And I felt myself tremble.
N's clothes are still in the dresser. His origami is, untouched, on the desk. There appears to be nothing wrong with his former room--it looks lived in, looks nice, looks like someone should come back from having tea at any moment.
But N isn't there anymore.
Sometimes, leaving is like that.
DAY 1
The first thing that happened was that he was jostled.
Which was, perhaps, not exactly the most important event going on, but it did mean several things. Either one: he was not where he'd been taken from, as he hoped he would be when he was sent back (for the record, in his hideout sleeping), or two: he was, but he had somehow been compromised and there was someone else in the room with him.
His hearing came just after his body, and he realized that he wasn't in his room, because--
--loud, shove, ow, and he went down to his knees on the ground before a shoe landed harshly on his back, followed by the full weight of someone, and he went down hard, under a panicky scream and a yell of something he couldn't quite comprehend. There was screaming, yelling, the sound of crackling fire. "Get that thing out of my face you--" "--name is Will Legg, and yer all--" "--Where was he?--" "--Oh god, it's bleeding, she's bleeding--" "--kill it!--" "--the store, food, we need food--" "--someone help, help my family!"
Finally, his vision came, but all he saw was the mud-caked ground. Another shoe, on his shoulder this time. He was going to be trampled, if he didn't get out of there.
N quickly got to his hands and knees and tried to crawl out of wherever he was--a undulating, writhing mass of bodies in the streets. It was nighttime, and he could now smell the smoke from the fires, lit in multiple stores along the side of the roads.
Whumph
He gave a sharp cry as a heavy boot connected with his ribcage and sent him sprawling to his back. The owner of the boot didn't even notice him, and he tried to regain his breath and just get out.
What was this? Where was he?
He could still smell the fire, still hear the yelling from everywhere, mixing together and assaulting his senses until it meant nothing at all. He was confused, didn't know where he was, was this somehow home? The mansion--but he couldn't think about that, had to focus on survival, and--
--another shoe, with someone's full weight, on his leg. N let out a cry, and forgot about what he was doing, pulling his legs back and scuffling, hurrying to just get out of there, off that street. His breath came in panicky gasps, and his shoulder hurt and his back hurt and his ribs hurt and his leg hurt. Another blow to the side of his head, and his vision blurred, but the sidewalk was right over there, and if he could... if he could just reach it somehow, then--
"Hey, kid! What are you doing crawling around like that?" Steely fingers at his collar, pulling him up. N raised his gaze into dark eyes, an angled pale face, black shaggy hair. "You're gonna get killed. Where's your mom and dad?"
"Th-they're dead--what's going--what's... what...?" N could barely get the words out.
The man nodded and lifted him up. N did not agree with this course of action, because strange men lifting him up and slinging him over their shoulders like a sack of potatoes was not dignified, and probably unsafe, because this man cound be some kind of pedophile, and... and...
He was carrying N away from the writhing mass of people, for which N was grateful. So, he let him for the moment, and it flitted through his mind that it wouldn't be official pedophilia, because N was eighteen now, and why the hell was he thinking that, because it hardly mattered to his situation right now.
The man ducked into an alleyway, panting somewhat, and made sure that it was empty, before setting N down, a small, remorseful look on his face.
"Your parents died in the riot?"
N blinked for a moment, glancing back out. Oh--so it was a riot, wasn't it? That would make sense. "...no. They died when I was three." Shit. He'd been so out of it, N had just blurted out the truth. That wouldn't do--he'd need to pull himself together, or risk being compromised.
He thought for another moment, ignored the soft 'oh' from the man, and let out a deep breath. "What's going on? Where are we?"
The man's eyes instantly narrowed in suspicion. "You don't know?"
There's a small pause, and N looks towards him in wonder, sudden recognition. Granted, he'd only seen Gevanni around the mansion, but now... looking this man in the face, he could see the resemblance. It was strange, and his mind had to do a double take because he knew Gevanni before he knew him, and that was just... mind-bending.
"How can I trust you? You could just... you could be a pedophile or something--don't touch me!"
Another pause, and N prayed that Gevanni here was FBI too, and kept a badge somewhere on his form... the man glanced down and opened the side of his jacket, exposing a small photo ID with his name beneath it, affirming his position in the FBI.
His name wasn't Gevanni? N blinked at the sight for a moment, before smiling reassuringly and nodding somewhat. Stephen Loud.
N's hair was ruffled and he scowled, but the man seemed not to notice.
"You're quick, kid, but don't worry--I'm not going to hurt you. I was sent here to try and calm the rioting down, but I don't think anything short of a SWAT team is going to get to these people." He whispered a curse. "We're stretched thin as it is, I'm not even sure if we've got a team to help us."
N looked up, tilting his head. "What do you mean? What's going on?"
He let out a sigh. "You don't know?" N shook his head, and the agent looked a bit suspicious once more, before sighing and glancing out of the alleyway towards the rioters. "Kira died, or dissapeared, or something. Almost a month ago. It took a few weeks for the people to realize it, but when they did..." He shook his head. "They started going completely crazy."
N's eyes widened fractionally, and he bit his lip, guilt surging through him--guilt, and rage at the mansion. For taking him away, when his world needed him.
"How on earth do you not know what's going on? Are you alright?" The agent pulled out something from his jacket, and N took a step back, before realizing that it was just his car keys. "You got hit in the head pretty hard. Hold still, I'm just going to make sure..." He touched N's cheek with one hand, and it took everything he had not to back away. The other hand fiddled around for the small flashlight on his keys, shining it into each of N's eyes and watching as his pupils retracted, before dilating again.
When he dropped his hand, N backed up a few steps, blinking the stars from his eyes. "...I don't know. My name is..." He searched blindly. "--Mihael. I'm eighteen. But I think something happened to me. I've been living with... with Meile, but we got seperated." He stopped there. Too much information, and Gevanni could get suspicious. Not enough, and he'd know something was wrong with N's secrecy.
