Click.

"L."

"Mr. Wammy?"

"There's been a...development."

"In the case? Send me the files."

"No, not in the case. At...at the House."

L said nothing for a moment. "Excuse me?"

Silence. Then, slowly, laboriously, he said, "A is dead."

L did not reply right away. In his head, he thought of the boy called A, the boy Wammy was referring to. An extraordinary child. Intelligent beyond his years. There had been a dull defiance behind his eyes, the last time L had seen him. How long ago had that been? Years, it must have been.

"How?" asked L.

"Suicide."

It seemed like L's heart skipped a beat; he suddenly felt completely aware of himself, of the blood in his veins, the speed of his heartbeat, the way he was breathing in and out like bellows, and it began to feel like there were iron wires wrapping around his lungs, and he could not breathe-

He recognized the symptoms of a panic attack and slowed his breathing. Wammy said nothing; he probably thought that perhaps L was silent in mourning. A few minutes passed. L sat there, hunched over, his eyes closed, calming his heart.

Then finally he had enough composure to lean forward and say, "Completely unforeseeable."

"Absolutely."

"A deep shame."

"Unquestionably."

"When is the funeral?"

A tense pause.

"L," said Wammy. "I think it best if...you do not attend."

L felt like trembling, but he resisted.

"Understandable," he replied. "The other children most likely want it to be a private affair, I assume."

L assumed incorrectly, but Wammy was not about to say so.

L had somehow discovered the date of the funeral on his own, and so he instructed Wammy to drive him to the gates of the graveyard where they were laying the child to rest.

L got out of the car and stood behind the gates. He could see the people gathered around the grave. He watched for a long time.

One boy began to make his way back before all the others. It was clear the service wasn't done, but this particular boy came walking back, his hands in his pockets, regardless. As he approached L, he looked up, his eyes focused just above L's head. L recognized the habit immediately. This was L's Back-up.

The boy stopped before he passed him.

"You're L," he said, his eyes still above L's head.

"And you are B."

They stood there for a moment, staring at each other.

"Did you know A killed himself because of you?" asked B softly.

Determined to keep his face emotionless, L said, "I am aware he may have been put under a considerable amount of pressure. I will be speaking to those at the House about this."

"It wasn't their fault," said B. "It was yours."

Silence.

"You were all he ever talked about," continued B. "L would do this, L would think that. L wouldn't have made that mistake. L would have to be perfect. L has to be perfect."

B stared at L.

"A couldn't be perfect."

"Why are you telling me this?"

B cocked his head slightly to the side. "Usually when a person is killed," said B, "there is a person directly responsible. Their murderer. Someone who physically caused the death." A pause. B stared at L with piercing eyes. "They don't call his death a homicide because they don't believe that there is anyone left alive to take the responsibility." B blinked. "I disagree."

"So you are choosing to blame me for your friend's death."

"No," said B. "It's a very simple concept. Had you not been involved in A's life, A wouldn't have killed himself; A would not be dead. Since you were involved – indeed, since you were A's life – he is now dead."

A heavy, pregnant pause.

"Tell me, L," asked B, quietly furious, "how is this not murder?"

"I'm sorry, B," said L, "but I don't have time to waste on your baseless accusations." L turned and started to walk away.

B started to laugh.

Kya ha ha ha! Kya ha ha!

The laugh unnerved L, send an unfamiliar prickly feeling down his spine. But he kept walking.

"You know, L," called B. "This would be so much easier if you admitted it now."

L was almost at the car.

"I've solved this murder and you haven't yet. That means we're better than you, L. Do you want to acknowledge that now?"

L looked back at the boy. B was grinning.

"It'll cause you a lot less trouble if you do."

L got back into the car and Wammy drove away, leaving the boy standing at the gate, a plan formulating in his mind.

L shut down his computers. He turned off his microphone and he curled up in his chair silently. His mind was rushing down a thousand different tangents, trying to imagine what would cause a child to take his own life. His mind was analyzing the words that B had said, trying to make sense of them. But most of all, his mind was busy demonizing himself, looking at every action he'd ever taken and realizing how it must have contributed to the child's death. It was not a difficult concept to grasp, but it was nearly impossible to accept.

I am a killer.

There was a knock on the door. Maybe it was some vengeful god, coming to serve justice at last. Maybe when L died, that would be justice.

