My whole life, I've known that something was a little off. It wasn't anything I could pinpoint, exactly, until I was roughly six years old. Then I knew just how different I was, and I also knew I didn't like it.
When I was six years old, I saw someone die of cardiac arrest right in front of me. Of course, at the time, I was not watching the person, but the numbers above their head. They were ticking down, and fast. The man, for the life of him, couldn't figure out why I wasn't looking him in the eyes. I never had looked anyone in the eyes, more preoccupied with the flashy red numbers above their heads, so the speech he was giving me was nothing new.
The only thing new was when he cut himself off with a gasp in the middle of a word.
I glanced down quickly, seeing the white of his eyes quickly cover the brown irises. He clutched at his chest before his eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed. Everyone around me was surprised, having not expected to witness a death that day, nor any other day, and more than once in the few days after the incident I was asked if I was okay. They told me it should have been a bit of a shock - seeing someone die unexpectedly right in front of my eyes. But they didn't believe me when I insisted that it wasn't unexpected at all; that I had been waiting for that moment.
I questioned the officers and doctors if they could see the red names and numbers floating almost criminally above people's heads, and they gave me weird looks. I knew immediately that the answer was no, and I never asked anyone else again. I kept it a secret, even from my own family. They never knew that I counted down the seconds until their deaths. They thought I was merely antisocial, nothing more. I suppose, after all these years of hiding what I am, I have become so, with something bitter and sad whispering in the back of my mind. It saddens me to believe, yet, it is the truth. I cannot let anyone close for fear of my secret being released. I could not bear it if I were to be stared at with contempt and fear.
Several times I have searched for any clue as to why I can see people's names and life spans, but have come up short - finding only tales and myths surrounding different cultures around the world. It's left me lost and disappointed, but by the time I'm getting ready to go into college, I barely find it within me to care anymore. I doubt it's a medical condition, either.
I've become used to the constant sting of desperation and craving for human company that understands me as a person, not the young man who is at the top of the classes and anything else he puts his mind to. It is not a craving so easily satisfied, as genii - and I am no exception - often have many sides and a very complex personality on top of a mind that works at a faster pace, and always over-analyzes and contemplates every scenario available. These traits, often coupled with either manic depression or a large ego or something in between, make it nearly impossible for people to put up with us for very long. Only another genius would ever be able to understand, and I have to wonder how often one comes across another with intellect as high as mine.
I gather my things from my desk - last night's homework, my journal - and stuff them unceremoniously into my black backpack, banishing the thoughts from my mind. That done, I let the bag drop into my chair as I make my way over to my closet. I pull a black button down shirt from the rack and put it on, and my blue jeans. I pull my backpack up and swing it over one shoulder, grabbing my black hoodie from the floor as I do so.
I then step out the door, my eyes immediately finding the flashing red above my sister's head. She's standing in front of my door, clearly ready to knock, her entire demeanor screaming of excitement. Her eyes are wide and bright, not like that's anything new. Her dark hair - much, much darker than my own - is curled. She must've had her curlers in this morning. My fairly okay mood disappears as soon as I read: Yagami Sayu 68 years, 7 months, 12 days, 14 hours, 6 minutes, and 43 seconds counting down as I watch. It hovers right above her head, the name above the numbers, but the numbers look more like 6871214643 to me.
Her lifespan had decreased by a year over night. What a wonderful way to start the day, I think to myself, frowning at her. I can almost feel my eyes heating up in anger, ready to flash red, but I get it under control before she can notice. I've hidden it for so long; I can't let a bad mood ruin it. "What do you need, Sayu?" I question, shutting my door behind me. I walk around her, trying to gain some personal space.
She grins at me, and then starts in, "You'll never believe it, Onīsan, you know that boy I've been fawning over for months now? Akio? Well - he texted me this morning, and he asked me out; I'm so excited!" She says all of this in one breath, with a high pitched, squealing tone, and I'm almost overwhelmed. Anyone else would be, I'm sure, but I am incredibly used to it now.
"That's great," I tell her.
Thankfully, she shuts up after a quick, "Good day in school, Ratio!" and takes off.
I breathe a sigh of relief as I walk down the stairs, seeing the door slam just as I reach the bottom.