"Okay. Mihael, do you have a place to stay? Somewhere I can drop you off?"
N took a deep breath and glanced off, trying to think. Gevanni was speaking English--most of the rioters were too. He didn't detect a strong accent, so they were probably somewhere in the Americas. As for the city, he had no idea. Still, the general country was good--he could speak the language, and his hideout was in the country for the time being, so he wouldn't have to worry about smuggling a passport, but...
N looks up, before realizing that Gevanni was still awaiting an answer. "Um... I don't think so. I was living with Meile, but then... I don't know, the whole place just exploded. These weird guys came in, and... and..." He wrapped his arms around his stomach, looking away with a small sniffle. "Meile and I went to the streets. But the rioters seperated us. I had to go along with them, or I'd get trampled. I--I don't know where I am."
The man nodded grimly. "You're on Manhattan avenue." --like that did a lot of good. "--Here. Come with me--I know a place where you can stay until this blows over. There's a place where the lost kids are being held. We'll try to find your Meile too, okay?"
A small flicker of a smile, before he covered it up with a look of feigned innocence and gratitude. "Th-thank you, mister Loud."
The agent gave a small nod, and N couldn't help but let a smirk color his face the instant Gevanni looked away. Hopefully, he could play this to his advantage, and be back with his Death Note before the week was out.
DAY 3
"We need to go out for food soon." N said quietly, tugging at a lock of his white hair.
He was grateful for Gevanni putting him in a place like this--a small apartment, really, with about three other kids, but it was better than nothing. The agent even checked up on him from time to time, asked him not to go out, brought him toys. The rioting was still going on, and it seemed now like all of Knoxville (for that was where the were) was burning, women and children huddled in corners of their homes while others ransacked, pillaged, burned, stole in celebration of Kira's 'death'.
"Right." Gevanni looked distracted. Of course he was--trying to quell the rioting, even with five or six other agents by his side, wasn't going well. One of his partners had been seriously wounded the other day. He hardly had time to take care of some kid.
N's eyes flickered up to him. "I'll go with you." It wasn't a request. He was going crazy, just sitting here with nothing to do while the world went mad around him. He needed to get out, to return to Detroit, where his current hideout was, where he could get ahold of his death note and start the judgements again--hopefully, calm this rioting world.
Gevanni looked apprehensive about this idea, but he nodded slowly anyway, and N was pleased that he could manipulate him like this. Even if it was just going outside, there was always an off-chance that he would be able to find a way to escape Gevanni's grasp and find a way to sneak onboard a plane--figure something out... he could do it.
The streets were clearer--practically empty--during the day, leaving nothing but shattered glass and trash on the ground, nothing but memories of a time where things were frantic and violent. There was a few minutes where Gevanni had to carry him piggyback--N was still barefoot, and broken glass would cut his feet.
The conveniance store was easy enough to find. N had actually seen it in passing the previous day. One of the windows were shattered inward, but they pushed in anyway, listening to the bell tingle uselessly at the door's opening. The girl behind the counter looked extremely timid, and N wondered why she was there--what was she doing there? Didn't she know that people could bust in and do some damage? Or did she feel like she was safe in the sunlight?
Gevanni paused by the entrance and set N down, pulling his wallet out of his pocket and rifling through it. After a moment, he handed N a twenty and shoved the wallet back in his pocket, glancing about shiftily, in case anyone had seen him. N understood the danger of having money in a time like this and nodded thankfully, leaving Gevanni at the entrance to glance around the aisles.
There were no animal crackers. He noted this with a brief period of dismay, pursing his lips somewhat in discontent. But, in any case, there were enough chips and other crackers there to keep him content, bringing his purchases to the timid girl behind the counter and sighing at how mundane this all seemed. Funny as it may seem, he'd never actually done this before. Was there some sort of unspoken process, or something he was supposed to say or do?
N was about to hand the money over when he hesitated at the sight of a pistol on the counter. It was obviously there to ward off those who would try to steal or hurt anyone from the store. Still, it was plenty intimidating enough for him, and he inhaled a deep breath of air, trying to convince himself that it was no big deal for someone to probably have an unlicensed weapon here. The girl noted his line of vision on the weapon and smiled softly, reaching forward to grab at the gun. N froze like a rabbit as she picked it up, but soon let out a sigh of relief when she set it under the counter.
"Sorry about that." She murmured, scanning his items. "I'm supposed to have it out there, in case anyone tries to rob the place. You look like a nice kid, though. Surviving alright?"
He nodded and tilts his head back to Gevanni. "That man's been taking care of me. I'm very grateful to--"
N was cut off by the bell ringing again. A man in a large coat jostled past Gevanni--he set of N's danger senses in an instant, and the boy backed slowly away from the register. It was daytime though--surely, there would be no crime during the day while Kira was so fresh in everyone's memory?
He was large, dark-skinned, with his hair falling in heavy dreadlocks. One hand could probably fit all the way around N's throat, and there was the edge of a tattoo peeking out along his neck, just over where the coat ended.
He went straight for the girl at the register, whose hand squirmed to where she had tucked the gun, behind the counter. N tensed and backed up a few aisles, while Gevanni watched nervously, his hand inching for the gun hidden in his coat.
The gunshot was so loud, N gave a startled yell and dove for the ground, covering his head with his hands. In broad daylight. Something was wrong with this person, something... something was wrong with him.
The man shot once, twice at the ceiling(oh--and it was the ceiling, so everyone was okay--nobody was shot, nobody was hurt, just a hole in the ceiling), demanding all the cash in the register.
And before N could blink, or even figure out what was going on, Gevanni had his gun trained on the large man, whose own gun was aimed at the head of the timid girl that he held tight, locked in his arm. "FBI!?!?" He screamed, spittle flying from his mouth. "F-B-FUCKING-I?"
"Let go of the girl. This can still end peacefully, if you just ease up and walk out."
