Letters

4

--M--

June 17, 2007

Matt pulled up his jeans, buckling the belt and slipping the leather end through a belt loop. His black boxers still peeked over the top edge of the denim fabric and he wondered vaguely why he ever wore a belt. Disregarding the notion, he picked up his shirt, pulling the stripes on over his head and down his torso. Next came the goggles that he pulled down around his neck before lifting them back up over his eyes with practiced ease. Done that way, his auburn hair wouldn't get caught between his skin or eyes and the black foam padding.

Matt glanced around the room, the colors closer to what he was used to again. Warmer, although not in the same way the sun was beginning to beat down and reflect off the concrete. This was softer, more comfortable. And there were the boots he was looking for.

He sat on the edge of the bed to strap on the black biker boots, buckling them on tightly. A grim smile crossed Matt's face, wondering if Mello wore the same kind of boots. Well, he'd find out today.

Anxiousness erupted suddenly in his chest and Matt found it difficult to breath. He was going to see Mello today…. It was strange, he hadn't been nervous before, but now that the moment was nearly upon him, it was hard to swallow, unexpectedly an arduous effort to gather his thoughts. What would Mello look like? How exactly would Matt tell the blond what had happened? Mello's reaction… would it be anything like how terrible Near's had been?

Matt fervently wished the answer to the question was no. Mello and Near had survived together only because they were opposites that fed off each other's weaknesses. Near thrived on his all-consuming apathy, his ability to manipulate others to do what he wanted; Mello used his emotions to fuel his curiosity and fight back, his strength forcing others to give in to him.

But what would Mello do when he reached the same conclusion that Matt had? When he found out there was no one to fight back against? That the enemy had escaped forever?

That was the part that hurt the most… that there would be no revenge.

Matt clenched his fist against the nervous pit of fear writhing in his stomach, snakes hissing and slithering. He snatched up his gloves, the last vestiges of his signature summer outfit—the same as his winter outfit minus the warm vest—still unworn, and stuffed his fingers inside them. He clenched his fist again, watching the leather wrinkle and stretch, catching the light, always, always reflecting into an orange haze. He didn't feel any calmer, and it was still time to leave.

His duffle bag slung over his shoulder, his hotel key in hand, Matt strode out the door onto the outdoor second story hallway. He gulped down a mouthful of air, sure as the oxygen flooding his system that he wouldn't be calm again until after he had seen his blond rival.

--M--

"Not supposed to be scared of anything,

But I don't know where I am.

…

There's no one here to talk to

And the pain is making me numb."

June 20, 1998

"Open the fucking door!" The abrupt and sudden hammering made Matt gasp, jumping out of bed like a startled rabbit, heart thumping. "I swear I'm gonna make you regret ever putting foot on the fourth floor, you bastard!"

The lock rattled violently, and Matt found himself taking several steps away from it and into the corner. The room was darker than his eyes closed on a cloudy night on the moors, the blackness deeper than Matt had could remember ever experiencing. The only hint that it was daytime was the anorexic line of light coming through the small crack under the door. He found it wasn't bright enough to require his glasses and was thankful for that, at least.

"Fuck you!!" screamed the hysterical voice, and Matt realized it was a child. A boy, probably close to his own age. The door bulged inward slightly with another loud thump and Matt jumped. Why was someone trying to get him? What had he done? What was going on?

Straining his ears, Matt could hear another, quieter voice as the shouter stopped pounding away at Matt's door.

"I don't give a damn, Near!" The angry voice roared vehemently in reply, "I'm not gonna let some new dumbass usurp my place!!"

Another mumble from the quieter, and Matt assumed, more sensible of the two speakers.

"I WILL NOT LOSE!!"

And then silence.

Matt shivered in the dark, eyes intent on the small fissure of light from under the doorway. Paralyzed with fear, he was waiting for the wailing sound of sirens or the moment his door would suddenly burst open full of constables….

"Honestly," came a young girl's patronizing voice, cutting deeply and jarring against Matt's memories of the night of the murder, "You're only going to get in more trouble and then they really will throw you out."

"Ha, they'll throw you out before me, Orphan. First of all, you're a girl, and second, you're nowhere near as bright as I am… you're not even as smart as Near." The boy's taunting voice was sharp and cruel, as Matt began to grasp the truth.

