Renaissance (I Know The Pieces Fit)

A Death Note Fanfiction

By: Alianne Graysie

Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note or any of the characters or basic plot except for my own O.C.'s.

Prologue: August 13, 2002

'These six things the Lord hates, yes, seven are an abomination to Him: A proud look, a lying tongue, hands that shed innocent blood, a heart that devises wicked plans, feet that are swift in running to evil, a false witness who speaks lies, and one who sows discord among his brethren.'

Proverbs 6:16-19

Mother peered at a map of Tokyo and took a dainty bite out of her McDouble.

"So we're only about ten minutes away from our hotel, right?" I asked over the loud, Japanese babble in the McDonald's restaurant near the airport.

Mother nodded her head.

"Once we unpack, we can change and check out some of the old buildings." She said.

"Yeah, that's about all we'll be able to do today." Father added, glancing at his watch as he stuffed fries into his mouth. "We got here a little late anyway." I frowned a little, but then remembered that we had booked two weeks at our hotel. We would have plenty of time to explore everything.

As we headed out towards our rental, a blue Toyota Camry, Father belched, patting his stomach.

"Didn't have enough salt on those fries." He muttered as Mother and I giggled.

We pulled out into the busy afternoon streets. I amused myself by deciphering the kanji on the road signs. One of the main reasons I had been so excited about visiting Japan was the fact that I had recently mastered its language, thanks to my extra-credit college courses.

Mother and Father rolled down the windows, letting the fresh August breeze circulate through the car and whip my long black hair around my face. I grinned widely and breathed a happy prayer to God: Thank You, Father, for this amazing opportunity!

I had given my heart to Him a little over three years ago, and I'd never been happier and more at peace in my entire life. But, I supposed, that's what happened when one invited love Himself into their life. I knew I could never survive without Him, and I couldn't understand how others managed to do just that.

They just didn't know what they were missing.

About ten minutes later, our hotel, a rather large Comfort Inn, loomed up in the distance, like a lighthouse in a sea of cars.

"There it is." Father said as we approached the light. He eased into the turning lane on the right; the excitement in our little car was overwhelming.

As we pulled into the parking lot, I bounced up and down in the backseat, my heart pounding with eagerness. Mother smiled amusedly in the rearview mirror, her blue eyes dancing.

Finally we parked and began to drag our luggage up to the third floor of the seven-story hotel. As we worked, Mother and Father stopped often to kiss each other lightly on the lips.

"Eww." I said each time, sticking my tongue out at them. They merely laughed.

Once we had checked in at the front desk and squared everything away in our room, Father commanded that we dress up.

"We're going to see some pretty important buildings, and I don't want us to look like a bunch of American tourists."

"Even though we are a bunch of American tourists." I said, flopping onto one of the queen sized beds.

Father smiled sardonically at me, but didn't reply.

Mother walked over to the balcony door and pulled the curtain back.

"Sure isn't much of a view." She said dryly. I glanced up from my place on the pillows. She was gazing out onto the parking lot, hands on her hips, long brown hair rippling in waves down her back.

Father joined her, slipping a muscular arm around her thin waist.

"At least we can see our car from here." He said, pointing over to the right. I pushed myself from the bed and stood. Mother beckoned me over and put her arm over my shoulders.

"It's so nice to be here, just the three of us, as a family." She said as she leaned her head on my shoulder. The sunglasses on her head pressed up against my neck. I thanked God again, as I had several times before, for her sweet, dynamic presence.

"Yeah." Father and I replied in unison. He stepped away from Mother and pointed at me, eyes narrowed playfully.

"Hey, Genius Girl. I told you to stop reading my mind."

Mother and I giggled at this ages-old joke.

Once Father deemed us worthy to be seen in the Japanese public, he gathered up his keys, Mother grabbed her camera, and we were ready to go; we piled into the elevator, traipsed through the lobby, and hopped back in the car.

That night was easily one of the most enjoyable nights of my life. Mother took about a million pictures of us all standing in front of the beautiful, ancient houses and buildings in Tokyo. We explored the town a bit as well and ate at a nice little café that served traditional Japanese cuisine. Mother and Father liked to amuse themselves by having me translate random conversations we heard on the street.

When we returned to the hotel, it was going on nine o'clock, and the jet lag was catching up to us. The three of us plodded up to our room and collapsed onto our beds.

"Well, that was fun." Mother said as she lay back against the pillows. I nodded absentmindedly, half-asleep already, and smiled as I counted my many, many blessings.

Father was already snoring. Mother poked him in the ribs.

"Did you grab the keys out of the car?" she asked. He sat up, rubbing his big brown eyes, and shook his head.

"Nope. I better go get them." He stood and made his way to the door. "Be right back."

As he left, Mother turned toward me, cradling her chin in her palm.

"He always forgets the keys." She said, rolling her eyes.

I giggled and nodded in agreement.

The breeze coming in through the open balcony door swirled about in the room, ruffling the curtains a bit. Mother and I both closed our eyes.

I was startled awake when Father's shouts echoed up from the parking lot. Mother and I were on our feet in an instant, running toward the balcony. Please, protect us, I prayed quickly as we leaned over the railing.

"That's my car!" Father ran out towards our car, the streetlamps illuminating his black hair and bulky figure.

I looked at the car; a man wearing all black had been attempting to pick the lock on the door, from the looks of the metal instruments he held in his hands.

Mother turned and ran toward the door.

"Stay here!" she called over her shoulder as the door slammed behind her.