N's breath was nearly held. He had a low vantage point, but could see everything that was going on. He could barely comprehend the situation, could barely comprehend much of anything, except for the fact that the big man had a gun and Gevanni had a gun, and one of them was probably not going to walk out of this store alive.
N watched them, breath held as he focused on the large man, trusting Gevanni to take care of this. He knew that this wouldn't end well, knew that his life depended on the outcome of this, and his heart was pounding so hard in his throat that he couldn't move.
Finally, Gevanni's gun clattered across the floor. The agent raised his hands and rested them behind his head, looking wryly towards the larger man. "There. I'm unarmed. Take the money from the register, and go your own way. There, there--it's okay. Let go of the girl, take the money. It's okay. Nobody's going to shoot you. You can let go of her now."
His voice was soft, almost cooing, and N could see the uncertainty in the man's eyes. There was a long pause, before he relinquished his grip, and the girl stumbled to the ground. Forcing open the cash register, he grabbed a few handfulls of twenties and shoved them in his pockets. N could only watch as the girl crawled over to where Gevanni was standing, hesitating behind him.
There. It was okay now, wasn't it? The man could leave, and whereas N would never have let him live, at least this way, nobody was going to die.
The man was shuffling his way to the door know, kicking Gevanni's gun under the counter and shouldering his way past the two and towards the door. N breathed out a sigh of relief and started to get up, his eyes still narrowed on the man's back as the door chimed--
--and another gunshot, and the girl screamed, and N could swear he heard the ripping sound as the bullet forced it's way through Gevanni's suit coat. Blood spurted, spattered, the girl screeched, before being silenced as well, her head making a sickening sound as another bullet drove through her skull, sending fragments of bone and pieces of her brain scattering everywhere.
N clamped a hand over his mouth to stop the scream, and the large man paused. He'd seen N when he walked into the store, N knew it, and now... now, he was screwed, he was dead, because Gevanni trusted the killer to just take the money and leave.
Wasn't that what a sane person would do? Take the money? Leave? These thoughts ruffled through his head like an open book's pages on a windy day, and N found himself unable to do much more than stare, his heart thudding so loudly in his chest that he was afraid it was just going to burst.
One step towards him. Two. N rolled to his hands and knees and crawled down the aisle, trying to force himself behind the candy rack. His mind was starting to lose it's careful rationality, because there was a man and he had a gun, and N could still plainly see the blood everywhere from where he'd killed... god, he'd killed...
The stench hit him, and he felt nausious. The man took another step, and N curled his knees up to him, his knuckles going white from how hard he still had his hand clamped over his mouth, as if he'd just forgotten to remove it.
He stared up into the cold eyes of a killer and saw something familiar--but dismissed it in a heartbeat, as something came over the man. He stood, turning sharply away. N forced himself to be calm, while the footsteps faded into nothingness.
Almost five minutes, N sat there, catching his breath, processing what had just happened. He shakily got to his feet and allowed himself to look towards the two dead people in the store. His walk was steady as he made his way over to them.
Kneeling next to Gevanni, he didn't look at the agent's dead face, nor did he focus on the blood pooling on the floor. Instead, he rifled through his jacket, finding the hidden pocket, and removing the wallet. After a moment, he took Gevanni's badge too, before moving over to the counter and crouching low in order to grab the gun from where it had skittered underneath.
N's face was eerily calm as he checked to make sure that it was loaded, before tucking it into his waistband and nodding softly. There was no money left in the cash register, and he didn't care for Gevanni's credit cards. The girl only had about forty on her, and Gevanni's wallet yielded a little over a hundred in bare cash. Rubbing at his neck, he took the bills and tucked them into the lining of his shirt, before shakily moving out of the store, alone.
The lining of his shirt.
He was wearing the clothes he'd been wearing when he was transported. When he had been sent to the mansion, his clothes had been altered back to normal, but before... before, on his world, he'd sewed an extra layer of cloth into the inside of his sleeve. Before, in between his sleeve and the extra layer of cloth, he'd stored pages. Spare pages.
William Legg, 10:36 AM November 2nd Heart Attack
At 10:25 AM, William takes his gun into the Little Nook conveniance store. He demands all of the money in the cash register, and is challenged by another customer. He takes the store cashier hostage, until the other customer drops his challenge. He takes the money in the register, and begins to leave. Just before exiting the store, he turns back and fires two shots. He leaves, and goes to an alleyway to count the money, where he dies by heart attack at 10:36 AM.
Stephen Loud 10:31 AM November 2nd Bullet wound
At 10:21 AM, Stephen escorts a boy into the Little Nook conveniance store. He gives the boy a twenty dollar bill and waits by the door. At 10:25 AM, he notices a man walking into the store. When the man threatens the store cashier, he takes out his own gun. After a brief standoff, Stephen gives up his gun. He is shot by a stray bullet at 10:30 AM, and dies a minute later.
He almost couldn't remember Gevanni's true name. But the badge--the FBI badge that he'd been flashed upon entry. Obviously, Gevanni hadn't been put on the Kira case in this world, or he would have used an alias. Without N--was there even an SPK?
And William--he was easy enough. N had heard the name amidst the riot, seen the face when he'd been dragged away. It was a simple matter of remembering, was all.
The girl, he hadn't intended on killing. He'd had Will shoot two bullets to look as if shooting Gevanni had been an accident. Her death was purely coincidential, but it worked out better this way. No hysteric crying, nobody trying to make sure he was alright anymore. N was fine.
And nobody would question an agent dying in the middle of a riot--especially after one of his partners had been seriously wounded the previous day.
It didn't matter right now though. He had a weapon. He had money. Now, he just needed to find a way back home.
DAY 6
Maybe he shouldn't have killed Gevanni.
