BETWEEN THE BLACK AND WHITE: Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note.

KINGS AND PAWNS

“The most profound things are inexpressible.”
-Jenny Holzer

“What's with the expression?” Light demanded with a leer at L. “Do you really think Beyond Birthday's come back to haunt you?”

L tightened his toes, digging them into the floorboards with so much force that they turned white. “Should I reach that conclusion? I've been made to believe in murder notebooks and gods of death, so should I not believe in ghosts as well...?”

It was distasteful, adversaries or not, but Light laughed out loud. His total lack of concern was astounding, especially considering that it was he himself who had been dabbling in the supernatural more than anyone else, and somehow he had found the nerve to mock the notion of ghosts. The gleam in his amber eyes could have been interpreted in a thousand ways, but ultimately L supposed that Light simply found no reason to be alarmed no matter what the explanation for the wara ningyo came to be. They were directed at L, not at him, and without L...

“If anything should happen to me,” L reminded unhappily, “you have no more assurances that you'll be allowed to live.”

Light's irises slid his way, and the cruel grin still twisted in his lips. “Calm down, I never said I wanted you to die. Well, not recently, anyway. I just think you've made up your mind a little early.”

The detective lowered his attention down to his toenails as he clenched at the ground. They were getting long and uneven, and required trimming soon. Two had already tore. “I have very good instincts.”

“Yeah, don't I know.” The casual acknowledgment of his capture exemplified well enough Light's careless amusement. He chuckled again like the whole situation was theatrical, and then cleared his throat. “But why don't we look at this logically and maybe we'll find a clue. Even if your friend has somehow risen from the grave, it can't hurt.”

“Logic has steadily began to lose all credibility to me.”

“Someone else could have planted those dolls. There was plenty of publicity for the Los Angeles BB Murder Case, right?”

This wasn't totally true, as at the time the case had been considered minor in comparison to other crimes around the city. L himself wouldn't have looked twice at the case if the wara ningyo hadn't caught his eye and lead him to realize that Beyond Birthday was deliberately trying to get his attention. On the other hand, the murders and crime scenes had been investigated by a small police force and once Naomi had succeeded in arresting BB, details of the case were no longer classified information. “The question is how Los Angeles connects to Berlin.”

Light raised a pair of fingers. “We know two facts: Los Angeles was a challenge to L from BB. Berlin is also a challenge to L.”

“From the same man who has been dead for a year?”

“Someone who knew of B, anyway, well enough to understand the straw dolls were meant to directly confront you.” Light curled his hands behind his head and leaned back into the floorboards, head angled just enough to keep his vivid brown eyes on L. “You knew him. Did he have any good friends?”

“...No, he didn't.” L had vivid memories of B, even as a younger boy, distancing himself from the other children and opting voluntarily enough to play alone. The psychopath had been on reasonably close terms with his once-roommate, dubbed 'A', but after A committed suicide B halted what meager efforts he had previously made to make friends. The only other person that B actively tried to grow a relationship with was L himself, but that was a caricature of admiration if it meant anything at all.

It would be unfair, however, to state that B was a such a remarkable deviation from the other orphans at Wammy's House back when he resided there, at least for the most part. Many of the orphans were awkward and had enough peculiarities to send therapists running. A considerable number of them were also loners in their time before Wammy's House, and thus preferred to spend their free time alone. This wasn't such a strange thing, considering that some of these children had traumatic pasts prior to their enrollment, or if not terribly traumatic, some children simply don't adapt to losing their parents or being brought to such an intimidating institution as easily as others. When the recruiters for Watari's orphanages around the world looked for candidates, judging for emotional strength or psychological stability was a much more difficult task than gauging intelligence capacity. Furthermore, unlimited individual attention to each child couldn't be offered, as the place was closer to a school than a care-oriented foster home. Though it certainly wasn't norm for the residents to run away and go on killing sprees, personal issues added to academic competition could lead to alienation or at least social quirks.

Keeping this in mind, without focusing exclusively on the disturbing Beyond Birthday, there was an explanation. Why would remain a mystery, but the how could be solved. “It is possible that his legacy is being carried out by another orphan in Winchester. He made those straw dolls often at the place we were raised in and hid them around the grounds.”

Light raised a fine eyebrow at this identifying information which he might have given an arm and a leg for four months ago, but there was no sense of accomplishment for him now. After all, his motivations for that path had been completely stripped away from him. Still, that didn't seem to satiate his curiosity completely, and he inquired, “You were raised in an orphanage with Beyond Birthday? In Winchester?”

