Letters

3

--M--

June 17, 2007

A knock sounded on the door and he could hear a woman's voice call out, tinged with a Spanish accent.

"Room service!"

Matt blinked, his eyelids still heavy with sleep. Groaning, he realized he hadn't put up the do-not-disturb sign. And now it was morning. His eyes blearily found the clock, its red light displaying the time.

11:26.

The door opened, as Matt realized he hadn't answered the maid's call. He rolled over in the bed, the sheets exposing his naked shoulder, just in time to see a plump Mexican woman excuse herself abruptly, muttering apologies. Matt lay back in the bed, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply. For once, he didn't want a cigarette; the smoke from the candles had been enough for him last night and the air felt vaguely cleaner without the nicotine clouding his senses. Running a hand through his hair, he took another breath and tried to sink back into the mattress.

He'd been up until the sun's light began peaking through the cheap curtains. That meant he'd only been asleep for a few hours. The candles had gone out long before he had retired for the morning, but Matt had never needed them for the light. It was really the symbolism, the candles dying out, sputtering their last breath… and how by removing his goggles, he allowed his eyes to be extra sensitive on these occasions. The raw pain of staring at the burning wicks had seared his soul. He felt better now, like he used to, more refreshed than he had since….

Since he'd gotten his hands on the Nintendo Wii last November. Matt let himself crack a smile at his own foolish attempts at making jokes. Certainly, last June he hadn't felt so refreshed after that particular vigil… even though after years of his ritual he had become accustomed to the release it brought….

He figured he was allowed some small laugh, even if it was at his own expense. He was especially allowed one before going to see Mello. God only knew how both of them had changed. And what the information Matt had would do to the blond.

--M--

"I'm not afraid of what I'll face

But I'm afraid to stay

I'm going down my road and I can make it alone

I'll work and I'll fight till I find a place of my own."

June 19, 1998

The sidewalk soaked up the sun greedily, and Mail wondered if it would really be possible to fry an egg on it. He didn't hold his teacher's hand, preferring to trudge along behind her… although he was walking through a town he'd never been in before. He watched the sidewalk through squinted eyes, and decided the city would look better at night. But for now, the sun beat down on his auburn hair, and like always, Mail felt his glasses slipping down his nose.

"Here we are, Mail," his teacher said encouragingly, her steps pausing. Mail brought his head up from the ground, and caught his first glimpse of his new residence, wondering if he could ever really bring himself to call anywhere other than Chester his home.

Grey stone fences held a wrought iron gate, and an impressive view of tall cathedrals… or so Mail thought at first. He remembered something about a chapel, but there had only been one, and here all the buildings seemed to hold stained glass windows, tall and narrow, among intricate gargoyles and Gothic arches. They glinted brightly in the sun, dazzling Mail with the sharp imprints of white over color. He felt his eyes beginning to water, but felt he should actually look at the Wammy's House in the daylight first. It was probably expected of him.

He followed the teacher towards one of the buildings, tears beginning to streak down his face as he craned his head to look up at the tall buildings. Curtains fluttered from the inside, and Mail found himself wondering who and what was inside.

Mail nearly tripped over the first step, his head still tilted back, but he managed to catch himself on the railing and ascended the few stairs to the administrative building. Inside, the air conditioning worked wonders on his sweaty clothes. As his eyes adjusted to the fluorescent light through his glasses, he found there were already three men in the room.

One stepped forward, his graying mustache waggling as he spoke. "Welcome to the Wammy's House. I'm Quillsh Wammy and it's a pleasure to meet you." He held out a large, inviting hand.

Mail found that the teacher had stepped back so that he was standing alone in the center between these two groups. The past behind him, and the future ahead? He was standing on the threshold, Mail realized suddenly. Would things go back to normal if he rejected that hand and its invitation? What would happen if he didn't take it?

