Best Laid Plans: Chapter 2
Title: Best Laid Plans
Chapter: Prologue, 1, 2, 3
Rating: R
Summary: On November 5, 2004, L saw the trap Light set with Misa and Rem and narrowly sidestepped it. What followed was a series of plans to expose Light as Kira and turn a key tool against him, though escaping the specter of death would be a difficult proposition.
Characters: L, Light. the Taskforce, references to Misa, Rem, Watari, Mello, Near, A, B, Raye Penber, Naomi Misora,and a lot of people from the Yotsuba arc.
Word Count: 7,498
Disclaimer: Death Note and recognizable characters belong to Ohba/Obata.
Author's Note: This is where more of the plot is revealed and where I ask for more of a suspension of disbelief. Yes thgere are references to the movies and anime in this. I did borrow the idea of having a name written wrong by different people from a fic I read where Halle and I think it was Gevanni or Rester did that. If anyone knows the name of the fic, please let me know. There are also a lot of parts from my own background story for L and some repeat readers might recognize. With that in mind, please take a moment before blasting me on having facts wrong.
Best Laid Plans
Chapter 2: Exercising options against a brick wall
November 6, 2004
Tokyo
12:14 a.m.
“The last person Higuchi talked to before he received the call from Namikawa was Hibiki Matsumoto, the Public Relations Director for Nagano Enterprises, a technological firm,” Matsuda said, making a poor attempt to hold back a yawn. “We checked Matsumoto‘s phone records and last we know he is on the French Riviera on holiday.”
L took another careful sip of his coffee, staring ahead at the monitors and the walls of names that had not updated itself since the initial rush a few hours ago. More would be identified in the morning, or else Misa was staggering her killing.
“Was that the last name on the phone list before Namikawa’s call?” L said.
“That’s it,” Matsuda said with a winded sigh. “We still have the IM records to go through.”
“That will be all for now, Matsuda,” L said.
L stood up from his crouching position, feet buried in the cushion before he hopped off and onto the floor. He stood still for a moment before sighing.
“It’s late and it‘s been several hours since the last confirmed deaths,” L said, continuing to stare at the wall. “If any of you wish to break for the night, that’s your choice. I do recommend that none of you leave headquarters tonight, it would be too dangerous under the present circumstances.”
“I could go on for a few more hours,” Soichiro said. L could see the tired smile without even looking at him.
“No dad, you need to get some sleep,” Light said. How thoughtful of him. “I know I’m good for a while, Ryuzaki.”
“Do as you wish,” L said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Regardless of who does it, I want all those names sorted into who is still alive and who is not. Those who are dead, I want their names matched with the names in the Death Note. Those who are still alive, I want their contact information a list of associations.”
Light wouldn’t be stupid enough to write in the Death Note or take out any scraps now. He was looking for Misa to take care of that dirty business for him, though Light could do something to further press suspicion onto himself and set off his little chain reaction. Maybe letting him near the Death Note was a further nod to the Shinigami he wasn’t suspected…yet.
“In the meantime I am going to have a nice long shower and maybe a nap,” L said, looking behind him and glancing at the group.
He then turned around and walked away before he would see any reaction. He could have cared less save for what Light was going to do. L managed to get across the room, hearing no one else following him.
The request was personal enough so Light couldn’t have followed him without drawing suspicion. He almost wanted him to follow so he could make a snaky remark about if he wanted to help or relive their time chained together. Light only knew he would do that, hence why he was staying put.
L got across the room, a motion-activated door sliding open and letting him exit before closing behind him. L stood to the side and listened at the door. Everyone else thought it was sound-tight, but he and Watari were the only ones who should have known about the purposely-placed weak spot near the doorframe.
“Well wasn’t that nice of him,” he heard Aizawa say right out loud. “He followed his own advice pretty quick.”
“Give him a break, Aizawa,” Matsuda said. “He looked really despondent just then. This has to be really hard on him; first it looks like Kira’s been caught, then he comes back.”
“Matsuda’s right, I can tell this is really tough for him,” Light said.
Such a thoughtful little bastard. This only confirmed he was staying put for the moment; he had to be careful how he followed him.
Light’s conversation went back to phone records and comparing information. This was L’s cue that he was falling back into faux police detective mode for the time being.
L continued forward through the dark, quiet hallway lit by a few soft white wall sconces. Light could watch him on the monitors if he wished, see what direction he was going in but it would have been pointless.
He went down a few more corridors then up two flights of stairs. The cameras at this level could only be monitored if they were specifically aimed at this location; doing so would make Light look more suspicious. He probably had found most of the tricks of this building, L was sure of that though he and Watari helped design it. He and Watari were the only ones who knew every room, corridor, staircase, door in this building. He suspected there were a few Watari placed he had not found yet and likewise.
L walked down the tenth floor corridor to the twentieth door, taking a keycard from his pocket and putting it through the slot in the door. He then placed his hand on a specific location on the door’s center, activating a special handprint recognition system.
He felt the subtle vibration of the door unlatching, though the mechanism was meant to be completely silent. The door opened and he went through, watching as it closed behind him and setting off a red light on the lock indicating it was once again secured. If anyone else tried to get through the door, a rebar would latch to further reinforce it and an alarm would be tripped.
He and Watari were the only ones with access to that door, a thought that was still comforting. Yes, Watari could be controlled with the Death Note to get access to L, but then whoever held the notebook had access to him too if that happened.
L walked down another corridor with similar lighting. Only Watari had any camera access to this corridor, though behind the fifth door to the left was a different matter. L put his card in again, putting his hand on the door and leaning his eye into a small glass hole for a retinal scan. Only he had access to this area, though Watari could have tripped an emergency system if something was direly wrong.
So many nice precautions. If he were to suddenly drop dead, his body would be found fairly quickly.
No, he wouldn’t drop dead here; Light would not want to lose the pleasure of watching him die.
The door clicked open and L walked through into the dark room, watching as the door shut and relocked behind him. He stood still for a moment; the skyline of Tokyo glowing through the tinted windows and illuminating the different sized punching bags, practice dummies, and rack of freeweights at the back of the room.
He had been coming here at least every other day since Higuchi’s capture and since Light was unchained from him. L visited it once after the building was constructed while Light and Misa were in their staged confinement. He snuck an hour out to come and get some workout, still keeping an eye on a small monitor at the back of the room hidden in the wall.
Overall, the room sat mostly unused though L was making up for lost time now.
L walked to the middle of the room, bare feet against the polished bamboo floorboards. His arms hung to his sides, shoulders relaxing. He took a few deep breaths, concentrating on a dragon painting mounted on the wall he purchased during a previous case in Tokyo; a red, demonic-looking creature with beady black eyes and smoke wreathing its head. It was fire personified; burning, destructive, fearful, angry.
He concentrated on this image, breathing deeply and finding his center; trying to dissipate the burning in his temples and slow his heart’s rapid beat. L slowly moved his arms to the sides, bringing them forward and closing his hands in front of him in a Namaste pose.
His breathing staggered through he tried to maintain control, clear his mind, and finally rebalance. All he could think about was how his sleeves weighed his arms down.
L flung his arms to his sides, hands taking a grip on the bottom of his shirt and yanking it over his head; the back caught on his head for a moment though he only yanked harder; he wanted it off him.
He then threw his white shirt to the side in one move and fell to a handstand a move later, legs flinging out in front of him and landing hard in the center of one punching bag. His hands released the floor and he fell back for a moment to regain his footing, launching himself front-forward, one fist smashing into the leather. He pivoted on one leg, the other leg flying up and heel violently pushing the bag inward, leaving it swinging on its chain.
No more concentrating, no more trying to push his anger aside, no more playing nice.
L crouched low and spun on one heel, pushing himself up before falling to his hands and giving a hard kick into another punching bag with a loud grunt.
He had sat there for three hours and 45 minutes maintaining the cover for his faux maneuvering while planning his next action.
Both legs kicked out, he spun his torso to a downward position; the soles of his feet slapped the floor hard. His backside dropped, with his hands, bodyweight now pivoting on his shoulders and supported by his hands. L kicked both legs in front of him, soles meeting the bag in one move, one foot disengaging, the other slapping the bag again. His second foot hit the floor and he pivoted into a standing position.
