Lawliet's story

Lawliet's story

Lawliet enjoyed many things. When his mother had been alive he’d often indulged in these activities with her. She was a loving woman, or so he remembered. He’d been very small at that time; unable to speak correctly. Then she’d died. He recalled that it had been from a robbery that she’d happened to be near at the time. Now he barely remembered her face and, in time, he supposed that he’d forget her altogether. His father had been a different matter entirely. He was cruel and resorted to drunken rages to vent his sorrow at his wife’s death. Lawliet didn’t wish to blame him for anything, he’d known how hard it would be and had previously witnessed his father’s anger; but it was hard. It was so incredibly and mind-numbingly difficult to not blame his father for these scars. His father was drunk, he was miserable, and had no clue how to take care of a child. Without his mother he had no clue what to do with Lawliet. But Lawliet had learned quickly that these were not valid excuses for what his father did to him. And what his father did was beat him.

His mother had died on Lawliet’s 5th birthday whilst she was out preparing his birthday party. She should have known it was unsafe to prowl the streets on that particular day, bad things had always happened on that day every year and it had been night time. In a way, the accident had been Lawliet’s fault; at least in his father’s eyes. It had started a few weeks after her death. First it had been smoking and then drinking. Lawliet had many memories of his father stumbling home with the smell of vomit and alcohol staining his breath and his father lurching towards the bathroom. It often kept him up at nights, the sound of retching and sobbing from the bathroom located across the hall from his room. He’d barely spoken before his mother’s death and after he never spoke at all. No words needed to be said; his anguish could not be expressed with simple human phrases.

So he waited. Patiently he had waited to see if his father would be able to smile again and be a father again. But he’d lost hope quickly because that frown that had begun the day she had died had only intensified in sorrow. And then one day it stopped. There had been no expression on his fathers face as he had walked in through the door of their small apartment. And then he heard it; the hysterical sobbing laughter of a man who had been broken on the inside; A man who had just snapped. And the smile that had spread across his father’s dark features…It was something that would haunt Lawliet for years and leave him with a bitter taste in his mouth and dark circles beneath his eyes from the nights it kept him up.

“I lost my job yesterday.” his father stated simply. Lawliet had known because he’d heard the screaming of his father on the phone. His father was prideful and hated to accept charity but his grandmother had insisted. Lawliet nodded and chewed at his fingernails nervously. Without any financial support how would they survive?
After that things began to change.

Lawliet never knew exactly the reason it happened, perhaps it was because he’d picked up the nail biting habit from his mother and reminded his father of her death; his father had always said that Lawliet looked more like his mother. Whatever the case, that was when it started. Lawliet didn’t remember what it looked like because of fear and speed; but he would always remember what it felt like. His father was a small man, not to say that he was short, but he was so thin it was almost unhealthy. He looked fragile and easily breakable but Lawliet knew better. He knew the feeling of his father’s fist in his face that first time.

The sensation of fists and feet, pounding away at his frail form, had filled him with fear and pain. He remembered crying out in pain as his father beat at his back; Lawliet had clawed at the floor and tried to escape, but to no avail. And the tears; Lawliet remembered how he cried and the tears rolled into his mouth, leaving it salty and bitter. The taste would never leave and it left him longing for something sweet enough to dampen the taste. But, he feared, nothing would be sweet enough to do that; not because it was impossible, but because he would always know the taste of sorrow.

After that first incident it had become a common thing; Lawliet was used to it. He began to wear loose fitting clothes, some even had tears. Bandages and first aid kits were essential and scattered through their apartment. He often wore the same clothes for days at a time because of their financial problems. Lawliet’s birthday was the worst; it was the anniversary of his mother’s death. On this day he had been filled with such grief and guilt, it ate away it him from the inside. It was Lawliet’s 6th birthday. Lawliet was supposed to be starting school soon. His father had called him into the kitchen. Their apartment was small and the kitchen was even smaller and cramped. The room smelled of alcohol and the floor was littered with various bottles and used cigarettes.

