notes/warnings
+ language
+ deliberately mispelled words, a la five year old.
Doubt
L purchases a bed for Grace. It's cushy and purple, and it has a cage-like structure over the top. Theoretically it's intended for much younger children, who might be inclined to roll out of bed and hurt themselves. But L is using it to stop anything from getting in.
He sets up infrared lights and cameras around the bed, and has Watari test the walls and floor of his room for weak spots and hidden hollows. The two of them place taps outside, through the rest of their suite, in the hall outside, and at the entry to the hotel.
Nothing can get in. Not without announcing itself first. L is absolutely certain of his surroundings. Safe.
Safe.
Grace lazes on his bed, ignoring the dolls and building-blocks that the Penbers gave her.
"I'm bored," she announces for the fifth time in four minutes.
It's sort of like having a second, tiny, benevolent Rae.
"Don't you like your toys?" he asks.
"They're boring. Hey, do you have a monster under your bed?"
She pushes herself half off the mattress, so that her little head is almost touching the floor.
"Aww, nothing but books. No-one ever has a monster under their bed," she pouts.
What a strange attitude to have, L thinks. Aren't children usually frightened of such things?
Then again, he's not the most knowledgeable person in the world when it comes to the finer nuances of the very young.
"You like monsters?" he asks carefully.
"Yeah! I want a pet bogeyman. Ooh, and I'd like to have a skellington, maybe in a coffin. That'd be fun!"
"I don't think that would be a very hygienic toy," L warns. "Human skeletons often have small particles of flesh remaining, which carry disease and odour."
"Hey!" Rae protests.
"And some of them are just evil gods," L adds, for completeness. It's unlikely that she really knows what he's saying.
"Right. I'm evil because I'm the one who wants you to save thousands of innocent people from violence and murder."
"Oh, I'm going to," L tells it. "But I'm going to do it the right way."
Even if Grace tells the others he was talking to himself, they'll presume he was actually on the intercom, or using one of his bluetooth earpieces. It's safe to reply to Rae out loud.
"The slow way. The way that kills a lot of innocent bystanders."
Grace cups her hands under her chin.
"Who are you talking to?" she enquires. "Do you have an invisible friend? Ohh…can I see him?"
L wonders if it's worth pointing out the lack of logic in her last two statements, and decides against it.
"No, but I can talk to the other people in this building without being in the same room as them," he tries, instead. "You see, any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic, so it'll seem like magic to you."
"When are my parents coming back?"
L hesitates, and searches for the right response.
"Later?"
"Okay. I like you."
"Erm…okay. You too, I suppose."
"Yay!"
Grace has complained of being hungry on three hundred and twenty-two separate occasions by the time Mail finally brings him a typed transcript of Holland's monologue. It's filled with spelling errors, as always, but the formatting is perfect.
Sometimes L wonders if Mail's already gone insane. Maybe it would be better for him if he did, if it let him forget.
"Thank you," L says sincerely.
"Oh, I don't think it's going to make things any easier," the younger man warns. "There's some weird shit going on in that guy's head."
"Weird shit!" Grace states happily, and collapses in a fit of giggles
L examines the sheets of paper dangling from his fingers.
'Will you shut up?'
'Stop moaning.'
'Do you want to be all alone for the rest of your miserable life?'
"Does he think he's communing with some sort of demon?" L asks curiously.
"I like demons! They have horns!"
"Grace, you need to be silent now."
"Okay!"
'Listen, we're gonna make it work today.'
'I told you, according to this research, this one is stronger than the others.'
'Something something medical records.'
"Missed that one, did you?"
"I don't claim to be infallible," Mail growls. "If it's not good enough for you, do it yourself."
"L, what's an infallible? Can I have one?"
"Hmm."
'Look, just shut up and do what I tell you.'
"Who is he talking to that's so reluctant?" Rae asks. "He's not just conversing with a demon, he's…persuading it?"
"He's giving orders," L corrects. "And what does he mean by 'stronger'?"
"I want an infallible! I want an infallible!" Grace demands, tugging rhythmically on the leg of his jeans.
'We only need four or five good ones, and we'll be all set.'
'You won't be alone any more, and I…I will become what I was always meant to be. A god.'
"Oh," L breathes, as the sheets of paper flutter carelessly to the floor. "Another one."
"Aww, you made a mess!"
"I know, right?" Mail says calmly. "This guy is as much of a megalomaniac as Light was. Thank fuck he's not as smart. The rest of the transcript is just random swearing after we broke into that house."
"I want a megalomic! I want one!"
"He got the bugs off his car pretty damn fast," L counters. It's suddenly freezing. Someone must have set the air-conditioner temperature too low. That's the only possible explanation for the way he's trembling.