All he could find was one proverbial brick wall after another.
He spun on his heel, fists crashing one by one into a bag now in front of him with rapid succession. He gritted his teeth and grunted with each punch.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. He should have come up with a feasible solution by now but hours had passed and he had nothing.
He still had options, he told himself that hours ago; but why the hell was he in this tangle now? This wasn’t supposed to happen; even if his logic was proven later to be flawed, it still came forth. L wasn’t supposed to hit the proverbial wall. L wasn’t supposed to be helpless.
His elbow smashed into the bag. He pivoted on one foot and gave it a low kick, the chain holding it from the ceiling creaking with the violent sway.
He would contact another investigative agency and have them follow Misa. The FBI was out of the question but MI-5 would work, perhaps Interpol could recommend someone. The United States, however, was infamous for holding grudges and being less than quiet about such grudges. They could have told any other agency to beware of L using them for the Kira case.
In that instance he could contact one of America’s enemies, or an independent cell; more criminals and mercenaries like Aiber and Wedy. Though if anything went awry with those groups they would be less easily controlled and their reaction less polite than an angry phone call.
Regardless, anyone who tailed Misa would likely be killed like Raye Penber, his fellow FBI agents, and even Naomi Misora.
The thought of that alone sent another hard, swinging kick into an adjacent bag. No, he had to control his emotions; he had to continue sweeping aside his frustrations and anger for that incident.
Death would come swifter now; Misa had a Shinigami tailing her. Odds were after the Shinigami killed Misa’s followers it would eventually kill him on principle, or else it would communicate the situation with Rem and Rem would kill him.
No, this at least had to be tried…but to what balance of gain and cost? It was an option but it was futile based on past experience. Even Misa or her Shinigami did not kill her tail, they could manipulate them to kill more people or even reveal specifically who sent them.
He could also send Light out of headquarters, say he wanted him to do further investigation because he trusted him or even because Kira would know he had been a suspect. He could put a tiny camera on him and observe his movements; a camera that could be embedded into a button anywhere on his clothing and cameras could be put into all of his outfits.
Though Light suspected he would do this; he already knew about the cameras during the surveillance of his house and he probably expected L to plant more on him. He probably checked his clothing regularly and had many back-up plans for getting rid of or evading the cameras.
Even if L sent him out, Light would probably say something seemingly innocuous that would alert the Shinigami he was suspected. If Light was out of the building he could find ways to communicate with the Shinigami not to mention Misa. He would be free to kill as many people as he wanted and eventually lead L and perhaps everyone else on the Taskforce to their deaths from his position.
He had to try something; L told himself that repeatedly. Even if something did not work, even if it was a flawed plan, something had to be tried. At this point, however, one wrong move could mean a slaughter let alone the entire investigation.
L dropped to his hands again, legs flying up and out. One sole hit the bag, then the other as he pivoted his weight upside down on his hands. He pushed upward and swung his legs down, giving one kick for good measure. A fist flew up and hit the bag as he dropped his bodyweight onto his feet and came to a stand.
Light had him cornered; he had him against a wall and had or was trying to cut off all escape routes. L was running out of moves and Light was closing in for checkmate.
Given the timing and all the events in motion, Light probably expected the final move would come tonight; he likely expected L would be dead before sunrise, perhaps every other member of the Taskforce as well.
That conversation was four hours ago and everyone was still alive, or perhaps L stalled the inevitable by leading the course in a different direction at the last second. He avoided the landmines but did not know where all of them were planted and he had a small space in which to maneuver with no escape. He couldn’t stay in a holding pattern forever; it would be counterproductive and get them no where. Likely Light would push in any direction before then with the Taskforce joining in at any time. He had to maintain some unity among members if he had any hope of solving the case.
Matsuda and Aizawa were already talking about using secretive methods; the members of the Taskforce were getting more desperate and perhaps their pure loyalty to Light or Misa would strain in any way. It was a long shot, but L had to watch any potential loose cannons that might emerge from this; one person threatening either of them could have sprung the trap on all of them, or perhaps just L.
He kept his arms level with his shoulders, elbows bend and concentration on his center of balance. One foot flew up and hit the bag. He pivoted on his other foot, the first one falling as the second one went into the air for a successive kick; his body spinning around.
In any scenario, he was the prime target. Regardless of who if anyone else Light wanted dead, L was on the top of that list. If L died, the investigation died with him.
But what if such was not the case? If Rem or any Shinigami killed him, it could have been explained that it was done so on Kira’s behest. Light could make them think that; Light could have come to the forefront and offered to take over the investigation. Light could step forward and volunteer to play the brave hero…by taking L’s position.
L threw a punch into one of the dummies, imagining it with impeccably styled hair and cold eyes. Another punch followed, then another.
Dammit, he set him right up for it! L had Light play him while speaking with Namikawa, L said Light would be the natural one to succeed him; it would be Kira’s dream to take L’s position and control all the world’s police for his purposes. L had used that as a tactic to draw him out and place more suspicion on him, but if L died the seed was already planted for Light to slide right into his seat. The Task Force would recommend it. Light would play the mourning friend doing his duty. He would easily create his own communication and records system to take over, even as a pastiche L.
L already had several complicated provisions in place for his own declared successor; 13-year-old Near and 14-year-old Mello were dead equal in his book for the title. Both of them ruthless and determined. Near was coldly calculating and Mello was a grenade.
He refrained from declaring either of them for the time being; both of them were bitter rivals. If he died, word would go back to Wammy’s House either through Wammy himself or, God forbid, alternate means over which Light had zero control.
Mello and Near would learn of his death and learn of the open successorship and events would be set in motion. Both of them would want to catch Kira to avenge him or show their superiority over him, perhaps both. If they didn’t work together, they would go separate ways and attack in opposite directions with the fuel of rivals.
It was L’s ultimate Plan B, the absolute worst case scenario. Yet another crapshoot but a plausible plan to catch Kira if he was unable. Kira or the Shinigami would have a more difficult time going after separate moving targets. If both of them were wise, they would assemble their own teams to cover more area; he would make sure both of them had the resources and contact lists in government, law enforcement, organized crime, or any other avenue to do that.
Both of them were in their early teens; would they be able to handle such a task now?
No! It was a preposterous thought and counterproductive. L was still here and not going anywhere…
…Unless he could find a solution to this puzzle soon. Somewhere a clock was ticking and L had no idea what it was set to; and it unnerved him.
A fist smashed into the dummy’s rubber nose, a foot swinging upward for a kidney shot and the other foot slamming under its chin.
Death was the ultimate failure in this game. This time it wasn’t about reputation, pride, or money; all his chips were in, to lose was to die. That was Light’s endgame, his ultimate goal. Light wanted his name written in someone’s notebook.
The notebook, that was the ultimate threat in the end. The human whose name is written in this notebook shall die. It was clear the notebook was real; a name goes into it, that person is done, such was the nonnegotiable fact.
Though how nonnegotiable was it? Was there any way to get around it?
The text flashed into L’s mind as he pivoted on his leg. He froze thinking of the words.
“If a Death Note owner accidentally misspells a person’s name four times, that person will be free from being killed by the Death Note. However, if the Death Note owner intentionally misspells the name four times, the owner will die.”
This could work.
L kicked into the dummy’s stomach.
This could work though it was a massive risk. He could give spelling variations of his name to the different Taskforce members and have them write it down. This would prevent deaths and make him immune. Or he could designate a Taskforce member to sacrifice to do this, likely Matsuda or possibly Mogi; neither of them had families and he could spare one of them.
No, it would involve giving his real name and the consequences of that were astronomical even if it was the intentional misspelling.
Giving out his real name would have to be a sacrifice, though how could he operate as L if anyone beside Watari or Roger at Wammy’s House had that name. He could swear them to secrecy, but he could not guarantee that. He could have them eliminated, but that would be needless and only lead to more problems.
He would lose the Taskforce if he sacrificed one of them, and if they did have his name they could seek revenge. If he gave out his name, he might as well write his own name down to prevent the potential consequences.
But then the Shinigami would know what he was doing and write his real name down anyway; the Shinigami watched over the Death Note. Unless he could get the Death Note away from the Shinigami and Light. Light would be easy; a drop of any powerful sedative in his coffee would accomplish that quietly. Or he could simply tell the Shinigami they were analyzing the notebook; they already took a portion of one page for forensic analysis. But then he had no idea if one page would indeed work on its own.