“Some of the time, yes.” The information itself was, irrelevantly enough given Light's lack of Death Note, useless. There was no document nor certificate in that orphanage any longer with L's well-guarded real identity, so revealing it to his almost-murderer wasn't something L regarded as dangerous. But when Light gave a loud “hmm!” and looked thoughtfully at the ceiling with a half smile, L felt the need to add, “Is the irony that amusing?”

The smile faded but the thoughtfulness remained as the adolescent sat up and laid his hands loosely in his lap. “Sorry, it's just I never knew you were an orphan.”

“Of course you didn't know. Light-kun has a dark heart indeed if the thought of orphans makes him smile.”

“No...” Light shook his head distastefully, long strands of auburn swaying across his cheeks. Underneath the untrimmed hair, his expression drained of humor almost in an instant as it transformed into something serious and plain. “But to go from an unwanted child to Interpol's great mastermind in a few years... you are amazing, aren't you L?”

L blinked.

It wasn't a compliment as much as it was an observation. Light had hid his obvious desire to know L well throughout the investigation, and personal questions were always made with strict subtlety. Here, so it would seem, the facades lost their necessity and the result – the things they both wanted to see more than anything – were as cryptic as before they had been unwrapped. If L told Light his life story, Light would only have more reason to frown in confusion or glare in resentment. It wasn't much different for L every time Light admitted in words out loud that he was the Kira that L had spent what felt like a lifetime seeking.

“You yourself went from Japan's most promising student to Interpol's most wanted in a few days,” L retorted quietly. “If I were to dedicate ample time to pondering how amazing you are, I would never get anything done.”

This wasn't quite an insult, but this also wasn't quite mere observation. Light studied L with narrowed features, curling his fingers into fists in his lap and angling his chin so that his bright irises were watching him under half-lowered lashes.

Finally, “Why do you do that? You always turn everything around to me.”

Stone-faced, L curled a hand under his chin. Was there a particular way he was supposed to answer such a thing? No, L had no obligation to explain himself, especially not to a young man with an explosive IQ. Especially not to Light.

And yet... why indeed? Was it worth Light's agitation to see him look at L with something more than cold indifference?

“...I cannot be blamed if Light-kun is magnetic.”

At that, a glare embedded its way into Light's expression, but it wasn't quite a snarl. The calculating look transformed into genuine puzzlement, which was then replaced by a shrug, a sigh and a return to the original topic.

“How fascinating is death, the extinction of life.
One moment here and the next gone.
The light put out and only the empty bag of the body left.”
-Henry van Dyke

There was no point in denying it anymore: Quillsh Wammy was becoming an old man. He realized this as he drove on the quiet road through the English countryside with the windows windows rolled down in both the driver's and passenger's seat, and despite pressing business, his foot only gently pressed against the gas pedal to slow acceleration. Short pieces of an old song came out under his breath, coupled with a reverent silence. The moment was his, a chance to relax and reminisce. The memories of his younger life were progressively dulling and blurring together like the print of an old newspaper, but to be back in Winchester made forty years dissipate in the blink of an eye.

Winchester was cool in March and as crisp as a photograph. The ash trees that gathered in groups along the roadside spread leafless branches up into the white sky as though they thought to ensure that it stay in the air. Like a canopy, they stretched over the road and swayed gently in the slight breaths of wind. Everything was sprinkled with a soft layer of snow that glistened proudly even without a visible sun in the clouded sky.

Quillsh parked the car in front of the gates at the Winchester Wammy's House, staying seated for stolen moments extra and watching several children making snowballs in the yard. One little girl was trying her hand at building a snowman, but she had rolled the base too thick and she wouldn't be tall enough to attach the head if she continued her work proportionally. He slipped on his gloves to protect his ever-more sensitive skin from the chill and exited his vehicle to the symphony of yelling, laughing and shrieking that the youngsters played in.

“Hey, some old guy is here!”

“Who is it? One of Roger's friends?”

“You can call me that,” Quillsh smiled, walking along the path to the mansion and avoiding flying snowballs in the process. It had been awhile since he had been here, and it wasn't really any wonder that the children didn't remember him. The ones who did would know him only as Quillsh Wammy, because the title of 'Watari' was a secret protected dearly and only the most promising candidates would learn his identity. “Why are you all outside, children? Surely it's not recess this early?”

A young boy, lisping from his lack of two front teeth, took it upon himself to explain. “Roger called a holiday because of the dead girl.”

“One of the students died?”

The boy's face lit up with juvenile excitement. “He has no idea how it happened!”