My mother is waiting for me, breakfast in hand. She smiles at me, completely unaware of the 6 years she has left to live. It kills me that no one knows about the numbers. I feel more isolated than ever as I take the breakfast with a fake smile and a false cheery voice, "Thanks, Mom. I'll see you later, hai?" I open the door and step outside just slightly, waiting for her reply.
"Hai," she replies. "Have a good day, dear, Ratio!" I shut the door before she can say anything else, not wanting to listen to her this morning. I drop my bag onto the ground and pull on the hoodie, taking out my MP3 Player from the pocket and sticking the ear buds in. I then zip the jacket up all the way and pull the hood over my head, concealing my auburn hair from view. I pick my backpack up again as some American pop music starts playing. My parents never could figure out why I listen to it-they think I don't understand the lyrics as well I as I do. They have no clue that I'm fluent in at least five languages, English included. It was something I studied in my free time, so they wouldn't know unless I told them.
I take off down the road, my head bent and my hands stuffed in the pockets of my hoodie. My thoughts wander, from the homework in my backpack, to the classes I was probably going to have to put little effort into. I wish I had to try harder to keep my position as the top student in the country, but it was just too easy. The only one I'd ever even vaguely heard of that might come close to my intelligence was that unknown detective L. But I have no way of contacting him, and the only reason I know of his existence in the first place is because of how bored I was one morning when I was about fifteen.
I had hacked into the NPA's server and solved every single case they had in about three hours. They had had about seventy cases. I sent my notes on some of the more difficult cases to the police office base anonymously and had been checking the database biweekly ever since. I solved every case, but had never told anyone since, except for when my father asked for my help, in which case, my assistance was made public. But it was through one case that was especially top secret that I found out about L.
Apparently, he's a detective who is unknown in every aspect. There is no name, nor picture of him to be found. That isn't to say they aren't there, of course; I suppose they're locked up on some computer in the middle of nowhere. I wouldn't be surprised if the man had his own fucking satellite to keep his information hidden.
A crossing guard, halfway to my high school, stops me. I hadn't realized I had come so far, too lost in my own thoughts. I look up at the crowd of people surrounding me, and I straighten my posture unconsciously, getting the strangest feeling of being watched. I don't like it. I glance at the news report out of the corner of my eye, reading the kanji letters as they flash across the bottom of the screen. I don't bother taking my headphones out, partly because it's my latest favorite song, and partly because I don't want to listen to the obnoxious sounds of the city. I realize, as I think this, that I can hear the people around me, and I turn my music up louder.
I've never known what it is, but people seem to know, somehow, that there is something wrong with me. I am walking across the street, and people around me jostle each other and stamp on one another's feet in their haste. But I'm never touched like that. I've never been messed with, or bullied, or even accidentally shoved in the street. It might be some sort of awkward vibe I give off, or maybe it's the subconscious minds of those around me warning of a supernatural danger. I make a point not to look at anyone directly, so that might also be it. This never really bothers me, as I pretty much despise most of humanity anyway, but it bothers me today. I reach the end of the street and the crowd disperses to their own desired destinations, and I stand there for a moment, feeling a cold snake slither along my vertebra and coil around my tailbone, and I shiver. It's only late October still, but I'm suddenly overcome with cold, and my hands feel slightly numb.
The feeling disappears as soon as it arrived, and I shove it to the darkest corner of my mind, far away from my conscious thoughts so that I can avoid thinking about it. I swallow the remaining saliva in my mouth as I begin to walk the next couple of blocks to my school. My feet feel heavy, and my head hurts. The pain is building right behind my eyes, so it feels like I am being hit with a hammer right above my nose, between my eyebrows. There is pressure on the sides, too, but I ignore it all, too used it to for it to be normal. I probably should see a doctor, but I don't bother.
Finally, finally, I make it to school, getting onto the campus with ten minutes to spare before I have to go to homeroom. Am I really that early, I wonder tiredly, opening the front door to the school and stepping inside. I'm one of seven other students in the entrance hall, and I'm thankful it isn't anyone I could consider as a close acquaintance. I don't have friends, and I suddenly realize, watching the seven mingle among themselves while I'm left painfully alone in the doorway, I probably never will. I close my amber eyes against this epiphany, before I straighten my spine and push my shoulders back. I undo the zipper as I push back the hood of my jacket. I run my fingers through my hair as I tug the ear buds from my ears and turn off the music. I plaster a fake smile on my face and close off my expressions and wonder vaguely if my social situation will ever improve, or if this is what I have to look forward to for the rest of my life.
