B: Ahhh, I'm glad you think so! ...Ah, but good luck with your math!

Ahh! I forgot to update yesterdayyyy; I kept reminding myself and I still forgot! *slumps* Sorry.

Well, after this chapter things start winding down, so here goes.

Enjoyyy?

It was a hot day that day, but L tried to remain cool as he did the dishes and then read his murder mysteries. It was hard, though, considering he always, always wore a long-sleeved shirt and pants now. He felt they were harder to take off, for one, and then, they left him less exposed. And oh, how he hated exposure.

He still remembered how that first day played out. The heat was uncomfortable, but he didn't want to unfurl from his position. He remembered the abnormal silence of the house. It was late afternoon when L got up to snatch something small from the pantry, and it was at this time that Uncle made his appearance. His eyes were narrow, almost in a drooping way. Bloodshot. He was holding his flask – that's what Auntie called it – and something seemed off about him. I mean, he never seemed quite right, but he seemed a little worse today. He muttered something under his breath. Then, he breathed a single word. "Alice…."

"Hello, Uncle," L greeted without expression, assuming Auntie's first name wasn't directed at him. "I'm just getting myself a little bit of food. Do you want me to make you something?"

"No," Uncle said in a hard voice, and L nodded.

"Okay, Uncle…." And he turned back to the pantry, thinking that maybe he would be disregarded and simply ignored after that. But Uncle called him to attention again.

"You," he said, and L looked up at him again.

"Yes, Uncle?" he asked in all politeness.

"You…." His eyes narrowed. "Stop putting on that act. So innocent and polite," he spat. "I know the truth, you little shit…. And you… you think that you can take Alice from me, just like everyone else thought they could. Just like your bitch of a mother, you know that? You're just like your bitch of a mother."

She wasn't a bitch, he thought, gazing up at Uncle with what he hoped was a blank expression. "I'm sorry," he said aloud.

"No you're not," he said coldly. "You're not sorry…." He came forward a step. L braced himself for what he knew was to come. "…But I'll make you sorry, you little fucking shit. 'Little genius?' Hah! Fuck you!" He chucked the flask at L, and it made contact with his head before bouncing off to the ground, sliding on the kitchen floor. It had hurt, sure, but Uncle was advancing and L could only hunch forward, ready for the pain. It was a fist to the face first, snapping L's head to the side, then a gripping of the collar of his shirt as Uncle lifted him and breathed in L's face. His sour breath disgusted him. "Do I need to teach you a lesson, Boy?"

"No," L responded, docile.

"Hah!" Uncle laughed derisively, and shoved him on the ground before stomping on his chest. The air was forced from his lungs, and he choked. When the foot was gone, he could only hastily roll over and cough, gasping for air. "You learn your lesson? You learn it?!"

L, breathing hard, staggered to his feet and turned to glare at Uncle. "No. No, Uncle, because there is no lesson to learn! I'm not doing anything wrong! You, Uncle Jack, are the unjust one, and there's absolutely no reason for you to hurt a five-year-old like this!" He paused to wheeze, then clutched at his chest as he continued, "You're wrong! You're wrong, Uncle…. Daddy raised me good, and Mommy was a good person, and I'm doing nothing to steal Aunt Alice!"

"You liar," Uncle said in a deathly low voice, and grasped at L's neck. "I'm teaching you a lesson, you little brat!" he yelled, and L's ears were ringing. He couldn't breathe. Just when he thought he may pass out, Uncle gripped the back of his shirt instead and L took in a gasp of air. Just as he got his breath back, he found himself being slammed into the wall next to the pantry. The air was forced from his lungs again, and stars danced before his eyes. Uncle was shouting, and with each exclamation L would be slammed against the wall again. "Son of the devil!" Uncle shouted. "You little shit!Son of a bitch!" The last slam was the hardest, and he heard something crack in his chest, and he cried out even though he didn't mean to and he was pulled back again before being shoved into the wall again, only sideways. There was another crack, and he cried out again as there was a piercing, stabbing feeling in his chest following the pain in his side, and he thought that he'd be slammed again and he nearly just screamed for him to stop because it hurt but then he heard more yelling but it was from Auntie and suddenly he was dropped to the floor to stand the pain…. But at least Uncle was done for now.