He thanked the boy and continued into the heavy doors. Children were scattered around the entryway in scarves and mittens, playing games or gossiping to themselves in voices so overly discreet that even Quillsh with his weakening ears could hear their secrets vividly. Unfortunately, knowledge of so-and-so making out with so-and-so in the library didn't capture his interest – these were mostly new faces and new names and after all of his years of life it was nothing he hadn't heard before. The only little tidbit of interest was a whispered, hey, did you hear Near is playing detective for Linda's death? followed by the less relevant, I bet he liked her!

The orphanage itself had already changed from the last time that Quillsh had walked through it. It was the small things that seemed to stick out the most, like a piece of new furniture or the newest dent in the wall. Physical damage, of course, never lasted long anyway considering the funds that Wammy's House had to hire staff for various household duties and maintenance, but even the housekeeper that scolded a young child for tracking muddy snow in across the hallways was a new face. No amount of money in any type of currency would ever stop the flow of time, and as secluded and brilliant as Wammy's House was, it would remain a victim like the rest of the world.

But there are some things that stay the same.

Roger Ruvie was in his office, where he retained a tendency to keep himself and avoid the children if he ever had a free moment. As usual, his head was buried in the withered fingers of a hand, holding his grimace as though headache was getting the best of him. The desk, though usually meticulously organized and free of dust, was filled with heaps of scattered papers as well as his own expensive computer equipment. As Quillsh pressed the door to creak it open, Roger's head tilted up with unmasked irritation until he recognized his the man who had come to see him.

“Q-Quillsh?” Roger said, immediately standing up and straining his eyes for further assurance. He hastily slipped in front of his desk, eyes still darting around each wrinkle in Quillsh's face, until finally he accepted the visitor as more than a passing figment of his imagination. “Oh thank God.”

Quillsh took Roger's hand, wrapping the trembling fingers in his own and shaking it briefly for greeting. With a kind smile, he said, “It looks as though your age is catching up to you, my friend.”

The orphanage headmaster didn't smile at the teasing and he didn't let go of the hand. Instead, he gripped it even more tightly when the handshake was, or should have been, complete. “It's not that. Oh, what am I saying, of course it is, but something has happened here and everything's going mad.”

He paused to make sense of the words. “The girl Linda died...”

Panic, if it had been hidden before, jolted out of Roger's bulging eyes. His voice lowered to a harsh whisper. “I don't know how it happened, Quillsh!”

“So I've heard,” he answered gently. “I've heard everything that's going on in the ten minutes I've been here. These children spread tales like wildfire; that at least hasn't changed.”

“You don't know it all.” Roger disagreed gravely. He swept a hand through his gray hair, looking more perplexed than before. “I would've contacted you immediately but I know you and L have been working in Berlin on that bombing case. I didn't want police involvement but I couldn't just keep the body, so I had it brought there for an autopsy and I told the children who... witnessed the scene to not speak of it with anyone outside of this institution.”

Quillsh stepped toward a chair in front of Roger's desk and helped himself to a seat, and Roger in turn sat in the second of the pair. He lowered his voice. “Roger, these things are unfortunate but they do happen. This isn't the first time that we've lost an orphan and I don't understand why this bothers you so personally. The students will find something new to gossip about in a week...”

A wrinkled frown creased into the other man's forehead. “Linda was a young and healthy girl, by all medical records we have. The autopsy reports were inconclusive. They don't know how she died.”

The old detective nodded, fingers curled under his chin. “I see. But surely there is some explanation that eludes them-”

“There is.”

The interruption made Quillsh quirk his eyebrows, raising them under the shade of his brimmed black hat. Roger's face had been drained of all color, and abruptly, he stood up and strode to the other side of his desk. He fumbled with a set of keys from his pocket and, after two failed attempts, successfully unlocked a metal cabinet drawer to extract a package sealed in a manila envelope. Roger was holding the concealed thing by the corners of the envelope so precariously that Quillsh was reminded of Lawliet himself, and seeing his dear old friend in that position would have been humorous if only the atmosphere hadn't suddenly gone cold in a way that the winter couldn't be blamed for.

Roger tossed the package to Quillsh, who caught it easily and looked carefully. He wasn't signaled to open it, as Roger's head fell down into his hands again, but the message was clear enough. He untwisted the metal clasps that kept the tab of the envelope in place.

“I found this in Linda's room.”

