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 M for language/nudity/gore. Some spoilers for Death Note: Another Note.
#~~~~~~~~~~#~~~~~~~~~~#~~~~~~~~~~#~~~~~~~~~~#
The things that you tell yourself,
They'll kill you in time,
Your cold white brother alive in your blood
Spinning in the night sky.
While the moon does its division, you're buried below,
And you're coming up roses everywhere you go,
Red roses.
– excerpt from "Coming Up Roses", Elliott Smith
#~~~~~~~~~~#~~~~~~~~~~#~~~~~~~~~~#~~~~~~~~~~#
The Worst Feeling Ever
Chapter 20: Spun Clear
The door was rusty and scratched, but the hinges were well-oiled and the lock easy enough to pick. He entered soundlessly and reclosed the door, darkness engulfing him. Remembering the layout of the building from the old blueprints, L moved forward, careful not to shuffle. He'd circled this building once before, on an evening while Aleister had been staying with him, but nothing had raised his suspicions then. Not knowing about the abandoned tunnel at the time, L had reasoned that it was too far from most of the drops for the Butcher to have escaped notice moving from one end of campus to the other. But Willette would have been able to use those tunnels, and had had someone to help him. It still rankled that Geoff was the Butcher's accomplice – not just because he had missed it, but because he had thought better of him. People are not always what they seem, even to my eyes, L conceded to himself. Geoff was simply a better actor than I realized. A thin film of light slipped under a door at the far end of the room. He approached it and stood silent, listening.
Muted voices floated his way, but from a different direction than the light. L moved slowly toward the door he knew was there in the other back corner of the room. Groping for the knob with a gloved hand, he turned it, still listening intently. A distant clang of metal on metal rang through the space before him, a space L knew included a stairway down, right in front of him, though he could not see it in the dark. The air was cool and musty. Stepping forward, sneakered foot pointing down, L began his descent.
The room at the bottom of the stairs was just as dark as the one he'd left. The voices were still muffled, and he moved toward them. L opened a door onto a corridor, dimly in view from a light source out of sight past a right angle turn. As he walked swiftly down the hallway, one voice rose to a shout, the words unintelligible, followed by a faint thud, and he hurried to the corner and peered around. Another door, another light spilling from beneath it. L padded up to it and dropped to a crouch, squinting through the crack. The floor on the other side was clear.
No voices came, but there was a clear sound of something metal dropping onto concrete. I cannot hesitate now, L thought; the proof I seek is within. Reaching up for the doorknob, L twisted it and moved through silently, still crouched low, knees jutting.
Dusty cardboard file boxes were stacked floor to ceiling along one wall, and several wooden crates framed the other side of the door, blocking the view of most of the room. One of the crates was marked "BeeDee Medical Supplies." Silently pulling the door shut, L crept forward, listening as a shuffling noise seemed to move away from him. It is apparent that some altercation has taken place, he thought. If Geoff has become the victim of the Butcher, or Coil, I must take steps to ensure that his body is not used to contribute to the body part drops. Whatever he may have done, no one deserves to be desecrated in such a manner. If he is alive, however, he will be of more value.
L peered past the splintered wooden barrier and saw that the room was partitioned – though additional space was visible beyond it, metal shelving cut off his view of the rest of the room approximately four meters from where he crouched behind crates. Standing slowly, he heard rushing water along with some distant snuffling noises and what sounded like rapid breathing. Is someone . . . crying? L wondered. He stepped around the crates and beheld a steel operating table under flickering fluorescents. It gleamed. It looked too clean. Straps dangled, unused yet worn, from the sides of it. A counter with rows of shining surgical tools lay just behind it, at the head of the table, next to a doorless and apparently repurposed bathroom. The linoleum floor looked scuffed and bleached with only the faintest hint of a pattern. L scanned the implements, and the bone saw glinted at him. Tearing his eyes away, he moved toward the choked and breathy sounds.
