notes/warnings
+ swearing
Mirth
"That woman was insane," N comments. She's sitting on the sofa, head thrown back, one hand resting on her forehead. She looks exhausted.
"It's over now," R says comfortably. He's got one arm around her, and she's got her free hand on his knee. They're all sitting in a haphazard circle in the second office. N and R are both drinking wine, and M is attempting to create a citywide smog all on his own. L is demolishing his eighth cherry pie of the day, and Rae is sitting in a corner, presumably sulking.
"Do you know who she reminded me of?" Matsuda asks quietly. He's playing some sort of infantile-looking card game on his computer.
"Yes," L says wearily. "I know."
T is utterly predictable in every way.
Most of the time.
"I kinda miss Misa-Misa," he continues, anyway. "She made everything fun."
"And was a mass-murder...a probable mass murderer," L says, admonishing himself for his own slip-up.
"You sound pretty confident in that," T says, wide-eyed. "I thought you'd practically decided she was innocent."
"Decided, and practically decided are not the same thing," L informs him, a little haughtily.
He glances at Rae, but the god of death shows no signs of suspicion. In fact, it hasn't even moved.
The last thing he needs is it finding out he met with Rem. There's a thirteen percent chance she might be useful to him again, and he's fairly convinced she'll be banned from contacting him if any of the other Shinigami learn what she did. He touches his belt, and then presses a hand to his chest.
The note is safe. He must always keep the note safe.
He wonders what would happen if somebody else obtained it from him, somehow. Would Rae take it back and give it to him again? Or would the Shinigami's quest simply be transferred to them?
L gazes at the others. The conversation has progressed from Misa Amane, to famous pop stars, to cutlery, and then to some far-fetched tale that's currently making M flip Matsuda off. N is laughing at them, near-hysterics. Tension relief.
"You okay, L?" R asks. "You've zoned out."
"I am always okay," he replies, tucking one knee under his chin. "Merely thinking."
"Well, don't wear your brain out," R replies, cracking a smile. "Save that for the next case."
It's a silly thing to say, and he knows it. L's brain is inifinitely capable. Always
"And then," Matsuda...T says breathlessly, "the chief of police said 'what's that jellyfish doing in my desk drawer', and..."
He goes on and on and on, some stupid story L didn't hear the start of. And he looks at Matsuda, and Mail, and Naomi, and Raye, and he realises that he wouldn't trust any of them with his death note, not even for a second.
He's all alone in this.
Time passes. They stay in London for a while. Matsuda drags them all to a large social event - some medieval-style fair that he claims to be 'the coolest thing ever', and that is only dubiously related to their current case - and generally behaves as if he's severely deficient in brain cells.
L wanders around by himself. Nothing like being out in a crowd of unknown people to hone one's perceptive skills, after all.
"That woman there," he breathes, and points only with the tip of his smallest finger. "She's one month pregnant."
Rae is floating along beside him. It glances at her briefly before going back to staring at the sky.
"She's at least six weeks," it scoffs.
"Correct," L says. "You're very observant, aren't you? Even with regard to things that would be completely useless in the Shinigami world."
"Our world is tied to your own," Rae says, sounding as if it's reading from a script. "Besides, humans are interesting."
L smiles indulgently.
"I imagine you only find them interesting because they are the challenge that stands in the way of you becoming king. I have met Shinigami that were interested in humans for their own sake, and they were nothing like you."
"You refer to Ryuk," Rae says knowingly. "He is a fool."
"Much like Matsuda?" L whispers.
"Perhaps. You know Ryuk has a malevolent side to him?"
"I'm sure you know all about malevolent Shinigami, Rae."
Rae looks at him.
"I thought we were comparing Ryuk to Matsuda."
"Please stop trying to hint that T is evil," L says. "I trust him implicitly."
"Yes," Rae says softly. "I know."
L stares at the Shinigami, trying desperately to read its expression, its body language, anything. It gives away so little, in such small outbursts. Impossible to outwit, because he doesn't know the rules that govern it.
"Just promist me that if he ever gives you reason to distrust him, you won't ignore it completely just because he shot your murderer," the death god adds.
L frowns.
"You know about that?"
"I know everything," Rae says. "Also, this is boring."
"You don't have to be here, you know."
"Yes, I know. As much as I enjoy making you appear to be schizophrenic, I think I'll...go for a fly."
"You do that," L says, unnecessarily, because the Shinigami is already gaining altitude. "I prefer to keep my feet on the ground."
