It wasn't too long before Light and L reappeared inside the workroom, soaked and sullen, drops of water haunting their every step. I snorted at the state of them, looking like drowned rats plucked straight out of the sewer. Not that I had any room to talk. I was sure I didn't make for a better sight, still wringing what felt like half of the ocean from my hair.
I opened my mouth to crack a joke (less so directed at L than it was Light, who was obsessed with his appearance) until I noticed the tension between them both. Melancholy lingered in their eyes and I found myself wondering what they'd been talking about up there. Part of me expected them to have beaten the crap out of one another again, but there was no testosterone fuelled hatred or blossoming bruises to be seen. Just a lingering sense of sorrow. Weird behaviour for them, but these were weird times.
As soon as the rest of the task force saw the pair, they descended on L like a pack of hyenas ganging up on a zebra.
"Ryuzaki, what is the meaning of this?" Soichiro asked, making no attempts to mask his outrage. "Apparently, you've gotten approval from a foreign body to test the notebook?"
L was in no rush to elaborate, slowly taking his seat before the monitor and clicking a button on the intercom to speak.
"Thank you for your efforts, Watari. Please can you arrange to transport the notebook immediately?"
"Yes, sir," answered the old man before his symbol flickered off the screen.
Soichiro drew near to L's side, face grave and tone even sterner than usual.
"There's no need for us to test the book when we've already seen its power in action," he said brusquely, making his stance on this new development very clear.
"And surely it's too dangerous!" Matsuda added. "Once you start writing in the notebook, you have to continuously write names every thirteen days or you'll die. Who's going to take that risk?"
"That's already been decided," L replied. "A criminal, scheduled for execution in thirteen days. If he is still alive after the thirteen days conclude, he will be pardoned."
"Are you serious?" the young detective whined, happening to catch my eye as he turned to face the rear of the room. "C'mon Kat, even you have to agree this is too much!"
Trying to ignore the insinuation that I always agreed with L without thinking (I think everyone had forgotten I was taking L on 1v1 during the early days of the investigation), I held my hands up.
"I don't love it," I admitted. "But it's the only logical way forward, Matsuda."
Beside him, Aizawa scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. "So now someone else has to die to test another one of Ryuzaki's theories?"
"But that's the point: they might not die," I argued in L's defence. "And if they don't die, then—"
As though predicting my exact trail of thought, Light turned his attention to me, bearing a look which seemed to dare me to finish that sentence. I matched the heat in his gaze, refusing to be subdued into silence.
"— then it opens up our options. A major detail like this could actually help to close the case."
The boy shifted his weight to face me fully then, eyes twitching as he asked, "You really believe that?"
Ah. There it was again. That switch in behaviour.
Ever since being released from his imprisonment, Light would have moments where he seemed frustrated and fed up with constantly being accused of being Kira. A reaction like that was understandable, but this was beyond that. Light didn't seem upset by the implication of my statement itself. Rather, he seemed offended that I dared to voice them.
"Isn't it our job to question everything?" I teased, watching as the colour in his eyes seemed to darken (which, in turn, wiped the smile straight off my face). Before I could add anything more to argue my point, the detective butted in, forcing everyone else to be silent.
"I require your cooperation for just a bit longer," he said abruptly, tone sounding more desperate than usual. "If we clear this now, then the case will be solved."
Overhead, there was a loud crack of thunder and, with no warning, the room was plunged into a sudden darkness, causing many of us to jump. The backup generator gave a low hum as it whirred to life and an ominous red illuminated the building. With the winds raging outside, it was no surprise we'd lost power; that wasn't what worried me. No, the most concerning thing wasn't the blackout but the words 'All Data Deletion' displayed in harsh white letters across the monitor.
"Oh, crap," I breathed, head snapping towards the detective. "Ryuzaki, what's happening?"
Everyone else appeared to be in a similar state of panic and confusion, heads snapping to L for an explanation. The detective was gripping his knees, subtly shaking as he glared up at the monitor - I couldn't tell if it was down to anger or fear. Not that it really mattered. Either option was bad news. My own terror began to creep in as the tension built, the first symptoms of adrenaline beginning to dilute inside my veins - but I wasn't quite sure what I was meant to be afraid of.
"I instructed Watari to erase all information pertaining to the case," the detective said darkly, "in the event that something happened to him."
My eyes shot open at the understanding of what that meant.
No. Surely, he hadn't...
"I'm gonna go check on him!" Chris announced, already halfway up the staircase. The rest of us stood there, dumbfounded and distraught at the situation that was quickly unravelling out of our control.
"Where is the Shinigami?" L demanded to know, causing all of us to realise our resident Eldritch horror was nowhere to be seen.
I'd seen Rem mere minutes ago, looking right through me with those creepy snake-like eyes. It was bound to the book, so it couldn't have travelled far, but that begged the question why had it chosen to vanish in the first place? There was obviously some foul play involved and, most likely, Watari had already met his end at the hands of the Shinigami. But Higuchi's Death Note was safely sealed away. If Rem had killed Watari, then that must have meant that we were right.
There was another book. And it was in this very building.
In the next heartbeat, L was tumbling towards the floor, Light lunging to catch him. Time seemed to slow as the pair barrelled towards the ground, landing with a thud, as everyone's faces contorted in horror.
I didn't waste a second - because I knew that's all I would have, seconds - and rushed forward to be at his side. In one violent motion, I dropped onto my knees, the contact sending shockwaves up through my thighs. I didn't even register the pain. How could I? A bruised knee was nothing in comparison to the harrowing sense of panic that was quickly consuming my every thought.
Leaning over him, I tried to mask my distress with a tight lipped smile, although I was sure that gesture only made my emotions more obvious to the dying detective. I thought that, maybe by smiling, I could provide a small amount of comfort to him, make him believe that everything was going to be okay. It was a weak attempt at deception, and I was deluding myself into thinking any differently. L wasn't stupid. None of us were. There was no mistaking what was happening right now and who was responsible. His death was already in motion and there was nothing any of us could do to stop it.
Peering down at L himself, Light had the detective cradled snugly to his own chest, so there wasn't much contact for me to be had. Instead, I gripped L's cheeks between my hands, not daring to even blink for fear that I'd miss something in these last moments. Greedily, I continued to stare and soak up the sight of him, hating how helpless he looked and how useless I felt.
In true L fashion, the man gave nothing away in his final moments. There was no dramatic gasp for air, or any attempt for a final word. Just acceptance.
It was quick when it happened. So quick that if you blinked, you would miss it. He slipped away as easily as he would when falling asleep. Eyes drooping shut, chest slowing to a still. He was there and, in the next breath, he wasn't.
There was silence for a long while, and I started shaking my head, willing myself to wake up from whatever vivid nightmare I'd trapped myself in. That tight smile fell from my cheeks, the mask slipping away to reveal the actor's face beneath it.
