_-Chapter II-_
_-Story Behind a Story-_
"So, you're Russian?" Snyder said.
Was I? The question threw me off guard. "What?"
"Where're you from?"
I scowled at him.
There he was, cross-examining me again. Snyder was one of the mafia members who didn't trust me, a distrust fuelled by the fact that they knew nothing about me except that I was capable of brilliant acts and I would do anything to win. He had a reason not to trust me, I guess, but this needless probing of my background was uncalled for.
"What's that got to do with anything?" I muttered under my breath, but my heart had picked up speed.
He saw my name…He knows my real name…
Numerous times, I had to resist the urge to jump up and point a gun at his head and order him to read my name out loud, tell me what he saw when he looked at me, but I didn't. I couldn't lose my cool over something as trivial to me as a name.
But a name has more power now, more than ever. It's what Kira needs to kill. I thought I'd be unstoppable when I heard that. He needed a name and a face, and since I was raised to have neither, who could stop me, especially since I didn't even know my true name myself. I had doubts, of course, regarding this. If I truly had no name, would that make my alias my true name and that it can still be used to kill me? I figured the odds were too great.
I gave very little thought to my past. All that mattered was now, winning now, and surviving the future. The future; prepare for greatness. That was my life; I never thought this would be important.
"Oh, it's nothing, really. Just asking…" Snyder said with that sly smile of his. He was taunting me; I just knew it. "By the way," he added casually. "Did you know that Mihael means "he who is like god"?"
I nearly fell off my seat then. "Excuse me?" I said, glaring at him. My head was reeling. It was so sudden. Is that my name? Mihael? It sounded so strange in my mind. I'd always been Mello. Who is Mihael? Why did that sound so familiar, yet so strange? There was an unpleasant memory tugging at the back of my mind.
Snyder just gave me a knowing smirk and walked away. I almost threw my chocolate bar at him, but I needed it to calm my nerves.
_-_Flashback_-_
"There is a possibility…" Mr Wammy said, regarding me over the edge of his newspaper. I was in his office, seated in a big straight-backed chair, a newly named recruit in Wammy's House, barely eight years old and already one of the top candidates. Roger, Mr Wammy's friend, was there too, standing over Wammy's shoulder. They were discussing something about me, and they seemed agitated.
"Yes, yes, big possibility," Roger said, worriedly. He looked at me then from behind his glasses and asked, "What is your alias again?"
"Nea—Mello, sir," I answered, cringing at the name. I was not yet used to it.
"Mello," Roger echoed, looking back at the newspaper in Mr Wammy's hands. "Tell me, Mello, you know nothing of your past, correct?"
"Not until the institution took me in, sir."
"H'm." Mr Wammy scanned the paper and then folded it and placed it on the desk, turned it around and pushed it to me. "Listen carefully, Mello. There was a murder in Winchester about a year or so ago." The newspaper headline said as much. "A young couple was found dead in their house, one incident in a long a series of similar murders and house raids at the time. This particular couple was native of Russia and just moved to England on business. They were new to the place when the crime was committed and no one really knew them. Their murderers were apprehended and put behind bars soon after and the case was closed."
I looked back at him blankly and patiently, carefully taking in everything he said. I thought it was another test of my deductive skills.
"But recently, a relative of this couple from called the police to enquire of a particular child," Mr Wammy continued, indicating the paper in front of me. "The reports had mentioned the death of the couple, but nothing of their child. Apparently, they had a young son with them, but the police had found no trace of there ever being anyone else living in the house with them, and so assumed that the couple was childless. In fact, it was difficult to get any clues at all: the house was half burned to the ground, charring the bodies so badly it was difficult to identify them at first. The police investigated into the matter, and it turns out the criminals themselves knew nothing of a child. They had simply raided the house, murdered the man and his wife and fled. They must have burned the house down to get rid of any clues. As for the child himself, there was no trace left of him."
"Perhaps the child was somewhere else at the time, at school maybe?" I suggested.
"That's the next step the police took up in investigation," Roger said, nodding approvingly. "But still they came up with nothing. No school in England had any new child admitted ever since the couple had arrived in England. They did find some charred children's books among what survived of the deceased couple's belongings."
"Their son was homeschooled, then?" I said.
"Yes, that much was established," Mr Wammy said. "But it's been almost a year since and still no new leads on where this child might have gone."
"Now, Mello," Roger then said, fixing me with a sad yet curious stare. "Where do you think this child might be?"
I thought about it. "There are some unknown variables in the problem. How old the child was, for one thing."
"The relative mentioned that the son was about seven years old when they had left for England," Mr Wammy said, watching me carefully.
I swung my legs under the chair. I was small for an eight-year-old; my feet didn't reach the floor. "Well, then," I replied thoughtfully. "The child was obviously not home when the murder occurred, and on returning, if indeed he ever did, he discovered that he was homeless and an orphan and, in blind confusion, ran away from there. He's either long dead by now, or was found and is living under someone else's care, an orphanage, perhaps. By this time, if he were still alive, he'd be around my age. There's no telling where he might have wound up without further information."
"The police have enquired at every orphanage that has even the slightest possibility of having taken him in," Mr Wammy said. "They haven't found anyone who had been taken in around the time of the murder."
"Then he's either living under the care of some family who decided to take him in," I said.
"Missing posters were put up and no one could give any information," Roger supplied. "It was like the child never existed."
"What if he were to take on a new life, with a new identity?" Mr Wammy asked.
I paused, considering. "That's hardly likely, given the circumstances. He's most likely dead. But on the off chance he is given another identity, he would be living with a tremendous burden of his past."
"And if the shock of his discovery was too much to handle?"
"He would probably be traumatized to the extent of repression of his memories as a defense mechanism. He would be living without memory of any of this happening to him. That is, of course, if he still is alive, which I doubt, given the fact that no one seems to have taken him in."
Roger glanced at his friend. "Smart lad," he observed.
Mr Wammy nodded sadly. "One of the best we have."
"In that case, it wouldn't be wise to jeopardize his future with needless background baggage?"
"No, of course not," Mr Wammy said. He looked at me and smiled a small sad smile. "He's fine as he is."
I beamed. Bright as I was, I was clueless.
Roger sat down and leaned forward. "According to the relative in Russia, the missing child's name is…was Mihael."
I looked at him, wondering why he was mentioning this.
Roger sighed. "Mello, we trust your deductions of this case to be accurate and true. As of now, Mihael is dead."