Of course, these children outside his door… they were the ones his friends had warned him about. These were those kids. The one that had nearly beaten down the door had to be Mello, the quiet one was Near, and the girl had already been identified as Orphan. She liked cats? Matt suddenly felt sick, realizing to who the letters on the doors in the hallway stood for: the strange kids ostracized by the rest of the orphanage.

So who did L stand for then?

"Just you wait, I'm going to be better than both of you combined," Orphan cut back. Matt could hear footsteps stomping off back down the hallway, and a door opening and slamming. He wondered which one of them had left, but assumed it had been Orphan, forcing herself to have the final say in the matter.

Matt crept back closer to the door, wondering if the other two were planning to leave. Hearing nothing further, Matt ventured to the doorway and put his ear to the wooden barricade.

Nothing. They must have already left. Matt found himself sighing in relief, leaning against the door, his legs feeling like jelly. He allowed himself to sink towards the floor—

"So you are in there, you bastard!" Mello shouted again, his voice and the renewed pounding scaring a short shriek out of Matt as he scurried around to face the door. He could hear his heart pounding frantically in his ears and he wanted to cry… surely this wasn't going to be a daily experience? None of those kids had ever seen him. Why would Mello already be bullying him? There was no way for them to know he was different, that he was a freak….

"Mello," a voice said softly. Near was still there too.

"What?!"

"You really will lose your place here, won't you? You know they only brought this one in because of your temper. If you don't learn how—"

Near's mocking tones were silenced by the sharp sound of a fleshy slap. Mello's words were low and dangerous, sending a shiver of fear spiraling down Matt's spine even though they weren't directed at him. "Since you were so kind to offer, Near, you can help me with my little anger problem. How's that sound?"

Matt wished desperately he could see what was happening, feeling the tension between the other two boys through the door. On second thought, Matt decided he much preferred the safety of his own room; he wouldn't even unlock it at the moment if someone paid him a million pounds.

Near whimpered, a painful, forced sound. Matt imagined him gritting his teeth as he spoke; Mello was probably twisting his arm or his hair. "Let go, Mello; they'll expel you."

"Something tells me otherwise," Mello bit off caustically. There was a sharp thump against the door, a skull connecting solidly to wood followed instantly by a cry of pain. Nothing could disguise the sounds of Mello dragging the other boy off down the hallway, despite how Matt heard no protests from the quieter boy.

Matt sat on the floor, several feet from the door and just let himself breath into the quiet. He waited, the silence deafening, the darkness complete. Unable to muster the strength to move, Matt let his mind go completely blank, blissfully losing himself, so he wouldn't have to listen to his mind replaying the terror that were the other tenants in his hall. After what seemed an eternity and yet far too soon, Matt stood, his legs shaky. In reality, it had been ten minutes since he had stopped focusing on the anything, and he decided to get dressed, grab his glasses, and peer into the hallway. Once he had ascertained the coast was clear, he slipped out, locked the door quickly behind him, and darted off down the stairway. Matt didn't stop until he had made it outside the building, his heart pounding a furious cadence in his chest.

He felt like crying again, but pushed the lump in his throat down. Matt was a detective; he didn't cry. He decided on breakfast instead; that would surely make him feel better and maybe he would see Robert or Sebastien. If Linda was there, Matt was sure she would be interested in his story about those kids, and telling it dramatically would only improve his standing within their little group. He just couldn't let them know how scared he had been… being frightened was for little kids, after all, Matt thought wryly. He had been frightened before, as Mail, but he was past that now. What could Mello, Near, and Orphan do to him that he couldn't deal with?

Matt entered the refectory, his eyes reaching a clock as his nose found breakfast. 8:20 a.m. and a full English fry-up. Matt could smell the bacon and sausage the strongest, the meat still sizzling somewhere in the kitchens. Deciding he'd search the cafeteria later for his friends, Matt went first to get some breakfast. Taking a warmed plate, Matt dumped scrambled eggs, bacon, baked beans, mushrooms, and a piece of fried bread onto it until it nearly overflowed. He also managed to fill himself up a glass of apple juice and then turned to face the tables, his eyes scanning the crowd through his dark glasses.

He spotted Robert, Sebastien, Hanz, and Michelle sitting at the center of the second table, effectively placing themselves in the center of the room. Weaving his way through other children, Matt arrived at the table and slid into a seat next to Hanz.