As soon as I'm presentable, I step into the school's entrance hall more fully than before, and it's like I'm not invisible anymore. It's like I am someone that doesn't deserve to die. Of course not - I'm Yagami Raito, top student in the country, junior tennis champion three years running, and one of the most popular students in the school. I'm good-looking and have the girls following me around like dogs half the time. My intelligence is unmatched and everyone either wants me or wants to be me. If only they knew what I freak I am, I think sourly as I tune out my classmates' yappy voices. I smile and nod in all the right places and they don't suspect a thing. They all have different classes than I do, so I will probably not see them again until tomorrow. My smile becomes just the slightest bit genuine at this thought.
The bell rings after several agonizing minutes of gossip and problems I don't listen to. I flash one last smile after the alarm meets my eardrums, and I turn and make my way to homeroom before they can say anything else. I wish I could say that I haven't the slightest idea of what they had been going on about, but my photographic memory laughs in my face at the idea.
I enter my homeroom and I can't help but think of what they told me. Apparently, Yuki, who is sitting on the desk in the front with several people surrounding her, has a secret relationship with her ex boyfriend while she is also dating one boy from the high school in the next town over. Daichi, who lives on my street, is failing his classes because of an alcohol problem. Emi is a smoker, and Kaito is doing drugs behind the school.
Truthfully, when I hear these things, I think of my own secret, and I think of how good of a liar I really am. Curious, I look at Kaito's lifespan, and see that he barely has 20 years left to live. I can recall wondering why just last month, but now my mind makes the connection; he'll be killed from his drugs. My sympathy, which was very little to begin with, evaporates as I take my seat by the window. The bell rings again seconds later, and the teacher begins to take attendance while everyone takes his or her seats. He makes some sort of announcement about a holiday of some sort that gives us the day off next Friday. Then everyone starts talking again and I'm tempted to turn my music on again. Instead I watch the wind blow through trees outside, thinking of nothing.
I don't move when first period starts; after all, I am in the math class in this room. Advanced calculus, something I already know, for the most part. A few students come in after the others leave, but I take no notice of them. I already have my homework out from the night before, and the teacher tells us to pass it forward. Six out of the twenty students don't have it. Sometimes, I am really ashamed to be apart of the school. I'm much smarter than everyone here, and I could've graduated college years ago, but my parents wanted social interaction. Dealing with people just makes me depressed.
The class goes by painfully slow. The teacher realizes, after about five minutes, that I was the only one who understood the lesson yesterday, and has to teach it all over again. I don't bother with notes, seeing as I already know all of this. I just lean my head on my hand while I draw in my notebook.
History class, which is second period, goes by in much the same way. I had learned all about Chinese history (why do we learn it in the first place, anyway?) sometime four years ago on a whim. I had been in eighth grade, I think. By the time third period, English class, comes around, I'm seriously considering just ditching school. I have a few pages in my notebook just covered in small drawings that fill up every inch-the designs reach each corner and edge. The seven pages I have destroyed for the most part, when placed side-by-side, make a whole picture. It was an interesting way to pass the time while everyone else filled their notebooks with notes. I don't believe I'll do that again.
I glance out the window next to me-I have the window seat in every class for something to look at-and see nothing out of the ordinary. Everything is the same - tedious, mundane, and foolish. Nothing new, or exceptionally exciting ever happens. My gaze loses focus after a while, and everything - the trees, grass, walls, sidewalks, benches - becomes blurry. It is slowly turning into one large mass of color, and the voice of the teacher becomes a white static. I can almost feel the heat behind my eyes building, threatening to turn them red. I blink as watch everything come in focus once more before this can happen. No one is watching, but I cannot take that chance.
The teacher calls my name, and asks me to translate the sentence from my English textbook. A bird flies by just as I turn my head-a flash of black that I barely notice. I focus on the teacher and nod, standing. "Follow the teachings of God and receive His blessings and so it shall be that the seas will again become bountiful and the raging storms will subside," I recite, then sit down again. The teacher nods, and I look over the drawings in my notebook again, wondering when my life will take a turn for the better.
Behind me, a young exchange student is staring out the window, eyes locked on a speck of black that breaks the never-ending sea of green.
...
