Author's Note: Hello, and sorry for not updating yesterday. Hopefully the two-for-one on my last update makes up for it. Thank you to everyone who is following along and to everyone who has left reviews. This chapter is a bit short, but it is basically a bridge so I'm hoping that's okay. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note or any of the characters used in this story.
News of A's death spread through the orphanage like wildfire, but as no one had any real information yet, the facts were skewed and gossipy. Many kids had chosen to entertain the notion that B had killed A, and given B's odd behavior before the incident, it was almost believable. When one took into account B's downright bizarre behavior since it had happened, it was difficult to believe anything else.
B rarely looked anyone in the eye anymore, choosing instead to watch the area just above their head. The walls of his room were plastered with drawings of figures bearing red halos, and his peers often found him singing softly to himself and weeping. The answers he gave in classes began to make less and less sense until teachers stopped calling on him altogether. He even took to eating A's beloved jam, hoping that he might find the same wretched safety in it that his roommate had.
One day a series of agonizing wails tore through the halls on the east side of the building and everyone came running to find B doubled over on the floor of the science classroom clutching his face. Bottles of unpronounceable chemicals sat at his feet, most of them bearing brightly colored warning labels telling their users to avoid eye contact.
"I don't want to see them anymore!" he shrieked over and over, thrashing at anyone brave enough to come close to him. "I don't want to see them!"
Finally a woman, who taught literature to the older students, grabbed him and forced him to the sink to flush out his eyes, figuring this was one of those situations where it was best to break the rules.
B tried to fight her off, but she had a lot of grit for a middle-aged English teacher. He flailed helplessly as his face was shoved beneath the faucet, filling his nose with water and causing his eyes to burn even more. While attempting to send a backwards kick into the woman's chest, B lost his balance on the wet floor and slipped. His head hit the edge of the sink with a sickening crack, but he did not lose consciousness.
By now, most of the horrified bystanders had fallen silent, no one daring to comment on the scene before them. The only sounds were the pathetic coughs and blood-curdling howls emanating from B's throat.
The woman eventually got a firm grip on B's arms and let him up once she thought his eyes had been sufficiently cleansed of the chemicals. Locks of bedraggled hair hung in his face, giving him the appearance of a half-drowned cat.
The teacher had no idea what to do with the flailing boy and decided to bring him to Roger's office.
She deposited him on a chair just outside the office and left very quickly, informing B that she had a class to teach. Her class wasn't for two hours. She just didn't want to be caught interfering.
B was too exhausted to run, and as he sat there, his eyes burning and his clothes soaked, he watched the grandfather clock across the hall as its pendulum swung from side to side. He wished he could crawl into the large part of the clock where the weights and gears were. He wished he could just go in there and hide forever. If he were inside the clock, he wouldn't see the face. He wouldn't see the numbers.
His musings were interrupted by the sound of two voices from within Roger's office. B cocked his head at noise and crept closer to the door to hear.
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"Watari said you had something you wanted to tell me?" Roger asked.
"Yes," replied a scrambled voice.
Roger cringed. He didn't like talking to L as he wasn't sure what to make of him. Was he the master or the puppet? The genius or the fool?
"I want you to tell the children about me."
"What?"
"They should know what they're striving for. Taking A's tragedy into account, I figure he was suffering from a feeling of futility. If the other children know their goal, they are sixty-percent less likely to feel that way."
"L, do you-"
"Please, Roger. I believe this to be the best thing for everyone. I know you are angry with us right now, but please trust my judgment."
Did this teenager know what he was saying? Could he comprehend consequences in any way other than a flow chart of outcomes and strategies?
And Wammy… Was this really L's idea or just one of Quillish's plans being conveyed through L to obtain a better reaction?
"Understood," Roger said hopelessly, unable to phrase a better response. "They will be informed."
"Thank you, Roger. I know this will be for the best."
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B strained to hear more, but it seemed the conversation was over.
Who was this L?
Why had he been kept a secret?
What did he mean by "goal"?
B's head swam with questions and he was in no mood to wait for answers. He kicked open the door and stormed into the office.
"Who is L?" B asked with a chilling calm that contrasted sharply with his actions.
Roger gawked at B.
"B, what are you-"
"Who is he?"
Despite his voice, the boy looked absolutely distraught and his bloodshot eyes and wet hair gave him an even more frightening appearance.
"Are you oka-"
"Who is L?"
Roger paused before trying to explain.
"L is a detective. He works with some of the world's top investigative bureaus to solve difficult crimes."
It sounded so simple laid out in plain words like that. One would never guess at the sheer number of tangled roots hidden beneath such a statement.
"What does that have to do with us?"
"You are here to learn… how to be L."
B's mind was racing too violently to pick up on the purposely simple wording and badly hidden condescension in Roger's voice. He fired question after question at the man, repeating some of them several times without realizing it. By the time he was satisfied, almost two hours had passed.
B liked the idea of this L…
L was strong. L never doubted himself. L was always right.
L saw the world objectively.
L would not be fazed by the numbers.
That was it. That was the only way.
If B became just like L, if he won this contest, then his pain would go away.
He could go back to how he was before. Before A ruined everything.
He could go back to not caring.
B smiled for the first time in days and let a little chuckle escape from his mouth. L was the answer, the ultimate anodyne.
Author's Note: The thing about putting all your hope into one goal… it sets you up for disappointment. It's a good thing everyone in this story is perfectly adjusted and can handle disappointment well… oh wait… Next chapter soon. Thank you for reading!