I do not own Death Note.

Hello, everyone! Just wanted to let you know that I'm new here, and that this contains spoilers for DN: Another Note. If you're okay with that, then be my guest and read on! : )

Deduced Information from Another Note:

Quarter Queen was a blond haired girl who lived with her mother in a one bedroom apartment intended for college students. Queen's mother was single and out of town at the time of her death. Naomi and B conclude that, based upon the size of the abode, Quarter Queen and her mother were poor. After her daughter's murder, she moved back in with her parents.

Quarter Queen was found lying face down (on the floor, I presume; if she were killed in her bed I'm pretty sure the author would have adressed this), wearing glasses and with her eyes gouged out. Her mother had seen her body in the morgue. Naomi finds out through her and Queen's personal photo album that she indeed had impaired vision, but she did not use glasses—she was, in fact, never seen with them on before—which means that she always wore contacts. Post mortem, they were removed (obviously). The cause of death was blunt force trauma to her skull.

B helps Naomi to deduce that Quarter Queen's initials were tied to the killer if they were reversed to lowercase; thus, when turned counter-clock wise, would appear as lowercase b's. The letters were also lower case to coincide with the fact that Quarter Queen was a 'small child', and therefore pertaining to her age—13—which also appears as a B when the two numbers are combined.

Summary: Slightly AU-ish. Meticulously planned, his second murder should go smoothly and, if he was fortunate, baffle the super sleuth even more. But unbeknown to him, indulging in the society of little Quarter Queen will make for a very memorable experience..


"A Quaint Miss Quarter Queen"

by Saint Sentiment

He called her the "foundling".

Little Miss Quarter Queen was a young girl of only twelve brief, agonizing years when those red numbers caught his eye. Her lifespan was unusually short for someone her age. While she looked hale and healthy—inside, she was deteriorating. According to her medical records, she had muscular dystrophy.

Given the current mental state of her parental figure and her disabilities, she had been bed-ridden for the majority of her life, aside from the rides to the hospital. She loved them the most.

Her mother was not a benefit to the treatment of her condition in the slightest. She was a negligent fiend who often forgot to feed the poor thing. On "Mommy's bad time", Queen would go for 3 days without any form of sustenance. She was subject to even more cruelty during her mother's "woman week".

B had discovered her at the hospital in downtown Los Angeles. He'd been sitting in the waiting room, counting the raindrops on the window sill—owing to his boredom, for they had no pamphlets to read—when he caught sight of an interesting reflection: a glimmer of red numbers that were slowly declining.

Two weeks. They had gone down to days, he saw.

Usually, in cases of the terminally ill, the numbers will appear that way. It just means that they have less than one year to live. Beyond had gotten quite adept at cracking the "code" above people's heads—otherwise known as converting Shinigami numerals to human time. And this girl's was 01457613. Very low. His interest was piqued.

As with chemistry, with Shinigami numerals there is usually a set of significant digits for every given number. Be it a healthy individual, this also proved true.

Beyond was pretty sure that, though he had never consulted a Shinigami on the matter, the numbers above the heads of humans who were due for death's door held 2 sets of significant digits. The first was how many days/ months they had left to live and the last was their current age. Initially, it began as a speculation—but after memorizing the numbers of several leukemia patients and looking to their medical records for confirmation after their deaths, he found his perceptions were accurate.

And so, with the help of his photographic memory, he began to discern her remaining days.

"...O-one-four-five-seven-six-one-three.." he murmured, almost soundlessly, as he stared blankly at the raindrops on the white washed window sill.

One-four. She has approximately two weeks left to live.

One-three. She is thirteen years old.

Hm, a potential victim. The only problem was that life spans were highly temporary and subject to fluctuations. In other words, they changed if circumstances were improved or worsened.

But no matter, he concluded. She was bound to die real soon anyhow—and when her time came, he would be there.

Through the reflection in the window, she lay peacefully on her back, situated on a stretcher. Somehow, she found the strength to lift that impossibly bony, white hand of hers and wave—weakly, albeit. She smiled.

He smiled too.

& & &

With everything determined and set, he only needed to get in the house and kill the girl. For someone of his intellectual magnitude, that would be simple enough even if the door was locked. But the mother, in her drunken stupor, had left the door open and went to party with her friends—regardless of the fact that her child could barely move a muscle on her body and was literally dying.

