A/N: Hey, guys, thanks to a reviewer of mine this chapter is up earlier than I said it would be! XD But, I will update Tuesday or Wednesday, since I'm updating more than I'm typing...again. But, here's chapter 15, fight scene included...
Disclaimer: Don't own anything except V.
Chapter 15: Reunion
Immediately after the devastating news sent to me by the dour caretaker of Wammy's House, I flew to Los Angeles. I don't know why I wished to go there, but it was better than both Tokyo and London combined. Those two cities merely contained ill reminders of my past, and I intended to forget it. As I blankly stood in the midst of the bustle in a Los Angeles airport, I noticed all the tan faces pass me. Some wore smiles, others studious frowns; even families ambled along, teeming of radiant bliss. If only I had such a family now or a friend or, desperately, a stranger—just anybody to guide me through this nightmarish agony. Solitude that I once welcomed oppressed me to the point that I longed to will it away.
Devoid of optimism, I escaped the airport crowds to walk miles and miles into the heart of Los Angeles. Emotionlessly walking past tropical palm trees, I thanked fate or the controller of this universe for the plentiful money I possessed. Roger had stopped me when I attempted running from Wammy's yesterday to give what my brother left for me in his will. Generous L had granted me extensive amounts of pounds to spend on anything, not just for survival. He was always wont to shower me with the best. I proved myself rather frugal, though, by buying myself a modest apartment in my current location.
After this, I resided in inevitable seclusion due to my desire to simply be alone. A brother's death can affect any sane person's psychological state of mind. I had fallen victim to such an incurable illness as that, my friends also not being there with me. It just took an emotional toll on me, I guess; I never imagined this overwhelming anguish to torture me. Pain served me as a constant shadow that darkened horribly with each passing day. I even consumed ice cream eight times a day now, spooning the treat to douse my grief. It's difficult to recover from a loved one's death. You can't exactly say that unless you know from experience, believe me. Because of this profoundly emotional impact, I sensed my habits becoming erratic. For one thing, I couldn't write a single song after the incident. It was as if the creative well within me that had pleased me for so long dried up like a cornfield after a draught. My passion grew evanescent and sadly died.
Whenever I strode to the nearest grocery store, I would buy pistachio ice cream along with cookie dough and rocky road flavors. I utilized the pistachio pint, the one flavor I detested, to punish myself. That is, until I unfortunately discovered one long night in the bathroom that I was allergic to them. Talk about self-deprecation at its lowest. I blamed my ill luck on irony, which was really a harsh mistress.
Nearly two years passed as the creative slump, the quality time with my two other best friends named Ben and Jerry, and constant telly watching continued. Every day elapsed in such a tireless, monotonous boredom that practically drove me mad.
Even playing Final Fantasy didn't alleviate my constant need for excitement. After three hours of playing a day, a neighbor complained to the landlord of how I yelled, "Stupid Cloud! Stupid, unsexy Cloud!" over and over again.
Believe it or not, that hadn't been me, I informed the landlord; the severely strong lungs belonged to a ten-year-old girl. She asked me if she could borrow my game, to which I emotionlessly responded in the affirmative.
Goes to show you to trust little girls with your T for teen rated video games.
Still don't believe me? The girl's mother lectured me on irresponsibility to infect her daughter's brain with such fantasy trash. Yes, my life had become odd for a time, despite the sorrow of my situation. The plight of the video game also compelled me to regret not renting a classy hotel room for myself. If I had decided to follow through with that plan, however, it would be easy for Light to track me down. He would corner me in the aforementioned hotel room and kill me with his pen and Death Note. Truthfully, I wasn't prepared to join L in the afterlife just yet. My life's purpose suggested that I avenge his death, which I would ensure to do. With that in mind, I tolerated the simple idiocy of some of my apartment neighbors, whose remarks on my weird habits I ignored. Back at the orphanage, the other children often commented on my weird ebony eyes and unkempt dark hair. The fact that I ate ice cream all the time contributed to the comments, too. I ceased to care once I turned thirteen.
Of course, I narrate absentmindedly. As I said, practically two years elapsed with such simple living. In fact, I even resorted to greeting my neighbors whenever I entered the complex after ten minutes' grocery shopping. I had completely settled with my new life, my optimism gradually returning to me. Here in sunny Los Angeles, I didn't have to think about death or notebooks or Kira. I could move on with life in general, dispelling all wretched thoughts of my past. Recovery would arrive more quickly in this manner.
But, peace and tranquility can never endure for long.
It seemed to be a normal Tuesday evening when this event occurred. Hauling brown paper grocery bags, I strode through the alleyway to the cheap apartment complex.
I never made it. For, the revving of an engine echoed throughout the alley, luminescent lights accompanying the distracting noise.
No, I didn't die. Would any of you honestly think I would let myself die by motorcycle?
Thankfully, though, I leapt out of the maneuverable vehicle's path before I became too stunned to move. The grocery bags tumbled from my grasp, pouring twelve pints of ice cream onto the asphalt below. Meanwhile, I briefly inspected my hands for any cuts or bruises; I found a small cut on my left palm, but that was about all the damage I had taken.
