Watching the Siren

L isn't stupid. In fact, if he were to be classified at all, he would be hailed as nothing short of a genius. A slightly odd one, perhaps, but then that tends to come with the territory.

He has studied innumerable books on human psychology, and has written a few when he was feeling particularly bored.

But he hasn't been bored lately. Quite the opposite, in fact. Staring at the countless TV screens that panel his wall, he feels more animated than when he had found the best sweet shop in Japan.

He's watching Misa hum to herself as she gets ready to go out that evening. She's probably a hardened killer, capable and willing of destroying anyone who gets in her way, and he needs to analyze every step she takes in order to find a way into her twisted mind in order to stop her.

But all he can see is fairy floss, and soft little candies that stick to your teeth.

L isn't stupid. He knows the dangers of getting too close to your suspects, emotionally, if not physically. He is well read: he knows what happened to the men who listened to the Sirens. Their voices promised eternal bliss, but at their feet men happily wasted away. He must be an Odysseus, and find a way to escape her too-real song.

And when the time comes, he must crush her throat, and end forever her singing.

But for now he watches and, for the first time in too long, feels truly awake.