But when had N ever felt doubt about killing someone like that? Sure, Gevanni was close to him, sure Gevanni took care of him when he needed someone, but he needed things--a weapon (other than the too-few pages of the death note in his sleeve), money, a way to get out of the city without anyone's notice. Nobody would remember a kid--and what's more, there was nobody alive to know of his involvement.
It was just stupid to regret. He'd taken the most intelligent course of action, and he was better for it.
Still, getting to Detroit from Knoxville--when one had no identification, a weapon, and looked like he wearing hospital scrubs--wasn't easy. He couldn't take a plane, and it was much too far to walk.
So, the first order of business was to alter his appearance, to make himself stand out less. He hated it, but managed to get a loose pair of black slacks (he had to safety-pin them up, but that was okay)--that, with his regular white shirt didn't look too conspicuous. A cap jammed over his head hid most of his pale hair--he looked like practically everyone else in the world, all bought with the money he'd managed to pilfer off of the dead bodies.
Not that he thought about it that way.
Mihael would be so displeased.
But Mihael wasn't here. N erased the thought from his mind, because here, Mihael was dead, and that was simply all there was to it.
A train. He'd ultimately decided on a train.
Luckily, there was a train running up through Indiana. From there, it would be simple to find a connecting train to Michigan, if not Detroit itself. Even more luckily, they hadn't stopped running due to the riots. As a matter of fact--due to the terrorism plane scare--the trains were probably making the most off of the riots, with everyone wanting to be somewhere else.
The gun, he'd have a problem with. But, it had done its purpose--getting him from that Manhattan place to Chatanooga safely. There wouldn't be much more of a need for it when he had his death note back.
There were ways he could probably find that would allow him to keep it. He still had Gevanni's badge. He could alter it, or make a fake one for himself. Or, he could dissasemble the gun and try to hide the seperate pieces. He could go to a used electronics store, buy a decrepit laptop, hollow it out, and hide the gun in there.
But those things would take too much time, were too much of a risk, would cost too much money. So, he had to be content with discarding it.
In seperate pieces, at least, so nobody could find it and use it. And he kept the bullets--surely, he'd be able to get past security with those.
And he did--it wasn't a problem, really. N was on the train the next thing he knew, staring dully out the window as the countryside flew by. Nobody sat too close to him or tried to strike up a conversation. But really, he was moving towards his death note, towards his hideout. It would all be okay--he'd reinstate Kira, kill off the rioters, and restore peace and balance.
He really would.
Unlike a few of the other passengers, N stayed awake the entire trip, staring dully out the window as he tried to think. He was starting to doubt the reality of the past two months--just as he'd doubted the entire time he'd actually been there.
But, even if that was real, now wasn't the time to think of it. Now was a critical period in his takeover, in which he would have to reaffirm his grasp of the world--to come back from a disadvantage that wasn't even his fault.
As he sat there, he wondered what L and Light would be up to. Probably trying to find his body, or reaffirm his actual death in one way--and if he knew L at all, he knew that the detective would not agree to N being dead until he saw the body. They would still be on the lookout for him, but perhaps he would be able to slip past them for awhile, as they would be more alert for a dead N, as opposed to alive and well.
...well enough, anyway.
The train finally came to a stop in Indiana, where he transferred onto one traveling quickly to Detroit.
There was almost a problem with his lack of an ID, but his last bit of money solved that, and N had to wince. He never thought that he'd have to stoop so low as to bribe some lowly train attendant. Shaking his head somewhat as he boarded the train, N's eyes flicked briefly across the other passengers, before finding his seat and staring out the window, boredly again.
His first order of business would be to make sure that L thought he was dead. But how could this be done? He wasn't close to L or Light in the slightest--and wasn't able to hack his way into their computer, either. As far as he could tell, the two of them were working alone, but that didn't get him very far--indeed, it actually hindered the ways in which he would be able to attain information.
Frowning somewhat, he rested his chin on his palm, and fidgeted for a moment--he really disliked mundane alothing--before letting out a sigh and trying to calm himself, to focus on what needed to be done.
He obviously wouldn't be safe in his hideout. N didn't want to take the risk that L had found it while he was gone. The first thing he had to do was secure the death note, and then leave. But how could he do that if there was a possibility of L finding him there?
A cold feeling raced through his gut.
What if L had already found the notebook?
No. No, he'd think it was a prank or something--he had to think that, right? After all, a killer notebook? L would think that he'd... somehow fabricated it to mislead the detective. L wouldn't believe in the notebook in the slightest... would he?
As the train pulled up to the station, as N got off and ignored the sideways glances from the other passengers, he thought about this.
No. No. No, L would not have found the notebook. There was no way anyone would be able to find it--not where he'd hidden it. He doubted that L would be looking for something like that anyway.
Okay. He was in the proper city--but what should he do? N contemplates this for a moment as he slowly moves down the street. This place could be crawling with agents. No, not in America. America had claimed utter neutrality in the Kira case--the only agents would be L's own, and they would be hunting him illegally. Not that the president wouldn't turn a blind eye to them if they did happen to catch him.
Damnit. Damnit damnit damnit.
Why here, of all places? If he hadn't been transported, this would have been so much easier.
Chewing on his lip, N shakes his head and suddenly takes a sharp turn into an alleyway, thinking.
Something was missing. Something obvious, something that he was almost used to not being around during his days in the mansion.
"...Ryuk?"
No answer.
"Ryuk, I know you're watching me. This is hardly entertaining--I need my death note back. You're going to help me get it. Ryuk? Ryuk?"
Nothing.
"Ryuk!" He yelled it this time, and ignored the curious stares of passerbys.
N felt a small tremor snip down his spine, blinking largely and taking off his hat in order to wipe the persperation from his brow. He swallowed. Took a step back and faced the brick wall. A wall he might as well have been talking to.
For the first time, N really felt alone.