"Hi," he said, setting his plate down and grinning.

It was the moment right before no one replied that Matt felt his smile diminish. They didn't look at him directly, instead inspecting him sideways as if he had some kind of disease. Matt quickly took off his glasses, believing his eyes could hold out while inside the refectory. He gave them an earnest look through green orbs.

"Hey?" he queried, his voice faltering as Michelle turned to look at him directly. Her face was still bright red from sunburn and shiny from aloe vera gel but her hair as dark as ever. She looked down her nose at him even though they were about the same height.

"As an outsider, what do you think of the human race?" she asked, stating clearly that Matt was no longer welcome. Hanz laughed. Matt felt like he had been slapped in the face.

"What's the matter, guys?" Matt asked, willing his eyes not to water. He tried to believe they were joking around, trying to fool him into being gullible or something. But even his own voice betrayed his true feelings and nearly broke when he tried to force a laugh.

Robert glanced at him and then down at his own plate. He, at least, seemed a little repentant. "You're one of those fourth floor kids. That means there must be something wrong with you."

The words echoed throughout Matt's brain. Something… wrong? That couldn't—no, his mind told him firmly, he knew he wasn't normal, and obviously he couldn't last a day pretending it. He had been foolish to hope for normal childhood friendships when he had lost whatever made him childlike. When he could look back on the murder scene and not cry, but only feel anger. He didn't belong with these ordinary kids. And hadn't Wammy said the fourth floor was where he would fit in the best? But it was with those kids… the one who had threatened him, the one who was probably being beaten, the know-it-all sounding girl, and then the mysterious person who must live behind door L. Matt belonged… with them? He had made up his mind to not be afraid of them, but that didn't mean he wanted anything to do with them. He couldn't really see what they might have in common.

Then again, he had yet to meet the four others.

"We don't want you here, Matt. I mean, for all we know," Michelle said, making eye contact with the boys for confirmation, "you're gonna go crazy and kill us all."

They all nodded, the same look that meant they believed it, cross their hearts, stick a needle in their eyes. For a moment, Matt saw a flash of genuine fear cross Linda's eyes, followed by a softening into sadness. The same look from the day before when they had talked about Mello nearly killing the albino… Near. And suddenly, Matt wasn't so sure they were lying, or at least deceiving themselves as well. After what he had heard that morning, maybe Near would end up dead at Mello's hands. But Matt himself already felt the urge to kill someone, even if it were only for revenge for his parents and sister…. Suddenly, Matt found himself placing all his faith into Wammy and the room the man had chosen for him. These other children around him… they were not his friends. He didn't know if the other kids on the fourth floor would like him, but he could survive easily as a loner if he had to. He had bigger goals, and he didn't need these selfish children in any way.

Matt replaced his glasses, and stood from the table. He took his plate in his hands; they were shaking slightly. Vladimir's eyes flicked over his quavering muscles, and Matt was no longer hungry. He set the plate down again. Exhaling heavily and squeezing back the burning sensation behind his eyes, Matt just let everything go. He turned and left the building without saying a word.

Green eyes stinging with frustration, Matt kept them pointed at the ground, replacing his sunglasses after wiping at his face furiously. How could he have been so blind as to believe that he could fit in with the normal children? Well, he certainly wouldn't make that mistake again. A shadow obscured the sidewalk a split-second before Matt collided with a solid body.

"Matt…" his caretaker said, catching a hold of the boy's shoulders. Matt didn't meet his gaze, hoping Wammy wouldn't see the tears hiding in his eyes and behind the glasses. He would probably believe Matt wasn't ready for the task of becoming a detective if he saw him crying.

Matt suddenly found himself embraced in a tight hug, Wammy's arms encircling him and patting his back comfortingly. Without realizing what he was doing, Matt found himself hugging the man back, burying his face into Wammy's big shoulder. His reflexes seemed to take control, and Matt found himself crying, the first time since his parents' death.

"Matt, I'm sorry." Wammy's voice was soft and sincere. Matt nodded into the man's coat. "But you can't blame the other children; they just don't understand. They're not… mature enough."

Matt found himself agreeing wholeheartedly, and fresh tears stopped trailing down his cheeks. Why had he been so upset? He hadn't even known them for more than twenty-four hours.

Matt blinked rapidly as the sunlight filtered through his glasses. Wammy had released him from the embrace. The man held Matt back to arm's length, a fatherly smile on his face and one eyebrow quirked.