That was a matter for later; there had to have been ways to write a name down, even if it was too quickly for the Shinigami to interfere.
L punched the dummy in the face again, though froze with one more realization.
“When the same name is written in two or more Death Notes, the note which was first used will take effect, regardless of the time of death.”
And what of that time?
“The Death Note can only operate within a 23-day window (in the human calendar.) This is called the 23-day rule.”
But there was another clause: if someone were to be written to die of a disease, the listed disease could take longer than the 23 days and the person would die at the appropriate time as the progression of the disease.
His arms hung to his sides; he suddenly felt cold as the next stream of thoughts went through his brain.
There was another way he could make himself immune to anyone else’s Death Note that did not involve entrusting anyone in the Taskforce with his real name or risking further deaths. There was a way that would absolutely shield him, but it would involve sacrificing himself.
How far was he really willing to go to solve this case? Was he willing to kill himself to finally get to Light?
L clenched his fists against the sides of his jeans.
He was so goddamn close to solving this case; the Death Note was the only thing that stood between him and Light Yagami and Misa Amane being taken care of once and for all. Sacrifices had to be made; this was probably his last option.
How could he do it? Light was watching…no Light could be easily removed from the situation. What of the Shinigami? He could write fast, put in the information before the Shinigami had a chance to act or he could find a way to distract the Shinigami.
It was still a major gamble. The Shinigami could still kill him just for looking at the notebook in a certain way. Even if he managed to write it down, would the Shinigami warn Light and Misa? No, he would banish Light from headquarters, or else call in a hit man disguised as a police officer. L would get Light to confess, a bullet to the back of the head was quicker than writing a name in a notebook.
What of the details? If he was confident this could be wrapped up in 23 days, he would simply write that he would suffer heart failure painlessly in 23 days. If he wanted some more time, he could still give himself congestive heart failure or perhaps a brain tumor that would further advance after he solved the case. He could then die in medicated oblivion.
The biggest hurdle would be to get around the Shinigami, but a bait and switch could be used…unless the Shinigami could sense the real notebook and could feel something getting written into the notebook.
L wanted to punch or kick something again but the jerk in his stomach kept him from moving.
He would fail at even killing himself.
His eyes slowly turned down to his bare torso and the long scar across his side.
Vancouver, 2002; a case against a powerful heroin kingpin in which he insisted on investigating undercover with the police. One year after his first successor hung himself; three months after his second successor brutally murdered three people while disguised as L and set himself on fire.
Going undercover in this case was a risk, accompanying the head inspector was even riskier, doing everything he could to drive his quarry out was madness, directly confronting the armed drug lord himself was…
…and he failed then too. The so-called “Greatest Detective in the World” solved every case he was given, but failed at the simple task of ending his own life.
No, he was supposed to be enjoying his life now; a knife in the side his wake-up call, a second chance, an opportunity to live life to the fullest.
And he was doing that by taking on a case of a mass murderer and confronting the culprit every opportunity he was given, whether on TV or face-to-face.
He wasn’t actively thinking about suicide two years ago; it was a subconscious instinct, a deep desire that revealed itself. It was still there wasn’t it? Despite all the other cases, despite all the breaks he had taken, all the self-searching he had done, did he still desire death?
L turned on his heel and walked toward the door. One toe caught a hold on his shirt and kicked upward. He slid his arms inside it and found his sleeves almost in one motion. He pulled the rest over his head, pulling the bottom back over his jeans.
He took one look at the room, though in a passing glance as he walked forward.
He had to get out of here, find somewhere to get his thoughts together.
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1:43 a.m.
L walked out of the doorway and onto the roof, his bare feet cold and damp with just a few steps. The smell of rain mixed with the usual exhaust and mortar of a city at night.
Puddles had formed between the cracks of the aluminum tiles below him and water dripped off the bars of the scaffolding around the entryway. The sky was still a bright orange; city lights filtered through low hanging clouds though a few stars peeked out.
It looked like a deluge hit Tokyo just an hour or so ago and cleared swiftly. A few stray raindrops flew into L’s face, though they were merely stragglers with no real momentum at the present.
He missed the atmospheric catastrophe, though could have been walking into another one. Sounded familiar.
L walked across the cold metal, hands in his pockets and eyes to his feet. He looked up and saw the building’s satellite dish looking another story overhead.
He had disabled all cameras in this area; no one could watch his every movement here unless they were a Shinigami. It was a thought that almost made him smile at the irony.
Leaving the building had crossed his mind more than a few times; there were secret escape routes all over the building through which he could easily slip out unnoticed by anyone. It seemed like too much effort right now; all he needed was air and there was plenty of it here even if it was damp and cold.
He walked to the other side of the roof, avoiding the grating by the satellite dish and heading for the steel railing that encircled the roof. It went waist high; making it something good to lean on though he had to be careful. One would not want to die after all.
L put a hand in each pocket, fishing for a few items he wanted on hand at the moment.
Aizawa probably wanted to keep his wife from finding out he smoked. He kept a pack of cigarettes and a matchbook in a jacket he left at headquarters; a jacket he probably forgot to take home the first time he arrived and never brought it back. He used it from that point on to stash away gum, pencils, loose change, any other small personal effect he did not want on him at the time. It was probably a type of security blanket; an anchor in his own reality in the midst of chaos.
He would probably be irate if he learned Watari and Ryuzaki had rooted through that jacket on a few occasions since Aizawa came back. Watari was more interested in finding any contraband such as bugs or even poison sent by the police of any other organization he could have gotten involved in after initially leaving the Task Force. The jacket stayed in one of the side rooms in headquarters when Aizawa left, but there was always a possibility he slipped something in there that did not trip off any of the front security systems.
Watari would not be amused to know L pilfered a cigarette and a match from that jacket right after leaving the main control room, but it really was none of his business. He had to have known by now the stern lectures to a 13-year-old caught smoking in back of Wammy’s House would not be entirely effective.
L took the cigarette and match out of his pockets, putting the filter end in his mouth and striking the match against his jeans to light it. He took a deep draw while shaking the match out, his lungs reminding him it had been a year since he’d done this though he got used to it quickly. He allowed himself one a year or even six months. It was a way to test his resolve, give in once and pull away from it entirely.
Cancer, emphysema, naturally occurring heart attacks were really not a threat under the present circumstances. He deserved this right now; the last cigarette before facing the firing squad.
L’s elbows rested against the railing, the lingering water seeping into his sleeves in an instant, but he really didn’t care. Perhaps it matched his mood, or perhaps it was good to feel something; it reminded him he was alive…for now.
How much longer that would be was another matter entirely.
Defeat was not a word in his vocabulary; he wasn’t just going to bend over and take it without some kind of fight before or after the fact. It was just a matter of strategy; though somehow that wasn’t registering as clearly as it should have.
His emotions were getting in the way of what needed to be done; that was a problem, albeit an understandable problem. His job carried danger in the extreme, though the only other time death had truly been a factor was two years ago.
Now he had lived with it for the past year. Even then it was a hypothetical situation; I reveal my face, I could die. The Second Kira gets his demands met, I will die. If I stay around Light constantly, he could kill me. A series of strategic factors that had to be weighed, yet had he really considered what they meant aside from that?
He had a nigh impenetrable wall of reason and logic against emotion. Occasionally something broke through, though he would always have it under control. That was until two years ago; something managed to undermine the very foundation of everything and everything nearly caved in. He had opened up a little more since then, though it was obvious a few old emotions were surfacing with a vengeance.
How much did he or did he not value his own skin? Maybe he had never asked himself that question until now.
Perhaps the timing was perfect; he was now in a position where the most viable way to solve a case, one of the biggest and most complex cases in world history, was to sacrifice himself. L was only human with innate survival instincts. Talking himself out of those instincts was the only way to go forward.
He took another draw, blowing out a long stream into the night.
Here he was, freshly 25-years-old at the apex of the greatest case of his life, the greatest case in history. In the beginning he was an eight-year-old playing with computer and audio equipment thinking he could solve real life cases. 17 years and who knows how many cases later, he was standing on the roof of his own investigative headquarters preparing himself for final battle with a mass murderer.
