#5 Mouse

He was a very quiet boy. He had to be. No-one talked to him, other than his mum, and she had passed away.

No-one bothered to explain to him what the big hole in the ground was for, or why his mother wasn't going to be around anymore.

With her gone, he lost his only ally against his father's drunken rages. Yelling at the boy for not being smarter, for not concentrating, for all kinds of things.

At school, he was only spoken to by the teacher. And she only spoke to him to scold him for not paying attention and being unable to answer any of the questions she asked him.

He'd long ago stopped coming home from school on time. Knowing his father was there was enough of an excuse for him to find any number of distractions.

It wasn't just fear that kept him away. The colours in the world around him fascinated him. The colour of the sand and the ocean and how at the edge, the two mingled together, yellow and blue.

The teacher yelled at him when he said that Yellow and Blue together made brown.

But they did, at the ocean's edge it was always brownish-yellow, not green.

The other children called him bad names, because he was stupid.

He didn't realise that not everyone saw the world in a series of bright colours and blurred lines.

One day he was very late getting home. He was so late his father was angrier than usual. He demanded to know why he had to put up with a stupid child like this, a stupid child and a lazy wife who was better off in the ground than she ever had been alive.

He broke Mail's arm.

Mail didn't scream. He didn't make a sound until the next morning in school, when someone pushed him down in the playground. Then he screamed. He screamed until they had call an ambulance just to sedate him.

When he woke up, he was in a hospital. He knew that because when his mother had been ill, he'd come to visit her here, with his grandmother. His father hadn't come.

They asked him a lot of questions. At least these ones he could answer.

Who hurt your arm? Dad.

Who gave you all those bruises? Dad… and the kids at school.

He was bored there. One of the nice ladies who wore white all the time brought him a notebook and some coloured pencils, though it was hard for him to use them with a hurt arm.

He drew all the colours around him, he even showed the nice white-clothes lady how the yellow and the blue made a funny shade of brown, not green.

For a while he began to think he could live in this place forever, it was easier to concentrate, with white all around. He didn't say that, of course, because he was always quiet.

Then one day an old man came to see him. Older than his father, anyway. And another boy, with thick black hair and big black rings under his eyes.

He spoke to Mail. And he spoke in a very soft voice so he didn't flinch away.

"Hello. I'm L."

Mail didn't say anything, he just blinked.

L smiled a little and picked up the notebook of colours. "These are pretty… you like colours?"

Mail nodded.

L nodded back, "A lot of people around here seem to think you're stupid. I don't think you are. A stupid person wouldn't have noticed all these colours."

Mail felt the blood leave his face. He was sure he'd be sent back to the school.

L offered the notebook back. "Mail, do the colours distract you a lot?"

Mail nodded. He never meant to look away from class, but all the colours were so pretty that-

L nodded, "It's possible, Mail, that you have a deficiency of Oxytocin in your brain. It's a chemical and it can effect your perception of colours…" he trailed off, realising the boy wasn't comprehending. "I'm sorry… basically, it's not your fault the colours distract you."

Mail swallowed. "…Hard to see things sometimes."

L tilted his head. "…You have problems with vision?"

Mail nodded, courage growing when he wasn't scolded for speaking. "I can see it when I'm close but when I move away it gets too blurry."

L smiled and patted his head, noting the little boy's flinch at the touch, unused to friendly contact. "Don't worry, I'm sure we can fix that… and you don't have to be scared of your father anymore."

L yelled at the boy's teacher later. He had a few questions of his own for the woman, starting with why hadn't she noticed he was injured all the time?

Why hadn't she thought that he might not be able to see the board?

She hadn't been able to say anything.

Mail's father hadn't spoken a word during the trial, either. Hadn't even tried to defend his actions.

On the flight to England, Mail fell asleep against L's arm.

Watari smiled across at his young ward. "You believe he has a touch of genius?"

L nodded, "He hasn't been given the chance to show it, but you saw the drawings. No ordinary child draws things in that much detail. We can channel his intelligence."

Watari chuckled faintly and patted the little boy's arm. "Funny, I wouldn't expect it, he's as quiet as a mouse."