Bean

Chapter 18: The Mark Left Behind

It was late. The dead of night, as one might say. Silence and darkness both hung heavily in the ornate hotel suite, abandoned in favor of sleep by all but one. The tv screen displayed static fuzz, casting a dimly glowing light over L's ruminant countenance where a thumb rested pensively against his lips. It had been nearly a week since the broadcast on Sakura T.V., and after Soichiro Yagami had confiscated the tapes by crashing an armored truck directly into the television studio, L and the Taskforce had agreed not to comply with Kira's demands. But something just wasn't sitting right with the brilliantly keen detective...

The broadcast felt wrong. It was too bold, too careless. The meticulous, cunning Kira would never make such an audacious move, especially after the incident with Lind L. Tailor. It was not uncommon for a serial killer to attract the admiration of a copycat, and L was convinced that this was the case with whomever had sent those tapes to Sakura T.V. However, as they had all witnessed, this imposter, this Second Kira, seemed to possess whatever ability the original Kira did, with one exception: They could kill without being informed of the victim's name. Ukita had died with his face exposed, but the killer would have had no way of learning his name so quickly. Therefore, L could only deduce that the Second Kira's ability differed from the original's in that regard.

And so now, there were two Kiras, and L was certain that, if they hadn't made contact with one another yet, they would soon do so. The Second Kira quite clearly worshiped the original, and Kira himself would be sure to seek out one so irresponsibly using his power and claiming his title as their own.

Thinking of all this led L to once again come to the conclusion that this case just might be his greatest yet, and the one for which he would be remembered. Like a mark or an imprint, it would surely stand out among the rest, like...

"...like color on black and white."

L's gaze drifted to the coffee table. Like the grainy footage of an old home video, a memory flickered in his mind.

It had been only a few days before Christmas, and the year was 1997...

It was snowing outside, but the London hotel suite was warm and lavish with comfort.

"What are you doing?"

At the sound of L's inquiry, Anya turned her head. She was sitting upside-down with the top of her head on the floor and her ankles crossed atop the back of the couch. She shrugged before looking back to where she was scratching something into the underside of the coffee table with the tip of a ballpoint pen. "Misbehaving," she answered cheekily, her Russian tongue gliding over the word and accenting each syllable.

The eighteen-year-old detective stood with his hands pocketed, his greyish eyes only faintly reflecting his curiosity. She was an odd one... and that was something to be said, given his own peculiarities. But whereas L's quirks were a testament to his introversion, Anya's were just the opposite. She was bold and bright, like the snap of a flame or a burst of light; but it was in such a way that it was alluring and soothing and not unlike the welcoming radiance of a hearth fire. Warm... bright... comforting... and a force to be reckoned with if not handled with care.

The top of Anya's head rotated again as her slender blue eyes glanced over at Detective Bennett with a smile. Her short and unevenly-cut chestnut hair spilled onto the carpet, and her cheeks were dusted in red from being upside-down. "Come see," she invited.

L unpocketed one hand to scratch the back of his head as he shuffled his bare feet over to her. Anya's hand patted the couch, and he sighed. Sitting down, he then rotated and flipped upside-down, bringing his ankles beside hers against the top edge of the couch's back. Shifting his shoulders a bit, he looked to see where she was scratching the letters A.S.P. into the soft wood. Oddly enough, his hands returned to his pockets.