Light. Another Light.
He shakes his head fiercely.
"We still have no evidence we're dealing with anything paranormal," he says sternly.
"Uh, I know that," Mail mutters, already wandering back to his computer. "Just fucking crazy, that's all."
"Right," L agrees. "Right."
And now he knows we're after him.
"Fucking crazy!" Grace agrees energetically.
L grabs his own laptop. He needs to work. Something useful. What leads do they have left?
Something about medical records.
"I wonder just how difficult it is to hack into the database for a medical centre," L muses. "It's worth finding out, don't you think? We'd know just how skilled Holland is, if nothing else."
He hunches his shoulders and immerses himself in the task at hand.
Three minutes later, he un-immerses himself, because Grace needs to use the bathroom.
Watari arrives back at base an hour later.
"Well, if there's anything untoward going on, it isn't in the house. That place is as clean as a whistle. And search as I might, L, I couldn't find the car. Whoever he is, he's fairly adept at hiding."
"Don't say that," L retorts quickly. "There's nothing special about Holland. We'll catch him."
"Right," Raye says emphatically. Naomi, of course, reads L a little better.
"It's the god thing, right?" she asks. Her hair is wet, and she's threading it absentmindedly into some sort of complicated braid. "To be honest, it's bothering me, too."
"Well, if nothing else, I know he's not necessarily a genius," L informs them. "You certainly don't need to be M to access private medical records in this country."
"Great," Naomi groans. "So that doesn't narrow it down, either."
"Yeah, but why 'stronger'?" Raye queries. "Is he only going after really fit, healthy children? If so, why so? Can we work out what exactly his selection criteria is?"
"Or is that just psychic-speak for chakras, or something?" Naomi debates. "I mean, this man is clearly not stable. And he's definitely not logical."
"Unless he is, and he really does have a demon."
At this point, L would usually get to his feet and slouch around the room, but he can't, because there is a small child sleeping on him. He'd very much like her to go on sleeping. Children apparently don't have an 'off' switch, despite being desperately in need of one.
"M? Can you find me the medical records of all of the children who've been taken so far? And those of Grace Backstrum?"
"I'm Grace Backstrum!"
"I thought you were asleep," L says diffidently. "Anyway, when you find them, transfer them to N for analysis."
"Right!" Naomi agrees enthusiastically. "Let's see if we can work out what he's looking for. If nothing else, it'll help us to predict the next victims, right?"
"I want a pear! L, L, L, L, I always have a pear after my nap. I want a pear!"
"Watari," L says wearily. "Please give me your photographs and report, and fetch a pear."
Watari laughs a little, and L glares at him. He cannot fathom why the others are enjoying Grace's presence so very much.
"Yay, pear!"
"So easily pleased," Naomi says indulgently. "She really should go to bed for the night, L. It's getting late."
"Hiiii!" Grace bubbles. "What's your name, lady?"
"My name is N."
"That's a letter of the alphalphabet!"
"It's like the alphabet, but with salad vegetables," Raye translates with a stage whisper. "Oh, L, I've got something on Holland too."
L groans inwardly. Since Grace arrived and attached herself to him, he's the only member of the team who hasn't made any sort of progress with the investigation. He feels useless, like he's been demoted to the role of babysitter. Or housewife.
Never mind. Once she's fed and properly awake, he's going to interview her. She's part of the evidence, after all.
"What did you find, R?"
"This guy...he's got followers."
L raises his head. He sets Watari's documents down on the table, out of Grace's reach, and gives Raye his full attention.
It starts.
"A murderer-kidnapper has followers?" Naomi asks incredulously. "Even if people did agree with what he's doing, who would be stupid enough to actually admit that?"
"Holland, not Steve," Raye clarifies.
"Ah, yes," L says thoughtfully. "There is an eighty-four percent chance that Holland is actually Steve."
Grace busies herself with a new game. It seems to mostly involve hitting L over the head with one of her plush toys. It's mildly irritating. Naomi gapes at him.
"Even after that little speech he gave in the car? How can you possibly say he still might be innocent?"
"Delusional is not the same as criminal," L justifies. "Besides, he may believe that some supernatural force under his control is responsible for the murders, even though an entirely different party is actually performing the crimes."
"But there was no one in the house," Naomi says loudly. "No one!"
"Perhaps remotely, then," L amends. "But as I said, I am not completely convinced. This is a complicated case, and we would be foolish to oversimplify it. Holland strikes me as the sort of person who would be easy to frame. Keep that in mind."
"Right," Raye says, a little distractedly. "Anyway, Holland is huge online. Seems like he has a lot of fans around the world who believe he can actually perform magic, read minds, that sort of thing."
