A/N: Hurk, me and my stupid depressing monologues. Is this what comes with being a teenager? Get me through fucking Uni already!
Ahem. Anyway, I managed to pull myself up back onto my writing wagon (is that even a thing?) and right now I'm listening to Doctor Who soundtracks and really pumped for both the next episode and the 50th anniversary, AND WRITING! Which hasn't happened to me in ... a month? Maybe even more.
The last time I posted this chapter I was really hyped and I laughed at the people who thought it was the end, but was really touched by how much you guys liked it. For the last few weeks I've been really unsure about my ending and this whole 'fanfiction' thing. I was being stupid, I mean, really REALLY stupid. I think that comes with the territory of being pre-adult.
Fuck that shit.
I had WAY more balls last time I posted this, which was more than a year ago, back when I was [censored] and a little wonky in the head ... wait, I still am, I've just matured QUITE A BIT, even though I am still prone to my odd childish bouts, and as my elder sister put it (who is married and has two wonderful ginger sons), I DON'T HAVE TO BE MATURE. I'm going to get over myself and post this shit because its MY FIRST BOOK (even though it's FANFICTION, it's long enough to be considered one). This is a part of me, it's my baby, and I'm a procrastination monster. This is one of the few things that put a spring in my step and a sparkle in my eye, and I need to hold onto writing (even if it's fanfiction) like a fucking lifeline because hormones are like little bitch monsters.
And besides, it's not like I'm trying to impress anyone. This is fanfiction, a love for something thrown up into sort-of-literature.
So here are the next three chapters.
- D-redheaded-W
Chapter Twenty-Eight - Madness
The madness is a part of us all,
Flickering on the edges of our imagination,
In our voice after trauma,
In the air of a place of evil,
In their eyes when we've lost all hope.
L looked down at his pocket, where his phone was vibrating. Light looked at him sideways from his spot in his own chair. The Task Force was spread across the room, checking or double checking the small pieces of evidence that they did have.
He pulled the phone from his pocket and checked it. There was only a single text message on it.
The words had him reeling.
He immediately clicked a key on his keyboard to call up Watari. The gothic W filled the screen, and his old friend's voice spoke. "Ryuzaki, is there something you need?"
His voice was strangely panicked, and when he spoke everyone in the room paused to watch him. "Watari, where is Niiro?"
There was no reply for ten seconds.
"The cameras captured her heading up to the roof."
His eyes widened in horror. Without looking back he leaped out of his chair, sprinting for the stairs. "Watari, get a sedative!" he called over his shoulder.
"Where are you going?" Light called after him, followed by confusion from the Task Force.
He was in full out panic. There was no way, dear god he hoped that it wasn't true. (He didn't even believe in god.) His heart was thundering, and it hurt, but every second counted at that point. Technically he'd already wasted time.
She wasn't really going to …
Was she?
This was the first time he'd experienced something like this, and he decided that he hated it. He'd let himself rest easy, and now something like this happens?! What on earth was she thinking?!
Fuck it he had to go faster.
By the time he'd burst onto the roof he was breathing so hard that he was wheezing and his mouth tasted like blood. He was almost too late. "No!" he cried, running forward into the storm. She'd almost jumped, and there was a moment of sickening terror in which he wondered whether he was too late …
Just as she was about to jump he grabbed her and dragged her back to safety.
That was when she completely lost it.
She became a kicking, screaming mess that wouldn't stop trying to escape. She'd suddenly lost everything that made her, her, and it shocked him to his core. He was forced to pin her to the ground so that she wouldn't do anything to hurt him or herself. It tore him apart to see that her eyes had lost all sanity to them.
And what really hurt was that she was crying.
Watari rushed from in the building, holding a small case. He knelt down next to the detective and noted the state that she was in, and without a moment's thought he opened the case and filled a small needle with a clear liquid. He then handed it to his younger ward.
"Sorry about this," L apologized quietly as he stabbed the needle into her shoulder. In only a few seconds her breathing returned to normal, her eyes rolled up into her head and she stopped struggling entirely.
Watari patted the young detective on the back as he stood up, watching her now unconscious form. "She'll be just fine," the elderly man tried to comfort him.
"I hope you're right," he croaked.
I'm sacrificing my Queen. Find what I left, and make sure you capture Kira. It's been great. See you later, Panda-Face.
– RED
The bells were especially loud that night.
…
…
…
…
…
Auh …
…
…
Where …?
…
There are moving shapes …
…
No …
Get away …
Get away from me.
Away!
Get away from me!
Ah!
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
Doctors rushed forward to contain the frantic patient. They strapped down her screaming form, an in one fluid motion injected her with enough sedative to knock out an elephant.
Monster …
She was four years old.