"Come in," said L, inviting death.

It was Wammy. L could not deny he wasn't slightly disappointed.

"L," said the old man. "What's going on? Why did you turn off your computer systems?"

L looked at him.

He shook his head.

"I can't do it," whispered L. "I can't do this anymore. Mr. Wammy, call the House and tell them to terminate the program. I don't want it to be done. There is no need for a successor in a position that doesn't even exist anymore."

"L-"

"I am ending this," said L louder, sharply. "I can't be a detective. I can't solve a single crime. What's the point of a criminal solving a crime? It is wrong. It can't be done."

"You are no criminal."

"I'm a killer!"

L's shrill, panicked voice rang throughout the room. He stared at Wammy, shaking. He put his hands to his face. "A killer," he repeated. "A killer."

"That's a lie."

"Don't," moaned L. "Don't."

"You're nothing of the sort."

"A child is dead...dead because of me..."

"You did not tell him to kill himself, L."

"I didn't need to tell him. My very existence, my meddling in his young life, this is why he is dead. I am responsible. I am entirely responsible."

"You cannot let this affect you so deeply! You have a job to do, cases to solve!"

"No!" shouted L childishly, scowling. "No! I will never solve a case again!" He slammed his fists on the control panel of the computer. "How can I pretend that I am not a criminal, myself? I should turn myself into the authorities!" L held out his wrists to Wammy. "Here, handcuff me! Bring me to the police; tell them I cause the death, the death of a child!"

"L! L!"

L wouldn't stop shouting. "This has to stop!" he screamed. "The House was created because of me, everything that happens, all their fates – it's all my fault! If that's the cost of being who I am, of providing my service to the governments of the world, I DON'T WANT TO DO IT! Mr. Wammy, please listen to me! I'm – I'm a selfish person, Mr. Wammy!" He was hysterical, a manic, terrified look in his eyes. "I don't want to hurt these children, Mr. Wammy. Even if it means that I never catch another criminal again, I can't have these children poisoning what little conscience I have left."

Finally, silence. Wammy looked at the boy deeply. And then he walked towards him and knelt beside him, so that he was eye-to-eye with him.

"L," said Wammy. "The world needs you." L didn't even look up. "And that means you have to be strong. Regardless of what's happening around you." No reaction. "L, look at me." No movement. Wammy reached out and pushed the boy's chin up, so that L had to look him in the face. "You are so very unaware of how much you do for humanity. It is sad to me. You should be proud of your accomplishments."

"I-"

"Do not interrupt me," said Wammy calmly. "L, listen to me. The child's death was a tragedy. I am by no means implying that it isn't. But you cannot blame yourself for this. There was nothing you could have done."

"I could have-"

"What?" asked Wammy. "Not existed in the first place?"

L stared at him.

"L. There are some things you cannot control. You are unused to this concept because you have never seen something you have been unable to solve. But such things exist." A pause. "Do not," Wammy said, the words sounding something like a plea, "try to understand why this happened. You cannot. You never will. You simply must accept that it has happened."

L looked at him with wide, fearful eyes.

"What do I do now?" he whispered.

"If you truly want to stop," said Wammy. "You may do so. However, remember that the program at the House was indeed created for you. And if you quit now...then it was all for naught." Silence. "I think you should continue, L. I think you should stay strong. So that A's life was not wasted."

There was a long, long silence. L couldn't look at Wammy. He couldn't move, or think, or breathe.

And then he let out a little hiccup, and then he covered his face as tears began to fall, and his back began to shake as he curled up as small as he could, too desperate to be humiliated by his cries. His muffled sobs reverberated around the room, sounding lonely and hopeless. Wammy's heart broke for the child, and he reached out and put his arms around the boy. Such a small gesture to try and relieve the boy's guilt.

The child stopped trying to hold himself together and let go of himself, and then he wrapped his arms tightly around his guardian, returning the embrace. He buried his face into the old man's shoulder, crying for the fate of the dead child.

"It wasn't your fault," murmured Wammy. "I'm sorry."

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry for doing this to you. To children.

Wammy closed his eyes tightly, so that L could not see the shame reflected in them.

L is such a child.

And I have to say, A's fate is more Wammy's fault than L's. Wammy knows this. L doesn't even consider it.