Renegade

L sat for an undetermined amount of time, wishing, waiting to wake up from this nightmare. Light slept peacefully but a few feet from him, at ease in this lacklustre setting. He had watched his friend for a long time, examined his appearance and strange behaviour. How though could one explain the reasoning and actions of the deceased? How could he accurately examine the youth's actions when so many unknown and impossible factors came into play?

Standing up to the noisy clicking of bones, the detective ambled towards the window, intent on finding relief from the encroaching boredom.

The storm had yet to unleash its fury once more, silenced and calmed, heavy clouds that suffocated the sky. Beyond the window, L could see the skeletal forms of towering buildings, dulled windows reflecting the grey light. Below the streets trailed of into shadows, deserted of life.

There was no movement, no sign of life, but this did not surprise the detective. This was not the domain of the living after all, and even though he kept to the theory that this was a dream, he was not so foolish as to dismiss any others. He had been awake and very much alive before Light had kidnapped him.

L blinked at the thought.

That was indeed the scenario. Light had dragged him here without his consent, and was perfectly comfortable with the knowledge that he could not escape. Comfortable enough to sleep. There was no fear as to L's reactions, no matter how negative or physical he was likely to become. L had a tighter grip on his emotions than the volatile Light, but the detective was pretty much backed into a corner.

Another thought arose; Light was dead and yet L had managed to land a blow on Light and from the other's reaction, it had done some damage. Light in his deceased form no longer had the novelty of a physical body, so how was it that his blow had landed? How was it even possible for Light to bodily drag him anywhere?

There was a lot to think over and the monotonous scene provided little distraction and much opportunity for thought.

He turned and surveyed the room once more, gaze coming to a stop on a door that had most certainly not been there mere moments ago. Plain wood, silver handle and as unimpressive and worn as the settings in which it was created. Casting a curious eye to the slumbering teen, he cautiously made his way to the newly acquired door. He stood within reach of the handle, contemplating the possible repercussions of opening it.

It was the nagging sense of boredom that decided him. The door swung inward with a long low groan and looking back, L was relieved that Light showed no signs of waking. Beyond the doorway extended a hallway drenched in shadow, much like the one he had found himself in, in his most recent dream. He stepped forward with some amount of caution but little hesitation. The door swung shut behind him of its own accord, reminiscent to the cliché element of horror films.

Feeling very much as though he was actually in some cliché horror film, he advanced. There were no doors along the hall, but it split off into to different directions at the end. Once more wondering whether he had made a wise choice, L turned his head in both directions. Nothing could be seen down either direction, so he chose one at random and proceeded down it.

There was a door at the end of the hall he had walked down, similar to the one that had appeared in Light's room. Opening it, L stepped into a large circular room. Mirrors, instead of stone made up the walls, an unidentifiable source of light illuminating the room.

Much to L's fascination, he found that his own image did not reflect in the mirrors. The room remained empty in their faces, a thousand other reflections in their depths. He almost reached out to touch one of the mirrors when the reflection changed.

Looking into the mirror, L came face to face with Light.

-()-

Light's eyes fluttered open, just as the door closed with a soft 'click' behind the detective. Blinking, his eyes stared into the distant landscape beyond the window. It was the first time in a very long time that the storm had ceased it's howling; though it loomed heavily in the sky still. Scanning the room, he found himself alone once more.

He sat slowly and glanced at the door, knowing that it had not been there before and that it was through there that his friend had escaped to. Stretching slowly, Light basked in the contended and well-rested feeling. He had not slept so comfortable in any time that he could remember, not that he could remember all that much.

A familiar weight settled into his hand, his fingers automatically grasping it so that it would not fall. Looking curiously into the mirror he watched as a somewhat familiar face came into view. He could not recall the elderly gentleman's name, though he knew that it was an acquaintance of L.

"Ryuuzaki?"

