notes/warnings
+ point-of-view may occasionally shift, both in this chapter and others.
+ edited to change names, because I am stupid. 'wendy' is not 'wedy'. changed her name to 'jasmine' so there's no confusion. I should really think these things through. sorry, guys.
Rules
You are just a face in the crowd.
There are people everywhere. Some of them you recognise. Some of them you've never seen before. All of them stare right through you.
There's a man with white hair who looks so old you're surprised he's still alive. He's clutching the arm of a much younger woman. You know her name. It's Linda. She's a Wammy's graduate from a long time ago. And just over there is a middle aged woman with a toddler in each arm, who's shouting to someone across the room. And two girls hand-in-hand, clearly looking for a fight from anyone stupid enough to point that fact out to them. They stop and make out about half a metre from you, like they haven't even noticed you're not part of the furniture. A man with six crucifixes hanging from his neck glowers at them and mumbles a prayer under his breath. You're not sure whether he's praying for their salvation, or for them to burn in hell. The girls notice him and turn around, both visibly livid. A big group of young men wander between you and them, and you don't see how the altercation ends.
So many people, and they all seem so ordinary. Just a grab-bag sample of everyday society.
But if they're here, then they must have one thing in common. They must all, every one of them, be brilliant.
This is the Last Convention, a gathering of the great minds. The world's final, and most fervent attempt to defeat the monster that is Kira.
Somewhere in the throng are the two people they've all come to see, the only two who could ever have made such a thing possible. Hidden completely because no-one knows their faces, or their names, but they'll all be told enough when the time comes.
Soon.
You know their names and their faces, both.
L. Near.
L Lawliet. Nate River.
Maybe that's why they let you work here tonight. Too worried you'll spill the beans to someone out of spite.
Maybe you would, too. You'll do a lot of things out of spite. People always tell you that, when they bother to talk to you. They always seem desperate to explain why you're rotten to the core. Why it's lucky you're so incompetent, or maybe you'd be the next mass murderer.
You know. You're just a security guard here. You're no-one. Kira wouldn't look twice at you, even if you ran up to him with a gun. Not that anyone will let you have a gun. What kind of fucking security is that, anyway?
"Hey," says Dwayne, who thinks he's your best friend. "Check out that girl over there. Whoooeee. Is she somethin'?"
Dwayne's six foot wide and five foot tall, the only guy at work who's more overweight than you are. He picks his ears constantly, and has the personality of a hosepipe.
"You should spend more time with him," your boss told you, once. "You need friends. You know, people who are...on your level."
Your friends are too good for you. You're everyone's charity case.
You look in the direction Dwayne's pointing, and there's Jasmine. She's as beautiful as ever, dressed plainly in jeans and a singlet top, with her hair fanned out over her shoulders. She's talking to someone. She's got a smile for everyone, that girl. Even you.
Fuck Jasmine. She's a size six, huge boobs, eternally happy, ring on her finger the size of the world.
"She's engaged," you tell Dwayne, but you don't want to talk about it. You don't want to think about it.
She's engaged to the only person you ever cared about, and you hate her for it.
But that doesn't matter either. No one cares what you think.
Not even him.
L turns around. He's not quite sure what he was expecting.
"You killed me, did you?" he asks.
The possibility had crossed his mind, although he'd never really been able to work out his exact cause of death. According to the others, Kira had never learned his real name. He'd always presumed Misa Amane had been the missing link, somehow. That's why he'd been so careful to keep her out of the building once the handcuffs had come off.
But he'd never been certain. Not more than thirty-nine percent.
"I'm sorry."
L raises his eyebrows.
"If you are genuinely sorry, then that makes it highly likely you were either obligated or manipulated into killing me. I admit, I'm also mystified as to why a Shinigami would apologise for killing a human. Rem, wasn't it?"
"Yes, that's right."
She's barely changed since L last saw her. He decides she's probably the same breed of death god as Rae, skeleton-like and towering. But Rem has a whole body of vertebrae, instead of Rae's tiny skulls formed into approximations of normal human bones. And her visible eye seems normal, not blazing and fire-engine red. He wonders why.
L's never really formed an opinion of Rem. Back in the Kira days, she had simply been 'the Shinigami' in his mind. L's still not sure what to make of her.
"Strange," he says, sticking his thumb in his mouth. "I imagined I saw you uttery destroyed, right before I died."
He's not sure why he saw it. It was just a flash of colour, a moment of someone else's life thrown in with the fear and surprise and Light's terrible face and the pain in his chest and the big wide flashing 'game over'.