Maybe this was how things were running their natural course. Maybe this was the end of the line and he knew it; he had known it for the past few years and all was coming to fruition.
The 13th card in the Tarot deck, the Death Card. It did not necessarily represent physical death; it more represented change. The death of a life before, rebirth into a new existence of one of the many complicated parts of human life. Destroy to create. Maybe that was what he truly wanted.
The thought crossed his mind many times after Vancouver though was brushed aside or seemingly satisfied. Maybe he was hitting the wall, maybe this life no longer held any promise, maybe he wanted to be just like a normal person. This job was all he had ever known since he was eight-years-old, though perhaps it was inevitable he would reach a point where his concentration could no longer hold and something else would beckon him away.
L flicked an ash over the side. The last time he smoked was on a beach in Boston with a starving artist; his weekend companion after a random encounter on a subway that led to said artist’s bed. It was all in the name of relaxing, taking risks, being spontaneous like most normal 20-somethings. Was a variation of that truly what he wanted?
Perhaps he didn’t desire any of that; perhaps what he truly wanted was eternal rest in whatever form that took; Heaven, Hell, Summerland, Valhalla, outright oblivion. Any of those were something different from this.
Death was, however, an extreme and absolute option. L didn’t like dealing in absolutes; he liked having options. There had to have been another option besides death, whether dying to catch Light himself or paving the way for Mello and Near.
He needed more time to come up with alternate means that escaped him tonight, though time was in short supply. The longer he waited, the fewer options he had, the more anxious and hostile the Taskforce would become, the more Light would press, and the more desperate the Shinigami would get.
So far death looked like the best option, the best thing he could work with. It was a matter now of finding a way to get around the Shinigami to write his own name down or arrange for events that would come into play when any Shinigami, Light, or Misa killed him.
L took a deeper draw, calming himself slightly; the first step toward thinking logically about this situation.
Those were the main three that stood in his way, the main three threats looming over him all joined by threads…no, webs spun in so many directions. He had to find the weak point, though this transcended any physical boundaries; this was territory in which no human should have treaded. But if Light and Misa were here, he would have to cross that line too.
Perhaps he was at an advantage; he had nothing to lose by trying something. He was ready for death; if it came it was hardly a surprise nor was it a setback in his plans.
L took another draw and blew out with a slight smile. Perhaps this was what this whole moment was leading to. He had to prepare for any possibility to come out victorious; prepare to end this mess with his shield or on it.
The facts were still in front of him; all three of these factors were inexorably linked in thousands of different knots he had to unravel or cut through…
Though where was the weakest link? Where was the one area that could be separated easily.
Light and Misa were human. The Shinigami were alien beings, though were they creatures of rules and cold logic, or could they also be swayed?
For all his intellect and cool, Light had a temper. The black eye and bloody nose L got during their fight was evidence enough of that. He was a passionate person and passions could be lit to explode. There were times when he stumbled and there were times when he was caught with his proverbial pants down. L had to find a way to manipulate that, catch him off his guard.
Misa was even more a creature of passion, though she was methodical and used her sensibility as a smokescreen; like Lady Macbeth, “Look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent under’t.”
Misa’s tipping and flashpoints were more volatile; she may have been cunning and intelligent, but she was easily swayed by emotion. Light showed cold boredom with her in her presence before now and outright disdain the moment her back was turned. Most women at least had some hint of their partner’s emotions even if they denied them, yet Misa seemed oblivious; an indicator her heart guided her…a factor that could be easily manipulated, though to what extent?
L inhaled again, flicking an ash off while staring out across the city in contemplation.
She adored Light, something about love at first sight. She was also devoted to Kira, the entity that killed her parents’ murderer; a toddler could have found the connection between those factors. Was she a young woman enamored with a handsome young prince; L had no reason to doubt that. If that handsome young prince was her knight in bloody armor, the connection was even stronger; she would devote her life to him, live, kill, and die for him.
Though how great was her devotion and where was it truly coming from?
L had carefully examined every file in the case of the Amane murders. The perpetrator, Yoichi Tamura, was a drug addict who was caught in the middle of a burglary in an upper-middle class home. He killed the married couple who found him in panic before fleeing. He was not aware of the couple’s adult daughter watching the events from down the hall.
Tamura’s family found him a good lawyer who was able to utilize every procedure and technicality to his advantage; calling into question all pieces of evidence and the daughter’s testimony. Tamura spent more time out in the custody if his family then in jail, though Light put an end to that; another random name written down in his notebook after seeing it on television or reading it online, nothing more. Just like B had been; the name Brian Boyd was scribbled in a notebook somewhere…or perhaps the name Beyond Birthday was all that was needed.
He had no time for the philosophical elements of the notebook now…unless they proved a hindrance in him writing his own name down. He had practically abandoned his given name years ago, perhaps it was no longer his name in a cosmic sense. Perhaps writing “L” in a Death Note would be enough to do the job. Perhaps he had been so anonymous his entire life that he no longer had a defined name.
The whole mess was making his stomach turn. L took a deep draw, getting near the end of his cigarette and momentary distraction.
Maybe losing his name was not a bad thing; he was no longer “poor little Liam,” the six-year-old who was the first to see his father’s body beaten to a bloody pulp on the front lawn. Perhaps he had transcended that.
He became a detective for his revenge; Misa killed people for hers. Such was how the universe worked. Everyone had a trauma, everyone had a sob story, everyone had different ways of dealing with it.
Though such deep scars could perpetually ache. L chloroformed his emotions, Misa fed her rage.
He put his free hand through his hair; his mind was wandering into that territory he tried to avoid, yet to which had become much more numbed in recent years or maybe more accepting.
After 17 years, 17 years after a little boy’s astute testimony, three out of five men were still serving life sentences at Edmonton Institution without the possibility of parole. One died of a brain aneurism 10 years before Kira and another was stabbed through the neck with a fork by another inmate six years before Kira.
Misa, however, never got to see her parents’ killer in prison though she had the satisfaction of said killer dying. But in the end that was not enough; she wanted more deaths, and more, and more all to impress the man who gave her revenge. She didn’t stop at criminals; she killed police officers and reporters too as a demonstration of her power.
She was now a classic serial killer; kill anyone who fit’s the profile, no number can satiate the lust; they all had to die. In another way she was a serial killer groupie like any murderer’s girlfriend or a female member of the Manson Family. Killing fascinated her and her “love” was even more appealing because of it. Said love also legitimized her own killing by close example.
L put his thumbnail to his teeth; this was interesting territory indeed, classic psychology and criminology. Profilers and psychologists would have a field day with Misa Amane.
Did it even cross her mind that such innocents would have had their own children watching their deaths on TV? Had she given it any thought or would she even care? Would she care if it were shoved in her face, clearly outline the hypocrisy of her mission? Her mission was to an idol who used her as a tool for a selfish cause at best and his own narcissism at worst.
What if there was a way for her to realize this? What if some kind of shadow of a doubt was placed in her mind on what she was doing? Or was her devotion so strong that it could not be broken no matter what method was used?
L took one last draw from his cigarette, tapping off the ash before twisting the end. Another thought tore itself through his mind, bouncing off his own perpetually raw nerve.
Was there any way for her to understand the hypocrisy of Kira; not all who committed crimes were hardened monsters? What if an alternate theory was presented to her?
A spark went off somewhere in his mind and burned hotter. Soon a series of ideas floated through, fantasies mostly though ones with some crazy chance of materializing.
Percentage of success? Less than .05 percent, slimmer than a strand of hair. Percentage of chance that he would die quicker in the process? 99.9 percent.
What did he have to lose at this point? It was either die and hope his teenage successors would win, or make an attempt to write his name down and either be killed by the Shinigami or die as he requested. His own death would be part of this equation somehow. If there was any option with an iota of chance he could survive, he should at least examine and pursue this course if only to abandon it or die anyway. Plus it would be the ultimate exercise in criminal psychology; if he died, he would die having learned something. If he lived he could bank on the information he had gathered.
L placed the cold butt in his pocket, taking one last look at Tokyo before turning around and walking away.
He should probably fit in a shower to show everyone else he did what he said he would. Before that he would need to send a private message to Watari to put a few things in place.
