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 3: Splashback
"Man, nothing like a four hour Wednesday lab to drag the day down."
L looked over, surprised to note that Geoff was engaging him in conversation as they exited the MedSci building. Resolving to behave as the student he was meant to be, L nodded, formulating a response. "I found it strange that Professor Lachland spent so much time going over the chapter contents. The redundancy was unnecessary and left us with less time in which to accomplish anything."
Geoff seemed to mull that over as they descended the steps. "Yeah, I guess. She was probably just trying to make sure we were all clear on the concepts before moving on to the next thing. Half of learning is repetition, right?"
"Mm. Not for me, actually."
Geoff glanced over as they walked. "One and done, huh? That's cool."
"Well, it's only 'one and done' as you say if I grasp the concept immediately. The concepts within the current chapter seem fairly straightforward, so I had assumed we would be proceeding on to practice right away."
"You know what they say when you assume . . ."
"I do not."
"Dude, seriously?" Geoff's eyes twinkled as they slipped toward L. "I learned that one in grade school."
"Ah. I was homeschooled."
"Oh. That explains some stuff."
L stared balefully at Geoff, but he wasn't looking back at him, seeming to gaze off in the distance. Dropping his eyes to his own shuffling feet, L continued along, wondering if socializing was really worth the effort. Perhaps it will be less wasteful if I talk about something of interest, L thought. "Have you noticed anything unusual lately?"
"Unusual." Geoff's brow furrowed slightly. "Not really. Well," his eyes met L's, "nothing too unusual anyway. You're worried about the serial killer guy, right?"
L nodded. "Yes. If we had a better idea of how he was doing things and why, we would more easily be able to determine which activities are safe."
"Sure, but if people knew that much, they'd have caught him by now."
"I suppose."
"Don't worry, dude – that detective guy is working with the police on it. We just have to stay frosty and stick together in the meantime."
"Mm. At a certain temperature, frost does stick together . . ." L turned to see Geoff chuckling as they paused at an intersection of pathways.
"Seriously, you crack me up."
Searching the other man's face, L did not detect any malice and forced a half-smile in response. "It is good to be of service."
"Oh, hey guys!"
"Hi," Geoff said, straightening up.
L turned, head tilting. "Hello Janine. I trust you are well?"
"I, heh, yeah, I am. How are you?"
"Quite well, thank you," L responded, deciding to add "and relieved to be done with lab for the day."
"Oh boy, I can't even think what it's going to be like once I finish pre-med and start grad school – I'm already swamped, and we're not even to mid-terms yet! I still have two more classes today . . ."
"Are you staying safe?"
"Huh?" Janine blinked at L's question. "Oh – yeah, I'm careful. I stay on the paths and watch my surroundings."
"You should walk with someone whenever possible."
"It's still daylight – I'll be fine."
"We have no way of knowing whether increased atmospheric illumination has any dissuading effect on the murderer's behavior, actually."
"Oh. Well . . . that's creepy." Janine swallowed. "I really have to get to class, though, so I'll see you guys later." She walked quickly between them to follow the path they'd just traversed.
"Take care," L said at her retreating back.
"Bye." After a moment of watch her depart, Geoff turned back to L. "You know, you shouldn't worry her like that."
"It can do no harm to take precautions." L met Geoff's eye. "I do not want harm to come to her. She is too trusting."
"Maybe so, dude, but freaking her out is just gonna make her feel bad. You gotta, you know, let people deal with stuff their own way. Everyone's worried about the serial killer, whether they say so or not. We just have to let the police and whoever do their jobs. If we worried about everything, we'd never get anything done."
"Hm. If you say so." L was no longer interested in discussing the matter and started walking toward the dorm. He couldn't risk asking too many direct questions about the case without rousing suspicion, and it frustrated him.
"I'm gonna hit the cafeteria, Zeke – catch you later." Geoff took the path in the other direction.
"What did the cafeteria do to deserve corporal punishment?" L glanced over his shoulder, confident now that he was aware of the source of Geoff's continued amusement with him.
"Ha! Have you tried their casserole?" Geoff asked, walking backwards.
"Thankfully, no."
"Good call, dude." Geoff turned back around as they each continued in opposite directions.
With a sharp jerk, L's head lifted from his knees, and he blinked several times at the now blank computer screen and the grayish-pink light seeping over his windowsill. Rubbing his forehead where he knew two red knee-spots had formed, he cursed himself for falling asleep before re-entering his password and bringing up the video feeds. L rolled his neck, hearing it pop, and stretched one arm at a time over his head as he scrolled through each image. When he had nearly completed the cycle, he stopped and clicked back one. There was something tall and cylindrical sitting in a bird feeder. It appeared to be two-toned, the bottom half darker than the top.