Distantly, I registered that someone was screaming. It could've been me. My chest felt so tight, I really wasn't sure if I was losing air through yelling or if my body had just forgotten how to breathe altogether. Sucking in a sharp breath, aware that the screaming hadn't ceased, I realised it wasn't me crying out with such despair - it was Light. The boy's anguish became contagious, with many of the others barely able to process the shock of the situation and others cowering in fear of their own impending death. In his haste to chase down the Shinigami responsible, Light all but shoved L into my arms, leaving me scrambling to support his head and neck.
My lips trembled as I stared down at him, almost expecting his eyes to reopen and gaze up at me. But they didn't. His usual pale complexion somehow seemed sicklier, reflecting the harsh white of the monitor screen that buzzed overhead. Despite that, he looked peaceful, as though he'd drifted away into a pleasant dream and would wake soon.
Where it usually felt so natural to hold this man in my arms, this just felt wrong. There were no quiet breaths. No restless fingers that were constantly tapping or typing, or stroking up and down the length my arm.
No heartbeat.
Through the denim of my jeans, I could feel the biting cold of the floor I knelt upon. Pointless as it might've been, I pulled L's body closer to mine, not wanting him to feel cold. I dreaded the moment his warmth left him. Because that would mean this was real and I could no longer pretend he was just sleeping.
There was a blur of movement and then heat at my side. Mogi, I realised, my ears recognising the familiar timbre of his voice but refusing to process the rapid Japanese he spoke to me. Gently - so gently, as though afraid I'd crumble - he eased L's body out of my arms. Watching him be pulled away was a different king of agony, knowing that this would be the last time. I couldn't bear it. I wanted to latch on and never let go. But the part of my brain that was still thinking logically knew I had to. This wasn't L anymore. Just a body.
Instead, I savoured the final touch of his skin on mine as he was pulled into Mogi's lap, committing the feeling to memory. I gripped onto the hem of his sleeve, knuckles turning white, until I felt ready to let go. When I did, an assault of icy emptiness slammed into me like a punch to the gut, and I was immediately overwhelmed with an onslaught of very physical pain. Feeling the tears that I'd diligently been holding back threatened to fall, I curled up and turned myself away from the sight in front of me. Tucking my head between my knees as I would when I was a child trying to hide from the world, I began to heave in deep breaths, delaying the breakdown I knew was still coming. Mogi, supporting L in one arm, reached out to grab my shoulder - a tender display of comfort that only made me feel worse.
"I'm okay," I mumbled, the sound muffled through the material of my sleeves. "Please get off."
The man did as asked, but continued to stare at me sadly. That sort of scrutiny - although sympathetic - was too much for me in my state, and I bolted away without thinking, letting my feet take me wherever they desired. The struggle to breathe only intensified the faster I moved. Bursting through the door that led to the roof, not knowing why my body chose this spot as my refuge, I took a gasp of cold air, trying to ignore the bitter sense of deja vu as my mind supplied me images of L standing there, soaked to to the bone. Dejectedly, I realised that memory might be the last I had of him - a moment where he existed just for me, baring his vulnerable side to me one last time. In that moment, the pain was so great that I truly considered jumping, but quickly reined in those thoughts and stumbled away from the edge. My knees buckled and I hit the floor hard, allowing myself to wail freely, the sound masked beneath the heavy pounding of rain.
Someone found me not long after. Had minutes passed, or hours? I had no clue. The rain had numbed me, seeping through my clothes to bare skin and hiding the tears that still slipped down my cheeks. Thunder and wind rumbled around me, but all my previous fears of sickness or death by lightning went ignored as I sobbed into the concrete. It was pointless, all entirely irrelevant, without him here with me.
A jacket was draped over my shoulders and I was ushered inside by cautious, unsure hands. Too weak to fight back and shivering too violently to refuse, I allowed myself to be led to the warmth and safety of the indoors. It was then that I was told that we'd not only lost L that night, but Watari also - both, non-surprisingly, through cardiac arrest. Rem had gone and would never be seen by any of us again. Most assumed the big skulking thing had fled to its home world. At least, that was until Light discovered the large pile of sandy ash sitting in one of our server rooms, leading us to believe maybe Rem had died. Whatever its fate had been, the Shinigami was gone - and, with it, it had taken L and Watari too.
The next few hours were the most painful of my life. Watari and L's bodies had been placed side by side in our entry room by the front door, draped in bedsheets taken from one of the bedrooms to maintain some level of respect. The men all chose to wait with them, heads dipped and downcast. I couldn't stand to be there with them, so I sat in the chair that once belonged to Watari and watched, in his place, on the cameras in our security room. Watching them be wheeled away into the frigid night air by strangers who had no clue how significant the lives they were transporting were - that stung. This treatment didn't feel good enough for them. Nothing would be. These men had dedicated everything to this case and paid the ultimate price for it. It wasn't right. It wasn't fair.
I spent the rest of the night sobbing.
After spending over an hour outside in the rain, as expected, I got sick. The fever wasn't enough to warrant a visit to hospital, but it did keep me in bed for two days. Too hot to get comfortable, then too cold, with a pounding in my head that kept me flung far from sleep. So, I'd lay awake, drenched in sweat and shivering, staring up at the ceiling in despondence. The hallucinations started soon after. Shadows shifted into shapes, and disembodied voices called out to me. I thought I saw L. In my dazed state, I didn't even question it and tried to call out to him, only for him to disappear when I next opened my eyes.
Chris became my sole point of contact to the world outside my bedroom. Diligently, as any friend would, he nursed me through the worse of it, keeping me hydrated and doped up on pain meds. Annoyingly, he didn't breathe a word about the case, even when I begged, but the look in his eyes said enough. Something was amiss.
"I know something's wrong," I said one evening, voice no louder than a whisper as I forced the words through a hoarse throat, feeling like I was swallowing glass when I spoke. "Please just tell me."
The man hesitated, pretending to busy himself with patting a wet cloth over my forehead. He offered me a sip of water for my throat, but when I stubbornly refused, asking again for an answer, he sighed and relented.
"Light has taken over the role of L," he explained. "The team decided it would be best to act as though L was still alive. He seemed to be the best substitute."
That statement was like a bullet to my chest. I didn't want to believe it at first but Chris had no reason to lie about something as serious as that.
How dare he? Seriously, who the hell gave him the right? After all they'd endured together and how lenient L had been towards him, this was how Light chose to repay him? This was how he wanted to honour the memory of the man he'd called a friend? By usurping a role never intended for him.
Angry tears welled up in my eyes and, too exhausted to properly vent my frustration, snatched the glass of water Chris offered me and hurled it across the room, getting only the smallest hint of satisfaction upon hearing it smash. Jolting up, Chris cursed loudly and scolded me as he strode over to clean up my mess. I didn't care. I felt sick. I felt violent. The fact that this injustice had been openly received by the members of my team - all of whom I'd considered great men - only succeeded in making me feel more isolated in this betrayal.
I kept wishing I was asleep and that this was all a bad dream that I'd wake up from. But it never happened. I'd wake, alone, my hand spread across cold and untouched sheets, reaching for something - someone - that didn't exist anymore. That realisation hurt more than any cut, bruise, or burn. Unable to accept what had happened, I clung to the thought that I'd wake with my face buried in a warm chest and a head of black sprawled across my pillows. But, of course, it never happened.
