Wow, in the last twenty-four hours or so, I got the same number of reviews for one chapter that I got in all the previous chapters combined! I guess people are really starting to like this story... Well, I'm working on chapter 7 (cuz the one I had saved before dissappeared from my thumb drive for whatever reason), and after that, I should get chapter 8 out pretty fast. Please bear in mind (even though you guys aren't really quite there, yet) that there may be one or two chapters dedicated to filler. Sorry about that, but going straight from one arc to another with no break between is not only overly-dramatic, but also kinda hard to write. Well, to write well anyways. I've seen people do it before, and it doesn't always turn out great. And I tried it once...did not turn out great at all. So I will have a chapter or two of filler. hope you guys don't decide to abandon me because the story gets boring. And I promise that I will not abandon this story!

Oh yeah, and while I'm at it, I should also mention that the filler won't be coming quite yet. I'll let you know when it does.

Disclaimer: I don't know...I mean, I could subconciously own Death Note...If that's the case, I could own Death Note, and not even know it. Another me could be writing manga as I sleep.

L: So you're not concious of it...?

The next day—no for the rest of the week, Jacob Strauss wasn't at school. The rumor was that he was sick, and wouldn't be at school for a while. This didn't really make my life easier, because there was another rumor that I'd infected him with "albino-itis" and that if he came back looking like a ghost, it would be the end of seemed to buy that story (about him being sick, that is), and honestly, I would have, too, if not for this whole stalker business. If he'd threatened my bullies before, who was to say that he wouldn't follow through with it if they messed with me?

My fears were confirmed on Friday morning, when one of Jacob's best friends came running into the hallway, shouting at everyone. I had been walking by, waiting for someone to slap the book out of my hand, when I heard the commotion.

"Guys!" The one who was screaming was Dylan Ruford, the quarterback on the football team. "Jake was just found!"

"What are you talking about, Ruford?" someone else asked. "Jake's been out sick the last few days!" Murmurs of agreement came from the small crowd around them. Dylan frantically shook his head, looking spooked.

"I was just at his house!" he said. "The police are there and everything! His dad said he's been missing for the last week, and that the whole 'out sick' thing was just a cover story!" I frowned. This seemed pretty extreme. Maybe it wasn't… "They finally found him just off the highway!" Dylan went on, waving his hands around hysterically. "He was beat up real bad and everything! His dad said it was like he was mugged and left for dead." The crowd quieted down quite a bit after that.

"Well…" began one girl in a red sweater. "We've gotta go visit him! Is he in the hospital?" The conversation continued like that, with plans to meet up at the hospital after school. I knew I wasn't welcome, obviously, but I wanted to go. Not only to express my sympathy for Jacob, but to question him.

Don't get me wrong, I felt kind of bad that he was hurt, but if he looked like he'd been beaten as bad as Ruford made it seem, than he must've gotten at least one good look at his attacker. And his attacker was more than likely the person who'd been stalking me. M2 didn't give the impression of the kind of person to actually beat someone down. Hell, he didn't even look like the type to get up off the couch unless you were waving some kind of portable gaming device out of his reach. Even then, it seemed like a stretch.

So, unless my stalker had other agents (which was also a possibility I was considering), he must've done the job himself.

I was so lost in thought that I actually jumped when my phone started vibrating in my pocket. Calming down, I moved my hand from where I was unconsciously twirling my hair to pluck it from my jeans. I moved discreetly into a corner where I wasn't likely to be spotted, even with my stark-whiteness.

"Hello?" I said quietly, not bothering to check the caller ID.

"Near," said the familiar mechanical voice. I felt my expression sour.

"What do you want?" I asked bitterly. "Did you beat up Jacob Strauss?" There was a short silence on his end, but he did reply eventually.

"Yes, that was me," he confessed. "But it was for your own good. I made an example of that idiot. Anyways, the reason I called, is because I wanted to give you a name to put to my person. Actually, all I can give you is a letter. Please…call me M."

"Hey!" I tried to call into the phone. The damned dial tone was all that replied.

At least I have something to call him, now.

The rest of the day passed slowly as I pondered the M's true identity, and whether or not I'd hear from him again soon. I didn't come up with much, except for a few frustrated dead-ends. I couldn't think of a single way to find out who he was, or where for that matter. The only face he'd really shown me was that of M2, who seemed to be his personal lackey. There were no loose ends that I could investigate, apart from the phone calls. Those would be the obvious place to start, but I had a feeling that whoever M was, he was thorough. No doubt, I would go through all the trouble of gathering phone records and whatnot (though the only trouble would be keeping it a secret from L), only to find either no record of the calls, or that they were blocked and untraceable.