Chapter: Prologue, 1, 2, 3
Rating: R
Summary: On November 5, 2004, L saw the trap Light set with Misa and Rem and narrowly sidestepped it. What followed was a series of plans to expose Light as Kira and turn a key tool against him, though escaping the specter of death would be a difficult proposition.
Characters: L, Light. the Taskforce, references to Misa, Rem, Watari, Mello, Near, A, B, Raye Penber, Naomi Misora,and a lot of people from the Yotsuba arc.
Word Count: 7,498
Disclaimer: Death Note and recognizable characters belong to Ohba/Obata.
Author's Note: This is where more of the plot is revealed and where I ask for more of a suspension of disbelief. Yes thgere are references to the movies and anime in this. I did borrow the idea of having a name written wrong by different people from a fic I read where Halle and I think it was Gevanni or Rester did that. If anyone knows the name of the fic, please let me know. There are also a lot of parts from my own background story for L and some repeat readers might recognize. With that in mind, please take a moment before blasting me on having facts wrong.
Best Laid Plans
Chapter 2: Exercising options against a brick wall
November 6, 2004
Tokyo
12:14 a.m.
“The last person Higuchi talked to before he received the call from Namikawa was Hibiki Matsumoto, the Public Relations Director for Nagano Enterprises, a technological firm,” Matsuda said, making a poor attempt to hold back a yawn. “We checked Matsumoto‘s phone records and last we know he is on the French Riviera on holiday.”
L took another careful sip of his coffee, staring ahead at the monitors and the walls of names that had not updated itself since the initial rush a few hours ago. More would be identified in the morning, or else Misa was staggering her killing.
“Was that the last name on the phone list before Namikawa’s call?” L said.
“That’s it,” Matsuda said with a winded sigh. “We still have the IM records to go through.”
“That will be all for now, Matsuda,” L said.
L stood up from his crouching position, feet buried in the cushion before he hopped off and onto the floor. He stood still for a moment before sighing.
“It’s late and it‘s been several hours since the last confirmed deaths,” L said, continuing to stare at the wall. “If any of you wish to break for the night, that’s your choice. I do recommend that none of you leave headquarters tonight, it would be too dangerous under the present circumstances.”
“I could go on for a few more hours,” Soichiro said. L could see the tired smile without even looking at him.
“No dad, you need to get some sleep,” Light said. How thoughtful of him. “I know I’m good for a while, Ryuzaki.”
“Do as you wish,” L said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Regardless of who does it, I want all those names sorted into who is still alive and who is not. Those who are dead, I want their names matched with the names in the Death Note. Those who are still alive, I want their contact information a list of associations.”
Light wouldn’t be stupid enough to write in the Death Note or take out any scraps now. He was looking for Misa to take care of that dirty business for him, though Light could do something to further press suspicion onto himself and set off his little chain reaction. Maybe letting him near the Death Note was a further nod to the Shinigami he wasn’t suspected…yet.
“In the meantime I am going to have a nice long shower and maybe a nap,” L said, looking behind him and glancing at the group.
He then turned around and walked away before he would see any reaction. He could have cared less save for what Light was going to do. L managed to get across the room, hearing no one else following him.
The request was personal enough so Light couldn’t have followed him without drawing suspicion. He almost wanted him to follow so he could make a snaky remark about if he wanted to help or relive their time chained together. Light only knew he would do that, hence why he was staying put.
L got across the room, a motion-activated door sliding open and letting him exit before closing behind him. L stood to the side and listened at the door. Everyone else thought it was sound-tight, but he and Watari were the only ones who should have known about the purposely-placed weak spot near the doorframe.
“Well wasn’t that nice of him,” he heard Aizawa say right out loud. “He followed his own advice pretty quick.”
“Give him a break, Aizawa,” Matsuda said. “He looked really despondent just then. This has to be really hard on him; first it looks like Kira’s been caught, then he comes back.”
“Matsuda’s right, I can tell this is really tough for him,” Light said.
Such a thoughtful little bastard. This only confirmed he was staying put for the moment; he had to be careful how he followed him.
Light’s conversation went back to phone records and comparing information. This was L’s cue that he was falling back into faux police detective mode for the time being.
L continued forward through the dark, quiet hallway lit by a few soft white wall sconces. Light could watch him on the monitors if he wished, see what direction he was going in but it would have been pointless.
He went down a few more corridors then up two flights of stairs. The cameras at this level could only be monitored if they were specifically aimed at this location; doing so would make Light look more suspicious. He probably had found most of the tricks of this building, L was sure of that though he and Watari helped design it. He and Watari were the only ones who knew every room, corridor, staircase, door in this building. He suspected there were a few Watari placed he had not found yet and likewise.
L walked down the tenth floor corridor to the twentieth door, taking a keycard from his pocket and putting it through the slot in the door. He then placed his hand on a specific location on the door’s center, activating a special handprint recognition system.
He felt the subtle vibration of the door unlatching, though the mechanism was meant to be completely silent. The door opened and he went through, watching as it closed behind him and setting off a red light on the lock indicating it was once again secured. If anyone else tried to get through the door, a rebar would latch to further reinforce it and an alarm would be tripped.
He and Watari were the only ones with access to that door, a thought that was still comforting. Yes, Watari could be controlled with the Death Note to get access to L, but then whoever held the notebook had access to him too if that happened.
L walked down another corridor with similar lighting. Only Watari had any camera access to this corridor, though behind the fifth door to the left was a different matter. L put his card in again, putting his hand on the door and leaning his eye into a small glass hole for a retinal scan. Only he had access to this area, though Watari could have tripped an emergency system if something was direly wrong.
So many nice precautions. If he were to suddenly drop dead, his body would be found fairly quickly.
No, he wouldn’t drop dead here; Light would not want to lose the pleasure of watching him die.
The door clicked open and L walked through into the dark room, watching as the door shut and relocked behind him. He stood still for a moment; the skyline of Tokyo glowing through the tinted windows and illuminating the different sized punching bags, practice dummies, and rack of freeweights at the back of the room.
He had been coming here at least every other day since Higuchi’s capture and since Light was unchained from him. L visited it once after the building was constructed while Light and Misa were in their staged confinement. He snuck an hour out to come and get some workout, still keeping an eye on a small monitor at the back of the room hidden in the wall.
Overall, the room sat mostly unused though L was making up for lost time now.
L walked to the middle of the room, bare feet against the polished bamboo floorboards. His arms hung to his sides, shoulders relaxing. He took a few deep breaths, concentrating on a dragon painting mounted on the wall he purchased during a previous case in Tokyo; a red, demonic-looking creature with beady black eyes and smoke wreathing its head. It was fire personified; burning, destructive, fearful, angry.
He concentrated on this image, breathing deeply and finding his center; trying to dissipate the burning in his temples and slow his heart’s rapid beat. L slowly moved his arms to the sides, bringing them forward and closing his hands in front of him in a Namaste pose.
His breathing staggered through he tried to maintain control, clear his mind, and finally rebalance. All he could think about was how his sleeves weighed his arms down.
L flung his arms to his sides, hands taking a grip on the bottom of his shirt and yanking it over his head; the back caught on his head for a moment though he only yanked harder; he wanted it off him.
He then threw his white shirt to the side in one move and fell to a handstand a move later, legs flinging out in front of him and landing hard in the center of one punching bag. His hands released the floor and he fell back for a moment to regain his footing, launching himself front-forward, one fist smashing into the leather. He pivoted on one leg, the other leg flying up and heel violently pushing the bag inward, leaving it swinging on its chain.
No more concentrating, no more trying to push his anger aside, no more playing nice.
L crouched low and spun on one heel, pushing himself up before falling to his hands and giving a hard kick into another punching bag with a loud grunt.
He had sat there for three hours and 45 minutes maintaining the cover for his faux maneuvering while planning his next action.
Both legs kicked out, he spun his torso to a downward position; the soles of his feet slapped the floor hard. His backside dropped, with his hands, bodyweight now pivoting on his shoulders and supported by his hands. L kicked both legs in front of him, soles meeting the bag in one move, one foot disengaging, the other slapping the bag again. His second foot hit the floor and he pivoted into a standing position.
All he could find was one proverbial brick wall after another.