Logically, he shouldn't have had any reason to expect anything. Quillsh Wammy had lived a long time and made a fortune off of his ability to remain logical and think things through with rationality. Somewhere inside of him, however, was the same young man who became a brilliant inventor by insisting that there was some way that pieces could fit together into something grand. He had returned to Winchester to investigate why straw dolls had turned up in Germany and as he reached his hand into the unknown, he knew exactly what he was going to pull out.

The wara ningyo was made of birch sticks, with pink yarn winding it together to create the shape of the body. It looked carefully crafted and the creator had clearly put tenderness into its creation. But even if it was the work of the artistically talented Linda, that wasn't enough to give the doll a face. It remained empty, like a lifeless warning. Or was it really...?

“He killed her,” Roger announced with a wavering tone that made him sound either thirty years younger or thirty years older. “I don't know how, Quillsh, but he killed her.”

Quillsh slipped the doll back into the envelope promptly and looked up with firmness. “That's ludicrous, Roger. Of course there's a reasonable explanation.”

“Like another Kira did it?” he demanded. “How would Kira know? Is Kira the one whispering to the children in the church? Are they spreading ghost stories about him?”

“It's not Kira. It's a... if anything, it's a prank, of course. A cruel prank and perhaps another suicide.”

Roger put his palms down on the desk and leaned forward. “Another suicide... like A's?” He gave a bitter laugh, the laugh of a man not himself. “It's a prank, all right. It's his prank, that thing that you brought here. Before her death, Near told me that Linda said that she was going to be the next L. Linda only wanted to be an artist, oh for Christ's sake, it was him!”

The unsteady fear that his oldest companion was showing made Quillsh feel suddenly very sick. He had not even mentioned what had been uncovered in Berlin – more wara ningyo, forty of them like graves for every victim whose bodies were scattered in pieces from the explosion. It couldn't be... like a bizarre fairy tale, it couldn't be true.

But Quillsh was an old man now, and he had already seen things that couldn't be. He had spent a lifetime inventing things that couldn't be – he took the little children and tested them systematically until he had invented L, and he had invented B. He bowed his head and rubbed his eyes with gloved fingertips, murmuring softly. “What makes you so certain, Roger?”

“Because I believe in God,” came the answer. “And I believe in the devil, too.”

“Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”
-Dylan Thomas

A gurgled shriek rang throughout the vast wastelands of the Shinigami realm, so forceful that not even the twisting rocks and tunnels could muffle it from pouring into the sky. The noise was followed quickly by a choir of wind-like gasps and grunts, and then finally the throaty noises that did for chuckling.

“What do you mean you lost your Death Note?” Gukku demanded, leaning into Sidoh's panicked face and causing him to shrink backwards. “You mean you... lost it?”

“That's what I said!” Sidoh cried out in distress. He searched in vain the ground around him with his hands, grabbing at every loose stone as though the book that kept him living might be hiding underneath. The hope that he had lost it within the last few hours was quickly extinguished. “I had it the last time I checked...”

“And when was the last time you checked?” Jastin asked without sympathy. He had no pity for lazy gods like Sidoh, if they turned to dust then good riddance.

“I.. uh...”

“Are you trying to cheat me?” the human creature spoke up. For the first time in the short time that Jastin knew him, he looked irate, even angry. The red eyes glinted in the dusty light in an eerie way that captured the attention of everyone in the circle and, for a moment, actually managed to silence them. “I won the card game, didn't I? All I want to do is borrow your Death Note, Sidoh. Why are you trying to cheat me?”

Sidoh flung his hands into the air despairingly. “Why would I cheat?”

Deridovely snickered. “Ryuk is the only one who ever cheats.”

There was a pause.

“Wait... Ryuk had two Death Notes... didn't he?”

“He told me he tricked the King for a second!”

“Ryuk did what?”

“Ryuk has my Death Note?!”

“Now hold on, Ryuk said he lost his in the human world! That must mean he lost Sidoh's there when he went down to find something!”

“Yeah, but he found it, stupid. Kira picked it up, remember? And Ryuk was following Kira around until... he lost Kira, too.”

“Where's Kira?”

“I told you, Kira's gone. It was L who did something, that's what I think.”

“I forgot who L is!”

It had been too long since the Shinigami had something so exciting to talk about, and they chattered as hastily as lazy gods of death could. Their voices rumbled in gossip that was, to the human, almost a foreign language due to his lack of understanding. However, this human was not an ordinary human, he was clever and had no scruples nor fears about toying with forces beyond his comprehension.