Even though my hatred of M was still burning strong, I did feel a slight burst of respect for him. He literally had me prancing around in the palm of his hand, and he was holding me over a fire. There was nowhere to go.

That was why I saw it as important to speak with Jacob Strauss. Unfortunately, when I arrived at the hospital, at least half of the school seemed to be there to visit with him. By the time everyone was gone, there were only ten minutes left in the visiting hours. Jacob looked fatigued, but well enough awake to answer a few questions.

...if he was willing to, that was.

I sheepishly stepped inside the room, hoping that he didn't start screaming at me the moment I entered. Instead, I saw his eyebrows crease, and he frowned heavily. "Wha' d'you wan?" he spat at me. I took a moment to look him over before answering. The teen was heavily bruised, with a split lip. His head was wrapped in a blood-soaked bandage that I was sure was covering a horrible disfiguration.

"I need to ask you a few questions," I stated bluntly, noticing how his eyes became wary and confused.

"I'll say it again: wha'; d'you wan'?" I almost winced at noticing that one of his front teeth was missing. That combined with a swollen jaw, and his speech was only barely comprehensible. Plus, glaring at me must've been a killer on his eyes.

…Yes. He's glaring at me and I'm hoping that it doesn't hurt him too much to do so.

…What's wrong with me?

"I meant it when I denied knowing anything of a bodyguard," I continued. "I need you to describe your attacker to me. I believe that if I am aware of his appearance, it might make it easier to catch him." I began to twirl my hair. Jacob looked skeptical. What if he refused? It wasn't as though I could force him, or threaten him. And even though it might've helped to tell him I was working with L (which I wasn't), it would obviously cause problems for me and my reclusive cousin.

"Catch 'im?" Jacob scoffed. "What're you, some kinda detective or something?" When I didn't answer him, he eventually sighed. "…Whaddaya wanna know?" I turned my face towards him, only just realizing that I'd looked away in thought.

"Anything you can remember," I said, hoping that the desperation in my voice wasn't too clear. Apparently, Jacob realized that I was being serious, because he actually sighed as his eyes softened.

"I don' have mush," he admitted, his words slurred. "It was dark, 'cause I was out runnin' pre'y early. I din' see mush, but I think he was blon'. His hair was kinda long, too. I 'member he was holdin' a gun to my head, and threatened to shoot if I made a move. I tried to get away, but he shot at my feet and I tripped. After that I remember he slammed me in the head with the gun, but I musta passed out or somethin' 'cuz I don' 'member after that." Jacob's eyebrows knitted together in what looked like confusion and fatigue. "That's all I got." I absorbed the information, nodding.

"Thank you very much, Jacob," I said, sincerely. Before I could see his reaction, I stood up, walking out of the room. He didn't try and stop me or anything. And there wasn't really any reason for him to.

Blonde… I thought as I walked out the hospital doors. So all I have to do is watch out for a blonde man with long hair, possibly with a gun strapped to him somewhere. And if he was able to take down Jacob Strauss, he must've been relatively young, but also strong. There's no way that someone over forty years old, unless they're a professional athlete or military, could take down someone of that size. He also can't be under 18, and must be at least a hundred pounds. Suddenly, I stopped the motion of my hand twirling my hair.

That isn't necessarily true... I realized. It didn't take much more than average strength to knock someone unconscious with the aid of a metal weapon or blunt instrument. The handle of a gun near the temple definitely packed a punch, and it was entirely possible that it only took one blow to knock out Jacob Strauss. Unfortunately for me, that undid the ruling out of someone over forty.

Then again, if M had long blonde hair, than it stood to reason that he'd have to be relatively young. What older men were interested in having long hair? And if it was someone much older, than they would've had graying or receding hair (as much as the thought of someone that old stalking me made me want to vomit, it was a possibility that had to be considered) .

Also, it wouldn't make sense for someone younger than 18 to 20 years old would be stalking me. What would be the point in that? L and I had both solved stalker cases before. And though the…victims were usually female, the stalkers themselves were usually much older than them. That was usually the whole point of the action of shadowing someone. If it was legal, and/or within the realm of possibility for the two people (potential stalker and victim) to engage in a realistic relationship, then there was nothing stopping the potential stalker from pursuing something within that range.

Then again, most stalker situations were about something…different that a normal relationship. I shuddered. I hope to God that that is not what my situation is about.

My phone vibrating in my pocket forced me out of my thoughts for the second time that day, and I pulled it out, flipping it open before bringing it to my ear.

"Hello?" I said absently.

"Hi, Near."

Damn it.

"You know I should really start checking my caller ID before answering the phone," I commented acidly. "How many times do you plan to call me today?"