"I was," she says softly. Her voice is ethereal, almost pleasant. "I broke the rules, and was decimated."
"I see," he says. "And yet you are here, as all dead things are."
"It seems the original rules of the death note regarding occurrences after death are misleading," she agrees. "I cannot fully comprehend the meaning of it. However, I can tell you that a Shinigami, once destroyed, is no longer able to return to the human world where it died. So I am here with the dead, instead of there, with the living."
"And the piece of paper you handed me was torn from of your own note," L continues. "So I would be able to see you immediately. Impressive."
"I thought that was the best thing to do," she tells him, apparently ignoring the flattery.
L gets up from the table.
"So, what did you want from me, Rem? Is there somewhere you'd like us to go?"
"Here is fine," Rem says, crouching down so her face is level with his. "We don't have a lot of time, L. I'm not supposed to be speaking to you."
"It seems at times that the rules that govern your species are more complex than the ones that govern mine," he says, smiling a little. "What is it that you wish to tell me?"
She sighs.
"First of all, I want you to know that I protested against the king's assignment to you," she says quietly. "I don't know if it will make you feel better, but the decision was not unanimous."
"I see. This is about Rae."
"Yes, L. How are you? Have you been all right?"
L tilts his head. It's a general question, given the context.
"It's tried to torture me, but not with any success. Since then, we've been fine."
She frowns for a moment.
"The rules are supposed to be that a human cannot be harmed or rescued by an assigned Shinigami," she says. "Also, I am surprised that you use the term 'it'. Most Shinigami have assigned genders. But perhaps you are right, and Rae is best considered as a ...thing."
"It seemed to suit," L says. Some small part of him is enjoying hearing Rae spoken about in this way.
"I apologise, also, for the fact that you have been injured, however much you may brush it off," she adds.
"Cannot be harmed or rescued," L muses. "Is that what you did, Rem? Tried to rescue someone?"
She sighs, and L can feel the sadness emanating from her.
"I did rescue someone," she says. "By killing you."
"Hm."
L crouches down and plucks at a blade of grass, keeping his lollipop safely away from the dirt with his other hand.
"Then, by process of elimination, that person must have been Misa Amane," he deduces.
He was killed within hours of telling Light that Amane would die if convicted. Of course. Then she was, always was, the second Kira. That's how it was done. A revelation. L isn't particularly satisfied by the knowledge, but it's better to know.
It is always better to know.
"Yes," Rem says, so very softly. "I cared for her."
"Inappropriately. And now you cannot get back to her, because you cannot go back to the first human world."
L wonders absently if the entire purpose of death is to separate people from the ones they love.
"It doesn't matter now," Rem says softly.
L's eyes widen.
"Misa is dead?"
"For about six months now," Rem tells him gravely. "She is in hell."
L watches her carefully, mind racing.
"Can you not save her?" he asks lightly, the most important question in the world.
Rem looks briefly horrified.
"From hell? No. I'm afraid that isn't possible. To start with, hell isn't just in one place. It depends on the individual. I have no idea what would constitue hell for Misa, and even if I did, I couldn't be sure of her location. And, of course, to attempt to free someone from hell would result in my permanent dissolution."
"I see," L says. "And it's also impossible for a human to attempt to save another human from hell."
"You would get nowhere," Rem tells him. "No, the only thing to be done is to wait and hope. "
L stares at her.
"Hope? What hope?"
Rem shakes her head and stands up.
"For redemption, of course."
"I thought that was an urban myth," L tells her, and then laughs. "Then again, there was a time when I thought gods of death were nothing more than characters in a child's storybook."
"Redemption is as real as I am," Rem tells him. "But there's nothing you or I can do to influence the course."
She holds a bony finger right in front of his face, as if to illustrate the point.
"Every soul gets one chance, one test, one specified event, choice, or period of time, in which they can redeem themselves. They will not know when it is, or what it is, but those who have some good left in their character will do the right thing, and ejected from hell."
L feels his heart rate pick up, in spite of himself. His protege. Surely.
Surely.
Please.
"I know there is some good left in Misa Amane's heart," Rem says, oblivious to his excited internal monologue. "She will save herself, and soon. In fact, I was going to break the rules again, and send myself on."
L wonders if he should inform her of his own doubts as to Amane's character. To him, she had always been an extension of Light, and therefore, evil.
"Send yourself on?" L asks, instead.
"Redemption means death," Rem tells him. "Those who are in hell will not come back here, no matter what they do. They are moved on."
"Oh."