In fact, the human couldn't hold back a grin, which turned into an eruption of uncontrollable giggling. The Shinigami abruptly stopped their conversation to each turn to their newest gaming partner, who was clutching his stomach like he might die of laughter if only he wasn't already dead – or indeed, whatever it was that he was.

When the human finally caught a hold of himself, he sneered at Sidoh. “Well, well. You owe me a favor but it looks like you and I might just end up helping each other. After all, if we're not careful both you and I will turn into dust, right?”

“I... don't like the way you say that,” Sidoh moaned, one clawed hand covering one of his reptilian eyes and half his face hidden behind the tatters of his white cloak-like wings. “You're really scary, you know that?”

The creature didn't ignore the statement, he simply grinned pleasantly but his eyes were glinting with the deepest of crimsons that made Jastin shiver. “Wait here a little longer if you can last that long, Sidoh. And then you and I will find Ryuk. We'll find Kira. And we'll find...”

The sentence never finished because the human hopped to his feet and started back toward the junk piles, leaving all the gods scratching their heads at what he could possibly be after.

“Oh why should the spirit of mortal be proud?
Like a fast-flitting meteor, a fast-flying cloud,
A flash of the lightning, a break of the wave,
He passes from life to his rest in the grave.”
-Lord Byron

The darkened room of twenty computers plus equipment had been quiet for the past half hour, save the speedy tapping of keys from two young men and an ever-present hum of machinery. The atmosphere, however, was anything but passive. Light had tried to consult L on what his plans were going to be, but L remained distracted, not exactly dismissing Light as an investigation partner but isolating himself in his own thoughts which made such a proposition as teamwork difficult. Despite suffering a year of L's unwanted attentions on him, being ignored now found a way to creep under Light's skin. But on the other hand, Light was perfectly fine with taking his own direction and not submitting to L's orders, and being able to work on his own in the silence soothed a part of him that had been constantly jilted since he came here.

Complexities and mysteries aside, there was something very mechanical about online research. Absorbing himself in the Internet, Light could focus on a single, if sketchy, problem. He could organize a list of tasks in his mind, divide them into sub-tasks and then prioritize. Hacking and cracking security programs was something that he was skilled at – when he was younger, he had made a game of sneaking into his father's police files and excitedly taking mental notes on how to become a great policeman, and when he was older, he took to breaking into programs for the challenge instead of the prize. There was no prize for him today, but the challenge tasted better anyway, like jogging until one's body burned after being caged for weeks. There was satisfaction in every new lead, and there was peace in the detachment it gave him.

He was looking for the New York mafia boss, Rod Ross, and any kind of clue that could lead them to plausible conclusions. What he found was better yet.

“Ryuuzaki, will you look at this?”

At the direct use of his name (one of many, anyway), L's stupor broke. He was sitting as usual with his weight on the palms of his feet and his knees upright, and when Light motioned him to his monitor, L adjusted. He shifted his feet and stretched his hunched back in Light's direction, moving his face in front of the screen. Light couldn't see his expression, only the mess of silky black hair that glimmered against the artificial light.

“In three days, according to this report, there will be an banquet at the Plaza Hotel in New York City. The banquet is dress suit, expensive and exclusive – an invitation only deal. Rod Ross's name is right on the list here, along with a handful of German names. This report also says that police will not be in the area during this time.”

“What report is this?” L asked.

“That's the strange thing,” Light admitted without fully concealing his own astonishment. “It's a file straight from the NYC police force.”

L kept his face in Light's monitor for a few more seconds, probably until he had memorized the data, then turned his head with a small nod up to Light. “Then we know it's reliable. I feel that this is the drug trade that connects with Goddard, and Goddard will be expecting it to go completely smoothly.”

“But the police know about it...”

“They've been bought off,” L dismissed. “Ross has the resources to do it. The information is there specifically so the force will know where not to be.” At Light's glare down at the monitor that judged the concept like only Kira can judge, L smiled. “Light-kun, if all policemen were as honest as your father, then Soichiro Yagami would cease to be exceptional.”

The remark was strange, and though it wasn't uncommon for strange things to find their way out of L's mouth, it felt out of place. It was, admittedly, an innocent statement and meant kindly, but thinking about his family made him uncomfortable these days so he made a point not to. This was especially true after his recent resolution to put the past behind him. But such a goal was difficult when he was faced with the imperfectness of the world and the corruption of law-enforcement – the supposed protectors of justice and public safety. It wasn't as if the notion was foreign to him, but when he thought of his father, of Aizawa and Mogi, Matsuda and Ide putting their lives on the line to do what they believed was right, he resented the criminal underworld even more. And the police officers who cooperated with that underworld were criminals themselves, accomplices, and they deserved punishment in the name of the ones who were honest and pure.