"Oi, watch where you're going next time, you git!" I shouted, utilizing British slang for once. And I only used that when I was severely angered or when I felt like it. The motorcyclist appeared to disregard my fury by merely walking toward me at a painstakingly slow rate. His helmet covered his face, so I knew not of his identity, which was all the more unnerving. I avoided speaking as I attempted fruitlessly to figure him out, studying his clothes in order to grant myself answers. Alas, I felt too stupid to even recognize this man, though instincts told me otherwise.
Just as he suddenly stopped in front of me, I inquired of him, "You're not who I think you are...are you?"
Before I could deduce further, he lunged at me, his hands poised toward my neck.
"Oh no, you don't!" I retaliated with a high kick aimed at his chest, which caught him immediately off-guard. He crashed against one of the dumpsters, but regained himself by punching me in the jaw. Before I collapsed entirely, I flung one hand on the agonizingly painful asphalt to catch myself. The stranger seized this opportunity to grab me by the arm. However, I kicked his leg out from under him to prevent him from following through with his unknown plot. Firmly wrapping my hand around his neck before he fell on his back, I murmured, "Who are you?"
No words eluded his mouth, though he did snort in a rather disdainful manner.
"I said who are you?!?" I loudly repeated, my eyes staring him down.
Finally, the enigmatic motorcyclist finally permitted a somewhat familiar voice to betray him. "Do you honestly have to ask that? And you were supposed to be so smart, too."
He had inadvertently confirmed my earlier suspicions, to tell the truth. "I knew it. I was just ensuring that I knew. Why approach me this way?"
"You're coming with me," he informed me gruffly.
"Like hell I am," I whispered as a retort to this order.
We proceeded to fight with all the energy we possessed, hurling punches as though our lives depended on it. I flung kicks at the not-so-strange visitor that correlated flawlessly with my brother's capoiera style of fighting. He had indeed taught me well. Unfortunately, I started to sense my strength and prowess ebbing, which brought about a vague flashback of mine to surface.
"I could have taken them on, you know."
"You could have, but you wouldn't have lasted long."
These two previously said sentences resounded in my head as he, one of my best friends, dragged me to his motorcycle. I struggled all the way, endeavoring to put up a grand fight. Kicking and trying to wrench myself from his iron grip, I became even wearier. At that point, I was forced to set my feet on the foot pegs of the motorcycle.
Everything blurred into one as Mello slammed his foot on the accelerator of his vehicle. People deformed to blobs, buildings transformed into just blocks, and I became dizzy from all the blood rushing to my head front and center. It didn't help that my motorcycle enthusiast friend promptly went through stoplights as though they implied nothing. What was even more eerie was the fact that he drove us through a desert. Sand swirled around us after the wheels distributed it. The gritty substance managed to reach the corners of my eyes, which burned them to the point I assumed I would lose them. Ten minutes elapsed like this in which we sped through the California desert.
Just when I expected Mello to drop me off in the middle of nowhere, a mysterious door opened. It lifted seemingly from the sand to display a dark opening that my current captor drove through and landed expertly. He turned off the ignition soon after, taking off his helmet to reveal his face. It still held his distinct features, though his blue eyes possessed an almost demonic gleam to them, maddened with greed and power.
I wondered how Mello came upon these qualities he had never had years previous.
"Like the hideout?" he asked casually, looking at me as I remained perched on the motorcycle seat. "Being in the Mafia has its perks, you know."
I admit that I did feel somewhat surprised at this bit of news. Mello's street smarts had always gotten him far, but I never anticipated him to resort to gang activity. And why would he even join the Mafia in the first place?
Stiffly appraising his demented smirk, I replied, "That's quite a drastic change for you, Mello. And I have several questions to ask you."
The sneer quickly distorted into a displeased snarl. "You always wanted the answers, V. Never one to appreciate the finer things in life—no wonder everyone thought you were weird."
"If the 'finer things in life' indicate a shabby hideout, among other things, then I'm not too impressed. Just answer my questions."
"Fine!" he spat bitterly, gripping my hand rather tightly as he dragged me to the main room of his headquarters.
Mello's associates appeared unfriendly, to say the least. Promiscuous girlfriends sat next to a couple of these men, who took swigs from their beer cans as though life was merely that to them. They coolly acknowledged me with nods, if that; one of them was eyeing me in a much too predatory manner.
"I got L's sister," Mello, who seemed to be the leader of these horrid people, announced. "She might help us get Kira, and, more importantly, one of those notebooks."
Intrigued at this prospect of having a Death Note within their grasps, the men chatted avidly, albeit drunkenly, amongst themselves. I mutely watched them as my inward questions had been answered with that simple explanation.