L considers this. Focusing is a little harder than normal, because Grace is presently trying to insert one of her blocks into his ear.
"Any mention of intended world domination on his fan-site?"
"Nope. He seems like a regular, self-important psychic," Raye confirms. "I guess that's not really a useful finding at all, right?"
"It is absolutely useful," L corrects. "Really, R, you're very poor at assessing the value of the information you glean."
"I'm really not sure if that's a compliment," Raye admits awkwardly.
"I'm bored again!" Grace announces.
Thankfully, Watari chooses that particular moment to come back into the room, bearing fruit. Grace decides she'd prefer eat than make noise, at least for a little while.
"L, our camera shows that Bernard Holland has returned home," Watari informs him politely. "Evidently he does not suspect that we know where he lives."
"That is good news," L agrees. "The camera was placed as prescribed?"
"Right across the road," Watari tells him.
"Thank you. There's a dangerously high chance he'll find any bugs located in his own house, but I doubt he'll be paranoid enough to search his neighbours."
"I don't like bugs! They have legs!"
"That's enough," L tells her quietly. "Eat your pear."
Watari nods to him once more and leaves without L needing to dismiss him. Every so often, L is reminded just how lucky he is to have found such an intelligent and well-trained employee. He flicks through the notes and photographs. It seems that the only definitively suspicious thing inside the house is the exorbitant level of security. Aside from locks, bolts, and tripwires, the house contains nothing more than standard clairvoyant paraphernalia. A giant map of the constellations on one wall, tarot cards on the table, various pagan symbols etched into the ceiling. Tacky but expensive jewellery stashed in the hidden basement. A few spiders in jars. No hidden weapons. No death notes.
Of course, there's no guarantee that there isn't, say, a powerful computer hidden inside the shabby-looking desktop in the bedroom. Or a large gun stashed inside the Hindi statue in the living room. But there's definitely nothing overt.
Right. Time to advance this case, then. He's growing tired of it.
"So...what do you want me to do?" Raye asks carefully.
L smiles at him benevolently.
"You," he says, "are going to become Holland's number one fan."
Raye frowns at him.
"Say what?"
"Holland is the sort of man who loves attention," L surmises. "He already thinks he's famous. He has a collection of fan mail sitting on his kitchen counter. He'll lap up any attention from someone who claims to be a supporter...no, a believer."
The new Misa Amane.
If he'd thought of this eight years earlier - if he'd planted and controlled Amane, Light's adoring and trusted fan - then he'd still be alive.
He's not making the same mistake twice.
"This is yummy!"
"Didn't I tell you to be silent?" L asks heavily, and turns back to Raye, who is staring at L with a slack jaw. "Look, it's fairly simply. According to my calculations, there is no possible way that Holland saw your face at the Backstrum house. He won't recognise you. But you'll know everything about him - everything that's been made public, at least - and he'll be your hero. Oh, and you'll want to interview him for a small, local, struggling newspaper. He's never been in the paper."
"Right," Raye says, swallowing hard.
"Left!"
"I will take the pear away," L warns.
"So...what exactly am I trying to get from Holland."
"Interview him. Find out what he wants from life. Does he have a significant other? Does he want a family? Where does he see his business in five years time? How does he feel about children? Does he think he gets the attention he deserves from society in general?"
"I'm profiling him," Raye says, with sudden understanding. "I see. Is this so that you know how much like...that person...he really is?"
"Really, you can be very small-minded sometimes," L snorts. Raye is correct, but nobody ever needs to know that. "We're trying to find out what he's chasing in the children, what his expertise level is, and where he spends his time when he's not at home. With perfectly innocent questions, of course. If nothing else, he'll trust you. He won't be too surprised if you show up again. In fact, he'll expect it."
"This is a big job," Naomi notes. "You up to it, honey?"
"Of course," Raye says tersely. "I'm up for anything that means we get this fucker in jail a little faster. Bring it on."
"Fucking crazy," Grace agrees.
All of the surveillance from L's room feeds into the monitors and recorders in M's room. Well, technically, in the second office. M doesn't always get a bedroom of his own, because he never sleeps.
L tries not to think about that too much.
He places Grace in his favourite, most comfortable armchair. She's been fed, bathed, and played with. It's finally time to find out what she knows.
"I don't like this seat. It's green."
"I apologise for the unpleasant furniture," L says awkwardly. Sometimes he gets the feeling it would be easier to just ignore her altogether.
When this is over, maybe.
"However," he continues, "I need to ask you a few questions and then you can go."
He selects a treacle toffee from the dish on the coffee table. Sugar helps to focus the mind, after all.
"One plus one!"
"No, not arithmetic questions," he corrects. "Listen. Can you remember what happened earlier this evening? Did someone come into your house?"