“Happy birthday Lawliet, I got you a cake.” He said in a drunken slur. Lawliet’s heart rose in hope. His father had gotten him a cake? Tears spotted the corners of Lawliet’s eyes in gratitude. His father was drunk and he couldn’t see him save for his lit cigarette but, be that as it may, he’d remembered Lawliet’s birthday. They had no electricity in their apartment because they couldn’t pay for it so Lawliet could hardly see in the dark space. His father lit a large candle nearby and smiled at Lawliet drunkenly. It was the kind of smile that hid something treacherous and all of Lawliet’s joy had crashed into an obedient kind of fear. His father looked horrible, his eyes dark and sunken in, hair greasy and long. He wore the same clothes from weeks before and was dirty and unshaven. He smelled of beer and vomit. Lawliet liked to believe he was exceptionally intelligent for noticing things others didn’t but at that moment he wish he’d remained oblivious; He’d rather a quick attack than this slowly increasing fear.

His father pulled something from behind him that made a strange sloshing noise and placed it on the counter before him. Lawliet swallowed. Slowly, his father lit six cigarettes and placed them on the, now revealed, cake. It was the most hideous thing Lawliet had ever seen in his life.
Instead of a cake, there was a heap of dark mud shoveled onto a plate. Words were messily written on it that read ‘Happy Death Day, Elle’ and Lawliet nearly choked at the use of his mother’s name. Tears streaked down his face as he continued to stare at the mass of mud, worms working their way through it and chunks of garbage being gnawed at by maggots. In the place of his birthday candles were the six cigarettes. Lawliet’s misery doubled as his father shoved the plate towards him expectantly. His stomach growled loudly and he was disgusted by himself. Lawliet hadn’t eaten in days because of the lack of income and was ravenous; but even this excuse for a cake made him want to vomit.

“What’s wrong Lawli-et? Aren’t you going to eat?” His father said in his stupid singsong voice. His voice was slurred badly from the drunken stupor he was in but Lawliet understood him. His father wanted him to eat that cake. There was no way that Lawliet was going to eat that cake. His father towered over him and gave him a glare, taking a puff of his cigarette.

“What’s the matter? Don’t you appreciate the cake I made? You spoilt brat! You are going to eat this damned cake and LIKE it.” He said menacingly. Lawliet swallowed and his vision blurred as hot tears flowed down his cheeks. They were in his mouth again, salty and bitter. He would never be able to taste again. He grabbed Lawliet by the front of his shirt and hauled him up to his eye level. Lawliet’s shirt was weak and had many holes in it, so the black fabric tore easily and he fell to the floor. His head bounced forward, hitting the edge of the counter and causing him to see black for a moment. His vision swam now, not because of tears, but because of his recent head injury. His father gripped his shoulder brutally before he could escape.

“Come ‘ere little Lawliet.” He said ominously. Lawliet struggled to get away but was pulled to face his father who shoved a piece of the vile ‘cake’ down his throat. Lawliet choked and sobbed loudly as his father forced him to swallow. Lawliet felt the mud in his stomach; it sloshed around grossly and made him feel sick and hollow. He felt a mud drip from his lips and fall to the ground but he didn’t care. He shivered and turned to run, tripping on his shoes which he cursed. He’d always hated shoes. He crawled away, dizzy and frightened as his dad backed him into a corner. He father held him down as he forcefully shoved the cake down his throat; the cigarettes had been removed but his dad was holding them in one of his hands. A puff of smoke was blown into his face and the putrid stench of his father’s alcohol and cigarette ridden breath made Lawliet vomit.

The vomit coated his father’s shoes in a rancid black-brown muck that wriggled with worms. His father grabbed him by the hair and yanked him forward.

“Is that what you think of your birthday cake, you ungrateful brat!? Clean it up now…With your tongue!” His father shouted in rage. Lawliet wept silently as his head was forced down to his father’s shoe and he obediently licked them free of the regurgitated mud. He felt sick and tainted but he couldn’t blame his father. He loved his father; he just hated how he was dealing with it. He felt his scalp burn as his father pulled him upwards by his hair.

“It’s time for your presents. There’s six of them ‘cause you’re six. You don’t really deserve them because you’re a brat… but in this case I’ll make an exception.” He said. Lawliet quaked in fear as his father held him up by his hair. Then a searing pain flared up his backside as a cigarette was put out on it. The candles! There were six of them. He screamed in pain as each cigarette was put out. They left little circular burn marks on his skin and he wondered if the scars would still be there when he was older. Lawliet’s birthday had been an utter disaster. His father’s cruelty only intensified from there.