L stared, bringing his nose inches from the screen. "Light on top of dark . . ." L's voice sounded strange in his own ears, faint and croaky. He stepped off the bed to stand, irritated anew at his lack of wakefulness, and bent forward to touch his toes, straightening up only to be rewarded with a ringing in his ears. Bringing his arms perpendicular to his body, elbows bent, he twisted once to the right and once to the left, the sounds of his vertebrae cracking like rocks thrown against a barn door. L kept his eyes on the screen. "A . . . container perhaps?" he murmured. All at once, it came to him, and he spun low, grabbing for his phone, punching a number in quickly.
"Oh my god," L said in a much higher pitch than normal, "I need to report something, like, really gross. I was jogging by and there's, like, this big plastic container full of blood just sitting on top of a bird bath, and – what?" He huffed into the phone. "No, this is not a prank! It's right near the path to D'Arcy Hall, the one that cuts the corner of College Avenue and University Street. Huh? Oh, no no no no – I do not have time to come down to the station and tell you all the same stuff again. It's, like, right there! Ugh, whatever – nevermind, then." L terminated the call, knowing that the police would be unable to trace it and confident that they would assume a female college student had made the report. He estimated that the closest beat cop on duty would be sent to the location he'd specified and hoped that the evidence would be retrieved before anyone else arrived there. It is unlikely that there will be any fingerprints to be found, L thought, but such possibilities cannot be ruled out.
L perched back on his bed, ready to watch until the retrieval was completed, resigned to the likelihood that he would miss his first class. Three weeks between drops this time – is this part of the murderer's plan, or is he being more cautious? L wondered. Sighing as he scratched his butt, he reached behind himself to pull at the remains of his care package, extracting the last toffee bar and gnawing on it, staring at the brightening scene on the monitor.
In the few years since he'd become a world-renowned detective, L had in fact conducted on-scene observation and reconnaissance several times, often but not always in disguise. He made a point of not drawing attention to himself, preferring to appear as a random bystander on the periphery of events. L was content for the public to believe that he was a reclusive detective with a veritable army of stealthy minions feeding him information. It made operating as he wished that much easier. Almost all of his on-scene appearances, however, had been simple one-offs. Arrive, observe, assess, depart. Showing up at a crime scene in disguise wasn't too hard to bear, but wearing one for a significant duration, one measured in weeks rather than hours, would have been impractical and uncomfortable. L could barely stand to wear shoes, let alone wigs or suits. Consequently, for this case, L had retained much of his natural look with the scarcest of modifications.
He wore sneakers when he had to – without socks. He possessed a coat in the event that he was still working the case when the weather turned cold. He had, at Watari's urging, brought with him a selection of shirts in different colors, though all of them were the same loose cotton knit. He'd brought a sufficient supply of his usual boxers, a mix of red and blue striped, along with five pairs of his beaten down and baggy jeans, though he noticed that Watari had slipped a black pair of a similar style in his suitcase as well. I suppose those will be useful should I need to appear as a ninja from the waist down, L had thought drily.
Toffee bar successfully consumed, L leaned forward, licking his lips, almost bouncing in anticipation. He was certain that he'd guessed right and that the container held blood – the Butcher's next 'part' left out to be found. L doubted that this was a prank or the work of a copycat. Wishing he could just run straight to the scene himself, he shook his head, fighting with his rising impatience and closing his eyes for just a moment. Breathe in, hold, breathe out . . . As he re-opened his eyes, L saw something unexpected. It wasn't the fact that someone was finally approaching along the walk, it was who the person was. Not a policeman – is that . . . Janine? L thought, mouth opening.
To his horror, she paused on the path directly opposite the bird bath and then stepped off toward it. "Don't touch it, don't touch it, please don't touch it . . ." L mumbled distractedly.
Three steps off the path, Janine tripped, falling forward, bookbag dropping to one side, one hand seeming to graze the container on her way down. "Damn it!" L scowled. He shook off his annoyance at the possible compromise of the evidence and continued to watch closely. Janine was pushing herself up off the ground to kneel and dragged the back of her wrist across her mouth. Though her back was to the camera and there was no sound, L thought that her movements – a clenching hunch to her torso, the jerky motion of her hands, held apart from her, the shaking – indicated that she might be screaming. If that is the case, hopefully this will draw the attention of a police officer, L thought, rather than more students. He watched her tip backwards and scrabble away from the birdbath face-up on all fours before turning, one hand still on the ground, to face the path.
L gasped. Janine was covered in blood, the bright red jumping out now that she was in direct sunlight. It was all over her, with a smear at her mouth where she had wiped. Dimly aware that part of his mind was cursing the disruption of the crime scene, he felt sympathy for her surge within him. Watching her mouth form words, it was as though he could hear her.