L gave him a curious look and Light cleared his throat. “Well, anyway, this would be a good opportunity to get inside information on Ross, or even take him in if we can catch him with the drugs. You can encourage him to cooperate.”

“Ah. Yes.” L settled back with his weight evenly on his feet, one hand resting on a knee and the other with its thumbnail clicking between L's teeth. “In three days... I should send Watari. I'll need Watari back in the United States. Or...” At this point, it seemed that L forgot to voice his thoughts and fell back into his own head.

When L was completely silent again, lost in some trance, Light found himself tapping his fingernails against the wooden floor with annoyance. All that work to find the information and not even an indication that you're going to do anything? Thinking about it too deeply only made him weary, and he stood up. “Fine. I want to go shower now.”

“What?” That woke L up. His head whipped around, black hair ruffling with the movement, and stared with wide eyes. “How long will you be?”

Light scoffed. “Don't act so insulted. If I hadn't said anything, you wouldn't have even noticed that I left.”

“Of course I notice. I want you here.”

“I have a schedule that doesn't revolve around you, you know,” he said airily. When L blinked, the humor lost on him, he added, “I thought I'd take a nap after the shower.”

“Why?” As if it weren't the most obvious thing in the world.

“Because there's nothing to do. I don't know what else you want me to do.”

“I want you to stay with me,” and then, “I might need your help.”

Exasperated, Light raised his hands, an indifferent gesture coupled with an intent glare in his eyes. “Are you ordering me to stay or not?”

“No... I'm sorry.” L curled down into his knees, still watching Light but apologetically. After a brief moment he turned back to his computer, mumbling. “You've done more than enough. Go do what you want.”

With a final hard look at the detective, Light excused himself. He couldn't be expected to yield to Ryuuzaki's every whim nor pity him just because he was moping around. A sulking L was an obnoxious L, and confined to the same building as him or not, Light hardly wanted to be near him lest he was allowed to punch him. He had every right in the world to begrudge L where he could – after all, what did he have to complain about? He had everything in the world except for social graces and a vegetable pantry, so Light would have to be pardoned from voluntarily watch L fume in a corner because his childhood buddy refused to stay dead.

The thought soared through Light's mind as he pulled off his dark sweatshirt, and it made him stop with the clothing still dangling from his arms. As if automatically, his eyes trailed to the window where it was, for once, not snowing, but frost still misted the glass. What if the ghost of B had actually risen from his grave and was trying to lure Ryuuzaki like a rat out to a place where he could have his revenge? If Light were to believe in ghosts then he would have to start believing in all of the Japanese folktales he had learned as a child, from shrines and from picture books. But then, why not? It was as Ryuuzaki had said. There were gods of death, like a kami spirit from the old stories. Ryuk had been something that Light had accepted, just like he had accepted that his Death Note was from a spirit world. If B was actually haunting Earth as a ghost, Light was certain that he would be able to accept that as well. Yet, Ryuk had told him...

The cold began to prickle against Light's naked torso, so he hastily finished stripping his clothing and turned the knob of the shower to hot water. Putting a finger under the nozzle, he measured the temperature until it had reached something desirable and stepped in. A steaming stream of water fell upon his back and his hair, instantly remedying the chill. He splashed it around around his body until his skin was tinged with pink.

The fact remained that Ryuuzaki seemed to think that B might haunt him if he were a ghost, which said quite clearly that B had every reason in the world to resent him. That was... interesting, but expected. Light knew from experience that L's targets had justifiable reason to loathe him. But out of all the deceased that he had caught, why was B the one to remain a legacy? Because he shared a youth with Ryuuzaki? Because he was one of the few who knew the secrets that Ryuuzaki kept so closely guarded, the knowledge of the beginnings of the world's most brilliant detective?

And if Ryuuzaki thought so, did Light have any reason to be skeptical?

If Beyond Birthday was somehow real, in this hypothetical situation, and he was targeting Ryuuzaki – the more pertinent question was if Light did have something to worry about. He had and still took the scenario with interest but also indifference. After so long kept in this tower with L and Watari where not even the ground could reach him, Light had come to feel totally untouchable. Not safe, not exactly safe. Despite the assurances of a life sentence instead of a death penalty, his ward remained Kira's fiercest enemy. As long as could remain cooperative with L and put up with his prevarications, he could be assured that L had no reason to alter their agreement. Light had ceased to be a god, and he could admit it without heartache anymore that his existence had been quickly transformed from monumental to nihility, absolute unimportance.