Another case comes up. Serial killer in Hong Kong. Decapitates his victims. Seems to get in and out of people's homes without sign of forced entry.
"How does someone get an entire guillotine into a place without anyone noticing?" R asks. "That's insane."
"The cuts are so clean," N comments, examining the photographs of the victims.
"It's clearly not an axe or a sword," M agrees, flicking his own pocketknife. "We're talking about a really big blade here, that can be wielded with a lot of force."
"Hey, someone sent flowers to someone called 'T'," Matsuda calls from the front door. "There's no one here called T. I wonder if we can return them to the sender. They're really pretty, too."
But everyone mostly ignores him.
L spends eighteen days musing over the beheadings before he asks.
"Rae?"
"Yes?"
"Will you help me with this case?"
"No," the Shinigami says, with less vitriol than the last time L asked. "I'm hungry, actually."
"Want an apple?"
"No, I think I want, hm. Pizza."
There is silence for a moment. L snaps his fingers, mostly for effect.
"A pizza slicer," he says. "A huge, portable blade. That's how he's doing it. Of course."
The Shinigami stares at him from the doorway, horrible red eyes. But L thinks it seems to be just a little...pleased.
Maybe.
Two cases later, they're working on a rapist in Moscow. There are almost no similarities between the victims, but the perpetrators don't seem to be making any particular statement, either.
L agonises over it for exactly six days before Rae grabs him by the shoulders, clearly exasperated.
"For the love of god, you're clearly looking for at least ten different men working together. How difficult can it be to track a group that large?"
They find the men the next day, partly because N is awesome, but mostly because of Rae.
"Thank you," L says, although it feels strange on his tongue. He's watching by satellite link as local officers arrest the ringleader.
"Eh," Rae says, and busies itself with attempting to draw patterns into the condensation on the windows.
It can't.
Wedy drops by, unannounced and showy, to tell them that one of the world's greatest thieves has just passed away and has been spotted in Sweden.
"Known only as Maxie," she says, almost girlishly, clasping her hands over her heart. "She can switch alarms off without even accessing them. They say she's so flexible she once packed herself into a shoebox. Broke into Fort Knox. Three times. In one weekend. She was my idol, when I was growing up. Well, one of my idols. The other was the Shyster, but she was more a murderer than a thief"
"Yes," L says, noncommittally.
"The Shyster?" N asks. "L, wasn't that your very first case? The one that made you famous?"
"Yes," Wedy says, gravely. "L executed the Shyster."
"Please don't talk about that any more," L says firmly. "It's irrelevant."
If the others notice he's uncomfortable, they don't say anything.
"If you loved Maxie so much, why are you telling us about her?" R asks warily. He keeps snapping his hands open and shut, as if he's itching to slap some handcuffs on Wedy and arrest her right there in the hotel room.
"Hi!" T says, supremely unhelpful.
"Hey, gorgeous," Wedy says dismissively. "L, I tell you because that's the way this game is. Gotta keep things even. They say Maxie got a little too trigger-happy in her final years. I wouldn't be surprised if she, too, has gone all the way to murderer."
"If that were true, she should be in hell," M says darkly. Sometimes, L thinks hell is the only thing he can talk about.
"We already know the hell filter is both entirely unreliable and not particularly fair," L says, with finality. "I don't think we should ever presume that someone must have been a good person when they were alive just because they made it here."
"Yes," M says simply. "That's right."
Rae is hovering right over Wedy, the top of its skull brushing against the ceiling. L tilts his head.
An ordinary Shinigami can't break the walls of hell, he thinks. But surely the king himself could. They are gods, after all. Maybe even the heir to the king could do it.
Rae seems to notice him staring.
"The Shyster was a tough case, huh?" it asks, always perceptive.
L hunches his shoulders.
There are some things he'd rather not remember.
Wedy's appearance is followed by a few months of nothing, and a handful of text messages that only Matsuda can't work out.
L spars with Watari, eats too much cake, and spends a lot of time staring at the wall, one hand in his hair.
"This is ridiculous. Are you really just going to sit there? For the next five years?"
"Bored, Shinigami?"
"Yes, and so are you."
"Yes. There's very little else for me to do in the way of training. It's simply a matter of waiting for a new case."
Something will turn up. It always does.
"So you're perfect at everything in every way?" Rae asks incredulously. "You don't need to practice at all?"
"Perhaps," L muses. "Practice seems rather pointless right now, however."