I sigh as my backpack hits the floor with a soft thunk. The rest of the day had been as boring as the day before, and the day before that. I sink into my chair and turn on my computer, music still pounding in my ears. I had bolted from the school campus as soon as the bell had rung, my hood over my head and the jacket zipped up, my head down. I became someone else. My jacket is now on its hook in the closet, waiting for me to use it again tomorrow.
The computer loads finally and I type in my password - a very lengthy combination of letters, numbers, and punctuation marks - my mind solving the homework problems I had received over the coarse of the day. When I get into my computer, I reach down to pick up my bag and I unzip it. The assignments are right where I left them, so I pull them out and grab a pencil from my desk jar. I fill out the answers without hesitation, and pause only when I reach a question I hadn't answered yet. I pull my ear buds from my ears and then plug the MP3 player into the computer. After a minute, music fills the room, and I fill out the rest of the papers.
I finish, and glance at the clock. It is just after seven o'clock in the evening. The news should be on. Quickly, I place my papers back into my backpack and then grab my remote. I turn the T.V. on and then sit back in my chair. They discuss the usual points - weather, sports, and other nonsense I couldn't care less about. Finally, they get to a kidnapping and hostage report - the man was 42 years old, and he was called Kurou Otoharada. He apparently was holding students and teachers hostage. I'm not entirely sure if I'm sympathetic towards them or not. It sounds cruel, but if, I figure, they were meant to die today, why should that matter to me? It's just interesting to see how.
The suspect has roughly thirty years left to live - that means he'll probably be captured by the police and thrown in jail. The news report continues, but I watch the numbers slowly tick down above the suspect's head with a distant interest. Suddenly, the reporter gets all excited, and the students and teachers start coming out of the school while the police start pouring in. I glance back at the man's picture, and, to my shock, the numbers are at zero. He's dead, and way before his time. How did that happen? I watch the students' numbers begin to increase, because some were destined to die in there. But they didn't. How?
...
The man's death puzzles me over the next few days. I don't understand-this has never happened before. Was it a mistake? Were the numbers wrong for the first time in my life? I don't want to think that, but it seems to be the only option… What can I place my trust in now, if the numbers lie to me?
Sitting in my bedroom after a tiring day of classes and loud students, I don't know what to do. Those numbers were the only things I've been able to trust for certain my whole life, and now… what is wrong with the world, to make things this way?
The T.V. is on, but I'm not watching it. I haven't finished my homework, either, but I don't really care at this point. I watch the people move about on the T.V. without really seeing them, until the broadcast is taken to the local news channel. I blink, my world coming back into focus. A man is sitting at a podium, dressed in a nice, clean suit. His dark hair falls to his shoulders, and his dark eyes show no emotion. I glance up above his head, and see that the man is called Lind L. Taylor, and has about fifteen hours left to live. Sucks to be him, I think sourly, barely interested in whatever it is he has to say. He starts talking, something about Kira… The word catches my interest, and I turn back to the screen. My eyes flash red just as he collapses from a heart attack, and then remain so.
My heart is racing - could these false numbers really just be the result of murder?
The screen blanks out to a white background with a black calligraphic "L" in the center. Is it really L? Moments later, a synthetic voice announces, "I can't believe it. I tested it just in case, but I never thought it could actually be true... Kira, it seems you can kill people without having to be there in person. I wouldn't have been able to believe this if I hadn't just witnessed it. Listen closely, Kira; if you did indeed kill the Lind L. Tailor on screen, I can tell you that he was in fact a criminal that was due to be put to death today. That was not me. He was a criminal that was captured by the police in absolute secrecy. You wouldn't have heard of him on the news or through the Internet. It looks like not even you have information on these kinds of killers. But as for L, he certainly does exist, as my own persona. Now try and kill me! Go on then. Hurry up! Kill me! What's wrong? Kill me! What are you going to do? Go on! Kill me! What's the matter? Can't you do it?
"So, it seems you can't kill me. So there are certain people you can't kill. Thanks for the hint. As a reward, I'll tell you one more thing. We lied about this being a live worldwide broadcast. This announcement is currently only being broadcasted across the Kanto region of Japan. We were planning to broadcast it at different times, across different regions, but it seems there is no longer any need for this. I know you're in Kanto. Your first killing was overlooked by the police, as it was such a small incident. However, your first victim was in fact the phantom killer in Shinjuku.