"Darling, come look at this!" her mother beckoned the toddler's father over to the child, who was sitting on a mat playing with colored letter blocks.
"Hmn … what is it?" her father asked, sauntering over. He took one look at what the child was writing, and his eyes widened, "Whoa, s-should we tell someone about this?"
Next to the four year old, a mute four year old, the letter blocks spelt out one sentence:
I can hear you, and I know what you say.
Most normal children say either 'mama' or 'dada' as their first words. Not this one. Her first words were: "Shut it off," in reference to the song playing on the radio. She never liked country music, ever.
"All she does is read. She doesn't pay attention in class, never answers any questions, doesn't talk to other children, and yet she still scores nearly perfect on tests," the student councilor gave an exasperated sigh and looked pointedly at the father of the child in question.
"I'm sorry. She never was one to talk … and her mother passed away a few years ago. Sometimes, it's just best to leave her to her own devices," he apologized. The young girl that they had been talking about smiled lightly from behind the book she was buried in. The title was labeled 'Encyclopedia'.
"Momma, why are my eyes like this?" the little black-haired girl asked her mother as she looked in the mirror. For a reason that nobody could really explain it appeared like her pupils had dilated and refused to shrink. Some described them as emotionless or dead.
"It's because you can see the light in the world better than any of us," the brunette laughed her joyful laugh and ruffled her daughter's hair.
"Hey, freak show, didn't the circus already leave town?" one girl taunted at the young black haired teen. She was surrounded by five other girls, who were teasing her relentlessly.
"I don't recall there ever being a circus here, or has your short term memory been compromised?" she taunted back, a small grin tugging at her lips as the other girl blinked in surprise.
"Well … your hair is so greasy!"
"It's just the lighting in here."
"Um … You don't have a boyfriend?" The last came out as more of a question.
"Good job, nothing gets by you," the black haired teen chuckled and rolled her eyes. "Now please move aside, I was going to class, or do you want me to wait while you come up with some better insults?"
I've seen these before …
"Maybe we should have her checked?" the father suggested, leaning against the counter. He sighed and rubbed at his temples. His face was worn and tired, mostly from the strain of rearing a young, rambunctious genius.
"Do you really think that's the right answer? They'll have her locked away or constantly tested on – put in an institute. Any chance of having a normal life will be ripped away from her," the Mother argued, who was just as tired and worn. Her long brown hair was slightly messy and dull, along with her blue eyes.
"It's just … she obviously doesn't fit in with the other kids. She isn't normal. I doubt she ever will be."
"No, she isn't normal, she's unique, and we should embrace that."
Sigh. "You're right."
The small girl leaned against the wall, clutching her book and listening in on the conversation. No, she wasn't going to be normal. She was going to be abnormal. She was going to reach the top, and become the best of the best.
At least, once she figured out what place she wanted to be the best in.
"Daddy, where do babies come from?" the little girl of five asked, watching the television with her father. The two characters on the soap were arguing about having children.
"Uh, well, babies come from mommy's tummy," the father said, a bead of sweat running down his face.
"Daddy, if you think that's going to satisfy me, you are wrong. Where do they really come from?"
Oh, this was going to be a long night …
When she had her first 'experiment', the neighborhood was put into a state of shock. When every single one of them woke up, somehow their hair had been turned blue.
"Heh, maybe her mom was a whore," one boy laughed. He was just a skinny, pimply teenager, just barely starting puberty. The black haired girl spun around, all calmness gone. The boy stared openly in shock as she rushed over and tackled him to the ground.
"Never insult my mother!" she roared, punching the boy in the face. She sat on his stomach and continued to beat him senseless, heedless of the shouting around her. They needed three teachers to help haul her off of the poor boy, whose face was bleeding freely.
The girl spat at the ground in front of him, "You never talk about her again! You fucking reprobate!"
The teachers holding her back stared in shock at the young girl. How did she ever learn that word?
These teachers had only been teaching her for a week. She was the new kid after all – they didn't know what they were dealing with.
"You're an enigma, a puzzle that I cannot solve."
The high school teacher was never the same again. Not after that … He had been teaching when a young girl, whom he had never heard speak before, said in the middle his lecture, "You're wrong."
He looked over at the young girl. She sat at the back, so she had needed to speak up to address him. In front of her a book that had nothing to do with the class was open. The first day of class (and every class after that) all she had done was sit there and read different books. He had presumed that she was a troublemaker and would never achieve anything, until he read her test results: a near perfect score. The question she had messed up on was easy, and the answer had pretty much been presented earlier in the test.
Was she mocking him?
"Explain to me, how am I wrong?" he asked.
The rest of the class watched with silent horror for the next ten minutes as they argued over the fact.