But to exist for so long in a place high above reality and void of contact, with only two men for company, why wouldn't he feel as though everything below him couldn't touch him and couldn't hurt him? The world had been taken from him. There was no connection left, so why should he fear it?

Light brushed his hands through his hair to rid it of any remaining soap. The water weighed it down into longer length yet, and it fell obnoxiously over his eyes. With a mental complaint about how annoying it was when his hair was allowed to go unchecked for so long, he swept it to the side and turned the faucet off. Dripping wet, he dried himself with the towel before stepping out onto the bath mat and dressed in fresh clothes.

Laying safely on the counter away from the water, despite being water-proof, was the watch that L had given him. Light frowned and reached for it, pausing to study the glint of the bathroom lighting against the gold surface. It fit comfortably against his wrist, and was infinitely more pleasing than the damned handcuffs that L had become, apparently, too lazy to require him to wear. Light was fine with L leaving him to his own devices, and the compromise had given them both time for some personal space. It met less arguments and fights, but ironically, Light found himself seeking out L more than the other way around. L was, crudely put, his only real form of entertainment. If he was forced to solitary confinement again he was certain that insanity would get the best of him.

When he allowed a thought at what might have become of him being convicted as Kira if L hadn't intervened... the notion made him gag, but he supposed he had something to be thankful to Ryuuzaki for.

And at least... to be fair...

...it's this person and not anyone else.

“You decided against napping?” L asked intently, but without taking his eyes off of the computer screen.

“That's right.”

Instead of looking back at him, L glanced at the monitors which constantly played the feed from his video cameras stationed around the house. Light rolled his eyes as L gave him his attention through a computer when he was standing just ten feet behind. “Why do you have a chess board?”

Light knelt and set down the wooden game board, careful not to spill the wooden case which held the black and white playing pieces. He opened the latch, where each carved unit rested safely in foam. “To play chess, obviously.”

“I don't want to play,” L mumbled. “I have too much to think about.”

“I didn't ask you to play,” Light pointed out, sitting back comfortably on his legs and beginning to set up the game. He took care of the pawns first, lining them up neatly in the center of their squares to face their opponents. “I wanted to play against myself.”

Like a jilted cat, L snapped his eyes back to Monitor 12 and crouched down in a position that made him look ready to lunge at something or someone. Immediately, he began to tap against the keys of the keyboard. “Enjoy yourself.”

“I will. I'm feeling lucky today so maybe I'll win,” Light said jovially, beginning to arrange the fighting units. The rooks went into place, then the knights, the bishops and finally the stars of the battle, the king and the queen. Instead of being something lavish, the chess set looked hand carved, and each piece had been made with the utmost detail and care, and the set looked daunting when fully configured. Light put two fingers around the head of a pawn and slid it forward. “Let's see... White, D2 to D4.”

The pawn slid up two spaces in front of the white king, leaving the space in front of the most significant piece vulnerable. Now came Black's turn, and with a bit of disdain, Light announced, “Black, A7 to A6.”

“If you're going to broadcast every move you make, then play somewhere else,” L grumbled, typing as loudly as he could attack his keyboard without breaking the keys.

“Oh, don't worry. It won't last long.” Now it was White's turn again. Light set his sights on the back row of the army, and took hold of the king's bishop. With the pawn out of the way, the bishop was free to slide diagonally out onto the battlefield. “White, C1 to, ah... F4.”

Black again. “Alright, Black H7 to H6.”

With the black army doing nothing of importance, Light was free to unleash his Queen. “White E1 to C3.”

“That's cruel, Light-kun.” If L had been trying to ignore Light, now it was impossible. The white army was utilizing a four-move checkmate, which was one of the most simple ways to win if one's opponent made no moves to interfere with the process. With Light's queen lined in C, she could use her unlimited vertical range on the next turn to take the king's bishop's pawn. This would put the queen diagonal to the king, which would be a check. The king could normally move one step diagonal and take the queen, but the white bishop at F4 guarded the queen and cinched the check-mate.

“I don't know what you're talking about, Ryuuzaki. All right, now... Black G-”

“B8 to C6.”

Light turned up to L, who was still across the room with only his hunched back visible. “What's that?”

“Black B8 to C6,” the detective growled. “'Move the knight in front of the bishop's pawn.”

“Ryuuzaki, please don't give me any advice,” Light dismissed. “It's my game and that makes me feel as though I'm cheating.”

“It's my chess board.”