A few days later his grandmother died; their last source of money. Granted, it had been very little but it paid for the essentials. Without it they would not last long. Lawliet’s father was in an uproar but he could barely move from his drunken state. His father seemed to be drunk more often and Lawliet suspiciously wondered where he got the money for his drinks from. He couldn’t feed his child so how did he manage to buy himself anything? He warily guessed that they were stolen. He wouldn’t put it passed his father whilst in his fragile state. That night his father came at him with a knife. That was when Lawliet had made a vital decision. He would not come back here. He loved his father and wished to help him but he finally realized there was nothing that could fix this. While his father slept, Lawliet fastened bandages around his sliced chest and packed a bag with anti-septic and a blanket, along with some stale bread that he’d been hiding away. He crawled down the fire escape and quietly left, never to return. Even if he wished to return it was impossible. That night his father died in a fire started by his own cigarettes.

Lawliet lived on the streets for quite some time. It was lonely and dank; he barely slept and had become pale and sickly. His wounds had healed badly and ripped open sometimes from his constant scavenging for food. They were jagged lines and burn marks. The bruises were now gone but he would always remember them. He had no clothes and often ran around in a pair of old blue jeans that he’d stolen from a thrifty mart. By the time he was seven he was almost dying. There were many gangs of homeless children that plagued the streets; they avoided cops so as to not be put in orphanages. They would never have been adopted anyways. That was when Lawliet had met her. She was a poor woman but she had a home with her aunt. She was not regarded as a niece but as a servant. She cooked and cleaned and slaved away until she was thin and pale.

He had met her in the park one day; he’d been sleeping there for the night and he was still small enough to fit in the little tubes connecting to the slide. It was safe from the other kids that wanted to steal his clothes and search him for food. She’d had a chicken sandwich that she’d made for herself and Lawliet, though he hated to admit it, was starving. They talked for a while and he discovered that her name was Kristina. She was a woman full of rage and sorrow and only wished to be free of her aunt’s grasp. She wanted to become a cop when she was free and enforce the law; stop child abuse and child-labor. She understood his suffering and Lawliet almost began to consider her a friend, though she only used him to vent to. He didn’t mind.
Then one day he saw her being torn out of her house by police officers. Her entire front was coated in blood and tears ran down her face. She had been much older than him but he still understood her. She had killed her aunt because she couldn’t stand it anymore. The servitude was unbearable and humiliating. She had been twenty and yet had to rely on her aunt for support. It must have been so degrading. She was arrested and that was when Lawliet learned what justice meant. He wanted to serve for justice and help those worth helping. Kristina may have been a criminal, but she taught him that justice would always prevail; no matter what. He actually found the law quite lenient. People always deserved second chances and the law gave it to those who deserved it. Even though the law had its imperfections it matched humans. Humans were imperfect and thus everything they did was imperfect. Nothing was meant to be ideal. This was why he didn’t believe in god. Religion was idiotic.

Quillish Wammy was a brilliant man. He’d created that orphanage for gifted children with no where else to go. And when he saw Lawliet in the park, his eyes filled with knowledge and potential then Quillish knew; He knew that this child with the strange name and even stranger face, was most likely going to become his star pupil. This child, Lawliet, would become something magnificent. And he was only eight years old at the time….

Lawliet was approached by Quillish Wammy, who he instantly came to like. He was a nice man, even though he had this darkness behind his eyes. Quillish told him of the orphanage that he built for extraordinary young minds and he was hesitant at first. Lawliet was a cautious boy and he would not trust somebody unless they gave him a reason too. While he was on the streets it was eat or be eaten and, though Quillish may have taken him off the streets for a brief time, he had no way of evaluating if what he said was true. That was when Mr.Wammy took him to the sweet shop. The name had been lost to him as soon as he had entered because of the fragrant aromas that wafted about his face. He was automatically drawn towards the sweets that he dreamed of; something sweet enough to drown the tart flavor of sorrow.