"Why, Matt, aren't those the same clothes you wore yesterday?"

Matt looked down at his shirt, even though he knew they were. He nodded sheepishly.

"No one came to find you to take you to the basement?" Wammy questioned, a slight frown on his face.

Matt shook his head, before reaching up to wipe the last remnants of tears off his face.

"Well, come on then, my boy. The Hampshire Children's Services would likely take you away if you wore the exact same clothes everyday," Wammy said, another fatherly smile playing over his face along with a chuckle. He straightened up without waiting for a reply, taking Matt's hand and leading him to Building A's dormitories.

Wammy took Matt to the opposite side of the building, where there was another staircase, matching the one Matt had already used. In addition to four flights up, this one also led underground. After the kind gestures to make Matt feel better, he felt like he had lost something important when Wammy released his hand to venture down the stairs, sliding a hand down the railing instead.

Fluorescent lighting greeted Matt with its aloof yet faithful glare. Underneath its sharp luminosity, racks of clothes stood in rows. The whole setup all looked like nothing more than a used clothing store, just without the red sale tags.

Wammy walked to the third aisle, and then turned to face his young charge. "The clothing on this aisle should fit you. Go take a look and pick out anything and everything you like, my boy."

Stepping between the racks, Matt felt like he was entering a forest. The fabric silenced the background white noise and his own breathing seemed louder. And was that his heartbeat? He stopped, turning to the stand next to him where clothes of all colors and textures hung a little haphazardly. Seeing a green sleeve, Matt pulled it out only to find it had a logo with a pink heart on the chest. It was a girl's t-shirt. He put it back hurriedly, checking to see if Wammy had noticed from the end of the aisle. It didn't seem like he had.

By the time Matt reached the opposite side of the room, he had several t-shirts, two tank tops, and one long sleeved shirt. From the other side of the aisle he had taken three pairs of jeans and two pairs of shorts. Feeling happy with his chosen attire, he looked for Wammy at the other side of the row, but the man had disappeared. Instead of walking back down the aisle, Matt stepped closer to the wall and poked his head around it, looking down the rows of clothes that were one size too big for him.

He didn't see the aging caretaker, but his eyes caught on something else. That fabric… it was really nothing more than a black and white striped sleeve, but the width of the bands, the intensity of the black… it was the same.

He pulled the hanger off the rack, and held the cotton shirt up to himself. It would be a little baggy, but not enough to bother him. Especially not if it were this pattern of sharp contrasts, something that would be a constant reminder of his goal. His eyes darted down the rest of the aisle, picking out stripes among the hanging sleeves. He ran back to the aisle of clothes that fit him, stripes flashing before his eyes. There was a tan and black one that he found himself retrieving, the material soft and almost silky. Then a red and black one, somewhat reminiscent of the other tablecloth, although the shirt was closer to the maroon side of the spectrum.

"Find anything you like?" Wammy's voice questioned from behind him. Matt hadn't noticed him walk up, but he didn't jump.

"Yeah," Matt said simply, not looking up or turning around, his eyes still on the latest striped shirt.

"There should be clean underwear and socks in your wardrobe when you get back to your room. You can either take these up yourself or—"

"I'll take them," Matt said quickly. He would have to get used to the four flights of stairs anyway, and he had been planning on returning to his room before he had quite literally run into Wammy.

"Yes, it's probably a good idea to let you become entirely responsible for yourself," Wammy sighed. Matt got the distinct feeling that Wammy wished he could help him more, but then the man was pulling something out of his coat. He unfolded the piece of paper, and held it out to Matt. "This is your schedule. You'll start classes on Monday, Matt."

He took the paper carefully, balancing the clothes over his arm, glancing down at the little spreadsheet without really reading it.

"Thank you, sir," Matt replied.

Wammy just smiled and nodded once, allowing Matt to dismiss himself if he chose. Matt took the opportunity and slipped out the aisleway and to the exit. Clothes bundled up in his arms, he marched up the stairs, almost gasping for air when he reached the top, bobbing off down the hallway to his room. He leaned the clothes against the door, freeing one arm to dive into his pocket and retrieve his key.

The air inside his room was warm, but not muggy. Matt let the door close behind him, setting the clothes down on his bed in a heap, before taking off his sunglasses and then locking his door. He didn't want Mello or someone coming in unexpectedly.

