Hints and Traces


"Oh my god…"

"Matsuda, cut it out. That's at least the fourth time you've said that, and it's not getting us anywhere."

"Sorry, Aizawa-san."

The room was a mess, and that was an understatement. Papers were strewn everywhere, some crumpled and torn. L's computer and entire bank of TV screens had been smashed and thrown to the floor. A teacup lay in shards next to L's swivel chair, its contents pooled around the ruined electronics.

"All our evidence…" Matsuda moaned, pulling his hair.

"Is most likely still here," Yagami finished. "You know we backed everything up with hard copies. We may have lost the video footage, but all the details have been recorded. It's just a matter of cleaning up."

"But that'll take forever!"

"Then get started. Aizawa, Ide, you too."

"Yes, chief," Matsuda muttered.

"Mogi, come with me. We need to find L and my son. And it's very possible that whoever did this is still in the building as well."

"Right." The two of them headed toward the stairs, Mogi casually undoing the clip on his gun, the chief glaring daggers at nothing in particular. The stairwell door clapped shut behind them and the three others were left scooping up debris in awkward silence.

"Uh…too bad we don't have a broom, huh, guys?"

"Shut up, Matsuda."

"Sorry, sorry!"

Ten minutes later, Mogi and the chief stood in the doorway of the room on the eighth floor that L and Light had occupied not long before.

As impossible as it seemed, the room was in even worse shape than the one downstairs. The furniture was not smashed; however, several items had been knocked over, and there were definite signs of struggle.

Yagami walked slowly to the crumb-strewn coffee table. A half-eaten slice of cake had been smeared hap-hazardly across the glass surface, the dish overturned and chipped on the floor. A small clump of black hair stood out on the pale upholstery of the sofa. And some of a more chestnut shade…

There was blood. Streaks, spots, and a mottled red fingerprints decorated the sofa and carpet nearby. It wasn't caused by a deep wound, judging by the amount, but it looked like someone had at least taken several scratches. Chief Yagami stared at the scene in disbelief, his jaw involuntarily falling open. What could possibly have happened…?

"Chief?"

Mogi was standing near the wall, crouching next to something lying on the floor. "I think you'd better come look at this."

The trance broke, and Shoichiro moved to see what Mogi was looking at: a black book, lying in a pile of dust, opened to a mostly blank page…

"The Death Note," Mogi sighed, lifting the book off the ground so Yagami could read what it said. "What do you think it means?"

The chief's eyes grew wide as he read what the shinigami's spidery hand had written. "I don't know…I'm afraid to know. But I do know one thing…"

"What's that, sir?"

"I know my son is still alive. Come on. We need to go show the others."


In the woods west of Aoyama, the night was still, moist and utterly black. The tent was silent, except for the breathing of the two men in it. Or rather, two men and one monster.

This is it. This is the perfect chance. Take him now, kill him now, and become god once again. Working from the shadows, anonymous but all-powerful, unseen yet all-seeing.

There was a muted rustle of cloth as the sleeping bag was pushed aside. Slender, agile hands walked their way across the floor of the tent, testing the ground, reaching toward the thin body, the rising and falling chest, the pale throat of the enemy.

He's left himself open, even after all that. What a fool. Don't worry, L, I'll put you out of your misery…

L's eyes snapped open. They stared at each other, the man and the monster. Then Kira pounced.

"Oomf!"

Just before his hands could reach L's throat, Light face-planted on the ground. L sat up slowly, calmly, still staring at the killer now prostrated next to him. Slowly, he brought his thumb to his lower lip, molding it sensuously before speaking:

"It seems that Kira does not give me enough credit. You'll find your ankles are fastened quite securely to a stake in the ground. It's fortunate for me that Light-kun is such a heavy sleeper, or I never would have managed it."

Kira said nothing, only let out an angry breath. L couldn't see his face, but saw that his ears and neck had grown quite red. Playfully, L reached out and tousled his chestnut hair. As soon as he did, Kira seized his arm, clearly trying to pull L within strangling distance. The detective ended that with a swift kick to the head before scooting safely out of range.

"Ah, see, now look what you've made me do," L sighed nonchalantly. "That's going to leave a bruise, and I don't think Light will be happy about that. Now, why don't you go ahead and go to sleep so Light can come back and yell at me for it?"

"You will die," Kira hissed. He lifted his head just enough to send a burning glare in L's direction. His eyes were murder.

L leaned casually to the side, reaching for the zip on his tattered hiking bag. He rummaged in the bag with one hand as his other thumb traced circles on his chin.

"Of course I will," L mused. "And so will you, and every living thing on this planet. We were all dying from the day we were born…"

Just as the detective was ending this speech, Kira yanked the tail of L's sleeping back violently toward him, bringing L once again within the range of his attacks. Before he could strike the first punch, though, he felt something stick firmly in his shoulder. He turned to the source of the pain, and L threw himself on top of him, pinning him. Through the gathering fog of his escaping consciousness, Kira made out the form of a syringe sticking out of his right arm.

Damn…damn, I…couldn't…d...

L rolled off of Light's body as soon as he was sure Kira had lost consciousness. Calmly, he rolled Light back into his own sleeping bag, then pulled his bag back to its previous position. After checking to see that the tether around Light's feet was still secure, he lay down on top of his bag, staring at the canvas roof of the tent.

He wanted to sleep, but sleep would not come. So he just lay there, and stared, and pondered, taking in the sound of his drugged companion's breathing. The night dragged on.