L stared ahead of him at Wammy. His teacher and only real father figure. He was smiling, because he'd been called to the office, and that must mean that he'd been right about the butler, and that perhaps he would be seeing his baby brother again soon.
Of course, he had factored in the possibility of him being disappointed, but he had come to the conclusion that Wammy would look more annoyed with him for wasting time if it wasn't the right culprit.
"L, the police in your home town brought James Last in for questioning a week ago." Quillish began. "After telling him that they had an eyewitness who could place him there, he confessed. They searched his house and found some of the silver he supposedly took from your home."
L broke out into a huge grin. "I knew it! Is he going to jail now?"
"It's not as simple as that, L. He got a lawyer and now he is claiming he was forced into confessing, but the police think that so long as you can make a positive identification, and testify, he will go to prison."
L nodded, his toes twitching excitedly. "I can do that… Will Oliver have to go to court too? He's only little, it'd scare him."
Wammy felt like he'd been punched in the stomach. Why, why did he think it was a good idea to keep this from him?
Because he wanted so badly for the boy to be happy. He didn't want to see that little boy who already had enough misery on his mind shut down all together.
He was fifteen now, surely he would be all right?
"L… about Oliver…"
L+L+L+L+L+L+L+L+L+L+L
L blinked his coal-coloured eyes.
"..I…I don't understand." He mumbled. His voice sounded to him like an echo down a long tunnel. "Oliver died…when he was two?"
"Skin cancer. Because… he was like your mother." Quillish stared down at his desk, strange how those black eyes were hard to look at when they were so full of confusion.
L shook his head, not to refuse the knowledge, but to try and shake the buzzing in his head. "And… no-one told me?"
"We didn't want to upset you, L."
He closed his eyes and tried to count backwards from 100, as he always did when things began to break him.
He was at 52 when he couldn't bear it and barked out suddenly, "Didn't want to upset me!?What, do I look bloody happy now?!"
"L!"
He didn't pause to listen or allow himself to be told off for cursing, "My little brother died and not one person in this place told me?!" he rose from the chair, standing upright, for a change. "Where did they bury him? Tell me!"
Quillish didn't want to argue. "Your family mausoleum...its in the graveyard in your home town, but L, you have to listen-"
"Shove it!" L snapped, and left, slamming the door behind him with surprising strength for one so skinny.
He didn't waste time. He ran down the hall and up the stairs to his bedroom, yanked a backpack from the closet and started storming around his bedroom, grabbing things and throwing them into it without any real reason or order.
No-one in the orphanage had ever seen him like this. Even when he got annoyed with the other children the most he did was snap and lock himself in his room. Now a blind red mist had descended over his eyes and suddenly he couldn't care less about Wammy's house, or his grades, or his future.
He didn't hear the knock on his door.
He did hear Mello chirping out to him, "L, Matt an' me wanna play hide an' seek, will you play too?"
The child's blue eyes lit up with disbelief when he saw his idol's frantic packing.
"L, are you leaving?!" he squeaked. Behind him Matt whimpered something.
L nodded. "Yes, but probably not for long."
Mello blinked sadly and ran over, tugging at the teenager's jeans, "Nooo!! You can't leave!! I'd be lonely!"
"You have Matt." L muttered darkly. "Mello, I have to go and do something on my own, and I need you to cover for me, all right?" he knelt down and forced himself calm. Calm for Mello.
"Mello, as soon as Roger and Wammy start asking about me, tell them I'm just sulking in my room, all right? And I don't want to see anyone, especially not them."
Mello sucked his thumb.
Matt grinned and nodded, "I get it! We're a delay tactic!"
"Exactly. Try and keep them from finding out I'm gone for an hour." L hissed. "And don't tell anyone else about this, especially not Linda, she's a mouthpiece with pigtails."
The two boys nodded obediently. L ruffled their hair before he grabbed his bag and hurried out of the orphanage that had been his home for such a long time.
He walked to the nearest town, not many people looked at him twice, it was just 3 in the afternoon, and the schools were all letting out, so a teenage boy with a backpack drew no attention.
He'd been into the town before, once the children of the orphanage reached 13 that was one of the freedoms allowed of them. That and pocket money.