L was on his hands and knees, staring at the ground with wide eyes, his sight too bright and his chest heaving even though it hurt. But he couldn't stop, and he found himself coughing, coughing, coughing, and he couldn't stop that, then. His chest was burning. He felt something in his throat as he coughed, and he soon found himself hacking blood onto the floor. He felt a vague sense of panic, and he realized he would have to clean it up or Uncle would be mad, because Uncle didn't like the red on the floor just like L didn't like the red and he began to wonder if maybe Uncle didn't like the red either but—He was hacking again, more red, more blood, and he was trying to stop it, covering his mouth, but holding it in made him sick because he didn't like the metallic taste and so the red got on his hands but he couldn't wipe them because he had to wash them off because blood stained, it stained.

Uncle saw L on his knees with the blood running down his chin, smeared on his hands and left in a small puddle on the floor. And he was yelling at L, and L's ears were still ringing even as Uncle gripped at his hair, pulling at his scalp, and shoved him down just above the red and shouted, "Look at it! Look at your mess! Don't spit blood onto my kitchen floor!" And he shoved his face closer to it, and L cried out in pain again as something stabbed at his chest for the second time, and he could smell the iron as Uncle whispered in his ear, "Take it back, little fucking genius. You spat it there, so take it back. Don't do that, you little shit! Take it back!" And his face was shoved in the red so he had to breathe it, and he choked, he choked, he couldn't breathe blood and he couldn't take it back and he was really coming to hate its horrible metallic taste and his chest still hurt; it hurt. But having no other choice, knowing he wouldn't be let go otherwise, he took it back and swallowed it, all the while feeling like he was going to throw up, but he couldn't do that, no, because then Uncle would be angrier and Uncle might make him take that back too.

L's vision was still too bright, too bright, and as his scalp was roughly released and he stared upwards at the wall he thought he saw someone standing there with kind eyes and a warm smile, a woman with light brown hair that could easily be mistaken for dirty blond. "Mommy…," he choked out, and she seemed to smile at him. He could hear bells…. But then Uncle's foot was at his side, kicking him like he had on the day he spilt his milk, and he was yelling, still yelling, and Auntie was crying, and as the foot came each time there was a bolt of pain through his chest and he couldn't help but scream, but he wouldn't cry, he couldn't cry, and he didn't cry. He didn't cry. And as all of this went on, he thought of the apparition of Mommy he saw and thought that maybe it would be okay to die right then. It would end the suffering, and then… he'd go just like Mommy did. Willing to go. And when he had the chance he would look up to try and see Mommy again with the sound of bells resounding in the distance but she was gone now and his vision was growing dull. Duller than normal. And then dark. Blackness. Then nothing.

He had a dream in this darkness. He didn't remember much of it afterwards, but he remembered being with his mother. He was back at home, and Daddy was making dinner. And L was with Mommy in her room, only she looked healthy and not sick. Her smile was as beautiful as ever. And everything went normally, as it should, as if Mommy had never died. Everything seemed to have a hazy, dream-like quality, but Mommy's image came clear. Clear, vivid, and sharp. And at first, they spoke of little things. Of the school L would go to, and of love and of happiness. And L was happy as they spoke, but the words he remembered best were the ones she said nearer to the end of the dream.

"Things aren't going so well," she said to him, "but it's always darkest before the dawn." Mommy grabbed his hand. "You almost left, you know, and you could have…. But you've gotta go back, though. For Daddy, okay?" She smiled at him. "Just hold on. I love you, my little genius…."

The image melted and faded into nothing, and L's eyes flickered open. His chest hurt and his throat was sticky. The dream faded. Funny what the mind comes up with, he thought, and his eyes looked around the room to find he was in the guest room at Uncle's house.

"You're awake," said a voice, and L's eyes looked to who he found was Auntie. "There's good news and bad news for what I have to say."

He thought about how he didn't like bad news; didn't like it because last time he got bad news it was Mommy being sick. But he didn't say anything, just kept his mouth closed and looked at her dully. He could still taste iron.

"Well… the good news is you're okay. You really scared me when you coughed up blood," – L felt sick at the memory of it and having to take it back – "…but somehow, you seem to be fine. What's bad is you broke your rib in two places, and the fractured part actually poked out through your skin…." L thought of the stabbing feeling in his chest. "…But that's beside the point. What's good is I used to be a doctor, so I got your rib back in place. You can heal on your own without having to go to the hospital. A bad thing, though, is that… well, it's going to hurt a lot, and you can't do anything about it. Sorry about that…."