In this world. Billions of people, hundreds of rioters, plenty of detectives, the whole place crawling with enemies. He didn't have anyone. Ryuk was gone. Ryuk--whose presance, while annoying, was something he'd depended on. And here he'd thought that the old shinigami had returned weeks ago. Wouldn't he have come down upon seeing N? N had just figured, throughout this time, that Ryuk had been hiding, watching him and waiting for a moment to show himself.
But there was nothing.
No! No, there couldn't be. Ryuk had to be there, he just had to. N just had to find a way to lure him out.
"I have apples!" He cried to the wall. "I can buy more for you--all you want!" Nothing. N took a shuddering gasp. "Trade--I'll do the eye trade? Come on, the eye trade, Ryuk, haven't you been wanting to do that since we met?" Nothing. The hollow of the wind gasping around him and nipping at the nape of his neck. "The notebook! I'll give it up if you show yourself?"
Nothing.
"....apples?" It came out weary, tired, weak. "I... I have ap..." His voice cracked, as he backed up against the wall behind him and took a deep breath. His lungs didn't want to expand, so he did it again.
Alone.
N wrapped his arms around himself and closed his eyes, trying to just pull himself together. He was behaving irrationally. He needed to figure things out, to get the facts straight, and work a way out of this mess. He was happy Ryuk was gone--one less thing that wanted to kill him, right?
It took a few minutes (more than he'd like to admit), but after awhile, he straightened up and shook his head.
He was being completely irrational. The fact that Ryuk was... absent--it was a good thing. Whether the shinigami was still at the mansion, or if he'd been transported into some other universe, N had no idea. Nor did he particularly care.
The walk to his temporary residence took only about an hour and a half. The skies were darkening by then, and he was starting to feel skittish without his... Gevanni's gun. He wished he'd found some way to bring it with him.
It was a simple apartment, truth be told. Dutch landlady--sort of old, interesting accent. He'd never cared too much, until almost ten-thirty found him knocking on her door.
To which she answered, and he had to hide the grimace at her rather disheveled, portly figure.
"oooooh, good heavens!" She exclaimed, beaming widely. "I--oh, I'd thought that they'd gotten to you. I keep saying, 'Mail, you need a roomate', but do you listen? No. A big, strong roomate to walk you places--ooooh, heavens, I thought you'd been killed!"
He flashed a reassuring smile and nodded quietly. "Of course not, Miss. I've been staying with a friend. Eh--Mihael. He lives about an hour away--just until this blows over."
She nodded, and looked like she was going to hug him or something, so he took a small step back. She got the hint, and continued to smile. N spoke before she had the chance to dither any more.
"If you don't mind. I was actually... well, I'm hiding from someone." He grinned, and the expression felt foreign; he hated it. "A crazy ex. You know the type, right?" The landlady nodded, her happy gaze suddenly turning into concern. "...well. Has anyone gone into my apartment? Since I've been gone? She's got--brothers, and they're supposed to be... I don't even know, like..." He twirls a finger through his hair, staring off towards a wall. "...like secret agents or something. Have you noticed anything strange while I've been gone?"
There's a long pause, as the landlady tilted her head with a small frown, contemplating, trying to remember... After a moment, she shrugged, and N closed his eyes with a languid sigh. Useless.
"Ohhh, hon. Not that I remember. I can look over some of the security tapes tonight, okay? Don't you worry--I'll send Roy up if anything looks odd."
Roy--her husband. The perfect compliment to her; a large man, with possibly three IQ points. N detested him, but held back the nasty little face in favor of a thankful smile. "I appreciate it, miss."
He even added a short little bow, which made her press a palm to her chest and 'aww' a little--sickening. But, it didn't matter. N sighed, before moving away from her door and up to his own apartment.
And there was nothing. The door opened easily, and nothing looked touched or changed. The small white hair he'd jammed in the doorway was still there. But, more tellingly, the floor matt was unruffled.
Upon his first arrival to his apartment, N had placed a small floor matt in the entry area of his apartment. It wasn't conspicuous, nor did it raise much attention. But it was arranged in such a way that it was impossible to close the door without the bottom of the door turning up one of the corners and leaving it that way. N had devised a small method, using strings in the small space below the door, to pull the matt flat every time he left the apartment, and so, whenever he left, the matt was always flat. If the door was closed by anyone else, and the method had not been used, a corner would be upturned, just slightly.
And it wasn't. Meaning that, either someone had figured it out, someone had come through the window, or his apartment had yet to be found. The possibility of the first was slightly less than five percent--the second, less than three percent (as he did live on the third floor). So, hopefully, he would be safe.
Which didn't stop him from scouring every inch of his sparsely-decorated apartment for cameras, listening bugs, anything.
But there was nothing. Had L really not found this place after all?
Sleep, he figured. And then, he could focus easier--could pull out the death note and begin his new regimen. And, as eager as he was to start right away, it would have to wait until he'd figured out a way to explain his dissapearance.
But that was alright, he figured, haunching in the closet. (The closet was safer. He'd be able to hear anyone entering through the doorway, thanks to the bells on the inside of the door handle--and, while they were still looking for him, he'd be able to quickly awaken and have more time to think of a plan to get himself out. Safer indeed.)
The door was locked, bolted, belled. Every door from the main way to his room was locked and belled. He'd purposely broken the latch on his window so that it would be next to impossible to open--and even then, it had a bell on it as well.
The closet was fairly large--he could lie flat on his back without his toes touching the opposite end. He still had a few blankets stuffed in there. And his clothes--his old clothes, that he'd worn before the mansion ordeal, the beautiful white pajamas with the wonderful lining and the soft white sheets of paper hidden inside.
Four hours. Then, he could wake up and think clearly.
Just four hours. Then, he could truely begin.
DAY 8
It's somewhat blurry, but N remembers.
He has thought about them, sometimes.
He thought about Misa. About how desperate she seemed to be to want to be his friend. The small little doll that he wished he still had, and the quaint little conversations. Unlike the others, Misa knew him, knew the extent of his abilities, of his kindness and of his hate, and she still spoke with him as a fellow user of the note, an equal, a friend. He'd mistreated her horribly, this he knew. But she never seemed to hate him.
