Tanya agreed to let Sam go home for a break. She shoved her key into her apartment door and went inside, sighing.

"It's so good to be home." She smiled.

With the money she made as an author, she had managed to buy a penthouse. Two stories with a glass staircase that led to a master bathroom and bedroom. She had an absurdly large king sized bed with lovely satin sheets and a nice, thick comforter. Her whole north wall was made of glass and she had a porch with a sitting area. Her walls were white with simple pictures of scenic views or of her favorite quotes and books. She had plain, but practical furniture and all the appliances she needed.

She unpacked her things and flopped down on the couch, kicking off her shoes. She grabbed the remote and turned the TV on. There was breaking news.

"Author Renee Shyrik has died from a heart attack. Shyrik was heading to a book signing when she suddenly collapsed on the steps in front of the book store. She was thirty two years old." The newscaster stated, looking solemn.

"How horrible." Sam murmured, changing the channel.

"Authors Shuyler, Ann, and Marie Gilest have all died of heart attacks. They formerly went by the pen name 'Jane Margareet' and were currently promoting their most recent book Among the Butterflies. They were thirty seven, forty, and forty two respectively and arguably three of the best writers of the twenty first century."

Sam began to chew on her lip, frowning. Something wasn't right about this and she could feel it. Shivering, she turned off her TV and decided to clean her dusty home, hoping it would take her mind off the sudden deaths of several fellow writers. She was mopping her linoleum kitchen floor when her phone ring. Propping the phone between her ear and shoulder, she murmured, "Corbitt residence, Samantha speaking."

"Sam, it's Tanya. Have you seen the news?"

"Yeah, weird, huh?"

"I'll say. Anyway, how are you with poetry?"

She knitted her eyebrows together. "Um, I've never really tried. Why?"

"Publishing company wants you to write a poem by Thursday morning and to show it to them then."

Sam glanced at her calendar and her eyes widened. "What? But that's in two days! Can't they give me more time?"

"I tried, but they're really anal about deadlines. Sorry, kid. You're just going to have to do your best with it." Tanya sounded apologetic.

She sighed and pushed her bangs back. "Alright, I'll try. But, tell them not to hold their breaths. I'm a novelist, not a poet, dammit."

"I'll be sure to give them the message. See you on Thursday."

"Yeah...bye." Sam hung up the phone and groaned.

"I'm going to need to do some research..." She quickly finished mopping up the floor and went to fish out her laptop.

The second it turned on, it exploded. She yelped and threw it to the ground, eyes wide. Then, she let out another groan.

"Great. Now, I'm going to have to buy another one. Well...I might as well head to the library. My book is due tomorrow anyway." She muttered to herself, shoving her arms through her pea-coat.

She tied up her boots and left her building, walking down the New York City streets to the library. She felt like someone was following her the whole way, but every time she would look out of her peripheral vision, she would see flocks of people walking behind her. You're just being paranoid. Relax, Sam, she told herself as she pushed open the glass doors of the public library.

After dropping off her book, she wandered to the research center where the computers were. The library only had six computers and two of them were taken; one by a pizza faced teenager and the other by a group of eleven year old boys playing a computer game. Sam took the one at the end and turned it on. She went onto Google and began to research poetry, memorizing what iambic pentameter was and the different types of poems. There's so many to choose from! Hmm, haiku looks interesting. Yeah...I think I will write a haiku! Those seem simple enough. Nodding, she shut the computer off and returned back to her penthouse.

She grabbed a pen and paper and scribbled, "Destructive fire, Burn everything in your path, Singe the sin away."

"Huh, that was easy." She mused, slipping it into a folder and placing it beside her bag.

She got into her pajamas and went to bed, ready to fall into a coma.

Near

"It's too odd to be a coincidence. Unfortunately, my suspicions were correct. Lidner, Rester, I believe we have another Kira in our hands." He declared somberly.

The two both sighed and Rester grumbled, "Can't the damn shinigami keep from dropping their notebooks for even a few years? If it's that clown one again, I think I'm going to scream."

"So, how are we going to find this one, Near?" Halle asked.

Near stacked up the dice, mulling it over in his head. "...We are going to wait for a couple days. On the off chance that the deaths are not connected, we will not act. However, if more authors die within the next forty eight hours, I will have Watari contact Interpol and ask for their cooperation. I may even have to call in some...'enforcement' if things begin to get out of hand."

"So we're going to sit around while more authors possibly die?" She sounded upset.

"Yes, you could think of it like that. In the mean time, Halle, keep trailing Sam." He nodded indifferently.

"Right."

It was one of these moments where it truly bothered Halle she was working under a young man who cared so little for human life, even when it was his job to preserve it. No, maybe that wasn't right. Near wasn't working to preserve human life. He was working on preserving justice, the only thing he would ever be good at. All the same, it unnerved her when his cold apathy towards humans came to the surface.