"Whilst the other high profile criminals were dying of heart attacks, this was the one incident that stuck out as being quite a heavy punishment for a relatively low profile crime. In addition, that incident was only reported in Japan. Just those pieces of information were enough for me to figure it out. It means that you are in Japan, and that criminal was your first "experiment." Due to its large population, this announcement was first broadcasted in the Kanto region. And what luck! We found you. To be honest, I never thought it would go this smoothly. Kira, it seems like it won't be too long before I can sentence you to death. Kira, I'm curious to know your true motives behind this... But I guess that can wait until I've caught you. Let's meet again soon, Kira."
I stare, wide-eyed, as the screen goes back to the program I had it on earlier. Then I start to laugh. L is clearly a fucking genius, tricking Kira into revealing himself like that. I really would love to meet this guy, but the chances of that, I know, are slim to none. But, he'll be coming to Japan soon, if he's not here already. Who knows? I could run into him on the street.
When my laughter dissipates, I turn to finish up my homework, pleased with how things are going for the first time in about a week, or maybe longer. Normally the numbers accommodate things like murder, but if they don't in this case, that's okay. Why should I care if these people live or die, anyway? They're just criminals - rotten people in this rotten world that probably deserve to die.
...
I'm walking back home again, tired and weary. I've been checking up on the Kira case every day since L's bold stunt, but nothing new has come up. It's somewhat worrying, I think, as I slide my key into the door of my house and open the door. I step inside and slip my keys back into my pocket. I then make my way upstairs to study for the entrance exams to To-Oh University. I don't really need to, as I know it all, but it is a mindless task and gives me something to do.
I step into my bedroom, and hang my jacket up in the same place as before. My backpack falls to the floor when I let my grip lax, and I sink into my chair. The peace doesn't last long, though. Sayu starts knocking on my door. "Onīsan," she calls, "Can you help me with my math homework, please?" There goes my studying time, I think to myself.
"Yeah, come in, Sayu," I call, turning on my desk light. Sayu comes into the room, dark hair swaying behind her. She's got a packet of math in her hand, and a pencil in the other. I sigh internally, not really wanting to do this. "We're doing quadratic equations in math. I'm like, the only one in my class who doesn't get this."
I nod and stand up; she takes my chair. "Alright," I say, "What do you need help with? What are you stuck on?"
She grins at her paper, a crease between her brows. "Um, I think all of it," she replies, and I seriously consider banging my head against the wall. Luckily, eighth grade math has always been quite simple, especially for me. Helping Sayu understand it isn't difficult, and it is another mindless task I can partake in, instead of going over things I already knew. We sit there for about three hours, and Sayu finally understands pre-algebra just as my mother Sachiko calls us down for dinner. Sayu rushes downstairs, apparently eager for a break.
I follow, though at a slower pace. I make my way downstairs, passing the living room to my left, and then going through the doorway into the kitchen. It is a cozy kitchen, I suppose, painted yellow, with a table in the center. It is placed for four, rather than three, as it had been for the past few nights. My father, Soichiro, is sitting at the table, head in his hands. He isn't wearing his police uniform anymore, instead wearing a casual outfit. "Hello, Father," I say, slightly pleased to see him, slightly upset.
The only thing that makes me not so happy to see him here is the reduced lifespan. He had about 50 years left to live the last time I had seen him - seven days ago. Now, though, only six years of those fifty remain. I feel a sting behind my eyes, but I force it back. It wouldn't do to just burst into tears at the dinner table. Just because my dad was going to die in six years… I need to stop thinking, I tell myself sternly, sitting down in my seat across from my father. I promptly regret it, as now the reduced lifespan is all I can see.
My dad looks up and our eyes catch for a split second before I look away. I focus on a spot behind him, just over his shoulder. I can barely hear it, but my sensitive ears manage anyway - he sighs. I know my family hates my avoidance of looking anyone in the eyes, but I can't help it. I see my reflection in their eyes, and I always see my name, but no lifespan. It bothers me, so I avoid looking in mirrors as much as possible. "Hello, Raito," is all he says. I feel slightly guilty. "So, tell me. How is school going?"
"Everything's okay, I guess," I tell him, looking down at my plate. My mother has just put food on it, but with the appearance of my father, my appetite vanished. I feel like throwing up instead of eating.
