Letters

5

--M--

June 17, 2007

He hadn't planned on arriving early to their meeting place. He had wanted Mello to think he was doing more with his life than waiting for him. He told himself he wasn't. Matt gulped down that thought and tried to swallow his anxiety along with it.

It didn't work, and moments later he was pacing back and forth between the graffitied brick wall and his duffle bag. He checked his watch. Seven more minutes. Fuck.

His heart was already racing in anticipation and with seven minutes left to go, Matt pondered the possibility of whether he could get a heart attack from this. Now wouldn't that be a nice bit of irony, considering he was trying to chase down the criminal Mello had become. Rejecting the thought of similarities to the self-proclaimed God called Kira, Matt squinted at the nearby entrances, windows and fire escapes for signs of movement. It was unlikely that Mello would come alone, although… the thought of Mello alone made Matt's blood light on fire.

He told his body it shouldn't. Matt had never been sure if Mello had liked anyone, despite the handcuffs of lust they had cinched onto each other. But if Mello's utter hatred of Near was any clue, the people Mello had lived with were especially disliked. Matt shouldn't be standing here, waiting with his heart withering in the blaze, for someone like Mello. He fucking knew better, his mind replied, dousing his chest with the cold splash of cold logic; Mello must have changed, likely for the worst. Matt should be wholly jaded. Yet, here he was, ready to take whatever Mello offered in halting strides, hoping with all his smoldering, heart that Mello would be similar to the boy who had left.

The fact that his mind was blissfully clear about the matter only made the matter worse. Icy logic just hissed on the blaze, blistering steam rising to constrict his throat.

He tried to swallow his problems away again, but his mouth was so dry, and a single deep breath was so hard to find. Matt licked his lips, nervously longing for… for Mello's bare skin to slide against his. Would he still dress himself in all black, the rest of him ghostly pale from hiding?

God, he couldn't be thinking of that right now. He fumbled with his jeans' pocket, pulling out his lighter and the half-empty pack of cigarettes. Good thing he had another unopened pack of his cancer-inducing addiction in his bag. Yeah, he may be a pessimist about his habit sometimes, but it was far too late to change now, and having some kind of obsession was better than none. Especially when he needed it to ease his anxiety. Cupping the end against a non-existent breeze, Matt lit the drug and inhaled.

Did it help? Not really. Or not yet, he persuaded himself, taking another breath of the sweetly smoky fragrance.

He glanced at his watch. Two minutes left, ticking away like the unavoidable pulse of Time, more inexorable and slower-paced than Matt's heartbeat.

Two minutes before he saw the love of his life.

--M--

"As the sun shines through, it pushes away and pushes ahead,

Fills the warmth of blue, and leaves a chill instead,

And I didn't know that I could be so blind to all that is so real,

As illusion dies, I see there is so much to be revealed."

June 21, 1998

Matt was outside. It was bright and hot, and he was seriously regretting his afternoon decision to explore, as well as to wear a shirt with long sleeves. He should have stayed inside playing solitaire like he had all morning, even though it had been nice and cool inside the chapel, the first place he had visited after roast dinner. But being Sunday, he hadn't wanted to disturb the worshippers and had left before inspecting every nook and cranny. Now heading towards the sun to find the firing range, his glasses were of little help. The blinding light passed right between his nose and the lenses in the small cracks of the poorly fitted accessories. It then spilled into his eyes, a penetrating glare from an angry late-afternoon sun.

He pushed his glasses up further onto his face, hoping to block out more sun, and as he did so, Matt noticed someone approaching him. A thin, tall figure dressed completely in what looked like white pajamas with wild-looking black hair. It took Matt a moment to realize it was the teenager from his first day who he'd caught staring at him so openly. He wore a slight frown on his face and it didn't look like he'd noticed Matt yet. Matt's feet drifted to a halt, his attention caught by the strange young man. His hands lifted to his face, adjusting his glasses for a better view. He knew he shouldn't stare, but he found he couldn't help it.

Suddenly, the black haired youth halted, his head tilting more than turning to peer at Matt. On anyone else, the effect would have been frightening, but instead, the move was comical, the older boy's black eyes wide and curious.

"Hello," he said, holding out a thin hand to Matt. The corners of the teenager's lips turned upwards, as if he were merely copying someone else's attempt at a smile.