"Yes! N did! And that man! Can I have a toffee?"
"Does it help you think?"
Sometimes, when he stays constantly indoors, the time of day escapes him. It's one in the morning, technically far past her bedtime, but she doesn't seem to be sleepy. So much for Naomi's theory that children always need a strict routine.
"Yes yes yes!"
L shrugs and offers her the dish. She takes two, and places the spare behind her ear.
"All right. Aside from N and R - the other man who lives here with me - did anyone else visit your house today?"
Grace sucks on her thumb for a moment, apparently contemplating her response.
"Nope. Amy was s'posed to visit, but she got chicken pox."
"Who is Amy?"
"My friend at kindergarten. I wish I had a chicken."
"Please focus."
"My lolly is stuck in my hair," Grace says sadly. L resists the urge to roll his eyes.
"This is going brilliantly well, isn't it?" Rae says with mock enthusiasm. "Great idea, grilling a five year old. Say, are you going to torture her if she doesn't give you the answers you want to hear?"
L scowls at Rae. He's exhausted already. He doesn't want to deal with a petulant Shinigami as well as a painful child.
"Well you shouldn't have placed it there. So Amy is your age?"
"Nope, she's six," Grace replies, holding up four fingers.
"So approximately your age?"
"What's an appoximly?"
"Have you had any visitors to your house at all today?"
"Only sparrows. I like sparrows. They're tiny. Amy says they're actually invaders from outer space."
"No, I don't mean wild animals. I mean, er. Have there been any...bad people. People who frightened your mother and father? People who made you sad?"
"Mrs Bricks makes me sad, but she's never been to my house."
"Who is Mrs Bricks?"
"My teacher."
L rubs the back of his neck. This child is actually giving him a headache. He'd almost rather deal with Rae. Who's floated off again. The bastard.
L hunches down further, so that he's eye-to-eye with Grace.
"Do you remember earlier this evening," he says slowly and clearly. "When your parents both fell over suddenly and there were loud noises."
Her little face pales suddenly, and her lower lip wobbles.
"Yes," she whispers. "When are they coming back? I miss them."
"Um…soon?" L says hesitantly. He doesn't really understand why he isn't supposed to tell her. Eventually, she will have to know the truth. "You will be here for a little while, and then you'll go to a big house with lots of other children."
"Brothers and sisters?" Grace asks hopefully.
"Yes. So you remember when your mother and father both fell over?"
"Yes."
"Was there anyone else around at that time?"
Grace fidgets with her socks.
"Can I have another toffee?"
L sighs exasperatedly and hands her the plate. He wonders how many sweets it's going to take to help her remember.
"Aaaaaaaiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeee!"
"What a good job of babysitting you've done," Rae says unhelpfully, flopping down onto the bed next to L. Grace is running around the room with a toy airplane in one hand and her arms in the air, screaming. It's all she's been doing for the past fifteen minutes.
"Zooooooooooooooooooooom! Zoomzoomzoomzoom!"
"How man did she eat, again?"
"Twenty-seven," L mutters. "I don't understand why it's not helping her to remember."
"Because nobody else's brain fucking works that way, that's why! How the hell are you such a social frigging retard after all these years?"
"Why have you been sounding so human lately?" L wonders, and the Shinigami, at least, shuts up.
"Neyyooooooooooooow! Pyew! Pyew! Pyew! I got laaaaaaasers!"
Grace stops briefly to hug both of L's legs and exchange the plane for a toy dog before running off again.
"Bowowowowowoooooooow!"
There's a sharp knock on L's door, and in spite of himself, he winces a little. Naomi lets herself in.
"Good morning, L," she says, with an expression akin to metaphorical thunder. "Why is the small child screaming at two thirty in the morning?"
"She has not gone to bed yet," L says stolidly. "I think she wants to keep the same hours as me."
"WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF MEEEEOOOOOWW!"
"You didn't try to question her tonight, did you?" Raye asks, ambling up behind his wife and rubbing at his tousled hair. "I thought we agreed she should sleep after her bath."
"She was not tired, and the case needed to advance," L reasons. It makes perfect sense. No need for anyone to be cross. "She's also had some sugar, which is presumably why she is still fairly active."
Grace runs into a wall, yells in delight, spins around, falls over, and starts giggling into the carpet.
"Fairly active? L, she's…she's…how much sugar has she had?"
"Now you're shouting as well," L points out diplomatically. "You are not helping the noise level situation."
Naomi shakes her head in disbelief.
"Do you need to be supervised while supervising the child, L?"
"Of course not," L replies, feeling surprisingly insulted. "I am perfectly capable."