Lawliet’s mouth had watered with desire as he looked at everything around him; there were so many options that it was dizzying. There were lollipops, fromage, tarte au chocolat, mille-feuille, tiramisu, Chou a la crème, shortcakes, cheesecakes, and various other deserts that made his stomach growl with yearning; not to mention the variety of teas and coffees that they had. There were glass displays, each holding a delicacy far more delicious than the last, that made Lawliet press his face against them in awe. It was torture. Lawliet fished through his pockets, though he knew that he had no money to afford such treats, and gave a little sigh of frustration. Quillish smiled at him and pressed a hand over his unruly hair.

“Would you like something, Lawliet? I have plenty of money.” Mr.Wammy said kindly. His eyes sparkled with a strange affection and it made Lawliet feel warm and safe. It was the same kind of look his mother used to give him. He stared at Wammy for a moment, his dark eyes boring into him for any hints of deception, and then he looked around the shop.
“I don’t know what to pick, there are so many options. I would eat it all if I could.” Lawliet said. The man beside him laughed with mirth before searching through his coat pockets and then fishing out his wallet. Lawliet stared at Quillish with fascination. The man was old, his black hair turning to gray around the edges and his skin sagging slightly. And yet, despite his obvious age, he had strong arms like many of the gang members he’d seen on the streets; evenly muscled and sturdy. Lawliet wondered how Quillish wound up like that but eventually brushed it off as ‘unnecessary information’.

“If you think you can eat it all then I’ll order everything. Just pace yourself and try not to get sick.” Quillish said warmly. Lawliet stared in disbelief as Mr.Wammy did exactly that and placed an order for everything they had. The waitress looked equally flabbergasted and began bustling about the room in panic. Quillish smiled with amusement and took a seat in the back of the room, pulling Lawliet along as they awaited the order. Lawliet felt high, as if everything he’d ever wanted was coming straight towards him and nothing could ever stop it. It was bliss.

“So Lawliet, have you considered joining the orphanage? I think you would be an excellent addition and role model for the other children. You are quite intelligent for being only eight.” Quillish said. He sounded impressed and Lawliet’s chest swelled with pride. He’d tried to learn as much as possible while he’d been on the streets. He valued his knowledge over everything else and, though he rarely spoke, was quite a prodigy. Lawliet ran over the thought of the orphanage in his head and it seemed right.

“I must admit, I am considering it. I would like to see this orphanage for myself. Also, are there any specific requirements that I should be aware of?” He asked. He’d prefer to know what he was getting himself into before he agreed to anything. Quillish smiled at him and crossed his hands on the table.

“I was planning to take you to see the orphanage today, after this detour. I imagine you haven’t had any sweets in quite a while. I saw you gazing at this window once while I was on one of my strolls and you looked really hungry. The only requirements of the orphanage would be your name. Everyone who’s admitted into the orphanage is admitted with an alias. They all lose their names. Though right now, the orphanage is still in its early stages, I suspect after you it would become a large success.” Wammy said politely. Lawliet thought this over. He would lose his name? If he really thought about it, his name really had no purpose. He had no family and no one knew him. Then he thought of his mother; black hair and black eyes but always graceful. Those were the things he remembered about her. Her name was Elle but pronounced as the letter. He wanted that name. He made up his mind; he wished to go with Wammy. Wammy seemed kind and honest, a good caretaker and, perhaps, could become a father to Lawliet.

“I want to go with you. I do not care if I’m required to lose my name. All I ask is that I be taken care of and taught. I want to learn new things because I never went to school. I want to become a detective and with your resources, I believe I can.” He said. Quillish nodded and the sweets he ordered began to pile on the table top.

Lawliet took a large bite from a cake and shuddered in delight as the bitterness was swept away. He could never eat the same way again. This was what he needed to rid himself of the taste of tears; the sweets were maddeningly sweets. And still, they were not sweet enough. Lawliet bit his nails as he spoke, taking several sugar packets and emptying them into his tea.

“Have you considered your alias?” Quillish asked in curiosity. The child shoveled down the cakes and cookies, the teas and candies and yet he still seemed dissatisfied. Lawliet swallowed a mouth full of his sweetened black tea and smiled. He knew exactly what he wished his alias to be. To Quillish Wammy it may seem insignificant but to Lawliet …This alias meant the world.