"I just wanted to tell you that—" I actually cut him off this time.

"First of all, M," my tone was mocking as I stressed his name—er, title. "I'm sick of the fact that most of our conversation go like this. Now it's my turn to ask questions, or I'm hanging up and reporting you to the police for harassment!" I knew my threat was empty. I couldn't very well report him if I had no clue who he was, could I?

"…Fine. Obviously I'm not going to give away my identity or location, but I'll answer any other questions." Even through the mechanical filter, I could sense the defeat in his voice. I smirked in triumph.

"First of all," I began. "Why are you…stalking me?" It felt weird saying it out loud. And apparently, it was funny to M, because he began chuckling.

"I can't say I love your choice of words…" he said. "It's because I like you." He paused for a moment. "A lot." I shuddered.

"How old are you?" M seemed to contemplate this question, and I tried to follow his thought process. Honestly, he seemed pretty smart. Smart enough to consider that I might be able to use his age to figure out who he was. Eventually, though, he made his decision.

"I'm twenty-one," he answered. "And no I'm not a drunk, or on drugs." I frowned, a bit irritated that he'd anticipated my next questions. I assume that he took my silence as petulance, because he chuckled again.

"Are you and M2 alone?" I asked crossly.

"Yes."

"Are you watching me right now?"

"…Yes."

"Do you watch me in my house?"

"…Yes." The fact that he didn't answer the question I was obviously asking only locked the answer for me.

"Do you have cameras, or do you watch in person?" I felt indignance seeping into my tone despite my wishes.

"…I have four cameras in your bedroom, three in your living room, and two in your kitchen. At night, though, I do watch you in person."

Is this guy for real?

"Jesus Christ!" I exclaimed. "Are you sure you're not some thirty-five year old lech who lives in his mother's basement?"

"Okay, for one thing, my mother is dead. For another, I'm 21."

"Oh, my mistake," I said sarcastically. I looked around, making sure that no one was around. It wasn't that hard to misunderstand the conversation, especially if you only heard my end of it. "I think you know what I'm asking."

"…you're blushing." My thin eyebrows shot up of their own volition. I raised a hand to my face, resting it on my cheek. Indeed, there was heat, which meant that there was a higher concentration of blood in my face, which meant that my cheeks were probably stained red. The thought only made it worse. Despite my embarrassment, though, I had a sudden thought.

"What kind of camera do you have, M?" I asked, or rather muttered.

"Nothing fancy. Just some typical security cameras like in gas stations. You're free to disable them if you like." I narrowed my eyes, smirking.

"So you're watching me in person, then?" He obviously knew what I meant. If he only had a gas station-level black and white surveillance camera, then he wouldn't have known if I was blushing or not. That, and it was unlikely that he'd have them set up in public.

"…Yes…" I could almost feel his nerves. I was winning this round.

"So you must be somewhere near me…" I glanced around as I spoke, feeling a burst of satisfaction as M began hissing cuss words at himself.

Finally, I saw motion in a tree, and ran towards it. The rustling of leaves continued to get faster, and I dropped my cell phone in my haste to get there before it stopped. I dug through the bushes surrounding the tree, not caring that the rough branches were scratching me. I was on a mission. Eventually, I got through.

But M wasn't there. Not the person anyways.

You know what was?

It was a necklace with a silver M.

What. THE. HELL?

After -sigh- picking up my dropped cell phone, I was charged with the task of replacing the battery while trying to keep my hand from throwing the stupid necklace into the street. I had picked it up, and not wanted to put it back down. Was that weird? It was obviously M's, or from M. Why would I keep anything of his?

L didn't question me like I had feared when I got home. Instead, he stared at me unnervingly from over his teacup until I spilled my guts.

"A boy at school was found beaten close to death. I went to visit him at the hospital." L nodded.

"Have they found the attacker yet?" My heart skipped a beat. What should I tell him? If I told him yes, than he wouldn't care. If I told him no, he'd probably go after M, which was a way for him to possibly get hurt.

"Yes," I said, my stomach sinking. "It was another local football team's sick idea of a prank. Actually I guess it was more of a warning, really. Jacob Strauss, the boy who got hurt, was the quarterback of my school's team." After my brief explanation, I went back to nursing my chamomile tea in silence. I had a massive headache, and I knew I was in for more when I woke up in the middle of the night to disable the cameras in the living room and kitchen. I could do the ones in my room easily, but L would be hidden away in his room by at least 2 am, leaving me to do as I pleased, so long as I was quiet enough so as not to be noticed.

In my pocket was the necklace; it felt like a lead weight as I stood, languidly walking to my room and slamming the door ever-so-gracefully.

…I hate my life…