Mello saw me as a pawn instead of a friend, a pawn who could help obtain a Death Note. He didn't care about saving the world, just his own lust for power that seemed nearly insatiable. If that was what he truly desired, I refused to cooperate with him. Sure, my loyalty toward him existed, but a line had to be drawn. If his plot succeeded, he would start killing people, Near probably being among the victims. And if push came to shove, I would opt to prevent my friend from becoming another Light Yagami.
I would even steal the Death Note if I had to in order to try destroying it.
"I wonder if fire could work," I mused under my breath, though I doubted I could destroy the blasted thing. Unfortunately, Mello grunted as he glanced over at me.
"What did you say?" he inquired in a very low tone, his eyes narrowed suspiciously.
"I said that maybe we could find Kira's location and set that place on fire."
"Too risky," he replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. "He'll kill us for sure if we did that—never mind, though. Come with me."
Once again, Mello gripped my arm until I thought it would commence bleeding as he guided me deeper into the slipshod hideout. We walked through a corridor that leaked from the ceiling and (I swear) had an occasional rat or two. At the end of it were barely safe stairs that lead to a door that held on by rusted hinges. Mello opened this door and released me.
While I massaged my aching arm, he told me, "You're going to stay here until I can think up something useful for you to do. Or...maybe you wouldn't mind telling us where we can get Kira's Death Note. You did work with your brother, right?"
I kept the slight dilation of my eyes under control. How did Mello discover that fact? Then again, he had the connections, so there could hardly be any doubts.
"I won't say if I did. I'm not stupid, Mello."
"Well, I know for a fact you did. You abandoned us to work on the Kira case, didn't you?"
I sighed, folding my arms across my chest. "No, it was originally meant to be a vacation."
"Liar! But, none of that matters right now. If you want to avenge your brother's death, you are going to do whatever it is I ask you to do! Got it?!?"
Mello decided to not give me time to respond as he abrasively slammed the door in my face, practically tearing it off its hinges. Some things would never change. I blankly gazed at the door for a few minutes. In those minutes, I reflected on my plight, wondering what to plan for my next objective. I knew for certain that I couldn't stay here, for I would be a hypocrite if I did. L would never have wanted me to work with the Mafia, much less use the Death Note. But, my loyalty to my friends was at stake, a trait I preferred not to sacrifice. Thus, I found myself at an inevitable crossroads.
At a complete and utter loss, I deliberately turned around in order to note the details of my current quarters. As I did so, I thought I heard the sound of gloved fingers pressing buttons of a certain gaming device.
"Matt?" I whispered softly, hoping for the best of circumstances.
From the other side of the bed, a red head, darkened with age, perked upwards and the button pressing temporarily ceased.
"Hey, V," he grinned as though it had regressed to old times, "haven't seen you in a while. And you still didn't send me that postcard. Tsk, tsk, what should I do with you?"
I started laughing lightly and proceeded to walk around the bed to sit next to Matt on the floor. We then conversed regarding Japan.
"It's beautiful, Matt," I gushed over the country. "You should see it some time. Even if my experiences there were less than perfect."
Matt's emerald eyes glazed over after he listened to my opinion of Japan. I guess he briefly pondered over my words.
He proceeded to reply with, "Yeah, I bet it's great."
That seemed rather simplistic coming from him, but he was always a lazy person, even when it came to talking. I sank against the bed, propping myself up on my elbows, contemplating over what to say next. Wondering why Mello changed served as a major factor in this. Why was he so crazy, on the verge of raging insanity?
"What's happening to Mello lately?" I inquired, murmuring to the redhead beside me. "He seems even less sane than when I saw him last."
Matt promptly lit a cigarette after my observation, watching the smoke drift steadily higher once he popped the nicotine stick in his mouth.
"You know, a year ago I just would have blamed it on his personality. But, actually...it's because Roger suggested that he and Near work together after L died."
"What an idiot," I muttered sourly, referring to the headmaster of the orphanage. Of course Mello would spiral out of control if something like that ever occurred.
Relaxing languidly as he resumed playing his game, Matt said rather apathetically, "Took you long enough to figure that one out. Look, here's the bottom line to this. Mello thinks that getting this Death Note thingy or whatever is the only way to catch Kira, or kill him. And he thinks that you, L's sister, are the answer to all our prayers."
I scrambled awkwardly onto the worn-out bed to prepare for sleep, though I uttered a few more words. "I'll tell you right now that I won't take part in any killing."
"OK," Matt drawled, withdrawing into his bored, careless state that I now disliked, "piss off Mello. I'm just along for the ride. But, seriously, V, is he right when he says you ditched us for the case?"
Was that suppressed resentment in his voice? I fretted over this potential dark side before sleeping.
A/N: I didn't say this would be a happy reunion when it came to picking the chapter title. Oh, and sorry for that random part with the little girl playing V's video game. That was way too out there. 0_0 Hm, and Matt's a little OOC in this one, but I'm guessing loyalty means a lot to him. And for someone supposedly disloyal like V... Oh, and Mello's not being very nice obviously. That's why you shouldn't join gangs, guys! XP
Next chapter is not gonna be pretty, I'm telling you that right now. Review please!