"So going to where Misa might arrive was my original intention," she continues. "But it appears I need to stay here a little longer and keep an eye on you."
L rests his head in one hand.
"Why?" he asks curiously. "Do you care about me now?"
"Don't flatter yourself," she says. "You hurt Misa, and I have not forgotten that. But I dislike suffering, and I reluctantly recognise that you are not as rotten as other humans."
That's a lie. Or at least, it's not the entire truth.
"You think I'm suffering?"
"I think you will," she tells him pointedly.
"Well, that's a positive sort of attitude," he says boredly.
Rem grabs him by the collar of the shirt and lifts him off his feet with one hand.
"Listen to me, L Lawliet. Shinigami are supposed to be impartial to the human worlds, but that is not always true. I care for people, and you are correct, that is inappropriate. But Rae isn't like me. Rae hates this world, and everything in it, including you."
"I see," L says. He's suspected as much. "I can't actually breathe right now."
She sets him back down surprisingly gently.
"So you see, you need to be careful. Rae only wants to be king, and nothing will stand in its way."
"I will," L says calmly.
Rem touches his hand.
"Then you need to have your wits about you, L. Whatever you do, no matter what, you must not surrender your memories to Rae. You must never give up ownership of the death note. It will do you harm you if it gets the slightest opportunity. Such an opportunity must never be given."
"I understand," L tells her sincerely. "Thank you."
Rem seems to deflate a little at his words.
"That's...that's all I have to say to you right now, L. I should leave. Rae's meeting with the king will not last much longer."
"Yes, perhaps that would be best."
Why couldn't Rem be heir to the throne, L wonders wildly, irrationally.
Because she'd never succeed in corrupting anyone, of course. She hands him something, another scrap of paper.
"Put it in your belt, the one you wear all the time," she commands. "You'll always be able to see me. Rae will not be able to know you are carrying a piece of my note unless you tell it."
L takes it, surprised.
"Am I likely to see you again?" he asks. She sounds very final.
"Rae will have another meeting in exactly three hundred and sixty-four days," she tells him. "I'll contact you again then."
L tucks the paper into his belt, behind the buckle.
"All right. I may even look forward to it."
She rolls her eyes.
"Don't you go getting attached to me, now. Heaven only knows what would happen to a human that develops feelings for a Shinigami."
"I think I'm probably safe," L deadpans. The thought of it makes him want to laugh.
"There is one more thing," she says, stretching her wings. "There is the name of a dead woman on the piece of paper I just gave you. I'd recommend that you do some research on her. You may find her case very...interesting."
L shoves the lollipop back in his mouth.
"Fpeaking of dead women," he says comfortably. "I have one laft requeft of you, too."
"Why did I kill Dakis?" she guesses.
"Yes."
"Because Rae thought it could use her to break you, and she was only useful in that way while she was alive. And...I hate Rae."
"How very linear of you," L says.
And there it was, the real reason she was helping him. Shinigami rivalry. Rem shrugs and starts to flap, the breeze whipping L's hair around his face.
"Good luck, detective," she says as she lifts silently off the ground. "I will see you in one year."
"Goodbye," L says, maybe a little wistfully. "But I won't need your luck, Shinigami."
He'll be fine.
Rae appears by his side about five minutes later. Rem apparently has very good timing.
"Did you miss me?"
"Were you gone?" L asks. "I thought it had gotten quiet."
"Very funny," Rae says sarcastically. "What have you been doing?"
"We were out of cake," L tells it. The universally-accepted explanation for anything out of the ordinary that L ever does.
"One day your metabolism is going to catch up with you," Rae tells him. "And then you'll be as big as a house."
"Your words wound me," L says conversationally. "Did you realise you've been with me for over four months now?"
"Yess," Rae hisses, as though the mere thought of their situation is disgusting.
"I should get a calendar and start counting down the days," L tells it cheerfully. "Four years and eight months to go."
Rae snorts suddenly, a loud explosive noise, as if its desperately trying to stifle a laugh. It seems to get itself under control quickly, however.
"It won't take that long," the Shinigami tells him. "I promise you."
"How long do you think it will take?" L asks, with interest. "How long until my estimated breaking point?"
"Two years, maximum," Rae tells him haughtily. "I've worked it out. You'll give in. I'll win."
L pushes both hands into his pockets.
Rem had been easy to kill because she cared about people. Rae...he doesn't think Rae's capable of caring for anyone, human or Shinigami. So there's no conceivable way to get rid of it other than waiting for the full five years.
A challenge.
"Two years? Is that all you think of me?" he says sadly. "I was certain you'd give me at least three."
