, twelve years ago? Yeah . . . that sounds about right. I was outside your holiday house and noticed something rather interesting. The time we spoke was on the phone, a little while before Annelyse died."

I vaguely remembered getting a weird phone call about an Annelyse a few years ago. "That was you?"

"Yes. Of course, I realised when you hung up on me that you had no idea who Annelyse was—or that she was, in fact, going by the alias of Chiyoko Yamada."

This was becoming too much to process. "You—you know—knew—my mom?" And somehow, more about her than I did . . . ? A twinge of betrayal shot through me.

"Your dad, too. He's helped me out a lot recently, you know, being in LA all the time. Why," he added, smiling coyly, "he was the one who helped break me out of jail."

"Stop," I said, closing my eyes. "I need a moment." Standing up, I walked upstairs and sat down in my room. Obviously, B wasn't going anywhere, so I figured there shouldn't have been too much of a problem leaving him.

B was acquainted with both my parents. He's spoken directly to them on numerous occasions, and cared about them to the point where he was worried about Mom's death, and Dad got him out of jail.

So when Dad had kept going to LA—where he was now—was he actually meeting with B? The LABB murder cases took place around a year and a half ago; and at the time, I knew for a fact that Dad had been here, in Japan. Did that have any significance to it?

That would explain why he felt he owed my parents—but in that case, why not help them out directly? Why help me instead? Why help me defend Light and drive Naomi away from Japan? Most of all, why help keep the secret of Light being Kira? If he'd been trailing me since Naomi left, there was no way he wouldn't know. Then, another question hit me: Does Dad know Light is Kira, then?

It wasn't implausible. B had the Shinigami eyes, so he would be able to tell right away that Light had a Death Note, if he knew about the missing lifespan thing—and even if he didn't, my conversation with Naomi would have been enough to clue him in.

And if he had told Dad, that would explain one thing that had been plaguing my mind as of late:

Kimiko, things can't change. Don't try to change them.

If he had known Light was Kira . . . if he had known about the Lind L. Tailor broadcast, and that was why he stopped me, it would make sense.

I felt my throat dry. No, he can't know, I told myself, shaking my head. There's no way B could have told him before he escaped, and it's impossible to not notice a missing convict for a month. How could Dad have known otherwise? That evening was . . . different.

Just as I realised I was getting nowhere by ruminating, the door to my room opened and B poked his head in. "Is your 'moment' over?"

I bristled. "You can't just enter someone's room like that."

"Sorry," B said, but he certainly wasn't, if his strolling into the room was anything to go by. "Doesn't your boyfriend enter here of his own volition all the time anyway?"

I frowned. "I don't have a boyfriend. The only person who ever comes here other than Dad is Light."

B snorted, "Exactly."

It took me a moment to realise what he was implying. "Light isn't my boyfriend!"

B snorted dismissively, clearly not buying it. "As I was saying, if you're done with your 'moment', there's something more important I need to tell you that's probably more useful to you than the other stuff we talked about."

I was slightly put off that he seemed to have not cared at all about whether or not I was prepared to hear what he was about to tell me, but I kept my mouth shut. Nothing I could have said would deter him. And besides, with L as an adversary, I'd probably need to get used to handling shocking information quickly.

That still didn't stop me from staring irritably at B as I waited for him to continue.

His lips curved upwards into a grin and he stretched his arms out, and said as dramatically as possible, "Why, you don't have a name or lifespan above your head. I'm sure you know what that means."

"It means I'm dead," I said automatically, letting B's drama crash and burn (no reference intended).

B huffed. "I thought you would have been a little more surprised about that, but I'll take it to mean you know of the failed reaps."

"The what?" That was something I was sure had never been in Death Note before. "Explain."

"Not until you say please," B admonished condescendingly.

I withheld a sigh, but did so nonetheless. "Please."

Seeming to have recovered his pride from that alone, B delved into his explanation. "There isn't an official term for it, but I've been calling them 'the failed reaps' since they're people who are supposed to be dead and whose lifespans have run out, but for whatever reason, they're not. They do remember what their life was like before they died, along with the experience of dying itself if a certain memory is triggered or a link is established. Hence, they're people who are supposed to be dead, but the job didn't get finished."

That seemed true enough—I knew for a fact that the first time I had remembered about being . . . me was when I'd met Light. That would have had to be the established link. I nodded, signalling for B to continue.

"Obviously, I'm not one of them, so I don't have a clue about why it happens, but I do have some speculations, after learning about the Death Notes and Shinigami Eyes. Anyhow, I can't see a name or lifespan above your head, and neither can any Shinigami. I've come across quite a few, but most of them either haven't triggered their recollection, or they're perfectly happy with the way they're living now."

I frowned. "What . . . do you mean by that?" He was being too vague for me to understand what he was trying to get at.

"I mean that they don't die easily. If they have a strong will to live, they'll live, but if they wanted to die, the statistical probability of them dying becomes much higher—moreso than it normally would."

"Did you . . . just go about trying to kill them, then?" I asked. How else would he have gotten that information?