I will have to examine the surgical area another time, L thought, reaching the edge of the shelving unit. Perhaps after I have neutralized any threats. Leaning forward, he looked into the space past the shelves. It seemed lived-in. A sturdy, wooden workbench was on the far wall past a stained brown leather couch, the back of which was facing him. Next to the workbench were two large chest freezers. The nicked and worn top of the workbench was littered with papers, pens, and assorted tools. L noticed a small wooden artist's manikin, its limbs at odd angles where it lay on a bed of small, pale squares of wood next to a dog-eared copy of Moby Dick. A shelf over the workbench held several books of poetry as well as a beaten volume on hieroglyphics, a copy of Grey's Anatomy, and a few tomes of Russian literature in their original language. A rosary dangled from a crudely carved crucifix over the shelf, the eyes of the wooden Jesus hollow and red, its toothless mouth gaping.
Casting his gaze to the floor, L saw one rubber-soled boot poking out from behind the dingy couch. Head cocked, he noticed that the sounds were coming from a separate room, the frame of its door coming into view as he stepped forward, careful to make no noise. He dropped to a crouch, gloved knuckles to the floor next to the arm of the couch, and leaned forward, peeking past the furniture.
The body was not Geoff's. The hairless man in the boots lay still, eyes closed, head turned to one side, though L could see that his chest still rose and fell. A scar cinched the skin at the corner of his mouth. L stood, slowly. An ugly lump, seeping blood, protruded from the back of the man's shiny head. Blood also smeared his gloves and the apron over his jumpsuit, some amount of which had pooled next to him as well. L could not tell how much of the blood was his, however, so he chose to proceed with caution. His immobility may be a pretense, he thought; I cannot take the chance. Spying a coil of rope under the workbench, L darted over to it, getting right to work.
Several minutes and several knots later, Claude Willette lay fully bound on the floor, still apparently unconscious. L couldn't help but feel underwhelmed. A bloodied pipe lay nearby, making it fairly obvious what had happened. They argued, of course, he thought, and Geoff apparently got the better of him, but to what end? Why now? Could Willette have been the pawn and Geoff the mastermind? Raising himself to his full height, L snatched a hammer from the workbench and moved toward the soft sounds still spilling from the open door to the next room, readying himself for confrontation.
The smell of blood was much stronger as he crossed the threshold. A naked bulb cast a yellowed pall over the tiny room, and a large industrial sink with a broken and gushing faucet seemed to be shushing him. L saw the shadow of a knife under the sink. Larger than the repurposed bathroom on the other side of the wall, the layout of the space gave the impression that this had been a janitor's closet once, an impression offset by the heavy chains linked to the wall and the two figures before him.
Geoff hadn't turned. He knelt in gore, face pressed to the shoulder of a young brunette who was clearly dead, his breaths coming in short gasps. She was propped in a metal folding chair, chains binding her to it and to the wall. The blood pool around them seemed fresh, rivulets running to the floor drain, and the entrails that dangled out of her slashed midsection were not discolored or distended, drooping down around her like dead powerlines gone thick and lumpy. Still clothed, only her abdomen had been exposed, the deep cuts in her flesh forming an X. From the look of the blood spatter on the walls and sink and the weeping sores at her wrists and ankles, it appeared that she'd been chained for some time and had been cut open while alive. Taking note of the woman's facial features, slack as they were with her head slumped to one side, the last puzzle piece snapped into place for L and he lowered his weapon, though he did not drop it.
"When did Claude Willette abduct your sister?"
Geoff's body jerked, and he swung his head to look at L. For a long moment, he stared, his face damp and uncharacteristically contorted with emotion. "How did you . . ." His breath hitched. "Zeke, is that you?"
L bit back disappointment. "I believe you know that is not my name. What gave me away?"
Gaze drifting, Geoff did not let go of the body. "Your voice. It's . . . not hard to pick out."
"I see." L stood rigid, mindful of his new identity, and resolved to better disguise his voice in the future.
"So his last name was Willette – I only knew him as Claude. I met him a couple years ago, but I never knew he . . . I never thought he'd . . ." Geoff swallowed, eyes glazing. "He thought you were a spy or something. He never said what for." Frowning, he glanced up. "Are you . . . Coil?"
"Definitely not." L's mouth twisted in unfeigned disgust. "I am an operative working undercover for the ICPO. You may call me Roussel. Now, please answer my question."
"Your – wait . . ." Geoff's brow furrowed as if he couldn't remember, and L decided that he was probably in shock.
