In Fate's Hands

Disclaimer: Credit for all characters belongs to Tsugumi Ohba.

Summary: (Excerpt) In fear of death, or perhaps it had been nothing more than a respectful acknowledgement of death's impending arrival, this detective had asked Roger to notify the founder of this particular orphanage that the most brilliant student they could produce - a word Quillsh cringed at - should be his replacement.

Chapter 1: An Unexpected Find

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"There are three possible candidates," Careful hands sifted through files that had been previously locked away. "None of whom seem to be what you're looking for."

The papers consisted of the names of several children, their photos, and different assessments of their knowledge and comprehension ability. It was impossible for this man, who had nurtured these particular youths for no less than five years, to not feel disappointed. Their higher thinking could rival that of an accomplished, highly educated adult, though they were decades younger.

He had no choice but to state that they were not good enough.

"I see." Another voice responded with cool detachment. At least the conversation was made by means of a phone rather than face to face. His expression, filled with desperation, was becoming most unflattering for a man his age.

"They still have time to increase their marks. The eldest has eight months until graduation and-"

"Mr. Wammy," The voice was soft but demanded silence. "I'm appreciative of your efforts and continue to believe that you are the only one who can fulfill this task for me. This decision of mine cannot wait for eight months on a improbable lead."

"I understand." There was no clear reason for Quillsh to feel as though he needed to provide anything for the caller. Really, he was actually extremely opposed to the exchange that was occurring.

"I will be in contact with Roger tomorrow. He'll be able to provide alternative locations and further funds for you to resume your search."

"How much longer do you have?" Quillsh dropped his voice, concern hidden behind the words.

"How much longer?" His words were repeated back to him. After thoughtful consideration, the response Quillsh received was a simple: "Hopefully long enough to meet my successor."

"I'll try my hardest to make that happen."

"Please do." The voice grew hoarse before an attempt was made to clear his throat. "I'll establish lines of communication while I'm away."

"Alright. I hope they'll find improvement for the condition."

"Ah, me too. Goodbye, Mr. Wammy."

"Goodbye, L."

The phone was promptly returned to the receiver with a click. The children, whose playful laughter and indistinguishable discussions had apparently faded out during the call could be heard once again. From this distance, from where Quillsh could not see them, these noises were emitted from nothing more than carefree beings, kids. From in his office, he could go on thinking that he was providing an opportunity for a bright future for these orphans.

Instead, without even notifying them, Quillsh was deciding the future for one of them.

It had been a laborious and arduous task given to him by a mysterious detective who had loose connections with the director of Wammy's House in Winchester, Roger. In fear of death, or perhaps it had been nothing more than a respectful acknowledgement of death's impending arrival, this detective had asked Roger to notify the founder of this particular orphanage that the most brilliant student they could produce - a word Quillsh cringed at - should be his replacement.

It was true that Wammy's House made accommodations for the talented children left without a family. Talented was, of course , a gross understatement. By any measurement these kids were geniuses. They were not, however, property of Quillsh or the other staff to simply give away. It was pompous for this detective to act as though Quillsh could easily pick a substitute. It was made all the more difficult by L's refusal of the last dozen of children who had been suggested.

Quillsh made a rash decision to return to England in order to discuss the situation at hand directly with Roger. He would find more answers with his partner there then he would in America.

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"I just can't reveal much of anything to you at this time." Was the second sentence offered to Quillsh by Roger upon his arrival, only after a disconcerted and half-hearted apology.

"What the detective is doing is dangerous and you permitted him access to my children's records." He stated without emotion. It was often best to be approach these kinds of circumstances apathetically so as to avoid being led astray by anger.

"I was aware of this, but I can assure you that I have taken the precautions necessary to prevent harm from befalling any of them." Roger wrung his handkerchief in his hands nervously. "Else I would not have redirected him to you."

"Then please allow me to hear at least this much of your secret: exactly how long have you and the detective been planning this selection within my orphanage?"

"Roger." A voice prevented an answer from being made. "You have a call."

Quillsh lowered his head, a signal that he did not mind if the phone was answered. Roger lifted the receiver with trembling hands, making sure to keep his voice low. After a bit of small talk, Roger moved once more to the phone and pressed a button, which Quillsh soon realized was for the speaker.