Mail hesitated, glancing quickly back to the teacher behind him, then found his attention caught by the other two men behind Wammy. They were both watching him, the man in the suit with a fatherly interest, but the other man was much younger, and he stared with abject fascination while crouching on a chair. Mail's eyes met with the teenager's black pupils for a moment nearly making Mail panic before he realized his dark glasses probably prevented anyone from knowing where he was looking. Returning his eyes back to the hand before him, Mail reached up and took his glasses off his face before looking straight into the eyes of the orphanage's founder. He saw warmth and kindness there… and an honesty that adults usually hid from children. Mail suddenly felt as if Quillsh Wammy saw him for who he was… the same way his parents had.

What would happen if he didn't take the hand? He didn't want to find out. He knew only that he would miss the opportunities that would allow him to get his revenge. With this thought firmly in place, Mail took a step forward.

"I'm Mail Jeevas. It's nice to meet you too, sir," he said, taking the offered hand. It was warm and reassuring. Wammy smiled, shaking hands once, and then looked over Mail's head to the woman who had brought the boy to Winchester.

"I'm sure we can take it from here. Why don't you two say some goodbyes and then," he looked back down at Mail, "I'll show you to your new room."

Mail nodded, turning back to his former teacher. He felt the near physical divide between them now. The gap really only a few feet, but it felt as if he had crossed an ocean to get there. Was this how change happened?

"Thank you for taking care of me, Miss T.," Mail told her, trying his best to sound sincere. The woman smiled gently, but didn't come any closer. Mail wondered if she felt the gap between them too.

"You're certainly welcome. You take care now, Mail, okay?"

Mail nodded. Feeling as if that was all that was necessary, he turned away from her and looked back up at Wammy. He heard the door open and close behind him; his teacher would be gone now.

"Well then, let's get you started," the man said cheerfully. "Come with me."

Mail smiled tentatively and put his glasses back on, following the elderly man's long strides out into the sunlight again. He ignored the two other sets of eyes that watched him leave and the hushed conversation that picked up as his feet pattered out the door.

"Your room is going to be up there," Wammy explained once they were both outside, pointing to a dark grey building, its gothic architecture daunting enough to make Mail feel even smaller than he was. "It's on the fourth floor, but I think that's where you'll fit in the best."

Mail nodded, but having glanced at the building once, he kept his sensitive eyes on the sidewalk trail between the two buildings.

"Oh, but before we get there, you should know that everyone here goes by code names," Wammy said, pausing in his walk to look down at Mail.

"Code names?" Mail asked, his heart sinking a little. Had he gotten it all wrong and they really expected him to behave like a child? Did they think he would cheer up and shove off his plans for revenge if he got to use a special code name?

"Yes, code names," Wammy said directly. He paused and Mail imagined Wammy was waiting for him to look up into his guardian's face. The redhead didn't, but the man continued anyway. "That way no one can connect your real name and personal information to the work you do."

Mail tore his eyes off the sidewalk. "You mean like my age, sir?"

"Exactly," Wammy said, as if he had expected Mail to make the leap at that moment, if not some time before. "You want to solve your parents' murder, don't you? Here, we recognize how intelligent you are. We will give you the tools and the training to become a top-notch detective… if you want them. It's why I invited you to live here."

Mail could hardly believe what he was hearing, despite how he had been desperately hoping it was true. His own sneaking suspicion of his purpose at the Wammy's House had nearly knocked him off his feet. He forgot the irritating sunlight, and could only stare in wonder at the man who was offering him the world.

"If that is your choice, you will be tested in every way possible," Wammy continued, his voice becoming firm. "It will not be easy, even for someone with your capabilities. I will always do what I can to help you, but it is you who wishes to become a detective, it is you who must succeed."

Mail could only nod, drawn into every syllable of Wammy's words, every challenge the man initiated. Mail would not fail; he needed his revenge. He would utilize everything the Wammy's House offered and find the man with the hat before the police. Officers Brinkley and Seaver would wish they had let him help, even though he was slightly glad they hadn't: he would have never arrived at this luxurious gothic orphanage otherwise. And once he had found the killer and he had been given Justice, Mail would continue on, for the people like him. Mail would be that detective. He nodded, leaving his face upturned towards Wammy.

