A/N: Eh, yeah. I promised a reader I'd update, like, a week ago. But I was too sick to even stay awake. I'm still very sick with an infection, but I'm not at school today, and decided to update. If this chapter sucks, please don't hurt me.

Blame it on the durgs.

Musical Influence: Revolution Number Nine..

Disclaimer: Death Note is worth money. Lots and lots of money. I'd have to say that, at the moment, the most expensive thing I own is my Alvarez. So, in that, I do not own Death Note.

"Low-light, Low-light, Low-light, Low-light.."

The jeering, raucous musical tone in which his name was being sung had caused a chill to run down and throughout the frail frame that was L Lawliet's body. He was reminded, somewhat, of the avant-garde tune that Wammy would play when he was but a young boy. Some track by the Beatles, he was sure..

It was far too early to become so analytical, his brain had screamed at him. Which was true- he had just been awoken by the rumble of the man's voice.

It was as though his name were on a loop, and the vociferous voices that raged on outside at a distance from where he were did not help to qualm his nerves in the least. He was almost certain that he was near a train station; for he would, on occasion, hear the harsh grating of a horn followed by the rhythmic hum of the wheels colliding with the tracks. The screaming would die off, if only for a moment, and the loud movement would begin again.

Then again, he had lost the sensation of sight, along with partial hearing, when he was so haphazardly bandaged by the deranged man who had managed to kidnap L for the second time. Ergo, he could not really come to a definitive answer.

For all he knew, this was but a clever ruse.

With a loud, wistful sigh he attempted (for the nth time) to make himself more comfortable. His arms had gone numb from the pain, and L could not even tell if they were the victims of an amputation. Dearly, though, with all his might, he hoped that weren't the case.

Sometime after the terse, yet interesting, conversation with Light over the phone, Beyond had proceeded to carve his initials near L's left hipbone. It was as though he were a man possessed, filled with raw, green envy as he dug the blade far too deeply into pale skin. L hadn't cried out then. No, it was far too risky to do such a thing. He had bit back on his lip and hoped he would not swallow his tongue.

But now, as he squirmed about under Beyond's intense weight, it had become blatant that his bleeding had yet to subside. With all his might he wanted to scream, cry out and lash about in the hopes of someone hearing him.

Such an action would sure enough award him with a slow decapitation, though. And besides, his arms were bound by piano wire. It was not as though he could readily escape without cutting through tissue, muscle and bone.

L was certainly not in the mood to bear witness to the color of his own marrow.

He almost screamed when his head was grabbed with a bruising force and then was rolled and tossed around so much that he began to choke. Distraught, witless laughter was heard overhead, and it took all his might not to outright sob.

This ordeal was all but horrific to him. Never in his entire life had he felt so clueless to the situation. He was unsure of whether or not he would die in this next moment, or become the subject of inane torture.

Bloodied fingers were beginning to cut into the skin on the back of his neck. The man's thumbs crushed into his Adam's Apple with enough force to leave an impression on his skin. Maybe this was it, the detective thought, death by crushed esophagus.

His head was becoming light, and his senses even more dulled by the second. He had stopped struggling by now, finding it smarter to die with dignity rather than like a caged animal. It was almost time to accept his final quietus..

And just as he was sure and done, making a point to ignore the final bout of consciousness as it began to list off the things he had regretted not to do in his short life, the hands were off of him, and he felt a wet muscle glide harshly around his cheek.

"Good morning."

Day one had come and gone far too quickly, in Light's opinion. Then again, he had yet to do but one thing in regards to L's own welfare.

It was not as though he gave a damn about that idiosyncratic fool. The only reason he had agreed with Watari (the damned old bastard that he was) and the rest of the imbeciles that called themselves a task force was so that he could rescue the detective and kill him himself.

And, if he failed, he would at least be able to hear the detective's final cries.

Thus be it as it were, it was well into three in the morning when he decided that his searching had gone on far too long. Searching the culprit's true name was a bit of a joke. The old fart had told him and his team of Beyond Birthday, but nothing of what the man looked like.

As it turned out, seeing as he was a former associate of L, his photo was nowhere to be found on the Internet. He had even gone so far as hacking into the LAPD's webpage and looking though the file, to no avail.

All he had were old news clippings of the murders, along with Watari's account of the psychopath.

And, truly, the man was a psycho. From what he's read and from various recordings on tape that the old man had managed to dig up from interviews between L and the man, the kidnapper's sanity had long gone on a wanderjahr and never returned.

He was halfway through the third interview between L and Beyond (the latter telling the former, in explicit detail, of the time he crushed a squirrel's head with his bare hands and proceeded to embalm and dissect the creature) when the phone began to ring.