"You know, this is a novel idea, but you could always practice using the dea-"
"No."
Rae floats off, presumably to sulk, and comes back in ten minutes with something black and white that L hasn't seen in years.
"If you're so perfect," the Shinigami says with a feral grin, "let's see you try playing chess against a god."
L gives it a tiny smile.
"All right," he says.
"So, what do you guys think of this case?" T asks, excitedly. "Eighteen dogs murdered over the past three nights in San Francisco."
"Do we even care?" M asks, nastily, without looking up from his computer.
"Aw, come on," T says. "This is horrible stuff, guys. Animals are completely defenceless against human cruelty."
"My job is not to remedy 'horrible stuff'," L articulates. "It is to solve the unsolvable. What you want is to contact the relevant police, and local animal protection groups."
"But they're murdered brutally," T says, never one to give up on a lost cause. "And I just. I don't know. Doesn't this bother anyone else? It's always the same type of dog, too. And the murderers never leave a trace behind!"
"What do you think, Rae?" L asks. R glances at him, surprised.
"I think it's a waste of time, personally. It takes little effort to break into a back yard without arousing suspicion."
"Even T could do it," M adds laconically.
L doesn't point out that even when it comes to breaking into homes, banks, or military sites, the criminals capable are very rarely of his calibre. Leaving no trace takes only a very basic knowledge of biology and a minimum of protective gear and common sense.
Anyway, although his team will never know, it was not Raye Penber's opinion he was seeking.
"Hmm, all labradore-poodle crosses, only entire animals targeted, very elite part of town," the Shinigami says boredly. "It's got to be a die-hard purebred dog breeder who wants to get rid of popular crossbreeds."
Correct, L thinks. And since when did you start helping me without complaint, question, or sarcastic comment?
And he wonders.
"The others are getting Italian take-away," L says to his Shinigami, four nights later. "I know you don't really need to eat, but I can order something for you, if you'd like. It'd probably need to be something sweet, to avoid arousing suspicion."
"No," Rae says, apparently surprised. "That's okay. But, uh, thanks."
He can still feel it's red eyes burning into the back of his head as he walks away.
Another six weeks of nothing, and then, like the proverbial buses, two cases come at once. L sends N, R and T to India to investigate a string of murderers who all appear to have been controlled somehow.
"Not another death note, surely," T says anxiously.
"No fucking way," M agrees. He's staying with L. They're hot on the heels of a hacker who's been creating havoc - seemingly for no financial or social gain - on various government websites and programs. So far he's managed to lock all of the city's traffic lights to green, and totally jam up the public transport system.
"Unlikely," L adds. The accused are all very much alive and in jail. "It's not so difficult to convince an emotionally vulnerable person that you have power over them. I don't believe a supernatural force is the only possible solution."
"Right."
They leave the next morning. L sits up for most of the night with M. He probably doesn't need anyone else's help to catch the hacker. But he is worried about how successful the others will be.
He excuses himself and goes to the bathroom for a little privacy. Rae's comments about appearing mentally unstable had not escaped his notice.
"I'd like you to go with the others to India, please," he says, no preamble.
"What? How will that help? None of them can see or hear me?"
"I know," L says. "I also know that Shinigami move quickly, and are capable of using objects in the human world. I presume there would be ways you could report back to me without arousing suspicion?"
"Well, yes," Rae says dubiously.
"So we are agreed?" L asks. He examines his reflection. His hair is flopping into his mouth more frequently than usual. It might be time to get N to give him another trim.
"No."
"No?"
"No," the Shinigami repeats. "I won't go."
"Oh," L says quietly, weighing this response in his mind. "And just...just when I thought-"
"I want to stay with you," Rae adds quickly.
And Rae does. L can't remember spending so much time with any one other person. During cases, L refers at least half of his own conclusions to Rae before he announces them to the others. Between cases, they play chess, or engage in juvenile battles-of-the-wits, which L invariably wins (at least according to his own mental scoreboard). Maybe he even sleeps a little better, knowing that there's someone else in the room.
Which is strange, in itself.
Wedy makes contact, after weeks of silence, by calling Matsuda at four am in the morning. Whatever she says makes him so flustered he drops the phone and accidentally disconnects the call.
"Oh no," N says, geniunely sympathetic.
"It's okay," T says placatingly, apparently having recovered quickly. "She's pretending to flirt with me. I think she's actually laughing at me behind my back. She's not the first girl to do that."