About L. About how L was always apprehensive around him, about how L was always lurking around his girlfriend. N wonders how the two of them are doing now--because if she'd done the things she'd said she'd done, and if L had really been as hard-pressed against criminals as he was supposed to be, then it would never end well. He didn't know if he wanted it to or not. Did he want people at the mansion to have happy endings?
Which brought him to thinking about the mansion itself. At rushed times--when he was on the run, and there was fire and bullets--times like that, he could not believe that it had ever really happened. When adrenaline was pumping through him on a rush, when the laws of physics (be thrown and hit the ground, cut and bleed downwards, harder to stop when you're at a dead run) are just impossible to break, and he can't imagine that they've ever been broken.
And when he thought of broken laws of physics, he thought about Near. His double, two perfect copies existing at the same time. How much he hated him, but then again, the more he thought, how much he... didn't really hate him at all. It was complicated. Was it a form of rivalry? Or was it because Near had been the first to uncover his identity as Kira? Because Near had Mihael? And that one, that last one, hit him hard in the stomach, and he didn't like it, so he stopped thinking about it.
Because N didn't think about Mihael. He wouldn't give himself the chance.
DAY 10
"...and so, now that you are aware of the... consiquences of a world without Kira. Now that you all know what evils Kira keeps at bay... I certainly hope that you are well-suited to make the choice, as to where your loyalties lie."
The television flickered back to the news program. N smiled darkly, shaking his head as he gripped his death note firmly in his hands. It was a good idea. Pretend that his... hiatus of sorts was simply Kira teaching a lesson to the masses. And then, he would begin killing.
It had taken almost two days for the video from Kira to arrive at the news station. N had to reroute the whole thing through some wierd little town in Pennsylvania to make it more difficult to track. It was annoying--and yet, nessicary. Soon enough, his voice-disguised message would echo throughout every home as it was played again, later, by other newscasters and other channels. He could be satisfied with his work.
N hefted the death note into his arms as if it were a loving child, and brought up the remote to turn the television off, satisfied with his--
"...Kira."
He froze.
The television screen was still on, and N had to whirl around, his eyes flitting everywhere, the notebook sailing from his arms, before he realized. The... the television. That voice. So disguised, different than his own. Higher pitched, different frequency, and--oh, god oh god.
"I have instructed the news channel to air this video, should you send one in.
"So... it seems you have not died. Interesting, though hardly surprising. I still have the liberty of catching you myself. You see, Kira, I am drawing nearer to finding you. It's only a matter of time, now."
A small pause, and the disguised voice seemed almost mocking, now. "...As an additional note. Dead FBI agents leave a trail much clearer than dead criminals."
Another, horrifying pause. Before. "...That is all."
N blinks for a moment, unable to do anything but stare at the television in disbelief.
L knew. He knew! How--how did he know?
He shut the tv off immediately after that, spinning to place his back to it, as if L was watching him now, this very second, from behind the dark glass--as if L was judging him, knowing him, watching him, and he gripped his skull, twisting fingers through his hair, and his eyes were wild, and he let out a scream.
His hair--his clothes--his name, L knew, oh yes, he knew. He said 'nearer'. L, L, L said 'Nearer'. 'Near'. L knew, he knew, L knew it was him! There was no other way, it wasn't a coincidance, L never had coincidances, and Near--N, not Near, he wasn't near, he was far, he was N, he was N, he was--
oh, god. Oh god oh god.
N stumbles, lurches into the bathroom, his eyes wild. L knew, he knew he knew he knew.
Scissors in the drawer. In the drawer, in his fingers now, and he held them with one hand because this was a good plan, and this was a perfect, flawless plan, because if L couldn't recognize him, then L wouldn't know, and a long curl of white hair fell into the sink as he sliced it off.
Another curl wisped in the air and landed in the sink, N's eyes wide, panic as he stretched out another curl and used the scissors, and the steel made a little shing as another clump fell to the sink.
No--not enough, never enough, his clothes, his clothes, he tore at his sleeve, used the scissors to cut at the shoulder, before tearing, ripping, and now one of his sleeves were off, and he returned to his hair, cutting another lock, another, ano--
--he flinched, and dropped the scissors, pulling back suddenly and watching as the blood dripped off of his index finger and into the sink, dripping onto the white hair.
There's a long pause, contrasting the earlier frantic motion with complete and utter stillness. His eyes slowly raise to the mirror to see an abomination.
One sleeve, his hair matted, and missing in clumps, his eyes wide, scared, dark bags underneath, L, L, like L--and he bites his lower lip and stares.
Is this him? Really? Is this what he's become? Someone too afraid to go outside? Too paranoid to sleep in his own bed, to look at himself in the mirror, to see this... this thing staring widely back at him?
He leans closer in morbid fascination, watches the hideous mess move with him.
The white hair in the sink is mingling with his blood, stemming from his finger and flushing down his hand, staining the one sleeve he has remaining, turning it a malicious red--and as he stared, as he stared, the blood dripped into the white sink, onto his white hair, the white counter, the white ground, his white garment. Blood.
N pulls back, stifling a small sob.
No. L won't find him, he can't. For L to find him would mean defeat. And he wouldn't. He promised Miha--
He still has the death note. With that, he's invincible.
First, the newscasters. They knew. They knew. They knew where L's video came from--what's worse, they betrayed him. They all needed to die for that. A small grin finds N's otherwise demented features, and he backs up, out of the bathroom, away from the killer in the mirror.
They're all dead within the minute.
There was going to be no more mercy, no more room for doubt. Everyone who saw him, everyone with information on him had to die. He'd made a promise. The less people alive to tell L, the better.
And--and that person down the street. N saw him. He was dead. His landlady. She knew him. She would tell L. She would tell L everything. So would her husband. They'd tell.