"And you thought it would be a good idea to give her sugar in the middle of the night?"
L hesitates.
"I suppose I was more focused on the case than anything else," he admits.
She's right. He ought to have known. It's basic human biology. Small bodies can only process small amounts of sugar.
So why didn't he think of it? He's L, for goodness' sake. What distracted him? Thoughts of Mail? Of Rae?
No, it's the case. Holland. Holland and his murdering and his god-complex. Holland, who isn't Light. Who isn't using anything supernatural or strange.
He can't shake this feeling. Not now. Not yet. With time, of course.
There will never be another Light. Never. The old one is dead and buried, and there will never be a new one.
He hopes.
When the sugar high ends, Grace looks like she's been hit with a tonne of bricks. She sits on the edge of L's bed swinging her legs and humming tunelessly.
"You ought to get into your own bed," L informs her. He's a little tired himself. Small children are exhausting. And bad for tympanic membrane health. His ears are still ringing.
"Do any monsters come out after dark?" she asks, listlessly.
A thought strikes L.
"Have you ever seen any monsters, Grace?"
"No," she replies miserably. "Will you tuck me in? My mummy always tucks me in."
"All right. You'll need to get up and move over to your own bed, however."
There are more footsteps in the hall, light enough that they must belong to Naomi. A moment later she pushes open his door for the second time that night.
"Everything's ready. M says all of the devices are working properly, and there are no blind spots in the room. She'll be perfectly safe."
"Thank you," L says, and means it. Naomi tosses something large and metallic onto his bed.
"You ought to wear this, just in case. No point in taking unnecessary risks."
"My bulletproof vest," L notes. It's been moulded perfectly to fit under his clothes so that it appears he's not wearing any armour at all. "Good idea."
They don't want anything to be too obvious. If Steve is going to come, then they want him to come. They just want him to fail during the process.
"I'll lock the door now," he tells Naomi. "Please inform M. I apologise for the trouble I caused you earlier."
"It's okay," she says wearily. "Just…if anything else happens and you're not sure how to deal with her, call me on the intercom. I don't mind. Goodnight, little one."
Grace waves to her sleepily and nuzzles the stuffed cat on her lap. L smiles to himself and shucks off his shirt. And five of his undershirts. And then Grace decides to fall promptly asleep and drop off the edge of the mattress.
He catches her awkwardly and deposits her into her lurid purple bed. Then he shuts the door firmly and carefully locks the seven unique deadbolts from the outside. Each bolt is completely fireproof and lockpick-proof. The cage will not be easy to open.
He fastens the vest over his remaining undershirt. It doesn't fit as well as it normally does, but he's got few other options with Mail watching his every move. The death note is still strapped to his chest, after all.
"Will you wake me, if anything happens to her?" he asks Rae.
"Sure, if I'm allowed to wake you by throwing you out the nearest window."
"You're so helpful," L says, around an enormous yawn. It's unfortunate that he needs to sleep tonight. It would be much better if he could stay awake and monitor Grace himself.
He hits the intercom button by his head without even thinking about it.
"Goodnight, M," he says softly.
"Good….night?" Mail asks, sounding more than a little put off. It's not the sort of thing they usually do.
He's changed. Maybe he's still changing. He's now at least three percent different to before he died.
Why is this happening?
Is this the price I pay for being more human?
Am I turning into Touta Matsuda?
He falls asleep before he can come up with any answers.
L wakes up at midday, and decides he wants jelly for breakfast before he even opens his eyes.
"L! L! Look what I found!"
Grace is apparently also awake. He grumbles and rolls over and pretends he cannot hear her.
She's young. She should need more sleep than he does.
Actually, his need for slumber has increased by thirteen percent over the past five years. He's getting older. Bodies still age over time, even in this second world, but the process is supposed to be a lot slower.
Hope my mind falls apart before my body does.
The sentence springs unbidden into his head. Just something that Watari said once as an offhanded comment, but it makes his skin crawl all the same.
He's finite. He's finite. He only has so much time.
"We're all fine in here," he mumbles into the intercom. "Please shut down the surveillance and divert your attention to hacking into Holland's computer for me, M. I want all of his files, if you can."
He's mostly awake. Grace will be safe without the extra monitoring, now.
He drowses for a little while, lost in his own thoughts, organising his mental case notes. Nothing came tonight. Does that mean that nothing will come at all? Or is he waiting?
"Wheeheehee, this is fun!"
"Go back to sleep," L orders, without moving the blanket from his face. It's good that nothing attacked her during the night, but he'd still prefer a little silence in which to properly return to consciousness.
"But this is so awesome! Look what I found!"
Found? L thinks, frowning. But you're locked into your bed. Did you get out? Did someone let you out?