"I'm surprised by your hasty travel plans, Mr. Wammy." The voice was clearly that of L's

"I'd been through three establishments in North America without discovering a single understudy for you. This is my oldest institution and therefore I believed it might grant us some direction."

"Actually, L, we were in the midst of a discussion cornering the wellbeing of the children. I was just giving surety to Quillsh…"

"I expect that you will be upset with Roger, Mr. Wammy. This was not a request made, nor accepted by him. He was most resistant, actually." A pause was made in which the detective cleared his throat. "Now, I have a case I'm currently running in which a child's parents were both murdered. He is in the custody of social services pending the closure of this litigation. I'd like you to ensure that he is brought back to Winchester and assessed properly there."

"You've found one on your own then?" Roger spoke hastily.

"That is something I want you two to investigate."

Quillsh listened patiently as the details of the case were granted to both he and Roger. There was something in the detective's tone that matched his own desperation that kept Quillsh from outright denying him of what he was asking. He would extend an offer to this unfortunate orphan, just as he would for any child who would fit in no where else.

Once the conversation was over, Roger gathered the essential documents required for the social workers. There was actually no reason to rush this adoption of the boy other than the sense of grief for him over the loss of both parents in such a horrendous way.

And so there was silence. It was deafening, the sound of nothing and all at once there was also something. Such contradictory sounds congregated within the mind of Quillsh - how far should this go? Was he thinking too lightly about this situation, not delving in deep enough to foresee the penalties of what he was about to do? His mind raced on. It was truly deafening.

"Roger, I want you to continue on. I'll only be a minute." Quillsh came to a stop and prayed that there wouldn't be a useless argument.

"A-Alright."

Out of the corner of his eye, Quillsh had seen the remnants of bright yellow ribbon on a doorstep of an apartment that had once been crudely cut off from public access with 'no trespassing' tape. They'd passed it without incident, leading Quillsh to believe that Roger hadn't notice the significance that the house held.

There had been an easier, shorter way from Wammy's House to their destination, though L specifically directed them out of that path and towards another. That had to have been the place where the boy lived.

Upon inspection, it was more of a lower middle-class townhouse than an apartment. The other three homes, the one above and two on the side, seemed to be empty, almost as if they had not been occupied even before this murder happened. The door that had once been barricaded was now devoid of markers signifying the atrocity that befell the family inside.

He placed a hand on the doorknob and was about to twist it when he realized someone was already in the house. Maybe he had been mistaken in his assumption.

The single occupant in the house was a boy. It was too dark to see any of his features, but he was sitting - no, he was crouched in the corner of the room, his hand brought close to his face.

"May I speak to your mother or father, young man?" Quillsh knew the child could clearly see him from the window. Fearing he hadn't heard him, he repeated himself but wasn't acknowledged in the least. "May I come in?"

Now that had gotten a reaction. The boy's head snapped up to watch the door. It hadn't been an agreement, per se, but there was definitely something peculiar about this child being alone so late at night in a home that had clearly been intruded upon weeks earlier.

Any doubts Quillsh had about this house not being the location of the murder were quickly washed away. He stood between the door and the boy. The moonlight cast brightest on the floor between the them to illuminate the outline of what had been two bodies sprawled out in an act to escape. The blood hadn't even been rinsed away yet.

Thick black hair that looked as though no one had ever thought to run a brush or comb through shrouded the boy's face even further. Was this the child that L had instructed him to retrieve? Why was he still in the house and not with social services?

Quillsh swallowed down his nausea of the scene and stepped towards the child, only to have him stand and back away.

"We need to get you out of here," He explained calmly, reaching out a hand. Still nothing. "This is a crime scene." He further reasoned.

As he cautiously stepped forward he became all the more concerned when he noticed the child was without a shirt, exposing a horribly emaciated body. It was by the power of God that he was even standing without help. Quillsh forwent etiquette and grasped a thin arm with his hand, earning him a startled gasp from the child.

Black eyes stared up at him and despite the shocked cry he'd just received, the boy's face presented nothing. He could have been dead and the only difference in his facial appearance would have been closed eyes.

"Lets get out of here." Quillsh made careful strides out of the dark room and slipped back onto the road hopefully without anyone noticing. He needed to take this child back to social services and inform them of what had just happened.

This boy was clearly in mourning.

Continued