Author's Note: This is it. The final chapter. Thank you to anyone who has followed me for this long. One of the goals I had when I started this story was to portray B in a way that would make Mello from "Dust and Mirrors" cringe and say "That's the guy I was looking up to?" I believe I accomplished that. This story has been fun, and I'm going to miss working on it. Thank you to everyone once again. Please enjoy. Time jump warning.
Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note or any of the characters used in this story.
Beyond Birthday stood outside the large, Los Angeles home holding a waterproof fold-out map and a broken cell phone. He pretended to speak into the cell phone, asking the dead air about directions.
Splotches of rain from a coming storm pattered sporadically against the map, which Beyond wiped away as quickly as they fell. His eyes darted between the moistened map and the windows of the house.
As soon as the light in the bedroom turned on, it would be time to move.
Beyond had decided in his months of residence that Los Angeles was a miserable city. Too many people with too many numbers.
It had almost thrown him into a fit when he had stepped onto those busy streets for the first time and saw the sheer number of red digits. Back at Wammy's House, he usually saw no more than a couple dozen people a day, and he had all their numbers practically memorized. But here… Dying humans were everywhere. There was nowhere he could turn to avoid their numeric mortality.
He had managed to turn that into an advantage though. Or maybe it was one of his L pieces that had led to the formation of the plan…
Either way, using the names and numbers spread out before him, Beyond had devised a brilliant means of getting his message across to L.
And he was quite proud of himself.
He had been watching his victims for some time now, using a number of disguises. Sometimes he would be a lost traveler shouting to his girlfriend over the cell phone about faulty directions, sometimes he would be an astute businessman checking out real estate options, and sometimes he would be a young man dressed in jeans and a white shirt trying to keep the sun off of his pale face.
Tonight he had combined two of his favorites in what he felt was a very symbolic costume. He wore the jeans and the long-sleeved shirt in representation of L, yet he carried the accessories of the traveler to show his own spiritual disorientation.
A yellow light appeared in the bedroom window and Beyond felt his heart skip a beat. It was time.
He quickly checked for any observers and opened his faux travel bag to examine the tools he had brought along. Everything was in order. He pulled a tiny hypodermic needle from the perilous suitcase and hid it within the folds of the map.
He made a show of checking the address of the house confusedly as he picked the lock, being sure to spout out a few obscenities about his brother forgetting to leave the key under the mat, just in case anyone passed by.
The lock yielded to his skilled hands and the door swung open quietly.
Beyond closed the door behind him and made his way to the bedroom, moving only when the thunder outside rumbled.
He stood outside the bedroom door for what felt like forever, trying to calm his rapidly beating heart. With trembling hands he exposed the hypodermic needle, getting ready to strike immediately upon entering. He choked back a nervous giggle as he briefly imagined himself as a venomous snake.
3, 2, 1…
Beyond threw open the door and ran at the male writer inside.
The man had no time to scream or do anything more than widen his eyes in fear as Beyond plunged the needle into his arm.
In seconds, the man's eyes rolled back into his head and he fell unconscious onto the floor beside the bed.
Beyond stared down at the man and his incredibly low numbers and let the needle fall from his fingers.
Those numbers… the last time he had seen any so low… A was still alive…
A would be glad to know that Beyond had decided to drug his victims in his honor. None of them would ever have to feel what A felt in his final moments.
B turned to his bag and removed a strong, industrial kind of wire.
It was austere and unbreakable. Just like L.
L had led him to this. There was no need to feel guilty. B was innocent. It was L that was to blame.
Beyond wrapped the wire around the writer's neck and sucked in a deep breath before applying pressure.
He watched in horror and fascination as the man's body struggled to breathe, his chest shivering and his face turning a number of unnatural colors.
The numbers were almost at zero. He would actually see the numbers hit zero.
He felt like he was in Times Square on New Year's Eve, only instead of party noisemakers, there was the sound of pained gasping. Not all of it from his victim.
In an instant, Beyond saw the light fade from Believe Bridesmaid's bulging eyes and watched his chest go still.
Happy New Year.
Beyond let go of the wire and fell to his knees, saturated in a mixture of powerful emotions.
There was no time for reflection. He needed to follow through with the rest of his plan.
He grabbed a knife and removed his victim's shirt. It proved to be a rather difficult task, as the body was still coursing with residual spasms from dying nerves. Once the garment was removed, he began to carve the predetermined Roman numerals into the man's flesh.
It was much more enjoyable than the strangulation had been and both soothed Beyond and worked him into a frenzy. Blood splattered across his white shirt and covered his hands. This blood did not frighten him like A's had though. This blood was an achievement. It was a sign of progress.
Things were going to work out just fine.
Beyond let himself get carried away in his brutal actions and, for a moment, he felt a twinge of the indifference he had felt in his youth.
It was glorious.
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Roger frowned at the American newspaper before him and felt the color drain from his face.
He had found B.
It had to be him.
The Wara Ningyo Murders…
B had become a murderer.
Roger had been right in the beginning. He never should have gotten his hopes up. There was nothing good about Wammy's House.
He should have gotten out while he could. He should have just driven back to his old house on that day so many years ago. Maybe then B would have had a chance at a normal life, and Roger would not be tortured by the guilt of so many ruined young lives.
A new group of children was already scheduled for transfer to the orphanage and Roger felt pity and an odd kind of hatred for them. As terrible as their circumstances were, he would be the one who had to watch them suffer. He would have to sit in his office and balance the checkbooks as their lives spiraled into the same madness that had B's had.
But there was no escape. There was nothing he could do.
He picked up the telephone on his desk to call L. The detective had to know about the murders in L.A…. If he didn't know already.
But before Roger could finish dialing L's number, the dial tone went dead.
The old man glanced out the window just in time to see a flaming branch fall from the large tree in the courtyard. It hit the ground with a crack as lightning creased the dark skies.
What a nasty storm this would be.
Author's Note: And that's that. We all know what happens next. I wanted B to initially experience a lot of emotion during his first murder because, in my opinion, a murderer who feels is a lot scarier than one who doesn't. Thank you for reading. Please leave a review if you have anything to say. I don't know what I'm going to be working on next. I did start posting a series of humorous ficlets about the young Wammy's boys, but that's more of a side thing than a serious project. We'll just have to wait and see what pops into my head. I don't have any victory jam for the conclusion of this story like I had victory chocolate at the end of "Dust and Mirrors". I don't really like jam too much… except on baguette with brie… and that's too expensive to splurge on right now. Also, it's like two in the morning. Sorry, B.