Chapter Six – A Perfect Memory
Layla Levandi's days at Wammy's House for Gifted Children bled rapidly into one another, passing much like pages in a well loved childhood story. The days began to run into weeks, then those weeks became months, nearly becoming a full year. A fact Mello was quick to point out to her one day when they were studying in the library.
"You've nearly been here a year." Mello stated plainly, watching the Estonian girl take careful notes from his old English textbooks.
Her english had improved after careful diligence on Mello's part. He'd suspected it'd had something to do with him telling her the story of his parents, and how he came to be at Wammy's. It had given her a sort of new respect for him, and afterwards he couldn't help but note that she worked harder.
She glanced up from her notes, and gave Mello a quick, tiny smile. "Yes."
Mello wrinkled his nose, he'd never grow used to that atrocious accent of hers though, it made everything she said sound like it was being said past a mouthful of vowels. The letters seemed long and elongated, curly too, as if they were being dragged through the edge of a curling iron.
"Are you happy?" he demanded suddenly.
Layla shrugged, a noncommittal gesture that often vexed Mello to no end.
"Give me an answer!" he snapped.
"As happy...as...I could be, I fink." she said, "Think, sorry."
Mello seemed satisfied with this answer, and turned to gaze over at Until's grave. The delicate flowers that had just bloomed over the mound the previous spring were already dying and he let out a small sigh.
Instinctively, his hand shot out mildly to make the sign of the cross, force of habit he supposed.
The two children sat in mild silence, Mello reading quietly while Layla scribbled away on her english notes.
Finally, the clock chimed for lunch and Mello sighed, "Let me see your notes."
She handed the notes to Mello, which he looked over quickly, scrawling over her work in pen to make hasty corrections.
"Its getting a little better," he said, standing to stretch while Layla gathered her things and placed them in her bag.
A moment later, a soccer ball smacked Mello squarely in the head sending the blond boy catapulting to the floor.
"Hi Mello." Matt said cheerfully, picking up the soccer ball and bouncing it on each knee repeatedly.
"Matt." Mello said shortly, rubbing the back of his blond hair, "Do you always have to do that?"
"I'm afraid so," the goggled boy said, "I'm starving."
"You're always hungry," Mello snapped, following the boy to through the library, "Come on Layla.
"And you're always stuffing your face with chocolate bars. Yeah Linda, come on." Matt adde"d looking over his shoulder at the Estonian girl who was lagging behind them.
"Its Layla." Mello snapped.
"L says to call her Linda," Matt snorted, "Like everyone calls you Mello instead of Mihael."
"She's not in line to be a successor, so she shouldn't have a codename." Mello muttered.
Matt looked annoyed now, and blew a puff of air from his cheeks, sending his red hair fluttering up over his eyes. "Don't get so jealous Mihael. I'm sure she could be a successor if she applied herself enough. We should call her Linda."
As Layla had expected, the two boys turned on her, Mello folding his arms over his chest and looking impatient while Matt smiled benignly at her.
"Well," Matt said kindly, "Which do you prefer?"
Mello let out a huff, "It doesn't really matter does it? As long as she has some kind of name."
She appeared thoughtful for a moment, then gave Mello a small smile, "I like Layla."
"Ha!" Mello snorted, turning and beginning to walk out of the library, "I told you! I'll meet you at lunch."
"You shouldn't let him do that you know," Matt said, once Mello was out of earshot. "Mello's a bit of a bully. He'll step all over you if you let him."
The Estonian girl let out a sheepish smile, "I know..I don't mind."
Then she too walked out of the library leaving Matt to rub his head and mutter the word "Girls," before following his friends out into the hallway.
Lunch was often a torrid affair, with various children eating and running amuck. During her first few days at Wammy's several of the boys had found Layla as an object of fascination. Being the only girl in Wammy's house several of them tried to begin conversations with her and she found herself drowned in offers for help with english.
Mello however quickly shut them all down, stating that L had appointed him as her mentor and things would most certainly stay that way. It was as if Mello had staked some sort of claim over her head. And she often felt as if she walked around with a bright neon sign over her face that read: Property of Mello. Not that it bothered her any.
But, because of this claim, lunch was often a bit of a lonesome affair and Layla often found herself eating silently while Mello plotted how he would beat Near in some test or project and Matt twiddled away on his gameboy, not paying attention to anything.
It was during times like these that Layla would see Sidoh, her dearest friend. No matter if L, Mello, and anyone else in Wammy's couldn't see him, that didn't matter. Layla could see him and to her, that made him real enough.
Today though, Sidoh had situated himself directly behind Mello and that made her nervous. Though Sidoh only passed through people, she didn't like it when he was near Mello and she pleaded with her eyes for him to back away. After the events with Until, Layla had learned that it was perhaps more prudent to speak to Sidoh only at night when everyone else was asleep. It made her seem more normal, more likable.
And she did want to be liked.
Sidoh clicked his bone-like fingers together, reminding Layla of hollow wood clinking together and rustled his bandaged shoulders. He cocked his head playfully at her and she mimicked the action, fighting a laugh.
He often reminded her of a canary, though he didn't exactly look like one, but his long bony fingers reminded her of a bird's feet and the strange shape of his mouth could be considered beaklike.
He rustled over to her side, and she prayed he wouldn't lift a strand of her hair in that way he often did. It tickled and made her head itch, and Mama always said it was bad manners to scratch one's head at the dinner table.
Still though, he reached over and pet her hair affectionately before fluttering off to wait for her in her bedroom.
"What are you staring at?" Mello snapped.
Layla blinked, unaware she was staring at Mello, "Thinking of a drawing."
"Well think towards Matt's direction." he snorted, "You're making me nervous."