Matt pushed up his glasses, hiding his eyes, before reaching out and receiving the proffered hand. "Hi," he said quietly, unsure of what else he could say. They shook, once, and then released, the older boy's cool fingers picking at Matt's hand as if it were a conductor's baton before a grand performance.

"You are Matt, aren't you." The teen's intonation was utterly flat and monotone. It sounded as though his vocal chords couldn't fight their way out of the wet-paper inflection of a question bag if he wanted. Despite this, Matt could tell the words had been meant to be a statement. Matt nodded, feeling awkward, and then realized the movement only made his glasses slip down again. He pushed them back up without missing the strange teenager's eyes following his fingers. Almost imperceptively, the black eyes narrowed, but then the teenager was looking sideways and away from Matt. His spiky bangs hung in front of his face, pushing most of it into shadow, with the sun behind him. "I am Lawrence."

Lawrence was weird, Matt decided conclusively, but definitely interesting and quite friendly. His strange mannerisms made it hard not to like him. Matt smiled. "It's nice to meet you, Lawrence."

"I…" Lawrence's eyes rolled across Matt to look in the other direction, before he finished quickly, "…have something for you, but I did not expect to see you yet. Wait here."

Lawrence bounded off towards Building A in a strange, loping run resembling a wounded dinosaur. Despite his confusion of the situation, Matt was curious and nearly giddy. He realized it was the first human contact he'd had since speaking with Wammy the day before. And Lawrence wanted to give him something. A dark thought flickered across his suspicious mind as he waited; what if Lawrence's 'gift' was spiteful? Matt swatted the stray thought away, wanting to trust the bizarre, yet friendly older boy. Lawrence looked as if he would have his own problems fitting in….

And it clicked beautifully. The L on the door of the fourth floor hallway stood for Lawrence. The only question that remained was why none of the other children had spoken of him like they had of Mello, Near, and Orphan. Lawrence did seem to be older than Matt had judged the voices of the morning before; perhaps his age excluded him from the gossip of children below his peer group?

It was hard to miss the dinosaur on his return, pajamas flapping like white flags in the hopes of surrender. Matt noticed he was barefoot and tried to remember if he had been wearing shoes or socks earlier. He didn't think he had. Lawrence held something in one claw close to his chest, but it wasn't until he stopped, rounding his shoulders after the effort, and held it out between a cautious thumb and forefinger that Matt saw what his gift was.

A small black elastic band connected two chrome circles, catching the setting sun enough to nearly blind Matt. Snugly entrenched within the circles were orange lenses, only a bit bigger than his own eyes. Anticipation rose within Matt's heart, and he wondered if the orange would be dark enough.

"This is yours." Lawrence said plainly, eyes rolling away as his head tilted slightly and his lower lip pushing out almost like a pout. It perhaps as close to shy and embarrassed as his facial features would allow.

Matt took the goggles reverently. He'd considered wearing goggles before, but he'd never found any that would fit his small face, and instead they'd always pushed uncomfortably against his cheeks and made him resemble some kind of walking Cestrian fish. It didn't help that the only kind that did fit were cheap plastic swimwear and had no sun-blocking capabilities.

The tacky plastic aviator glasses came off easily, green eyes closed as he fitted his new lenses over them, the elastic stretching into his hair. It was almost shocking that it felt so comfortable, the bits of foam molding between his face and the chrome frames. How had Lawrence known?

Matt opened his eyes, his world tinted a blissful soft orange. Directly in front of him stood Lawrence, a hint of uncertainty running along the white-orange slope of his shoulders. The teenager was perched almost to the point of rocking forward onto his nose, obviously hoping the present was well-received.

Matt's face broke into a grin, unable to help himself, and he took two steps forward to throw his arms around Lawrence. The teenager didn't seem to know quite what to do, holding perfectly still for a moment, before returning the hug tentatively.

"Thank you," Matt told him sincerely, the delight evident in his voice. Breaking away from the embrace, Matt could see that Lawrence was wearing his funny little smile again, looking quite pleased with himself.

"You are welcome, Matt," Lawrence replied, his smile holding out for a moment into the silence afterwards before he pursed his lips. A bit of his white teeth flashed as he chewed on his lower lip and looked sideways into the distance. His gaze suddenly returned to Matt, a strange mix of intensity and boredom wrapped into one neat package. "I have to go to work now."