"Why don't you just flirt back and see?" R suggests, clearly sick of the whole thing already.
"No," T says firmly. "Then I'd only look like an idiot."
M mutters something vehemently under his breath, and even L has to admit it takes a certain strength to not make snide comments when he leaves himself wide open like that.
Wedy's certainly looking for something, though. She meets up with them on their next case, child porn ring based in Germany, apparently by accident.
"Hallo L. Matt. Hey, gorgeous."
Matsuda clears his throat, apparently having steeled himself to appear confident and unruffled.
"It's not nice to make fun," he says loudly, not quite looking her in the eye. "I'd prefer it if you greeted me in some other way, or not at all."
"Okay," Wedy says, smooth and unconcerned, and she takes her time elegantly stubbing her cigarette out on a wall before she grabs him by the collar and kisses him on the lips.
L still has nothing to say. He left himself wide open for that one, too.
They don't bust the porn ring. Matsuda manages to screw up his hacking so badly that the perpetrators get a sufficient head-start to dissipate completely.
He also seems to have been deprived of the power of speech.
"Are you sure?" Rae asks, sounding uncertain itself. "I know you said you trust him, it's just. How could anyone do that by accident? Honestly, by accident? Even if he's not working against you now, he could be easily swayed, surely."
"We've had this discussion," L says. He's already grumpy about losing the case, even though he knows it's only temporary. "T stays."
"I just worry about you sometimes," Rae admits. "I don't want to see you brought down by someone like him.
L stares at it. He's lying flat on his bed, exhausted and mostly comfortable.
"No one ever really worries about me," he says, slowly.
When L realises they've been together for over ten months, he figures it's as good a time as any to ask.
"Rae?"
"Yes?"
Odd, how he's gotten used to that hoarse, high, hell-voice in normal conversation.
"As the king of gods, will you have the power to save a human from hell, if you choose?"
"Oh yeah, absolutely," Rae says, as if its nothing. "Why? You got someone in mind?"
L thinks of blonde hair and evil grins and Mail's happiness.
"Yes. My protege. He's there. Wrongfully, I believe."
Rae laughs, but it's not the usual, awful giggle. It's almost a parody of L's own chuckle.
"So now you see fit to judge people? After all your little speeches?"
L shrugs.
"It is acceptable for any idiot to judge someone as innocent."
"I see. Logically unsound, morally perfect," Rae says. "Hey, isn't that how people describe you, sometimes?"
But there's no real bite to its voice. It's teasing, the way friends tease each other.
"Will you answer my question, Rae?" L asks.
"It's possible I may be able to help you," Rae says. "But it depends on the circumstances. Give me a name and I'll see what I can do."
L wonders if that means Rae is actually going to leave his side, or if it can commune with the king and other gods without actually travelling anywhere.
"Mihael Keehl," he says. "Known as Mello. I imagine his most prominent crimes were killing a large number of the original SPK staff, and kidnapping two police officers."
"Mello, huh?," Rae says thoughtfully. "Okay. Leave it with me."
"Thank you."
L notices people. He notices everyone. Even when he's crouched in a chair, shovelling pie into his mouth and seemingly absorbed in a cup of tea, a book, a phonecall, a computer screen, a tower of liquorice allsorts. It doesn't matter, he'll still be completely aware of his surroundings. He'll know the college girl who's standing behind him and staring at his hair in dismay has an examination tomorrow, by the way she grips her textbooks. He'll know that the baby in the arms of the couple three carriages down had whooping cough a month ago, by the way that it cries.
He sees everyone.
He just doesn't care for anyone.
Not particularly. He was orphaned at a young age, and was declared a genius at an even younger age. He has no peers, save perhaps for one murderous psychopath who's thankfully incapacitated in hell. Every particularly intelligent person he's met has wound up either defeated by him or working under him.
He's justice. He saves people. He protects people. Every single person he meets is a key, a way to prove he's a better detective than yesterday, than five minutes ago. Every person is a learning experience, something new. No one exactly fits anyone else's category.
He is justice. And he is above everyone. Cold, impersonal, without emotion. L.
He wishes Watari had never taken him back to his old orphanage. He wishes he'd never met the three boys who broke all his resolve, whom he accidentally cared for. Whom he tried very hard never to meet again, because they were such a danger to him.
They weren't his children, it was ridiculous to even think of them as being his children. They weren't young enough, to start with. Never mind the fact that he'd never been interested enough in another human being to bother having a romantic relationship, let alone a sexual one.