"Whatever. He's at the top of his class! My big brother's a genius!" Sayu brags to him. She's grinning wildly, obviously pleased with her discovery.
"That's my son," my mother says, smiling. "We're all proud of you, Raito."
"How is work? Is everything okay? You look tired. You've been very busy lately," I desperately try to direct the attention away from me. I pick up my chopsticks and start poking at my food while Sayu takes her seat beside me, and my mother takes hers beside Dad. I take a small bite of the food, and then push it around some more, to give them impression of it being eaten.
"Indeed, son. The case I'm working on is very difficult, though I'm not allowed to say too much about it. Criminals keep dying from heart attacks…it's all very strange. We're working with L on the case." Neither my mother nor my sister have any vague idea as to who L is, so they don't see this detail as anything important. "He's deduced that, from the hours of the killings, the killer called Kira is a student." I knew this already, from checking on the case earlier.
"The killer is a student?" My mother sounds shocked. "And he kills with heart attacks? Dear, don't you think this is too dangerous?"
"I have to catch this man. He's dangerous, and needs to be stopped, regardless of the threat to my life," Soichiro responds.
I grin and look up, meeting my father's eyes for the first time in…God, has it really been twelve years? My smile grows wider. "I'm proud of you, Dad," I tell him. "I'm glad you are sticking to the case. You're right- Kira must be stopped. If anything ever happens to you, I will make sure Kira gets executed."
Soichiro looks surprised, but pleasantly so. I'm struggling to keep eye contact, but my heart rate begins to pick up, and I blink and look away. My name was listed in English that time - Light Yagami. I've always found it odd that my name is Light, of all things. Compared with my eyesight, I'm not very 'light' at all.
"Thank you, Raito," he says, and I know it's not just for what I said.
...
Almost immediately after L caught onto the hours that killings took place in, Kira started to mess with him, as if saying, "Am I a student or am I not, you fool?" 23 criminals died yesterday, and the day before, and if I'm right, 23 more will die today, on the hour. Kira must have access to the police investigation. There are four others, aside from me, that I know of who would have access to the investigation and is a student. But I doubt any of them are killers. Besides, they don't really have access; like me, they'd have to hack into the database, but none of them are bright enough to get past all the firewalls.
This is getting tricky, I think, looking over my test scores. Perfect, as usual. I fling them onto my bed, disgusted. My mother was so pleased, and I'm sure Dad will be, too, whenever he finds time to come back home. He's probably still getting used to the FBI agents that were sent by the US President yesterday.
Sighing, I lean back in my chair, hearing the music - in Russian, this time - play throughout the room. I'm so tired. My place in To-Oh University is pretty much guaranteed, so I have no reason to study. I don't have any cases to solve for the police; I solved them all about two days ago. I feel a headache forming, so, to relive it, I allow my eyes to relax and change to their natural red. I know that it's risky, but I don't really care right now.
I stand after a minute and walk over to my window. I blink at the sunset. It's beautiful, but altogether uninteresting. My eyes look over at the other houses, and the trees, the power lines. I look at the street, tracing the gravel with my sight, and catch sight of a lone figure across the street. I blink, feeling the red glint fade away as the man meets my eyes. I don't know him. Is he an FBI agent, or does he work for L? Or the NPA?
I glance at his name - Raye Penber, 16 years, 11 months, 14 days, 3 hours, 42 minutes, and 21 seconds counting down. He'll die young, which is, while not altogether surprising, upsetting. However, working as a police officer, no matter which company they work for, always has their risks. I wonder what will kill him in an abstract way, then become bored with the idea.
Just to freak him out, I grin stupidly and wave at him, and he looks down. I start to laugh and close the curtains, but not before I see him scribble something down in his notebook. Good, let them think what they want. If this goes back to L, all the better.
I'm still laughing when I lie on my bed, staring at the ceiling. I don't know when I fell asleep.
...
"Raito?" my mother calls, the next morning. "Can you come down here, please?"
I roll my eyes and turn off my T.V. "Coming, Mom," I call back. What does she want now? I wonder, going downstairs.
She smiles at me, and hands me a list, as well as 3000 yen. "Do you mind going to the store, dear? I need these things for dinner, and I have to clean up the kitchen in the meantime."