The rest of the day passed quickly, the three of them going outside to play right after lunch, then it was back to the specialized lessons that each child had. Watari had given every student lessons that fitted their personalities, Matt was studying computer programming, something he did excel at, because every week it seemed he had hacked into a different video game and sometimes Layla caught him scribbling computer code into a notebook.
Mello had various lessons, and from the cryptic things he told her, it seemed that he studied everything from science, to literature, to math, and even some art. But, his real genius it seemed lay in his ability to pick people apart. To study someone and know instantly what kind of person they were, just by having a conversation with them. Mello could read people, like he read a book. Psychology, he called it.
Needless to say, it made him an excellent manipulator and she had seen this at work several times, Mello telling people exactly what they wanted to hear so they would to exactly what he wanted. The thought had frightened her at first until Matt had explained that Mello wouldn't do that to them, he considered them friends and friends didn't manipulate each other.
Layla's own lessons were interesting too. Originally, her lessons had started out with the study of various art and the history of it, until her instructor, a Chinese woman named Mei Ling noticed something else.
Layla was a talented painter, that in itself was fact, but what had caused her to be such a good painter was her memory. Often, while Layla painted, Mei Ling played various tunes on the piano and one day, Layla had gotten frustrated at her attempt to paint an orphan's joyful expression at finding his lost toy. But, human expressions could be difficult. Frustrated, Layla strode over to to watch her teacher pluck out various notes on the ivory and black keys.
"Would you like to try?" she'd asked, giving Layla one of her easily patient smiles.
"Let me watch you." Layla had said, "Then I try."
Mei Ling had nodded, then began plucking out the eastern notes while smiling mildly at the girl "It is meant to mimic the sounds of the wind. Light and airy."
She had played half of the piece, then motioned lightly to the keys. "You try, Layla."
Layla had sat beside the woman and began plucking out the melody with her fingers.
Mei Ling's amusement had quickly become astonishment, and she had practically run from the room, yelling for Roger while simultaneously telling Layla to keep playing. Roger too seemed astounded when he watched Layla play.
"How can this be?" Mei Ling had said, "She's never had any musical training and as you've told me before her IQ is slightly above average, yet, she plays the piece just as I did."
She had been given several tests, many of them involving music and memorization while there had been no explanation for the seemingly magical skill. Until exasperatedly, Roger had called in Watari. Watari watched the spectacle with some mild amusement before sitting down next to Layla and playing small pieces of several different musical compositions, achieving the same result.
Finally he spoke very quietly, "My dear, how are you doing this?"
Then, Layla had explained, "I watch your hand. Moving. I see which key you hit, so I hit same."
"I see," Watari said kindly, then out of the blue asked something else, "Two weeks ago on thursday, what was offered for breakfast?"
"Pancakes, with eggs, or kippers. Toast or a roll. With tea, orange juice, or milk."
"Its her memory." Watari said suddenly, "Photographic memory, although I've never seen a case so accurate. I think, Ms. Mei Ling, that she watched your hand move over the keys, memorized which keys you hit, and hit them in the same manner, as you said. I'm sure that is how she paints so accurately as well."
"But, that doesn't explain why her english lessons with Mello are so difficult for her. If her memory is truly so extraordinary, she should have picked up english much faster." Roger said, patting the girl's head.
Watari looked thoughtful, "Perhaps she is more of a visual learner, Mello teaches her by actively having her use english, the way he learned, but she might pick it up better if he had her take notes and see the way english works."
He stood, and placed his bowler hat back on his head, "In any case, L would be delighted if she would also begin to study music with you Ms. Mei Ling. It seems she has a tiny knack for it."
Mei Ling's warm hands went over Layla's shoulders and she smiled cheerfully down at the girl, "Yes, we'll start music lessons right away! Won't that be fun?" Layla smiled up happily at the woman and nodded.
So, soon afterwards, Layla's lessons began to also incorporate music as well, something she enjoyed almost as much as drawing.
After her lessons today though, which had involved both perspective of art, and a particularly complicated piece, Layla was exhausted. She ate quietly with Mello and Matt before the three of them retired to their bedrooms to sleep.
However, a few hours later, she awoke with a start, feeling the familiar touch of Sidoh's long bony fingers over her hair.
"Sleepy," she mumbled in Estonian, "Not now."
"We never get to talk as much anymore," Sidoh said softly in Estonian as well. "You're so busy."
Layla rolled over and smiled up at her friend, "I'm sorry Sidoh, I will try to spend more time with you. Just everyone watches me so closely here. It's not like being so alone at home."
Suddenly, Sidoh stiffened, his birdlike head shifting over sharply. "He...he's here."
And then, she could see it too. The familiar antelope skull that had haunted her dreams appeared in the corner of the room, the white bone nearly glowing in the light from her window.
Layla clapped her hands over her mouth, trembling violently, while her brain chanted I mustn't scream, I can't scream. "You're not really there." she stated softly.
Then there was a soft, gentle laugh, yet it raised the hair on the back of her neck.
"Surely you don't believe that do you?"
Out of the overwhelming darkness in the corner that radiated from the skull thing's body Zion seemingly stepped out of the shadows, his long red hair fluttering over his shoulders.
"How you get in here?" she squeaked, edging up her bed, feet slipping on the sheets.
"How you get in here." Zion mimicked cruelly, "Tell me, Layla, do you hear the bells?"
Without warning, Zion began to pummel at her with his fists and Layla bit her fist sharply to keep from crying out. She began to sift through her thoughts, running through each memory as if it were a film. She focused sharply on her memory of Mello stopping her from running away, the apology in his eyes when he had told her she was good at things.
Shortly, after a sharp blow to the head she collapsed, and the memory of Mello's eyes flickered once and then faded into darkness.