The Girl With No Name

Chapter Twelve

Whether he'd meant to or not, L had inadvertently - and very successfully - put me off having sex and I was not happy about it. Quite the opposite actually. I was angry, and I'm not just talking slightly pissy. No, I mean the full-on don't talk to me - don't even look at me - or I might kill you type of angry. The rest of the task force kept their distance accordingly. Only Watari had the courage to approach me in my brooding state, but I think he knew I couldn't bring myself snap at him (I had way too much respect for the elderly man).

His protege, however... oh yeah, him I could've slaughtered.

The murderous itch was only strengthened by L's insistence that I watch the Aoyama footage with him after the men retired for the night. All twenty-four hours. In one sitting. With no coffee.

He was poking the bear and he damn well knew it. Worser yet, he had the nerve to enjoy my suffering, watching my sanity drip from my tear ducts with every sleepless second. Needless to say, that evening, I wasted many hours thinking of ways to kill him and make his death look like a suicide.

The following day was far worse. I was expected to be prepped and raring to go to Shibuya that morning alongside my two male sidekicks, Tweedledim and Tweedledumb (as my agitated psyche had affectionately dubbed them). Instead, Dawn arose to welcome a very hostile teenage girl whose level of patience was about as unstable as an atomic bomb. The lack of sleep had sent my endocrine system into overdrive, and I was still unsure whether I wanted to cry or punch something.

In the end, I took to weeping into a recently defeathered pillow.

By the time Matsuda's car pulled up outside the hotel lobby, I had sobered somewhat, having chugged a cup of coffee à la Ryuzaki - pumped full of glucose and completed with a layer of sweet sugary sediment along the bottom. It was gross, but necessary if I wanted to actually process the day's events.

Unfortunately - or rather, fortunately, for the small amount of dignity I had left - Light's uni friends didn't join us that afternoon. And we still didn't find Kira.

The cycle repeated once more after I returned to the hotel that night, and as I watched the Shibuya footage in my weary, mind-boggled state, I concocted a great theory that Kira was actually an evil fairy of justice and we never stood a chance.

That theory was quickly debunked upon realisation that fairies of justice, evil or non, did not exist.

By mid-May, I was still drinking caffeine slush puppies and had somehow learned to tolerate the freaky texture (yes, much to my horror). So I sat, sipping my sludge, its scalding temperature mirroring the heat of my fury. The liquid nipped at the tip of my tongue and left behind a lingering sting which the sugar only served to irritate; I didn't let it bother me.

Upon their arrival, the police officers soon realised my mood hadn't brightened since the last time they saw me and promptly created the equivalent of No Man's Land between us, all choosing to sit at the opposite side of the room. Chris tried - bless him - to send me a thumbs up from across the way, but soon retracted his gesture when he received my very nasty death glare.

The detective, of course, was as chipper as a Boy's Scout, oblivious to the icy chill settling onto our current headquarters. Apparently the gloomy atmosphere did nothing to phase the man and he went about the day as he usually would - expressionlessly and with cake in hand.

However, as we all began to shiver through the umpteenth *winter of our discontent, three shrill beeps pierced the resounding silence, followed by the sound of Watari's voice.

"Ryuzaki," emitted from the monitor's speakers. We all glanced towards it. "Apparently Sakura TV has just received another message from the second Kira."