When I became well enough to walk around again, I re-joined the task force downstairs, being warmly received by my fellow men. They all seemed happy to see me, but there was a certain sadness sunken into their features. Tightly strung smiles, wrinkles in their brows. Matsuda was the most transparent - he'd very nearly cried at the sight of me so broken.
"We've arranged for the two of them to be cremated and buried this Friday," Soichiro explained after returning from the funeral home. "Nothing extravagant - we're paying for this ourselves - but I've made sure they will be treated with the respect they both deserve."
"Do we invite anyone?" Matsuda prompted. "I mean, did they have any family?"
Several eyes glanced over at me. Apparently everyone considered me the resident expert on the enigmas that we once knew as Watari and Ryuzaki (ironic, considering how little I knew about the pair).
As far as I was aware, Wammy was a childless widower and L was the sole child of dead parents. The only semblance of family that remained were likely the kids and staff back at Wammys. Inviting them here - or even just announcing their existence to the task force - would be a major breach of their safety, so I kept my mouth shut (although I did wonder whether I should get in touch with them privately. Were they even aware of what had transpired here?).
"No," I mumbled, shaking my head. "No family."
"So just us then?" Aizawa asked, and everyone nodded numbly.
The day of the funeral played out like a movie. I acted purely on autopilot and couldn't even remember getting out of bed that morning, but, all of a sudden, I was standing before two headstones as dirt was piled atop of two graves.
Laid to rest in a little cemetery just outside of the city, Wammy and L were buried side by side. It was a small comfort to know that they'd have each other. If an afterlife did exist, then I didn't want them to be lonely. The service was quick and private, which, I said to soothe myself, was likely what both would've wanted. No fuss, no extravagance. It was a nice day too. Cold - as was to be expected in November - but no rain. We arranged for them to be buried at dusk so there'd be fewer people wandering around the cemetery, and the sky was painted a vibrant mix of warm oranges and hazy yellows. The beauty of the evening was bittersweet when I remembered what we were here for.
When the service concluded and we were left by ourselves to mourn, Light's dad offered a few words (and Light himself followed up with a grand speech), but the words were lost on me. Everything was numb. I didn't have the energy to see or to listen. Feeling was hard enough.
I didn't cry. Somehow, despite the confirmation of his death set (quite literally) in stone before me, L's passing didn't quite feel real yet. Like his headstone was a prop and this was just the penultimate act in a tragic play. That realisation didn't hit me until I was back at HQ.
Unlike the others, whose conviction to continue this mad hunt had been fuelled by L's death, I didn't have the heart to investigate anything and took myself off to bed without a word. Once again, sleep failed to find me. Not wanting to face the nightmares I knew awaited me, I decided to use caffeine to power through the rest of the night. Entering the kitchen, my body without direction, legs moving on their own as though coordinated by a puppeteer. Out of habit, I went to grab two mugs. Being so sleep deprived, I didn't recognise my error at first but, when my hands caught up with what my brain already knew, I glanced down and stared at the second mug with empty eyes.
There was no one here to make coffee for. That bedroom remained quiet and empty. My bed was unslept in and cold. I was alone and there was no one here to make coffee for.
Suddenly, the silence of my room - which I used to embrace as a peaceful break away from the chaos - became overwhelmingly loud. The steady thrum of my own heartbeat echoed in my ears, reminding me - with agonising clarity - that I was still alive and L was not. He was dead and he was never coming back.
Accepting that - knowing I would never again be able to share my space with him, speak with him - was like taking a knife to the gut. Everything I had become so accustomed to and grown to love had been taken away from me in a matter of minutes. The joy I'd shared with the detective - something I'd started to believe I wanted and deserved - had been stomped on and destroyed; would I ever feel anything like it again?
God, if I'd known that those few minutes on the roof would have been the last time I spoke to him, I would've treasured it more. Hell, I would've stood and spent hours memorising his face, listening to him speak his nonsense. I wouldn't have rushed him to come inside, essentially shoving him towards his own death. My whole body became wracked with guilt when I realised the whole reason I'd walked away from him in the first place was because I was cold. Now, I knew I'd stand barefoot in a frozen tundra if it meant I could have even a few more moments with him.
I wasn't sure when I fell asleep but I woke, curled up on my couch, with sore eyes on a wet cushion. Outside, the sky was dark and Tokyo's nightlife was in full swing. A quick glance at my phone told me it had just gone 4am, and I groaned, knowing my sleep schedule was utterly fucked.
This wasn't healthy, I scolded myself. This never-ending pity party was causing me to throw away my life for someone who would never return to me. I was losing time like sand in an hourglass, slowly deteriorating into a husk. It had taken six days to motivate myself into showering when I usually wouldn't go more than forty-eight hours without one. And, during those six days, I'd barely eaten three meals - all of which made my stomach twist with nausea. I was wasting away, and for what? No amount of me moping was going to bring L back to me, nor was it going to aid the current situation. Enough was enough.
After concluding that stern conversation with myself, I decided my first course of action would be to chase Aiber and Wedy. Those two were quick to disappear once L decided they were no longer necessary. Upon arresting Higuchi, the pair had absconded without a word to anyone. They'd been pretty cool, and seemed like decent people (outside of their careers). I wondered if they were aware of who we'd lost. Maybe they wouldn't care, or maybe they would. L had saved them from prosecution after all. It felt like a simple courtesy to at least let them know. Who knows, maybe they'd return to Japan one day to pay their respects.
Whipping out my cell, I dialled in the number Aiber had given me all those weeks ago and held the phone up to my ear, praying that, in whatever part of the world he now resided in, it was an acceptable time of day to receive a call. After the third ring, I started to lose hope that I'd get a response, but then the tone clicked off and I was met with the low hum of background noise.
"Hello?"
Caught off guard by the voice of a woman, I almost didn't realise the word was spoken in French, and rushed to respond in the same language.
"Oh, sorry! I was under the impression this was a personal work phone," I explained with a breathy laugh. "My apologies, I must have the wrong number."
It seemed strange for him to have changed his number so soon, but I supposed you could never be too careful as a conman. Before I could pull the phone from my ear to hang up, however, the woman intercepted.
"No, no, I don't think so. It says here that you are calling from Japan, yes? My husband was just there on a job."
Eh? Was this actually Aiber's wife or was this just a weird coincidence?
Deciding to tread carefully, not wanting to potentially compromise Aiber's position, I asked, "What does your husband do, just out of curiosity?"
There was a long pause as the lady deliberated her words, followed by a soft sigh.
"He operated in a very unique sector with less than desirable people."
"Ah, yeah, that sounds about right," I said with a chuckle, trying to ignore how backhanded that last part was. "Is it possible for me to speak to your husband?"
To my surprise, the woman gave a dry chuckle.
"If you're calling to procure his services, I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint you. My husband is no longer with us."
Alarm bells immediately began clanging inside of my head. Every red flag was raised as I realised what she'd said, the words repeating themselves over and over like a mantra inside of my head.
Aiber had passed away mere days after leaving the Kira investigation. The same guy who conned people out of millions. And you're telling me that wasn't a coincidence?