Without a doubt, they weren't his children. But he'd given them names, and taught them a little of what he knew. They became his long-distance apprentices, and he eagerly awaited the yearly reports of how much they'd learned, of how great they'd become.
He can still remember the last email Roger ever sent him.
'Near is top of his class,' it had stated. 'Brilliant beyond his peers, beyond his years. Perhaps one day he will be a rival to you, L.'
How wrong he'd been.
'I will not state again how much it displeases me to think of them as your potential successors. L is a hero to all the children here, and you should be considered invincible. For their sake.'
Invincible. Also wrong.
'However, as requested by W, we have organised them in rank according to academic achievement, IQ, logical ability, common sense, deductive reasoning, and overall brilliance.'
"You always miss the most important thing," L had said out loud. "If I am defeated, you will not win against Kira with a proxy version of myself."
'They stand as follows. 1) Near. 2) Mello. 3) Matt. I'm not even sure you know who Matt is, but I doubt there will ever be a situation where he succeeds the other two. I imagine this list pleases you. I know Near is your favourite.'
Wrong again.
"Is that piece of wall particularly fascinating?" Rae asks, maybe a little gently. "You've been staring at it for the past fifteen minutes. Did you find a new case in that crack?"
"Oh," L says. "I apologise. My mind wandered."
Rae must have picked up on his sombre tone.
"Seriously, then. Are you okay?"
L puts his hands on his knees and smiles.
"Yes. I'm fine."
The Shinigami doesn't mention Mello for twenty days after that, and L has started to theorise that it's forgotten the whole thing when it finally brings it up.
"So. Keehl."
L is lounging on the balcony of a hotel room in Venice, doing research on a potential case. He pushes his laptop aside immediately and gives the death god his full attention.
"Can you do it?"
Rae winces.
"Yes and no?"
"Explain," L says, toes twitching. He already has some idea of what it's going to say.
"In my present position, I have less power than the king," Rae admits, sounding thoroughly irritated by that fact. "I can't...only he can deal with the other gods. I technically lack his capabilities because I am not crowned."
"I see," L says, folding his hands behind his head. "So you cannot move Mello out of hell."
"It's...it's got something to do with the queen," Rae continues. It might even be telling the truth. "I don't know. I've never met her. No one knows who she is, except the king."
"So this whole venture is actually pointless," L deadpans. "And your 'yes and no' answer was, in fact, a lie."
The Shinigami sits down beside him.
"Probably," it says, sadly. "I mean, yes. Yes, you're right. I mean, unless..."
It trails off, staring at L with uncharacteristic uncertainty.
L's shoulders shake, just once, but he keeps his expression blank.
"Unless what, Rae?"
"Unless you make me king," it says. "I mean, I know. I know your position. I know what you'll say. I just. You have the death note. That's all."
"I see," L muses. "So, presuming you'll agree to help me, what we have is a mutually beneficial situation, if I'm prepared to use the note?"
Rae turns to face him, side of its skull grating against the brick wall. He thinks maybe its red eyes are wider than before.
"You'd...consider that?" it asks, surprised. "I would...of course I would help you, if you'd do this for me. I could get him back into this world in under a day."
It's tone has changed. It sounds almost friendly. L smiles, suddenly. A betrayal.
"I feel different," it continues. "I used to dislike you, but I suppose I never really got to know you. I...I like you. Listen. You don't have to use the note if you don't want to. I understand what it means to you. But, then I can't help you. So you see, it's up to you."
The Shinigami gets to its feet and regards him earnestly.
"So, what do you think? Do we have a deal?"
L's nose twitches. The conversation could probably continue for another five minutes or so before Rae talked itself into a corner, but he's not sure he's capable of keeping it in any longer and not exploding.
So he snorts.
It's like the tip of an iceberg, an avalanche, unstoppable. He starts giggling, light and stupid, with none of Rae's evil undertones. His arms are shaking and he presses both hands to his mouth, unable to stop, unable to do anything except crescendo and escalate, until he's rolling on the ground in unabashed hysteria, laughing.
"I don't understand," the death god says, warily. "Why are you laughing?"
It takes L a good three minutes after that to get himself under control. He sits up, gasping.
"You," he says, still smiling. "You're funny."
"What? Why?"
