A/N: I HAVE A LONG-WINDED AUTHOR'S NOTE, PLEASE DO NOT SKIP OVER THIS!
One: Since I am utterly immature, I giggled at the number of reviews I had at about 2:05 AM several days ago—which was 69. Hence, I am now giving my 69th reviewer a chance to have full control of a one-shot that I am to write for her. Hybrid-Sunshine, that means you. GET AT ME!
Two: I am proud to say that I am making two more Death Note fan fictions in the near future. One is another Beyond and L fan fiction, though not so much. It's going to be Silence of the Lambs with Death Note incorporated into it. Except, probably less cooler than you think. The other is crack/comedy fan fiction. As of which plot I want to choose for the comedy, I'm undecided. So, yeah, stay tuned, because it won't be like all of those self-inserts/Mary Sure/illegible fan fictions that have been festering onto this art like raw enemas. akjfladsc
Three:This one is very important because it pertains to this story in particular! For a while now I've been debating something very important. This decision was whether or not I have B amputate one of L's limbs. I have been fussing over this and I suddenly came to the conclusion that, why not let my readers decide? So, there it is. I WANT YOU, THE READER, TO VOTE: Should, or shouldn't, L be the recipient of an amputation? If you so please, you may even tell me which limb. But that is if you want it to happen.
Disclaimer: I'd like to say that I own Death Note, but the economy is failing and I cannot afford the subsequent lawsuits that might or might not follow.
The stiff, stale scent of apprehension wafted throughout the large area that was the investigation room; every single occupant hadn't the gall to utter a word. All eyes were on the tiny flip-phone that held the only means of communication between themselves and their detective.
And, of course, his captor.
"Good evening, Light-kun." There it was, Light winced. That jeering, sarcastic tone in which the psychopath spoke his name. That one honorific that picked at his conscience like a tick. He despised it with all of his heart.
"Beyond." Light noticed to his left that the blond child, Mello, had adopted a rather nasty look at the mentioning of the kidnapper's name. Almost as a reassurance, the boy stroked his weapon. The junior had half a mind to take away said loaded object due to the homicidal look on the boy's face. He decided against it, though.
"It's quite the fine night for mischief, is it not?" A light cackling resounded over the line after he finished speaking. "A fine night indeed!"
"What do you mean?"
The laughter continued, sending waves of apprehension through Light. Matt, the empathetic soul that he was, gave him a small pat on the arm and motioned for him to continue the conversation (if it could be called such).
"You'll see. Actually, count to ten. Starting.." He paused briefly and, Light concluded, he stepped into an adjacent room. "Now."
So he did as such—counting slowly, baiting his breath and just staring openly at the phone as if it were about to open up into a television and show him what the hell was going on. The permeable silence that had taken over the room helped none, either.
Then he heard it. Or, to be more exact, he heard him.
Wild, inane cries of pain which came from a human being whom Light never expected to make such noises. It was L, sounding for the life of him like an abused animal, sobbing and screaming in a helpless manner; also, he wasn't sure if he heard it, the faint sound of sizzling, as if something was being burnt.
He heard a soft grunt come from Beyond, followed by the soft, fearful pleading of the detective as he tried, in vain, to stop the senseless violence. Light wanted to shout and run around seething in anger when he heard the deranged chortles that followed. Mello looked ready to shoot the phone, and Light was all but ready to allow him the opportunity.
"Temper, temper!" The voice came through like static, and Light felt a moment's chill course through him. That foreboding feeling had return, only to leave when he suddenly heard a loud screech from over the phone, before the yelling cracked as the owner of the scream tried to steady himself.
It was not helpful, though, and the disembodied voice of the oddball detective cried out in agony. Light could only imagine what was going on over the line. Then again, it was better for his psyche that he did not.
All of this was overwhelming, Light needed reassurance that he was the only one about to slip into some sort of psychosis. The Task Force was in awe, staring with glazed eyes at the cellular device and looking for all the world like they had seen a zombie. Mello, of course, looked downright murderous, all-but ready to go on a slaughtering spree. Near looked as he always did, though with slightly larger, more dilated, pupils.
Matt, poor Matt, looked paler than Death. Behind his goggled, Light could see pure, raw fear. He was in agony, seemingly disturbed by the noises over the line.
And disturbed he was. Disturbed enough to yell directly at the cause of such disturbia. "Quit it! God-damn it! Fucking stop it, B!"
"Please!" Light continued for the young boy, who was now beginning to cry. "Stop joking around, Beyond! It's not funny; it's sick. You're a sick, sick bastard!" His voice had lost the authoritative edge, and he had begun to sound more like the desperate, confused teenager he was. He was but eighteen years old! He hadn't the capacity to deal with deranged lunatics kidnapping detectives, et cetera! It didn't even matter that he was shouting without hope, that these people have seen him go over the edge.