Like reanimating a rusty machine, the cogs in my brain moaned and creaked as they slowly whirred to life. The plug had been pulled on the investigate side of my brain but now, with those few words, everything had been jumpstarted back into action. That flame which had previously been snuffed was now burning with a ferocity that rivalled the sun and, suddenly, I felt as though I was seeing so much clearer.
"I'm so sorry, I had no idea."
"No, you wouldn't have known. None of us did. Liver failure, they told me!" the woman spat, following it with a dry little laugh as though it was some ridiculous joke. "The doctor's said it must've developed too quickly to catch before it became terminal. But that makes no sense. I knew he overindulged in booze now and again, but he seemed so healthy weeks ago. Never once complained of any pain or..."
From the way her breath hitched, I could tell she was getting upset and quickly moved to wrap up the conversation. I didn't even want to handle my own grief, never mind a stranger's.
"I'm sorry for your loss. If I can do anything—"
"No, thank you. All I want right now is my husband back and you can't do that for me."
For once, I understood exactly how that felt
"Alright then. Take care."
Hanging up, I froze for a moment, letting the weight of this new development hang in the air. I was sad to hear about Aiber, but I was more concerned that his death was more than just a simple illness gone untreated.
Unable to keep this information to myself, I marched straight to the door of the only guy I truly trusted. It was early in the morning so thankfully no one saw me sprinting barefoot through the halls like a madwoman. Arriving at Chris' floor, I knocked on the door leading to his bedroom and slipped in upon hearing a sleepy voice bid me entrance. Squinting through the darkness, I saw Chris sprawled across the bed, wiping sleep from his eyes as he looked at me dubiously.
"Can I sleep in here tonight?" I mumbled, feeling a bit bad that I'd disturbed him so late.
"Course you can," he yawned and pulled back the blankets to welcome me in.
Tucking myself in, Chris wrapped me up in a hug and I sank into his warmth, only then realising how touch starved I'd been. For weeks prior, L and I had been sharing a bed when he'd been sneaking away from his sleeping suspect. I found that I'd always sleep better those nights; without him there now, I just felt overwhelmingly lonely.
It made me miserable to think of how little time we'd spent together. Sure, we'd been rooming together for a while and his face would always be the first one I'd see upon starting my day - but, having downplayed my feelings for so long, that dynamic was not the same as it had been in the end.
God, looking back, there had been so many times when I really hated him! In hindsight, those feelings had been a waste of my emotions. If I'd not spent so much of my time disliking him and denying my feelings. I could have had so much more time to love him.
I sniffled as the thought threatened to break the resolve I'd literally just built back up. No more, I told myself. No more crying. You came here for a reason.
"Don't repeat anything I'm about to tell you," I said sternly into Chris' ear.
Pulled back from the confines of sleep, the man's breath hitched but he nodded his understanding.
"Aiber's dead."
At first, there was no reaction and I wondered if he'd fallen back asleep. But, now wide awake, Chris propped himself up and looked down at me, eyes as wide as saucers.
"Are you sure?"
I nodded.
"Positive. I kept the number for his cell. I thought I'd do a nice thing ansd call him to let him know about... what happened. Only he didn't answer - a woman did, saying it was her husband's phone. According to her, Aiber spontaneously passed away over the weekend from liver failure. The doctors can't explain how or why it happened. It seemed to have just developed overnight."
"Jesus," Chris breathed, eyes flicking from side to side as his sleep addled brain fought to understand. "Have you tried contacting Wedy yet?"
I hadn't but that wasn't a bad idea. Using Chris's phone this time, we sat and waited for the dial tone to start, only to end up hearing an automated message revealing the number was no longer in service. Chris and I exchanged horrified looks.
"You don't think—?"
"She could've just gotten a new number," the man tried to reason. "Maybe she got compromised and changed it. Doesn't mean she's dead."
"Maybe not. But don't you think it's weird that Aiber - a conman, a criminal - winds up dead only a week after he leaves the Kira task force. And then Wedy drops off the grid too?"
My tone grew more accusatory the longer I spoke, steadily building in volume too, and Chris cocked a brow at me in response. Shutting my mouth, I forced myself to relax and brushed off the tension with a shrug.
"It's just odd timing, that's all I'm saying."
"Is that all you're saying?" the man countered, voice dropping an octave. "Or are you saying you still suspect Light and Misa of being Kira?"
I mean, was that what I was saying?
There were still so many inconsistencies that we hadn't accounted for - like this 'thirteen day' rule - and so much we didn't understand about the book. I couldn't say for sure if things pointed towards Light and Misa without a greater understanding.
But, at the same time, I hadn't been sleeping properly. I was tired. So, so tired. And I was pissed off at Light anyway because of what the group had chosen to do regarding L's succession, so was my opinion biased? What if I was just grasping at straws? Did I sound crazy? Did things make sense in my head that didn't make sense to others?
"I don't know," I admitted in the end. "I'm exhausted, Chris, and I don't know what to believe anymore."
Patting my leg, the blonde looked at me sympathetically before coaxing me onto my back, ignoring all my protests. The second my head hit the pillow, the exhaustion started to catch up with me and I gave up the fight, allowing my body to relax fully. Teetering on the edge of consciousness, I heard Chris heave a sigh before whispering to me:
"Listen, let me do some digging on Wedy. I'll try to find out where she's gone. For now, keep this between us. If Light really is Kira - and there is another book, like L said - then we're stuck in a very shitty situation."
Come the morning - or what I assumed was morning - I woke to the sound of computer keys being pressed in rapid succession beside my head. Cracking open my eyes - and instantly squeezing them shut due to the sun - I caught a glimpse of Chris sitting in bed beside me, laptop perched on his knees.
"Morning," I greeted tiredly, and he corrected me, saying 'afternoon' in response.
Upon looking closer at the male, I noticed a smudge of dark shadows beneath his eyes and the hollowness of his cheeks. Frankly, he looked like shit and, as my arm brushed against his, I realised too that Chris' skin was freezing cold.
"You look terrible, dude." I commented. "Did you even sleep?"
"I tried after getting you to sleep, but I just couldn't stop thinking about everything we talked about last night."
"So you worked all night?" I asked in shock, and he nodded. "Well, did you find anything?"
Hands freezing above the keyboard, Chris turned to face me and then I truly saw how tired his face looked. And it wasn't just in the usual sense that he was tired because he hadn't slept. No, this man looked completely depleted. He was done.
That alone gave me the answer I prayed wouldn't be true, but Chris' next words confirmed it.
"I think Wedy might be dead."
With a sigh, I burrowed my head into my hands, experiencing the same weariness that Chris himself felt. We both suspected that Wedy's number being out of service was a sure sign something had happened to her, but it didn't feel good to get that confirmation.
"Are you sure?" I asked, and the blonde nodded ruefully and brought up a document with all his findings, letting me read through it all at my leisure.
"I tracked her last known number and found the last place she'd made a call from was Pasadena," he explained as I read. "I did some research into local news sources and it turns out that, yesterday, a blonde woman headed towards Inglewood was killed in a motorcycle accident. She was identified via childhood dental records as a Ms. Merrie Kenwood."