"Oh," Matt heard himself say. The likelihood that Lawrence lived behind the lettered door dropped like a pigeon after a falcon had made its deadly acquaintance. Lawrence probably didn't even live here, but was just some local student doing community service at an orphanage. "Goodbye, then."

Lawrence nodded, showed off his quirky smile, and then struck off across the lawn towards the administration building. Matt watched him go through orange-colored goggles, and wondered when or if they'd ever meet again. Then he turned and walked out to the firing range. The lure of guns were highly attractive to boys of all ages, especially young ones who didn't know how to use them. Matt was no exception.

--M--

The five-acre open field had an enormous fence around it, complete with warning signs posted every ten feet along it. Matt found the signs amusing, one stick figure holding a rifle and wearing earmuffs, the other rocking backwards as if shot and little movement lines radiating from an invisible stomach wound. Unfortunately, the signs also mentioned that the range was only open between 10:00 AM and 4:30 PM and children under fourteen years of age were not allowed to participate. All those meeting the age requirement could only use the pellet guns under adult supervision.

Apparently, the adult supervisors were sticklers for the rules too, because as Matt arrived, a boy who looked to be roughly his own age was sent outside the gates. It was obvious that he had been trying to sneak in during the off hours, the current time being a little after 5:00. Matt kept away from the scene, deciding to wander off across the lawns on his own rather than being caught up in someone else's problems.

Hoping to avoid everyone else, Matt waited until just before the cafeteria closed before eating supper. He wolfed down his curry and favored apple juice alone, while a last group of children finished eating at the other end of the room. It left Matt feeling lonely and suspicious that they were talking about him. What would be Matt's trademark taunt here? He knew he shouldn't care, but he didn't know which was worse: the children who did cast the occasional glance in his direction, or the ones who didn't look at him at all. In a moment of self-consciousness, Matt pulled his goggles down to lie around his neck and left them there as he squinted his way back to the fourth floor.

The hallway was as empty as he'd ever seen it, and for that, he was grateful. He still didn't know what to expect from his floormates, and wasn't sure he ever wanted to find out. Locating the M door on the left side, Matt paused in front of it to fish out his key. As he did so, he caught a bit of movement from the previously deserted hallway from the corner of his eye.

A teenage girl was present at the other end, staring at the blank door in front of her. A crimson flower pattern blossomed across the front and shoulders of her t-shirt, her golden hair cascading down to her the middle of her back. In profile, she looked as if she had walked out of a fashion magazine. Even at age eight and never having found anyone particularly attractive, Matt could tell she would be termed nothing less than beautiful.

Was this Orphan? Somehow Matt couldn't see the bratty voice from the morning before belonging to this girl. She seemed more like she belonged with Veronica and Cassandra, the teenagers Wammy had chastised his first day at the orphanage. Her nails were painted like theirs had been. Scarlet. And she certainly looked nothing like a crazy cat girl.

The girl glanced in the opposite direction and Matt looked away before she checked his side of the hallway. His room key was suddenly highly interesting, and he inserted it into the lock with a slight click. She didn't inspire fear like the as-yet-faceless Mello, but she was older and beautiful and thus intimidating. He didn't want to be embarrassed by being caught staring, but unable to help himself, Matt's eyes tore away from the doorknob and presented him a view of the hallway.

The completely empty hallway.

Confused, Matt left his door ajar as a ready escape and crept quickly down the abandoned hall. There weren't many places for the girl to go, except inside one of the rooms. But Matt had been under the impression that besides the rooms with the lettered doors, none had occupants.

A sudden chill ran up Matt's spine, spiraling in and out of his nerves, leaving a quiet feeling of dread in its wake. Something… wasn't right. He couldn't describe it better than a feeling of… wrongness. It settled into his stomach, heavy and foreboding. It was the way the too-bright sunlight streamed through the windows catching the floating dust motes. Instead of tranquility, it presented a scene of deathly stillness with a pinch of loneliness.

Too still, his young detective mind told him, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling. Shouldn't the dust be faintly swirling? The air currents from the girl's passage pushing them into disarray? But… they weren't. He hadn't heard a door open or close either. The stillness and silence seemed hauntingly familiar. They reminded him of his last nights in Chester. They reminded him of—

The hallway seemed to expand and contract on him, and Matt felt a wave of vertigo nearly throw him violently to the floor before he caught himself and realized he hadn't moved. Something was… unnatural. The air began to constrict in his lungs, a coldness seeping through the summer warmth, as the adrenaline shot through his system.