"Remember that no one else will understand or give you credit for your accomplishments if you are simply Mail Jeevas, an eight year old boy born in Chester, England. That is the first reason for using a different name: your new name will not be tarnished by your age." Wammy paused for a moment, to clear his throat and began again, a very serious expression on his bespectacled face. "Detectives also make enemies; you will use your code name as a shield. You will be a faceless warrior of justice, and your false name will protect your true self."

It was all Mail never thought to ask for. He nodded slowly, and he wasn't sure if his eyes were watering because of the sunlight or Wammy's words.

"Tell no one your real name and especially what you do. Not the other children, not even the other staff members or your teachers. It is of the utmost importance, my boy. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Mail stated, swallowing.

"Then from now on, you will be Matt."

The man pronounced it carefully, as if he were knighting the young boy. And it felt like he had been suddenly given a great responsibility like knighthood as well, his heart pounding in his ears. Being a detective, like a knight, entailed protecting others, saving kingdoms, moving forward into battle, and Mail felt wholly ready for it. In reality, he knew nothing had changed from a few moments ago. He was still a small redheaded boy, newly arrived at an orphanage, anger flaring in his chest whenever he thought of a tall shadowed figure. He still had painfully green eyes that needed protection every moment he was outside. He still felt empty without his mother's hand, his father's laugh, and his sister's smile.

But he was no longer Mail.

--M--

"I'll take you to your room now, Matt," Wammy said and began moving forward again down the sidewalk. Matt found himself taking at least two steps to every one of the aging man's strides, but he kept pace, somewhat anxious to see what it looked like.

Wammy led Matt into the aforementioned dormitory, and Matt found himself in a large common room, dark red carpeting on mahogany floors. The polished wood rose halfway up the sides of the wall, the remaining portion spackled cream to match the ceiling. A few worn-looking Victorian-styled chairs nestled between a large black sofa and a water-stained coffee table. Two teenage girls in shorts and tank-tops sat on the couch, flipping through fashion magazines. They glanced up at Matt just as the acrid scent of toe nail polish assaulted his nostrils.

"Veronica. Cassandra," Wammy began in heavy tones, "How many times must I remind the two of you that you can't paint your nails inside the dormitories?"

The girls looked sheepish, set down their magazines to screw lids on the colorful little bottles on the coffee table, and muttered apologies. Matt could almost feel Wammy sigh beside him.

"And since it's such a nice day, I'm surprised the two of you aren't outside enjoying the sun." He looked down at the redhead next to him, and then back to the grumbling teenagers. "This is Matt. It's his first day here, so if you see him around again, please do your best to welcome him to the House."

"Sure, Wammy," one of them said, smiling towards Matt as if she thought he were as cute as a button. He thought that one was Cassandra. The other girl gave a smile and a wave before grabbing her friend and the two skittered off in the opposite direction.

Matt looked up to his caretaker. "There are girls in this dorm?"

"On the first and second floors. The third and fourth floors are for boys," Wammy explained. "The B dormitory is also set up that way."

So he was in the A dormitory, Matt guessed. He followed Wammy across the room to a large staircase, a single, wide landing between each floor. It was the same wood covered in the same reddish carpet, tarnished golden rods holding the worn fabric in place between steps. Matt could see where thousands of orphan's footsteps had fallen in the same places he was now putting his own feet.

He was tired by the time he reached the fourth floor, and he wondered if he'd get used to the long flights. The older man in front of him seemed perfectly fine, so Matt supposed he'd get used to marching up and down them several times a day.

He found himself in a large corridor, about ten doors on each side. Sunlight streamed through long windows that paralleled the hallway were raised several feet above the tops of the doors. The first door on his left held a large letter "L." The one on his right read "M" in the same neat calligraphy strokes. Seeing "N" after "L" on the left, Matt guessed the pattern as he saw that "O" was across from it. Wammy paused in front of the third door on the left-side, and Matt suddenly felt confused. It too held an "M," identical to the first door on the right. So was there a pattern at all? What did the letters mean?