And why shouldn't he take security precautions seriously? Maybe that was part of the point…. Maybe Wammy had put him up here on the fourth floor so he would be challenged, so that the stakes were high for failure in every aspect of his life. Wammy had said he would be pushed to his full potential, that being a detective was dangerous. Being around the strange and violent kids was probably just a taste of the hazards involved with being a part of justice. It was probably some kind of test. If he could coexist with those kids, Wammy would see that he has enough courage and stamina to move on to the next test.

Silently, in his dark room, Matt vowed to overcome every obstacle that he was faced with. If he did, he knew he would be able to come face to face with the man in the hat. He would find the murderer.

--M--

He spent the rest of the day in near solitude, avoiding the other kids as much as they avoided him. He didn't want to see them casting sideways glances or whispering behind their hands at him. Matt had taken his schedule, and searched out where his classes would be, knowing that he didn't want to get lost on his first day, especially if he had two whole days to prepare for it. He didn't want to slip into class late on his first day, especially when it would be the first time he had several different classes.

So he wandered around the classrooms, noting that the layout was very straightforward. The computer lab was on the first floor with six other classrooms. When he poked his head into them, they all showed off a language or humanities flair, maps and foreign utterances posted on the walls. The second floor held eight classrooms, math and science oriented. The third floor, also with eight classrooms held all the other classes that didn't really fit in the first two floors: art, music, and a few classrooms that didn't have a theme. Matt guessed they were extras used for any other topic that wasn't taught all year.

It took him several hours past lunchtime to realize it was summer, and that meant he shouldn't have to go to school. He was supposed to be on holiday. It was the end of June and he was starting school? Surely if there were only a few weeks left of the Wammy's House school year, Wammy wouldn't make him attend simply to take the end of the year tests. So….

It meant that the old man was going to train him as fast as possible for the life of a detective. Matt felt sure of it, and accepted the idea of a much shorter summer vacation easily. Some things were just vastly more important.

He ate dinner alone, much like he had eaten lunch. Then there was nothing left to do. He knew he was on the eve of some important event—he was going to his first classes the next day. He would be able to judge exactly what Wammy thought his potential was. He wondered if any of the children he had recently been excluded from would be in his classes. It was hard to imagine Wammy would put them in his classes after his words about their immaturity compared to Matt's own, but then again, they were all in the same age group.

Somehow, Matt thought while glancing down at his schedule, he didn't think they'd be taking Latin with him. Or computer science. Physical education, on the other hand, seemed a very likely place for all of them to meet.

Matt retreated back to his own room, sneaking as quietly as he could so he wouldn't run into his floormates. He locked the door behind him, finding it an easy habit to learn, but his thoughts were interrupted by what was already in his room.

His first reaction was to search the dark room for any people who may still be inside. Finding no one, he tried to calm his heartbeat and stop the adrenaline rush that had kicked in. He walked over to his desk, taking off his glasses to get a better look.

The bow was bright red and shiny, a matching ribbon strung around the flat rectangular object. It took several moments for Matt to figure out what it was, because no one he knew had owned a laptop. From what he did know, they were pretty rare and pretty expensive.

He removed the bow and ribbon carefully, but didn't find a card. He knew it was from Wammy anyway. Excitement bubbled up from his stomach as he lifted the screen, found the on button and pressed it firmly.

The screen lit up and Matt squinted reflexively as the machine emitted a low musical hum. A little box appeared in the center of the screen, a rainbow apple inside that and above a little blue loading bar. Words flickered in quick succession above the bar, but it was too fast for him to read. Then the window disappeared and the desktop replaced it, a few startup windows telling him how to set up his preferences and begin working on his new PowerBook G3.

It was nearly midnight when Matt finally closed it up, changed into his pajamas, set his alarm, and found his way to bed.

--M--

Wow, well that was one helluva chapter. Thanks for reading!! I'm obsessed with this story, so it will definitely NOT fall off the radar EVER, but I do have a buttload of other fics I need to be working on, because I make promises and try my best to keep them. That written, please drop me a review and it'll make me want to write it sooner! This story is like my child and I need to know how it's doing. Like? Not like? Were you scared for Matt? Any thoughts on what's happening? Will happen?? Any thoughts are good thoughts. Thank yous!!