Wild-eyed without his new goggles in place, Matt ran back to his room. He threw the door shut behind him and heaved his weight against it. He was shaking, his mouth dry, but he couldn't comprehend the reasons for his physical reactions. He didn't know where the girl had gone, but that shouldn't have been as terrifying as Matt had experienced. It was a sensation more like an eerie feeling of abnormality than any concrete logic, yet his mind and body couldn't shake it. Fortunately, the darkness in his room was soothing and he found himself taking deeper, slower breaths. Carefully because of twitching fingers, Matt locked his door, and then changed rapidly into his pajamas, pulling the orange lenses from Lawrence over his head and placing them on the nightstand as a prized possession.

He climbed under the covers despite the summer heat, needing something to guard him from his fears. Less exposed, he checked his alarm to make sure it was set correctly, the mundane task calming him more than the darkness itself. His schedule lay next to his goggles, symbols of Matt's new home and world. It was a dream-life complete with a way to see laid out in front of him. He was getting everything he wanted, things he hadn't even thought to ask for. He let his remaining tension flee away in a feeling of excitement for his new life, realizing with a rush that it was actually working out. Here he was, taking control of his future, newly comfortable in the light of day, and things were good.

The thought halted Matt's mind. His parents and Blair Rose had been murdered not even a week ago, and here Matt was already thinking that things were good? What kind of person was he? Accepting the material gains in his life as a measurement of his happiness… was he really that shallow? That callous? Would Blair Rose just fade away into a faint rosy memory? Would he forget the faces of his own parents? Guilt gripped him in the dark, choking out a dry sob. No, he couldn't be happy yet. Not with the man in the hat still out there, still getting away with his sins. Matt would not allow himself to be happy until Justice had been wrought. He exhaled shakily, before tears could begin forming in the corners of his eyes. It was okay. He could accept the material things in his life as keys to his goal, the open pathway that would lead to Justice and the death of the man with the hat.

--M--

June 22, 1998

Matt dressed quickly, pulling out his red and black stripes, and fitting his goggles neatly on his head. It was 8:00 am, and he needed to make sure he had time to stick breakfast where his butterflies were before finding his way to a Latin class.

The redhead unlocked and opened the door. At the same moment, the door to his right labeled with a gothic N opened, a blond boy in black dragging out someone who could only be described as albino by the hand.

"Hurry up, Near, I want to get the lime yogurt before—" The blond boy stopped tugging at the pale hand, his mouth hanging open, and his cherubic face staring at Matt.

"You're the other M?" he asked guardedly, blue eyes darting to the letter emblazoned on the door near Matt's head. Matt nodded, the shock of the unexpected meeting enough for his fear of Mello and Near to have not yet kicked in.

"I'm Matt."

"I don't care," Mello said, nearly cutting him off and jerking on Near's hand again. Mello resumed the process of ushering Near to the stairs. With his back turned, Matt recognized Mello as the boy from the day before who had been trying to sneak into the firing range. He was still wearing the same black cotton outfit. Near, however, looked strangely like Lawrence, contrasting Mello with white pajamas that only accented his stark paleness. Except Near wore socks, Matt noted vaguely as the two disappeared down the stairs, his mind still wobbling to process the sensory information his eyes and ears had given him.

It was odd, wasn't it? Contrary to everything Matt had heard, Mello had been completely calm. Uncivil and rude to be sure, but in those icy blue eyes, Matt had seen nothing to be afraid of. Maybe there was something else going on, but it had even looked like Mello was helping Near get down to breakfast.

They had looked… like friends.

Hope blossomed like a late flower inside Matt's chest. Wammy had said this was where he would fit in, and while he hadn't gotten a warm greeting of any kind from either of the other boys, he held his faith with the old man. At least they had never pretended to be friendly like the other children. Perhaps they were simply more honest?

"You must be the other M," a girl's voice spoke knowledgably from behind him, making Matt jump. He hadn't noticed the O door open and close behind him.

He turned quickly, finding Orphan to be shorter than his own height and quite petite. She was also of a nationality that Matt couldn't place immediately, her skin and eyes like brown sugar, her long straight hair in ponytails behind her ears, and a maroon circle between her eyes, marking her with an exotic flair.

He tried again, holding out his hand this time. "I'm Matt."