"This is your room, Matt," Wammy said, allowing the boy to open the door himself.

Inside, Matt found it dark and quiet, a simple single bed in the corner, a nightstand next to it, a desk and a wardrobe by on the opposite wall. He stepped inside, noticing suddenly that there should be a window, but no light trickled in from the far wall. He took off his glasses and then found that he could make out a darker square on the shadowed white walls. It had already been boarded up, something that Matt had always wanted to do when he had been Mail.

In the center of the small room, Mail turned back to face Wammy's silhouette, his tall figure nearly obscuring the door.

"Thank you," Matt said, feeling a little awkward. "For the window… and well, for everything."

It sounded lame, but Wammy just nodded his head and Matt made out a faint smile on his face.

"You're very welcome, my boy. Now, I have to go run errands for the House, but I'll be back by dinner. I suggest you go have a look around; I would bet all the other children can be found outside, enjoying the nice weather." The man backed a step out the door and then turned down the hallway, disappearing from Matt's view as he left.

Matt sighed, thinking that he didn't really want to go outside into the bright light. Especially after finding his room had been transformed into a sanctuary designed specifically for him. Still, it was probably best to follow the advice of the man who seemed to know everything... and he would have to go outside at some point. Matt sighed again, and sat on his bed, testing it out a little. It was very comfortable. He relaxed onto his back, but then sat up quickly as his eyes landed on a small key lying on the nightstand.

It only took him a moment to figure out what it was: his own room key.

Not really sure how he had decided it, Matt found himself leaving his room, locking it behind him and walking down the four flights of stairs to look for other children outside. He naturally turned first to the shady side of his own building, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows. Matt stepped off the sidewalk, and onto the mowed lawns. The grass was springy, especially after the hard pavement he had been walking along a good portion of the day.

He spotted a group of six children as soon as he turned the corner. They looked to be about his age, sitting with their backs against the wall, and talking amongst themselves. Feeling suddenly nervous, Matt had to remind himself to continue walking.

They looked up and quieted as he approached and it didn't help the butterflies that swarmed in his stomach. Would they like him? Or would they know he was… different?

"Who are you?" a girl asked curiously, peering up at him. Matt nearly sagged in visible relief; her tone held no hint of mocking.

"I'm Matt," he said. There was a short awkward pause. "I'm new… but I'm going to be living here. With all of you. I guess," Matt hurried to cover up the silence with sentences he belatedly realized were even more awkward.

The girl smiled and sat up straighter, holding out her hand. "My name's Linda."

Matt shook her hand as the other children began chorusing out their own names, nearly in unison, which then turned into laughter at the ridiculousness of expecting Matt to have understood it all. Matt found himself included into their circle, sitting between Sebastien and Michelle, and enjoying it. They seemed a lot nicer than the kids he remembered from school in Chester. After discovering that Sebastien, Hanz, and Vladimir were all from the Continent, he figured it was probably because the kids were all so tolerant of each others differences already. In fact, as they each tried saying the same words with their respective accents, Matt felt like his slightly Scouse accent was something to be appreciated even while they were laughing at Sebastien's thick French accent. Only Robert and Michelle were actually from Winchester itself, so with the majority of the group not from southeast England, Matt could tell they felt jealous with that they were so average. It was a new experience for Matt, and he found himself enjoying everything, taking in the latest rumors of the other orphans at the Wammy's House.

"I heard that he's going to be expelled," Michelle said conspiratorially. Her dark hair was wild and hung over half her sunburned face.

Linda leaned in, blonde ponytails swinging, intent on one-upping the other girl. "Yeah, because he tried to kill the albino."

She nodded intently, as the others stared in fascination at her, and Matt stared as well, even though he didn't believe the gossip. Still….