L managed to get out two words. "It's fine," he said in a soft voice, and looked at the window, covered by curtains. Yesterday, he had actually fought back, and had thus received the worst beating yet. He could swear he nearly died. And he guessed that it was that… it was that that finally broke him. Sure, he always had Daddy to hold him up, and he loved him for it, but his spirit had been crushed yesterday, and he didn't know if he would ever get it back. He didn't think he could ever stand up to Uncle again, if it came down to it, though…. Maybe I won't be a detective, he thought as he gazed at the softly glowing blue curtains, the daylight hiding behind them. I can't even defeat Uncle.

He spent the next day recovering, and he went home quietly with his father the day after. "I broke my rib," he told Daddy, and he looked down at him.

"What? What happened?"

"I fell," he lied, and would give no other details. Daddy insisted he be checked at the hospital, but L continually refused, using the argument that Auntie used to be a doctor. And eventually, Daddy gave in and just took him home.

August eventually drew to a close, and Uncle told Daddy that L was doing well being homeschooled. L knew not to protest and remained silent. He was technically at fourth grade now anyhow, so what was the point? As much as he hated Uncle, he was moving forward quicker than he would in public school, right?

So September began, and with September came the Blackberry Festival. With the Blackberry Festival came a short period of happiness that he would savor while it lasted. It was a piggy-back ride this year rather than sitting upon his father's shoulders, but it was above the other people nonetheless, and so he was satisfied. The annual strawberry cake was made, and stories of Mommy were told that night, as they always were. Daddy told L of memories gathered for the occasion, of wonderful times and joy and love. When Daddy had first met Mommy's own mother, and he had dropped the mashed potatoes. "The best first impression you could ever give," Daddy laughed. "Ruining a third of the night's dinner." He told his son of the happy times; of times L couldn't remember or of times he wasn't there to remember anyhow. But as the memories drew closer to the present, things grew sadder again.

"…You know," Daddy said eventually, "…your mother said something to me right before she left us."

L looked up at him.

"She told me to tell you that she loved you, forever and always…." He pulled his lips into a thin line. "And she saw the look on my face – because I didn't want her to leave us, see – and she told me not to be so sad. That I was the greatest thing that had ever… happened to her…." He closed his eyes, composing himself before he went on. "And I think that went for both of us, Son. We can't be sad. She'd want us to be… to be happy, you know?"

L nodded, and watched his father grow silent as he thought of the past. He eased his voice into the silence. "Daddy?" he asked his father in a soft voice. "Why do such bad things happen?"

Daddy looked at him. "Well," he said to him, "I guess there's got to be good and bad in everything. It's just…. Life can do terrible things."

L looked down. "Yeah…. I guess it can."

September would end and October would begin, bringing the week with his father L always had. He would go back to Uncle's on November fourth, now six years old, and the next year passed on like any other, full of pain and hurt and more scars to add to the old ones. His ribs would heal, though painfully, and L continued to not go to school once next September came around. He was middle school level now. The Blackberry Festival was a special time, as always, and L and Daddy kept their traditions intact. But it was always a short-lived time of year, and it would end. L turned seven, and the next year seemed to go even slower than the year before, and the year before that. Winter would end, and the spring would bring the rain. And he liked the rain. But summer would arrive, and things seemed to go especially slow at that point. L was wondering when his time with Uncle would just end, because even though he'd only spent about four years in it, he was coming to wonder if it would end at all. He kept reminding himself that if he waited it out, it would end eventually, but as things got gradually worse he began to wonder how much he, as a mere seven-year-old, could take. Auntie told him that children were more resilient than adults, and he guessed that he could see that by the way Auntie was so broken, but… really, he just wanted the hell to end. There would be an end, right?

September came around, and he still didn't go to school. He would have been in fourth grade. Though… he was high school level by that point. Auntie had taken note of it before and said to him, "You know, your mother was right. You really are a little genius." And he felt a flush of pride that he hadn't felt in what seemed like forever. He even smiled slightly up at her.

In any case, time went by at a snail-like pace, as it always would as he awaited the Blackberry Festival at the end of the month. It was especially bad when Daddy left for the first week of September. Work had stolen him away again. Things always seemed to be worse when he had to sleep over. Maybe because Uncle knew that he could get away with more. Every night, L would lock his door shut in order to ensure Uncle was kept out. If he didn't do that, then he probably wouldn't have been able to sleep at all. Even with that, though, he decided that he would merely crouch on one of the chairs and do more schoolwork until morning. This way, he wouldn't sleep, and he was finding that his special position helped to ward off slumber because it required balance. And if you were to start to nod off, you would lose your balance and wake up. It was perfect. Though, in that week, he was coming to sleep in short intervals even while in that position. It was all well and good, though, because L was coming to not like sleeping so much. Sleeping made him feel exposed, and sleeping made him dream. And his dreams didn't comfort him.