He raises his head cautiously. Grace is still in her bed, giggling happily. She has apparently abandoning her toys in favour of clinging to a bleached, bony arm.
"Good morning L," Rae says with the sort of intense cheeriness that indicates it wishes him a swift and painful death. "Did we somehow forget to prevent the small child from touching the death note?"
L's heart stops.
"Look! A real live skellington!" Grace says, and points. "Can you see him? I'm gonna call him Boney."
"'Your majesty' will do just fine," Rae says haughtily.
"And he talks! This is so cool! Can I have a donut for breakfast?"
"Oh…god…" L murmurs. "She can see you."
"Oh, well done," Rae says acidly. "Good observations skills there, detective."
"We are best friends now, Boney. We are going to have a tea party. With real tea! Or maybe carrot juice."
Okay, don't panic. No need to panic. She can see Rae. She can speak to Rae.
The Shinigami does whatever it does to make itself immaterial and immediately backs away from Grace's bed, free from her sticky, five-year-old fingers.
"Aww, come back here!"
Grace grabs at the cage and rattles it.
"You need to be quiet," L tells her, automatically. His mind is beyond racing. It's catapulting from thought to thought. She's only five. No-one will believe the things she says. No one will think it strange that she has an imaginary friend.
At first.
"You need to have better control over the people in your care," Rae says, sharply. And then it sighs. "But why would I expect anything better from you? If you really cared about her, you'd get rid of Holland and be done with it."
"It was an accident," L says quietly. When she fell off the bed and he caught her even though he was only half-dressed. It must have happened then. There is no other explanation.
He acted without thinking.
He should have been paying attention.
Is this it? Have I become ineffectual? Am I…honestly not the best person to solve this case?
Is it time?
Hadn't Watari devoted an awful lot of time and money to raising a successor? And Watari hadn't expected either of them to die, certainly not as soon as they did. Which means.
He expected L to wear out, eventually. L's best employee, his number one supporter, made provisions for the day that he stopped functioning. As if it were inevitable.
Why did he not realise this years ago?
"L?" Grace wails from her bed. "L? Make the skellington come baaack! It's making me sad."
Hadn't he failed to save Matsuda? Hadn't he failed to stop Light? Hadn't he failed to protect Mello?
When will there be enough evidence? Should he quit when he's one hundred percent sure he's a failure? Five percent? Anything over zero?
"What's the matter, Lawliet? Don't tell me you're actually feeling remorseful."
L's head snaps up.
If I'm ineffectual, if I make mistakes so very easily, then why was I the one chosen to test the Shinigami king?
He's thinking destructively. It's just a part of grieving. Just a part of being kidnapped. Just a part of being forced to recall the Kira case.
Just a part of the inevitable.
If Rae is on his side, he'll be fine. If she has adult conversations, if she appears to suddenly find out things she cannot possibly know, if she starts holding onto an invisible hand, then they'll know.
And Rae doesn't want anyone to find out he has the note.
Unless Rae has changed strategies. Which is seventy-one percent likely, because the Shinigami is severely short on time. And it is aware that the team would be devastated to find out he was concealing something so important.
If it is attempting to debase him, then it will reveal he has the death note. It's the cleverest thing to do, and his god of death is very clever.
"Can you stop this?" he asks, with clarity, and without emotion. "Can you negate her ability to sense you?"
"No," Rae snaps. "I can't. She doesn't own the note, so I can't make her forget it."
It won't be possible to simply isolate her from the others. Naomi does not trust his child-rearing skills, and Raye is somewhat fond of her. They'll be in and out, checking up on him.
"Then, I must ask you to leave the room when the others are here," he says politely. "Please. Until such times as she is no longer with me."
The Shinigami grins at him malevolently. Its eyes are like hell, and he imagines for a moment that he can see Mello in there, burning.
"Hmm. What an interesting proposal. But why would I do anything to help you? You're so corrupt, it's pathetic. Maybe I should make a stand in the human world, tell people not to trust you. She'd say anything I told her to, wouldn't she?"
Rae walks back over to where Grace is slumped against the side of her bed.
"Boney!"
"Grace! Can you say a big word for me?"
"Can I have another pear?"
"I want you to say 'L could stop this right now'. Then I'll give you a pear."
"Enough," L murmurs. "This is useless. What good will it do, even if you do manage to unseat me? You won't benefit. I still won't use the note."
"You think I wouldn't benefit from the world being a better place, even if I lose?" Rae asks. "Not everyone is as selfish as you, you know?"
A better place. Now that's a tricky thing to define. If 'better' means 'not evil', then surely the world would be the best possible place if everyone in existence was dead.
'Better' is not the same as 'right'.
"Pear first!" Grace demands.