The interior only composed of one bedroom and bathroom. The refridgerator was small and void of all food, a painful indicator of their impoverished state. The white washed walls gave the house a bland, empty feeling. There was only one couch, no chairs, no tables, no backdoor, nor any pictures on the walls. The place was completely unadorned, save for the newspapers sprawled all over the floor and plates upon plates caked with old Chinese food and other unhealthy take-out. The temperature was also unbearably hot.

Despite the miserable conditions, this pleased him, as it would only make his task easier.

The first order of business was drugging Quarter Queen, who was conveniently fast asleep. Though, had she been awake, it would hardly make a difference. Her extremely fragile frame would not make for much for a physical confrontation.

So in the needle went, and into the circulatory system freely flowed the drug.

He imbibed her small, round face and rosy cheeks. Her beautifully messy blond hair, sprawled like Sleeping Beauty's golden tresses upon the old mattress. Her nice slender legs and cute little breasts. Attractive, he thought, despite the fact that she was terribly skinny and famished.

B searched the house from top to bottom, hiding any possible weaponry underneath a rug in the basement, such as kitchen knives, bobby pins, hammers and glass bottles.

This precaution was taken just in case the mother had altered her schedule and decided to come home. Should she catch him in the act of murdering her daughter, she would not be able to defend her nor herself unless she (quite improbably) knew some effective form of self defense. Even given that, B was pretty sure he could easily overtake her and escape the crime scene. Though, if she proved too much in the physical department, he might have to kill her, too.

He kept this thought in mind as he literally wiped the entire house clean of any fingerprints, washed the dishes, disposed of the newspapers (he liked to work in a impeccable environment), and nailed the three Wara Ningyou on the walls. B was just about the take out the trash when a little voice startled him.

"Is someone there?"

The bag was slowly lowered onto the floor. He stood silent, pondering the wisdom of speaking. It would seem redundant to ignore her, since she was quite aware of his presence. Though she wasn't panicing from the acknowledgement that he was there, the muscle relaxant would prevent any sudden, unwanted outbursts.

Finally, he spoke:

"Yes."

"What are you doing in my room?" she inquired softly, unperturbed. It was slightly confounding, since she had never known the company of anyone aside from her mother, who had nurtured her solely since the cradle.

Why is she not afraid? Was it the drug? As far as he was concerned, it had no hallucinatory effects, nor any chemicals that might induce euphoria or delusions..

A quaint Miss Quarter Queen, he thought.

Beyond peered at the little out-of-season Christmas tree on her dresser.

"Why I am...you see, there is a light. A tiny light on this tree...that won't light on one side. I'm going to take it back to my workshop, my dear. I'll fix it there, and I'll bring it back here." He chuckled at his little "grinchy" jest.

She returned it, which sounded like a weak cry. "I like you...you're funny."

His confused expression softened. He found himself smiling. "I like you too."

Then suddenly, she realized something. "I can't see, Mister."

Beyond narrowed his eyes. "Is that so, little girl?"

"Did God take my eyes away from me?"

He became slightly annoyed at the childish assumption. "Why do you think a supernatural entity is at fault for your misfortunes?" he asked, genuinely curious.

Quarter Queen lapsed into silence. There was an 86% chance that she was confused by his question. He now doubted she had ever heard anyone speak like him, except maybe a doctor. He felt he had been too impetuous in his inquiry—she is, after all, only thirteen years old, and he is a full grown man that "talks like a text book", as Misora had once said.

"Mama said God took everything from me: my legs, my arms, my voice...and my heart. There's a hole in it. She says if I'm too afraid, my heart will explode...and now I can't see. So He must have taken my eyes, too..."

"Taken your eyes?" He mouthed inaudibly, overcome with a morbid thought. In post mortem mutilation, he might do just that. "I see.." he murmured, placing a thumb on his bottom lip as he mused. "Who do you think I am?"

"A lot of people, actually." she replied, smiling.

He stared. "Such as?"

"God?"

He cocked his head to the side, fighting the urge to laugh. "No."

"An angel?"

His lips slightly withdrew from each other, his eyes ever so slightly widening in response. For a few seconds, a sentence could not be assembled.

"...No."

"An angel...of death?"

"If I am not an angel in general, then what makes you think I am an angel of anything in particular?"

Queen considered the silliness of that question. "...You're right." She thought for a moment. "...The Devil?"

"My oh my, Miss Quarter Queen, you are indeed very pious." B chuckled, running his thumb along the interior of his bottom lip. This was very interesting.