"When did he –"
"Before school started. Katie . . ." Geoff's breath hitched as he stared at the floor. "She was supposed to start her sophomore year over at the Mississauga campus, but she told our parents she was taking a year off to go to Spain. They weren't too happy about that, and she, like, stormed off with her suitcase. Mom . . . called and asked me to talk her out of it, but when I tried, she wasn't answering her cell. Then I got a call. It was from her phone, but it was . . . Claude. Said I had to cooperate. Said if I helped him, she'd be OK, that he'd let her go." The uneven cascade of words stopped. Geoff lifted a trembling hand to her face but pulled it back at the last moment, eyes empty yet haunted as if he himself were the ghost within them.
"Did he know she was your sister when he selected her?"
"I don't know. I . . . he must have, but I don't remember telling him about her." Leaning the side of his head on his sister's arm, his head tilted toward the door behind L.
"Why did you not attempt to contact the police?"
"He said I was keeping them safe. He said if the police ever got close, he'd kill her."
"You told no one of your sister's capture?"
Geoff shook his head, a slow roll against her body. "I told my parents that I was too late and she'd already left the country. I kept thinking I could get her out. It was just timing . . . I just had to . . ."
"Did you capture any victims for him?"
Geoff's eyes snapped to L's. "No. No way."
"Did you kill for him?"
"No. I wouldn't . . . I couldn't do that. Katie would never forgive me . . ." His gaze drifted to L's feet.
"Did you assist him in the . . . extraction of body parts?"
"No. He told me that the victims were all dead already – that's what the freezers were for in the other room. He said killing here would draw too much attention to him. He said . . . he said it was a sacred act."
"But you assisted him by dropping body parts for him, correct?"
Geoff's face scrunched up. "Sometimes. I brought him some supplies – stuff from the med lab, and some stuff from the hospital. He had me drive a truck once and act as a lookout, and . . . he made me rig a couple of things in trees to drop later."
"Did you carry the body part with you to the dance before dropping it?"
Another slow rolling headshake. "He left it hidden, in a baggie in the toilet tank in an employee bathroom. He told me I had to find a way to drop it near the front of the building by midnight. I didn't know what it would be until I saw it. I . . . propped the back door open, and walked around toward the front, staying out of the light. I just chucked it as soon as no one was looking and went back inside. I felt sick, but I couldn't throw up, not until later." Tears welled in his bloodshot eyes. "They were already dead. I couldn't help them. I just wanted to save my little sister . . ."
"So you never saw him murder anyone." L amended his plan as he watched the man he'd thought he'd known lean against the dead chained woman. He wondered how damaged Geoff was now as a result of his circumstances, and his choices.
"Not until . . ." Geoff trialed off, voice faint. "I caught him here. The knife was still in his hand, and he was . . . pulling out . . . her intestines . . ." His head tilted back and he stared at the ceiling, his voice taking on a higher pitch. "He just looked at me like nothing was wrong. Like we were buds or something and he was just working on a project. He was like 'This was always on the menu, my pet.' I barely remember walking out of the room – I don't even know where I got the pipe from – but he just strolled out after me." Geoff's mouth was a thin line, eyes red in a pallid face. "I bashed his fucking head in with the pipe. He went down." Dully, Geoff looked over at L. "He's dead, isn't he."
"He was still breathing when I restrained him."
Geoff's eyes flew wide. "Dude! He'll get away!" Off-kilter, he jumped to his feet, steadying himself with one hand against the back wall. "You've got to stop him! He'll –"
"Stay where you are." L's voice was a low growl, hammer gripped and raised in his right hand. Two measured steps back, and he was spinning in the doorway, quick steps taking him to the murderer's side. L crouched over him, observing his breathing pattern as Geoff appeared in the doorway to look on. "He is still unconscious." L stood. "Were you his only accomplice?"
"I . . . Probably. I mean, he made it sound like I was all he had, and I never saw anyone else, not that I was here much. When he talked . . . well, he's a fucking nutjob, but a smart one, and he sorta talked like everything was a metaphor. He said a bunch of stuff about the puppy and the hound – he made it sound like they were people or something. Thing is, I thought he had the puppy dude holed up somewhere, but then he was like 'I set the puppy free,' so either the guy left, or . . ."
"Or he is dead." L glowered, glancing from Geoff to Willette and back. "If you were rarely here, how did he communicate with you?"
"I kept Katie's phone, and he left messages on it for me to call him for instructions. He told me to keep it turned off most of the time and only check it for messages once a day after classes." Geoff was staring down at Willette's form, their clothes both painted the same angry red.
