So he brought you to his home.
His home? HA! No. He brought me to a hotel, where I never really detached from my blanket; I constantly was given odd looks, of course you'd assume, and I was petrified.
Back then...it's shameful to admit it now, but I was alone. And when I saw him, approached him, stood but 3 feet from him, in which he towered me with a lithe frame, for once, I did not feel so alone.
His skin was a pale gray, his eyes weary; tired, from chasing around the demon that plagued his life.
He lived for Justice; the thing that made each sleepless night worth it. He was alone. Watari, his assistant, and all in all father figure was the only one who had entered his life with much meaning by that point. And there I was, standing there, laptop under my arm and looking over this man of twenty five years. Back then, I was 19. Young, attentive...I was told years before I had "everything to live for".
But still, I had felt alone. He did not greet me with a smile; but introduced himself cordially.
"I am L." he had put simply, hands in his pockets. He stood oddly, and sat oddly, as I do now. Ah, he had quite a way about him. I recall a silence. A long, defining silence after he spoke his own name. I observed him heavily, with horoscope globes for eyes. I took in every part of him. His baggy blue jeans, his plain, striking white shirt...that which was L struck me with such a harsh blow. He was so much like me.
He was so much like me, that it made me feel less alone. To know that he knew who I was, I admit...made me happy. Made me happier than when I came over a whole collection on discreet data files in the FBI's recreational server. I couldn't even fathom how overjoyed I was. To find someone, like me.
What do you mean, like you?
Marc did not understand. With four years of college behind him, he still was unsure. He was aware that Betsuni was not normal, but if the famous detective L was like her, then what did they have in common? A solemn loneliness? Betsuni does not take notice to the reporter's questioning notions and continues her reverie.
He had black, flawless hair; it looked unkempt, but at the same time each hair was perfectly in place. But his eyes...they showed everything about him. How plain, and bland they were with heavy dark bags circling underneath. He was infallible...filled with mass truth, justice; his logic prevailed, all his life up until that point. And I could see all of it, just by peering into his eyes.
The thing that struck me as odd, was that as he presented himself to me, he was fully aware that even I could be Kira. And we both addressed this fact. Eyes deep and unsettling, after the silence; after a reverberating echo of my own mind, he begun.
"I have brought you here for one reason," he started, tapping his foot on the ground with a melancholy gaze. He offered for me to take a seat, and I did; thoroughly investigating every complete inch of that which was the hotel room of A-32. I've never been much for any other type of place aside from what I'm accustomed to, so upon sitting I was absolutely paranoid to where I was. To make me feel more at home, as if I was a child, and to him, I'm sure I looked the part; he placed a handful of candies and sweets before me, making me gape. But no matter how low my jaw dropped in my mind, I kept the same look. Back then, and I still am, a very defensive person. "I brought you here for an answer to your assistance; though you've conveyed absolutely every single bit of information to me that you're aware of, you still have not had any links to the outside world other than your personal computer. I assume you're fully aware of the wiring of your room?" I had nodded, because I did know. I knew of all 427 mini cameras that lined my household. Those who I had once addressed as my parents weren't freaks; they had great reason to be suspicious of me. And with that, he continued on. "My question is of a simple importance; I ask you to help me. These passing times, petty criminals have strayed before me; trying to slip under the fine line that is justice. I conquered them all, single-handily...but now, I have no one to look to, but you." I hadn't understood back then, I don't even know how now. I was under surveillance every second of my life, knowingly, and I was sure that there were others worse than me. Mental patients who had been kept cooped up, without any way to the real world. I was estranged to his intentions. And my reply was very bland.
"What makes you sure you can trust me?" in truth, he had no idea who I was, truly. But I think he was fully aware of who I was, he had no doubts, even if I was doubtful of myself. Mister Reporter, you must understand. I am not clinically ill, or mentally disturbed...in a way, partially, but not entirely. There are different types of psychological paths. In close observations, Orientals have a different type of mentality than Westerners. What Americans consider completely normal, could seem absolutely crude to an Asian society. In Western terms, back then, I was completely off my rocker, and L was aware of that. He knew that I had spent hours upon hours trapped inside my room, learning everything I did with a blank slate.
Betsuni shifts in her seat, one of her legs plopping out from under her. She keeps her balance, sticking out her leg enough to stop her from falling, and recollects herself back into the computer chair. They were but inches apart as she caught herself; and once again, he took the time to notice her. She was not petite and small, though she did have an enticing angelic face. She was quite voluptuous, curved in all the right places. He still found her child-like nonetheless, the way she held herself, the way she was sensitive to almost every other sense of life. Her eyes were empty though, and she could feel her heart slow, in the small room that they encompassed.
Excuse me, but is this room still wired now?
Betsuni responds quickly assuring him that it is not, that they were long since taken out once her and L's suspicions of who Kira really was were official. The sly reporter makes up a rebuttal, asking for the identity of Kira. Of course, Betsuni does not comply and merely scoffs at his fatal attempt at information. Once again, she turns to her computer. Her soft, delicate hands splash across the keyboard lightening fast once again, regaining her strength. She instructs the reporter to hold on for a moment, as she is being transmitted valuable data from the case at hand.
Mister Reporter, I'm sorry, but I don't think I will be able to make the dates you had inquired about over the passing week...I will be, slightly preoccupied.
She motions to the screen only briefly, turning in her chair. He assures her that it's understandable; she's busy, having the weight of Kira on her shoulders. She laughs, not covering it up as she had done before.
Mister Reporter, I don't bear the burden that is Kira. It is Kira who bears the burden that is the world.
Don't worry, Mister Reporter. This will all blow over soon enough.