Perplexed, and with a smidgen of apprehension, he quickly brought the receiver to his ear and awaited the person on the other side's voice.

It surprised him more so when the voice was not that of Beyond Birthday, but of L himself. "L, Light-kun?"

"Yes, Ryuuzaki, it's me." Light wanted to wince at the hoarse whisper that was once the commanding drawl of the man. He wondered what had happened to the detective. "You sound like shit."

The was a coughing, choked sort of chuckle as the detective wheezed out his laughter. "Well, you know, rough day at the office."

At this, Light did cringe. That was a moronic statement to make. "I can tell. What's going on, though, where's Rue?"

"Resting on my solar plexus." L wheezed the answer out and moved to inhale again. It was with terrible difficulty that he succeeded, however. "He wants to know how it's going."

A quandary as ever, Light noted. He bit down on his lip in a harried manner, tapping his fingers along the monitor of his computer as he searched for a proper response. Was that it? Should he just tell the truth? If he lied, would the spindly, spider-like man be killed as Light listened on, alone and cold in a dark room?

"Uh, er, not so well, Ryuuzaki. But, but.. It's only day one!" For reasons he could not comprehend, he was hit with the insatiable craving to pacify the horror and tumult the other boy must be feeling.

"It's all but quite all-right, Light-kun. I am quite confident in your reasoning abilities, as well as Watari's own." It sounded downright looney, in Light's honest opinion. The great L was putting his own life in the hands of a college student and an elderly man that could very well be senile!

All that did was through the boy into a fit of rage. Clearly, L was not thinking in the right mind. The detective could talk his way out of a murder conviction, if he so wanted to. Why was he not freed by now, crouched beside the youth, rambling on in that senseless way of his to the reasons why Light was Kira?

"Right, L." Light bit down his remarks. There was no use baiting the boy, he obviously had enough troubles on his chest. Literally.

"Anyway," the detective let out a grunt, and Light could hear the faint shuffling and cluttering of objects. "I, I think I must take leave now. I, ah," he held back a whimper. "I'll talk to you soon."

Light wanted to utter another word, but found himself incapacitated to speak when he heard the maniacal laughter over the phone.

"Have a nice night, Light-kun. I know I will."

Roger was a proper man from a proper family. While it were true that he was born and raised in Liverpool, and was known to indulge in quite the nefarious company back in those days, he was now purged of his sins and cast as a free man.

It was only proper that he did not throw a fit when he was the recipient of such terrible news.

He had been seated beside young Mihael Keehl, who was playing a round of Go Fish with the young Jeevas, when his cellular device went off around his right pocket. His thinning, pale gray brows knitted together, for it had been terribly early in the morning at the time of the ring. He cast a wary blue eye at the telephone, only to see a large "W" on the screen.

Hurriedly, he dismissed himself from the boys' company (Near's gaze was beginning to perturb him greatly, anyhow) and rushed out of the hospital doors. Without a moment's haste he put the phone to his ear and murmured out a reserved "Hello."

It surprised his greatly, the desperate, frail tone that was Quillsh Wammy's worried voice. He was half-tempted to stop the man mid-rant and try to lull him back into a composed reality. But then it hit him what the man was telling him.

L was gone.

Such a disaster it was, not even for just the detective solely. If word were to get out that the man had been stolen, he was almost sure that the world's leaders would throw a fit and start blaming each other. Criminals would rejoice. It would cause some mass hysteria, so be it.

What disturbed him even more were the instructions that the distraught man had fed to him. This was utter blasphemy! It would endanger the boys and possibly even he himself!

But he knew what he had to do. It was his job as a proper Englishman, and as a mentor to the detective. It was indebted to him.

So he clicked the phone shut and, with shoulders slumped, meandered back into the room. All three boys made quick note of the tense atmosphere. Matt even shut off his PSP.

"Boys, we have a grave, grave situation at hand.."

And you all probably thought I had forgotten about ol' Roger and his band of misfits! Fret not, for I haven't!

And what's this? Light's somewhat concerned for L's well-being? WHAT IS THIS MADNESS? I don't know, do you?

Poor Lawli, as well. What a shitty wake up, no? I'd rather not be awoken in such a manner.

Now, before I go, I'd like to ask the readers (who also might happen to be writers) if, while they write a story, it becomes easier if you find a song that inspires you. While I was writing this chapter, I had "Revolution Number Nine" on a continuous loop. I had not been able to write until I put this song on. 'Twas odd.

Oh, and as a final note: Has anyone seen the feature film The Doors? I am watching it after I post this, and am curious to know if anyone's enjoyed it.

That's about it, friends. Thanks, again, for reading. Now, do tell me what you think.

In other words, review. :D