"You said earlier that you did not kill anyone or assist him in doing so." L kept his eyes on Geoff's face. "Were you including Gellie's cat in those statements?"
Appearing confused, Geoff swung his gaze to meet L's. "What?"
"Please answer the question."
"Why would anyone kill her cat?"
"I am more interested in hearing your response than in offering conjecture." Keeping his focus on the grad student, L nonetheless made sure he could see Willette in his periphery.
"I didn't kill Lucy." Geoff's face was blank and pale, innocent of blood despite the mess covering the rest of him. "He and I both know Gellie – she used to go to school here part-time. I remember him asking about her missing cat . . ." His eyes went unfocused, moving side to side as if reading invisible text in the air between them. "Wait. If he . . ." He raised his gaze to meet L's once more. "Is Gellie OK?"
L's mouth pressed into a thin line. "This information was not released to the public, but Angelica Fragaria's DNA matched the foot that was dropped one month ago."
Geoff's back hit the doorjamb and he slid to the floor, forming an ungainly gate, knees up, hands limp at his sides. "I should have killed him." His voice was faint. "I should have just killed him as soon as I knew he took Katie."
"That would only have made you a murderer as well."
"If it stopped him . . . it would have been worth it."
L thought of all the discussions he'd had with Aleister, and of the fact that Coil would have had to find another patsy. "I am not so certain."
"All those people . . . and now Gellie and my sister too . . ."
"These things cannot be changed. What happens next is negotiable."
"I don't care what happens to me." Geoff stared at the floor.
"Then I suggest you focus on caring about what happens to others."
"My sister's dead. I can't –"
"Your parents are alive." L's tone was stern. "As are your friends. As is Janine." L wanted to shake him, as if that might dislodge the man's self-pity, but he kept himself in check. I may need him for the next phase of things, he thought.
"Yeah, but . . ." Geoff glanced at the bound man, "he's not going anywhere. He's not a threat now. You caught him, dude. You caught us both."
L swallowed. He seems genuinely distraught, he thought; whether he is trustworthy or not, he is clearly not the mastermind here, and the advantages to keeping him in place outweigh those of removing him. He will seek justice for his sister. I can use this. L made the leap. "There is a more insidious threat than a serial killer at work here."
Geoff's head tilted, his eyes slowly drifting back to meet L's. "What do you mean?"
"The man who purported to pursue Willette was in fact working with him." L's eyes flashed.
"Wait, like the police? Or . . ." Geoff's eyes widened. "Fuck – you mean Coil?"
"Correct, though that is likely not his real name."
"Oh yeah. Because he uses aliases, like L . . ."
"L is a separate entity." L let resentment color his voice. "If L had bothered to take on this case, it might have been solved more quickly."
"But why would Coil work with a killer he's trying to catch?"
"That is as yet unclear," L said, keeping the details to himself. "He stands to benefit from this, either by solving a problem he himself created or by covering up acts he committed, hiding them among crimes perpetrated by someone else. I do have evidence of his having tampered with a prior case, but nothing as brazen or horrific as what he's done here."
"If you have evidence, why hasn't he been charged?"
"Because it isn't enough. Too many people worldwide trust Coil. My division of the ICPO needs to establish a demonstrable pattern of deceptive and destructive behavior to prove that Coil is a dangerous criminal. Therefore, we will need to acquire more evidence in order to catch him. I am asking for your help."
"Dude . . ." Geoff stared at his hands, one of which was smeared with blood along one side, though it was not clear whose blood it was. "Nothing makes sense anymore."
"You are suffering from emotional trauma and are likely in a state of shock. Once you have recovered from this, you will be thinking more clearly."
"Maybe, but . . . I dunno what kind of help I'll be."
"Coil will take credit for the solution of this case. He will happily crow about his accomplishment and parade Willette in front of the media, assuming that everything has gone according to his plan. He will likely be so pleased with the bait that he will not notice the hook." L felt himself starting to slouch and stood straight again. "Odds are that Coil will want to speak to you himself anyway, but just to be sure, I want you to ask to speak to him. The lead police detective on the case is Devall – you'll need to make that request through him. You will recognize Coil as an older man with blue eyes, blond hair if he isn't wearing a wig, and sundamaged wrinkly skin on a rounded face. Even if he refuses to be physically present with you, however, you will likely know him by his smug tone and faint accent – South African with a bit of Quebecois."