“I wish my name to be L.” he said. And that was how Quillish and Lawliet became a team. Quillish had never had a son and had always wondered what it would be like. Lawliet was his first child in Wammy’s house and was practically his son. Blood didn’t matter in Quillish’s eyes. He cared about Lawliet, would die for Lawliet and protect him at all costs. Which caused him to spoil little L; not that L minded.

L’s training went on; he learned many significant things and continued to grow. The orphanage was a beautiful place, with vast yards and serene landscapes. Fountains were placed at random around the area and the children were always running about and playing games. There was noise all the time but it wasn’t unpleasant; bells, children laughing, water and animals. It was calming. And it was the one place where L could think all the time. No one bothered him because they brushed him off as stupid, even though that was the furthest thing from what he actually was. They only assumed this because, even though L was happy with his current surroundings, he rarely spoke. He trusted everyone as far as he could throw them and he had no upper body strength so that wasn’t very far. The only people L ever spoke to were Quillish and Roger; they were the owners of Wammy’s house.

L enjoyed his studies most of all. He was always seen with his nose in a book and a finger in his mouth. He went through books as quickly as he devoured his beloved sweets. His desire for knowledge was nearly insatiable. Quillish loved L as a son and constantly bought him sweets; he even set up a large library for L to go through. And the results were astonishing. By the time L was ten he’d gotten his first case to work on. At the time he’d been a small detective and hid his face so that people couldn’t judge him. If they knew he was only ten then they would not have hired him at all. He used Quillish as his face and went through the clues as to solve the case. L learned that Quillish had previously worked with various agencies and had once even been with the FBI so he was already highly respected by his comrades. L relished in the resources he had and quickly solved the case.

After that, L’s name slowly spread across the globe; his skills were unmatched by any other detectives and his knowledge was growing by the minute. He became well known in the orphanage as well, but he learned to hide his face. By the time he was twelve he already had several aliases, as did Quillish. One of Quillish’s aliases was Watari, a name he used often, even before he’d met L. L’s name took the word by storm as he inched his way up the detective ladder; Watari and L were always stated together. When one wanted L’s help on a case they had to contact Watari because no one could contact L. Many of the children in the orphanage wished to become L themselves and began studying to succeed him if he ever failed. Among them were B, N, and M; Beyond Birthday, Nate River (Near), and Mihael Keehl (Mello).

One day L asked Quillish something strange. It was when L was fourteen. He wanted to learn some ‘off-color’ techniques to get information out of suspects. Quillish had been furious with L, even reverted back to calling him Lawliet for a short time before he allowed it. L wanted to learn something new that would help him with his chosen career no matter what the cost. Quillish only feared for L’s sanity; seeing torture was almost as bad as being tortured. The images would never leave him and Quillish feared that L was too young to be able to handle it. But he gave in because it was what L wanted.

He took L to several shady areas of town where he witnessed things that were horrifying and appalling. He learned many different forms of torture but he couldn’t sleep without seeing these people in his head; screaming for it to stop. L even developed a new way of sitting out of fear; a defensive curl around his knees. It looked childish but it made L feel better and think clearly without terrifying images popping in his head. When he sat in his knee-hug he felt like his mom had her arms wrapped around him. It made all the bad things go away and made his logic conquer the revulsion.

L had learned many things about torture despite his fear; both physical and psychological. There was blackmail, shaming, exploitation of phobias, sleep deprivation, solitary confinement, and sensory deprivation to psychologically attack a suspect. Then there was tooth extraction, beatings (which brought back vivid memories), bone breaking, branding, cutting, de-nailing, electric shock, force feeding, high pitched sounds, starvation, whipping and various other twisted methods that made L sob into his knees after he saw them. After a long time, he just stopped crying and felt he could no longer smile.

