The KiLling Game

(disclaimer: Death Note and all related properties belong to Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata.)

One: Strange Boy

It was raining that day, October 31, 1986, and Quillsh Wammy had found himself sitting at his desk, signing papers of various sorts, listening to the patter of the drops against the windows. It was quite cold, though not cold enough for ice, but he could feel the chill wafting through the room, even through his coat. The chill always seemed to be there when one worked in an orphanage.

Quillsh had been an orphan as a child and because of his circumstances, he left behind inventing to instead pursue the opening of his own orphanage. It was depressing to see how many children were without families and how little child services seemed to care. He did his best to keep each child happy, and they seemed to like it well enough (about as much as one could like being without a family). He however had grown bored with the life he was living, finding little to no joy in it at all as of now. He loved the children, and he loved being able to help them, but his mind lacked stimulation. He'd been trying to pick up a hobby (reading, chess playing, etc.) but none of them had stuck.

He sighed. It was probably just an inevitability. After all, he was a man of invention. Of course his mind would be yearning for a new idea.

"Mr. Wammy, sir," A man from child services entered his office. "We've delivered the new child to you."

Delivered. Like the child was some sort of package, rather than a person. It disgusted him when they talked in such a way, but he smiled and bared it for most of the children 'delivered' to him had grown quite tired of yelling and complaining.

The new child had apparently been in two other orphanages over the course of only three weeks and couldn't be properly handled… but his file had said he was only 7 years old? How bad could he possibly be?

When Quillsh exited his office with the man into the main lobby, he found another child services agent who seemed to have been keeping watch over the child. The boy he saw seemed to leave him at a loss for words.

Little boys were supposed to be freckle-faced and naughty with devious glints in their eyes. They were supposed to be loud-mouthed and adventurous and excitable. This little boy was not any of those things. He stood, skeleton-like in his baggy clothes, pallid and hunched like some sort of supernatural being. His hair was jet black and all but combed. He wasn't wearing shoes, and Quillsh also noticed that the boys thumbs were bloody as if they had been gnawed on.

But it was his eyes that threw him off the most. Most little boys had bright eyes… this boy had eyes as black as coal. There was no reflection of light in those eyes, as if the darkness was so intense it was swallowed right up. There were deep bags under his eyes, the kind of dark circles that weren't supposed to exist on little children who did not have stresses.

Wammy straightened himself up and leaned over to shake the boy's hand and introduce himself, hoping to see a little bit of enthusiasm spring forth from this shell of a child. "Hello, young man, it's nice to meet you. I'm Quillsh Wammy."

The boy stared at his extended hand blankly, making no move to reach out and return the gesture. It seemed he thought about it for a split second but settled instead on gnawing on his thumb.

"His name's Lawliet, seven years old today," The child services man that had been waiting with the boy said, not sounding too friendly. "He's been a real nuisance to all of the other homes…. He doesn't talk or associate with other children. Probably retarded or something," He eyed t he boy.

Lawliet gave him a passing glance and looked back down at the floor.

"I'm sure he'll find his place here," Quillsh responded pleasantly, though he was sending the social workers some rather nasty looks. "So, it's your birthday, is it Lawliet?"

The boy looked up again, considered responding, and instead said nothing. Wammy offered his hand again to lead the boy.

The other man shoved Lawliet, forcing him to stumble forward and grab Quillsh's hand. "You be good, Lawliet," He said, though it was more like a threat. Quillsh could hear the because we don't want to see you again in his voice.

Lawliet just watched them leave.

-

The boy had followed without complaint to his new room, a room occupied by two other boys named Randall and Garrett. Lawliet's roommates were just like little boys were supposed to be and seemed just as surprised by the child's appearance as Wammy had been. He never said a word. He only walked into the room, crouched on the bed, and sat there, staring off into space.

He read over Lawliet's file as soon as he returned to his office and discovered the boy's parents had been murdered in a house robbery nearly a month ago. The young boy had been up in the attic, which was apparently his room, and was never seen by the killer who got away without issue.