"Why would he even talk to me?"
"Because you were manipulated by the Butcher and are a witness to his crimes. He will want to make sure that you were only a pawn and that you know nothing of his involvement. Speaking to Devall first will help keep you safe – he is one of the few law enforcement officials not under Coil's thumb, so Coil will be less likely to silence you preemptively." L thought he detected a shudder from Geoff. "I believe you are up to the task of deceiving him, considering how well you deceived me."
Geoff winced. "I couldn't tell anyone. It would have put you in danger too. Most of the time . . . I just tried not to think about it. I tried to forget . . ." He brought both hands up and stopped just short of pressing them into his face, staring directly at the scarlet liquid covering his left thumb and forefinger.
"I recommend that you use the same approach, then. Selective memory. It is important –"
"If I had told you, would you have helped me get Katie out?" Geoff's gaze pierced L's.
L blinked once. "Yes."
"Even if it meant blowing your cover?"
"I . . . would have tried to maintain my cover while helping you, but I would not have sacrificed your sister's life to do so." L wanted to believe the lie. Exchanging one cover for another, as he was doing now, was acceptable, but going further and exposing his identity as L was not. Only as a last resort, his last resort, would he do such a thing.
"Oh God. Why didn't I . . ." Geoff's body was wracked with sobs as his face fell onto his folded arms. He shook in the doorway, knees still pulled up in a similar position to L's usual one.
L waited. He could not comfort him. Even knowing why he'd done it, L was angry with Geoff for his deception and his naïveté in trusting a murderer to keep his word. L was angrier still at himself for failing to discern Geoff's role until now. People are better liars when they lie to themselves first, he thought. I cannot let my feelings about this distract from my goal, however. Not again. Not anymore.
After a minute or two, L cleared his throat. "Do you wish to atone for your actions, Mr. Thornapple?"
Geoff lifted his head from his arms, face now marred by a red smear on his forehead. "Yeah."
"Then help me draw Coil out. His influence makes his unscrupulous behavior much more dangerous. You may not have known that the Butcher was killing more people, but Coil certainly did."
"Just . . . tell me what to do."
"As I said, you will need to tell Detective Devall that you must speak directly to Coil. Wait until after you have been questioned at least once by the police before making this request. Simply tell them what you told me. The police will be more interested in gathering evidence implicating Willette, so they will likely agree to a deal with you. Some punishment will be involved, of course . . ."
"I don't care. I should be punished."
"That may be so, but you said earlier that you wished you had taken action to prevent the murders that have occurred. You now have the opportunity to take preventative action, without committing murder yourself. You will be less able to act if you are incarcerated. Also, it is plausible that your parents would want to keep you out of jail or at least reduce your sentence, so you should have them contact a lawyer on your behalf to negotiate a deal with the police. It will make your grief seem more genuine than if you ask for a lawyer."
Geoff reared back, his head hitting the wall. "You think I'm faking this?" His voice broke.
"I do not. However, detectives can be jaded and may see your asking for a deal as an indication that you were a more willing participant in these crimes than you say." L stared at the man, who was staring into space again. "When you have answered the police's questions, contact your parents and tell them that you do not yet have a lawyer. Then speak to Devall." Fingers dipping into a pocket, L extracted the worn business card and handed it to Geoff, who leaned forward and reached up to close the gap and take it. "You may tell Devall that Ezekiel Penn gave you this card on the day of the dance, but I must ask you not to blow my cover by telling him that I am Agent Roussel, and you must not give Coil either name. Do you understand?"
Geoff nodded but said nothing, staring at the card before tucking it into a pants pocket.
"Tell Devall that you must speak to Coil personally to give him a message from the Butcher. The police will be hesitant to allow this, but you must insist. Coil will want to hear the message without the police hearing it, since he will be afraid of what it might reveal."
"What message should I give him?"
"Hm. Something like . . ." L pressed the gloved knuckle of his thumb to his chin and looked up at the pipes lacing the ceiling.
"The puppy is dead and his prize was a whisper. If you look, you'll find his head in the crisper!"
L jumped back into a fighting stance, hammer raised and aimed at the bound figure. His eyes narrowed. "Was that a confession, Claude Willette?"