That name, so distantly uttered, brought a smile to the brown-eyed boy's face. This man was obviously looking for the detective, but L belonged to him now, and Light was not going to give him up. Not even the growing fear in the elder one's face would have him change his mind. The elder one moved closer to the mirror, Light's watchful eyes on him despite the odd angle. It had been somewhat disconcerting and amusing when he had first looked into the mirror to find himself looking up into the face, or chin rather, of the dark haired detective.

His eyes caught startled grey as young and old's gazes met. Light felt himself smile smugly at the surprise and horror in the other's gaze before laying down the mirror. Casting away thoughts of the old man in the mirror, Light finally stood and stretched once more. It was probably time to go find his friend, which should be fun considering he had no idea what was beyond the doors. All he knew was that L was somewhere and he now had something to do in looking for the stray detective. A purpose, challenge and a reward – how long since he had enjoyment such as this?

When he stepped through the door, it was to a hallway lined with mirrors, their reflections dull in the darkness. Stepping cautiously, he turned and faced one of the mirrors, and stared. Surrounded in a sea of black stood the man whom had given him the secret to the mirror. Copper hair gleamed red, though there was no light, and red eyes stared from the hollow shadows of his eyes.

Again that sense of familiarity, the knowledge of the identity of that face. He raised his hand to his face and let the fingers brush over his cheek. As he suspected, so did the image in the mirror. But that did not make sense. He was staring at the image of the man whom had claimed ownership of the mirror that had made it possible to bring L to him. But if the image was his own, then this could not be possible.

If only he could remember. How long had he been in this silence? How long had he lived in unbroken solitude?

Could it be perhaps, that there was another 'him' lurking around?

He was surprised to 'feel' anything at the thought.

Amusement.

Uncertainty.

Scorn.

Something inside him found the idea funny, while he stood wavering on the edge of uncertainty. He could not remember, and that alone was a frightening thing. He had not cared before that he could not recall anything past the moment. All that had existed was the present, with no thought to the future and no knowledge of the past.

But he could not remember whether there was supposed to be another 'him', and that made him nervous. But still some part of him, smaller than all the rest stood aloof within his own psyche, oozing silent scorn. Its contempt was oddly comforting.

His attentions were drawn outward again when his reflection, for that is what it was, leered at him unpleasantly. That was not right, reflections were meant to duplicate, not act or do any different. Well, Light was pretty sure that he was not leering, indeed he was almost sure that he was frowning instead.

His reflections seemed to understand his thoughts and as if to mock, took running down the hall, slipping from mirror to mirror with ease. Shocked, Light could only stare after it before a sense of foreboding began to take him. The face of his dark-haired friend came to mind, and in a moment's panic, he too ran.

For some reason it seemed essential that he reach L, before the other 'him' did. Why the other would be after L, and why he feared that he would reach him first, Light could not quite fathom. Instead he concentrated on running, his eyes trained on his fleeing reflection.

L was here somewhere and Light would find him.

He had lost sight of his renegade reflection, but he kept on running until at last he came to the end of the hallway. A door blocked his path, it's surface as reflective as any mirror. Despite this, Light found no reflections staring back at him. He considered this for a while, but then he was not surprised. His reflection had decided to run away from him after all.

And with that reminder, Light eased the door open and stepped into the room. His first thoughts were for the detective whose back was facing him. Then came thoughts for the smirking figure of the mirror's owner.

-()-

Quillish Whammy had spent over a decade overseeing, guiding and aiding the world's greatest detective. In those many years he had come to see many strange things. Crimes that were out of the ordinary – mysterious and unsolvable, by society's standards at least. As L's spokesperson 'Watari', Mr Whammy had had the privilege to observe and nurture one of the most fascinating and brilliant minds of the age.

With such genius, Mr Whammy had been well aware that there would be some eccentricities involved with regards to his charge. Thankfully it was hardly a burden to cater to the boy's needs; sweet things were always available in some shape or form after all. And in all these years of partnership, Mr Whammy had come to see L as the son of his heart.