As I scrolled further down the page, my eyes shot open when I saw the picture of a younger, smiling Wedy staring back at me.
"Oh my God..." I breathed, hand clasped over my mouth. "So I was right?"
"Seems that way."
"Shit," I whispered, feeling the same anxiety from the night before begin to resurface. "Is there any chance it could just be coincidence?"
"No way. Aiber's death might have been, but both of them dying so close to one another?" His face twisted into a frown and he dropped his head. "No, Agent, they were picked off."
With that, he hauled himself out of bed and headed into the small kitchen adjacent to his bedroom. I stood and followed, the floor cold under my feet, and I wrapped my arms around myself - though I wasn't sure if this was due to the loss of warmth or due to wanting some small semblance of comfort.
"Could we present this to the task force?" I questioned as Chris busied himself by boiling a pot of fresh coffee. "I mean, this is suspicious, right? Ryuzaki said he'd arranged it so that the pair didn't have a criminal record; they'd never been arrested and their names were never shared. The general public wouldn't know who they were. Kira wouldn't know. The only people who'd know Aiber and Wedy were criminals are the people who worked with them."
With a nonchalant shrug, the blonde poured the coffee into two cups, stirring slowly as he gave his answer.
"In a perfect world, that alone would be enough to condemn Light and Misa, but things have changed whether we like it or not. These men have more loyalty to Light than us. They trust him. In fact, I think they trust him so much that they'd probably be blindsided. We'll be seen as beating a dead horse since Light and Misa's innocence was proven weeks ago. Besides, both Aiber and Wedy's deaths could be seen as what they were orchestrated to be seen as - accidents."
"But we know that Kira can kill using methods other than heart attacks," I countered, and Chris nodded gravely.
"Right - but they are harder to prove. Realistically, passing away from illness and dying in a motorcycle crash can happen to anyone. We'll never be 100% certain that they were caused by Kira. There will always be some doubt. And, knowing Light, he'd find a way to spin it in his favour."
Passing me a cup and taking a long swig of his own, Chris closed his eyes and leaned back against the counter, thinking.
"Unless we can get concrete evidence that these deaths were definitely caused by a Death Note - and then prove that that same evidence points to Light being Kira - I don't think we'll get very far. The team will be against us. The evidence we have right now is dubious at best. Plus, if Light is our killer and he finds out we're plotting behind his back, who's to say he wouldn't kill us too? We shouldn't make any moves right now. It's too risky."
"Screw that!" I snapped, slamming my mug on the counter. "I want this bastard to get what's coming to him."
Thrusting a hand up in my face, Chris took a step forward, bringing himself to full height.
"Hey, no, stop it! That's exactly the kind of attitude that makes me not want to help you."
"But I—"
"Just shut up for a minute. I know you're angry about what happened to Ryuzaki," he added, voice softer this time. "And I feel for you, A - I really do. But I'm not helping you destroy yourself just so you can get revenge."
"This isn't about revenge, Chris!" I moaned, trying hard to make him understand. "This is about doing the right thing. Kira's killed so many people - innocent people! If we don't do something now, who knows how many more people will die? I don't care if he tries to kill me - he can damn well try it - but I'm not going to let him get away with this."
Shoving down his own cup, Chris grabbed my hands, tight enough to almost hurt. They trembled around mine, and I stared down at them with confusion in my eyes.
"Agent, do you not hear yourself? Seriously, you're headed over the goddamn edge. If this is how you're going to be, then you're on your own. I'm not playing this game with you."
"Who said this was a game, huh?" I scoffed, a little insulted that he thought I saw this that way. "If this is a game, then the rules aren't fair and I don't want to play anymore."
"You're not the only one who's struggling with this, you know?" Chris was swift to snap back, voice growing in volume. "I'm twenty-five years old and I am scared shitless. We could die at any minute and, somehow, the worst part of that is I'll have to die fucking sober, remembering all this shit I don't want to remember."
Oh.
A wave of guilt washed over me, smacking into me full force like a sailboat in a storm. I glanced down again to the shaking hands that were locked around my own. Gently squeezing them, I raised my head to look the man in the eye, seeing only fear.
"Chris, I didn't—"
The man snatched his hands back from my own, stumbling away and turning his back on me. He leaned over the counter, burying his head into his hands. From where I stood, I could see his entire body was shaking. I wanted to approach him but decided against it.
"Don't worry. I'm not going to," he said lowly, sounding almost mocking. "But no amount of rehab will stop me from wanting one. So, I'll say again, if you can't pull yourself together and start acting with a little more tact, then count me out. I've got my own issues to deal with and, I'm sorry, but I can't handle yours as well."
Overwhelmed with shame, I pinned my gaze to the floor. It seemed my selfish streak had struck again. Only, this time, I'd pushed my friend behind his limits to the point that he snapped. Honestly, what was wrong with me?
Calming himself with slow and deliberate breaths, Chris raised a hand to point towards the door. He didn't look back at me and, frankly, I didn't want him to. I knew I wouldn't be able to bear the disappointment on his face.
"Now, please, can you get out of my bedroom?" came the quiet response. "I want to finish my coffee in peace."
Leaving on such a sour note was the last thing I wanted to do - but I knew Chris, and I knew he'd need some time to cool off. So, nodding, I quickly took my leave, not letting him see the tears that were steadily flowing down my cheeks.
I didn't see Chris for the rest of the day. Not in the workroom; not at lunch. Trying to avoid setting him off, I steered clear of his room and respected his right to isolation. If he wanted to see me, he would. Until then, I'd leave him be. Still, it wasn't nice to argue with my friend and it hurt to see him so terrified. I tried to find solace in my bedroom as I had done so many times before, usually with a certain someone by my side.
The memory of him was still engraved on the bedsheets. And some nights, as I laid there alone, just before sleep could take me, I'd swear I still smelled him on the pillows. As my eyes slipped shut, I'd feel the bed shift next to me, bearing a heat that I could just melt into... but it wasn't really there. Occasionally, I'd reach out for him, only for my hand to brush against the cool night air. Because of it all, sleeping was no longer a luxury I enjoyed.
So I'd get up. Get out of bed. And I'd walk. I'd never have a specific destination in mind. Sometimes, I'd traverse the HQ corridors, endlessly looping the halls to try and set my mind right. Other time, I'd take my chances outside. This region was rife with nightlife, even in the early hours of the morning. Not that it made me feel any less alone. Actually, seeing others happily living their lives, not knowing or understanding what had been sacrificed for them to continue living so blissfully unaware... it made me feel rage like nothing else. There was blinding hot agony beneath my skin, a mixture of fury and pain. A hopelessness that never seemed to abate, no matter how hard I tried to convince myself I would be fine.
I'd survived worse than this, sure. I knew I'd survive without him. But survival wasn't the issue. I didn't want to live without him.
Chris came to me later that evening as I laid in bed, tucked up beneath my blankets, holding a pillow close to my chest - one of the few things that comforted me enough to sleep. Staring down at the sorry sight laid out before him, my friend approached with a sigh and sat beside me on the bed. For a few moments, there was silence - but not the comfortable ones we were used to. Sensing a difficult conversation was pending, I uncurled myself from the sheets to show I was giving him my attention.