I was frozen for a few seconds, stunned by the suddenness of the situation.

Then I turned and bolted toward the door.

Once outside in the hall, I debated for a moment: Elevator, or stairs?

I decided on the stairs and took them two at a time, almost falling down twice.

Breathless, I dashed into the lobby just in time to see Mother exit the hotel. The double doors closed slowly behind her; I hurried after her, ignoring confused questions from the woman at the front desk.

A loud bang greeted me as soon as I stepped outside.

Terrified, aghast, I watched as Father toppled to the ground.

Mother let out a wail of anguish, dashing to his side. The thief, now bolder having made his first kill, crossed the space between himself and Mother in three long strides.

"Ray!" Mother buried her face in his now bloody chest, her sense abandoned with grief.

I felt my knees hit the pavement, felt the tears making salty trails down my cheeks. My heart cried out to God, begging, pleading one desperate word over and over.

Why?

The thief placed the barrel of the gun against her temple. She stiffened; I screamed in an effort to warn her.

"Mother!"

The thief pulled the trigger, watched the blood spray onto the pavement, watched her body slump over Father's still torso.

Time decelerated. The black clad man turned toward me with wide, coal-colored eyes. I stared at him, tears blurring my vision, mind numbed with shock.

He lifted the gun, pointing it at my face, just as sirens began to blare in the distance. Instead of killing me with my parents, he turned back to our car and busted the driver's window with a hammer, pulling up the lock.

He leapt inside, revved the engine, and with a squeal of tires made his escape.

Once he was gone, time resumed its normal pace. The stunned and horrified clerk bustled outside, kneeling beside me.

"Come inside!" she insisted. "He could come back!"

I couldn't pry my eyes from my parent's lifeless bodies.

My God, my God, why have You forsaken me?

Slowly my shock succumbed to rage; I began to tremble violently, fists clenched, nails painfully embedded in my palms.

"No." I said, shakily getting to my feet. The clerk stared at me with wide, unbelieving eyes. "I'm going after him."

As I said the words, God's still, small, familiar voice replied in the depths of my grief.

No. Revenge does not belong to you.

I ignored Him and stumbled forward, gradually increasing speed til I was sprinting after the killer. The clerk called after me. I ignored her as well and focused solely on keeping my feet moving forward.

I found the sidewalk, stopped to consider which way he went, and noticed a trail of broken glass leading slightly to the left before stopping. I chose this route and continued forward, my legs fueled with adrenaline, fury, and fresh tears.

My mind remained empty of everything but raw grief, and the murder, playing over and over in my mind like a skipping record. I dashed past coffee shops, restaurants, running into locals who cursed at me, shaking their fists after me.

I could care less what these people thought of me.

Two squad cars raced past me, their sirens blaring. But they were headed in the opposite direction, away from the hotel.

I churned through two intersections before realizing that I could never catch up with a speeding car. In my hopelessness and exhaustion I stumbled and fell, catching myself hard on my hands and knees.

There I let the tears overwhelm me.

"Father, Jesus, help me…" I prayed in a fervent, gasping whisper.

Nothing.

"Help me!" I cried. A few passerby sped up their pace and stared as they passed.

I looked up and realized I had fallen outside of an upscale restaurant.

Not that I cared. I buried my face in my hands and sobbed until my head throbbed and my whole body trembled from the effort.

Suddenly I felt a presence beside me.

"My God, what happened to you?" a voice said in Japanese. The voice was male, probably a teenager.

I glanced up, saw his concerned brown eyes and straight brown hair, noticed his family standing behind him, looking on with alarm.

His mother and father held a young girl between them. Her eyes were wide with confusion and fear.

"Are you alright?" the boy asked. He took my stinging hands gently and studied my face.

"She may be American." His father suggested.

I choked a single word past my constricted throat.

"Yes." I confirmed.

The family seemed stunned by my response.

"What happened to you?" the boy asked again, this time in English.

I took a long, halting breath before answering.

"A thief tried to steal our car. My father tried to stop him. Mother ran out there as well. He shot them both and escaped in the car."

Suddenly the boy's father joined him at my side. He pulled a notepad from his jacket and fished through his pocket.

"Do you remember the license plate number?" he asked gently.

I shook my head.

"It was a rental, a blue Toyota Camry."

"What year?"

"2000."

He clicked the pen and scribbled on the notepad.

"Where did you rent from?"

"Hertz, a block or so from the airport."

He thought for a few seconds. Tears began to well in my eyes again.

"Where were you staying?"

"Comfort Inn, two blocks that way." I pointed back in the direction I came. As I blinked, the fresh moisture spilled down my cheek.

"Are…are your parents still there?" he asked a little uncertainly.

I nodded, unable to speak.

They were silent for a moment. I let a fresh wave of grief crash through me and almost toppled over onto my side. The boy held tight to my wrists as the groans wracked my body.

"We need an ambulance. Comfort Inn, about a mile south of the airport. Victims were shot according to witness." As I opened my eyes he glanced sadly at me. "Their daughter." He listened for a moment, confirmed quickly, and snapped the phone shut.

"Will you come with me to the police station?" he asked me softly.

I nodded slowly. The boy helped me get to my feet.

"Can you walk?" I took a tentative step forward. My head spun sickeningly; I pitched forward into the boy's waiting arms. "I'll take that as a no." He carefully picked me up, one arm under my knees, the other supporting my back. I clung tightly to his neck, helpless to stop the whimpers of agony trembling on my lips.