There's something about horror movies that remind you how much your own life doesn't suck. Getting to freak L himself out with Ring is just a great bonus; if he really is scared and not just pretending. The guy's a total pervert, and you don't trust him a bit—so you're not surprised at all when L says, "but this movie… I can see where the Second Kira got her inspiration from."
"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?!" you retort, crossing your arms.
"Nothing," L says innocently.
"Ugh, just say it already… you still think I'm the Second Kira, don't you?" you push.
"Well… yes."
"Sheesh, just because I watch scary movies?" you complain. "Are you really L or just an internet troll?"
"I'm not L, I just work for him," L says.
Does he really—? He thinks you somehow missed this? No way! You can't help laughing; not because it's funny (though it is, it is and you can't believe it, your stomach is cramping with how much your laughter pains you, how much it hurts). "What—you actually think I'll believe that?"
"It's true…"
"Okay, Ryuzaki," you say insincerely, with a perfect smile. "You're not L."
It's incredible, to see his face looking so utterly thrown, to see him pushed off guard the way he's always trying to do to you, his bug-eyes swirling with fear. L creeps you out. He always has. It's not even that he's ugly; you're not shallow, you know that not everyone can look as good as you and Light. L just always feels like something vaguely slimy and scuttling, one of those people who's too funny and too innocuous (and too, too fucking rich) to be a pervert. Those guys are the worst of all, because they get away with everything. But now, your heart is pounding, and it isn't from fear, it's from exhilaration, and he knows it. He wants to know how you figured it out. How you managed to find him under his cutesy little mask—but you won't tell him. Sure, it's always useful to be underestimated but sometimes you just want to hurt someone and get away with it, damn the consequences.
"Misa-san, it would be wonderful if I was L," L says, his slack, open mouth, his staring eyes, so wide they look like bullseyes stuck in the middle of a marionette; "it has a kind of cartoon-logic to it, doesn't it? If I was actually the greatest detective ever?" he sighs. "Unfortunately, I'm just a private investigator, that gets stuck with the dirty work," he says, and jangles the chain on his wrist.
You glare at him. The nerve—! "Light isn't dirty work!" From under your hand, you can feel Light's skin (under your hand, under his smooth shirt; and a tingle travels through your body, all the way through your fingers and toes; you press your hand against his chest and feel the solid power of Light's breath; you want to get closer even than that). Abstracted, Light is gazing at the credits running over the dark screen, casting an eerie glow throughout the theatre room; when his eyes narrow, something cruel and deep seems to drift toward the surface. And Ryuzaki is watching Light too, just as caught by that momentary expression, his thumb pressed against his full lips, the sickly bruises under his eyes standing out like something rotten and sagging. The chain seems tacky and weird, you frown and find that your teeth have bitten into your lip and there's blood on your own tongue. Surely it doesn't take a genius to figure out how fucked up this is! But no one listens to Misa-Misa; no one ever listens to the pretty face. At least you're not too worried about Light. He's perfect, and he's smart enough that even if he were Kira, you know he'd never get caught. If L knows what's good for him, he should be the one who's scared to look at Light like that.
Anyway, if you cause too much of a fuss you know L could just as easily revoke these "dates" and keep you locked up here just as alone as you were when you were kidnapped—
The stalker keeps quiet for the first three days. But his partner doesn't. An old man, you can tell, from the way his hands feel through latex gloves. It's not that he's touching you inappropriately. That would at least make more sense. He's strapped you against this tall metal piece like he wants to watch you being restrained, leather straps radiating from a metal ring. Under that is the straitjacket that keeps you from moving your arms even a little; your legs are bare below the thigh, and the straps pull uncomfortably against your crotch. It's all some kind of sick sexual fantasy, except that no one's doing anything about it. You wish you could see. The visor makes everything so much more unnerving, because of the way you have to strain your ears to listen for any sound; the stalker's partner moves like an old man, too. A kind of stately walk. But not frail; the opposite of frail. Every step has decision in it; and your mouth is so dry. They won't give you any water. You're not sure how long you've been here. But the stalker's partner keeps asking you the same questions. "What do you know about Kira?" "Are you the Second Kira?" "How did you carry out your kills?" You close your eyes under the visor and drift away from your body. It's almost like sleeping, really… anyway, you almost feel like you have a god on your side, so you should be all right as long as you don't say anything…
It's not the first time the stalker's partner has injected you with something. He's kneeling to push the needle home against the inside of your thigh, and he asks you again, "When did you meet Kira?"
"Don't say anything, Misa," a low, anguished woman's voice reminds you. It's like a piece of your brain has gotten stuck outside, but you're glad, because otherwise you might have answered. You don't know why it's so easy to forget…
I won't, you think fiercely. I won't say anything, no matter what they do to me.
—and L is still watching you, a vacant clownish creature, but you can see that calculating focus move toward you, and you dimple, and flip your hair a bit and say, "Light's my knight in shining armor."
"Is that so," L says.
"Yeah," your voice goes dreamy, and you focus on that, allowing yourself to imagine, candy-flavored memories tinted with the daydreams you've projected on it during the time since, when Light looked at you, genuine and open, and you felt the protective cloud of his worry like a soft blanket. Even though he may be beautiful when he's angry, he's also beautiful when he's innocent and sweet; like a kaleidoscope, every viewpoint brings something new and sparkling toward the surface. Like an angel, you think, and remember the softness of his lips. "I guess you've never had anyone love you, isn't that right, Ryuzaki?" you say coyly.
"Yes, I suppose you're right," Ryuzaki says. "I certainly don't seem to understand Misa-san's deep devotion."
"Well," you say, "maybe one day you'll understand what it means to actually care about someone… and to know that if anyone hurt you, your lover would do anything to make sure you're safe… don't you think?" you add brightly, and pull your hand slowly down Light's arm until Ryuzaki's eyes follow the motion, hooked; his lips shine wetly, slightly parted, and you know your eyes are hard and very cruel; a warning. Don't even think about touching him. I'll know. I'll know, and I'll kill you.
How did you figure out he was L? It wasn't that challenging, really. Light had already told you that L was investigating him, and that they'd become friends. From the moment you'd seen Ryuga Hideki in that hotel room you'd suspected he was L; and since the afternoon of your and Light's first date in this monstrosity of a building, when Light had finally blown up in anger, and thrown those accusations at Ryuzaki, it had been more than clear. "If we don't go after Kira, he'll never be caught. Is that what you want? Who's the one who swore to send Kira to his execution? If you were just gonna give up, then why did you involve all those innocent people? The police, those FBI agents, TV announcers… they've all been victimized… you're the one who put Misa and me into confinement!" And Ryuzaki hadn't even tried to pretend, not then. He's not just the investigator on the case. He's The Investigator. The scary story people whisper about on forum boards, the letter without a name. He's human after all. And like any human, he's capable of screwing up.
I don't care if Kira wins, or if Light proves his innocence, you think, as long as you suffer for thinking you could bring him into your stupid little game. The only person Light belongs with, is me.
.
.
.