Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note nor any of the characters contained therein.
Summary: L is almost 17, investigating a serial murder case near Toronto University. Undercover as a student prodigy, L will have to find a balance between education, investigation, and (ye gods) a social life. Rated T for violence/language.
The Worst Feeling Ever
Chapter 2: Wading In
Had Watari not sent along the textbooks necessary for his courses, L would likely have gone without them. Absent a bookcase, he had simply piled them on the floor next to his desk. He longed to call Watari for another update, but he chose to leave his cellphone where he'd stashed it in an improvised pouch attached to the underside of his bed. He needed to remain as self-reliant as possible, and he wanted to keep his cellphone a secret, since to his surprise most of the students he'd encountered thus far didn't seem to have them. To a certain extent, L was finding the blending in process to be irksome, but he told himself that it was necessary, and it at least provided some challenge to him, unlike his classes so far. Granted, it has only been ten days, L thought; perhaps the difficulty will increase to a more interesting level.
The object he'd watched being shaken out of a bag on the evening after he'd moved in had been found by a groundskeeper shortly after dawn. It was an arm, this time, no hand attached, just wrist to elbow, cleanly cut rather than raggedly torn. The man in the jumpsuit with a bag and stick for picking up refuse had seemed more resigned and irritated than upset, as though the inconvenience of having to report the discovery somehow outweighed the fact that someone had probably lost their life, or at the very least their arm. Many people, including some on the police force, still regarded the dropping of body parts as an ongoing ghoulish prank, and unsubstantiated media reports hinting that med students might be to blame had riled tempers on campus. L could understand why. Taking the time and effort to obtain an education with the express purpose of improving, maintaining, and extending human life only to be accused of foreshortening and even desecrating it was an incredible insult. L therefore had no trouble expressing genuine disgust at such a notion among fellow students, though he could not rule out the possibility that the murderer might be among them.
If someone chose to enroll as a medical student for reasons other than becoming a doctor, or somehow came to resent an education they felt compelled to take, such a person could theoretically have developed a reason to commit murder, however unjustified, L thought, though certainly not for the sake of a mere prank. The people who believe that a student is behind this must think that the body parts are being taken from "nameless" corpses used in dissection classes, but any medical student or faculty member knows that every cadaver used is catalogued and accounted for, including all of their parts, listing their names, blood types, and multiple details that could be used to trace any part back to its source.
L's eyes narrowed, watching the ground as he walked, the bookbag he'd slung over his shoulder thudding against the small of his back with each step. More disquieting than the body parts that were being found was the fact that the remainder of the bodies had not been found. It was possible that the bodies had been destroyed. It was even possible that some victims might still be alive, minus an arm or a leg or a kidney. The first victim could not be alive, given that no one could survive without a head, faceless or otherwise. L felt sure that whatever state the victims were in, they would be nearby, and he found it maddening to have to wait for more clues instead of simply searching every plausible location immediately, but he could not afford to disrupt the murderer's pattern yet. He needed to know not just how and who but why.
L was still thinking about the trajectory of the person he'd seen dropping the arm when he failed to notice his own trajectory.
"Umph!"
Brought up short and rubbing his chin, L looked up to meet the dark eyes of a young man with long dreads and chocolate skin who was regarding him with apparent disbelief. "I . . . apologize." L blinked. "I must have been . . ."
". . . thinking about the genetics homework?"
"Ah. Yes. You are in Professor Batista's class as well."
"Yeah. I keep sitting in back, hoping he won't call on me, but he always does."
"I find that sitting up front and watching attentively dissuades most professors from speaking to me. They seem to assume that they need to work harder for the attention of those in the back and only call on those up front as a last resort."
"Ha! I'll have to remember that." He grinned at L. "I'm Guy – that's short for Guillaume." Guy extended his hand.
"I am Ezekiel," L said, shaking his hand. "That is not short for anything."
"Hey man, you're funny!"
"Hm. Apparently."
"I was just telling these guys about a party I'm having this weekend – you should swing by!"
L swiveled his head to take in the three other men standing just off the walk. There were two he didn't know, but he saw that Geoff from his dorm was among them and nodded at him in recognition. "What are you commemorating?"
The group chuckled, looking at each other. "Just the end of second week, man," Guy said.
"That . . . hardly seems like an accomplishment."
"Depends on the week." Guy clapped L on the shoulder, nearly knocking him sideways. "There doesn't really have to be a reason – a party is its own reason."
"Will there be cake?"
Roars of laughter from the two men L didn't know startled him, though he managed to keep still. He suspected that his displeasure showed on his face, however, when Guy drew him closer, speaking conspiratorially. "Don't mind them. There could be cake, yeah. There will definitely be beer, and I'll be working the grill. Here's the address." Guy jotted it down on the back of a green flyer he'd been holding and handed it to L.
