Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note or any of its characters and things like that.
A/N: I'M SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG! But I made this chapter longer. :O I hope you guys like it.
Glassy, glazed eyes stared down at the diluted scarlet, swirling and spinning as it was washed away down the drain. Mixing with the water, it was lost forever. He had no idea whose blood it was. He could put his hand up to his head to check the cut he had caused from trying to break his misery but L felt that any movement would make the whole room sway and tip him out.
He sat in the bathtub, letting the lukewarm water carry him to worlds far away in his mind. The constant sound of liquid slapping against the acrylic of the bath and the tiles of the walls was comforting. How much time had passed? He couldn't say. Partially because the shock had somehow stolen his ability to speak and mainly because he was unsure about whether the constant clanging he heard was all in his head or the large clock telling him how many hours had flown away with the water. Every now and then, the hot water would run cold and the only movement was L's shivering which would only stop when the water warmed again. He was numb with fear, pain and ice.
Wavering eyes stared at the dark emptiness that lay beyond the frosted glass window. That meant that it was late into the night. The room was shrouded in darkness and L struggled to make anything in the room out. Blinded, all he could hear was his own shuddering breaths and sniffles and the splatter of water.
After a while, water gurgled down the drain without the presence of crimson, though L was sure he could still taste and smell the blood. Exhausted, he knew he should sleep but it was impossible. Nausea swept through him and he was sure that he was going to be sick. However, it never seemed to happen.
Several more hours passed and morning was announced when the sun burst out from the ground and mixtures of red, yellow, orange and pink filled the sky and illuminated soft purple clouds. The room looked even more sinister when it was cast in red light. The blood on the shower curtain glistened and the red patches that were out of reach of the constant flow of water were clear against the white of the bath. Daylight only reminded L of previous events.
A familiar feeling wrapped itself around L and it took him a few moments to identify it as hunger. Disgust then took over. Why should he still feel hungry after all of this? It was only then that he remembered it was his birthday today. Eight years old.
What an earth was he going to do?
Not even the distant chirping of the birds was calming him down. He couldn't find the will to move or do anything at all, despite the water now being stone cold. Teeth chattering and lip wobbling, he realized that if he were to remain at all, it would be crouched in this bath.
The ringing of the phone pierced through the bells in L's mind and shattered the metallic clanging, replacing it with the artificial trill. It was only then that it occurred to him that even though he was alone in his house and all signs of life all gone, the world beyond the walls was still moving. Yet still, the thought of reaching out and throwing himself back to other beings made him feel tired and he just let it go to the answer phone.
"I'm currently unavailable at the moment. However, please leave a message after the beep.
His mother's voice tore through him like a thousand burning blades. He could hear the smile. He could hear her contentment. Somebody started talking after that, but L was no longer listening.
The pain from the cut on his head was fading gradually. Had it stopped bleeding or was he just used to it now? L felt as if he had absorbed half of the icy liquid in a similar way to a rag doll.
Judging by how high up in the sky the sun was, L predicted that it was about ten o clock when there was a knock on his door. It was a loud knock that screamed authority and it was enough to make L sit up quickly. A few seconds ticked by and then there was another knock, louder and more anxious.
Weary arms pushed up and L stood up stiffly. As he stood up and stepped out of the shower, small rivers of water spilled onto the tiles. On the floor he noticed a trail of bloody footprints across the tile. As he shuffled blankly into the hall and past this bedroom, he realized that he had left them wherever he walked and now he was leaving small puddles of water. He was so cold.
On the other side of the door stood two worried Wammys. Mrs. Wammy pounded the door in frustration. Nobody had shown up for dinner or answered her phone calls and a gut feeling told her that this wasn't right. Her husband, Quillsh Wammy, stood next to her calmly. Personally, he thought she was just overreacting but he'd never dare say it.
"Anybody home?" she called through the door. Then before her husband could stop her, she tried to open the door and was surprised to see it wasn't locked.
The elderly couple reeled and stumbled a few steps backwards at the powerful smell of blood erupting from the house. It was clear that something wasn't right. It seemed that she wasn't overreacting after all. Quillsh barred the way into the house and silently insisted that he entered the building first. He was the stronger of the two and potential dangers could be just around the corner.
Reluctantly, he had to remove his arm from the doorframe and give her entry. He knew how stubborn she could be and the stern glare she gave him told him that she wanted to know what was going on. Not even the scent of death could put this woman off when she had her mind set on something.
Both of them shuffled onto the faded cream carpet and it didn't take a genius to work out that the soaked carpet was not stained with red wine. Both of the old aged pensioners were horrified and overwhelmed and it took the loud creak of a stair to snap their attention to the figure at the top of the stairs. A shriek echoed and bounced against the walls and if Quillsh hadn't caught his wife, she would have sunk to the floor.