He spun on his heel, fists crashing one by one into a bag now in front of him with rapid succession. He gritted his teeth and grunted with each punch.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. He should have come up with a feasible solution by now but hours had passed and he had nothing.
He still had options, he told himself that hours ago; but why the hell was he in this tangle now? This wasn’t supposed to happen; even if his logic was proven later to be flawed, it still came forth. L wasn’t supposed to hit the proverbial wall. L wasn’t supposed to be helpless.
His elbow smashed into the bag. He pivoted on one foot and gave it a low kick, the chain holding it from the ceiling creaking with the violent sway.
He would contact another investigative agency and have them follow Misa. The FBI was out of the question but MI-5 would work, perhaps Interpol could recommend someone. The United States, however, was infamous for holding grudges and being less than quiet about such grudges. They could have told any other agency to beware of L using them for the Kira case.
In that instance he could contact one of America’s enemies, or an independent cell; more criminals and mercenaries like Aiber and Wedy. Though if anything went awry with those groups they would be less easily controlled and their reaction less polite than an angry phone call.
Regardless, anyone who tailed Misa would likely be killed like Raye Penber, his fellow FBI agents, and even Naomi Misora.
The thought of that alone sent another hard, swinging kick into an adjacent bag. No, he had to control his emotions; he had to continue sweeping aside his frustrations and anger for that incident.
Death would come swifter now; Misa had a Shinigami tailing her. Odds were after the Shinigami killed Misa’s followers it would eventually kill him on principle, or else it would communicate the situation with Rem and Rem would kill him.
No, this at least had to be tried…but to what balance of gain and cost? It was an option but it was futile based on past experience. Even Misa or her Shinigami did not kill her tail, they could manipulate them to kill more people or even reveal specifically who sent them.
He could also send Light out of headquarters, say he wanted him to do further investigation because he trusted him or even because Kira would know he had been a suspect. He could put a tiny camera on him and observe his movements; a camera that could be embedded into a button anywhere on his clothing and cameras could be put into all of his outfits.
Though Light suspected he would do this; he already knew about the cameras during the surveillance of his house and he probably expected L to plant more on him. He probably checked his clothing regularly and had many back-up plans for getting rid of or evading the cameras.
Even if L sent him out, Light would probably say something seemingly innocuous that would alert the Shinigami he was suspected. If Light was out of the building he could find ways to communicate with the Shinigami not to mention Misa. He would be free to kill as many people as he wanted and eventually lead L and perhaps everyone else on the Taskforce to their deaths from his position.
He had to try something; L told himself that repeatedly. Even if something did not work, even if it was a flawed plan, something had to be tried. At this point, however, one wrong move could mean a slaughter let alone the entire investigation.
L dropped to his hands again, legs flying up and out. One sole hit the bag, then the other as he pivoted his weight upside down on his hands. He pushed upward and swung his legs down, giving one kick for good measure. A fist flew up and hit the bag as he dropped his bodyweight onto his feet and came to a stand.
Light had him cornered; he had him against a wall and had or was trying to cut off all escape routes. L was running out of moves and Light was closing in for checkmate.
Given the timing and all the events in motion, Light probably expected the final move would come tonight; he likely expected L would be dead before sunrise, perhaps every other member of the Taskforce as well.
That conversation was four hours ago and everyone was still alive, or perhaps L stalled the inevitable by leading the course in a different direction at the last second. He avoided the landmines but did not know where all of them were planted and he had a small space in which to maneuver with no escape. He couldn’t stay in a holding pattern forever; it would be counterproductive and get them no where. Likely Light would push in any direction before then with the Taskforce joining in at any time. He had to maintain some unity among members if he had any hope of solving the case.
Matsuda and Aizawa were already talking about using secretive methods; the members of the Taskforce were getting more desperate and perhaps their pure loyalty to Light or Misa would strain in any way. It was a long shot, but L had to watch any potential loose cannons that might emerge from this; one person threatening either of them could have sprung the trap on all of them, or perhaps just L.
He kept his arms level with his shoulders, elbows bend and concentration on his center of balance. One foot flew up and hit the bag. He pivoted on his other foot, the first one falling as the second one went into the air for a successive kick; his body spinning around.
In any scenario, he was the prime target. Regardless of who if anyone else Light wanted dead, L was on the top of that list. If L died, the investigation died with him.
But what if such was not the case? If Rem or any Shinigami killed him, it could have been explained that it was done so on Kira’s behest. Light could make them think that; Light could have come to the forefront and offered to take over the investigation. Light could step forward and volunteer to play the brave hero…by taking L’s position.
L threw a punch into one of the dummies, imagining it with impeccably styled hair and cold eyes. Another punch followed, then another.
Dammit, he set him right up for it! L had Light play him while speaking with Namikawa, L said Light would be the natural one to succeed him; it would be Kira’s dream to take L’s position and control all the world’s police for his purposes. L had used that as a tactic to draw him out and place more suspicion on him, but if L died the seed was already planted for Light to slide right into his seat. The Task Force would recommend it. Light would play the mourning friend doing his duty. He would easily create his own communication and records system to take over, even as a pastiche L.
L already had several complicated provisions in place for his own declared successor; 13-year-old Near and 14-year-old Mello were dead equal in his book for the title. Both of them ruthless and determined. Near was coldly calculating and Mello was a grenade.
He refrained from declaring either of them for the time being; both of them were bitter rivals. If he died, word would go back to Wammy’s House either through Wammy himself or, God forbid, alternate means over which Light had zero control.
Mello and Near would learn of his death and learn of the open successorship and events would be set in motion. Both of them would want to catch Kira to avenge him or show their superiority over him, perhaps both. If they didn’t work together, they would go separate ways and attack in opposite directions with the fuel of rivals.
It was L’s ultimate Plan B, the absolute worst case scenario. Yet another crapshoot but a plausible plan to catch Kira if he was unable. Kira or the Shinigami would have a more difficult time going after separate moving targets. If both of them were wise, they would assemble their own teams to cover more area; he would make sure both of them had the resources and contact lists in government, law enforcement, organized crime, or any other avenue to do that.
Both of them were in their early teens; would they be able to handle such a task now?
No! It was a preposterous thought and counterproductive. L was still here and not going anywhere…
…Unless he could find a solution to this puzzle soon. Somewhere a clock was ticking and L had no idea what it was set to; and it unnerved him.
A fist smashed into the dummy’s rubber nose, a foot swinging upward for a kidney shot and the other foot slamming under its chin.
Death was the ultimate failure in this game. This time it wasn’t about reputation, pride, or money; all his chips were in, to lose was to die. That was Light’s endgame, his ultimate goal. Light wanted his name written in someone’s notebook.
The notebook, that was the ultimate threat in the end. The human whose name is written in this notebook shall die. It was clear the notebook was real; a name goes into it, that person is done, such was the nonnegotiable fact.
Though how nonnegotiable was it? Was there any way to get around it?
The text flashed into L’s mind as he pivoted on his leg. He froze thinking of the words.
“If a Death Note owner accidentally misspells a person’s name four times, that person will be free from being killed by the Death Note. However, if the Death Note owner intentionally misspells the name four times, the owner will die.”
This could work.
L kicked into the dummy’s stomach.
This could work though it was a massive risk. He could give spelling variations of his name to the different Taskforce members and have them write it down. This would prevent deaths and make him immune. Or he could designate a Taskforce member to sacrifice to do this, likely Matsuda or possibly Mogi; neither of them had families and he could spare one of them.
No, it would involve giving his real name and the consequences of that were astronomical even if it was the intentional misspelling.
Giving out his real name would have to be a sacrifice, though how could he operate as L if anyone beside Watari or Roger at Wammy’s House had that name. He could swear them to secrecy, but he could not guarantee that. He could have them eliminated, but that would be needless and only lead to more problems.
He would lose the Taskforce if he sacrificed one of them, and if they did have his name they could seek revenge. If he gave out his name, he might as well write his own name down to prevent the potential consequences.
But then the Shinigami would know what he was doing and write his real name down anyway; the Shinigami watched over the Death Note. Unless he could get the Death Note away from the Shinigami and Light. Light would be easy; a drop of any powerful sedative in his coffee would accomplish that quietly. Or he could simply tell the Shinigami they were analyzing the notebook; they already took a portion of one page for forensic analysis. But then he had no idea if one page would indeed work on its own.