N hated tattletales.
The crashing sound from downstairs was enough to prove how superior he was. L would never catch him, not as long as there were no people alive to find him.
It was perfect. So perfect.
Still bleeding, still in his torn clothing, still with his jaggedly cut hair, N threw the notebook on the floor and followed it there, on his stomach, not even bothering with the television, because he already knows every name he's writing down.
L would never catch him now.
DAY 12
"An FBI agent in Knoxville dies of a gunshot wound--right after which, the murderer is found dead of a heart attack in the back alley. Legg had no previous record of health deficiencies, and a heart attack would have been extremely unlikely. Also, all of the money and the agent's gun has dissapeared. Clearly, there was a third party involved. Someone who was able to manipulate the occassion to reap the most benefit from the situation."
Light looked up, triumphantly, to where L was boredly swirling a lollipop stick into a cup of coffee. Several screens were flickering in front of him, three of which detailed a shooting in a conveniance store that had happened almost nine days prior.
"Good." He murmured, hardly even bothering to look up. This was nothing, just a re-cap. The only thing he was interested in at the moment was the small boy in white--only appeared on the frame for several seconds, but he was there, and the knowledge of such a person in a place--almost garunteeing it--left an odd feeling in his gut. This was B, all over again, but on a far different magnitude. He really would have to speak to Watari about the program once and for all when this was over. "Continue, please."
Light nodded and returned to the small printout. "After that, nothing for three days. There have been two pieces of a handgun found on opposite sides of town. Analysis and identification number places them to both be a part of Stephen Loud's gun. From here, we can assume that the killer has no needs for a gun, that he had to move past some sort of security checkpoint, or both. There's a small bit of footage at a train station in Chatanooga with someone who sort of looks like the boy in white." He pauses for a moment, before shrugging. "Though, the suspect knew where the cameras were. I don't think we ever got a clear shot of him--and he had changed clothes since then, so.
"Coincidentally, there was a train in that station that went to Indianna, and then to Detroit. Four days later, all residents of an apartment complex in Detroit suddenly died of a heart attack within minutes of one another. Also, a video tape from Kira appears on the national news--shortly after which, we aired our own and all of the newscasters died."
Another short pause as L absorbed the information and slowly nodded, licking at the coffee-covered lollipop.
"Everyone's body from the apartments have been found, except for one. A Mail Jeevas."
Ls gaze hardens just fractionally before relaxing again. Being a serial killer was one thing, being his protege was another, but then, purposely mocking those who he's killed, those other poor students in the same program?
Light took no notice of this. "...upon further investigation, it's quite clear that Mail Jeevas was a fake name. No photos were found, and everyone who could have given us a physical description for him is dead."
L nodded slowly. "The boy in white hasn't been on any camera footage in a fifteen mile radius in the past two days. There's a small chance the one going by Mail Jeevas is still hiding out in the building--roughly fifteen percent. Another thirty suggests he is dead as well... though his body have not been found. Fifty-five percent chance that he's already escaped from the city--assuming that he is the boy in white, and he does know to evade cameras."
There's a long pause as the two think, and Light scanned the printout again.
"There's no sure thing that this kid is Kira." He murmured, shrugging. "It seems like all evidence would point to him. But Mail Jeevas' might have just been someone's fake name--someone who survived because of his fake name. But... why else would Kira kill an entire apartment complex? Has he lost it?"
L nods slowly. "There is that chance." There's a pause, before he finally looks sullenly up towards Light. "Hire a small team--very small, hm. Five people at most. Have then search the building, soon. Make sure that this... 'Mail Jeevas' character isn't still hiding out in there--and if he is, bring him in."
Light's eyes flicker downwards, before he nods slowly. "I should be able to get something together in a day or two. That'll have to be soon enough."
DAY 14
He'd had to hide when they came in to get rid of the bodies. N sought solitude in the streets, crouching into alleyways, eyes flitting about wildly. But now that they were gone, finally, and the bodies were removed, and it had nothing but that annoying yellow tape seperating him from his home.
He didn't want to leave. He liked it here, he hasn't spend a month and a half here for nothing, hasn't killed everyone so that he could leave three days later. Four days. Whatever.
N hid away from his apartment for a few days, waiting for the other's to be gone. When the bodies were finally evacuated, when the apartment was finally shut down, he could return, quietly, under the cover of the night. It was a good hiding space--nobody would look for him in a place that he had already struck, right? It would be good, it would be a breeze.
Still, he found it hard to sleep. He felt cut off from himself, like he was making a mistake, and maybe he was, and he knew it.
Footsteps, thundering up the stairway. His eyes shocked open.
N darted upward, listening, throwing the closet door open and rushing to the window, peeking hesitantly through the blinds, only to see a large black vehicle. It looked almost like one of those armored prison cars. The sky was too dark to read the label. His heart skipped a beat.
They were coming.
L had found him. He shakes his head, runs fingers through uneven hair, closes his eyes, and thinks, hopes, wishes for Ryuk, for Misa, for someone to appear in his room, for a spell of Deus ex machina to save him from this. But, the more he wished, the more it was obvious that nothing was coming, and the closer the footsteps got.
Right. He needed to run. Now.
Tucking the death note underneath his sleep shirt, N swallowed hard and ran towards the front door. His apartment was three floors up. There was simply no other way.out. He was boxed in like a rat in a cage, like a... no. Don't think about that, don't you dare think about that. He could still win. He still had the note.
He's in the hallway, now, cornered between the two stairwells. Both of which had thundering footsteps going up. He was trapped on this floor. Unless he wanted to risk the stairwell to get to the roof. Which wouldn't be a good idea anyway. But the longer he stayed here, the more likely he would be found.
First, they'd search his room. Then, the other rooms on the floor. Then, the other floors. Then, they would leave. He just had to dodge around them until that happened.