"Thank you." L accepted the paper, doubting that he would attend but valuing all information as useful. He was about to walk away when he flipped the flyer over. "Someone is missing a cat?"
"Yeah – this sweet chiquita who lives on the other side of the hospital said her cat ran off two weeks ago. I didn't have the heart to tell her it's probably been hit by a car by now." Guy shook his head sadly.
"That is a likely scenario, though it is possible that it is still alive. Cats can easily survive via predation, assuming that it has found an alleyway populated with sufficient vermin to sustain it."
"You . . . might not want to tell her that, man."
"I would think she'd be happy at the prospect of her pet's survival, but you are right – it is too soon to make an assessment regarding its fate. If I see the cat, I will contact her." L began to move off, nodding once at Guy. "Thank you again for the invitation."
As murmured conversation bloomed in his wake, L realized that he had not gotten the names of the other two men, but he knew he would recognize them if he saw them again. One had been tall, blocky, and pale with spiky blond hair and squinting blue eyes, and the other had been short, rounded, and light-brown-complected with dark hair in a bowl cut and a mole low on his left cheek. If he did not encounter them again, he could look them up in the student directory. Unless they are graduate students, L thought, suppressing a frown, since the graduate listings do not include photographs.
L contemplated going to the cafeteria but concluded that it was too soon for supper and headed back to his room, promising himself he wouldn't get so caught up in his observations and studies that he would miss mealtime again. The lobby vending machines were only refilled once a week, and he suspected that the other residents would be displeased with him if he depleted most of their contents before then.
Left forearm, number twelve. Liver, number eleven. Right foot, number ten. Left kidney, number nine. Pelvic bone, number eight. Spine, number seven. Scrotum with testicles, number six. Right hand, number five. Heart, number four. Left thigh, number three. Breasts, number two. Faceless cranium, number one. They will look for patterns. They will think they understand my edict so grand, they will think they see the pieces of a puzzle, but only when all of the pieces are out on the board will they be able to see – they will see what I have given them. Every second they waste on their theories now is a gift to me. So lovely, truly, to be given gifts. But the sacred number has not yet been reached. Patience, my eager pets, patience.
So much more to do. I can scarcely stand the beauty of it, trembling next to shining silver and glass. Even as these dogs converge to sniff around, the puppy and the hound, my work is no more quickly found. Oh, they will see what is yet to be. They will see, they will see – and smell, and taste, and feel, and hear, and eventually . . . they will know. If I am blessed, I will see them as the knowing takes them in its teeth. We will all know – at the end of things, we will all know.
If only the haughty poodle had joined us . . . but no matter. I must disassemble to assemble, split into parts to become whole. We will all be assembled soon. From the soup of supposition springs the nourishment of epiphany! Hmm . . . it needs more of something . . .
Beauty, steaming and red under diffusing lamplight – it calls to us, and we shall all warm our hands in it.
The blaring noise seemed wrong on a Sunday night for reasons he could not place, but he walked toward the sound anyway. He was considering obtaining a TV for his room after all, but this arrangement would suffice for now, and it afforded him the opportunity to observe the other residents as well. He moved to the back wall, crossing in front of only a few people as he took his place, perched on a small table wedged between seats directly opposite the dorm TV. The room was crowded, with four rows of people sitting on the floor and every other seat in the worn chairs and couches arrayed around the room occupied as well. They were all waiting for one thing.
"And next on the Toronto local news, another development in the bizarre Missing Parts case . . ."
L disliked the case name with which the media had tagged these events, but then he rarely liked the names given by others to the cases he worked since they so often missed the point entirely. He heard someone mutter "Shouldn't it be the 'Found Parts' case?" and kept his smirk to himself, focusing on what the newswoman was saying – which, sadly, was nothing much. No new parts had been dropped since the arm, and it had been almost two weeks since then, though the culprit did not seem to keep a regular schedule. Intervals between drops had varied from and day and a half to thirteen days. L had already applied algorithmic analysis to try and discern a pattern for the intervals but had come up empty so far. Either there is a longer sequence in use than would reveal itself within twelve instances, L thought, or this murderer is being deliberately random – which could be considered its own pattern.
". . . Despite this lack of progress, it seems there is new hope for catching this criminal. We go live now to the Chief of Police."
Everyone, including L, leaned forward as the screen changed from the news studio to the Police Chief standing behind a microphone-laden podium. ". . . and I speak for the entire department when I say that it is about time that people took these crimes with the seriousness they deserve. Just thirty minutes ago, I received a call from an important ally, someone who has pledged to help us solve this case, and he asked me to play this recording for you now."