"You ought to have met Light Yagami," L tells the Shinigami. "You would have liked him. He was evil, like you."
Holland is probably evil, too. Or maybe L needs to stop projecting. Yes. That would be helpful.
"Are you an evil skellington?" Grace asks, with an enormous amount of curiosity and very little fear. L sighs.
"I'm a good skeleton," Rae says firmly.
It stops short of telling her that L is a bad man, but he hears the insinuation, just the same.
No one comes into L's room for about an hour. Rae reads Grace a story from one of her books, occasionally throwing a smirk in L's direction. L knows it's trying to buy her favour.
As if that is some sort of difficult task. She's five. And she's all alone.
And she loves monsters.
L sits at his computer, diligently ignoring both Shinigami and small child, doing further research on Holland.
He's going to beat Holland. He's going to win. And that will be that.
L feels an unfamiliar but distinct sense of dread when he hears a knock on his door. Naomi. Her husband's mission isn't until that evening, so she must have news of her own.
There's little chance that Mail would have seen anything he'd deemed unusual on the footage. It all comes down to how Grace acts right now.
And that depends entirely on Rae.
"Incoming," he warns softly. Grace is propped up against the wall, book in her hand. He imagines the scenario without the giant flaming terror that sits beside her, and assures himself that it appears to be perfectly normal.
"Come in," he calls, because there is nothing else he can do, now, except try and explain away any odd behaviour.
"Good morning!" Naomi says sunnily, mostly to Grace. "Did L give you breakfast?"
"Uh huh! Two donuts!" Grace holds up three fingers. L is somewhat perturbed by her complete lack of understanding of the concept of counting.
Naomi folds her arms sternly.
"That's not a balanced meal, L."
"I was going to get her fruit later," he reasons, without looking up. "And maybe…tomato and eggs?"
He wrinkles his nose a little at the thought of savoury food.
"She needs that sort of food as soon as she wakes up," Naomi informs him.
"All right," L tells her. "I will follow your proposed breakfast schedule for her tomorrow."
"And she can't sleep only when you sleep. She'll need at least nine hours tonight as well."
"Understood," he says, and tries to steer the conversation away from childcare. "Did you have something for me?"
Naomi tosses the newspaper on the desk.
"There's an article about Holl…about Steve," she says matter-of-factly. "I thought it might be worth a look."
"I have a skellington!" Naomi announces from her corner.
She lasted for a good two minutes. L supposes he ought to be impressed.
"Do you, honey?"
"Uh huh! He's my friend! He talks to me and reads to me and we're gonna have a tea party with real tea like L has."
"You can have real tea if it's herbal and iced," Naomi says, clearly more for L's benefit than Grace's. "I didn't even know you had a skeleton toy, honey. Which one is it?"
L freezes, eyes fixed on the computer screen. If he looks, it will be worse. He needs to act like nothing unusual has been said.
"No, silly! My friend skellington. His name is Boney, and he's right…heyyy, where'd he go?"
L does look up, then. The space beside Grace is unfathomably empty. No Rae.
He breathes out slowly. He's safe. For now.
"Really, L," Naomi chides. "Have you been paying her any attention at all? Five-year-olds should not be playing make believe on their own all day."
"Why did you buy her so many toys if they're not intended to keep her occupied?" L asks, a little obtusely. He wants to steer the topic away from Boney as much as possible. He delicately retrieves the newspaper from the tabletop, and examines the article Naomi has circled.
UNGODLY SERIAL KILLER PANDEMONIUM.
The headline is huge and bold, and features far too many exclamation marks. Clearly the author intends for the article to strike panic into the hearts of ordinary civilians.
Idiots, L thinks. Do you not understand that's exactly what Steve wants?
Except for that one word. Ungodly. Why ungodly? If Holland has seen the newspaper, he must be deeply unsettled by that word.
Perhaps the author is not so unhelpful, after all.
The story focuses on the Backstrum incident initially, before touching on each of the other cases. It subscribes to the popular belief that Steve is using some sort of demonic weapon or creature to commit his crimes. Predictably, one of the main interviewees is Ms Wainwright, the woman who lives next door to the Cunninghams.
'I tell you, when I saw that creature in the mirror, oh Lord, I've never seen anything so far from God in all my life.'
The world is full of idiots, and people who jump to conclusions. It's also full of people who thrive on drama. L wonders what sort of person Ms Wainwright really is.
"Can we play a game, N?"
"If it's quick."
"No," L says decisively. "I have a job for you, N. I want you to interview Ms Wainwright."
"Awww, no fair. I miss Boney."
Naomi cocks her head.
"Why?"
"Because I want to know what she knows," L tells her.