“You said you didn't want to play.”

“B8 to C6.”

And so, for no reason in the world and without much to gain but company, Light tore L away from the computer and indulged him in a chess match. Ryuuzaki managed to save his game with a knight, and then with a pawn. For the first time playing the game, Light realized how ironic it was that the King, the leader, the army's lifeline, was almost completely useless on his own. He needed his pawns to be anything at all.

“I hear a voice you cannot hear,
Which says I must not stay;
I see a hand you cannot see,
Which beckons me away.”
-Thomas Tickell

There had been a time when the countryside church near Wammy's House had offered services, and Quillsh recalled attending at a time. The attendance had been slowly but steadily decreasing when he first funded the building of his Winchester orphanage, and without revealing the true intent of the institution Quillsh had asked for charities – not because he needed the money, but purely to keep appearances. When finally the old priest couldn't fight his cancer anymore without hospitalization, the church was abandoned. At least, as a religious function. The orphans themselves continued to enjoy the hideaway, and he recalled L once complaining to him that B – who went by the given alias of Ryuuzaki then – that he was always following him there.

As Quillsh and Roger made their way up the crumbling concrete steps and into the place, Quillsh immediately noticed how run down it had become since the time when he had attended. If there was one thing that never changed between normal children and children with phenomenal intelligence potential, it was that they rarely volunteered to clean and as such the church had become a dusty, broken place. Other things, however, did change, were constantly changing, and in his age Quillsh couldn't forget that nothing lasts forever.

A stained glass window, once a lovely work of art illustrating the Virgin Mary holding her son was now shattered against the faded carpet. Quillsh clicked his tongue disapprovingly as he stepped around the sharp pieces, about to tell Roger that this place was dangerous for the younger children to play now and it had to be either cleaned up or demolished. His reprimands were halted when Roger stopped and pointed at the a spot right near a rotting wood pew.

“This is where the body was,” Roger stated, turned away. “This is also only my second time going in here since that day... The first was to fetch Linda when Mello came to me with the news.”

“Roger...”

“Don't reprimand me!” he commanded hoarsely. Quillsh could see him visibly shuddering in his brown coat as though there was a heavy draft, but though it was winter the church walls still blocked all of the wind. “Oh Jesus, don't reprimand me, Quillsh. I'm not as brave as I used to be. I'm not as strong.”

There was no point in either offering scorn nor sympathy, so Quillsh merely nodded and stepped forward. He crouched down on his old knees and placed a hand on the carpet. It was a worn red color already but he couldn't find any spots of blood. There was no visible sign of struggle either, but of course the church was already a mess from children playing so this couldn't be determined for certain. He would have to talk to the witnesses, Near and Mello, and ask them what they saw.

He raised his gaze, and it caught at the altar in front of him. Curiously he strode forward and placed a hand on the dust-covered table which was once the proud platform for the Anglican priest . He ran a finger along the surface, picking up a trail of gray with his glove. Before the altar there was the crucifix, only a wooden cross now that all of the gold and majesty had been donated when the church closed.

After a moment of silence, he stepped around nearer to the cross. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he turned to the altar, and that was when something caught his eye. There was something scribbled into the wood and as he came closer it became more clear. He adjusted his glasses and tilted his head upward to read the thin writing, thin, but blotchy and crimson. It was blood, smeared, and the letters formed were simply, "LABB".

L After Beyond Birthday.

A strange haze went through Quillsh's head, the haze of realization and dread. LABB had been Beyond's title for the game he set up with L, that time that felt like a forever ago now. The Los Angeles BB Murder Cases. Who could have known about this but L himself? The blood was dry, but it was no more than a few days old. Suddenly, an insane thought crossed his mind - had Linda been reported with a pricked finger in her autopsy? If so, could it be? Could the impossible be? And then-

“Do you believe in gods, Mr. Wammy?”

It was like a harsh whisper, a stream of wind blowing into his ears. Quillsh pulled his hand back, startled, and turned around with a fright. He had been sure that he heard the voice, but when he looked the only soul in the church was Roger, who was quietly mumbling to himself.

-To Be Continued...

Author's Notes:

1. So who here remembers me ranting about how I want to remake the Death Note movies? Well, I've been beaten. They are apparently going to be remade in America. I'd apply for a position as director or something but I think that's already decided. D:

2. It might feel like there's a lot of different things going on here, but I hope they'll all start weaving together soon. It's hard for me to judge how confusing something is, since I know what's going on already, but again a lot of things should be coming together soon!

Thanks for reading!