"I'm sorry.." she frowned, withdrawing her sightless gaze to the floor, as if she could see the disappointment in his features.

"You are also very strange." He said in a matter-of-fact tone, grinning now. "This trivial conversation is enjoyable to me."

Her countenance lightened noticeably. "Then...will you be my friend?"

He did not answer. He wouldn't, she knew, because that wasn't what he was there for.


Quarter Queen had fallen asleep a while ago. She had recently begun to slowly lose the power to govern the times she wanted to be awake.

He had spent a few minutes staring at the set of data floating above her her head. The numbers were still declining. 00024113. Now he knew the exact time she would die.

Two-four-one. Two hours and fourty one minutes.

Suddenly, Quarter Queen averted her blind gaze to B, though she could not see him. There her eyes stayed on his form. "Mister...am I dying?"

"You should be." He replied coolly, tossing around the baseball bat.

"I'm confused. Why would you cut me down there?" she inquired innocently.

He started. "Pardon?"

"I'm bleeding...down here.." she whispered, bringing her thin arm to her private area.

Without a moments thought to censor himself, he deadpanned, "What you are experiencing is referred to as the menstrual cycle. The majority of females your age go through this. It is an indicator of one's reproductive capability."

She blinked. "You're...very smart, Mister. If you're not an angel, or a demon or devil or God...then you could be a doctor...that's come to 'put me down'."

Was there an end to all the upsurd ideas her mother instilled in her head?

"I am afraid that once again, you are incorrect," he reproved, "I am no supernatural being of any sort. I am a man. I am also not currently engaged in the medical profession, either. And.."

Beyond was about to inform her that humans are not 'put down' like sickly animals are, but finally realized the uselessness of correcting her. Her life was about to end. Where would she take this information, anyhow?

"Pure silliness," he muttered scornfully, "I know what you are doing. You are trying to postpone your death until either your mother or the proper authorities come to retrieve you. I assure you that will not happen."

"But I wasn't..." she protested, her lip quivering at the realization that she was displeasing him, her only friend, of all people. "I don't...I mean...you already told me I'm going to die, so...there's no point. Even without you..I would have died anyway. My Mama.."

"Hm, yes. She is very negligent." B commented. "Women such as she are not fit to be maternal figures, especially to one with such an ailment as yours. But I can't complain. This just makes your death that much more convenient."

She shuddered and kept herself from questioning that statement.

It became increasingly apparent that Quarter Queen was sinking into a deeper state of melancholy. And as the deadening silence and the passage of time seemed to finalize everything, she gave way to tears. She knew too well this was what Mommy called "the big goodbye".

Though B was only sitting on a stool by her bed, soundlessly tossing the bat around, the girl became more paranoid. She called out for her 'mammy' and asked him if he was still there. He said yes. But this didn't seem to better things. Her breathing escalated, her fingers tightened around the bedsheets, and she began to sweat. All the while she kept her eyes wide open, muttering childhood prayers and lullabies.

B was confounded by her behavior. She seemed just fine an hour or so ago. "Why are you doing this? Why not just fall asleep?" He arched a brow, tightening his grip on the bat.

"Mister, I don't want to die!" She wheezed desperately, shaking her head. "I'm so scared! I'm so scared! Please, help me, I'm scared!"

He slouched back in his chair, watching her life span decline with sudden speed. "I don't see anything to be afraid of. Death is just...death."

"No...! It's...It's horrible! The numbers, the numbers! I can see the numbers!" Queen shrieked breathlessly.

His fingers twitched on the bat. "The numb...you can see them too?"

"Yes!" She cried. "And my name! It's above my head! It's running out! Mister, help me please!"

He wasn't sure why she could see them. He thought he was the only one who had that ability. This was the last and only time to inquire, and he pondered the wisdom of asking as the seconds ticked by. He sighed in defeat as he knew she was too hysterical to answer any questions.

She was about the kick the bucket in another sixteen seconds.

"Shh...shh..." he put his gloved hand on her cheek and rubbed it with his thumb.

She turned to him now, her eyes widened. "What are you doing with that b—"

"Goodbye."

Before the last second could terminate, he brought the blunt object down on her head.


The idea for this fic was taken by a piece done by 15thBurningFiddle, called What He Didn't Have, which was tantilizingly short. But I still loved it. I highly recommend it. I hope she forgives me for taking her idea.