Seeing no point in beating about the bush, Chris turned to face me and, with a level voice, said, "Agent. I'm going home."
The words didn't compute for a moment, seeming muffled and blurred as though he was speaking to me from underwater. It rattled around my brain, echoing, until, at least, I understood what he'd said. Instantly, my heart began to pound inside of my chest and that sickly feeling of dread crashed into the pit of my stomach like an anchor. I think Chris assumed I was confused as he quickly elaborated.
"Tonight. My flight is in a couple of hours. The rest of the guys are already aware."
But I wasn't confused. I understood exactly what he meant and why he was doing it. What I felt was betrayal. Ice cold, nauseating betrayal.
Pushing aside the covers, I scrambled out of bed to stand in front of him, gripping his collar tightly as though it might shackle him to me completely.
"You can't. Please, man. You promised me."
Holding his hands up, the blonde put some space between us and gently pushed me away.
"Don't try to guilt me. Things are different now, Agent. Wedy and Aiber are dead. L is dead."
Blunt as that statement was, it cut through me like a knife - and my response was just as sharp as one.
"Yeah, I'm fucking well aware, Chris, thanks for that."
"I didn't mean it like that, I'm—" He paused and steadied himself with a sigh. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? But this is getting too deep now. With L gone, you and I don't have any protection, and honestly, I'm scared. Wedy and Aiber have already been killed; Kira's picking off the team, one by one. And I thought: maybe if I leave, show that I'm not fighting him anymore... maybe he'll leave me alone."
"You can't be serious!" I cried, barking out a small hysterical laugh. "After all that's happened, you're giving up now - knowing what we know?"
"There's nothing we can do from here, A," he said firmly, grabbing my shoulders. "As much as I hate the bastard, I have to give Light credit where it's due. He is scarily clever; probably as clever as L himself. He'd sniff out what we were planning before it was even in motion. There's no winning against him now - this is his playing field, not ours."
Biting my tongue, I thought about that for a second. Admittedly, a lot of what he was saying made perfect sense, and acknowledging that only pissed me off more. Instead of doing the mature thing and agreeing, I tried for one last dig, hoping it would give me the satisfaction of having the final word.
"You know, I never took you for a coward."
Wrong move, apparently, because Chris whipped his head towards me with eyes like a demon.
"If caring about my own safety makes me a coward, then sure, I'm a fucking coward! But then what does that make you, huh?!"
It was rare that my friend ever raised his voice, particularly at me, so the action caught me off guard. I felt like a child again, getting scolded for being a mouthy brat. Back then, I craved any sort of attention I could get, having gone years without any at all. It was one reason I struggled to settle arguments civilly as an adult. And, in this case, it was the reason I felt so shitty now.
It wasn't wrong to care about your own safety. Of course it wasn't. Anyone with a brain (or, at least, any sense of self preservation) would prioritise their life above all else. But, with everything that had happened, I was beginning to think that I was losing my drive to live. L had gone, and life had suddenly lost its meaning. But that didn't mean I had to drag Chris down with me. The whole reason he was even on this case was because of me. He didn't owe me anything. If anything, I owed him for all he'd done and continued to do.
Damn, I was being a terrible friend right now. I wanted to tell him how great he was, and how great he had been this whole time. He deserved to know how much I valued him and his advice.
A quiet apology was all that came out instead.
"It's fine," he grunted, although it clearly wasn't. "I came here to ask if you wanted to come with me. There's still time to book you on the same flight, but I'll need your answer now. Are you coming or are you staying?"
Closing my eyes, not wanting to see the look on his face anymore - knowing it would just shatter my resolve - I shook my head.
"I'm not letting him die in vain, Chris."
My voice was scarcely more than a whisper when I spoke - a tearful confession that only grew sadder in meaning when we realised what it meant.
I didn't want to see Chris go, to watch him turn and walk away from me. This would the first time we'd be apart since the day we met. Glued to the hip at St Mary's, travelling together, rooming together, sharing everything. We'd been inseparable. This just felt wrong, like waking up without a limb. Chris seemed to feel it too, staring at me as though he wanted to immortalise this image of me, burn it into his brain. At his side, his hand twitched - eagerly, as though wanting to reach out - but he shoved it into his coat pocket.
"Okay. No, yeah, that's fine," he mumbled, seeming to take a great deal of interest in his shoes all of a sudden. "I'll see you on the flip side, I guess."
Turning on his heel, Chris made to leave the room. I listened as his footfalls grew quieter, echoing out of the hall, until I couldn't hear them at all.
As the hours passed, I kept one eye on the clock, trying - and failing - to convince myself I wasn't bothered about whether he got home safe. I wasn't able to sleep, worried as I was, and food just made me feel ill, so clock watching was the only thing I could do to keep my sanity in check.
No more than twenty minutes later than the time Chris was due to land, my phone buzzed at the side of my bed. Although I was still stubbornly sulking and feeling sorry for myself, I tugged the device towards me and opened my messages with anxious hands.
Thought I'd let you know I've landed safe
My face crumpled as I read that text. The fact he still chose to think of me, even after all the horrible shit I'd said, was so heart-warming that it instantly doubled the guilt I was already feeling. Before I could think of what to say in response, several more messages began to flood through.
Look I'm sorry for how that went.
I didn't mean to upset you. I'm just scared
I don't want to spend every day of how ever many years this case lasts to complete worrying if I'm going to keel over and die. I want to live.
And so should you! That's what he would've wanted
Glumly, I had to disagree with that statement.
L had wanted us to travel together. I'd take care of the logistics and help him with his cases - a companion in all forms of the word. It was meant to be a true step towards freedom, an opportunity to lead my own life and, for once, not be at someone's beck and call. I could've been in total control of my decisions and done what I truly wanted to do with no strings attached.
But that hope died with L. And I'd never know what he wanted for me in life because I hadn't even started to live.
Still, maybe Chris was right. I was wasting away in this bedroom, waiting for these feelings to disappear, knowing they'd never fully go away.
I wanted this case closed. I wanted to see it done. But passion without action wasn't enough. I was being about as helpful as a potted plant, wilting in the corner with no sun to shine on it. Hell, even Matsuda was making more of an effort! If I went home, I could surround myself with likeminded people who had my best interests at heart. Staying here was no better than biding my time in the lion's den, waiting for the packleader to latch his jaws onto me. Back in New York, I could properly grieve, distract myself with some new cases, and try to forget about the Kira investigation. I could always come back if I really wanted to. I doubt they'd turn me away (they didn't turn away Aizawa, after all).
So, as devastating as the decision was, I opened my phone to finalise my choice.
you're right. I'm sorry. I'll tell the guys that I'm planning to go home. if I book a flight in the next few days, will u meet me at the airport?
Glancing towards the suitcase that had been shoved in the corner and forgotten about, I sighed, not really wanting to think about packing up the life I'd lived for so many months now. And packing was just the most boring experience anyway...