Such a sad story… but he'd heard it before. Lawliet was nothing but a statistic at the orphanage. The poor boy… Quillsh felt like he needed to do something at least. It was the boy's birthday after all.

So, he found himself in the kitchen with his sleeves rolled up, baking and icing a small vanilla cake. He even placed a little strawberry on top. Wammy had always enjoyed cooking when he had time to, and though he didn't technically have the time to do it that day, he did anyways. He hoped that the boy would eat it. Even if he didn't, Randall and Garrett would probably devour it.

He carried the cake on a tray to the room and knocked lightly on the dark oak door. Adjusting the tray so it didn't fall while holding it with one hand, he knocked lightly. There was no response, so he opened the door himself. Randall and Garrett seemed to have run off to play with their friends, and he found Lawliet in the same spot he'd left him, still staring at the same blank spot on the wall. "Lawliet," Quillsh tried, and to his surprise, the boy actually turned his attention to the old man. He had his finger in his mouth. "I know this must not be a happy occasion for you, considering your circumstances, but…" He set the tray down on the bed in front of Lawliet's crouched form. He turned to leave the room, expecting nothing, and again he was surprised to hear a meek, low voice.

"This cake is for me?"

Wammy turned, stunned. The boy blinked, emotionless. "So, you do talk," He said, smiling slightly.

"Of course…" He replied quietly, looking back at the cake as if inspecting it. "I only speak when I find it necessary…" He dipped his finger into the icing and lifted it up, stared at it, then stuck it into his mouth again. "It's absolutely delicious. Thank you." He picked up the fork with his thumb and index finger and started shoveling bites in between his lips in the strangest fashion. Quillsh had never seen a boy… well, he'd never seen anyone eat quite like this little boy did.

"I'm glad you like it, Lawliet. Is there anything you would like me to bring you? A toy of some kind?"

Lawliet paused, mouth full of food, investigating the rest of the room with his eyes. The other boys had shelves and boxes at the end of their beds filled with toys, bedspreads wrinkled. Lawliet looked back to his own bed, noticing his own empty chest and shelves. Then, those dark, animal-like eyes trailed back to Wammy in the doorway. "Perhaps a book would be nice…"

"Do you like to read, Lawliet?"

"Not particularly, no…" He shrugged, taking another bite. "I like the information I receive from reading."

"Is that so? What kind of books do you read, Lawliet?"

"Oh…" He looked up at the ceiling, expression growing bored. "I don't know…"

The boy had already devoured half of the cake. Wammy found it hard to fathom how he could eat so much, so quickly, in such a way. The boy was very strange, indeed…

It seemed he wasn't going to say anything else, so Quillsh straightened his coat and decided to make his exit. "I'll see what I can find."

Lawliet didn't respond.

-

Night fell and the storm clouds cleared. Quillsh and the nursemaids all went from room to room, helping the younger children with their pajamas and bidding them all goodnight. Quillsh made certain he stopped by the room with the new boy himself. "Garrett, Randall," He said with a smile as they stood by their beds, showing him that they had changed into their pajamas.

"Goodnight, Mr. Wammy, sir," The two of them chimed in unison.

Lawliet seemed to notice their enthusiasm and pulled himself off of the bed and onto his long-toed feet. "Lawliet, you need to change into your pajamas," Wammy explained, staring at the boy's rolled-up jean legs and shirt sleeves.

"I don't have pajamas," He said very quietly, almost as if he hadn't spoken at all. That was when Wammy remembered… the boy had come without a single bag or suitcase… he hadn't even worn shoes.

"Did you leave all of your things at the other orphanage?" He asked.

"I don't have anything else," He responded though without resentment. "I had some other clothes at my parents' residency but… well… I never wore them… I don't much care for anything of the sort…"

"Well, surely your outfit gets dirty, does it not?"