Because of the latter bonus of his age, he had plenty of cash saved up. He caught a bus to the nearest train station, sitting at the back with his knees to his chest and gnawing his way through an entire packet of mints.
Every now and then a voice in his head would try and convince him that was he was doing was stupid. That he ought to stop now before he got into a lot more trouble. That perhaps there were good reasons for the lies.
Every time he squished it. All he had to do was remember the night his life ended, how his brother had wriggled under his hand, as he covered the little one's mouth to stop him crying.
The train journey was long, and lonely. He stared out the window and tried to pretend the transparent reflection of a pale boy with black hair was a twin. It didn't work, of course. Imagination had never really been his strongest point. Not even his usual game of counting all the shapes in things was working today.
Too much turmoil, too much chaotic emotion flying around all over the place, refusing to be pinned down so he could think.
He knew he'd be found eventually, Quillish Wammy wasn't stupid, and could probably deduce where L was heading. But if Matt and Mello were good at delaying the discovery of him leaving, maybe he had an hour's worth of travel ahead of Wammy.
Maybe more.
He knew a lot of children had run away from the orphanage before. They never went any further than the town. L remembered asking Wammy why this was, given that most of the children were bright enough to get even further away.
Wammy had said that when children ran away from home, be they genius or average intelligence, they never really want to be gone forever. It's a cry for attention, usually. So they go to places they know they will be found sooner or later, because really, they want to be found.
L sighed, was he seeking attention? It didn't feel like it.
It took a long time to get right back to the town where he was born. He got lost a couple of times, because his memories of the place were scrambled, but he found it.
He even saw the manor, dominating the skyline. Dark and like something from a horror novel in the sudden storm that had appeared.
Where was the graveyard?
He had to go to the small police station in the end, reasoning that they would know, but wouldn't remember him.
There was a young officer on the front desk, but he looked flustered as he answered the phone and gave L a pleading look of 'Please don't ask me anything difficult'.
So L just stood there, dripping rain from his hair and shirt.
Until a voice behind him said, "Wicked weather out there, isn't it? Can I help you, son?"
He spun around and looked into a face he'd seen before.
"I'm Captain Markin." The gruff and elderly man said in a reasonably kind voice. "Don't think I've seen you here before son, new to the area?"
L shook his head. "N...not exactly."
The old man narrowed his eyes a bit. "Either you are or you're not."
L swallowed. "Then I suppose I am." He tried not too look at the man. He didn't want to be recognised.
The old man frowned a little and tilted his head, "Hang about… your name wouldn't be Liam, would it?"
L almost smiled. At last, a question he knew the answer to. "Sorry, no. You must be thinking of someone else."
The old man nodded slowly. "Oh… well, can I help you at all?"
"Which way to the church?"
The rain poured down, crawling inside the clothes and making everything cold and clammy, dripping off of stone and grass and turning ancient earth to clay.
On gravestone and flesh.
On all the living.
And the dead.
A single figure stood and stared at the stone of Lawliet Family mausoleum. His jacket long since soaked through, hair flattened to his head and dripping water into his eyes.
On the stone it seemed much more permanent.
Here lies Lord Harold Lawliet
Lady Anne Lawliet
Oliver Lawliet.
His eyes scanned sightlessly over the words.
After a time, he turned and walked away. He walked for miles; feet squelching in his trainers, numb with fatigue, but unable to stop.
He found the gates that he remembered so well. He slid though a gap in the iron and walked up the long gravel path. Pale as a ghost.
Walked up the steps of the old stone manor and placed a hand on the giant door.
Realised slowly that it wouldn't open. Of course not. The keys were bound to be in a safe somewhere.
He slumped onto the steps and covered his eyes. The rain roared.
A warm numbness began to fill him.
He was a bright boy. He knew that meant he was becoming hypothermic. If he didn't find a way to warm himself up, he would eventually loose consciousness and then slowly die as his whole body shut down.
Somehow, he couldn't find it in himself to care, merely brought his knees to his chest and closed his eyes.
Not long after he slipped into the numb world between life and death, a man in a heavy trenchcoat came up the long gravel path. The figure was no surprised to see the teenager (who was really still a child) there, merely picked him up like he was a feather.
And took him home.