The week ended, thankfully, and things moved on. Two weeks later, though, on Thursday, September seventeenth, Daddy brought L to Uncle's to find local police cars parked in front of the house. L and Daddy glanced at one another before moving in and entering the metal gate. L was silently hoping that maybe the police had finally caught Uncle and were going to arrest him. But L could only see a policeman speaking calmly with Uncle, who was frozen in the front door.

"Hey, Lester," said a pudgy policeman with a mustache, greeting Daddy. L hadn't heard Daddy's first name in a while.

Daddy looked at him. "Yeah?"

"Well… what are you doing here? Don't you see the police tape?"

"We did," Daddy responded, "but I was supposed to take my son here to be taken care of while I go to work. What happened?"

"Well," – he paused, and looked at L – "…ah…." He pulled Daddy away, but L could still hear them. "Alice was murdered last night," he told Daddy in a low voice.

"What? Murdered?"

"Yeah, I know…. You're not gonna be able to take your son here for today. I can tell you we'll have everything cleaned up by tomorrow."

"Good lord…. Alright. Can't I go in? That's my sister-in-law, you know."

"No, no. Sorry Lester."

Daddy sighed. "Alright…. Thanks, Frank." The policeman named Frank nodded at him, and Daddy came back and began leading L away from the house. Away from Uncle. Daddy was very pale as they walked home. In shock, he guessed. "Son," he said slowly, "it seems… that we've lost Aunt Alice."

"I heard," L said in a quiet voice, and Daddy's hand closed tighter around his.

He stayed home from work that day to watch L, taking a sick day and explaining to his boss what had happened in low tones.

L guessed he didn't process Auntie's death at first. She was gone; erased. That was all. She was gone, just like Mommy, just like her sister. L didn't think much of it at first. He asked Daddy once what had happened, and Daddy explained to him that there were bad people in the world, and that Auntie had been killed by one of these bad people.

The next day L was to go to Uncle's again. L was terrified to go. Without Auntie there anymore, how would Uncle act? Worse, or better? Well… he supposed he would find out. When Daddy took him to Uncle's house the next morning, he knelt down on the platform at the top of the steps that led up to the door. Now closer to L's height, he grabbed his shoulders and looked him in the eyes. "Okay, now, Auntie may have left us, but I'm going to have to keep you here while I'm at work, alright? Things may be a little different now, but…. Things'll work out. They always do."

L nodded, and Daddy pulled him into a hug before releasing him. L walked into Uncle's house cautiously. Everything looked exactly the same. Things were silent. It was like Auntie was still there, really. And she had generally remained on the sidelines, in the background, behind the scenes in L's time at Uncle's, so… it seemed no different. The only off thing was the fact that Uncle was sitting in the chair L always first sat in upon entering. He closed the door slowly and carefully behind him, watching Uncle closely as he did so. "Hi, Uncle…," he greeted.

Uncle stared at him with a hard gaze.

"…Can… can I help you with anything?"

He only continued looking at him.

"…Okay…." He walked quietly over to the kitchen and pulled out a chair so he could do the dishes. He felt Uncle's eyes on his back as he washed them, but refrained from turning around to look. It made him incredibly uncomfortable. When he finally finished with the dishes, he was convinced that when he turned around he would find Uncle sitting on the kitchen chair, or standing right behind him. Yet, when he did turn, Uncle was still in the living room. Still sitting on the chair. Still silent.

The silence scared L, though. He had learned over the years that silence didn't bring the best ends. There was the silence that February when he was four, and Uncle had acted kind before attacking him in the night. Tried to do what he did to Auntie just a few nights before that. Tried to… tried to have sex with him, he thought. Then there was the afternoon in August, when he had been five. It had been silent throughout the day, and then… and then Uncle had simply come and beaten him. Hurt him until he was coughing up blood; hurt him until he broke his rib in two places: hurt him until he lost his will to fight back…. So no, he didn't like Uncle's silence.

"Alice is dead."

The silence was broken.

L looked up at Uncle again as he dried his hands on a towel. "…Yes," L agreed. He wanted to say something like, 'I wish she weren't,' but he knew that Uncle would be upset with him for any opinions he expressed. Any other word he had on Auntie.

Uncle was looking at him again. "You hate me," he said.