That was a matter for later; there had to have been ways to write a name down, even if it was too quickly for the Shinigami to interfere.
L punched the dummy in the face again, though froze with one more realization.
“When the same name is written in two or more Death Notes, the note which was first used will take effect, regardless of the time of death.”
And what of that time?
“The Death Note can only operate within a 23-day window (in the human calendar.) This is called the 23-day rule.”
But there was another clause: if someone were to be written to die of a disease, the listed disease could take longer than the 23 days and the person would die at the appropriate time as the progression of the disease.
His arms hung to his sides; he suddenly felt cold as the next stream of thoughts went through his brain.
There was another way he could make himself immune to anyone else’s Death Note that did not involve entrusting anyone in the Taskforce with his real name or risking further deaths. There was a way that would absolutely shield him, but it would involve sacrificing himself.
How far was he really willing to go to solve this case? Was he willing to kill himself to finally get to Light?
L clenched his fists against the sides of his jeans.
He was so goddamn close to solving this case; the Death Note was the only thing that stood between him and Light Yagami and Misa Amane being taken care of once and for all. Sacrifices had to be made; this was probably his last option.
How could he do it? Light was watching…no Light could be easily removed from the situation. What of the Shinigami? He could write fast, put in the information before the Shinigami had a chance to act or he could find a way to distract the Shinigami.
It was still a major gamble. The Shinigami could still kill him just for looking at the notebook in a certain way. Even if he managed to write it down, would the Shinigami warn Light and Misa? No, he would banish Light from headquarters, or else call in a hit man disguised as a police officer. L would get Light to confess, a bullet to the back of the head was quicker than writing a name in a notebook.
What of the details? If he was confident this could be wrapped up in 23 days, he would simply write that he would suffer heart failure painlessly in 23 days. If he wanted some more time, he could still give himself congestive heart failure or perhaps a brain tumor that would further advance after he solved the case. He could then die in medicated oblivion.
The biggest hurdle would be to get around the Shinigami, but a bait and switch could be used…unless the Shinigami could sense the real notebook and could feel something getting written into the notebook.
L wanted to punch or kick something again but the jerk in his stomach kept him from moving.
He would fail at even killing himself.
His eyes slowly turned down to his bare torso and the long scar across his side.
Vancouver, 2002; a case against a powerful heroin kingpin in which he insisted on investigating undercover with the police. One year after his first successor hung himself; three months after his second successor brutally murdered three people while disguised as L and set himself on fire.
Going undercover in this case was a risk, accompanying the head inspector was even riskier, doing everything he could to drive his quarry out was madness, directly confronting the armed drug lord himself was…
…and he failed then too. The so-called “Greatest Detective in the World” solved every case he was given, but failed at the simple task of ending his own life.
No, he was supposed to be enjoying his life now; a knife in the side his wake-up call, a second chance, an opportunity to live life to the fullest.
And he was doing that by taking on a case of a mass murderer and confronting the culprit every opportunity he was given, whether on TV or face-to-face.
He wasn’t actively thinking about suicide two years ago; it was a subconscious instinct, a deep desire that revealed itself. It was still there wasn’t it? Despite all the other cases, despite all the breaks he had taken, all the self-searching he had done, did he still desire death?
L turned on his heel and walked toward the door. One toe caught a hold on his shirt and kicked upward. He slid his arms inside it and found his sleeves almost in one motion. He pulled the rest over his head, pulling the bottom back over his jeans.
He took one look at the room, though in a passing glance as he walked forward.
He had to get out of here, find somewhere to get his thoughts together.
--------
1:43 a.m.
L walked out of the doorway and onto the roof, his bare feet cold and damp with just a few steps. The smell of rain mixed with the usual exhaust and mortar of a city at night.
Puddles had formed between the cracks of the aluminum tiles below him and water dripped off the bars of the scaffolding around the entryway. The sky was still a bright orange; city lights filtered through low hanging clouds though a few stars peeked out.
It looked like a deluge hit Tokyo just an hour or so ago and cleared swiftly. A few stray raindrops flew into L’s face, though they were merely stragglers with no real momentum at the present.
He missed the atmospheric catastrophe, though could have been walking into another one. Sounded familiar.
L walked across the cold metal, hands in his pockets and eyes to his feet. He looked up and saw the building’s satellite dish looking another story overhead.
He had disabled all cameras in this area; no one could watch his every movement here unless they were a Shinigami. It was a thought that almost made him smile at the irony.
Leaving the building had crossed his mind more than a few times; there were secret escape routes all over the building through which he could easily slip out unnoticed by anyone. It seemed like too much effort right now; all he needed was air and there was plenty of it here even if it was damp and cold.
He walked to the other side of the roof, avoiding the grating by the satellite dish and heading for the steel railing that encircled the roof. It went waist high; making it something good to lean on though he had to be careful. One would not want to die after all.
L put a hand in each pocket, fishing for a few items he wanted on hand at the moment.
Aizawa probably wanted to keep his wife from finding out he smoked. He kept a pack of cigarettes and a matchbook in a jacket he left at headquarters; a jacket he probably forgot to take home the first time he arrived and never brought it back. He used it from that point on to stash away gum, pencils, loose change, any other small personal effect he did not want on him at the time. It was probably a type of security blanket; an anchor in his own reality in the midst of chaos.
He would probably be irate if he learned Watari and Ryuzaki had rooted through that jacket on a few occasions since Aizawa came back. Watari was more interested in finding any contraband such as bugs or even poison sent by the police of any other organization he could have gotten involved in after initially leaving the Task Force. The jacket stayed in one of the side rooms in headquarters when Aizawa left, but there was always a possibility he slipped something in there that did not trip off any of the front security systems.
Watari would not be amused to know L pilfered a cigarette and a match from that jacket right after leaving the main control room, but it really was none of his business. He had to have known by now the stern lectures to a 13-year-old caught smoking in back of Wammy’s House would not be entirely effective.
L took the cigarette and match out of his pockets, putting the filter end in his mouth and striking the match against his jeans to light it. He took a deep draw while shaking the match out, his lungs reminding him it had been a year since he’d done this though he got used to it quickly. He allowed himself one a year or even six months. It was a way to test his resolve, give in once and pull away from it entirely.
Cancer, emphysema, naturally occurring heart attacks were really not a threat under the present circumstances. He deserved this right now; the last cigarette before facing the firing squad.
L’s elbows rested against the railing, the lingering water seeping into his sleeves in an instant, but he really didn’t care. Perhaps it matched his mood, or perhaps it was good to feel something; it reminded him he was alive…for now.
How much longer that would be was another matter entirely.
Defeat was not a word in his vocabulary; he wasn’t just going to bend over and take it without some kind of fight before or after the fact. It was just a matter of strategy; though somehow that wasn’t registering as clearly as it should have.
His emotions were getting in the way of what needed to be done; that was a problem, albeit an understandable problem. His job carried danger in the extreme, though the only other time death had truly been a factor was two years ago.
Now he had lived with it for the past year. Even then it was a hypothetical situation; I reveal my face, I could die. The Second Kira gets his demands met, I will die. If I stay around Light constantly, he could kill me. A series of strategic factors that had to be weighed, yet had he really considered what they meant aside from that?
He had a nigh impenetrable wall of reason and logic against emotion. Occasionally something broke through, though he would always have it under control. That was until two years ago; something managed to undermine the very foundation of everything and everything nearly caved in. He had opened up a little more since then, though it was obvious a few old emotions were surfacing with a vengeance.
How much did he or did he not value his own skin? Maybe he had never asked himself that question until now.
Perhaps the timing was perfect; he was now in a position where the most viable way to solve a case, one of the biggest and most complex cases in world history, was to sacrifice himself. L was only human with innate survival instincts. Talking himself out of those instincts was the only way to go forward.
He took another draw, blowing out a long stream into the night.
Here he was, freshly 25-years-old at the apex of the greatest case of his life, the greatest case in history. In the beginning he was an eight-year-old playing with computer and audio equipment thinking he could solve real life cases. 17 years and who knows how many cases later, he was standing on the roof of his own investigative headquarters preparing himself for final battle with a mass murderer.