He paused. "Well, yes… I suppose that's true… I've miscalculated…"

"He can wear a pair of my pajamas," Randall offered, bobbing on his heals, sending his red curls up into the air.

"Is that okay, Lawliet?" Wammy asked. For some reason, he couldn't help but be cautious with the child. He was so… bizarre… he didn't know what would hurt him, what would set him off… or if the kid even knew how to be set off.

"I… suppose… Perhaps you could wash this outfit so it will be ready for me tomorrow?" He asked.

"But of course."

While Randall fished out a pair of drawstring pants and a shirt, Lawliet stripped of his baggy clothes, revealing his tiny, bony form. The boy seemed even more skeletal without the baggy clothes, gray skin stretched taut over his bones… Was he abused and starved? He seemed malnourished.

Lawliet pinched his clothing with his thumb and index finger and handed them to Wammy as if they would fall apart. Afterwards, he dressed in Randall's offered clothes, which swallowed him just like the outfit he had been wearing before. He seemed particularly fascinated with the drawstring of the pants, tying it, pausing and untying it, then tying it again.

"Goodnight, Lawliet, sweet dreams," Quillsh tried, hoping again to spark some sort of emotion in the boy.

"How can dreams have a taste, I wonder?…" Lawliet mumbled, crawling into the bed. He could see his hands still fiddling with the drawstring under the blankets. "Those are the kind of dreams I would enjoy, I suppose… I rarely remember my dreams… I wonder if they are sweet after all?"

The other boys seemed a little confused by Lawliet's rambling but crawled under their own covers. Wammy turned off the light and shut the door.

-

Over the next few hours, he received reports from the nursemaids who had stopped by each room to check on the boys now and then. Apparently, Lawliet was found playing with his drawstring for two of the three hours, and on the third hour he was found asleep, sitting crouched on his bed, with his head against the wall.

It was nearly midnight, and Quillsh had just finished his duties and headed up to bed. That was when he had heard a clattering from the kitchen.

He entered cautiously, fearing that a burglar may have gotten in, and turned on the light. "Who's in there?" He asked sternly, but the question needn't be answered.

There, stooped like some sort of feral animal on the counter was Lawliet, leaning over a bag of sugar with a spoonful of it between his thumb and index finger. Those dark eyes showed nothing as he placed the small mountain of sugar between his lips and swallowed.

Eating raw sugar… in the middle of the night…. Quillsh had never seen such a thing. "Lawliet," He breathed. "What on earth are you doing?"

He looked down at the sugar and then said, "Well… I came into the kitchen to find something sweet, and this is all I could find… I have yet to acquire any sort of cooking skill, so I decided that this would do… If there were any strawberries that I could have reached, I would have eaten them, but because they were on the top shelf, and there was no step ladder, I assumed they weren't for me to touch."

"Why aren't you in bed?" Wammy asked, picking the boy up from the counter, getting what looked like a cringe from the child that had no perception of being held.

"Well, nobody told me that I had to stay there…" He said quietly, "and I was thinking about something… I thought that maybe if I found a library I could read for awhile, or even if I could just find a comfortable chair and some paper I could write down my theories."

Should a child this young even have a vocabulary like this? Wammy found himself wondering. "Well, little boys are supposed to be sleeping at this time of night. Let's get you back to bed, all right?"

"It's very seldom that I sleep more than a few hours," He said, submitting to the fact that he was being carried by slumping and not allowing any of his muscles work. He became almost like a puddle of himself, and Quillsh actually thought for a moment the boy could slither away if given the opportunity. "Sometimes I don't sleep at all… It's nothing against sleeping. I just have things that I must accomplish. I have problems I must solve before I rest. I rest as long as I need to, and then I continue with my plans… Say, do you play poker?"

"W… what?"

"Poker… do you play?"

"I played a game or two back in my prime. Why?"

"Oh…" He stared off into the distance. "Don't concern yourself with it now…"

Such a strange boy.