"Wammy's has an albino?" he asked, unable to restrain himself, but not really caring to do so either.

Sebastien, on Matt's left, answered before the rest. "Yeah, he is very white, and—"

"It's not surprising you haven't seen him," Robert said, cutting Sebastien off, "He hardly ever leaves his room… he's one of those kids."

Matt suddenly felt left out. "Those kids?" He asked, his face wrinkled in confusion as he tried to give his words the same inflection Robert's had. He felt his glasses slip down his nose a little.

"Yeah, you should watch out for them. They're crazy," Robert replied. He scrunched up his eyes for emphasis, making Michelle giggle.

"Mello's one of them too; he's the kid that's going to be expelled," Linda said matter-of-factly.

"The other's a girl," Hanz volunteered.

"So what's wrong with them?" Matt asked, and he felt a little queasy. Was this how people had talked about him when he had been labeled the strange kid? But no, Linda, Michelle, Sebastien, Robert, Vladimir, and Hanz were all tolerant of this sort of thing. So these other kids—those kids—must be truly awful.

"They've got lots of problems," Linda said first.

"Mello is the baddest," Vladimir tried before being smacked by Robert who hissed 'worst' at him. Everyone laughed as Vladimir turned delicately pink and smiled sheepishly.

"But seriously," Michelle began, drawing everyone's attention to her, "They don't attend the regular classes and they act all… weird. They're all new kids too. Mello's real violent—he nearly killed someone his second day here. Near's the albino and he can't speak either. No one ever sees him. Then there's Orphan. Yeah, that's her actual name. She has about fifty cats in her room. It's creepy."

Everyone else nodded, with expressions as if they were crossing their hearts. Matt just nodded along with them, trying to figure out whether any of it was really true or whether they were just teasing. He figured they were telling him what they believed… and Matt found himself liking the thought of being on the inside and pointing fingers at those outside. It was much more fun than being pointed at.

"But it's probably time for dinner," Michelle said, looking down into the grass.

"I'm so hungry," Hanz said, standing up and brushing himself off. The others followed suit until Robert yelled.

"Last one there is a rotten tomato!"

--M--

Dinner had been a rowdy affair. With approximately thirty kids per table, and three tables in the cafeteria, Matt found it much louder than the single family dinners he was used to. Despite the noise, however, Matt got to sit next to his new friends, and they just nodded along when he shyly explained why he was still wearing his sunglasses inside. And the food had been delicious: beef stew with dumplings, jacket potatoes, salad, and apple juice, Matt's favorite drink.

He had said goodnight to his new friends, discovering that all the other boys he had met lived in the other dormitory. Linda and Michelle, however, lived on the second floor below him, so he walked back with them and only had the last two flights of stairs to walk on his own. Upon reaching the top floor, Matt found it quiet and he wondered who else lived behind the other lettered doors.

He unlocked his own room, and was greeted with the complete darkness within. Feeling suddenly very alone and almost unnaturally afraid in the big open hallway, Matt quickly entered and locked the door behind him.

In the utter blackness, Matt stumbled over to the bed and found a pair of pajamas laid out for him. He changed quickly and climbed under the covers, discarding his clothes to the floor. The room was perfectly quiet, without the rustle of blankets or crying from Blair Rose's room, the sound of the creaking house, and the heavy footfalls of his parents moving around after his bedtime. In the inky darkness of his new room, it was as if nothing else existed beyond his own mind. With no sound, no light, and only a vague smell of air-freshener, his senses felt muffled, trapped almost.

Reminding himself that he had never been afraid of the dark, Matt pulled the covers up over his head and snuggled into the bed. It really was very comfortable. He hummed quietly to break the deafening silence and slowly drifted off to sleep.

--M--

Thank you for reading another chapter! I hope you've all enjoyed it thus far! For those of you wondering when I'll bring in some more familiar characters... that will be next chapter. XD Thanks to my awesome beta, SlvrSoleAlchmst1, and please leave a review!!