"Help me!"
Blinking, L glanced at his window. It was still closed, yet he could hear her voice, if faintly. L almost smiled. He now had a perfectly plausible to investigate the scene directly – he was answering a cry for help.
L clicked off the video feed and hopped off the bed, absently stuffing a paper towel in his pocket. Out of habit, he double-checked that his cellphone was in its pouch before leaving his room and locking it behind him.
The elevator ride down had seemed to take an impossibly long time, but finally free of it and the dorm itself, L moved briskly along the path. Hearing Janine's voice again, closer this time, L broke into a run, knowing he'd be able to justify his behavior as concern for a friend. It was still early, so he didn't see any other students in the immediate vicinity, but he knew that would change soon.
He rounded a bend and charged forward, considering the possibility that the Butcher had set up the scene of his crime as a kind of trap, intending for the person who discovered it to fall face first into blood. Not possibility, L thought, likelihood – the pooling of blood on the ground would have been deliberate, marking the discoverer as a victim. L's eyes went wide. Those who discover the body parts are intended to be victims as well! I will have to determine if there is anything else linking the discoverer-victims together, and if there is any connection to the primary victims.
Finally approaching his destination, he saw with a mix of gratification and annoyance that a police officer was now present, standing near Janine as he spoke into a walkie-talkie. L reminded himself to simply play his role and hastened to Janine's side.
"Janine? Are you injured?" L dropped to a crouch next to her, taking in as much of the scene in his peripheral vision as possible.
"I . . . I don't know . . ." Janine was breathing heavily, hands out as though she couldn't stand the thought of them at the end of her arms, and L saw that they were coated in blood as well. "I think I bumped my chin, and my knee kind of hurts, but . . ." her breath caught, "this . . . isn't mine."
L frowned, not needing to manufacture his concern but resolving to remain focused. "Here, let me help . . ." He extracted the paper towel and began wiping at her mouth and dabbing around her eyes where her tears had mixed with the blood.
"Hey! Cut it out, buddy." The police officer glared down at the two of them. "We need all of that for evidence!"
Donning his best 'innocent' expression, L stared up at the officer. "There seems to be ample evidence here. Why would you object to the comforting of a victim?"
"Listen smart guy, you're compromising a crime scene – both of you."
L fought the urge to roll his eyes at the irony. "I was on my way to breakfast when I heard her voice –"
"He's my friend!" Janine's voice came out like a yelp. "He's not trying to mess up your 'evidence.' If I knew that . . . if I'd known what it was . . ." Janine trailed off, tremulous.
"Maulty, where are you?" the officer's walkie-talkie squawked.
The officer grimaced, looking away and lifting the device to his mouth. "Just east of the hospital, near College Avenue and University, next to the birdbath. A couple of students are here, over."
Deftly slipping the paper towel back into his pocket, L hesitantly reached out to touch Janine's shoulder. "You are likely in shock at the moment, but please listen carefully. The police will need to ask you several questions. Just answer them honestly, with no embellishment, even if they ask you the same questions repeatedly. They will need to take evidence from you as well. Do not be alarmed by this, and cooperate fully. Is there someone who can bring you fresh clothing?"
"I – yes. Danielle." Janine's eyes were glassy. "Tell her not to worry, and tell her I want my ugly shirt and dark sweatpants. Oh god . . ." Janine met L's eyes as she started to tear up again. "I'm gonna miss class! I did all this extra credit, and now I'm not even gonna be there . . ."
"I can speak to your Professor as well, if you like." L wasn't sure if it was necessary to tell her Professor anything, but he wanted Janine to remain as calm as she could under the circumstances.
"My log book is in my bag – maybe you could give it to her . . ."
"The bag and everything in it is evidence too," Officer Maulty snapped.
"What? No! All my work is in there – if I fail this class . . . oh god, oh god . . ." Janine began rocking back and forth.
"Janine." L squeezed her shoulder. "You will not fail your class. You will get your belongings back once the police have examined them." L shot Maulty a look. "Correct?"
"Yeah," the officer conceded. "You'll get it back, after we're done."
"Do you understand, Janine?" L stared at her as she stared at the ground.
"Yes."
Footsteps approached along the path, and from the pace and timbre, L estimated that these were additional police officers, three of them. "Stay calm and answer their questions. You will be fine, Janine."
"You'll talk to them?" She met L's eyes again. "Danielle and Professor Selig?"
"Yes, of course." L stood, helping Janine to her feet, and she grabbed his arm to steady herself.
"We're gonna have some questions for you too, buddy." Maulty looked at him appraisingly.