"I have to admit, you were fairly clever," L says, tugging at his hair. "I think you actually did honestly have some interest in the Arcy case, and when you realised I was treating you a little less harshly than before, you just continued on. I'm impressed with the depth, and the sheer amount of effort you've used. It must have been a good, what, nine months you've wasted."
L stares up at it brightly.
"Did you honestly think I'd believe all that?"
"All what?" Rae asks, as if it doesn't know, as if the flames aren't already threatening to engulf it's entire face in anger.
"That you were my friend," L says, in a fresh peal of mirth. "That you actually liked me. Your actions didn't even make sense. God, you must think I'm really fucking stupid."
Rae stares at him for a long time without speaking, burning up with rage. L feels like he's the one who's king of the world.
"Fuck you," Rae says, and L has never heard so much venom and hatred packed into two syllables.
L presses a hand to his heart, still snickering.
"But I thought you loved me, Rae," he says dramatically, channelling Matsuda for a moment, completely stupid.
"You're a filthy, disgusting, cowardly human being, and you'll die all alone. And I'll laugh."
And with that, the Shinigami leaves, just flounces right off the balcony and disappears into the city outside.
L gets up, grinning, and goes inside.
Exactly as planned.
There's something he needs to do.
Rebecca Remira.
"Watari?"
"Yes, L?"
"I'm researching an old case at the minute," L says calmly. "For practice purposes. Can you send me everything you can get on Mark and Rebecca Remira?"
"The nineteenth century serial killers?" Watari clarifies, voice neutral. L figures Watari must know theirs was a fairly open-and-shut case, but the last thing he'll do is question L.
"That's correct."
"Sending it now, L."
His own research has already revealed the basic story. Rebecca Starling had been a middle-class citizen of London, England, in the early nineteenth century. The daughter of a merchant, fairly well-educated, apparently beautiful. Married a respectable, much older man when she was still fairly young. Around the same time, Mark Remira had become infamous as the murderer that no detective could catch. He stabbed his victims, always with the same sort of knife; a six-inch trench knife, french version. Believed to be an evolved sort of cat-burgular, light-fingered, able to easily enter and leave even the most secure of homes.
His target? The rich. A sort of sadistic, screwed-up Robin Hood, out for life instead of money.
Rebecca's husband had been an intended victim. But when Mark had entered under some pretext of being a friend of a friend, the old man hadn't been home. Only Rebecca. Apparently her less-than-rich family history protected her from becoming a victim, and to keep his facade, he chatted with her for a while before leaving.
As to what was said, L imagines he'll never know, but the outcome was obvious. Six days later, Rebecca left her husband, abandoned her lifestyle, and became Remira's sidekick. And a year later, his wife.
Which made no sense, but there's no accounting for love.
When the two Remiras were caught, Rebecca confessed to every single murder, claiming that Mark had only been an accessory and that she'd bullied him into helping her. Any detective would have found her statement to be grossly untrue - she had claimed responsibility for murders that happened before she'd even met Mark - but no detectives were consulted. A police-only matter. She was executed within the month.
Am I supposed to be compelled by how controlled she is by her own emotions? L wonders. Such reckless behaviour can't possibly benefit anyone.
Is this supposed to be a warning?
Mark picked up another woman, younger, prettier, and went right on killing.
Falling in love is such a dangerous venture. Look at M. Heck, look at T. Look at any of them. It makes people irrational. But why warn me? I'm not even sure I'm capable of it.
L swivels on his chair, thinking. But there's really not much to think about. Rebecca Remira's story isn't a crime novel, or a case study, it's a tragedy. He has no idea why he needed to research her case. Even if she's alive, she's probably fairly harmless.
"How could this possibly benefit me?" L asks the empty room. "It's so simple. Unless Mark was using some method other than blind love to control Rebecca, I can't see the value in it."
Unless...can Shinigami see the future? Is a copycat crime going to happen here in the second world? Is it a hint? Is there some hidden message in a file or internet site about Rebecca that he's supposed to find?
The only real detail is the knife used. Is that it? What would he do with a replica of the trench knife? Could he use it to kill Rae?
Surely not.
Would he use it to kill Rae?
L checks the calendar.
Eight and a half days until Rae should be meeting with the Shinigami king.
He supposes he'll find out then.
tbc
a/n:
+ thank you
+ I suppose, although this is a perpetually ridiculous thing to say, that I would really appreciate any constructive comments at this point.
+ having said that, this fic is mostly written for my own benefit, so I'm not likely to stop writing just because people don't like it/don't comment.