N chose the room closest to the stairwell on the right. As it was, he would be able to slip out, hopefully unnoticed, creep down the stairwell, and get out through a first floor window--as the front door was likely to be watched.
The door closes behind him just as the footsteps finally reach his floor, and N looks around at the unfamiliar apartment. There's a marker of where the body had been found, and the place was decorated as if an older woman lived there. Cabinents, filled with glass statues and china plates, an antique--almost rustic--feel to the furniture.
He didn't have time to appreciate scenery though, and N briefly contemplates hiding in one of the rooms. That won't work though--he needs to know when they're in his room, so that he knows when to make his escape. So, swallowing hard and trying to calm his pounding heart, N pressed his ear to the door.
He knew he was screwed if they searched the floor room by room before looking in his apartment first. There's a good twenty-three percent chance of that. They'd bash this door open first, and find him standing there. It wouldn't be pretty. But it's a chance that he has to take.
N closed his eyes as he listened at the door, the marching of footsteps (thank God, he thought) going past this apartment and onto his own. He heard the door being kicked open, the fearsome click of guns shifting about, the footsteps (three. Four people. Perhaps five, but he was willing to bet on four) slowy fading as they entered his apartment.
Good. They were only leaving one person in the hallway, by the sounds of things. This was going to be easy.
Too easy? N thought over this for a second, and shakes his head because obviously not, and even if it was, he didn't have another choice. Closing his eyes, he knew that he had to act, and he needed to do it now.
The door to the hallway slowly slipped open, just a few fractions of an inch. Wide dark eyes stared at the guard, not even daring to breathe. He was an average looking man, about in his twenties, in full combat gear, plus helmet. N didn't recognize the style from any specific organization, so he's willing to bet that L hired mercenaries of some sort. Damnit.
He waited, for almost fifteen agonizing seconds, before the guard turns away and he slipped out like smoke. There's no door to get to the stairwell, and his bare feet made little more than a hushed whisper on the carpet.
N knew the creaky spots on the stairs and avoided them, subconsciously speeding up once he was out of sight of the guard. It's good, he thought, turning to go down the second flight, practically flying by now. He's good, he's safe. It was alright.
Something odd came over him, a strange sensation, pulling at his gut. It seemed... oddly familiar, but he pushed it away, in favor of what was currently going on.
He rounded the corner to the main hallway and found himself face to face with the barrel of a gun.
"...I must admit, I doubted you'd actually still be here."
Light.
Light.
Damn him.
N found himself blinking slowly and shaking his head, taking a hesitant step back. His eyes were having a hard time deciding whether to focus on Light or the barrel of the gun mere inches from his face.
Light took advantage of N's utter shock and stepped foreward, his hands tearing open the first three buttons of N's shirt to reveal a black notebook, the words Death Note just barely visible. N gasped and reached foreward to bat his hand away, but a firm shake of the gun aiming at his head stopped him, and he could do nothing but watch as it was yanked away from underneath his shirt.
He--the bastard--flipped through it with one hand, all the names, the dates, the details, the time, while N stood there, absolutely helpless. The gun brushed against his nose and he bit his lip.
The notebook fell to the floor, open to a page somewhere between the beginning and the middle. Light's gaze hardens, before taking a step foreward and lowering his gun slightly. N breathed out a soft sigh of relief, before almost choking as the metal weapon was jammed forcefully into his stomach, and he looks down, belatedly.
Soichiro Yagami
His fingers are shaking, and Light isn't talking. He's staring at him, staring at the notebook, and then back at him. Disbelievingly.
Finally, words. "This. This notebook kills people." It wasn't a question.
N coughed--the gun was hurting--before looking up with a dark glare. There was nothing he could say to that, so he didn't dignify it with an answer. Instead, he clenched his fists and tried his best not to move.
"You're Kira."
Again, not a question. Again, N didn't see the point in answering. He took a deep breath anyway though, and his eyes narrowed slightly.
"You don't have any proof. I could just be--"
The gun jammed deeper into his gut, coupled with the feeling of that strangest sensation. "This notebook isn't proof enough? My Father's name is in there, the day he died. All these names, these people--they're all dead, aren't they? The rules in the beginning. You--...there's nothing you can say in your defense."
N's lips tighten, and he takes a hesitant step back.
"...you're not going to kill me, Light Yagami. You have orders to apprehend, not kill, am I correct?"
Light doesn't advance. His gaze flits back to the Death Note, before raising to meet N's again, eyes narrowed in hatred and anger. "...I made a promise to my father. If anything. Anything. Happened to him, due to this case. I would personally end Kira."
N looks down for a moment, studies the floor, before shaking his head slowly. "You--you've got orders." He repeats, uselessly. "To apprehend."
He looks toward the notebook on the ground and thinks, if only I had killed Light. He knew his name. He did--but N couldn't risk that, he couldn't have risked it until he was able to kill L as well.
Ryuk, he thinks. Someone.
But there is nobody.
The silencer makes a whisper of the gunshot. His eyes widen in panic and terror and pain and horror and shock and everything, as blood blossoms over his stomach. N doesn't fall. He stumbles and gives a panicky scream, but he doesn't fall.
Stomach. The bullet--punctured his--
Twin atom bombs go off, at his shoulder, the corner of his chest. His body jerks, and Light stares dully. N remains standing, but only barely. His lips purse out for a moment, before bubbling over with blood, streaming down his chin and pooling at the floor. It's hard to tell the original color of his shirt, now.
Light takes a step foreward. Rests the barrel of the gun directly between unseeing eyes. Eyes, flitting around, absorbing nothing more than color and need and oh god, pain.
--but before Light can pull the trigger, before anything else, his eyes register something else. Something strangely familiar.
A lavish hallway
[[ooc: This is a 'going home' post, and documents N's adventures in his own world, throughout the course of two weeks. Hopefully, I can keep it all straight. Lots of tl;dr. I don't blame you if you don't read it. It is finished as of 10/12/2008]]