So when 'Watari' had stepped into the observation quarters and found no sign of L, a peculiar fear had taken hold. The fear of a parent for their child. L had not gone into the outside world since Light's death but for the few crime scenes he had insisted to personally examine, so L's absence was definitely out of the ordinary. Had L decided to leave HQ for any reason, even if only to buy cake from a local bakery, he would have left a message for his guardian. This was to ensure that should anything happen to L, that Watari would be able to take action promptly, or at least not stress out and cause potential conflict to any of L's plans.

After scanning through every camera angle with no sign from L, Watari decided to investigate. Before he had left, L had already been keeping an eye on their new suspect. The camera feed was still running on the missing detective's computer, a clear indication that L had been interrupted during his vigil or had intended to return to it.

With a heart burdened with fear for his charge, Watari made his way to L's monitoring station. Indeed there was no sign of L; the cameras were not lying.

Mr Whammy moved closer to the monitor screen, his eyes captured by the image portrayed therein. The suspect's apartment was empty, puddles of black cloth strewn over the floors in every room. Grey plaster walls were revealed with the loss of the black drapery, the apartment looking more neglected than before. Stripped bare. The door to the outside world swayed slowly back and forth with the wind, open to any that would enter.

There was something not right about the scene, something that dragged unpleasantly against the elder one's senses. A flicker of movement made him turn his head, his gaze coming to rest on the little mirror that had recently never left the detective's side.

Mr Whammy had seen many strange things in his service to L, but nothing could compare to what he saw in that mirror. An all too familiar face looked back at him, golden brown eyes that held the glint of madness regarding him from the reflective glass. There could be no mistaking of the smug smile on the young man's face.

His wizened heart pounded uncertainly in his chest, stealing his breath until he grew faint for want to breathe.

The handsome face of the devil faded from the mirror, but the message had been received. He could not answer how, when or even why. But he knew that the grinning face of Light Yagami had something to do with L's disappearance. L had been spirited away by the deceased, an unfortunate fate surely.

Struggling to get a hold of himself, Mr Whammy fought for reason. It was not the time to jump to conclusions, and even if it was that L was dead to them, it was to him that the task of resurrecting L would fall too. Only, Mr Whammy could not find in himself the confidence to appoint any of the young geniuses to the lofty title of the world's greatest. He would give it five days. Five days to try and get to the bottom of L's disappearance. Only after then would he return to the orphanage.

-()-

It was an indescribable pleasure to stand in the presence of the rising sun. Like a blind man able to see for the first time, released from the darkness into a world of colour. Wind curled around his form like a lover's caress, the air sweet in his mouth.

Gazing down at the pitiful souls at his feet, scuttling around in the shadows of their empire, blissfully unaware of his very presence, he smiled. Millennia – he had worked towards this one moment. Had toiled and suffered for the taste of freedom. Freedom which he had gained at last, and to think that it had all been possible through the one act of boredom on a shinigami's part.

With the world at his feet, within reach at last, he could finally do as he had only ever dreamed. The world was his for the tacking. A plump, ripe and fattened fruit for his pleasure, food for his viscous appetite.

He grinned as he spread his arms wide, welcoming the sun and the dawning of the new day. He threw back his head and let out a soft bark of laughter.

The world was his.

TBC.

Review!

I find it impossible to write longer chapters, I truly struggle with it. So once again I apologise for the briefness of the chapter. After waiting so long I feel terrible giving you so little. Also, I have made a promise to myself to finish this story if no other's, so you don't have to worry about me dropping it. I merely procrastinate and struggle with bouts of uninspiration.

One last thing, I would like some indication as to whether the story is still enjoyable. I will admit that I feel under some amount of pressure to please the numerous readers whom have taken an interest in the story, and if people are losing interest, I can gear towards improving it. I ask merely as a favor, so no pressure. I will continue writing regardless. I am not in the habit of replying to reviews, but if you would like a response, let me know and I'll be happy to answer.

Ta.