I'm back! …Please don't kill me. Anyway, I have been in school for a while now and I just discovered (with help) the magic of Windows Movie Maker; I am so distractible that it shouldn't be possible. But I have a chapter! And 17 reviews, which makes me happy! :D And before I forget, I did better on my last test!

Disclaimer! : Me no own Death note! ... If I did, L would not have died…T.T L…*sniff*

Beyond all sanity

I walk at a brisk pace away from the alleyway, looking for a place to stay while I am in LA. It will have to be in a private spot, preferably near a grocery store, so I can buy some strawberry jam, that intoxicating taste. The exact opposite of the metallic flavor of blood that greets my lips after my work is finished, but just as irresistible.

An older- looking building catches my eye as I realize, yet again, I got lost on my train of thought… I really need to stop doing that. Anyway, it seemed this old building is a motel of some sort, probably for people on the run, like me at this present moment. I feel shifting in my arms; I turn my gaze from studying the building, to the injured girl in my bloody arms.

The broken child

Cautiously, I look at my surroundings for any unusual activity. The street lights are a dim orange-gold color that seems to flicker at random intervals, giving the streets an uneasy feeling. Taking another quick glance at the girl that I hold in my arms, I climb up the steps into the strange building. My feet echo as I step into the main lobby, the sudden brightness temporarily blinding me.

It is a well-kept lobby, with a comfortable lighting illuminating the room. It's normal; nothing out of the ordinary.

Walking to the main desk, my mind subconsciously starts to study the man. He appears to be in his mid-30s with copper red hair that reaches the nape of his neck. He is working in a disinterested manner, the scent of smoke lingering around him, hanging in the air like bad breath. Becoming bored with his dull appearance, I glance above his head for more interesting information. Scott Makerson is his name, and he has about 300 days to live.

That lovely bit of info made me very, very happy. Let's see how long it takes for him to notice that I'm here. I wait and by the time five minutes had passed, he still hasn't noticed me, and the girl – I really need to find out her name soon – is starting to get heavy in my arms. I clear my throat to gain the clerk's attention.

His head snaps up to meet my bloody gaze, his face similar to the expression of a child who is trying to look innocent after begin caught stealing a cookie before dinner.

Scrambling to look like he was actually working, he sits up straight and folds his hands. I'm not impressed in the slightest; if anything, I'm annoyed. Somehow, he gets even more annoying when he speaks.

In a scratchy voice, he asks, "Hello; welcome to Last Shadow's Inn. Can I interest you in a room?"

I simply reply with a "yes," narrowing my eyes when he stares at the still-wounded girl in my arms before he starts his bothersome habit of speaking again.

"What type of room would you like, Mister…?"

"Rue Ryuzaki."

"Mr. Ryuzaki."

The urge to stop talking to him is increasing at a rapid pace, so I describe the room I want quickly. "I want a room with two bedrooms, Wi-Fi, a full bathroom, a complete kitchen, and a living room with TV. Is that possible?"

He shuffles his papers, glancing at what I hope is the list of empty rooms. "Um… oh! Yes, we have a room like that, Room 42 but the price is three hundred dollars a night…" He looks over my clothes with distain.

I formulate a plan in my head so I won't have to pay that outrageous price. "May I look at the room first?"

He hesitates, probably trying to understand what I just said. "Uh…I guess but I will have to go with you."

I nod, going over my plan briefly to make sure there aren't any loopholes. He grabs the pair of keys for Room 42 and walks to the room. Following him, I study the halls, making sure to remember all exits and escape roots.

I'm sure, by now L will have found out about my grand escape, and he has probably started working on the case. For now, he will think that I'm still in LA, but that idea is a false assumption. I've long ago planned my revenge for his taking away my chance to kill and my strawberry jam.

The jingling of keys reminds me to pay more attention to my surrounding as Makerson unlocks the door to my temporary living quarters. The door creaks as it swings open, revealing the room.

He then opens his mouth and ruins my good mood. "Here you are, Mr. Ryuzaki – exactly what you asked for. Is it to your liking?"

I ignore him and walk over to the couch, placing the child who was in my arms on the soft fabric. She grumbles incoherent words, snuggling into the pillow as she sleeps. A small, brief smile finds its way to my lips as I brush back her matted hair.

"Hey! You didn't pay for the room yet – you can't just put her there!" That man runs up to remove her from the couch. This is not acceptable. I catch his hand in a vice-like grip and throw him over the couch.

His body meets the wall with the beautiful sound of crunching bones, resonating with pain. He slides oh-so-gracefully to the floor in a mound of tangled limbs.

Making sure that the noise did not awaken the girl, I walk over to Mr. Scott to "discuss" the terms of payment.

He sits up as my shadow falls upon him. Finally opening his dull gray eyes, he stumbles back in fear when he finds my scarred face inches from his own, but before he can escape, I grab his throat in the same manner that a python snatches its prey.

I smile down at him, watching it finally dawn on him I hold his life in my hands. As enjoyable as it is to what him sweat, I need to get down to business.

"Let's have a nice chat in the kitchen, shall we, Scott Makerson?"

His eyes widen frantically as he nods his head in desperation, unable to talk with my hands constricting his vocal chords. Hopefully, somewhere in the back of his mind, he realizes that he never gave me his name. I don't like stupid people.

"Glad you agree."

I drag him over to the tile-floored kitchen, so if I have to make him bleed, I can clean up easier.

I toss him to the corner of the room. Making sure that he doesn't go anywhere, I pull out my simply gorgeous hunting knife. It seems to glow in the light, craving his blood just as much as I.

Duh duh duuuuh! What will happen to Mr. Makerson? I know, but authors do this type of thing to make sure you keep reading, so you're going to have to live with it… for now.

Till next time!

P.S. This is "Shadows of a Dream", Spark's BFF (or at least I think so…) just saying that I Beta-ed this for her. I'm not a habitual Beta though, so please don't ask me to Beta because I only help friends. That's it. And I'm trying to write a book. So… just visualize me smiling innocently as I type this so that you don't kill me. Yes. Good job.

P.P.S. This is Spark again. Shadows isn't my usual Beta because I didn't want to bother them. Please hold while I get BB to find my book-writing friend for putting an ad on my story. She says it's not an ad. I disagree.