Okay, so this is L's early days at Wammy's. Next chapter, the real action begins.
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Wammy took L to the orphanage nearly a week after the entire ordeal. L was a very quiet boy, Wammy noticed, and very pensive. Even though Wammy knew the child had questions, L remained silent, staring out the window of the car with wide eyes, his legs pulled underneath him in an odd crouch. Wammy had been told by the doctors that over two years, L had spent most of his time in that position. As a growing boy, L's body had started to meld into that shape to accommodate the tight space. It was likely that without surgery his posture would always be as such. Wammy was not about to correct L on the proper way to sit in a chair.
L dragged after Wammy as they approached the orphanage. His dark, shaggy hair fell across his eyes, hiding the wide orbs from the world. He seemed like a feral child with all his hair and bizarre way of standing. Wammy took the child by the hand and led him through the front door that held L's future.
The house was rambunctious and loud to say the least. Boys were all over the place, running after each other, laughing, playing computer games. A pair of them walked by arguing over the exact dimensions of Jupiter's distorted surface area due to the elliptical shape and oddly placed axis. L was scared to go any further, but Wammy pushed him down the hall.
Suddenly a hush came over the place and kids ran up to their bedroom doors to get a look at the new kid. L hadn't seen so many people at one time in many years. All of their eyes on him caused him to bite lightly on the tip of his thumb to calm himself. Whispers erupted from every doorway and L felt anxiety rise up in his throat at the feeling of being watched so closely. He did not like it in the least.
Wammy led L to a solitary bedroom complete with a single bed with a blue blanket, white washed furniture with brass handles, and light linen curtains that blew with the breeze. The boys were trailing behind the pair and crowded the doorway, laughing and whispering to each other.
"Why does he get a room to himself? He's not even thirteen!" One of the boys said to another in outrage. L shuffled his feet, confused by the commotion.
"That is enough. You will all go about your business as usual," Wammy said with authority. No one spared a second thought about doing what he asked. It seemed as though Wammy had absolute authority and no one was about to question that.
"Here is where you are to stay, L," Wammy said, looking down at the small boy kindly.
"But when will I go home?" he asked meekly. Expecting to be hit for his questioning, he raised a hand to his face. Wammy grabbed the hand and sunk down to meet the boy's eyes straight on.
He gave L a grave expression and said, "L, you know your family is dead and the house burned down," he said matter-of-factly. L had already been told this at the hospital.
"Are you sure, though? Are you really certain that they are dead?" he asked, tears welling up in his eyes. Denial. That was normal after the severe amount of trauma and grief he was experiencing. L was a smart boy, he understood what death meant. He did not want to believe it, though.
"Yes," Wammy said. L withdrew from the man and walked with his fist at his eyes into the adjoining bathroom where he proceeded to climb underneath the sink, into the cabinet and close the door. Wammy sighed; he had his estate to tend to. He could not remain until L decided to emerge from his safe haven. Instead he brought one of the older boys out of one of his studies to sit and wait until L came out of the cupboard.
L sat under the sink with his arms curled around his legs, sobbing. He missed his mommy and daddy, he wanted them back. He blamed himself for what happened. He would have done anything to get them back, anything at all. But he knew that death was permanent. That was why he cried and cried until his head started to hurt and his eyes dried out. He did not come out until he heard someone calling for him outside the bathroom.
"Hey, kid, it's time for dinner. Do you want something? If you do you'll have to come out of there," said the voice. L peeped his head out from his hiding place. There was a person sitting on his bed with auburn hair and freckles. He wore a slight scowl on his face that made L cringe. There were a pair of black framed glasses on his face that he pushed up on his nose, and a book lay by his side on the bed. "I can see you," said the boy, his voice told that he was not amused.
"Who are you?" L asked timidly, peeking out from the bathroom.
"My name is Wilson," he said, crossing and uncrossing his legs and pushing his glasses higher onto his face. "What is your name?"
"Um, I'm…I…" L stumbled again, wishing with all his might he could remember.
"You should not trip over your words when you speak. It makes you seem unintelligent. Out with it," said Wilson forcefully.
"I am L," he said straightforwardly.
"Much better, though L is certainly not a name. It's a letter. But I won't question whatever aliases Wammy has come up with to protect your identity," he commented, mostly to himself. He then stood up, closed his book, and walked out of the room. L sat there for a few seconds before he jumped up to trail after his heels like a puppy.