"Oh ho, you know, but how far will you go? The rabbit hole goes deep indeed –"
"Who is the puppy and how does he relate to the hound?" L interrupted.
"Oh so close, the piteous pawn, what will you do now your master is gone? Will you take his place in his disgrace – so much worse than the trap that caught you." Willette giggled, so wrapped in rope he was unable to manage more than a wormy wiggle on the floor.
L's face hardened as he met Willette's roving eye. "Did you really believe that you could best Coil and continue to murder people? All under the pretense of avenging your father? You do not fool me."
Willette's eyes widened. "What pretty deception is this – are you pawn or puppy?"
L let himself feel the anger, a scowl twisting his face. He is clearly attempting to bait me, he thought, but his terms cannot simply be random. Whether through his own perceptions or from things Coil has told him, he seems to know more about my role in this than could have been gained through eavesdropping just now. Let's see what else he recognizes. Noting Geoff's position still far enough away by the door, L dropped into a crouch, mustering the widest, most twisted grin he could, and leaned close to Willette. "It matters not if I am puppy or pawn," he rasped, "because a bitch always spawns a litter." He moved away, smile evaporating.
The Butcher jerked back and began to laugh soundlessly, body shaking, his mouth frozen open as if he were vomiting out some unseen poison.
Watching, L stayed silent, confirming to himself that Willette must have interacted with Beyond before he removed the boy's spleen. We are all pawns, L thought, including you. He stood, the hand holding the hammer hanging limp at his side, eyes half-lidded.
"When he confessed, I thought it was true," Willette's caramel brown eyes rolled sideways to meet L's, "but he must tell as many lies as you do."
"Why did you kill Angelica Fragaria?"
"You pretend not to know, but it's all for show, so why should I answer?"
"Because it is possible that I am wrong, and I want to hear it in your words."
"Oh, I wasn't sure, but now I see! Pawn you are, for puppy you cannot be. Impossible for him to show such humility . . ."
"Why did you murder Gellie?" L stared down at the murderer.
"Her end was a trap – it took you off the map! No other need to be decreed . . ."
"So you murdered a woman and burned her cat merely to trap someone you deem a 'pawn'? How frivolous."
"Not part of my tapestry, but woven in just the same – such a sweet, sweet smile she had, once her boyfriend, the cad, was taken out of the picture. He was in for the fix as my number six, though she was never the wiser. But what a pity her kitty had the run of the city. Every trace had to be erased, and what fun to ensnare you as well! By trapping the pawn, I sought to draw out the knight, who is locked in a fight to be king. Once the puppy was caught, his shining armor for naught, I could capture the crown of the hound. But it's true, too true, that the cupboard was bare, and I daresay that –"
"You have an appalling knack for mixing your metaphors." L kept his breathing steady, stomach twisting inside him. So he killed Gellie because he was running out of options, after having killed her ex-boyfriend for his sixth drop, and he burned the cat to dispose of any evidence still on it, which is as I had suspected, he thought. Apparently "L" is the puppy and the knight, and Coil is the hound and the king, and Willette murdered Beyond thinking he was me. I wonder if Beyond intended to impersonate me as a way of shifting the murderer's focus or if he was just being impulsive. Perhaps he was hoping it would save his life. L gripped the worn wooden handle of the hammer. "Where did –"
"Why did you kill Katie?" Geoff croaked, his expression bleak.
"Katie did and didn't do, though I did try to save her for you." Willette seemed almost sad, gazing toward Geoff. "But the hound insisted on setting his trap, not thinking of goals that might not overlap . . . I could not go out, and with few options to spare, I could only make use of whatever was there."
"You want us to believe that you intended to allow Katie to live and only murdered her because Coil's actions required you to remain hidden?" L fought the urge to sneer.
"Believe what you like, and do as you wish, but she was always the cherry on top of this dish." The bound man grinned at the ceiling, not noticing Geoff's clenching fists. "The rescuing hound would have ventured inbound, the conquering hero at last. He would have saved her, that was his plan, oh, but his glory would soon twist into quite another story. My mission, my missive, it was always to be the bright bright beacon of clarity."
Glimpsing the scattered tiles on the workbench, all of them face-down, letters hidden, L tilted his head. "So in your revised plan, her intestines would have been number twenty-two . . . Tell me, when you completed your twenty-sixth drop, would you have written out your coded message, or would you have used more body parts to spell it?"
