The Story of S chapter 2
So Kira killed with a notebook of death. I now have a notebook of death. Isn't that just splendid?
Now, what to do with it? I could go down the whole "killing criminals" path for the good of society, but that's a bit cliché. It's been done before.
I stood right right at the back of the Yellow Box Warehouse, feeling the rough metal scratching me through my shirt. But I didn't care. I had a score to settle.
As the large metal door begin to screech open I almost jumped right out of my skin. But I calmed right back down as I turned and saw Near's skulking figure walk towards me. His silver hair bounced atop his head like a broom. We were both children of Wammy's House, so obviously we thought alike. At least four hours remained before the scheduled meeting time, but I suppose the pair of us wanted to scope out the warehouse for any potential traps.
I unclipped the metal buckle on the top of my bag. Its contents spilled open eagerly. A ball of black string, a severed doll's hand. Just some of my trinkets.
I reached right into the bottom and retrieved the black notebook. It was by far the most valuable thing I'd collected in my lifetime. I flipped it open, and found a pen on the pile of my items.
By the time I'd located my page and was ready to write, the silver-haired man was nearing the centre of the empty space. He was tailed by tall four bodyguards donning black suits and black ties. At the belts of each one hung a leather holster wrapped around the gleaming metal of a gun.
All Near carried was a small assortment of colourful plastic toys. A red train, as long as his forearm. A blue one, slightly shorter. A yellow one, the shortest of them all. And a few action figures to go with them. Even at thirty years of age, Near hadn't outgrown his little habit.
Today Near thought trains would be fun. I looked at his face with my cold, blank stare. I bit my nail idly as I scribbled the name that floated above his head in large, red letters.
Near's socked feet stopped in their tracks. He released the toys, and they clattered to the ground in some sort of sick rainbow. He managed to save one from falling. He tossed the long, red train in his hands, as though contemplating something huge.
Suddenly, he snapped it in half. The sound echoed in the empty warehouse. He seemed to possess an extraordinary strength for someone of his meagre size. One half clattered to the ground with the other toys. In his hand, Near held a red plastic dagger, the protruding tip sharp and deadly.
Yeah, Near was right. Toy trains are great fun. He raised the sharp fragment to his neck, in some kind of dazed state, and plunged it into his throat with a sickening crunch.
"Perhaps L was right," he managed to gasp before the spewing blood silenced him.
The four bodyguards fell one after the other, impaling themselves with a pen, a sharp rock. Whatever they had handy.
I giggled like a little schoolgirl at this man's death. Near, whom all of Wammy's House wanted to be. Whom I had hated with all of my heart.
I stepped over to him, careful to avoid the rapidly pooling blood. I had just bought these sneakers, and they were bloody comfortable. I didn't want to make that literal.
I bent down and dipped my long finger into the warm, sticky blood. I walked a good ten meters away from him and wrote the first large letter. I stepped back over and continued my message. When I had finished, I was satisfied. This should give the investigators a good fright. The Kira case was only twelve years old, after all. There's no way I could let someone as smart as Kira himself be forgotten.
I wiped my hand on my jeans and grinned. The heavy door of the warehouse screeched shut behind me, sealing shut my message for the people unlucky enough to stumble upon it.
KIRA WILL NEVER DIE