"No, I don't," he lied easily.

"You didn't give a shit about Alice, either," Uncle said flatly.

"That's not true," L told Uncle sincerely, cautiously making his way to the place that marked where the kitchen ended and the living room began. Where the white tiles turned into dark rug. "Of course I care about Auntie. I mean… after all, she saved my life on more than one occasion." L was surprised at that revelation, but wouldn't really think on it until later.

"I still don't know why," Uncle said bitterly.

"…Because… she didn't want me to die?"

Uncle gazed at him with such cold, hard eyes.

L stared back wordlessly, unblinking.

"You deserved everything, you know," Uncle informed him.

"I know," L responded docilely.

"Why don't you seem sad? You're seven, and your aunt just died. Admit you don't give a fuck."

"But I do care…. Maybe… it didn't sink in yet…."

"Didn't sink in? Fuck that. Your aunt is dead, you little bastard."

"I know," L said softly.

"Just like your bitch of a mother. Dead." Uncle stood, and L stiffened. But he only walked over to the window and glared out of it. "She didn't deserve to die. Alice, I mean, not that bitch Molly."

"She didn't," L agreed quietly. "She didn't deserve it…."

"Shut up."

L was silent.

"You have no right to speak here, little shit…. You didn't know Alice, and you never gave a shit about her anyhow."

L didn't respond, knowing to be dead quiet.

"And now she's fucking dead, and you have nothing to say about it. She was fucking murdered. And you don't care."

L just watched him, soundless. Knowing not to protest. Knowing not to speak.

"Isn't that right?" Uncle asked him as he turned to look at him with that horrible smirk-smile he'd worn that night in February when L was four. It was kind of like a sneer this time, though.

L hesitated. He'd just been told to be quiet, but he supposed this required a response. "…No…," L said in an incredibly quiet voice.

The smirk-smile sneer was wiped from Uncle's face, and his expression became one of anger. "I told you to shut up," he said in a low voice. Well, there it was. Uncle had trapped him. Checkmate, little fucking genius. Only I can win at my game.

"…I…I'm sorry," he said. It was barely a whisper. He thought maybe he shouldn't speak, but if he didn't apologize then Uncle would be mad anyway…. No, he thought, I should have been quiet there. I should have been quiet.

"Don't you dare speak!" he snapped, and suddenly he was advancing. "You have no right to speak up on this topic, not you, you son of the fucking devil!"

L braced himself as he came forward, and he found Uncle's hands gripping his neck like a vice. His own small hands grasped at his in an attempt to loosen his grip, if only slightly. Uncle began to shake him. "You didn't know Alice! You didn't know her! You're happy she's dead, aren't you?!"

L couldn't respond. Nor could he breathe so well, for that matter. He felt lightheaded already, and his head was throbbing and pulsing. His eyes were bulging as he could feel the higher pressure in his head. He remembered the feeling from last time, right before he had broken his rib…. Only this time it was worse, and he could only clutch at Uncle's hands as he felt the lack of blood to his brain.

"You're happy about it! You're fucking happy!" He was still shaking him, which only made it worse, and L could see stars now. His sight was too bright again, and there was a fleeting moment where he thought he might see Mommy again. But she didn't come this time. "You hate her! You hate her; just like you hate me, you little shit! For all I know, you're the one who killed her!" He swung the seven-year-old around, and L worked to make his feet scramble along with the movement so his neck didn't snap. Then he was slammed against the wall and lifted, and he could swear he was about to pass out. His vision was far too bright and starry now. He looked around for Mommy, but saw only Uncle's mask of rage. Uncle's mask of rage and an empty room. Auntie wouldn't be coming to save him this time. She couldn't; just like Mommy couldn't. And they wouldn't. Uncle was angrier than ever and he was directing it at L, and it was bad. Very bad.

"Just die, little shit! Just die!"

Things were bright and fast and surreal now and L wasn't even clear on what was happening anymore. He couldn't make sense of the words Uncle was saying, and was only trying to ward off the darkness that was threatening to engulf him. He couldn't breathe, and he couldn't think, but somewhere in the back of his mind there was a muttering in his head that said that maybe if he had snapped like this at Auntie, he could have killed her. He could have… killed….

Things were going black.

Fun Fact: After I had written the beginning of L's past, and the story of his parents had been established, I discovered the song Terrible Things by Mayday Parade. It was scarily close to their predicament, and I ended up incorporating it into the story... So there's that!

Review? For...hrm... I dunno.

Kittens. I like kittens.