At the top of the stairs stood a twisted angel, arms outstretched as if he was silently asking 'why?' The long, dark hair plastered to pale, drained skin. It seems that even hair as explosive as L's would stay in place if drowned for several hours. Clothes clung to him, the white tinged with patches of red. Blood from the wound on his head slithered down a watery path on his face and it was difficult to tell if the droplets on his cheeks were tears or just the results of his previous actions. Dark, lonely eyes gazed down at them, unblinking. Glimmers of trauma flickered through them and the two adults felt as if they were staring right into L's soul and empty mind. Whatever element it is that makes us human and not robot seemed to be absent.
He wondered why they'd walked into his house. Wasn't that trespassing? He was dizzy and an unsure foot thudded to the top stair. One hand clung to the banister as he made their way towards them with almost jerky, puppet like movements. He was so very cold now that he was exposed to the wind blowing gently through the open door. It froze his skin and caused him to violently shake.
Mrs. Wammy then seemed to grasp control of the situation and no longer relied on her husband to keep her standing on her feet. Advancing a few more steps, she gasped when she realized who she was staring at. The sound hit L and although still stiff and cold from his plunging into the water, he was pulled back to reality and his eyes fixed on Mrs. Wammy's.
Finally he reached the last step and stood in front of them with a heartbroken gaze. It was Quillsh who finally broke the thick silence as L whimpered almost inaudibly and Mrs. Wammy stared at him blankly, desperately trying to work out what to do.
"If we don't warm him up quickly, the chances of him having hypothermia increase."
She understood that. The two adults realized that at that moment, their priority was to keep the small child out of harm's way. They'd ask questions later.
Oblivious to the dead body that was so close to them; Mrs. Wammy gently took L's hand and led him up the stairs. Just the contact of his fingers grasping hers made her shiver. He was deathly pale and it almost burned to be touching something so cold. Quillsh followed behind them, holding his hands out and making sure they didn't fall.
It took them at least one minute to get to the top of the stairs. L was shaking so much that it was almost impossible to move which made the adults even more concerned. Slow movements were a common symptom of hypothermia.
By the time they had taken him up all of the stairs, his breath was sharp and rasping. Quickly, he drew in the air and continued to tremble. For a couple of seconds, she froze in shock as she stared at the trail of footprints that wandered across the top landing but Quillsh, realizing that now wasn't the time, pushed gently on her shoulders and caused her to continue taking L back to the bathroom.
"We need to dry him off, quickly." She said hoarsely, struggling to yank his stained shirt over his head. If only he would stay still. With a slop, she threw it to the tiles. With difficulty, the two adults managed to undress the child until he was stood shivering, exposed and naked to the frozen air. Quillsh handed his wife a pile of towels and with haste, multiple towels were wrapped around L.
"Go make some tea. We need to warm him up quickly and it's vital that we do so by starting at the inside." Mrs. Wammy ordered as she ruffled L's hair with a towel and stemmed the flow of blood from the wound on his head. Before she had retired, she had been a nurse and was familiar with treating patients suffering from hypothermia. As she gently dried him, his hair began spiking and sticking up in the familiar way it did before.
Trembling less now, he sniffled and clung to her skirt like he used to do to his mother. Bending down, she wrapped her arms around him and held him close. The violent shaking made the embrace awkward and he had to be steadied. Comforting words and sounds were gently whispered into his ear and his breathing became more rhythmic. A muffled sob could be heard.
After a few moments, Quillsh returned with a steaming mug and it was held to L. However, although his hands took hold of the handle, the old man didn't let go. The way the boy was shaking meant that he could spill it all over in just the slightest movement.
With the aid of the two kind elders, he brought the mug up to his lips and the burning hot liquid slithered down his throat. Salty tears mixed with the sweet mixture and still, nothing got rid of the terrible taste that still remained on the tip of his tongue.
"What happened?" She asked and L buried his head in the blankets and shook it, reluctant to say anything. Firm hands scooped him up, towels and all, and carried him back to the hall. Stiffening up and wriggling he tried to escape but found that in his weak state, he couldn't. Still cold and wearing nothing but several towels, he was placed firmly on the wood of the floor and now that he was shaking less and there wasn't so much liquid in the mug, he was allowed to grip the drink and consume it himself.
"Where's your mother?" The clear voice asked him. L stared at the man kneeling uncomfortably before him, his nose wrinkling at the foul smell. Mrs. Wammy snorted in slight distaste. Violently shaking, a bare arm pointed towards the living room and everybody looked at the door.
Gravely, Quillsh pushed the door and it creaked open to reveal the fallen angel lying in a pool of congealing blood. The smell became stronger and viler; burning away the delicate skin of unaccustomed noses. The remaining colour drained away from Mrs. Wammy's face as they saw the sight.
Hands reached for telephones, squawks and shrieks echoed with the bells and they scurried around, calling for the police and ambulances. However, L was no longer concentrating. Pulling the towels around him, he sat on the floor and gulped down the tea, trying to forget all that would never be forgotten.
A/N: I could really use some reviews right now guys. (: They really help me with my writing and motivate me. Thanks to ActionFry, Danicasdeath and Kitty-chan and Nya-chan for reviewing.