"Okay, Mom," I smile. I'm not looking directly at her, but rather at her numbers, watching the seconds tick by. Each second marks one less moment of her life, and I know I have to leave - now. I woke up in a bad mood anyway, thanks to my new stalker, courtesy of the police. "I'll go now," I say, and turn around. I leave the kitchen swiftly, biting at my lip. I run up stairs, grab my music and jacket, then rush downstairs again to leave. My keys in my pocket and music blaring in my ears, I walk to the bus stop not far from here.
The bus comes round after a few minutes, and I get on. I recognize Raye getting on behind me, but I ignore him. I know he knows that I know he's there, so why bother to publicly recognize him? I'm not the only one on the bus. There is a man dressed as a lawyer, and a few other students around my age. There is an old couple sitting in the back. I recognize them all as people who live around my neighborhood or go to school with me, but they don't know me as an antisocial recluse. I don't greet them, and sit in the back of the bus, Raye taking a seat behind me.
Just as the door starts to close another man gets on. I can recall him being on the news…
Kiichiro Osoreda. He failed to rob a bank the other day and shot a teller and two customers. What's he doing here?
His intentions become slightly clearer as he puts a loaded gun to the bus driver's head and tells him to inform the rest of the buses that this one has been hijacked. He also tells the rest of the passengers to remain still, to stay in their seats. I don't intend to move. While I don't really mind the thought of dying, I'd rather my death not be today. But something doesn't feel right. He takes the phone from the driver and tells the person to have someone bring him cash. He says no tricks - he'll kill us all if they don't give the money up. Somehow, I find this guy hard to believe.
Nevertheless, Raye seems to think this guy is for real. He leans forward, and says, "When he turns around I'll take the gun from his hands."
I blink slowly. The guy in front of me, the lawyer, leans back slightly and asks, "How do we know this guy isn't the hijacker's accomplice?"
Raye apparently overheard. He pulls out a badge and shows it to both of us, "I'm Raye Pender, FBI. Here's my proof that I'm not his accomplice."
I look at the badge, interested only because it's an American agency, and then show it to the man in front of me. He smiles, and there is something almost sinister to the say his eyes flash. "Okay," he tells Raye, "I guess for now I won't ask what an FBI agent is doing on this bus." He shoves the badge back at Raye. I stare at Raye's picture, watching the numbers tick down. Then I look at Osoreda, who is coming towards us. The man in front of me is leaning down to get a piece of paper that fell from his pocket.
Osoreda comes back to the man in front of me and yells, "You there! Stop moving, and give me that piece of paper!" The lawyer lets him take it, and he reads it, finally tossing it over his shoulder with, "Huh! A shopping list!"
I stare at my hands, ignoring the exchange. Osoreda turns to me, seemingly about to say something, when he puts his gun up, pointing to the back of the bus, his hands shaking with fear. "What are you? How long have you been there? What are you planning?" he cries desperately, and I turn, afraid of what I'll see. But there's nothing there.
I hear Raye whisper, "He's hallucinating!" just as Osoreda fires every bullet in his gun. A few go through the window, which shatters on impact, and others get stuck in the metal structure of the bus. I wince with every impact from the bullets, my heart rate picking up. I've only ever heard guns on television or in games. The real thing is much worse, making it seem a little surreal.
Osoreda backs up, shaking with fear. The gun slips through his fingers and clatters to the floor. He grabs a hold of the driver and screams, "Let me off this bus! Let me off!" and the driver complies. The bus screeches to a halt, and Osoreda is out the door faster than anyone else I've ever seen. What scared him so badly?
I look out the window as Osoreda stumbles to the ground beside the bus, scraping his hands on the gravel. He looks up with a cry, and a car's screech echoes through the street. There is a clatter, and the car is embedded in a lamppost beside the bus. Osoreda is dead in a pool of blood just underneath my window. I gulp, and barely realize that the lawyer slips off the bus.
Raye gabs my arm, as I am immobile from shock, and leads me away. I lean on him heavily, unable to tear my gaze away from the car crash.
...
I hear - through hacking, of course - that the twelve FBI agents, Raye included, are killed seven days later. I didn't know the man very well at all, but his death still brings a wave of grief. I can't imagine what his family feels like, or any of the other FBI members' families, for that matter. I'm really starting to hate Kira, and everything he stands for.
It is clear he has strayed from his original goal in an effort to stay hidden. Maybe he is just playing with L, and the Task Force. I don't know.