Wilson led L to the dining room where three long tables lined with chairs sat in disarray. Plates and napkins and forks all piled on top of each other and swam in a mess of sauce and grease. Wilson sighed as he moved chairs out of the way and walked up to a serving table almost entirely picked clean of food.
"Well this is just splendid. You had to take so long to come around? Really, L," he chastised.
"I'm very sorry," L said, looking up at Wilson with his huge, dark eyes. The older boy was not swayed by the display.
"Another thing, you should not apologize for things that are not your fault. Have more pride than that," he said, annoyed. Wilson walked into the kitchen where L heard him conversing with someone else inside. Within a few minutes, Wilson came striding out with two plates with cake on them. "Since we missed dinner, I suppose we can be the first ones for desert," he said with a smirk. He placed the cake down in front of L who eyed it suspiciously.
"What, you've never eaten cake before?" Wilson asked. L shook his head, he really hadn't. Or at least could not remember it if he had. L reached out to take a handful of cake in his hands when his wrist was suddenly slapped with a metal object. It was a fork. "Do you mind," Wilson said, handing L the fork. L had never used a fork before either. Whenever his mother fed him she simply put a plate on the table and walked away. L tried to copy Wilson using the fork. He could not seem to use it without dropping frosting everywhere, so he settled for gripping the metal between his thumb and forefinger, something that seemed to be much more effective. Wilson seemed satisfied and went on reading his book.
L finally got a mouthful of cake and was struck by the most magical sensation of all time. His tongue was flooded with the tantalizing sweetness that was the most satisfying food item on the face of the earth. Or so it was for L. L suddenly found his perception increased by tenfold. He could see every detail of Wilson's personage, the table, the room. Everything seemed so clear and concise, and within himself a burst of energy shot forth and unleashed an ecstasy yet unknown to the boy. He had never experienced such rich flavor, such soft texture. A new world of sweetness opened for him in that moment, and young L had fallen in love with cake.
Wilson escorted L back to his room and bid him goodnight. L walked over to the strange bed and sat down haplessly. He was used to being alone, that was not what bothered him. But there was an unknown emptiness to the room, there was no history, no life in the walls, even though he could hear talking in the room next door. He felt displaced and scared.
But even with all his distress he fell into a deep sleep in which he dreamt of fire, and woke in a drenching cold sweat.
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Even after a few days, none of the other children warmed up to L. The next day all that was said to him was that he looked kind of like a disheveled drowned rat or some sort of lemur. Wilson, his new mentor, told off the other kids, some of whom were Wilson's own age, and sent them on their way. L was not offended by the comments, but rather intrigued by the other children. He began to study them. It was fascinating to L the way people interacted with one another. Their emotions were displayed so freely, especially on the younger children. L took note of all these expressions, the tiny, almost unnoticeable movements that portrayed hidden feelings and lies. This was how L realized in a sudden epiphany that people did not often tell the truth and would go through great pains to hide this. The question was why.
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Over the next few weeks, L became acclimated to the orphanage. He came to recognize routine, tolerate all the excessive noise, and realize with some certainty that he enjoyed being there. But, it became clear to the rest of the orphanage that L was strange. The adults would not talk about where L came from, what his real name was, why he was so odd. So the kids devised their own stories, grand tales of adventure and intrigue. L eventually heard them all, but did not affirm or deny any of their theories. He did not want them to figure out what happened to him. He did not want to remember what happened to him. He wanted to forget. He drowned himself in learning, realizing with all the resources available and daily lessons that he could block out the memories and focus on something useful: knowledge. That was why it also became apparent that L was smart, even more so than the average genius that walked the halls of Wammy's house. Gradually he gained a sort of distanced respect, but no one dared to try and become friends with the strange boy.
The one person that never left his side was Wilson. He acted as a mentor as well as something of an older brother. Wilson was attracted to L's intellect and found his lack of life experience endearing. But he would never admit that aloud. He helped L learn things about society, about culture, about people. L absorbed every word he said, and that fed Wilson's self esteem. They had a win-win relationship.
It was Wilson that introduced him to a great many things. In addition to cake and silverware, Wilson showed L the television. L was enamored by all the scenarios on the television, all the different people, and the new things he could learn by watching. His first Saturday morning cartoons opened his perception to justice. Watching the superheroes throw the villains in jail struck a chord in L. Something about it reverberated in him and simply made sense. The bad guys caused innocent people pain, the super heroes brought them to jail. Justice. So simple and yet so grandiose. The pieces started to click, the cogs rolled in L's mind, and Wilson had to shake him back into reality after L had been staring too long at a white wall.