And then I'll have the whole afternoon with you and Raye out of the house, but you don't need to know that, of course.
"So, just about the Cunninghams?"
"And anything else to get a feel for the sort of person she is."
Naomi nods.
"All right. M has come up with most of the medical records, but I haven't been through all of them yet."
"I'll pick up where you left off," L assures her. "This is more important."
Naomi regards him for a moment.
"You're not leaving the building for this case, huh?"
"Not until it becomes necessary," he answers, with confidence. It pays to be careful, after all.
"Understood," she says briskly. "But I'm telling Watari to keep an eye on you. Grace is only young, L. You need to be responsible."
L grins a little, and salutes her.
"I understand."
L flicks through the medical records, starting with Grace's. The person in question is busy putting fingerpaint of various colours into his hair. He's grateful for the silence. He knows it won't last long.
Grace was born severely jaundiced and had to spend a few days in hospital. She was immunised at all of the appropriate intervals. She had a mild case of influenza when she was eighteen months old that landed her an overnight stay in the local hospital, mostly due to disproportionate parental concern than medical need. A year ago her grandmother took her to a clinic for children who suffered from recurrent nightmares, which was promptly cancelled by her parents. The notes simply say 'fascinated by monsters but not frightened of them. Recommend child psychiatrist if becomes excessive'. Last year she broke her arm and spent a few weeks in a private children's hospital on the other side of town.
And that's it. Presumably she's been completely healthy in every other way. L makes a brief note of her past ailments and turns to the next file.
Archibald Cunningham.
"You know what's bothering me about this case?"
"Ah," L says. "You're back, are you? Thank you for leaving. It was very….convenient."
"Oh, you're welcome," Rae says evilly. Its eyes are burning, ruby-red and awful. L looks back to his screen.
"So, what is it that's bothering you?"
"Well, no-one has actually seen this creature, have they? Don't you think that's strange?"
"BONEYYYYYYY!"
Grace launches herself at Rae and disturbingly manages to climb all the way up to its rib-cage before succumbing to gravity.
"I missed you!"
"I missed you too, Grace. Were you stuck here with nasty old L?"
Oh, spare me, L thinks disgustedly. And spare her too, while you're at it. She's too good for you, Shinigami.
"Yes," Grace says cheerfully, and Rae's grin doubles in size. "He didn't let me play any games at all. But I made his hair pretty!"
"It's lovely," Rae says. "Is L a bad person, Grace?"
"Er," Grace says uncomfortably, and sticks her fingers in her mouth. "Um. I don't know. No?"
"He is," Rae assures her. "But that's okay, because I'm here now."
"Yay! Can we have a tea party? I'll go get cups!"
Grace rushes off to her pile of toys in the corner. L glares at the Shinigami.
"Stop that," he says firmly. "I forbid you to corrupt her. She's five."
"Hey, I'm not the one who feeds her sugar and forgets to put her to bed at night," Rae points out. "She's better off with me."
"Nobody is better of with you," L says with certainty. "And what did you mean, no one has seen the creature? If no-one had seen it, no-one would be talking about it."
"Well, I mean, it makes sense if it really is some sort of visual-disturbance mechanism. But think about it. Wainwright saw it in the mirror. You've seen it on screens. But Grace didn't see the thing that killed her parents. The victims were all shot in the back. Nothing has directly laid eyes on this thing. I just find that unnerving."
L props his chin up on his knee.
"That is a valid observation," he concedes. Not that he'd expect anything less from his Shinigami. "I still cannot fathom why the victims are all shot in such a particular manner. What does it matter, if they're going to die?"
"Unless they're really planning for the future, maybe?" Rae points out. "If they don't think they'll ever be caught, and they want to keep doing this in the next world, maybe they want to be sure no-one can point them out?"
"That could well be the reason," L agrees. "I'd just like to be certain, that's all."
Grace comes and sits down next to the god of death, with an armful of bright pink plastic mugs and an enormous fake teapot.
"Are you two friends now?" she asks.
"What? No!"
"No," L agrees resolutely. "Can I take your previous suggestion as proof that there is a next world similar to this one, Rae? Have you been there?"
Where has Matsuda gone? Is he safe?
"Like I'd tell you," Rae says brightly.
Of course, L thinks. Perhaps you don't even know, yourself. But if you've been around so long, why don't you know these things? And if you haven't been around long, why are you so familiar with the human world?
He has too many questions, and not enough answers.
As always.
tbc
a/n:
+ thank so you much for reading (and reviewing!). you guys are all incredible for sticking with this huge and somewhat dodgy story for so long.
+ this plot continues to be horrible to write, and I continue to be horrible at writing it, so no guarantees for when the next bit will be posted. my apologies.