"You were here when I arrived. You observed everything I did and said directly." L tilted his head.
"You got here pretty quick."
"Not as quickly as you." L did not break his stare. "As I said, I was walking to get some breakfast when I heard Janine shout in the distance, so I ran to help her. I can certainly accompany you to the police station if you do not mind the additional paperwork."
"You little –"
"Maulty, forget it – he's just a kid. We can talk to him later if we need to."
Grimacing, Maulty deferred to the officer wearing a suit rather than a uniform and took out a notepad. "Fine. What's your name, kid?"
"Ezekiel Penn. I reside at Grosvenor Hall, in room 607."
Breaking eye contact with L to jot his name and room down, Maulty bit out "Got it. Now take off, kid. We'll be in touch."
L nodded at Janine and left without another word, turning back to retrace his steps past the other officers who barely spared him a glance. If he hurried, he might be able to make his first class of the day, but he had other obligations now, some of which centered around the evidence handily stashed in his pocket.
"What the – are you fucking shitting me?!"
"I . . . am most assuredly not 'shitting' you."
"Why the fuck do the police have her? And why does she need clothes?" Danielle's face was getting quite red.
"Please calm down and I will tell you." L was glad that he'd closed the door behind him, as it prevented her voice from carrying down the hallway, but wasn't sure if he liked being shut in a room with a madwoman. "She was walking to campus when she –"
"Holy fucking shit . . ." Danielle was suddenly advancing on him. "Is this from her?" She grabbed his arm. "Is this hers?!"
L looked down and saw the bloody handprint on his sleeve just above the elbow. "It is not her blood, but that is her handprint. She was –"
"What the fuck happened to her?!" Danielle gripped both of L's shoulders, her face uncomfortably close to his.
"If you let me finish speaking, I will tell you!" Mildly embarrassed to have resorted to even a terse shout, L was relieved when Danielle let go of him and pulled back, arms crossing, her lips a thin line. "Janine discovered the most recent body part dropped by the murderer. She slipped and fell – she is uninjured," he hastened to cut her off before she spoke, "but her clothing was soiled and the police needed to question her and recover evidence. I have already spoken to Professor Selig on her behalf, as she asked, and I am now speaking to you, as she also asked. She said that she wanted you to bring her 'ugly shirt' and her 'dark sweatpants' – I trust you understand which items she meant." The tumble of words now stopped, L stared at her, unsure why he felt so exhausted.
After a long pause, Danielle spoke. "You fucking freak. How can you be so calm? Do you even care what just happened to her? She must be so upset . . ."
"Of course she's upset. I did my best to calm her down."
"I'm sure that went well." Danielle snorted.
L narrowed his eyes. "Would you like to help her, or would you like to continue yelling at me for no reason?"
Danielle rolled her eyes, turning away toward a bureau. "I'd like to do both."
"I'd be happy to bring the clothes to her myself, but I had thought she'd rather see a close friend than the 'freak' who lives down the hall." Head jerking, L tried to contain his surprise at himself – what he'd said fit his role well enough, but it had cut a bit close to the truth of how he felt.
"Of course I'll bring her the clothes, you –" Danielle stopped, meeting his eye. "Look, I know you're just trying to help. It's not your fault this happened to her." She sighed. "It's just . . . she's my best friend. I'm worried about her."
"I understand." L turned to leave.
"Hey, Ezekiel?"
"Yes?" L half-turned, hand on the doorknob.
"Thanks. For helping her." Danielle's tone was uncharacteristically meek.
"Not at all."
"Um . . . what was the part, by the way?"
L held her gaze, his grim expression matching hers. "Blood. It was blood."
For once, Danielle seemed to have nothing to say, her own blood draining from her face as L took the opportunity to depart, the hall suddenly seeming too quiet as he walked along the carpet. He didn't rush, though he knew he'd have to bag his shirt along with the paper towel so that the package would be ready for Watari's courier to pick up. The police may be doing a fine job processing the evidence they've collected, L thought, but I am more confident in my own resources.
Author's Note: The average adult human body contains about 5 liters of blood. If one, say, had a 10 liter capacity container, it'd be filled about halfway. Of course, there's no guarantee that the murderer here has used only one person's blood, and not all of it was inside the container . . . Yeah. Messy murderer is messy.
I figured since this chapter was ready, I'd go ahead and put it up. I'm trying to pace myself, because I don't want to have to go back and correct stuff, but also, once my typing catches up to my writing . . . there's gonna be a lag.
When I write Geoff, by the way, I'm sort of picturing Geoff from Ace of Cakes. Not that my character is really like him, other than his appearance and maybe tone of voice. I guess just the thought of L trying to interact with such a laid-back dude kind of amused me.
Thanks for reading!