"Orphan," she replied, grasping his hand and giving it a quick, business-like shake. Her palm was soft and warm in his grasp, the fact surprising him, although of course it was to be expected. "You going to eat breakfast?"

"Yeah," Matt answered, wondering if she was offering to walk with him there. She seemed really friendly, something Matt was simultaneously grateful for and suspicious of.

"Then c'mon," she said, brushing past Matt and striding purposefully for the stairs. Matt followed, his nose itching enough to make him sneeze as he reached the top of the stairs. Orphan ignored his outburst, hurrying onward so that Matt had to take the stairs two at a time to catch up with her.

They didn't speak on the way to the refectory; Matt was too afraid to say anything that would drive his only chance at friendship away. Once inside the building, Matt followed Orphan along the line, sliding his tray behind hers.

Robert stepping into line behind him, his hair still mussed from sleep or perhaps on purpose to instigate laughter among his friends. Their eyes met for a second, rebounding through Matt's goggles, before Robert dropped them to gather up a tray and silverware. The tension between them was palpable to Matt's extreme discomfort, the silence between them thicker than the baked beans he was loading onto his plate. Matt found he wanted to say something, but no words came to his lips, and just as he glanced up into the eyes of his former friend, Orphan elbowed him and tugged on his sleeve.

The gesture wasn't lost on either Robert or Matt. Their lives were entirely separate now, a fact that Matt realized both Orphan and Robert silently agreed upon. Thinking about everything that had transpired, Matt realized it was a theory the entire orphanage subscribed to. The children of the fourth floor kept to themselves, a disconnected faction of the Wammy's House, and the rest of the children were free to do as they pleased amongst themselves as well. They didn't socialize with each other and it seemed everyone but Matt was happy that way.

Without any other option, Matt followed Orphan to the table the furthest away. He tried hard not to let his anxiety show on his face as he approached both Mello and Near. It didn't help when Mello stopped speaking to watch Matt approach from under his straight-cut bangs. Near, on the other hand, looked entirely disinterested and played absentmindedly with a sausage on his plate. Orphan seemed oblivious to the obvious display of rejection, greeting both of them with an obnoxious "happy Monday" as she sat down.

There was a moment of silence as Matt took a place next to her, but then Mello resumed eating and Matt felt as if he had been suddenly released from invisible netting.

"So," Orphan began casually towards the opposite side of the table, "I hope you know you two are going down on the Latin test."

Mello snorted derisively. "As if."

Near made no response, and Matt wondered if the boy had even heard Orphan's challenge. Wait… Latin test? Matt had Latin first period….

"Am I in the same classes as all of you?" Matt asked, a feeling of dread growing in the pit of his stomach. He felt like he already knew the answer, and it was shaped like a piece of paper with incomprehensible Latin phrases all over it.

"Not for long if you ask stupid questions like that," Mello answered arrogantly between sips of hot chocolate. "Which is just fine for the rest of us. You'll only get in my way."

Matt wanted to turn to Orphan and ask whether he would be required to take the test with them, even though he hadn't learned any of the material, but that would mean… that would mean Mello would only get another shot at proving his superiority.

And suddenly, Matt didn't want to give Mello that chance. He wanted to prove that he wasn't stupid, that he wasn't going to get in Mello's way, unless it was for stepping on his pretty blond head as he vaulted past him. Whatever Mello's problems were, Matt would rise above them; he had bigger fish to fry.

Near looked up then, his black eyes peering at Mello. "It's time to go to class."

Mello nodded once, gulping down the rest of his hot chocolate, and rose. Near did the same, a few fingers curling into his hair as he padded after the taller boy. With a final bite of fried bread, Orphan stood and flipped her ponytails back over her shoulders before setting off.

M, N, O…. Matt watched as they filed out in order, and wondered how and where an extra M would fit into the letters of the Wammy alphabet.

--M--

Well, I love this story and my beta who worked my ass off in making this good enough for all of you to read. Let me know your thoughts in the form of a review? Click the button, please, this story is my child and I work really hard, but it seems like nobody's reading it (besides people who I know personally and I love you guys for reading!!)... which makes me sad.

And this is something that I've been meaning to do, but keep forgetting to put into my little author notes at the end. You know how I put in those little italicized parts? Yeah, those are song lyrics. So, for whoever knows what songs (title and artist) the italicized parts are from, I will give a Matt cookie. Trust me, you want one because the goggles are made of frosting. Good luck!