Author's Note: I'm gonna say it right now. I'm not very fond of this chapter. I never realized how much I was relying on dialogue until I set out to write an essentially dialogue-less installment! I guess it's good that I pinpointed one of my weaknesses, but still… Bleh. Anyway, try to enjoy this short, weak link of the chain as much as you can and thank you for reading.
Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note or any of the characters used in this story.
Every once in a while it feels good to be just another face in the crowd. When you merge into a mass of humanity and become a nameless speck, you have the benefit of anonymity. No one knows your story, and no one cares to know it. They don't care that you abandoned your only true friend. They don't care that you stole the contents of someone else's wallet to make it past customs. You're just another body. It's almost as if you don't really exist.
It just goes to show that to dwell only on what you can touch is to miss the whole picture.
I shifted awkwardly in the rigid airplane seat, gripping my black suitcase tightly. The duffle bag had been deposited in the overhead compartment. I didn't care if I lost that.
To one side of me sat a middle-aged man, who flipped unenthusiastically through a news magazine with Kira's name on the cover, to the other sat a young child, who looked up from his gameboy only to answer his mother, who was seated across the aisle.
I tried to steal an inconspicuous glance at the boy's screen before wriggling again and closing my eyes.
Hours later I was awakened by a kind-eyed flight attendant who told me that we had landed and asked to collect my tissue-paper airplane pillow. I blearily handed her the pillow, grabbed my bags, and made my way off the plane.
The first thing I did once I got into the airport was purchase a stale, prepackaged muffin from a kiosk in the terminal. I parked myself at a two-person table and stuffed pieces of the breakfast pastry into my mouth, choosing to shred it, rather than bite it directly. It was sad and frustrating that no matter how full the table grew with crumbs, the chair across from me remained empty.
The unending chaos of the airport quickly began to wear on me. Everywhere people chattered, announcements blasted from speakers, and misshapen go-carts raced through teeming crowds, eager to deliver their cargo of luggage and humans. It was time to get out of there.
I ducked into a public restroom where I hid myself in a stall and opened my suitcase. The document I needed was right on top where I had left it. Folding the paper into a tiny square, I stuffed it in my pocket and flushed the empty toilet.
Not too long after that, I found myself stepping off a bus in L.A.'s western suburbs. I pulled the paper from my pocket and looked at the street signs. Thank God for streets named after numbers…
After wandering along the sidewalk for some time, I heard the shrill howl of sirens rend the air. Ahead of me I could see police cars and ambulances racing to the center of an intersection where two cars had slammed into each other. The cause of the accident was obvious. Both traffic lights shone green.
It might have done those drivers some good to think for themselves rather than blindly submit to a blinking light.
I quickened my pace to avoid the grisly scene and walked for about ten more minutes before reaching my destination.
The multi-floored storehouse stood indifferently before me, daring me to enter. It seemed to have fallen into a state of considerable disrepair and probably sparked many debates at neighborhood council meetings. My feet froze to the ground. Now that I had finally made it to the target of my pilgrimage, I was afraid to go in.
This had been B's final residence. The place where everything had been planned.
I chased away a shiver and swallowed before gently pushing against the door. It groaned like a bitter, old cat and granted me entry.
The interior of the bottom floor was illuminated by only what meager daylight strained its way through the dusty windows, and pieces of old machinery littered the floor, hiding under torn sheets. As I crept past, my footsteps echoed off the empty walls and bounced back to my ears as loud as gunshots. There was nothing of interest here. I would have to climb the stairs.
I felt like a character in one of Matt's games, pressing my way higher and higher up a fantastic tower, hoping to find the final boss. There was no stirring soundtrack for my ascension though, and I had already blown past all the save points.
As I cleared the final stair, the image of a makeshift bedroom took shape before my eyes. A simple bed with white sheets, an end table adorned with an office lamp, and a chest of drawers. The chest of drawers had an old mirror on top which reflected no light due to the layers of dust it had accumulated over the years. I stepped into the room like one would step into a mausoleum.
I don't know what I had been expecting exactly, but it certainly was not this.
This was no monument to authenticity. It was no comforting library filled with answers. It was an empty room.
I had traveled all this way for an empty room.
Tears of bitterness began to well in my eyes.
"Is this it?" I screamed out loud. "Is this fucking it!?"
I kicked over the end table, sending the lamp clattering to the ground, and began to let out tears I had been suppressing for months.
Someone's possessions can say a lot about them, and a picture is worth a thousand words, but no one's life can be summed up by mere objects. To place the soul of another person in a box, or more appropriately, a suitcase, is to do them a terrible injustice. You have essentially damned them to existing as nothing more than what can be put on the curb on trash day. The content of one's soul and mind is intangible, unfathomable, immaterial. For me to think that I could gain full understanding of B and myself by visiting what was essentially just another, larger suitcase was absurd. The answers laid in what was not there, in what could not be touched. Just as they had so long ago.
Author's Note: I promise the next chapter will be better. Please believe me! Unfortunately I must add insult to injury by adding that my next update may take a little longer than usual because of some upcoming social obligations. I'm sorry…
