мама тебя любит
The wall had been in L's life since he could first remember. The wall that stretched all across Germany and Bulgaria. The wall that divided the East from the West. Somehow, the wall that even managed to divide his household.
When Light and Past re-appeared it was a cold evening in late November.
Immediately Light looked about for L. Sure enough, the boy, shuffled across the living room to sit, knees curled up to his chest, on the couch. Though he was still only seven, Light could now see he walked like an old man, like his adult self. His back was hunched and his head was low. The boy rubbed his feet together anxiously as shouts an screams echoed from the kitchen.
"How much shame could you bring onto us??" A young mans voice echoed out. "Its bad enough that all the neighbourhood calls us mongrels and, thanks to my bastard brother, traitors! But you're a Love Priestess? A no-good gypsy whore??"
There was a pause.
The kitchen door was slammed open and Light recognised the oldest brother of L. He was in a brown uniform with a grey cap, the uniform of the Berlin Wall Guard; his face was red with fury. "What was worth you selling yourself?" He continued, his mother coming out of the kitchen, tears straining her exotic face.
Light noticed L's head sink between his knees. It was as if he literally closed himself away. It seemed to work, as neither the mother or the brother acknowledged him even being in the room.
The oldest sibling began to throw various items around. "Cigarettes, jeans, deodorant! I could have got you those things! Unlike my bratty little brother and our former waste of a father, I can care for you and Luka and drag us out of this," he gestured wildly, "this excuse of a life!"
"Please," whispered their mother. "Please do not speak badly of your brother. He is trying to make a better world…"
"How? Our government are trying! We should be proud to be part of a country that looks after its people's needs, instead of leaving them to fend for themselves like those capitalists!" He spat the word. "How is it better to be a filthy Marxist?" She walked forward and hugged her son, who was now taller than her.
"Get off me," he muttered. His eyes were filled with angry tears. "You're nothing but a dirty mongrel of low social responsibility."
Despite the commotion, Light's attention was always focused on small L sitting on the couch between the dramatic couple. Living such a childhood, why did future Adult-L not understand Kira? Under Kira, horrors such as prostitution and poverty would not exist!
"Is that really so?"
Light turned to Past. She was looking more adult like than ever.
He gave her an appraising look, "you read my mind?"
"You are the punisher of crimes." She continued disregarding his question. "You do not give anything accept the fear of being caught breaking the rules. How are you any different from any other dictator?"
"I'm more intelligent than most people, so if any human could grasp the power of a god it should be someone like me. I have the intelligence, the power and the morality."
"Luka," she gestured to the small boy whose head was still hidden into his knees, "is as intelligent as you. Yet he disagreed. The only person whop could match you disagrees with your vision. Your morality involves killing the innocent; you would build your so called utopia on the blood of innocent sacrifices, L soon to be one of them. Under your rule, their mother would die for her sin of prostitution. What would the family do then?"
"There would be provisions!" He barked. "And sacrifices must always be made for progress; look at the Industrial Revolution, Independence for various countries and when nations first began to travel and multiculturalism was born? People died! People did not get along, people fought, but it was worth it, because whilst hundreds died, all of humanity was able to move forwards after this."
"No, sacrifices are made for deities and gods of an old superstitious world. The deaths you mention in your examples were caused by the infalliblility of mankind; their deaths were not necessary, but the sins of arrogance, pride and greed caused those tragedies. Just like this one," she waved to the scene on front of them.
Time had slowed down, the son was yelling and had picked up a vase. He flung it across the room. As it slowly twisted in the air towards the sobbing mother, the dim light of the coarse light bulb glittered off the smooth porcelain shell.
Light looked down at L.
The little boys head rose up and for a moment, his dark ash eyes settled on Lights fiery brown orbs.
Something clutched in Lights throat.
He had felt it before, at odd moments when L had looked at him; never during their stare-downs, never in their cold analysis of one another, but in very quiet moments when their eyes would meet accidentally and fleetingly. It was in these small glimpses, that Light felt as if he could fall into and drown in the grey spheres. His pulse always quickened, the catch in his throat almost chocking him, even tears would form, oh so lightly, in his eyes.
L was so deep, so incomprehensible. Even now, as a child as…Luka… Light had never heard him speak. Both the boy and the man he would become were an enigma, a puzzle that Light knew he would never, ever fully understand, even if given an eternity with the strange creature.