Willette began giggling again, writhing and arching his back. "Sweet sweet epiphany – perhaps it is true and you are the puppy . . ."
"There are more players on the board than you realize. You have only noticed the most inept or self-aggrandizing participants. Or in Coil's case, both." L saw that Geoff was starting to stand, tense and trembling, his back sliding up against the doorjamb, and he raised a hand to placate him, still facing the Butcher. "Please answer the question."
"Oh so polite, yet not quite contrite . . ." Willette licked his lips. "If you really wanted to know, you'd simply let me go – I could finish my work unimpeded. But I will tell you this: it was my special bliss to collect all the ink that I needed."
So he intended to use an alphabetic substitution cipher using drawings of body parts written in the blood of his victims, very likely in a message that would expose Coil, L thought. How melodramatic. He decided not to confirm this aloud. "What message would you have sent?"
"Ha! That is a secret that I'll never tell, unless you follow me straight into Hell." The Butcher beamed up at him.
L rolled his eyes. Willette takes too much pleasure from this line of inquiry, he thought. Perhaps even more than revenge against Coil and a need to surpass his father, he simply desires attention. I will not give him the satisfaction. "What did you do with the bodies?"
"It would have been rash to take out the trash, so I took it in and gave it purpose."
L narrowed his eyes. "You gave the remaining bodies a purpose separate from the code you were creating with your alphabet of body parts?"
"'Waste not, want not' it used to be said, and what better way to make use of the dead. Their lives all spent, angelic emissions sent, their bodies a sin to give up for –"
"Answer his fucking question!" Geoff's strangled shout rang in the room.
Willette twisted around, back arched, to leer up at Geoff and began singing. "To everything, burn, burn, burn, there is a season, burn, burn, burn . . ."
Eyes widening, L felt the hammer slip from his grip and clang on the concrete floor. Of course, he thought, what an obvious way to get rid of the bodies, or at least reduce them, and dispose of any other physical evidence – what he did to Lucy even hints at this! Dropping back into a crouch, L pressed the heels of his gloved hands into the sides of Willette's neck. The murderer met his eyes, looking deep, seeming to see something unexpected, but he did not struggle. Several long seconds later, his eyes closed, and L released him, moving back from the man cocooned in rope.
"Did . . . did you kill him?" Geoff's voice was hushed.
"Of course not. I cut off the blood flow to his brain. He is unconscious." L swiveled his head to face Geoff. "Serial killers do seem to enjoy the sound of their own voices." Bending, he lifted the hammer from the floor and extended it handle-first to Geoff. "Can I trust you not to kill him?"
"He . . ." Geoff looked from L to Willette and back again. "I dunno, man."
"I do understand how you feel, but you need to set that aside for now. He will be punished, but he must remain alive for Coil to capture. If it is any consolation, I doubt that Coil will show him any mercy."
"It's . . . not." Geoff slumped, staring at L. "But OK." Reaching out, he accepted the weapon.
"Thank you." L turned to exit the room.
"Wait – I still don't know what message to give."
"I am considering a number of different phrasings." L spoke over his shoulder. "I will return and tell you in a few moments."
"But where are you going?"
"To confirm the Butcher's claims. Even if he has used the bodies as fuel, there should still be some evidence of them left behind." Not waiting for a response, L left the room, moving swiftly past shelves and crates, impatient to find whatever remains he could. If I can identify Beyond's remains, he thought, I can remove them – though if there is not enough left to identify him visually, I can at least take samples so that we can run tests. It's the least I can do for Beyond at this point, and it will allow Aleister some closure. L kept moving, his steps light, determined to get closer to heat and fire, his anger at Willette and Coil fueling a fire of his own.
#~~~~~~~~~~#~~~~~~~~~~#~~~~~~~~~~#~~~~~~~~~~#
Author's Note: Long section is long. Sorry for the delay in getting this posted – some annoying real life things are intervening, plus I wanted to go over events to come and make sure things connect and make sense. Not sure when I'll get the next chapter up, but hopefully it'll take less time. Unless another chapter springs fully formed from my head, it looks like we're going to 23 chapters.
A bit more insight into Geoff this time, and L finally confronts the murderer! Unfortunately, L has bigger fish to fry. I expect he'll figure out the voice thing by then. ^_^ More interaction with L's successor(s?) to come.
Thanks for reading!