My phone pinged again, distracting me from my trail of thoughts.
You know I will. I'm still your personalchauffeur after all ;)
That comment drew a dry chuckle from me and I typed back:
ok then. I'll keep u updated
Tossing the suitcase onto the bed, I started the process of carefully folding my clothes (restraining the urge to just throw them in and forget about it), seeing one last text buzz through from Chris.
Talk tomorrow, A. Be safe :)
The next morning came and I was playing it incredibly casually. I hadn't mentioned my plan to leave to any of the guys as of yet; I wasn't sure how any of them would react and, honestly, it would be hard to say goodbye (to some of them, at least). Instead, maintaining the façade that nothing was amiss, I set about finishing my reports for the day and helping the men out where I could. I made coffees for each and every one of them - a parting gift, so to speak - with Light being the only exclusion (he declined my offer, thank god - I'd have probably spat in his otherwise).
Halfway through the day, a gentle buzzing on my hip alerted me that I was receiving a call. Very few people had my personal cell and, since the number calling me was withheld, there was really only one person it could be.
"Hello?" I answered, trying to mask the annoyance in my tone.
"Agent, thank God," came Jason's strained tone through the phone. His voice was loud with surprise as though he hadn't expected me to answer at all. "Where are you right now?"
Weird conversation starter, especially since we hadn't spoken in months, but I'd take it.
"What do you mean?" I asked, lowering my voice as I turned my chair away from the room's other occupants. "Listen, I don't know what Chris told you, but I've still got some loose ends to tie up here. I won't be looking at flights for at least another day."
"It's not that," Jason was quick to snap back, sounding oddly panicked, a stark contrast to his usual calm demeanour. "Is anyone in the room with you?"
At that, I glanced at the men sat behind me, all of whom appeared to be too engrossed in their work to pay attention to little old me. But why would it have mattered if they were listening?
"Yeah. So what?"
"I need you alone."
Rolling my eyes, I excused myself and took a walk into one of the server rooms upstairs, shutting the door behind me.
"Okay, Jace, there's nothing up here except for cable wires and the voices in my head. What's happened?"
"How soon came you come home?" he asked, completely dodging my question. I pinched my nose and sighed.
"Jesus, what was I just telling you? I don't know yet! I've still got things to do here, but I'm working on leaving as soon as I can."
"No. Tonight. It needs to be tonight. Pick a flight to any US airport; I don't care how far I have to drive - I will come get you."
I snorted, assuming he was joking but, when the punchline didn't follow, my smile dropped.
"Jesus, that's not like you," And then, concern creeping into my tone, I followed it with: "What's wrong?"
I was expecting maybe some news about the orphanage or maybe something to do with L's death, but Jason's following words made my heart stop dead in my chest.
"I think you're in danger."
"Okay," I said quietly, not sure how I was meant to respond a statement as vague as that. "What makes you think that?"
A brief pause, and then:
"I can't say."
Irritated, I forced back a sigh. Then why bother calling me in the first place?!
"Jace, don't go all cryptic on me. I don't have the patience for it. Tell me straight or I'm hanging up the phone."
The line crackled as Jason took a breath and then an even deeper exhale (I'd pay good money that he had a cigarette in one hand and a lighter ready to light a second one in the other). A heavy silence fell over us and I checked my phone to check if I'd lost my signal. Before I could ask the man if he could still hear me, a voice, laden with sorrow, bled through the speakers.
"Agent, I'm sorry. I am so very sorry. Christian is dead."
You'd have thought that after having witnessed so much death in the past few days that this news wouldn't have made me wobble. But it did.
There was no way. That wasn't true.
This must've been some sick joke or a lie. Chris wasn't dead. He was picking me up from the airport like he promised. I'd spoken to him just hours before. He'd talked to me, even cracked a joke. Behaving like he normally would. And he was back home now in the States, far away from Kira and safe, just like he said he would be.
This was just some crappy attempt at a prank. A dumb joke. Maybe Chris had put Jason up to it? Either way, he was absolutely fine. He was safe and waiting for me to come home so he could collect me from the airport. If I called him and told him to be there tonight, he would be - waiting patiently with a smile and an 'I told you so' comment that I very much deserved to hear after all the shit I'd said.
He wasn't dead. He wasn't.
"How?" I asked lowly, praying that Jason's next few words would be an 'I gotchu' accompanied by a boisterous laugh. Nothing could have prepared me for the spiel I got instead.
"He totalled his car going over the Whitestone Bridge, ending up in a three car collision," Jason informed me, doing his best to sound as unaffected and neutral as he possibly could. "No one else was hurt, thank god. Everyone else seemed miraculously unscathed."
"But not Chris?" I pressed, voice breaking as I slowly began to accept that this wasn't a joke and I couldn't deny the truth any longer.
"They got him to a hospital but there wasn't much to be done," my benefactor explained, the end of his words catching in his throat and forcing him to cough to hide the emotion leaking through. "He didn't make it. I'm so sorry."
Imagining him laid on a hospital bed, latched up to machines and IV drips, tanned skin growing pale under those harsh fluorescent lights... god, it made me feel sick. Less than twenty-four hours before, he'd been stood in front of me, bright-eyed and lively. All he wanted was to go home where he'd be safe. How had this even happened? And why was it so cruel? It would've been kinder if he'd died on impact. The amount of pain he must have been in. Had he been conscious at all? Did he feel scared, confused?
Fortunately, before my brain could torture me any more with images I didn't want to see, Jason spoke up again.
"Apparently, they found beer cans in his car. I'm still working on accessing footage from the airport but they're thinking he might have bought a couple drinks after the plane landed."
Even if he couldn't see it, I shook my head. A red haze clouded my vision as the strands of knowledge inside my head began to weave themselves together, forming an intricate web with a certain killer at the centre.
First Aiber, then Wedy. Now this heartless bastard had gotten Chris.
"No, you're wrong. He hasn't drank in months."
"We won't know anything for sure until there's a full biopsy," Jason reasoned. "But this is what the evidence is pointing to, Agent."
"Fuck... I spoke to him when he landed and he was fine, damn it!"
Agitated as I was, my breaths were growing shallower. The sheer rage I felt made me feel wrathful. My free hand was bunched into a fist and it was starting to look mighty tempting to pummel those rows of servers into the floor. I think my building temper was obvious over the phone because Jason was very quick to try and diffuse the situation.
"Listen, this isn't a conversation we should have over the phone. But I know what you're thinking and, honestly, I'm inclined to agree - which is why you need to come home. Just don't do anything reckless and get yourself out."
As much as I hated to admit it, leaving now was the best thing to do. I'd planned to do it anyway but I wasn't sure how long I'd be able to contain my anger. It was best to do as Jason said and leave tonight.
"Alright," I conceded, gritting my teeth. "I'll speak to you soon."
The call cut out and I was left to my thoughts, the only sound in the room being the rhythmic hum of the fans cooling our servers.
It was ironic, in a sense. I always thought I'd be the one to die dramatically in a burning building or high speed chase, and Chris would die as an old man, warm in his bed. He had plans to settle down and have a family of his own. This wasn't how any of it was meant to go. It wasn't fair, damn it, that I was here and that sweet sorry bastard was lying cold in a morgue, his hopes and dreams rotting inside him.