He remembered one of the sessions quite clearly, a young woman in her twenties. He couldn’t remember why they tortured her, only the method. They strapped her to a chair and covered her eyes and mouth so that she would panic at the loss of senses. He remembered how she struggled in the chair, tears rolling down her cheeks and muffled screams. One of the men took out a pair of pliers and L had recoiled in fear, gripping Quillish’s arm tightly and biting down on his lip roughly so as not to make the men aware of his presence. The man then began to remove the woman’s nails one at a time, slowly and gruesomely. L remembered the bloody fingers and screaming. It was so loud despite the gag and he trembled in alarm. Then the men took out two by fours and began to beat the woman and then L ran out, Quillish following behind him with a solemn expression. Quillish had warned him it would be difficult to see that but he hadn’t believed him. Now he did.
L continued with his job as a detective, years passing as quickly as they came. His birthday was hardly important and was only celebrated as Elle’s death. On those days he wore all black and picked flowers in the garden. He would visit her grave with Quillish and pay her respects. On those days he refused any cases unless he was currently in the middle of a case. Then he would work on the case n silence, locking the door to his room and not coming out until the next morning.

The other children in Wammy’s house barely saw L anymore, and when they did they did not approach him out of awe for his vast skills. L reviewed his possible successors often but never spoke to them, preferring for them to find their own way. He heard one boy, B, was beginning to fold under the pressure. B wanted to be better than L and even went to the extent of modeling himself after him. One time L had observed B from afar, the boy wore the same blue jeans and white shirt as L and had the same messy hair. The bags under B’s eyes matched L’s and the boy was never seen without some kind of sweet in his hands. B mostly ate strawberry jam with his hands. And his eyes were red. It was unnerving for L to see him. He avoided B after that.

He actually spoke to Mello once and it was only to tell stories of his past achievements. Mello appreciated these stories and went as far as to write them down. This was after Beyond Birthday had left and became a murderer. L had expected that to happen, B had always had the look of a killer in his eyes. Like he always saw death. He sympathized with B for a reason he could not understand and felt he’d made a connection with him. So he made a new alias; Ryuzaki. He’d defeated two of the world’s greatest detectives and stolen their titles, become the top three detectives in the world; but he still had so much to learn. He told Mello of these stories, if only so that someone else could know. Mello was too emotional and probably wouldn’t live very long and would never become his successor, but L saw great things in him. He didn’t want Mello to become his successor because it would destroy Mello’s heart. L had his heart set on B as his successor but after the Los Angeles Murder Cases Near seemed the best bet.

Not long after, L heard of a mysterious killer in Japan. He was given the name Kira. At first, L did not want to join the case but as the number of deaths grew, L became infuriated. How could someone kill so needlessly and hide behind the front that it was justice? He joined the case in December. It was the most difficult case he’d ever had. The people disrespected him and when he finally won their admiration, his prime suspect wound up as the son of one of his comrades. L attempted to find Kira, though he had no personal grudge with him. That was when Light Yagami motivated him. And then B died because Kira killed him. B died, all alone in a California prison because he’d wanted to defeat L. Would L’s name always bring about pain? He almost wished Kira would hurry up and kill him. But first he wanted to catch Kira because he killed B.

November came around quickly and it was already 2005. The years had passed so quickly it was almost like they’d never been there. He still felt like he was that helpless child being beaten, that helpless child watching a woman tortured before his eyes. He wanted to curl up. That day was a quiet day, rain battering atop the room tops in an inviting dance. L felt that it was his time. Today he was going to die. He stood in the rain as he stared up at the sky. He thought he could see his mother’s face smiling at him in that rain that battered his frail form. He felt tears slip down his face that were hidden by the rain. That was the first time he’d cried in years. He touched his cheeks in awe and longed for the vast fields of Wammy’s house. He could hear the bells ringing loudly in his head. Wedding bells? Or maybe they were for a funeral.

“The bells are loud today…” L said to himself. Light came outside and spotted L, motioning him over. He said something and L pretended not her, placing a hand to his ear as a small smile graced his lips. Light was his friend; but he would also be his downfall. L had accepted that long ago.
“Light-kun….Can you hear the bells?” L said quietly. They went back inside together after drying off. Quillish Wammy and Lawliet died November fifth because of a heart attack.

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A/N: I enjoyed writing this and some things may seem off to you. Also, I’ve heard L’s name is L Lawliet, thus the alias. I liked my explanation better so I never revealed L’s full name in this. Also, Beyond Birthday was caught on my birthday. I just thought that was pretty cool. Death Note does not belong to me. It belongs to Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata.