Chapter Text
December 5th, 2004
I ran.
“Y/N! Y/N, wait!”
The sound of his voice was drowned out by the rushing in my ears. I don’t know what kept my body darting at this speed. I didn’t know anything. I couldn’t think. My feet were moving faster than my mind. What was I doing?
I felt my body leave the ground, as I rapidly descended down the wooden staircase that led to the front lobby.
I stumbled on the last few steps and used my lack of balance to propel me to the front entrance. I felt my body slam into the door, forcefully stopping me.
My legs and hands shook violently as I searched for the knob. Once I found it, I pushed the heavy oak doors open as if my life depended on it.
A cold breeze slammed against my bare skin; the sensation was comparable to being stabbed with a multitude of knives. It took my breath away, causing me to momentarily freeze.
No, I can’t stop. Please, go!
Not wasting another second, I sprinted out the door and onto the outside entryway steps. I shouldn't be out here. My feet caught from under me and I buckled, stumbling down the stairs.
I gasped as my knees clashed with the ground.
The world spun.
I heard the scrape of cement, followed by a pain in my elbow.
My vision rattled as my chin hit a hard surface.
A pain in my skull.
And then… stillness…
Pain soared through my body, but was numbed when my adrenaline returned.
I opened my eyes to a cloudy, gyrating sky. Snow had started to fall, twirling like a hurricane in my haze.
After a few seconds, my eyes stopped spinning, and I was able to push myself up. My palms screamed at me when I applied pressure on them, having been unfairly damaged.
After gaining back my footing, I continued running towards the gate.
My knees yearned to give out with each step, but I pushed further, ignoring the hurt. I’d face it later.
I kept going… the snow crunched beneath my shoes... keep going…
My heart leapt.
There they were, at the iron gates.
“Stop!” I called out.
My voice weak was too weak from both my intense emotions and from the lack of oxygen in my breath. They didn't hear me.
I couldn't lose them.
“PLEASE!” I tried again, projecting my voice even louder.
Upon hearing this, the two boys halted in their steps and turned around to face me.
“Y/N…”
November 5, 2003
One year earlier...
“You know,” the monitor echoed. “This investigation… it’s like when I get up at night to look for the light switch, and I hurt my foot every time.”
“What? That’s wrong!” a child refuted, disbelieving the greatest detective could ever have trouble with any case.
At the conclusion of L’s response, a chorus of volunteers rang out, all wishing to be the next one to speak with him.
“I’m next!”
“No, I’m next!”
I stared at the polished wood floor below me, fighting back a yawn. The floor boards looked sickly green, reflecting the monotonous olive green wallpapers that were wrapped around the entirety of the orphanage. The Wammy’s House was grandeur for outsiders looking in, the wallpapers seeming elegant and refreshing. Yet, psychologically, we all knew why the wallpapers were green. It was to keep us subconsciously happy in our conditions, and to give us the same colors as the trees and grass outside…an illusion of the freedom the outside provides that the orphanage cannot.
Today was a special day, as it reminded us why we were giving up our freedoms of being normal kids. Furthermore, we were all speaking to our role model and inspiration. The person who continuously lit the flame of hope in all of us: L.
The founder of The Wammy’s House, inventor Quillish Wammy, set up a personal call with the one and only L today for us. It was special, since he spoke to us through a microphone without a voice scrambler. We were lucky to hear his authentic voice, as most people do not get this privilege.
A monitor was plugged into the wall and propped up on a desk. Behind the monitor were printed out flyers pinned to a board that told of L’s history here at the orphanage and any other non incriminating facts about him that we could use to ask him questions. We didn’t really need it though, since anything on the flyers- besides The Wammy's House section- was public information. We knew as much as everyone else about him.
A camera was placed on top of the screen, so that L could see us. It was the closest thing that we had towards seeing him, in a sense. I found myself unable to stare at the camera lens. It was almost like it was his own pupil, and that looking straight at it would be like looking him right in the eyes which I did not dare to do.
Instead, I felt a sense of comfortability staring at the white buzzing screen. On the screen was his lovely monogram- a large “L”. It was almost comparable to the comic books, when you get to see the symbol of a superhero.
“How do you keep track of everything?” a small voice rang out.
The voice belonged to one of the younger students here, Natalie, who desired to be a detective like L… well, to be more precise, wanted to actually be L.
This wish is not uncommon. This orphanage was originally just a place for gifted children to come and express their creativity freely, outside the restraints of standardized teaching. Yet, after the accomplishment of L- who quickly became the “Greatest Detective in the World”- it became a training facility to mold other L’s. The goal is to provide a successor of L. The rest of us who don’t fit into that cookie cutter image become experts in various fields so future L’s can use us in their cases. Those whose scores place them at the top here get selected for the L Successor Program. They become the new L’s later.
Two of them were in this room now: Mello and Near.
I turned around to examine the back of the room, where the two students stayed isolated, outside of the huddle where all the other students sat. They were special, so Roger refused to scold them for not conforming with us. After all, Near was the top scorer here at The Wammy’s House, having surpassed everyone in every field. Mello was second to Near by only a few points. I heard the two of them did not get along because of it.
In the back sat my peer, Near, who was so blonde his hair appeared white. Despite this oddity in hair color, everyone in the orphanage seemed to forget about him until score testing. During those times, we were reminded of his brilliance.
Near didn't talk much. I only ever talked with him a few times here and there, but never in full conversation. Just passing remarks, all from my end. A few 'sorry's' here and there as I stumbled away from him. He always seemed distant and busy, so I didn’t wish to bother him too much.
Near fumbled with a Rubik's Cube. Around him were four other Rubik's Cubes, already solved. I can’t solve a Rubik's Cube, so being able to do four in just ten minutes was astonishing to me. Not only this, but he is also doing an all white puzzle simultaneously. He is truly remarkable.
Mello leaned against a wall nearby, unfolding the foil wrapper of his chocolate bar. He was taller than most and had a unique fashion sense. I noticed he liked to wear darker clothes that made a statement. I wondered why, since he already had our notice.
The window beside Mello spilled out sunlight, spotlighting the dancing of a few specks of dust in this overly clean room. The foil from the wrapper glistened off the light as Mello brought the chocolate to his lips. The sun cast a warm glow on one half of his face, illuminating it in gold. I was in awe of this view, comparing him to an art form similar to an oil painting.
There was another successor, Matt. Yet, from what I could tell he was not in the room. As I scanned the room for Matt, I caught eye contact with Tate, who was picking his nose. He was a huge bully. I ignored him in the crowd of children and faced my attention back to the monitor.
“I try to envision the events that take place as individual elements,” L spoke, answering Natalie’s question regarding organization. “I can then make a note of each one, but I gain a better understanding when I combine all of these again as a whole… which is why I have very bad handwriting.”
More laughter rang through the air. I smiled, relishing in this temporary atmosphere of joy gifted to us by L.
“Any other questions?” the detective wondered.
“Ooo! Ooo!” I heard Linda squeal next to me.
She jolted her arm up quickly, making me jump in surprise.
The mood from the boys around her dropped, as they realized she had the floor.
“Her question is going to be lame,” I heard one of them grumble.
The comment was too soft for L to hear, but loud enough to catch my ear. I frowned upon hearing it.
“That’s not nice,” I whispered, hoping that this comment would land on the ears of whoever shamed Linda.
Linda was my best friend at The Wammy’s House. Her eccentric energy was refreshing and her artistic talents were unparalleled to anything I had ever laid my eyes on. She said that when she gets out of this orphanage, she’d like to be a famous painter. I firmly believe she will accomplish this, and remind her of that ambition often. Unfortunately, not everyone enjoys her energy like I do, so she doesn’t get to hear compliments often.
Lost in thought, I almost missed Linda’s question.
“Can you tell me if there’s something you’re not good at… or maybe something you’re scared of?”
A silence hung over us, save for the clicking of Near’s Rubik’s Cube and the low buzz of the monitor.
“Something… I’m scared of…?” L’s voice contemplated.
“What?!” Tate’s voice boomed, breaking the tension from the crowd. “Yeah, right! L’s not scared of anything!”
I saw Linda squirm and wondered if Tate’s statement was even true. Surely, no one is unafraid.
“Well…” L answered. “ I suppose… monsters.”
Laughter erupted, followed by an annoyed grunt from Mello. I didn’t know what was so funny. Monsters frightened me… especially ghosts. In fact, being in an old building located within an even older town like Winchester meant that there were statistically more ghosts. Embarrassingly, I still sleep with a lamp on in my room, in fear that I might wake up to a ghost looming over me.
“Me too!” Linda agreed through her burst of giggles. “I am too!”
“Dummy,” Tate sneered. “L’s not the same as you.”
He said “you” with such venom and spite towards Linda that it encouraged me to face him. As I met his gaze, he looked at me with a mocking expression.
“L’s not the same as anyone,” I said. “No one can be like L, and L cannot be like us. We are all individually different.”
From the corner of my eye, I saw Mello and Near turn their attention to the front. I felt their eyes bear on me. My heart raced so quickly it almost palpitated. What was I thinking saying something like that? While their whole lives are dedicated to becoming like L?
As quickly as they had laid their eyes on me, they turned away. I sighed in relief, not having to undergo the horrible experience of making eye contact with their disapproving gaze. Mello’s attention moved swiftly to the monitor and Near’s back to his cube, as L continued talking. His answer saved me from further embarrassment.
For a short moment, I contemplated if the greatest detective deduced that I said something so strange, which is why he spoke at the most ideal time. But that was silly thinking…
“There are many types of monsters that scare me,” L confirmed. “Monsters who cause trouble without showing themselves, monsters who abduct children, monsters who devour dreams, monsters who suck blood…”
I stiffened, envisioning hellish creatures. Ghosts, demons, vampires… at the thought of all these creatures doing the grotesque things L was talking about, I immediately shivered. I wasn’t the only one. I noticed some children around me were also shaken. Even the always composed Roger seemed to be on edge, as he leaned towards the camera with bug-like eyes.
“... and then, monsters who tell nothing but lies,” L affirmed.
The clicks from Near’s cube died down.
“Lying monsters are a real nuisance: They are much more cunning than others. They pose as humans even though they have no understanding of the human heart; they eat even though they've never experienced hunger; they study even though they have no interest in academics; they seek friendship even though they do not know how to love. If I were to encounter such monsters, I would likely be eaten by them... because in truth…”
My breath caught in my throat.
“I am that monster.”
After that comment, the questionnaire died out. Roger wiped some sweat off of his brow and instructed L to give his closing remarks. We all said our farewells, and that was the end of it.
That was the last time I heard L's voice... but little did I know that this was not the last time I would speak with him.
Two of the older students who would be leaving the orphanage soon moved away the monitor and began to unplug the technology. As they wrapped up the chords, I overheard one of them mutter, “What a lame conversation…”
I wondered why they thought so.
Linda popped up and stretched, motivating me to also stand up.
As I stood, my best friend grabbed my face.
“Wow, are those eye bags designer?” she joked.
I forced a smile and removed her warm hand from my face.
“No seriously, did you sleep at all last night Y/N?” Linda asked in concern.
Before I could answer, I heard my voice being called.
“Y/N,” Roger said. “Remember to meet me in my office. Bring your material.”
“Yes, sir,” I replied.
I felt my stomach tighten. Linda stared at me in curiosity.
“Material?” she asked.
“It’s nothing,” I quickly reassured her. I didn’t want to worry her about anything.
“I need to go. I’ll see you later?”
Linda nodded enthusiastically.
“Later alligator!” she waved off. “Or should I say raccoon… get it? … Because of your eyes… never mind.”
I trudged through the hall, feeling entirely worn out. In my hands was a large mathematics workbook written entirely in ink. I had received it from my room… this being the material Roger wanted to see.
I’m not the best student here… in fact, I’m actually the worst. I have the lowest test scores and average cumulative IQ at The Wammy's House. Despite this atrocity, Mr. Wammy strongly expressed that he still had hope for me. He would send small encouraging quotes like “keep improving” or “you got this sport” as a reply to the harsh letters Roger would send his way, which all pled for my removal.
I work hard to make myself better, in kindness to Mr. Wammy. Yet, I still see no improvement. I am never on par with my peers. It makes me feel guilty, because I don’t want Mr. Wammy to think I’m disrespecting him. This lack of solid improvement is why Roger called me to his office.
After a long scolding during our meeting yesterday, he assigned me to complete an entire calculus workbook in ink, so that I would be less inclined to make a mistake. Roger told me that this was my last chance of remaining here in the orphanage, under his jurisdiction. If I could not complete the whole workbook in less than twenty- four hours, I could not stay. Apparently, Mr. Wammy did not have a lot of power over my position as of now, due to a case that was looming up for L which would require his full attention. Roger reminded me that I could not rely on his mercy any longer.
I pulled an all- nighter last night to finish the workbook. I buried my face into so many calculus textbooks, that I'm positive I could still smell their pages even now. To be honest, I found it a little easy after a while. The equations seemed to bounce off each other, which made the completion of the last hundred problems doable.
With my future at The Wammy's House wrapped in my arms, I continued my journey to Roger’s office.
I had to pass the library on my way, where I heard some commotion.
“You suck!”
“Keep your voice down.”
“SHUT UP!!”
“There’s really no need for this commotion. Especially in a library. By the way, there are no drinks allowed in-”
“I hate you. I hate you!”
“... I don't hate you."
"You-! I wish you did!"
I was just about to pass by the doors, when all of a sudden a body slammed into mine.
The impact sent me falling right on my butt.
“Ow!” I retorted, rubbing my tailbone.
“Hey! Watch where you’re going! UGH, look! You made me spill my drink!” a voice scolded.
I peered up to see an infuriated Mello glaring at the floor.
“Your drink?” I asked stupidly in a gaze.
It was then that I realized my workbook was no longer in my hands.
My heart stopped.
Where was it?!
Mello leaned down and picked up his cup… which had spilled its contents all over the floor and… all over my workbook.
Tears welled up in my eyes at the sight.
Mello scoffed and walked off, leaving me at the disaster site.
With shaking hands, I reached out to my spoiled workbook and opened its pages.
The liquid, which smelled strongly of grape, had seeped through and soaked the pages with acidic purple. The ink smudged, making all of my work look like clouded blurs.
I felt the world crumble. There was no time to do it again. What would happen to me now?