But the television also caused L a great amount of pain. Through movies and sitcoms, L learned what a family was supposed to be like. Mothers were supposed to hug their sons, to play with them. Fathers would come home from work every night, they would eat dinner together with silverware at a table. And children were most certainly not supposed to be locked in cupboards for hours a day. They were supposed to go to school. This realization saddened the young L. He loved his parents, but seeing what his life could have been he could not help but wonder why he was never given the opportunity to have a normal life. From there, a bitterness grew. But L could only go on alone in his quiet suffering.
In addition to incredible academic performance it was soon discerned that L had an aptitude for physical activity as well. Similar to a public school, Wammy's house rules required a certain amount of academic hours in lessons and in physical activity. The first time L stepped into the tennis court the other boys snickered in glee. They knew they would make short work of L, the slouched, sheltered genius. The first ball came with a hard serve, L aimed his racket to create the correct angle between the racket and the ball to project it right back toward the server. It only took a few calculations of velocity and trajectory. The ball whizzed back at top speed and nailed the server in between the eyes. The other players looked at L in surprise and one by one, kids lined up to play L in tennis.
It was not long before the teachers at Wammy's caught wind of L's impressive tennis skills. They were already aware of his intellectual prowess, having him in class, but that sort of talent was not unusual for the children of Wammy's. Soon enough L found himself supplied with a number of willing coaches who would meet with him in the afternoons. L liked Tennis, that much was true, but he really loved to win. Even more, he hated to lose. That was an innate part of him that was unleashed once he realized his whole life, he had been subservient. His mother had treated him as something less than human, but he did not have to stand for it. To be taken advantage of was unjust, L saw. But this game taught L the influence of power, it taught him what it was like to take control and to triumph over someone else. Winning achieved this for him, but losing brought all those feelings, the submission, the pain, back. This had him gravitating toward the tennis court every day.
Wammy himself started advocating L's traveling tennis matches. He thought it would be good for L to go places, see the world which he had never known before. With the head of the orphanage as his personal guide, L began to dominate English tennis players all across the country. Before long, L had attracted some media attention. He had not lost a match since his first week of playing, he seemed invincible. Wammy quickly had to come up with an alias for L so the world could not dredge up the finer details of the fragile boy's past. The world was not yet ready for the appearance of L.
After L won the junior championship, Wammy became more proactive in L's life. That potential he saw at the beginning was now flourishing into something amazing. L was capable of anything, he could have influence far and wide, he could initiate new technologies, policies, anything, and change the world as it was. Wammy was determined to sculpt the malleable genius into a tool to enhance the world. It was all just a matter of what L wanted to do.
"L , it is time that you start thinking about your future," Wammy said one day. L frequently attended private lessons with Wammy so the man could fully assess L's assets.
"How so?" L asked, flipping a page in his book on biochemistry. The nine year old had been at Wammy's nearly a year. He was reading this book because Wilson was reading it currently. The boy adored Wilson, his older brother for all intents and purposes. Wilson was a very smart boy, he was nearly eighteen and would be graduating from Wammy's house soon. He would go on to be a prevalent neurosurgeon, that was sure. He was not perhaps the greatest cultivation that Wammy's had to offer, but he was bound to save hundreds of lives. L dreaded the thought of losing his brother, he wanted to be as close to him as possible, for as long as possible. So he started to copy Wilson's ways. This included not wearing shoes or socks. Although Wilson dressed well, unless he was going out he kept the shoes and socks off his feet.
"If your feet are cramped and uncomfortable, then it distracts your mind," that was his qualification. It made perfect sense to L, who began to imitate this action with positive results.
"You must pick a career, L. You have to find a specific subject to be proficient in, even consummate. You cannot remain here forever," Wammy said sternly. "You have to be able to make a living at some point,"
"I am knowledgeable in many subjects," L stated plainly, continuing to read. He was crouched in a chair in his usual position, his small thumb resting between his lips that had become more of a habit than a coping mechanism. Wammy noted the lack of shoes, but decided L functioned best with his abnormalities.
"I am simply asking you to think about it. I request your decision by October fifteenth." Wammy said. L nodded. That was three months away. He would think on it, but he had no idea what subject would keep his interest for the rest of his life.