Maybe this was how things were running their natural course. Maybe this was the end of the line and he knew it; he had known it for the past few years and all was coming to fruition.
The 13th card in the Tarot deck, the Death Card. It did not necessarily represent physical death; it more represented change. The death of a life before, rebirth into a new existence of one of the many complicated parts of human life. Destroy to create. Maybe that was what he truly wanted.
The thought crossed his mind many times after Vancouver though was brushed aside or seemingly satisfied. Maybe he was hitting the wall, maybe this life no longer held any promise, maybe he wanted to be just like a normal person. This job was all he had ever known since he was eight-years-old, though perhaps it was inevitable he would reach a point where his concentration could no longer hold and something else would beckon him away.
L flicked an ash over the side. The last time he smoked was on a beach in Boston with a starving artist; his weekend companion after a random encounter on a subway that led to said artist’s bed. It was all in the name of relaxing, taking risks, being spontaneous like most normal 20-somethings. Was a variation of that truly what he wanted?
Perhaps he didn’t desire any of that; perhaps what he truly wanted was eternal rest in whatever form that took; Heaven, Hell, Summerland, Valhalla, outright oblivion. Any of those were something different from this.
Death was, however, an extreme and absolute option. L didn’t like dealing in absolutes; he liked having options. There had to have been another option besides death, whether dying to catch Light himself or paving the way for Mello and Near.
He needed more time to come up with alternate means that escaped him tonight, though time was in short supply. The longer he waited, the fewer options he had, the more anxious and hostile the Taskforce would become, the more Light would press, and the more desperate the Shinigami would get.
So far death looked like the best option, the best thing he could work with. It was a matter now of finding a way to get around the Shinigami to write his own name down or arrange for events that would come into play when any Shinigami, Light, or Misa killed him.
L took a deeper draw, calming himself slightly; the first step toward thinking logically about this situation.
Those were the main three that stood in his way, the main three threats looming over him all joined by threads…no, webs spun in so many directions. He had to find the weak point, though this transcended any physical boundaries; this was territory in which no human should have treaded. But if Light and Misa were here, he would have to cross that line too.
Perhaps he was at an advantage; he had nothing to lose by trying something. He was ready for death; if it came it was hardly a surprise nor was it a setback in his plans.
L took another draw and blew out with a slight smile. Perhaps this was what this whole moment was leading to. He had to prepare for any possibility to come out victorious; prepare to end this mess with his shield or on it.
The facts were still in front of him; all three of these factors were inexorably linked in thousands of different knots he had to unravel or cut through…
Though where was the weakest link? Where was the one area that could be separated easily.
Light and Misa were human. The Shinigami were alien beings, though were they creatures of rules and cold logic, or could they also be swayed?
For all his intellect and cool, Light had a temper. The black eye and bloody nose L got during their fight was evidence enough of that. He was a passionate person and passions could be lit to explode. There were times when he stumbled and there were times when he was caught with his proverbial pants down. L had to find a way to manipulate that, catch him off his guard.
Misa was even more a creature of passion, though she was methodical and used her sensibility as a smokescreen; like Lady Macbeth, “Look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent under’t.”
Misa’s tipping and flashpoints were more volatile; she may have been cunning and intelligent, but she was easily swayed by emotion. Light showed cold boredom with her in her presence before now and outright disdain the moment her back was turned. Most women at least had some hint of their partner’s emotions even if they denied them, yet Misa seemed oblivious; an indicator her heart guided her…a factor that could be easily manipulated, though to what extent?
L inhaled again, flicking an ash off while staring out across the city in contemplation.
She adored Light, something about love at first sight. She was also devoted to Kira, the entity that killed her parents’ murderer; a toddler could have found the connection between those factors. Was she a young woman enamored with a handsome young prince; L had no reason to doubt that. If that handsome young prince was her knight in bloody armor, the connection was even stronger; she would devote her life to him, live, kill, and die for him.
Though how great was her devotion and where was it truly coming from?
L had carefully examined every file in the case of the Amane murders. The perpetrator, Yoichi Tamura, was a drug addict who was caught in the middle of a burglary in an upper-middle class home. He killed the married couple who found him in panic before fleeing. He was not aware of the couple’s adult daughter watching the events from down the hall.
Tamura’s family found him a good lawyer who was able to utilize every procedure and technicality to his advantage; calling into question all pieces of evidence and the daughter’s testimony. Tamura spent more time out in the custody if his family then in jail, though Light put an end to that; another random name written down in his notebook after seeing it on television or reading it online, nothing more. Just like B had been; the name Brian Boyd was scribbled in a notebook somewhere…or perhaps the name Beyond Birthday was all that was needed.
He had no time for the philosophical elements of the notebook now…unless they proved a hindrance in him writing his own name down. He had practically abandoned his given name years ago, perhaps it was no longer his name in a cosmic sense. Perhaps writing “L” in a Death Note would be enough to do the job. Perhaps he had been so anonymous his entire life that he no longer had a defined name.
The whole mess was making his stomach turn. L took a deep draw, getting near the end of his cigarette and momentary distraction.
Maybe losing his name was not a bad thing; he was no longer “poor little Liam,” the six-year-old who was the first to see his father’s body beaten to a bloody pulp on the front lawn. Perhaps he had transcended that.
He became a detective for his revenge; Misa killed people for hers. Such was how the universe worked. Everyone had a trauma, everyone had a sob story, everyone had different ways of dealing with it.
Though such deep scars could perpetually ache. L chloroformed his emotions, Misa fed her rage.
He put his free hand through his hair; his mind was wandering into that territory he tried to avoid, yet to which had become much more numbed in recent years or maybe more accepting.
After 17 years, 17 years after a little boy’s astute testimony, three out of five men were still serving life sentences at Edmonton Institution without the possibility of parole. One died of a brain aneurism 10 years before Kira and another was stabbed through the neck with a fork by another inmate six years before Kira.
Misa, however, never got to see her parents’ killer in prison though she had the satisfaction of said killer dying. But in the end that was not enough; she wanted more deaths, and more, and more all to impress the man who gave her revenge. She didn’t stop at criminals; she killed police officers and reporters too as a demonstration of her power.
She was now a classic serial killer; kill anyone who fit’s the profile, no number can satiate the lust; they all had to die. In another way she was a serial killer groupie like any murderer’s girlfriend or a female member of the Manson Family. Killing fascinated her and her “love” was even more appealing because of it. Said love also legitimized her own killing by close example.
L put his thumbnail to his teeth; this was interesting territory indeed, classic psychology and criminology. Profilers and psychologists would have a field day with Misa Amane.
Did it even cross her mind that such innocents would have had their own children watching their deaths on TV? Had she given it any thought or would she even care? Would she care if it were shoved in her face, clearly outline the hypocrisy of her mission? Her mission was to an idol who used her as a tool for a selfish cause at best and his own narcissism at worst.
What if there was a way for her to realize this? What if some kind of shadow of a doubt was placed in her mind on what she was doing? Or was her devotion so strong that it could not be broken no matter what method was used?
L took one last draw from his cigarette, tapping off the ash before twisting the end. Another thought tore itself through his mind, bouncing off his own perpetually raw nerve.
Was there any way for her to understand the hypocrisy of Kira; not all who committed crimes were hardened monsters? What if an alternate theory was presented to her?
A spark went off somewhere in his mind and burned hotter. Soon a series of ideas floated through, fantasies mostly though ones with some crazy chance of materializing.
Percentage of success? Less than .05 percent, slimmer than a strand of hair. Percentage of chance that he would die quicker in the process? 99.9 percent.
What did he have to lose at this point? It was either die and hope his teenage successors would win, or make an attempt to write his name down and either be killed by the Shinigami or die as he requested. His own death would be part of this equation somehow. If there was any option with an iota of chance he could survive, he should at least examine and pursue this course if only to abandon it or die anyway. Plus it would be the ultimate exercise in criminal psychology; if he died, he would die having learned something. If he lived he could bank on the information he had gathered.
L placed the cold butt in his pocket, taking one last look at Tokyo before turning around and walking away.
He should probably fit in a shower to show everyone else he did what he said he would. Before that he would need to send a private message to Watari to put a few things in place.