L's fingers dug into his knees, and everyone in the room seemed to hold their breaths as the Chief fumbled with a tape recorder and finally pressed 'Play.'
"Greetings and salutations to you all! I wanted to reassure you that I've been working on this case for a few weeks now, and it looks very likely that I'll be solving it quite soon. And who am I? Well, I have gone by different names in my time, but I expect you'll all know me by the name Eraldo Coil. This murderer thinks he's quite the clever one, but he's been sloppier than he realizes. In fact, let me address him for a moment. Are you listening, little man? Do you really expect us to assemble your Frankenstein's puzzle for you like meek bleating sheep? I would personally like to thank you for the mistakes you made on two and five – very helpful, those were. You may anticipate our approach at any moment. I imagine you're proud of finally publicly receiving the designation of 'murderer,' though I think a better term for you is 'butcher,' and you're an amateur at best. If only you'd tested well enough to actually get into medical school. We'll chat about all this soon enough, of course, so sit tight. Getting back to the police and the citizens of Toronto, I thank you all for the opportunity to bring this case to a close and restore peace to this wonderful city. Adieu!"
The screen switched from the Chief holding a hand up for quiet back to the newswoman, to whom L would not have been listening even if the room hadn't erupted in conversation immediately following Coil's announcement. With measured movements, L stepped down off the table and threaded his way out of the room. Residents' voices welled around him and followed him as he made his way alone to the elevator.
"Who the hell is Eraldo Coil?"
"Dude, seriously? Where have you been – he's only the best detective in the world."
"No way – Deneuve's better. Coil couldn't even crack that Hong Kong case back in . . ."
"What about L? He solved that case in Brazil and made Coil look like a total idiot."
"L's a newbie – no way he's as good as Coil."
"Yeah, Coil's like a modern Sherlock Holmes. Totally epic detecting skills, for sure."
"I dunno, he sounded like a douche."
"Hey, Coil said he went by different names sometimes – maybe L is just an alias of his anyway."
"Whatever. As long as they catch this asshole freak who's littering body parts everywhere."
"Ugh, I know. It's so –"
Awful. The elevator doors thudded to a merciful close, shutting out the voices, and the car rose with a faint whir. L stared straight ahead, keeping his mind as clear as possible, waiting for his floor. At last, the chime rang out, and L stepped into the hall of floor six and turned to walk resolutely to his door. He twisted the key in the lock and stepped in, pivoting as he closed the door to relock it. He walked to the centerpoint between wall and door and paused, breath rushing in and out of his flared nostrils.
"Guh!" L leapt and spun in mid-air, slamming his back against the outside wall, rattling the closed window. His fists clenched and quaking, he felt his face radiating heat and knew he could not afford to make any more noise, but he was not yet ready to make the call. Feeling the gaze of the cameras from the corners as though they were pinpricks piercing his skin, he struggled for calm, regulating his breathing as he'd so recently been taught, clenching and releasing each muscle in turn until he could resume his usual perch on the bed. After breathing silently with his eyes closed for a full minute, he finally felt ready and reached under his bed.
Three button code, one ring, a faint click . . . "How the fuck did that bastard beat us to it?"
"Language."
L sighed. "I apologize, grandfather." He fought to keep his mouth from twisting in frustration. "Was there a leak of some kind? Or did he find his way to this on his own?"
"There has been no leak, I assure you. It is possible he found this case entirely on his own . . ." Watari's voice trailed off.
"Yes? What is it?"
"He may have deduced that this is a case that would interest you and sought it out for that reason."
"I see. For revenge, I suppose."
"That may be overstating it somewhat. He may be seeking to restore his own credibility."
"And what better way than by besmirching mine."
"You are taking this too personally."
"That is the appropriate way to take something that is intended to be personal."
"Perhaps. But it will suit you better to depersonalize it. Dispassionate analysis is rather your forte', and as you may recall, it is why you succeeded where he failed last year."
"I am aware of that," L bit out.
"Excellent. What approach would you like to take at this point?"
L thought for a moment, warping his bottom lip with his thumb. "We will not announce."
"Are you certain?"
"I am. He will be expecting it, and I wish to disappoint him. Also, it may be to our advantage to allow Coil to take the lead."
"Because the murderer will focus on eluding Coil rather than you?"
"Correct."
"Fair enough. Is there anything else?"
"Have you analyzed the face from the video?"
Watari seemed to sigh through the receiver. "I have employed some help on that – the image was terribly dim even on our cameras, and we barely got a profile. The features do indicate a male, as an adam's apple was just visible, but his hood was up, so there's no telling what sort of hair he's got, and –"
"Hair can be easily changed. Facial recognition is more important."