All the murderer did was laugh some more, maybe even harder than before. Though, there was a secunda in this laughter-session. One that was more like a sob, and a lot more distraught than the other. It even ceased the prima's supercilious chortles.
Even more silence—such silence was beginning to disturb Light. Whatever happened to the dutiful clapping of keyboards that resulted from the tireless effort from pale tapered fingers? He remembered when he once welcomed a moment's silence, now it only made him feel uncomfortable. It left him to his thoughts, which was a place he did not want to reside in at the moment.
Even L's disturbing, heaving laughter would be more of a comfort to him than the silence. It was deafening.
"I, I'm losing the game."
And the line went dead.
"You're quite delectable when you're distraught, my pet."
Beyond's brazen words veered L away from his hysteria. Looking upwards, he took immediate note of the predatory gleam in his captor's eye. Warily, his body languid with trepidation, he squirmed into a more comfortable position that would be more considerate to his freshest wounds.
"What are you doing?" If it were so possible, the amusement in the other's voice could bring down houses, as brash and edgy as it were.
"Mo,moving into a, a more comfortable position." His breathing, moreover heavier than it had been, caught in his throat every so often. It'd be better not to speak, if only to save himself from asphyxiating on his own saliva.
"Not so fast," the silken, suave voice that Beyond had adopted purred. The man disturbed L's movements with his own body, straddling the hips and, obtrusively so, sitting on his burnt flesh, managing to tear of some of the excess, raw skin that hung limp, causing L to let out the most minuscule of cries. "I'm going to have to go outright and say it: You don't move unless I tell you to move. Is this understandable?"
The prey shook his head, eyes wider than usual (it seemed to have become habitual). "No, why?"
"I don't want you trying to get away again, now, would I?" Beyond trailed his own bony, slender fingers down the detective's thinning frame. He put on a rather mischievous grin as he stroked and scratched at L's skin, looking for the life of him a remastered Buffalo Bill. This, of course, aggrieved the young man, he'd seen that look before.
"Did you know," Beyond traced the cauterized wounds with a sort of lustful hunger about him, before tearing off the remainder of the hanging flesh and popping it in his mouth. Though, of course, not without rolling them into tiny, little ovular oblong shapes that resembled a human Tic-Tac. "that A and I used to play 'Vampires?'"
L was then beside himself with tremors; this conversation, if it were to be referred to as one, was taking a turn for the worse. Those red, hungry eyes were alight with delight of the apprehension that donned L's face.
Beyond placed a precarious hand on each side of the dainty little face, and leaned insomuch they were touching noses. "He would fall asleep at night, around midnight—the sleeping pills helped—and I would sneak over to his beautiful, slumbering form. Oh, L, he was a grandiose sight when the high moon's rays would pool around him, looking for the world like a lonesome corpse, just in the throes of Death with skin so supple and ready for the taking. I really couldn't help myself. To be blunt, I'd daresay anyone who resisted the temptation a few notches short of a full bedpost."
He paused, blinking languidly, before he gathered himself again. "As it were, every night I would crawl on top of him, and bite, pinch and suck my way underneath his skin. He would usually awaken from the midst of a fitful slumber around the time I punctured flesh. Of course, he'd fought it, at first, before figuring it wise to let me do as I so please. Around the time of his early demise, however, he'd be the one attacking me, so needy and willing he'd become. He was quick to conform, to enjoy the odd and painful pleasure that I'd bestow upon him—insomuch that soon enough he was doing it to himself.
"I walked in one night to find him lapping up his own blood straight from his wrist. He had a crazed look, my pet, and I'd never actually been fearful of another being until I'd seen what he had become. It seemed, to me, that I had pushed him over the edge. Your tiresome, nit-picking demands and the macabre set upon him by me had sent him over the cuckoo's nest. So, that night, I locked him out of my room. In the morning, I woke up to find his blood all over the door to my room, along with a nipple nailed to the door-post Of course,being the frugal man that I am, I licked the dried plasma from the door and hardwood and ate the flesh, effectively destroying the evidence. Then you arrived, and A went to humor you first, only to run out screaming and ripping his own hair from the roots. Same night he killed himself, too."
Beyond put on a rather thoughtful face, before staring down at the detective with a pondering look in his eye. "I never did find out what you'd said to him, being that all he did with me afterwards was force me to suck every inch of his frame until he was bruised and bloodied, but that's the past. I told you all this to tell you, now, that I want to play a game—well, another game."