"Aww, were you wrong again, detective?"
L's not really focusing on the banter. His mind is still buzzing, alive with what Rem had told him.
"So, where did you go?" he asks casually. "Don't tell me you're tormenting more than one person at once."
"None of your business if I was," Rae informs him haughtily.
L strokes his neck.
"Of course, if I had to make another guess, I'd say you'd been back to the Shinigami realm," he says blandly. "Giving them an update on me?"
"You think the world revolves around you?" Rae asks darkly.
"Ah," L says meekly. "That's a 'yes', though, isn't it? You've been to see the king. Or someone else that's of a similar calibre. Am I wrong?"
"No one is of a similar calibre to the king except me," Rae informs him. "The others are just Shinigami. Equals."
"Peasants?" L asks, smiling.
"Something like that," the death god says agreeably, apparently preening. "And then, above them, just the king and myself."
"So what makes you special?" L asks. "For that matter, what makes the king special? Intelligence alone, or something else?"
"I guess you'll never know. What a pity."
"I'm more interested in whether you know," L tells it. The more he learns about the gods of death, the more he's fascinated by them. Rae ignores him, but he had expected that.
L walks in silence for a while, while the Shinigami stares at the sky, watching the crows wheeling past. London is a big city, a filthy city. L somewhat adores it.
"You're not allowed to torture me any more, are you?" L asks after a good ten minutes.
Rae's eyes widen for a split second before it snarls at him.
"You're guessing!"
"Eh, I just figured it had to be against the rules," L says comfortably. "And now I know."
He's pleased when Rae sputters and doesn't respond.
Small victories, small victories.
L doesn't really invest a lot of effort in the arsonist case. At least, not until two weeks later, when someone reports a new sort of fire.
Lambeth. Middle of London. Right on his front doorstep.
They race to the scene, mostly because they've all been bored the past few days. It's still nothing special, not really. The police could still probably handle it. They're only doing it because it suits them.
Despite the case's unimportance, what he sees is still a shock to him. No-one ever really gets used to the image of a charred human body with the flesh burning off the bones.
"Still on fire," Raye says, surprised. "We got here quickly, but I didn't think..."
The tip off had been a call from a public phone, a muffled voice that had refused to identify itself. L had listened to the police recording of the conversation during the drive.
The victim is nailed to a crucifix, set on fire in the middle of a church.
Cocky. They'd been cocky. No guarantee someone wouldn't walk in, not in a place this popular and close to town.
The building is undamaged, all brick and stone, not really flammable. The near-life-sized cross is the only wooden thing around, the flames throwing shadows that dance across the wall. M stares at the body with a blank expression on his face, his hands shaking so hard even Matsuda notices.
N grabs him and wraps her arms over his eyes.
"Don't look," she says. "Don't look, don't look."
M is more trouble than he's worth, sometimes.
"Anyone know who this person is?" Matsuda asks. T asks. He scratches his head, his expression intensely sad. Despite all the years of detective work - of murder and mutilation and rape and suffering - T's never become even the least bit desensitized. L doesn't know how he survives.
"The forensics team are on their way," Watari says, catching up with them. "You need to take any evidence you want now, L."
R's already got his phone out, snapping pictures like the excellent spy he is. L walks closer, and peers at the body, almost in range of the flames.
"I'll laugh if your head catches on fire," Rae tells him, poking at the victim's chest. L follows his movement. There's an unusual dent in what remains of the flesh, like something was cut into it shortly before death. A curved line and an adjoining horizontal line. The number 2.
"I don't think I need any samples," L announces quietly. "It's fine. Just have them send the pathology report. We need to know who he or she was."
He's still holding a spoon between his fingertips, a remnant of the pineapple jelly he'd been enjoying not sixteen minutes ago.
"I think this was intentional," he says, finally. "Sixty-one percent sure this was intentional. I just don't know whether it's significant."
It seems like nothing, like the sort of thing even T could solve on his own. But the arson has turned to murder without any good reason at all, and L has an odd itchy feeling, like he's missing something.
"We'll wait and see how this plays out," he mutters.
Five days later, another building goes down in flames. Only this time, it's in Aberdeenshire, Scotland. A school in Westhill, a whole building burned down to the ground by the time anyone realised what was happening.
"With no one inside," N tells him. "No deaths. Nobody unaccounted for."
L stares at the report in front of him, absently stacking dirty saucers into a tower with his left hand.
"So, very similar to the initial six attacks," he says slowly.