"Nah, that would be dumb. It's quantum physics," he said, completely seriously.

I resisted the urge to bang my head against the wall. Instead, I settled for a deadpan stare.

"I'm being serious. Without a set lifespan, the will of a person to live or die plays a part in whether or not it happens. If my reasoning is correct, that's why Death Note users tend to have great amounts of misfortune. By believing that killing is wrong and doing it anyway, they begin to draw more negative possibilities towards them due to a subconscious desire or belief that they will be punished.

"That's why humans with Shinigami Eyes can't see the lifespans of other Death Note users. The numbers are invisible to humans when they change, and that change can only take place if the power of a Shinigami—the Death Note—wishes it so."

Catching on, I said, "So when a human uses a Death Note, their lifespans can change because of its innate Shinigami power to alter lifespans. And because the years that are left for a human's life are tacked on to a Shinigami's when a Shinigami kills them, the numbers don't change because those years still exist, but are just transferred elsewhere?"

"Precisely." B flashed me a grin. "Shinigami can see lifespans that are changing because they're Shinigami. Humans can't."

"I . . . see," I said, not really seeing, but I supposed that theoretically, it made sense. Then, a thought hit me. "So if those years that are taken off by the Death Note don't go to the human using it, isn't there a chance that those are the years added to the failed reaps?"

B's eyes were practically glowing red as he contemplated it. "It would make sense, yes," he said after a while. "But, of course, this is all still speculation."

Oddly specific and detailed explanation for you to have given me for it to just be speculation, I thought, but let it slide. It wasn't like I knew any more.

And besides, knowing that the Shinigami Eyes couldn't get to me left a lot more paths open regarding Misa's role. If I could get to her before she gets to Light . . . it may not be for a while yet, but perhaps . . .

"One more thing: can I be killed by the Death Note?" I asked.

B just shrugged. "I have no idea. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go get more jam."

"Buy some bread while you're at it," I called back, and B's cackling laugh echoed across the hallway.

The remainder of the week forced me to choose between spending more time at Light's house after school, where my every move would be watched by L and Uncle Soichiro, or at my own, where I would be alone with a serial killer that had just escaped prison.

Dad hadn't been picking up his phone, either, which was making it significantly difficult to try and get an explanation out of him. There was clearly something he wasn't telling me, and it probably went a lot further than 'wanting an old buddy out of jail'.

Deciding it was the lesser of two evils (and that I'd have a way to retain my sanity), I decided to just spend most of my time at Light's, as I'd planned.

If what B had told me made sense, then the failed reaps, as he'd called them, would likely be what Ryuk had meant when he referred to me as 'one of them'. Hopefully, I'd get the chance to confront the Shinigami about it.

Thankfully, my opportunity presented itself on Wednesday, when Light was asked to stay back for a little while to help the teachers out after school. Ryuk had, for whatever reason, decided that school was boring and decided to trail after me while I headed to a bookstore where Light and I had said we'd meet after he was done.

After making sure that no one was paying too much attention to me (the curse of looking like a foreigner in Japan), I addressed him. "Ryuk."

"Hm?"

I made sure to choose the words that would inflict the most dread: "We need to talk."

Ryuk stilled, tucking his wings in so that he was standing on the ground rather than flying above it. "O-oh?" It was exactly the reaction I was hoping for.

"I think I've figured out what you meant when you said I was 'one of them'."

Ryuk seemed startled. "H-huh?"

"Before that, I want to run my own facts by you, so tell me if I'm right or wrong. And not a word of this to Light or I'll end your apple supply. First, when a Shinigami kills a human, the rest of that human's lifespan is added to the Shinigami's own life."

"Yes," Ryuk said. He didn't seem particularly surprised that I knew.

"Second, the same doesn't happen to humans when they use the notebook."

"Yeah."

"Third, as the lifespan of the human is unnaturally cut short, the years that are taken off that human's life are made to form a separate lifespan of another individual, because the lifespans of regular humans can't be changed by a factor other than the notebook causing it to."

"Uh-huh."

"Fourth, these lifespans are rendered invisible to those with the Shinigami Eyes, as they are not meant to exist. They're—we're—the them you referred to."

"That's right. Man, how'd you even know? You don't got a Death Note."

"Don't have a Death Note," I corrected automatically, then answered, "I had a little help from someone who knows some stuff," I said.

"Vague," Ryuk huffed.

"Exactly. Oh, Light's here," I changed the topic, waving Light over. I had the answers I needed, regarding myself, if nothing else.

And, perhaps, it gave me some long-needed closure. I'd been avoiding thinking of myself as Sienna Mason since I'd learned that, well, I wasn't, but technically, I still was—am—and I have been all along.

Well, duh, considering I still remember being Sienna. I shook my head. I'd been so wrapped up in trying to distance myself from . . . my past life, I guess, that I'd tried to ignore any possibilities.

A flick on my forehead brought me out of my musings. "Mikko, are you still in there?"

I blinked. Then, "Huh?"

"Bit of a delayed reaction, if you ask me," Light mused, and I scowled, pushing his hand away.

"Mean."