He gave a light chuckle at his slip of the tongue, but all L felt was malice and bile. He was filled with self-loathing, along with contempt for the man above him. All of the fear and pain had dissipated, leaving him a bitter hollow for the time remaining.
"What is it?" Oh, how meditative it would be to curse this man like a mad mantra, a flurry of curses and screaming and raw fury to just rain down upon the captor.
But of course, L does not want to die.
"Okay," B's facial features distorted into a primitive look. "We're going to play a game. I think you already know the name. Except, there is a twist. If you scream, or fight me, I will hurt you. If you think the child's play up until now was horrific, then I do hope you brace yourself, my pet. It's a long and tiresome ride."
Before L could even form a concept of a concept, B had honed in on his jugular with a deadly precision, suckling and slurping until he bit down hard enough to draw the nectar he had dreamed of. A gasp held itself in L's chest, and he forced his eyes closed to shield himself from the sight of this.
There was a full thirty second lapse in time when B lifted himself to L's eye level, wiping the blood from his lips and smearing it across L's cheeks. "Like pure artwork."
"Fuck you," the pacifist murmured, refusing to make eye contact with the other. Of course, his body involuntarily convulsed in pain, and that's when he heard the cackling again.
"Shucks. And to think, you were doing so well in controlling your temper, too."
With a grin on his face, Beyond traced around L's navel (which, of course, happened to be an Outie), before he leaned over with grace and dignity and clamped around the detective's navel with a solid jaw and pulled, hard with all of his might, stretching the excess skin taught and clawing the detective's nipples as he groped for something to hold on to.
After biting it raw—of course, finding his efforts futile as he did so—he sheathed his trusty blade and began, in a painstaking pace, to slice away at the flesh, digging inwards and carving out as he did so. He finished with practiced ease and stared down at the bloodied hole that was once L's belly button. Placing the skin in his mouth and swishing it around like bubble gum, he chuckled and shrugged his shoulders.
"Well, pet, I guess it's an innie, now."
When Mello had stormed out of the room without another breath, Matt knew that everything went wrong. The task was to go in, retrieve L, and leave without a moment's trace. Don't show emotion, don't speak to anyone unless stated otherwise.
Of course, they hadn't been counting on the phone calls, nor had they ever conceived the notion that L could screech. It was only logical that such happenings could perturb even the hardest man.
But Matt could not think. His entire body seemed like molasses (Watari had to push Matt along to his temporary station and help him to sit) and he just felt like he had melted down.
Though it wasn't himself that he minded. He just did what any other average, human being did. That was how he functioned. Matt was nervous for Mello, his best friend, who had more than likely been affected far more than he.
To Mello, L was more than the pedestal they must overcome, he was the brother that Mihael never had, the angel who had rescued him from the pits of Hell. Yes, L was probably the most important person in the universe to the blond, and Matt, being the loyal dog he was, allowed and followed with a blind eagerness.
So, when he began to dissect the video and listen for any outside noises with a meticulous precision that was almost painful, it was for no one but Mello. When he caught something particular, that surprised him more so than not, he only thought of how much better his best friend would feel.
When he relayed it to Souichiro, whose eyes widened in a blatant agreement and excitement, he knew that he had caught something big. The elder played it for all to hear, and suddenly the dread metamorphosed into a fierce determination for justice.
And all Matt did was run to Mello, who was kicking and screaming alone, on the roof, and grabbed the blond by the shoulders and embraced his friend with glee on his face. He murmured into his friend's locks that they had found a lead, that they were one step closer to L, that it was going to be okay. And he didn't let go until he felt those familiar thin shoulders shake, and the light chuckles that was to be associated with Mihael Keehl.
"M, Matt, you're freakin', a, a, a riot! God, I love you!" He reeled back with laughter and grabbed his best friend by the wrist, dragging Matt back inside at a breakneck speed. And he didn't let go until they were both standing before a computer, when Mello moved to punch Near for a sarcastic remark.
Now, Matt was never one for intuition, it seemed to be a frivolous past-time for optimists who enjoyed trying to predict the future. Though, for some reason, Matt just knew that it would turn out alright in the end.
Of course, he then felt as though he were something cheesy like an Oddish, but that didn't mind. All he wanted to do, for now, was save L and pacify Mello's rage. Attention World: Mail Jeevas' pride has left the building.
A/N: D'oh! I was so damn tempted to end it with B, but I figured, hell, how many negative endings can this story have? So I made it extra fluffy and gross and stuff. Oh, and I was going to have B bite off a nipple, but that's soooooo overrated.
"Goodbye Horses," it is a good song to listen to when writing stuff like this. I'm keeping it to write every chapter from now on, maybe until the end. Yay!
Soakdjald review, please? I neeed to know some things. Thanks a mil'.