This was the work of Kira. There was no other explanation. I didn't buy the bullshit about him drinking again, not after the speech he'd given to me the night before. Somehow, that evil bastard had learned about Chris' issues and used them to make his death seem unexceptional - an accident that was easy to explain and push to one side. But why had Chris been chosen out of all of us still working against him?
Sure, he'd been a detective openly opposing Kira, but so was everyone else here. What made him different? What set him apart from the rest, so much so that he had to be killed for it?
Me, I realised with sudden horror. It wasn't Chris who was different - it was me.
This task force was made up of detectives with different backgrounds, all of whom took a stance against Kira - but that wasn't enough for Kira to kill them. Wedy and Aiber, however, had been targeted because they were criminals. That was their common factor, one that Chris did not fit into. Out of everyone on the team that still remained, I was the only person on this team who'd actively led a life of crime and therefore the only person whose existence was unforgivable in Kira's eyes.
And which sly little suspect had I stupidly blabbed all that to? The same little worm who would've had the resources to find out about Chris' issues?
I cursed myself for being so thoughtless. Fuck, why had I done it? To try and break through that stony exterior and touch the empathetic soul hidden beneath? What a fucking idiot I'd been.
But Light couldn't punish me. According to the rules of the notebook, I was untouchable. If he couldn't get me, he'd do the next best thing and take another loved one away from me.
Why? Did he want me to leave? Did he want to break me? Was this supposed to be a punishment for standing against him now, or for doing what I had to do to survive as a child who'd been neglected and abused by the people meant to care for her? I wondered which of those was more unforgivable in Light's eyes.
I wouldn't cry. I wouldn't give him that satisfaction. He could watch me saunter in, cool as a cucumber, never knowing if his threat had been realised. As murderous as I felt, I'd mask my true emotions beneath a sculpted exterior (which, I realised, was ironically what Light also did). The boy in question caught my gaze as I entered and raised a brow in the sweetest and most earnest display of concern.
"Everything okay?"
Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you—
"Just some suspicious activity with my bank," I answered with a smile.
I knew there was no way he believed that answer but, thankfully, he didn't choose to be sadistic and push me for details I wouldn't be able to provide.
The rage I felt was close to overflowing; I could feel it bubbling beneath my skin, red hot and ravenous to engulf anyone in its path. I had to mentally remind myself to stand straight and keep breathing, that clenched fists were not a sign that someone was okay. But, fuck, I wanted Light Yagami dead.
What was stopping me from walking over there and bashing his stupid little head into the desk until he died?
The five trained police officers surrounding you, my mind argued.
I sat down with surprising grace beside him, forcing each and every muscle to relax as I carried on with my work. As the minutes trickled by, I kept glancing across at him, hoping to catch a sign of some sort of feeling in his eyes.
But no. There was nothing. No remorse, no anger. Not even a hint of malice or smug victory. Somehow, that response (or lack thereof) only made me angrier. Chances were, in Light's mind, this wasn't an emotional murder. It wasn't a killing. It was a just execution of someone who'd dared to oppose Kira. Not worth gloating over, nor worth the tears.
Was there anything human left inside him?
That very same evening, talks began of moving headquarters to a smaller location. Too many memories lingered inside the giant metal husk we inhabited, too much death. Not to mention, without access to a will or final testament, we had no legal rights to remain in the building (it likely now belonged to Wammy's, whoever was in charge of it now). The men had asked me for my thoughts on the matter, and I found myself smiling sadly, realising that this was it for me. This would be my last night with my team. I couldn't be here anymore.
Until I knew where the other book was located, everyone's lives were forfeit if I took any action against Light. And he knew that I wouldn't risk anyone else's safety for fear of having another person's blood on my hands. If I exposed what I knew about Light without securing this other notebook, chances were he'd kill the remaining task force and lead everyone else to believe I was insane (or worse, responsible). If I went to the Japanese police for help, who were they more likely to believe? The brilliant honour student who had a cop for a father, or a hysterical foreign girl ranting about books and Shinigami?
The only thing I could do right now was separate myself from the case and, as Jason instructed, get out of the country. It could also give me a chance to take a step back and revaluate. Maybe, if I compiled my notes on the case, I could present the data to some of the kids back home and get their help. The task force had no knowledge of St. Mary's or Wammy's - or of the budding geniuses kept sheltered behind their doors. That anonymity could give us an advantage in a case against Light. And I wouldn't have to worry about not being believed; those kids had an undying loyalty to L.
But I'd go home first. Chris was there, waiting for me.
I didn't delay any longer than I had to. As soon as I was certain the others were asleep and I wouldn't be spotted, I packed what few essentials I'd need and slipped out the doors of headquarters for the final time. Sure, if they bothered to check, they'd see me leave on the cameras but, by that time, I'd already be out of the country.
Being fully aware of the lengths Light would go to to keep his name clear, I took precautions to protect myself. To avoid tracking, I snapped my sim card and tossed it down a sewer drain, smashing my phone under my heel. Not wanting to leave a paper trail either, I withdrew hundreds of dollars worth of yen on my card so I could pay for a boarding pass in cash.
Back at HQ, I'd dug through my drawers for twenty minutes until I found it: another passport bearing the name of an older alias - one I hadn't used since arriving in Japan. If anyone bothered to look, they wouldn't be able to find me. It would seem as though Katherine Turner simply vanished - which is exactly what I wanted.
Maybe I was being overly cautious, or maybe I wasn't cautious enough. Though Chris' death was obviously a warning, I couldn't tell whether it meant Light wanted me out of the picture for good, or whether he just wanted me tame and quiet - forced to stay silent, pinned under his thumb. Either way, I wasn't planning to stick around and find out what his end goals were.
And if Light wanted to chase me, good luck to him. I'd lived like a ghost almost my whole life. If I didn't want to be found, then he'd never find me. I'd keep myself safe and destroy him from a distance. Neither Chris nor L would die in vain. I wouldn't let them be martyrs in Kira's reign of terror. I'd hide away, bide my time, and eventually - whether justice struck in six weeks or six years - I'd avenge them.
A/N
*holds hands up* please don't shoot me.
I debated for ages on whether I should follow the canon or diverge. But, ultimately, I chose the former. When I first published this story, I had a rough idea of how it would end - and that ending could only exist by following the canon plotline. Although a lot of my story has changed over the years, I still really want my original ending. So, sadly, this is the end for L. Trust me, I'm grieving too. I did not expect to love Agent/L as much as I do, so I may or may not have cried. I may or may not STILL be crying (it's two o'clock in the morning, cut me some slack). It's hard to write grief scenes without feeling sad - it becomes even harder when you genuinely care about the character who dies :(
I really hope you guys don't throw the fic away in a fit of anger and still show love for Agent and follow her for the rest of her story, even if L is no longer there, because I have a lot of exciting stuff planned.
(also I may or may not have a mini alternate ending fic in the works, purely because I love all my readers so much and strive to give my audience what it wants)