In the end, the strange girl from the back of the class had won.
She relaxed, stretching out luxuriously on the hotel couch. Sunlight flitted in through the half-drawn blinds and bathed her in its warmth. Her black hair took a copper sheen from the light. She crossed her arms behind her head, eyes closed and a small smile on her lips.
On the other couch on the other side of the coffee table, her friend and co-worker stared at his laptop screen, reading whatever information was on it.
"Hmm … I think every day should be like this. It's so nice," she said, a light purr making its way to her voice as she relaxed. Her friend looked up, and then looked back down at his computer.
"I agree."
"I am Red."
The body, mangled, rotting and emitting a putrid scent only death and decay could harbor, hanging by its neck from the rafters. Strips of flesh falling off the bones, guts hanging out of the holes in the corpse, most of the arms and legs already decayed enough to fall from the body. Flies and maggots swarming over it, bones, littering the floor, empty eye sockets stared at the young black haired woman standing in the doorway of the small room.
Naomi Misora.
We've found her.
She snuck up on him, a mischievous grin on her face. In her hand was a normal looking cup of water. Coming into sight the black-haired man slept peacefully (as much peace as a man like him could get). His laptop was still on the coffee-table, angrily glaring at the room.
With surprising stealth, she managed to sneak up on his curled up form in the armchair. She successfully wedged the cup between his foot and the armrest without waking him up. Now, with increased caution, she slowly took his hand and dipped it into the cup …
And ran, trying to contain her giggles.
I know these scenes …
Memories …
Replaying over and over in my head …
I submerge again.
"Oh my god, Makoto …" Kakushin cried, sobbing into his shoulder. Her friend held her tightly, not daring to let her go.
"It's okay," he whispered meaningless words into her ear, trying to comfort her. She was in a state of shock, especially after receiving the news of what Kurai had done.
"Why would she do that? She's such a selfish bitch sometimes … she didn't even think of what would happen to us if she died!"
"She's not dead, you know that," he whispered, rubbing her back as she shook.
"She was going to kill herself! Why would she do that?!"
"Maybe she had a good reason to," he whispered, burying his face in her hair, trying not to cry too.
"Ryuzaki, where are you going?" Light called out to the elusive detective, who had been pretty much avoiding him the entire day. The dark man looked over his shoulder at his top suspect, no, Kira, and then turned to leave again.
"Ryuzaki!" Light called, starting after him, "You're going to go visit Kurai … aren't you?"
The detective paused again, before letting out a small 'yes', then leaving for real. Light stared after him, then scowled and prepared to follow. He was stopped by his father however, who put his hand on his son's shoulder.
"Leave him be Light, this is just as hard on him as it is us," the older detective said, gazing sadly at the doors where Ryuzaki had left from.
"I don't know if he does understand," the teenager huffed, "She's just as important to me …"
"Light, I don't think you truly appreciate the depth of their bond," Light's father said. "It's normal for teenagers to date other teenagers, but those relationships don't always last. Her and Ryuzaki however … They do not regard each other romantically, but they understand each other in a way that we couldn't even begin to comprehend. Sometimes, they seem like completely different people, but other times they seem frighteningly similar. They're closer than siblings."
"How do you know?" Light said, looking rather perplexed and staring at his father. The older officer sighed.
"I was a little skeptical when I first heard of 'Red', and when she walked into the room for the first time I had many doubts about her. It was only during the conversation that I came to realize how alike they were. She jumped into the conversation for him, and vice-versa. I've even seen them complete each other's sentences."
"Whoa," Light blinked, looking back at the door.
"It must pain him greatly to see her in such a state," Mr. Yagami said, releasing his hold on his son.
L, the greatest detective in the world, the one who had solved countless crimes, laughed in the faces of world leaders, sent thousands of criminals to jail and over all always had something to say was at a loss for words. He couldn't speak. His throat was constricted. He couldn't do anything as he gazed sadly into the room. His body was shaking.
Padded yellow walls, a single, padded door (on the inside only, it would be kind of awkward to be padded on the outside) facing the north side of the building. She was sitting in the corner without an expression, constricted in a straightjacket. Her eyes were completely dead, without any sort of emotion or life flickering in their onyx depths. She didn't even acknowledging his presence.
"Kurai?" he finally reconnected his brain with his body and spoke to her. Hesitantly, he took a step into the squishy room, guards with large sedative needles at his back if she got violent once again.
He received no answer in return.
Did she even know he was there? Did she remember that he existed?
Was she trapped in her own consciousness, someplace where she couldn't fight off the monsters of her past, somewhere devoid of light or hope?
Somewhere he couldn't reach.
Fire.
Smoke.
Ashes.
Blood.
Death.
The bells …