"Indeed it is. We are doing our best to reconstruct the rest of the face based on what we can see, but there is nothing distinctive about the composite yet. We've already compared it to photos of students, faculty, and staff, as well as the entire ICPO criminal database, but there are no matches. If we can clean up the image further, or get an additional image, perhaps we'll have more luck, but –"
"How many have you involved?"
"Aside from the two boys? Only Roger and myself. No one else even knows where you are, as per our usual arrangement."
"Alright."
"Then I will speak to you at our allotted –"
"Wait."
"Yes?"
"I would also like a care package. With cake."
Watari chuckled. "So soon?"
"Considering this setback, I think the timing is appropriate."
"Very well. I'll send it along via the post tomorrow."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
L turned off his cellphone, tucking it back into its hidden pouch and feeling it click into the charger there. Sighing, he brought himself back up into his crouch and faced the computer. I should not have delayed my announcement, he thought; my reasoning was sound, but I have missed an opportunity. I must not let that happen again. He knew that Watari was right, that he shouldn't let Coil's grandstanding bother him, but that was easier said than done. L blamed hormones. He'd been much calmer as a child, but his reserve had become harder and harder to maintain from age fourteen on. Learning judo and tai chi had helped, showing him alternate means by which to expend energy while retaining control, but they did not stop the anger from rising in the first place.
He was still trying to master the meditation techniques Watari had been teaching him over the summer. L thought it was possible that some of his initial difficulty learning them had been the circumstances under which they had been introduced, considering that his behavior just prior had been characterized as a "tantrum," but L knew that boredom had something to do with it as well. To actually clear his mind of all thought – he hated it. L never felt more alive than when he was thinking, especially when he was able to draw conclusions, and how could he reach any conclusions if his mind was empty of thought? Though he struggled with the counterintuitive nature of it, L fully intended to master the technique. He recognized that, when he was able to do it, meditation did calm him down, but also, he disliked the prospect of failing to learn something. Backing down from a challenge, especially an intellectual one, was not an option he would allow himself.
Attending last night's party had been another challenge from which he had not backed down, but L felt it had been a complete waste of time. Guy and Geoff had both been amiable enough, and it had given L the opportunity to observe a college "keg party" in person, as dubious in value as that might be. He did discover the names of the two men he'd met when Guy had invited him – the blond was Knut, and the brunet was Ahmed. The only other people L saw there whom he recognized were Janine and Danielle, though the extent of their interaction with him had been Janine waving at him from across a room of rowdy strangers and his wanly waving back. After an hour and a half of weaving among the guests and eating the only "cake" available – a stack of Jos. Louis snack cakes piled on a table – L left Guy's off-campus apartment shortly before midnight to walk back to his room, taking shortcuts through alleys in the hope of spotting the missing cat. No luck there, either.
There is no such thing as luck, L chided himself, only a cascading confluence of consequential circumstances which we choose to interpret as being in our favor or not. L considered trying to meditate again and even contemplated doing some homework to relax, but he ultimately decided to watch the camera feeds in the hope of catching the Butcher at work again. Gritting his teeth as he realized he was using Coil's name for the culprit in his head, he leaned forward from his perch to type in his password and begin his watch, even more determined to catch the murderer – before Coil could, if possible.
Author's Note: Coil is a smug-ass mofo, isn't he? Though I suppose any seasoned detective would take umbrage at some young upstart trying to take the title of world's best detective away from him. As you may have guessed, this all takes place while L is still in the process of securing his rank – at this point, both Coil and Deneuve are fully operational and, being older, their reputations are more established. There may be some other canon characters making an appearance eventually – perhaps one or two Wammy House residents. . .
Just for the record, I know that there is a University of Toronto, but I have purposely named the school in this fic Toronto University to distinguish it from the factual one. Basically, my university is made up, sort of like how there's no To-Oh University in Tokyo, except I only just shaved the numbers off a bit with the name. I have been to Toronto (it's a cool city, and I'd love to go back at some point), but I've never been to the actual University, and I knew that no amount of Google Earth/Wikipedia help was going to help me get every fact right. Good thing Death Note itself has its own separate "reality," eh? ^_^
Another fun thing to keep in mind is that, timeline-wise, this is all happening in the 90's – 1996, if we're going by the manga, though I'm trying to keep things non-specific enough so that it could fit either manga or anime. Cellphones were certainly common then, but not nearly as ubiquitous (or as multi-functional) as they are now. And if anyone's curious, "Jos. Louis snack cakes" are a Canadian version of, well, sort of a cross between a Ding-Dong and an Oreo Cakester. Hmm, Canadian Ding-Dong would have sounded funnier, damn my need to explain.
Thanks for reading!