Was it that what really irked him about L? That for the first time, there was something that was beyond his grasp? Something in L's very soul?
As the mother slowly dropped to the floor in sadness, missing the vase that shattered off the wall, Past spoke up, "this nightmare was caused by a theory and social experiment that was polluted and abused. And now everyone in this family suffers when they had done nothing to deserve their fate. They were mere pawns."
"Can I help it if I am the Player of the game and not the Pawn?" Asked Light huskily.
Her dark eyes turned to him. "no, but you could decide how to play the game and how to use your pawns."
Time resumed its normal pace. The son was putting on his jacket and straightening his ha. "My shift starts at the wall soon enough. A lot of trouble has been caused thanks to the likes of my brother." He looked at his mother, a crumpled heap on the ground. All her glory was gone. "I won't see you again." He stated, his voice becoming as cold and emotionless as Adult L's would be. "I'm sorry for Luka. And for what we were, what we could have…" He bit his lip, and left slamming the front door. His mother's soft sobs becoming wails.
L sat quietly on the couch, one large grey eye watching her. He made no move to comfort her. Light realised that this must have been when L learnt his aversion of touching. He shuddered to think of how much abuse the child had endured to become so intense and uptight in a few months, if not weeks, since he was first sold.
"Mamá no es bueno! Regarde-toi, mon ange gothique, could I bear to have you hate me too? I have ruined myself, debased my family, my country…"
Light watched her through clinical eyes. Something about her loving words to L made him feel an uneasy familiarity.
L blinked at her a few times, his long dark lashes making up for the thin almost nonexistent eyebrows. She slowly stood and retired into the kitchen. Luka raised his head, looking like a baby Fawn sniffing out its mother. Anxiously he curled back into a ball.
And they waited.
Outside got even darker.
The flames in the living rooms poor fire died down.
Lsat alone in the cold and dark.
He was in the same position, still facing the kitchen door.
"Oh God," muttered Light, surprising himself with the feeling of distress in his voice. "What is it now?"
L eventually got up and walked unsteadily to the door. He knocked it.
Who knocked on a kitchen door?
But then the feeling of foreboding tragedy hung in the air. L observed the door handle for some time.
Slowly his hand reached down for it.
Light tensed. Part of him wanted L to open the door, to get it over with. But another part screamed for the boy not to. That things would get so much worse.
L deserved better than this. Hell, anyone deserved better than this! Light knew L's brilliant brain must have been natural, no one could teach L the brilliance he had. Unlike Light, L had always seemed so keen to hide this brilliance away. To hide his name, his face as if he were ashamed of himself. As if he were so terrified of the world…
Was it this, this childhood that had damaged L so much? So that he was a bright, flaming Light hidden away under a basket?
Luka let out a breath. It was so cold in the flat at this stage that it could be seen; a small white fog, a ghost of his former breath. The boy finally gripped the handle ready pull when
BANG BANG BANG!
His knees giving way L fell to the floor; Light nearly did the same but managed not to, his pride in front of the Spirit being what it was.
Again the booms were heard. Someone was banging heavily on the front door.
On his hands and knees, Luka crawled out into the hallway and looked at the door. Whilst the bottom half and edges were wooden, there was a glass panel on it, revealing distorted images of those outside. They looked like monsters and demons.
Light realised they were not L's brothers but were male.
The percentage was high.
"Madam open up!" They called. "It is time for our weekly payments."
L scrambled away from the door. He looked frightened. His eyes were slightly wider, his lips set in a thin white line. Crawling towards the stairs, he hid in a little compartment just underneath them.
The men smashed the door open.
"Madam, madam," five men in total called. "We have come for the usual services." Light frowned to see L's abuser there. He looked less anxious now and more predatory. No doubt being in a gang of perverted thugs had raised his confidence.
Light snarled in disgust.
The men switched on the flickering Lights and began to roam the house. There was a yell from the kitchen.
"...All the blood!"
"Call a doctor!"
"Call a mortician more like. She's slashed her wrists!"
"I suppose we weren't paying her enough…"
There was laughter.
Light felt his heart turn to ice as over the raucous laughter he heard the quiet and sudden sobs of Luka, still hiding in the cupboard under the stairs…