"Identical, according to my research," M tells them. He's sitting crosslegged on the floor, laptop resting on his knees. "In each case so far, the fire was started with a mixture of oil and kerosene, used to douse one particular item of furniture. In each case, the remains of a cigarette lighter was found in the ruins. In each case, no hair, no skin cells, no footprints or fingerprints, no incriminating evidence left at the scene."
"So we're looking at one person - or group of people - responsible for the building fires, and a second responsible for burning Karl Ricketts at the stake?" T asks, swinging his legs. L wishes he wouldn't sit on the desk like that. It's irritating.
"I wish it were that simple," L tells him wearily. "The attacks are too different in nature to suspect that one is simply a copycat, and the yet conditions of Ricketts' murder are identical to the other incidents, right down to the type of lighter used. I'm forty-five percent certain we're dealing with one person - or one group - who is responsible."
"The same person?" R muses. "But why? I can understand if the original fires were leading up to the murder, but why go back to setting buildings alight afterwards?"
"It's a new place," N tells him. They're holding hands. "Scotland. Maybe our arsonist is trying to see how many times they can get away with it?"
"Or was it a statement?" T wonders. "Was he saying 'hey, I consider Karl Ricketts to just be a piece of furniture'?"
"That was a surprisingly intelligent remark," M informs him blandly.
"Thanks!"
Karl Ricketts. The dux of the Essex Young Genius Aggregation, a very selective tertiary education facility that prides itself on producing brilliant scientists. He was twenty-two, lived with his disabled sister, and worked around the clock in a pharmacological research laboratory. Trying to find a medical cure for cancer. Atheist. Excellent cricket player. Both parents dead. Didn't have a lot of social skills, preferred to stay at home.
"Why would anyone want to kill him?" N asks the room in general. "I mean, was it jealousy, because he was brilliant? Or did someone object to his research?"
"Whatever it was, they went to an awful lot of trouble for no apparent reason," M comments.
"He was said to have an IQ to rival your own, L," R joins in cautiously. "If they're going after geniuses..."
"Then they'll come after me, next," L murmurs, cupping his chin in his hand. "Fascinating. But I doubt intellect is the sole motivation."
He snaps his fingers and points to a photograph lying on the table in front of him, one of the ones that R had taken as the body burned.
"Why burn an atheist on a cross? There's a religious component to the motive, I suspect."
"How suspicious are you?" Rae asks sweetly. "Come on, I really want to know. Give me an answer accurate to at least the ninth decimal place."
L stares at the Shinigami stonily.
"And the mark on his chest," M says, "is bothering me. Why two? What's the significance. Was there a first murder by this arsonist that we missed?"
"Can we have an alias for the arsonist, now?" T asks petulantly. "What about Arcy?"
"We're not even convinced it's one person yet," N tells him exasperatedly. "Please don't go getting ahead of yourself."
"Can't he focus on the task at hand for more than five minutes?" Rae asks cattily, gesturing at Matsuda.
"I'm uneasy about this, L," R says bluntly.
"I don't believe anyone is at an increased level of danger right now," L tells R. "There's no indication that our arsonist will murder again."
Actually, L is already twenty-seven percent certain that there will be a second murder. Or a third, if M's guess is correct.
"I do find it interesting, however," he continues, "that the body was reported to the police station just down the street, when the West End Station is about four suburbs closer to the location of the church."
"That hadn't occurred to me," N admits, sounding a little disappointed in herself. "This whole thing doesn't seem to make any sort of sense."
True. If they'd intended the body to be discovered still burning, why risk contacting police who were further away?
"Not yet," L agrees. "But regardless, I think we should move to our base in Scotland for the next few weeks. Whatever is going to happen, I'd like us to be close by. Starting tomorrow."
Perhaps that's what their arsonist wants. Perhaps.
"T and N, until tomorrow morning, I want to you gather all the information there is on Ricketts. His job, his family, his research, his movements, what he ate for breakfast, everything."
"Yes, L. I will," T says excitedly.
"Of course," N says calmly.
M's still trying to create an accurate representation of the voice of the mystery phone-caller, and R's trying to work out a link between the first six fires, other than that they all occurred within a certain distance of London.
For now, N is right. Nothing adds up. None of the finer details make a lick of sense, yet. L wonders what's going to happen next.
It's too early to start making predictions
tbc
a/n:
+ just wanted to thank the people who are actually reading this mostly-stupid story, you are very much appreciated. it's kinda written mostly for myself, and half the time I'm not even sure it makes logical sense. so, thanks. :)
+ next chapter might not be up for a while.