"No, you just space out too much."

"Still mean."

Light just laughed quietly as he picked out a planner, flipping through it.

"Light, we're already two weeks into the year and you don't have a planner?" I shook my head, surprised that the ever-organised Light would have delayed getting something like that. "I've had mine since November," I said, electing to ignore the fact that Dad had left it for me and that I hadn't gotten it myself.

Light shrugged, "But have you used yours yet?"

Obviously, I hadn't. "Unfair," I objected.

"All's fair in love and war, Mikko," Light snickered, flicking my forehead again.

I raised my arms to shield myself. "So which one is this, love or war?"

"Hm . . . both."

"Looks more like flirting than war to me," Ryuk commented unhelpfully, and I immediately felt myself beginning to blush as the memory of that almost-kiss from a few days ago began to take form, vivid right down to the way his eyelashes fluttered when his eyes closed, to the sensation of his breath on my cheeks—

I forced the memory away, my face burning in embarrassment. Love and war, huh . . .

Two days later, Light and I were studying in a cafe not too far from the library, when he said, "The cameras are all gone now, and if there were any bugs, they've been removed."

Huh, I thought they'd be there for longer . . . "You know, I was expecting they'd be there for at least a week. I guess even L can't break the laws for too long . . ."

"That, or he realised that it was pointless to actually have the cameras in there in the first place," Light pointed out. "Obviously, this means he hasn't found anything incriminating."

"Mhmm. Question six refers to the use of the bird metaphor in the second paragraph, by the way. Anyway, there haven't been any other strange moves or changes in Kira's or L's stance?"

Light shook his head. "Kira's started killing a few petty criminals this last week, but I think that's it. Perhaps its purpose is to send a message."

"Like what, 'no crime will be spared'?" Sounds like a dumb idea, if you ask me."

"Hyuk, hyuk, hyuk!"

"Question ten is a reference to Murakami's previous works, Mikko. And yeah, I guess it does seem a little . . . different to Kira's usual agenda. Anything else you want to know?"

"Since our exams are in three days, I have a very important question for you: are you, Mister Number One Nationwide, prepared to be addressed as such for the rest of your life, or not get a hundred percent, or are you going to call off the bet?"

"I meant anything that was actually important, Mikko."

"Avoiding the question, I see." I leaned closer to him over the table. "But of course, you love the attention, don't you?"

The smile on Light's face wavered slightly, his eyes darting away for a moment as his face slightly pinkened. "I—"

"Your coffee," a waitress interrupted, carefully setting down the tray with both cups of coffee and both desserts—a cheesecake for me, and a tiramisu for Light.

"Ah, thanks," Light and I said at the same time.

The waitress giggled. "Enjoy your date!"

Light sighed, continuing, "Anyhow, I don't think there's been anything new on L's side, not counting the removal of the cameras and wires, so things will hopefully calm down between now and when university starts."

"Yeah," I agreed, looking back at the literature practice paper we were doing. If I recall correctly, L's going to show up at the entrance exams for To-Oh, and after that, at the opening ceremony. Misa will likely show up soon after that . . . There shouldn't be anything to worry about between now and April, apart from entrance results, but after that, things are going to go at full-speed.

Absently, I answered the rest of the questions on the paper, and Light and I cross-checked our answers, both of us landing a perfect score. Sweet. Maybe the exam results wouldn't be as much of a need to worry about.

I'd decided to stay the night at the Yagami house again that night, hoping to have to not deal with B. It wasn't like he was a pain, but I myself had some thinking to do, and I certainly couldn't do it if B would constantly hang around the house.

Plus, Dad was probably going to be back within a couple of weeks, so I'd need that conversation between him and B to go . . . smoothly.

You know, if I think about it, if the reason I died in my universe was because I was killed by the power of the Death Note . . . would that mean the Death Note existed in my world, too? And besides, what could I have done to warrant someone wanting to kill me . . . maybe it could have been a fluke, I guess, with someone wanting to test out the notebook. Even so, why me?

Then again . . . it's probably more likely that I was killed by a Shinigami, rather than a person. But then why would they go and make my death—thinking about it still kind of threw me off, since I still felt alive—so intricate? For amusement? Wait, no . . . the lifespan would have gone to the Shinigami, then . . .

So if there is a Death Note in that world, and I was used as a test, like that motorbike guy from last month, does that mean that there could be a Kira there? Somehow, the possibility both thrilled and terrified me. People in that world know about the Death Note, from the manga and anime . . . would the person even use it the way Light did, since that idea is already out there?

Christie would love it, that's for sure, and Louis would probably be intrigued. Anna . . . actually, Anna probably wouldn't be too curious about something like a Death Note being real. I wonder whether they'd try to find out who it was, in that case. Whether they'd ever learn that I was killed by a Death Note. Actually, it seems pretty unfathomable, even to me, and my best friend is literally Kira.

After a while, I gave up on wondering about it, figuring that either way, it wouldn't affect me anymore, and I let myself fall asleep.

[A/N]: This was a little exposition heavy, but I hope it explained some of the stuff that was going on in the background!