It's surprisingly easy to just pack up and leave. I don't tell my landlord where I'm going. I don't tell those charming folks at Wammy's House. I've got my check from them in the mail, and have turned it into some cash. It's not much, but I'm sure every little bit helps. He is flying me over there, the least I can do is pay him back for my plane ticket.
Right before I leave, I scan what's left in my apartment. I'm depressed at what I see. I see the evidence of someone with no life at all. I'm glad to be getting away from here, even if it's to a place where what I'll be doing might get me killed.
Mello may not realize it, but I hate Kira just as much as he does, but for different, although related, reasons. He hates Kira because Kira killed L. I hate Kira because, when L died, Mello left, and when Mello left, I died a bit too.
I shake my head. I'm so fucking gay sometimes. With that last charming though, I close the door, pick my pathetically small bag from the floor of the hallway, and leave.
I've tried to make my apartment more inhabitable for someone besides me. It isn't working very well. I'm making a note here, complete failure. I gaze around the still cluttered, still small, still ugly rooms. Well, at least there aren't wrappers on the floor anymore. I shoved those all into my closet, seeing as I don't own a rubbish bin.
My closet is one of the only places in my house that's full of something besides computers, wires, cables, and other crap like that. Someone gazing in would probably think I stole it's contents. I guess if I sold most of my leather, silver, and fur, I'd have enough money to move into a nicer place. I'm too fucking stubborn. I wear everything in there, and I refuse to sell it. If I'm going to live in this filthy dump, I'm going to look good.
I glance at the clock.
I'm instantly alert. Matt's plane should be landing soon.
Now, as a wanted criminal, an airport would probably not be the best place for me to show up. A quick call fixes this. One of the few people I can almost trust from the mafia is going to be there waiting for him. I can return to my attempted cleaning up in peace.
I step off the plane, queasy. I hate heights, Jesus Christ, how I hate heights. I thank whatever gods are watching over me that I didn't pass out. The flight attendant winks at me as I race to get away from the plane, but I pay her no heed. She was a pretty girl, and think she tried to give me her number, but I didn't eve look at anything she gave me. Hope she's not offended.
After claiming my (one) bag, I leave the airport. I head to the fancy-looking hotel across the way from the airport. It's all part of the plan he and I had discussed. He'd told me to go to the café on the first floor, and that I'd be picked up from there.
As I walk in, the workers ignore me. I feel better that they don't pay attention to me, because that would bring up unwanted questions. If I just acted like I belong here, nobody questions me. It's when I get to the café, which is deserted, that I realize I have no clue what comes next. Will Mello be here? Ill he send someone else? How will I know? Shit, I'm so confused. Questions swirl through my head. I need a fuckin' smoke. As I stop paying attention for long enough to get the damn thing out of the pack I have stored in my pocket, I can sense movement in the darker corner of the hallway. By the time I look up, it's too late. I feel the pinch of a needle, and then I'm flying fucking high. I'm being led by this huge guy, eyes wide as saucers. The thought that I've been drugged doesn't even cross my mind. Nothing much does at all.
I actually come to my senses, and I have no clue where I am at first. Then, I feel a jolt from the floor, and I realize, I'm in a car. My mind is spinning from whatever that guy (who was now driving) put in me, but I didn't want to say anything, because the one watching me didn't exactly look like officer friendly. He see's that I'm (awake?) and gives me a small nod. I take that to mean they're taking me to Mello.
Wrong.
I switched cars three or four times, with different drivers every time. Finally, the last one comes to a halt on a dreary, poor-looking street. A polite way of saying it is that the man who had been driving this car literally kicked me out, and threw my bag after me as he sped away.
Climbing to my feet, I look around. Large, crappy apartment complexes, and not a soul in sight. I have no clue which one is his. I can't call him, I left my phone back at my old place. It could've been used to trace me, and now I have a reason to hide. I don't need Wammy's House stalking me here.
Well, shit.
I sit on the curb and take out my Gameboy. Sooner or later, I'll get an idea, but until then, I might as well entertain myself.
When I get a simple call, telling that Matt has been delivered, I wait patiently. And wait. And wait. This is really pissing me off, after I've been waiting for an hour. I stick my head out my window, trying to see if I can find him.
What I do see is a red-haired guy sitting on the curb, fiddling with something. Even from my position on the third floor, I can tell it's probably a phone, or one of those handheld gaming systems.
I can't see any other reason someone would just sit there, so this has to be Matt. I'm excited, but out of habit, I mask my emotions. Putting on my calm, cold face, I glance in the mirror. This is the first time I'm seeing this dude in five years, and I intend to make an impression. And, in my honest opinion, nothing makes an impression like leather, crosses, and the outline of my gun, not-so-hidden in my waistband.
I'm down the stairs pretty fast, and almost completely silent. It's not like the neighbors are going to care, even if I stampeded down. Everyone in this building has something to hide, and none of us are gonna call the cops on the other for something like being too loud.
He's sitting there, barely twenty feet away. Memories of the House come flooding back, but I push them aside. This is no time to be sentimental. When I'm about ten feet away, I pull out my gun. I aim for a spot on the ground next to him.
The loudness of the shot (probably along with the fact that it was very, very close to him) certainly caught Matt's attention. He jumped to his feet.
I have to admit, that scared the crap out of me. I drop my Gameboy, and scramble around, only to see Him. He looks like a god to me. I've never seen a mortal person with eyes that blue.
The gun is aimed at my forehead.
"Would you be willing to die for this?" he asks me.
It's been five years since I've heard that voice up close. The last time I heard it, it was choked with sorrow. Emotion. Now it was blank, but I could hear a hint of the weariness he must feel. He was trying to be strong, and frightening, and he was succeeding, but I could hear something he was trying to hide too.
"Y-yes," I manage to reply. I'm scared shitless.
He moves in, closer. Oh god, the look in his face right now. I think he's actually going to kill me. He's brought me here so he could fucking kill me himself. I'm scared fucking shitless, but I'm not going to go a coward. I clench my eyes shut, and listen, waiting for the gunshot. It doesn't come. After several seconds, I cautiously open my eyes. Then gun's gone, and He's right in front of me, looking me in the eyes.
"Then what are you sitting on the ground for?" he asks, and for a second, I see a flash of the Old Mello, the one I spent my childhood with, in front of me, but it's gone.
"Come on," he says, offering me a hand to get up. He's so cold. I have to resist the urge to squeeze his hand to warm it. But no, the contact is broken after helping me up, and I follow him up to the apartment where we will now live.
I felt bad, doing that to Matt. But I had to know if he'd face death for this. I hope he'll forgive me for that, but I won't apologize. I'm leading him up the stairs, and I get to the door of my apartment.
"Welcome home," I say dryly, pushing open the door.
He's here, L. Now I'll be able to find Kira that much faster. Just a little while longer, L.